I am an utter failure when it comes to wrapping presents. I have never been good at it, and now that I'm 29 years old, I think I have to face the fact that gift-wrapping is something I will probably never master. I remember back when I was in college, when I worked for a stationery store, and this woman came in and asked for help picking out a present for her child's schoolteacher. When we got up to the register, she said the dreaded words, "Would you be able to giftwrap that for me?"
As I finished it up, I apologized to her for the fact that it was not done in anything remotely approaching an expert fashion, although in my defense I really did try. Her response was something like this: "Oh that's alright. It'll be fine, because it'll look like my 8-year-old wrapped it."
Hmmm.
So I'm awful at wrapping, but I am absolutely phenomenal at UNwrapping. And I simply love getting presents. To this day, I am like an impatient child on Christmas morning, begging everyone to hurry up with breakfast and whatever else they are doing so we can OPEN THE PRESENTS. I have become a bit of a joke in my family over the years, because of this tendency. They all think I am terribly amusing when I start whining at them, "Come on, you guys! I want to open my presents!" On my side, I don't understand why they aren't more excited to open theirs!
But last night I got a pretty awesome present, and a total surprise too. I came home from work, and everyone was in the dining room, when my youngest brother walked in on the phone with the woundedbug in morocco (another brother). Woundedbug was the only one not with us this year. So Timer put me on the phone with him, and we were chatting away, when suddenly into the room walks...woundedbug!!!!! I screamed and squealed like a twelve-year-old, and my sister the world traveller got it all on the video camera. It was great! Apparently my dad got him a ticket home at the last minute.
So for the first time in two years, my whole family is together at Christmas time. And that, my friends, is a Christmas present in itself.
Note: this will be the last frogg files of 2004. The frogg is off to the "toasty-warm" (yeah right, kenny) midwest til the end of the year, and will recommence with the daily posts after January 1. Merry Christmas and happy New Year to all of you! See you in 2005...
Saturday, December 25, 2004
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Wonderful and Strange
I saw a man in my town the other day, biking down the street with a cat on his back. Not a stuffed cat; it was a real live one, perched on his shoulders and balancing perfectly as they rode along together. The sight made me very happy, kind of like the time when I saw a horse standing in the back of a pickup truck on the very busy streets of Amman, Jordan. You don't see these sorts of things every day, and when you do, you really have to take a moment to enjoy them.
Here's wishing you a glimpse of the wonderful and strange today, something that will enrich your life, not because of what you will gain from it, but simply because of what it is.
Here's wishing you a glimpse of the wonderful and strange today, something that will enrich your life, not because of what you will gain from it, but simply because of what it is.
Memory of Christmas Past
Strange to think how, at this time last year, I was just finishing up a short backpacking trip on the acclaimed Abel Tasman Coastal Track in New Zealand, before heading down to the tiny little town of Loburn to celebrate Christmas with a friend's family.
That was a great trip, in spite of incredibly blistered feet, sore muscles, and a tent that had obviously once been put away still wet and then never opened again for a hundred years. I remember the first night we pitched the tent, my friend Sabine and I...we could smell it before we even got in it. We looked at each other, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing: how cold can it really get outside?
Well, the answer was "pretty cold" so we stayed in the tent, but let me just offer this little tip for campers: ALWAYS dry out your tent before putting it away in storage. Mold is not anything close to an attractive smell.
On our last day on the trail, it rained. Naturally. You can't have a true camping experience without getting rained on, according to all the humor articles, sitcoms, and movies on the subject. We awoke at about 6am, so that we could make the necessary low-tide crossing to the coastal point where we would be picked up by a water taxi and taken back to the beginning of the trail. Unfortunately it was not quite low-tide enough. I stood at the water's edge, and knew it was going to come up at least to my knees, possibly higher. Then I wondered what I was worried about--I was already soaked from the rain, since I didn't have any waterproof clothes (I might add that, between me and Sabine, we managed to illustrate every possible scenario of what NOT to do on a backpacking trip).
I really wish I had pictures of that day, me and Sabine looking like nothing more than a pair of nearly-drowned cats. As it is, you'll just have to imagine it.
Good times in the land down under. But it was hard being away from my family at Christmas time--my riotous, loud, overbearing, overwhelming family. Have you ever seen "My Big Fat Greek Wedding"? That's not a totally inaccurate portrayal of my Egyptian family get-togethers (I don't know about weddings, because there haven't been any yet, but any holiday gathering looks pretty much the same). We drive each other nuts sometimes, but I really don't think I'd have it any other way.
(By the way, danthefrog, since you asked...yes I will be at Christmas dinner!)
I hope you are all having a great week, and that your Christmases this year will give you all sorts of good memories to last throughout the coming year.
That was a great trip, in spite of incredibly blistered feet, sore muscles, and a tent that had obviously once been put away still wet and then never opened again for a hundred years. I remember the first night we pitched the tent, my friend Sabine and I...we could smell it before we even got in it. We looked at each other, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing: how cold can it really get outside?
Well, the answer was "pretty cold" so we stayed in the tent, but let me just offer this little tip for campers: ALWAYS dry out your tent before putting it away in storage. Mold is not anything close to an attractive smell.
On our last day on the trail, it rained. Naturally. You can't have a true camping experience without getting rained on, according to all the humor articles, sitcoms, and movies on the subject. We awoke at about 6am, so that we could make the necessary low-tide crossing to the coastal point where we would be picked up by a water taxi and taken back to the beginning of the trail. Unfortunately it was not quite low-tide enough. I stood at the water's edge, and knew it was going to come up at least to my knees, possibly higher. Then I wondered what I was worried about--I was already soaked from the rain, since I didn't have any waterproof clothes (I might add that, between me and Sabine, we managed to illustrate every possible scenario of what NOT to do on a backpacking trip).
I really wish I had pictures of that day, me and Sabine looking like nothing more than a pair of nearly-drowned cats. As it is, you'll just have to imagine it.
Good times in the land down under. But it was hard being away from my family at Christmas time--my riotous, loud, overbearing, overwhelming family. Have you ever seen "My Big Fat Greek Wedding"? That's not a totally inaccurate portrayal of my Egyptian family get-togethers (I don't know about weddings, because there haven't been any yet, but any holiday gathering looks pretty much the same). We drive each other nuts sometimes, but I really don't think I'd have it any other way.
(By the way, danthefrog, since you asked...yes I will be at Christmas dinner!)
I hope you are all having a great week, and that your Christmases this year will give you all sorts of good memories to last throughout the coming year.
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Ode to Indy...and Christmas!
I just watched my dog catch and eat flies in my room. Gross.
Actually he is the cowgirl's dog. He's a bit of a freak, but an adorable freak. You can't help but love him, because he so obviously loves to be loved. He wriggles with joy when you call him over, and he can't seem to get close enough to you. It's really cute.
What's a bit more annoying is his complete fixation--addiction, really--to playing fetch. As soon as you set foot out of the door, he is off running to find something for you to throw for him. Sometimes it is no more than a twig. Sometimes it's a pebble. My favorite is when he drops at my feet one of those weird prickly little balls that grows on some kinds of trees. How the heck am I supposed to throw one of those? Sheesh.
He will play fetch til he collapses. This actually happened once, when I took him to the park on a hot day and forgot to bring water. I threw the stick for him until finally one time he ran to get it, lay down, and couldn't get up again! I was in a total panic, thinking that he was going to die and the cowgirl would have to challenge me to a duel which I would be bound to lose because I am NOT a cowgirl. No seriously, but she would have been devastated, and for that matter so would I, so I went running around to see if I could find something to put water in for him. I finally found a paper cup next to a trash can, so I filled it up with water, and helped him drink it. He ended up being ok, but I decided we were done playing fetch that day. Even though he still wanted to!
Oddly enough, I did not start out my blog today with the intention of talking all about Indiana Bones (yes, that's his name, but we just call him Indy). I was going to talk about something else, but now I don't remember. Oh well.
Anyway...Christmas is almost here! In spite of the holiday stress, I am happy about it. The last two Christmases I have spent in New Zealand. Which was ok, but weird, because there Christmas is in summer time, and everyone is going on summer vacations, and the whole tenor of the season is off. I mean, granted, weather-wise it was a pretty comparable experience to being in Southern California for Christmas, but it's the overall atmosphere that's different. Summer and winter are different, even if the weather doesn't change all that much. It's something in the air.
Ah, I do miss New Zealand sometimes. A shout out to all my kiwi mates...I love you guys and miss you all HEAPS! Have a great Christmas, and eat some pavlova for me!! Mmmmm, pavlova....
Actually he is the cowgirl's dog. He's a bit of a freak, but an adorable freak. You can't help but love him, because he so obviously loves to be loved. He wriggles with joy when you call him over, and he can't seem to get close enough to you. It's really cute.
What's a bit more annoying is his complete fixation--addiction, really--to playing fetch. As soon as you set foot out of the door, he is off running to find something for you to throw for him. Sometimes it is no more than a twig. Sometimes it's a pebble. My favorite is when he drops at my feet one of those weird prickly little balls that grows on some kinds of trees. How the heck am I supposed to throw one of those? Sheesh.
He will play fetch til he collapses. This actually happened once, when I took him to the park on a hot day and forgot to bring water. I threw the stick for him until finally one time he ran to get it, lay down, and couldn't get up again! I was in a total panic, thinking that he was going to die and the cowgirl would have to challenge me to a duel which I would be bound to lose because I am NOT a cowgirl. No seriously, but she would have been devastated, and for that matter so would I, so I went running around to see if I could find something to put water in for him. I finally found a paper cup next to a trash can, so I filled it up with water, and helped him drink it. He ended up being ok, but I decided we were done playing fetch that day. Even though he still wanted to!
Oddly enough, I did not start out my blog today with the intention of talking all about Indiana Bones (yes, that's his name, but we just call him Indy). I was going to talk about something else, but now I don't remember. Oh well.
Anyway...Christmas is almost here! In spite of the holiday stress, I am happy about it. The last two Christmases I have spent in New Zealand. Which was ok, but weird, because there Christmas is in summer time, and everyone is going on summer vacations, and the whole tenor of the season is off. I mean, granted, weather-wise it was a pretty comparable experience to being in Southern California for Christmas, but it's the overall atmosphere that's different. Summer and winter are different, even if the weather doesn't change all that much. It's something in the air.
Ah, I do miss New Zealand sometimes. A shout out to all my kiwi mates...I love you guys and miss you all HEAPS! Have a great Christmas, and eat some pavlova for me!! Mmmmm, pavlova....
Monday, December 20, 2004
Deep Things
There's a line in Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing that says, "I were but little happy, if I could say how much."
I feel like that very often. Not just about happiness, but about any truly deep emotion. It's pretty easy for me to dash off an amusing little anecdote, and I totally enjoy it, but sometimes I want to write about something more, I don't know, substantial, and then I find that my words sound tinny, like cheap windchimes, when what I want them to sound like is a full-scale symphony orchestra.
For example. I really want to write about how much the music of Handel's Messiah means to me, and what it does to me when I hear it, but I just...can't. I went to a performance last night, a "Messiah Singalong" at a local church. I didn't have a musical score, so the singing along part was a tad difficult, but I just thoroughly enjoyed the evening anyway. There is something irresistible, something heart-breakingly beautiful to me about Handel's Messiah, but I can't put it into words, and it's so frustrating, because I want to!!
I remember one time, long ago, being moved to tears by the "Worthy is the Lamb" chorus. The power of the voices, the words, the music--I don't know how anyone can hear it without being shaken up inside. And when the opening bars of the "Hallelujah Chorus" start playing, I get all excited, because somehow I just know that God himself is listening in, and he's feeling pretty stoked on it too.
Listening to the soaring voices and music last night, I'm glad I had the opportunity to forget, at least for a little while, all the Christmas presents I still haven't bought, the Christmas cards I haven't sent, the frayed edges of my life that seem determined to keep unraveling despite all my efforts to keep them together, and instead focus on the One person that has never been unfaithful to me, never left me alone, and never stopped loving me, even when He gets so little of my heart in return.
There's this awfully cliche'd little phrase we hear at Christmas time: "Jesus is the reason for the season." Well, cliche'd it may be, but true it still is (as Yoda might say). Jesus is the reason for the season. At any rate, he's the only reason that I haven't run away screaming from Christmas all together. It's a stressful time of year for me, all too often. But when I have the rare chance of sitting down and just enjoying his presence--as I did last night--Christmas becomes awesome all over again.
I feel like that very often. Not just about happiness, but about any truly deep emotion. It's pretty easy for me to dash off an amusing little anecdote, and I totally enjoy it, but sometimes I want to write about something more, I don't know, substantial, and then I find that my words sound tinny, like cheap windchimes, when what I want them to sound like is a full-scale symphony orchestra.
For example. I really want to write about how much the music of Handel's Messiah means to me, and what it does to me when I hear it, but I just...can't. I went to a performance last night, a "Messiah Singalong" at a local church. I didn't have a musical score, so the singing along part was a tad difficult, but I just thoroughly enjoyed the evening anyway. There is something irresistible, something heart-breakingly beautiful to me about Handel's Messiah, but I can't put it into words, and it's so frustrating, because I want to!!
I remember one time, long ago, being moved to tears by the "Worthy is the Lamb" chorus. The power of the voices, the words, the music--I don't know how anyone can hear it without being shaken up inside. And when the opening bars of the "Hallelujah Chorus" start playing, I get all excited, because somehow I just know that God himself is listening in, and he's feeling pretty stoked on it too.
Listening to the soaring voices and music last night, I'm glad I had the opportunity to forget, at least for a little while, all the Christmas presents I still haven't bought, the Christmas cards I haven't sent, the frayed edges of my life that seem determined to keep unraveling despite all my efforts to keep them together, and instead focus on the One person that has never been unfaithful to me, never left me alone, and never stopped loving me, even when He gets so little of my heart in return.
There's this awfully cliche'd little phrase we hear at Christmas time: "Jesus is the reason for the season." Well, cliche'd it may be, but true it still is (as Yoda might say). Jesus is the reason for the season. At any rate, he's the only reason that I haven't run away screaming from Christmas all together. It's a stressful time of year for me, all too often. But when I have the rare chance of sitting down and just enjoying his presence--as I did last night--Christmas becomes awesome all over again.
Saturday, December 18, 2004
Weird Week
Ok, so this past week was a record-setter on the frogg's scale of total weirdness.
A couple days ago, my dad was on his way to the airport to pick up my youngest brother (yeah, timotye! Welcome home, man!). He gets rear-ended by some lady who was not paying attention to anything in particular, but especially not her driving. Then on the way back home from picking up Tim (mind you, this is the same exact day), he gets in another rear-ender. Interestingly, both times the other party had the same insurance company. I can picture a few raised eyebrows over at Mercury next week.
But that's not all. The very next day, the cowgirl got in a car accident. Not her fault, and she is ok, but still it prompted our insurance agent to advise that no one from my family should get behind the wheel of a car for awhile.
Too bad my brother the biotech boy didn't hear about our agent's suggestion. He got rear-ended today, by someone with no insurance.
I actually couldn't believe it when I got the call on my cell. I was at the airport picking up my sister (what's up with the accidents happening on days featuring airport runs??) and the phone rang. I missed the call, but rang right back, only to hear my brother say that he had just gotten in an accident and he would call me right back again. I wasn't sure I heard him right. But oh, I most certainly did. Basically in the short amount of time between my missing his call and then returning it, that's when it happened. I mean, what are the odds people??! I ask you!
Personally, I don't want to drive anywhere anymore! Tempting fate is not my style, and fate seems to be annoyed with the frogg family at the moment, for some unfathomable reason.
I haven't had any accidents recently, but I've certainly had my share. In one year alone, I think I had about four. Only one was my fault, but that one was a doozy. I was heading home from my advertising agency job in Los Angeles (doesn't that phrase just ooze glamour? More than the actual job did, I can tell you), and came to an intersection where I had to make a left turn. There was a bus in my way, blocking my view of one of the oncoming lanes, but the bus driver waved me to turn, and I did...right into the path of a car that was racing up the hill in the lane that I couldn't see. The guy hit me hard, and I did a pretty cool 180 in the middle of the intersection. I probably would have appreciated the coolness a lot more if I hadn't actually been in the car at the time. As it is, I was badly shaken. Somehow I got my car off of the road (I don't remember how, because the back wheel was totally bent due to axle damage or something), and then was "consoled" by the helpful LA drivers who went past, either honking at me for being slightly in the way on the street (sorry, that was totally my intention to inconvenience everyone during rush hour), or else just laughing at me (which I really, really appreciated. Really.).
But anyway, that last paragraph was what is known in literary terms as a tangent. I am an expert at these, as you've probably guessed by now.
Back to the weird week. Um, actually I think that was all I had to say. Hope you're having a great weekend, and getting in less car accidents than my family is these days.
A couple days ago, my dad was on his way to the airport to pick up my youngest brother (yeah, timotye! Welcome home, man!). He gets rear-ended by some lady who was not paying attention to anything in particular, but especially not her driving. Then on the way back home from picking up Tim (mind you, this is the same exact day), he gets in another rear-ender. Interestingly, both times the other party had the same insurance company. I can picture a few raised eyebrows over at Mercury next week.
But that's not all. The very next day, the cowgirl got in a car accident. Not her fault, and she is ok, but still it prompted our insurance agent to advise that no one from my family should get behind the wheel of a car for awhile.
Too bad my brother the biotech boy didn't hear about our agent's suggestion. He got rear-ended today, by someone with no insurance.
I actually couldn't believe it when I got the call on my cell. I was at the airport picking up my sister (what's up with the accidents happening on days featuring airport runs??) and the phone rang. I missed the call, but rang right back, only to hear my brother say that he had just gotten in an accident and he would call me right back again. I wasn't sure I heard him right. But oh, I most certainly did. Basically in the short amount of time between my missing his call and then returning it, that's when it happened. I mean, what are the odds people??! I ask you!
Personally, I don't want to drive anywhere anymore! Tempting fate is not my style, and fate seems to be annoyed with the frogg family at the moment, for some unfathomable reason.
I haven't had any accidents recently, but I've certainly had my share. In one year alone, I think I had about four. Only one was my fault, but that one was a doozy. I was heading home from my advertising agency job in Los Angeles (doesn't that phrase just ooze glamour? More than the actual job did, I can tell you), and came to an intersection where I had to make a left turn. There was a bus in my way, blocking my view of one of the oncoming lanes, but the bus driver waved me to turn, and I did...right into the path of a car that was racing up the hill in the lane that I couldn't see. The guy hit me hard, and I did a pretty cool 180 in the middle of the intersection. I probably would have appreciated the coolness a lot more if I hadn't actually been in the car at the time. As it is, I was badly shaken. Somehow I got my car off of the road (I don't remember how, because the back wheel was totally bent due to axle damage or something), and then was "consoled" by the helpful LA drivers who went past, either honking at me for being slightly in the way on the street (sorry, that was totally my intention to inconvenience everyone during rush hour), or else just laughing at me (which I really, really appreciated. Really.).
But anyway, that last paragraph was what is known in literary terms as a tangent. I am an expert at these, as you've probably guessed by now.
Back to the weird week. Um, actually I think that was all I had to say. Hope you're having a great weekend, and getting in less car accidents than my family is these days.
Friday, December 17, 2004
It's Beginning to Feel Alot Like Christmas
I'm a bit nervous about Christmas this year because I haven't done a scrap of Christmas shopping yet, and I have this odd feeling that I actually might not do any at all. And then I will feel pretty horrible, because somebody out there is bound to get me something, and there is nothing worse than feeling guilty for not getting a present for someone who gets one for you. You know what I mean?
Part of my trouble with getting presents is the fact that I absolutely hate shopping. Because I hate it, I put it off to the last minute. But with every day that goes by, there is an exponential increase in shopping stress. Which makes me want to go shopping even LESS. It's a horrible, vicious cycle, and there's a good chance I'm not going to win this fight. The longer I wait, the less likely it is that anyone is going to have a present from me under their tree.
One time I had a bout of utter insanity due to all the impending guilt that I was feeling about not having presents for people, and I actually went shopping on Christmas eve. The less said about that experience, the better. The past is gone, but oh, the scars still remain.
But I really do want to give presents to people. I feel like such a Scrooge when I don't. I just don't know what anyone wants...except me. I want to go snowboarding, plain and simple. Anyone planning to give me a gift can just give me a pass to Summit or just about anywhere in Tahoe...guaranteed gratitude from me, I promise!
The last couple years I was kind of off the hook in the gift-buying department because I was in another country. Which was a bummer because of course I wanted to be with my family on Christmas day, but it was a relief because no one expected any presents!
Hmmm. I think I must be a bad person. Or at least there just must be something wrong with me...I mean, the other day I went Christmas shopping with a friend, and watched him buy presents for all these people...and I did not make a single solitary effort at buying anything for anybody. I mean, there was my opportunity!! I was there, I was AT THE MALL! I could have done it!!!!
But no.
I think I owe a big gigantic thank-you to everyone who is still friends with me, in spite of the fact that I don't buy you presents, or send you Christmas cards, or e-mail regularly, or call. Or do anything a good friend would do, really. Wow. Come to think of it, why ARE you guys my friends???
Hmmm. Maybe some questions are best left unasked.
But now I admit to being curious...what DO you want for Christmas?? Let me know! Er, not that I'll do anything about it, of course. Just wondering, really.
Part of my trouble with getting presents is the fact that I absolutely hate shopping. Because I hate it, I put it off to the last minute. But with every day that goes by, there is an exponential increase in shopping stress. Which makes me want to go shopping even LESS. It's a horrible, vicious cycle, and there's a good chance I'm not going to win this fight. The longer I wait, the less likely it is that anyone is going to have a present from me under their tree.
One time I had a bout of utter insanity due to all the impending guilt that I was feeling about not having presents for people, and I actually went shopping on Christmas eve. The less said about that experience, the better. The past is gone, but oh, the scars still remain.
But I really do want to give presents to people. I feel like such a Scrooge when I don't. I just don't know what anyone wants...except me. I want to go snowboarding, plain and simple. Anyone planning to give me a gift can just give me a pass to Summit or just about anywhere in Tahoe...guaranteed gratitude from me, I promise!
The last couple years I was kind of off the hook in the gift-buying department because I was in another country. Which was a bummer because of course I wanted to be with my family on Christmas day, but it was a relief because no one expected any presents!
Hmmm. I think I must be a bad person. Or at least there just must be something wrong with me...I mean, the other day I went Christmas shopping with a friend, and watched him buy presents for all these people...and I did not make a single solitary effort at buying anything for anybody. I mean, there was my opportunity!! I was there, I was AT THE MALL! I could have done it!!!!
But no.
I think I owe a big gigantic thank-you to everyone who is still friends with me, in spite of the fact that I don't buy you presents, or send you Christmas cards, or e-mail regularly, or call. Or do anything a good friend would do, really. Wow. Come to think of it, why ARE you guys my friends???
Hmmm. Maybe some questions are best left unasked.
But now I admit to being curious...what DO you want for Christmas?? Let me know! Er, not that I'll do anything about it, of course. Just wondering, really.
Thursday, December 16, 2004
True Confession
I have a confession to make. I don't know how to say this. I am sure a few people's illusions about me are going to be irrevocably shattered, but I cannot deny the hard truth any longer.
I am not a "true fan" of Homestarrunner.
This was made clear to me today through a conversation I had with my brother. He came into the room and said something totally obscure, which was, "I just got a new computer. A Compaq laptop 486." I looked confused (understandably, as I thought).
My brother repeated his cryptic statement. My brow furrowed. "You...got a new computer? Really?" He stared at me. I stared back. Then I said, "What's a Compaq 486?"
There was a pregnant pause.
"You are not a true Homestarrunner fan, are you," my brother said flatly, with a shake of his head.
"What?! Yes I am! I mean..." My voice faltered. I suddenly remembered all the times over the past year when I had not, in fact, gone to the Homestarrunner web site (www.homestarrunner.com) to check up on the latest adventures of Homestarrunner, Strong Bad and all their wacky friends. I saw the truth in that instant, and was devastated.
Because apparently, if I were a fan, I would have known that Strong Bad had got himself a new computer--in fact, a laptop. A Compaq 486. This is the sort of thing "true fans" know. The fact that I didn't brought to light my status as--oh how it pains me to say it--a not-true fan.
I do love Homestarrunner...but I guess I just don't love him enough.
So that is my confession. My heart lies bleeding, but I trust in the unfailing forgiveness of friends and loved ones. Thus ends my baring of soul for another day. How tragic.
I am not a "true fan" of Homestarrunner.
This was made clear to me today through a conversation I had with my brother. He came into the room and said something totally obscure, which was, "I just got a new computer. A Compaq laptop 486." I looked confused (understandably, as I thought).
My brother repeated his cryptic statement. My brow furrowed. "You...got a new computer? Really?" He stared at me. I stared back. Then I said, "What's a Compaq 486?"
There was a pregnant pause.
"You are not a true Homestarrunner fan, are you," my brother said flatly, with a shake of his head.
"What?! Yes I am! I mean..." My voice faltered. I suddenly remembered all the times over the past year when I had not, in fact, gone to the Homestarrunner web site (www.homestarrunner.com) to check up on the latest adventures of Homestarrunner, Strong Bad and all their wacky friends. I saw the truth in that instant, and was devastated.
Because apparently, if I were a fan, I would have known that Strong Bad had got himself a new computer--in fact, a laptop. A Compaq 486. This is the sort of thing "true fans" know. The fact that I didn't brought to light my status as--oh how it pains me to say it--a not-true fan.
I do love Homestarrunner...but I guess I just don't love him enough.
So that is my confession. My heart lies bleeding, but I trust in the unfailing forgiveness of friends and loved ones. Thus ends my baring of soul for another day. How tragic.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
A Parking Misadventure
This one is for fitting, who tells me she is undergoing "frogg files" withdrawals, because I haven't written anything for the last couple days. What can I say--when my fans need me, I'm there. Anyway I hope you like...
Trying to find parking in crowded places is one of my pet peeves. It's a surefire way to make me cranky and annoyed. This was a big problem when I lived near San Francisco, which is notorious for several things: 1) Steep streets. 2) Jaywalkers. 3) No parking. I loved going in to the city, because I thought the city was cool, but I absolutely hated the inevitable driving around for ages while looking for parking. You really need like three independent eyes to drive successfully in SF--one to watch the road, one to make sure you don't kill any jaywalkers, and one to find the ever-elusive parking spaces.
One time I was supposed to meet friends for dinner in North Beach at 7pm on a Friday night (haha). I got to the city just about right on time, but ended up driving around for 45 minutes looking for a spot on the street because I didn't want to pay $20 for a lot. By the time I finally found one (about five blocks away), I was starving, irritable, and a tad road ragey. I don't know if my friends were too pleased to hang out with me that night. I don't remember much about the evening except for not finding parking, which is kind of sad really.
But I actually have a funny parking story which happened in San Francisco, not too long ago. It was in May and my kiwi friend Tash was visiting. We were meeting my friends Mark, steveforpresident, and the Beccanator for dinner (North Beach again!). I turned down this narrow, steep little street, and there was this perpendicular parking space that I thought I just might be able to back into (even though I was driving an unwieldy Toyota Previa). Tash didn't think it was a good idea. "Nonsense," I said. "When you see a parking space in SF, you don't ask questions, you just snag it."
Well.
I pulled ahead of the space, and prepared to back up. The car wouldn't back up. It apparently did not have enough power to reverse UP the very steep street. To make matters worse, the front end of the car was now up against a pole that was stuck into the sidewalk. So I could not go forward anymore either. No backwards, no forwards. I was STUCK. I mean, really and truly stuck. I tried putting a piece of wood underneath the back tires to provide some grip or something. When I spun the wheels, the piece of wood went shooting off somewhere far away (thankfully not killing anyone). The car did not budge at all, except maybe to settle more firmly against the pole in front of it.
In no way could this situation be considered good. I was starting to feel just a teensy bit desperate. And then our savior appeared...a little old lady who came out of her apartment just then and showed us THE WAY.
According to this woman, our predicament was not all that uncommon. She said she saw this sort of thing happen "all the time." She said we needed to get some weight in the back of the car. So she and Tash climbed into the back, and a random guy on the street was persuaded to climb into the trunk. I was trying very hard not to roll my eyes in total cynical disbelief. I also was struggling with whether I wanted to laugh or cry. The whole thing was so ridiculous, and yet so incredibly typical of the sort of thing that happens to me. Welcome to my world.
Anyway, it worked (or I might still be there!!). We were able to back the car up far enough that we got clear of the pole. We didn't get the space though. But we had learned our lesson, which was this: Some parking spaces just aren't meant to be had. You gotta know when to fight for 'em, and when to let 'em go.
Also, little old ladies are helpful to have around in parking emergencies. I suggest keeping one in your car at all times. You never know when she might come in handy.
Trying to find parking in crowded places is one of my pet peeves. It's a surefire way to make me cranky and annoyed. This was a big problem when I lived near San Francisco, which is notorious for several things: 1) Steep streets. 2) Jaywalkers. 3) No parking. I loved going in to the city, because I thought the city was cool, but I absolutely hated the inevitable driving around for ages while looking for parking. You really need like three independent eyes to drive successfully in SF--one to watch the road, one to make sure you don't kill any jaywalkers, and one to find the ever-elusive parking spaces.
One time I was supposed to meet friends for dinner in North Beach at 7pm on a Friday night (haha). I got to the city just about right on time, but ended up driving around for 45 minutes looking for a spot on the street because I didn't want to pay $20 for a lot. By the time I finally found one (about five blocks away), I was starving, irritable, and a tad road ragey. I don't know if my friends were too pleased to hang out with me that night. I don't remember much about the evening except for not finding parking, which is kind of sad really.
But I actually have a funny parking story which happened in San Francisco, not too long ago. It was in May and my kiwi friend Tash was visiting. We were meeting my friends Mark, steveforpresident, and the Beccanator for dinner (North Beach again!). I turned down this narrow, steep little street, and there was this perpendicular parking space that I thought I just might be able to back into (even though I was driving an unwieldy Toyota Previa). Tash didn't think it was a good idea. "Nonsense," I said. "When you see a parking space in SF, you don't ask questions, you just snag it."
Well.
I pulled ahead of the space, and prepared to back up. The car wouldn't back up. It apparently did not have enough power to reverse UP the very steep street. To make matters worse, the front end of the car was now up against a pole that was stuck into the sidewalk. So I could not go forward anymore either. No backwards, no forwards. I was STUCK. I mean, really and truly stuck. I tried putting a piece of wood underneath the back tires to provide some grip or something. When I spun the wheels, the piece of wood went shooting off somewhere far away (thankfully not killing anyone). The car did not budge at all, except maybe to settle more firmly against the pole in front of it.
In no way could this situation be considered good. I was starting to feel just a teensy bit desperate. And then our savior appeared...a little old lady who came out of her apartment just then and showed us THE WAY.
According to this woman, our predicament was not all that uncommon. She said she saw this sort of thing happen "all the time." She said we needed to get some weight in the back of the car. So she and Tash climbed into the back, and a random guy on the street was persuaded to climb into the trunk. I was trying very hard not to roll my eyes in total cynical disbelief. I also was struggling with whether I wanted to laugh or cry. The whole thing was so ridiculous, and yet so incredibly typical of the sort of thing that happens to me. Welcome to my world.
Anyway, it worked (or I might still be there!!). We were able to back the car up far enough that we got clear of the pole. We didn't get the space though. But we had learned our lesson, which was this: Some parking spaces just aren't meant to be had. You gotta know when to fight for 'em, and when to let 'em go.
Also, little old ladies are helpful to have around in parking emergencies. I suggest keeping one in your car at all times. You never know when she might come in handy.
Monday, December 13, 2004
Various Disclaimers
I forgot that I wanted to include this disclaimer for my blog, kindly written for me by the Beccanator last week, but oddly posted on steveforpresident's web site instead of mine (what's up with that, Becca? :). Thank goodness for copy and paste.
The following is a work of fiction. None of the characters are meant to be representative of anyone I ever have known or ever will know in the future. Please do not take offense if any of the content involves stories that you think you may have been involved in and/or things you think you may have said. And for God's sake people, please take the blog in the way it's intended... great {and I mean fantastic!} stories meant to amuse and inform...'
(It's not entirely true that my posts are works of fiction, of course. But it IS true that they are primarily meant to amuse and inform, so they are sometimes fictionalized. Slightly. May I take this moment to remind everyone that after all I am a writer and a storyteller, not a historian.)
Oh, and speaking of disclaimers--please don't be offended if you don't get a Christmas card from me. Hardly anyone ever does. This does not mean I don't love or care about you. It simply means that I am lame. I usually forget to send them until, oh, mid-January. And that's a little late, isn't it? (Then again, maybe I should just do it and be early for next year.)
I think my New Year's Resolutions should include trying to be less forgetful...well, maybe not. That's a setup for failure if I've ever heard one!
Whatever. I'm going to go now, but before I do, one last thing: I want to say a HUGE "thank you" to all my faithful "frogg files" readers. I wouldn't have a reason to keep doing this without you!
Merry Christmas, everybody!
The following is a work of fiction. None of the characters are meant to be representative of anyone I ever have known or ever will know in the future. Please do not take offense if any of the content involves stories that you think you may have been involved in and/or things you think you may have said. And for God's sake people, please take the blog in the way it's intended... great {and I mean fantastic!} stories meant to amuse and inform...'
(It's not entirely true that my posts are works of fiction, of course. But it IS true that they are primarily meant to amuse and inform, so they are sometimes fictionalized. Slightly. May I take this moment to remind everyone that after all I am a writer and a storyteller, not a historian.)
Oh, and speaking of disclaimers--please don't be offended if you don't get a Christmas card from me. Hardly anyone ever does. This does not mean I don't love or care about you. It simply means that I am lame. I usually forget to send them until, oh, mid-January. And that's a little late, isn't it? (Then again, maybe I should just do it and be early for next year.)
I think my New Year's Resolutions should include trying to be less forgetful...well, maybe not. That's a setup for failure if I've ever heard one!
Whatever. I'm going to go now, but before I do, one last thing: I want to say a HUGE "thank you" to all my faithful "frogg files" readers. I wouldn't have a reason to keep doing this without you!
Merry Christmas, everybody!
Birthdays
You know, it's really sad when you have the kind of weekend that makes you positively long for Monday to roll around. I had one of those weekends.
Not that Monday is turning out to be much better.
On top of everything, I realized that I am a bad friend because I totally forgot my good friend steveforpresident's birthday, which was on Sunday! The worst part about that was that I told our mutual buddy Mark on Saturday (only the DAY BEFORE!!) that I have no trouble remembering S4P's bday, because it is exactly six months apart from mine. Then I went ahead and forgot it!! Sorry, stevie. You have my permission to forget mine next year, and then we will be even.
I am absolutely shocking when it comes to remembering important dates. This caused no end of trouble with one of my former boyfriends, who always remembered two anniversary days every month: the date of the first time we kissed, and the date of the first time he officially asked me out. I never remembered either of these. Or rather, I did--sometimes--but usually after the day had passed. Thinking back, I believe one of the days might have been the 16th (of what month originally I don't have a clue), but which anniversary that was, I cannot tell for the life of me. The other date is completely lost in the mists of oblivion. (I have a lot of these mists floating around in my brain, which is scary, considering that I'm still a bit young for Alzheimer's. Yikes.)
As far as birthdays go, I'm pretty good about remembering everyone's in my immediate family (although I swear I woke up on June 12 once and forgot that it was my birthday!). Then there are a few people that I really don't know why I remember their birthdays but I do: kennethmyboy is one of these. Hmm, actually maybe he is the only one. I was going to say Becca, but her birthday is only two days after mine, and is the same day as about two different guys that I liked in the course of my life (random in itself), so that's probably why hers sticks!
Anyway. Feel free to pop over to steveforpresident'ssite and wish him a happy belated birthday. Tell him I sent you!
As for the rest of the week, the frogg is taking a holiday. If she feels like writing something, she will, but don't count on it.
Til next time, whenever that may be...
Not that Monday is turning out to be much better.
On top of everything, I realized that I am a bad friend because I totally forgot my good friend steveforpresident's birthday, which was on Sunday! The worst part about that was that I told our mutual buddy Mark on Saturday (only the DAY BEFORE!!) that I have no trouble remembering S4P's bday, because it is exactly six months apart from mine. Then I went ahead and forgot it!! Sorry, stevie. You have my permission to forget mine next year, and then we will be even.
I am absolutely shocking when it comes to remembering important dates. This caused no end of trouble with one of my former boyfriends, who always remembered two anniversary days every month: the date of the first time we kissed, and the date of the first time he officially asked me out. I never remembered either of these. Or rather, I did--sometimes--but usually after the day had passed. Thinking back, I believe one of the days might have been the 16th (of what month originally I don't have a clue), but which anniversary that was, I cannot tell for the life of me. The other date is completely lost in the mists of oblivion. (I have a lot of these mists floating around in my brain, which is scary, considering that I'm still a bit young for Alzheimer's. Yikes.)
As far as birthdays go, I'm pretty good about remembering everyone's in my immediate family (although I swear I woke up on June 12 once and forgot that it was my birthday!). Then there are a few people that I really don't know why I remember their birthdays but I do: kennethmyboy is one of these. Hmm, actually maybe he is the only one. I was going to say Becca, but her birthday is only two days after mine, and is the same day as about two different guys that I liked in the course of my life (random in itself), so that's probably why hers sticks!
Anyway. Feel free to pop over to steveforpresident'ssite and wish him a happy belated birthday. Tell him I sent you!
As for the rest of the week, the frogg is taking a holiday. If she feels like writing something, she will, but don't count on it.
Til next time, whenever that may be...
Thursday, December 09, 2004
You Googling At Me?
I think it's funny how "google" is increasingly becoming a verb in our Internet-driven age. You don't merely use Google, you google...stuff. For example, one time I googled myself, and that's how I found out about my cousin, Walt L.
Wait a second. I don't have a cousin named Walt! What?!
Well, like I said, I googled myself one day, and found a link to this guy's web site, that had my name listed as his cousin. I was completely dumbfounded, because I had never heard of him. He also indicated that I was a missionary--which I had been, for the past two years. So I really started tripping out. Who WAS this mysterious man?
I went to his site (how could I possibly resist?) and was immediately assaulted, both visually and audibly, by the...ecclectic...site design and the cheesy, synthesized organ version of "Oh Donna" (at least I think that's what the song was). I scrolled down to find the line that Google had picked up with my name, and there it was...right underneath a picture of a wrinkled old woman. Actually, it was just a pencil drawing of her disembodied head, floating above a rather angry-looking, violently colored ocean.
I sat staring at this strange vision for a moment or two. Was that supposed to be me? Could it really be that there's another person in the world with the exact same name AND profession as myself, only thousands of years older?? Or...and this would be weird...could I be looking at my face in the future? Maybe Walt isn't my cousin yet, but he will be someday!
Ouch, my brain hurts.
I am not the only one who has learned something new about herself thanks to the wonders of the Internet search engine. A friend of mine found out that he was a boxing contender in Canada. Another one discovered that she was a Scientologist. Who knows what adventure in self-knowledge awaits you!
I really hope you'll let me know what you find out.
Wait a second. I don't have a cousin named Walt! What?!
Well, like I said, I googled myself one day, and found a link to this guy's web site, that had my name listed as his cousin. I was completely dumbfounded, because I had never heard of him. He also indicated that I was a missionary--which I had been, for the past two years. So I really started tripping out. Who WAS this mysterious man?
I went to his site (how could I possibly resist?) and was immediately assaulted, both visually and audibly, by the...ecclectic...site design and the cheesy, synthesized organ version of "Oh Donna" (at least I think that's what the song was). I scrolled down to find the line that Google had picked up with my name, and there it was...right underneath a picture of a wrinkled old woman. Actually, it was just a pencil drawing of her disembodied head, floating above a rather angry-looking, violently colored ocean.
I sat staring at this strange vision for a moment or two. Was that supposed to be me? Could it really be that there's another person in the world with the exact same name AND profession as myself, only thousands of years older?? Or...and this would be weird...could I be looking at my face in the future? Maybe Walt isn't my cousin yet, but he will be someday!
Ouch, my brain hurts.
I am not the only one who has learned something new about herself thanks to the wonders of the Internet search engine. A friend of mine found out that he was a boxing contender in Canada. Another one discovered that she was a Scientologist. Who knows what adventure in self-knowledge awaits you!
I really hope you'll let me know what you find out.
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
The Single Girl, Part 2
My top five annoying things that people say to people who are single:
5) "Hey, my friend John Jacob Jingleheimer Smith is also single! You guys should really hang out."
Um, ok. I'm glad that we've figured out that Johnny and I have stuff in common like...being single. I mean, how could we NOT get along? We're both single! It's meant to be! Gah.
I could say more about this, but I doubt that I need to.
4) "But you're such a great person...why don't you have a boyfriend?"
Oh thanks, I was just thinking I needed a little salt for that wound! I honestly wonder what they expect me to answer. Perhaps I should say, "Because God is busily building my character and reliance upon Him so that I don't actually NEED the boyfriend that I want." (how about that, steveforpresident?)
Look, the bottom line is: I DON'T KNOW why I'm still single. I just...am. It's not like there is some boyfriend superstore out there and they happened to run out of the model I was looking for on the day when I went, ok? (But a boyfriend superstore--dang, how cool would that be? "I'll take two, please!" Kidding, kidding...)
3) "God's got someone for you, I just know it."
Christians are notorious for using this line. I absolutely refuse to say it to anyone, because quite frankly I DON'T know it. I don't know it for myself, so how could I possibly be sure of it for someone else? This line doesn't make any sense at all; if it was true, everyone would get married before they die, but they don't. Please don't EVER say this to me unless God has revealed it to you in triplicate: dream, Bible, and a neon sign on the freeway, like the sign on "LA Story" that tells Steve Martin what to do. I might believe you then.
2) "Well, we met when I had finally just given up my desire for a husband and surrendered to God."
The implication here is that if I can just manage to not want a man, I'll suddenly get one! This seems totally ridiculous to me the more I think about it. Throughout the Bible are numerous examples of God responding to a human's expressed desire. Look at Hannah in I Samuel begging God for a son, for example. God didn't say, "Oh, I'm sorry, Hannah. I'd love to give him to you, but first you really have to stop wanting him. When you just don't care anymore, then come back and we'll talk."
Well, I do care about getting married (most days, anyway), and I'd rather be honest with God about it. Of course, whether or not I get what I want, God still has my heart. I said "I do" to Him first, and I'm not going to turn around and walk away from Him because I do or don't get married here on earth. But why should I try not to want something that I want to want??
I will now leave you with my Number One Annoying Thing To Say To A Single Person:
1) "Have you tried the Internet?"
You know, this one really speaks for itself.
5) "Hey, my friend John Jacob Jingleheimer Smith is also single! You guys should really hang out."
Um, ok. I'm glad that we've figured out that Johnny and I have stuff in common like...being single. I mean, how could we NOT get along? We're both single! It's meant to be! Gah.
I could say more about this, but I doubt that I need to.
4) "But you're such a great person...why don't you have a boyfriend?"
Oh thanks, I was just thinking I needed a little salt for that wound! I honestly wonder what they expect me to answer. Perhaps I should say, "Because God is busily building my character and reliance upon Him so that I don't actually NEED the boyfriend that I want." (how about that, steveforpresident?)
Look, the bottom line is: I DON'T KNOW why I'm still single. I just...am. It's not like there is some boyfriend superstore out there and they happened to run out of the model I was looking for on the day when I went, ok? (But a boyfriend superstore--dang, how cool would that be? "I'll take two, please!" Kidding, kidding...)
3) "God's got someone for you, I just know it."
Christians are notorious for using this line. I absolutely refuse to say it to anyone, because quite frankly I DON'T know it. I don't know it for myself, so how could I possibly be sure of it for someone else? This line doesn't make any sense at all; if it was true, everyone would get married before they die, but they don't. Please don't EVER say this to me unless God has revealed it to you in triplicate: dream, Bible, and a neon sign on the freeway, like the sign on "LA Story" that tells Steve Martin what to do. I might believe you then.
2) "Well, we met when I had finally just given up my desire for a husband and surrendered to God."
The implication here is that if I can just manage to not want a man, I'll suddenly get one! This seems totally ridiculous to me the more I think about it. Throughout the Bible are numerous examples of God responding to a human's expressed desire. Look at Hannah in I Samuel begging God for a son, for example. God didn't say, "Oh, I'm sorry, Hannah. I'd love to give him to you, but first you really have to stop wanting him. When you just don't care anymore, then come back and we'll talk."
Well, I do care about getting married (most days, anyway), and I'd rather be honest with God about it. Of course, whether or not I get what I want, God still has my heart. I said "I do" to Him first, and I'm not going to turn around and walk away from Him because I do or don't get married here on earth. But why should I try not to want something that I want to want??
I will now leave you with my Number One Annoying Thing To Say To A Single Person:
1) "Have you tried the Internet?"
You know, this one really speaks for itself.
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
Taking the Day Off
Since I wrote three posts yesterday, I feel like I've earned a blog break today, but first I want to know where all my friends were last night. I called at least 6 of you in a row, from San Diego to San Jose, and not ONE of you answered your phones!! I mean, what are the odds? It was weird.
The cowgirl says whenever that happens to her, she starts to wonder if God is trying to get her to talk to HIM instead. Well, perhaps it's true. Goodness knows I owe Him a bit of quality time...
Anyway, have a great Tuesday, everyone. I'll be up to my usual tricks tomorrow.
The cowgirl says whenever that happens to her, she starts to wonder if God is trying to get her to talk to HIM instead. Well, perhaps it's true. Goodness knows I owe Him a bit of quality time...
Anyway, have a great Tuesday, everyone. I'll be up to my usual tricks tomorrow.
Monday, December 06, 2004
I Am Lame
I have an amazing talent. It's called "making a total idiot out of myself." You have no idea how gifted I am in this regard, but then again maybe you do, if you read my "News Flash" blog (previous). Basically I wrote about the potential awkwardness of working with my ex-boyfriend should he end up employed at the Apple Store along with me. To my surprise, who should comment on my blog but--my ex-boyfriend! He was a little taken aback, as you may imagine, but not nearly as much as I was at reading his comment. So do I feel stupid now? Well, duh.
Then again, I shouldn't feel like I am in any sort of unfamiliar territory when it comes to embarrassing situations. I am the same girl who, years ago in college with a different boyfriend, was caught kinda-sorta flirting with another guy over email. How did this come to light? Oh, well, it wasn't too difficult--I sent the "cheating" email to my boyfriend by mistake. Now THAT was awkward.
Or what about the time that I was at a church event one evening, and my sister called me over to introduce me to this guy, and she asked me, "Hey have you ever seen that cartoon 'Life With Louie'?" Well, I had, and I thought it was stupid and badly drawn, and I voiced my opinions in a very decided fashion, all the while not seeing my sister's increasingly warning look, until finally she interrupted my flow and said, "Yes, well So-And-So here is one of the animators on that cartoon." I don't remember how I backpedaled out of that one, but I don't think I was very successful anyway. (My sister says she doesn't remember this, but it is oh-so-indelibly seared on MY memory.)
So I am no stranger at all to moments of unbearable uncomfortableness. On the contrary, I create them almost effortlessly. It's a gift, like I said.
But I would just like to make a few things very clear before I put an end to this baring-of-soul: 1) I don't hate my ex. 2) I think flirting with someone while you are dating someone else is wrong, by email or otherwise, and I'm not proud of the fact that I did it. 3) "Life With Louie" was, in fact, a pretty lame cartoon.
Then again, I shouldn't feel like I am in any sort of unfamiliar territory when it comes to embarrassing situations. I am the same girl who, years ago in college with a different boyfriend, was caught kinda-sorta flirting with another guy over email. How did this come to light? Oh, well, it wasn't too difficult--I sent the "cheating" email to my boyfriend by mistake. Now THAT was awkward.
Or what about the time that I was at a church event one evening, and my sister called me over to introduce me to this guy, and she asked me, "Hey have you ever seen that cartoon 'Life With Louie'?" Well, I had, and I thought it was stupid and badly drawn, and I voiced my opinions in a very decided fashion, all the while not seeing my sister's increasingly warning look, until finally she interrupted my flow and said, "Yes, well So-And-So here is one of the animators on that cartoon." I don't remember how I backpedaled out of that one, but I don't think I was very successful anyway. (My sister says she doesn't remember this, but it is oh-so-indelibly seared on MY memory.)
So I am no stranger at all to moments of unbearable uncomfortableness. On the contrary, I create them almost effortlessly. It's a gift, like I said.
But I would just like to make a few things very clear before I put an end to this baring-of-soul: 1) I don't hate my ex. 2) I think flirting with someone while you are dating someone else is wrong, by email or otherwise, and I'm not proud of the fact that I did it. 3) "Life With Louie" was, in fact, a pretty lame cartoon.
The Single Girl
My friend Becca said I should write about the plight of single girls in their late 20s. Since I am one--a single girl in her late 20s I mean--I guess that makes me as much of an expert as anybody. So here we go--Becca, this one's for you!
Most days I don't mind being single. There are worse things in life, like, oh I don't know--eating leeches or something like that. If I had to choose between being single and eating a plate of leeches every day for the rest of my life, I would not choose the leeches. (I hear people saying, "That's because she hasn't found the right guy. If she had, she would GLADLY eat leeches as the price of being with him." Maybe they have a point, but I hope not.)
Personally I think my rapier wit and blazing-hot intelligence intimidates men, and THAT'S why I'm still single. This is what I tell myself, because if that's not the case, then I am forced to assume that my physical attraction capabilities are somewhat on a par with a sea anemone, and that is not particularly encouraging.
But then again, I am at a distinct disadvantage when it comes to dating, being a Christian and having to rely on Christian guys to be on the ball. Let me explain the subtleties of dating in Christian culture. Christian girls want to be pursued, and Christian guys want God to speak in an audible voice, telling them which girl is THE ONE before they ask someone out. As far as I can tell, God doesn't seem to cooperate with the guys' wishes, so the girls are left on their own to fume at how lame Christian guys are for not pursuing them. Then they go out with non-Christians, and Christian guys are then left to fume about the lack of quality, dedicated Christian women to choose from in the dating market. A vicious cycle indeed.
Now, some may accuse me of relying more on stereotypes and sweeping generalizations than actual research and facts to make my point, but I don't care. I am not a scientist, people, I'm a WRITER. We don't need FACTS when we have IMAGINATIONS.
I will grant that maybe Christian girls are being a bit unfair in not allowing themselves to consider that maybe when a guy doesn't pursue them, that is a sign that he is not, in fact, interested. But if the girl lets herself think that, she will feel like a sea anemone, and she would rather eat a plate of leeches. So she blames the guy for being clueless, because leeches are just too gross.
It's a very strange scene. Being single sounds positively appealing in comparison, doesn't it?
But I'd like to be not single at some point. Then I can write witty posts about the perils of dating instead. What do you think, Becca?
Check back tomorrow for the second part in The Single Girl series: "Is there a "The One" for everybody?" Unless I change my mind and decide to write about something else.
Most days I don't mind being single. There are worse things in life, like, oh I don't know--eating leeches or something like that. If I had to choose between being single and eating a plate of leeches every day for the rest of my life, I would not choose the leeches. (I hear people saying, "That's because she hasn't found the right guy. If she had, she would GLADLY eat leeches as the price of being with him." Maybe they have a point, but I hope not.)
Personally I think my rapier wit and blazing-hot intelligence intimidates men, and THAT'S why I'm still single. This is what I tell myself, because if that's not the case, then I am forced to assume that my physical attraction capabilities are somewhat on a par with a sea anemone, and that is not particularly encouraging.
But then again, I am at a distinct disadvantage when it comes to dating, being a Christian and having to rely on Christian guys to be on the ball. Let me explain the subtleties of dating in Christian culture. Christian girls want to be pursued, and Christian guys want God to speak in an audible voice, telling them which girl is THE ONE before they ask someone out. As far as I can tell, God doesn't seem to cooperate with the guys' wishes, so the girls are left on their own to fume at how lame Christian guys are for not pursuing them. Then they go out with non-Christians, and Christian guys are then left to fume about the lack of quality, dedicated Christian women to choose from in the dating market. A vicious cycle indeed.
Now, some may accuse me of relying more on stereotypes and sweeping generalizations than actual research and facts to make my point, but I don't care. I am not a scientist, people, I'm a WRITER. We don't need FACTS when we have IMAGINATIONS.
I will grant that maybe Christian girls are being a bit unfair in not allowing themselves to consider that maybe when a guy doesn't pursue them, that is a sign that he is not, in fact, interested. But if the girl lets herself think that, she will feel like a sea anemone, and she would rather eat a plate of leeches. So she blames the guy for being clueless, because leeches are just too gross.
It's a very strange scene. Being single sounds positively appealing in comparison, doesn't it?
But I'd like to be not single at some point. Then I can write witty posts about the perils of dating instead. What do you think, Becca?
Check back tomorrow for the second part in The Single Girl series: "Is there a "The One" for everybody?" Unless I change my mind and decide to write about something else.
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Oh The Weather Outside Is Frightful...
Ok, not really. Southern California is hardly known for "frightful" weather. It's been beautiful, but it's been COLD. I am freezing my fingers off as I type this. Last night the cowgirl came into my room and found me in the fetal position around the heater again. I was lying so close to it, I almost burned myself. But at least I was warm! (I think I hear my midwest friends laughing at me, but I'm ignoring them.)
What I'd really love is a fireplace in my room. I am a huge fan of fireplaces. Some good friends of mine, who kindly let me live with them last year for about six months, have an awesome fireplace, and they really know how to make a great fire. They'd build it and I'd go fight their big black Labrador for the space right in front of it. (Yeah, that's right--I'M the top dog now.)
But there really is something so magical about a fire. I love the snap-crackle-pop of the dry wood. I love watching the way the flames dance. I like watching the ever-changing shapes in the smoke. I like the musty, earthy smell of burning wood.
You know, I'm really glad it's winter.
What I'd really love is a fireplace in my room. I am a huge fan of fireplaces. Some good friends of mine, who kindly let me live with them last year for about six months, have an awesome fireplace, and they really know how to make a great fire. They'd build it and I'd go fight their big black Labrador for the space right in front of it. (Yeah, that's right--I'M the top dog now.)
But there really is something so magical about a fire. I love the snap-crackle-pop of the dry wood. I love watching the way the flames dance. I like watching the ever-changing shapes in the smoke. I like the musty, earthy smell of burning wood.
You know, I'm really glad it's winter.
Getting Things Into Perspective
So I'm ready to talk about my recent bad mood. Basically I've been stressed that my life isn't quite working out according to plan these days. After two years abroad, I'm actually pretty close to being broke; I'm 29 and living with my parents; I'm stuck in Los Angeles; I am in a transitional phase which, as far as I can see, has no immediate end in sight. All these things have combined in such a way as to make me feel, some days, that I am just going to explode, or run away, or die--maybe all three! Ok, I'm exaggerating a bit--but really, only a little bit. Then today I thought of something.
A couple months ago, I was in Egypt. On my last day in Cairo, I visited a city that is also a rubbish dump. The people who live there actually live with garbage. They collect it, sort it, and do whatever else needs to be done with it. Garbage is literally everywhere. The stench of the place hits your nostrils before you even properly get into the city. My friends and I went there early in the morning, around sunrise, to visit a church that is built into the mountain there. Looking over a wall down onto the roofs of some buildings, I saw the black shapes of giant rats scurrying around over the huge bags of trash. There were lots of rats.
In the streets, I could barely breathe, the smell was so bad. I felt sick. I saw a donkey with no hair on its front legs, just raw flesh, oozing blood. Children skipped barefoot along the roads, which were nothing but dirt and more trash. I saw a woman sitting among garbage, sorting through it all with one hand while she held her breastfeeding baby with the other.
But these people had a dignity about them. There was no sense that they felt sorry for themselves or felt inferior in any way to people who might have more material possessions than they did. They smiled at us, welcomed us. They dressed their children well for school; groups of them passed by, shy smiles on shiny clean faces, the girls' hair expertly braided, white lacy socks turned down at the ankles. Watching them prance by on the way to school, chattering and laughing with each other and us while surrounded by dirt and garbage and all the trappings of severe poverty, I can hardly describe how I felt. It wasn't pity, exactly. They were above pity. I respected them, respected their ability to smile and laugh and carry on as normal people, though living in extremely difficult circumstances. And I absolutely know that, every appearance to the contrary, not one of these people is forgotten by God.
So why hasn't He done something about their poverty? I don't know. I have no answers to the questions of why some people have and some people don't, but for that very reason I should be thankful for the gifts I've been given, rather than focus on anything I perceive to be lacking. I owe it to God, and in some obscure way, I feel like I owe it to those people in the rubbish dump. How many of them would do just about anything to trade places with me? And yet I have been bemoaning the circumstances of my life, my lack of independence, my lack of finances, and who knows what else. I'm starting to see that I dishonor God through my complaining, and quite simply, I believe it hurts His feelings. God has given me so much--talents, opportunities, friends and family who support me, and much more. I can't count my blessings, because they are too many. I've made the terrible mistake of counting my "grievances" instead.
After all that, I'd like to say I've turned over a new leaf and will never complain ever again but unfortunately I know myself too well, and it saddens me to see that I am so prone to it. So maybe that's partly why I'm writing all this here, where anyone can read it. It's my way of apologising to God and giving Him the credit He deserves for taking care of me, which I deny every time I whimper and moan about what I don't have.
Like Job, I have said, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him." But when the going got a little rocky, I slandered God in front of others because things weren't panning out the way I wanted or planned. And I'm sorry, because I know He loves me, and I know I hurt Him with my negative attitude. And I hurt myself.
So am I saying I should just bottle up my feelings and not be honest about them? No. What I'm saying is, I need to start cultivating gratitude in my soul. Yes, I'm going through a tough time right now. But I'm not going through it alone. God is right here with me, and He has also generously provided help in the form of my family and my friends, and THAT'S what I need to remind myself of, more often than dwelling on the extent of my problems.
In the end, if there is one thing that I am learning through this whole crazy time, it's this: God really is faithful, even when I am not. And I'm more grateful for that than for anything else.
"My eyes are ever toward the Lord..." Psalm 25:15a
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall lack nothing." Psalm 23:1
A couple months ago, I was in Egypt. On my last day in Cairo, I visited a city that is also a rubbish dump. The people who live there actually live with garbage. They collect it, sort it, and do whatever else needs to be done with it. Garbage is literally everywhere. The stench of the place hits your nostrils before you even properly get into the city. My friends and I went there early in the morning, around sunrise, to visit a church that is built into the mountain there. Looking over a wall down onto the roofs of some buildings, I saw the black shapes of giant rats scurrying around over the huge bags of trash. There were lots of rats.
In the streets, I could barely breathe, the smell was so bad. I felt sick. I saw a donkey with no hair on its front legs, just raw flesh, oozing blood. Children skipped barefoot along the roads, which were nothing but dirt and more trash. I saw a woman sitting among garbage, sorting through it all with one hand while she held her breastfeeding baby with the other.
But these people had a dignity about them. There was no sense that they felt sorry for themselves or felt inferior in any way to people who might have more material possessions than they did. They smiled at us, welcomed us. They dressed their children well for school; groups of them passed by, shy smiles on shiny clean faces, the girls' hair expertly braided, white lacy socks turned down at the ankles. Watching them prance by on the way to school, chattering and laughing with each other and us while surrounded by dirt and garbage and all the trappings of severe poverty, I can hardly describe how I felt. It wasn't pity, exactly. They were above pity. I respected them, respected their ability to smile and laugh and carry on as normal people, though living in extremely difficult circumstances. And I absolutely know that, every appearance to the contrary, not one of these people is forgotten by God.
So why hasn't He done something about their poverty? I don't know. I have no answers to the questions of why some people have and some people don't, but for that very reason I should be thankful for the gifts I've been given, rather than focus on anything I perceive to be lacking. I owe it to God, and in some obscure way, I feel like I owe it to those people in the rubbish dump. How many of them would do just about anything to trade places with me? And yet I have been bemoaning the circumstances of my life, my lack of independence, my lack of finances, and who knows what else. I'm starting to see that I dishonor God through my complaining, and quite simply, I believe it hurts His feelings. God has given me so much--talents, opportunities, friends and family who support me, and much more. I can't count my blessings, because they are too many. I've made the terrible mistake of counting my "grievances" instead.
After all that, I'd like to say I've turned over a new leaf and will never complain ever again but unfortunately I know myself too well, and it saddens me to see that I am so prone to it. So maybe that's partly why I'm writing all this here, where anyone can read it. It's my way of apologising to God and giving Him the credit He deserves for taking care of me, which I deny every time I whimper and moan about what I don't have.
Like Job, I have said, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him." But when the going got a little rocky, I slandered God in front of others because things weren't panning out the way I wanted or planned. And I'm sorry, because I know He loves me, and I know I hurt Him with my negative attitude. And I hurt myself.
So am I saying I should just bottle up my feelings and not be honest about them? No. What I'm saying is, I need to start cultivating gratitude in my soul. Yes, I'm going through a tough time right now. But I'm not going through it alone. God is right here with me, and He has also generously provided help in the form of my family and my friends, and THAT'S what I need to remind myself of, more often than dwelling on the extent of my problems.
In the end, if there is one thing that I am learning through this whole crazy time, it's this: God really is faithful, even when I am not. And I'm more grateful for that than for anything else.
"My eyes are ever toward the Lord..." Psalm 25:15a
"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall lack nothing." Psalm 23:1
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Not Today
I've been trying for the past half hour to think of something to write, but my heart isn't in it. Hopefully I'll be in a better mood tomorrow.
Sorry, gang.
Sorry, gang.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Looking Forward to Thanksgiving
At last, Thanksgiving is almost here! I'm particularly excited this year, because I've missed out on Thanksgiving the last two years, being overseas. I missed Christmas too, but I think not having Thanksgiving was harder in a way. I mean, Christmas at least still gets celebrated in other countries. Thanksgiving? Not so much. Which is a bummer, because what a great holiday! Family, friends, food...oh yeah! I am STOKED.
My sister the cowgirl has been unaccountably domestic this season. She went out and bought all all these decorations and candles and things, including raffia. What the heck IS raffia? But all this festivity was not without a price, and I'm not just talking about money--read all about her adventures in bargain shopping on her blog. All I can say is, sanity is a terrible thing to waste on, and I quote from her post, "cheap junk."
But through her heroic efforts, and no thanks whatsoever to me, our dining table looks pretty awesome. It's a good thing the cowgirl is living here actually, because I don't know the first thing about decorating or domestication. (I admit that, at this stage of my life, it is probably a wilful, determined ignorance. I'm stubborn, what can I say.)
So anyway, here's to a happy Thanksgiving. Remember to enjoy it and to find things to be thankful for, even in the midst of family craziness, of which there is always a guaranteed generous portion--at least in our house.
Take care, be safe if you're travelling, and have an awesome holiday.
My sister the cowgirl has been unaccountably domestic this season. She went out and bought all all these decorations and candles and things, including raffia. What the heck IS raffia? But all this festivity was not without a price, and I'm not just talking about money--read all about her adventures in bargain shopping on her blog. All I can say is, sanity is a terrible thing to waste on, and I quote from her post, "cheap junk."
But through her heroic efforts, and no thanks whatsoever to me, our dining table looks pretty awesome. It's a good thing the cowgirl is living here actually, because I don't know the first thing about decorating or domestication. (I admit that, at this stage of my life, it is probably a wilful, determined ignorance. I'm stubborn, what can I say.)
So anyway, here's to a happy Thanksgiving. Remember to enjoy it and to find things to be thankful for, even in the midst of family craziness, of which there is always a guaranteed generous portion--at least in our house.
Take care, be safe if you're travelling, and have an awesome holiday.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Read This--It Could Save Your Sanity
A few years ago, I did something incredibly stupid. In fact, it might very well be in the top 10 list of stupidest things I've ever done.
I went to the mall the day after Thanksgiving.
Please, if you value your sanity, if you love your life, don't ever ever do this. It's a horrible experience. There is nothing good about it. Nothing, do you hear me? I don't care many sales are going on. I don't care how much money you save. You will have sacrificed your attitude of holiday cheer and goodwill for many many years to come, all for the sake of, oh I don't know, a silver waterpick from Brookstone, or a novelty sweater from Macy's with puffy reindeer pulling a puffy Santa in a puffy sleigh with crinkly golden letters spelling out "Season's Greetings" across the chest. Whatever you buy WILL NOT BE WORTH IT. Trust me.
Going to the mall the day after Thanksgiving is like diving into shark-infested waters with a gaping wound in your leg: you are asking for trouble. If you don't find it in the parking lot (where you will drive around for half an hour before you find a space, at which point someone will appear without warning from another direction and snake it from you, forcing you to drive around for another half an hour before you give up and leave the parking lot to find a spot on the street two blocks away), then you will find it in the stores (where countless numbers of frenzied shoppers will step on your toes as they hurry past, hold up check-out lines by asking the harried cashier questions like "but are you SURE this isn't on sale, I mean even though the tag clearly indicates that there is no discount on this item, still it was on the rack where all the other sale stuff is, can you just check please even though there are 10 billion people waiting in line behind me?", or who will walk really slowly RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU, taking up the entire walkway in big groups as you try to hurry from one end of the mall to the other).
You think I'm exaggerating, don't you. Fine. You just go ahead and take yourself down to the Galleria or South Coast Plaza or wherever is closest to you this Friday. If you don't end up feeling like you've descended into the seventh circle of HELL before you've been there for one hour, then you obviously like shopping a lot more than I do. Maybe too much, actually.
I went to the mall the day after Thanksgiving.
Please, if you value your sanity, if you love your life, don't ever ever do this. It's a horrible experience. There is nothing good about it. Nothing, do you hear me? I don't care many sales are going on. I don't care how much money you save. You will have sacrificed your attitude of holiday cheer and goodwill for many many years to come, all for the sake of, oh I don't know, a silver waterpick from Brookstone, or a novelty sweater from Macy's with puffy reindeer pulling a puffy Santa in a puffy sleigh with crinkly golden letters spelling out "Season's Greetings" across the chest. Whatever you buy WILL NOT BE WORTH IT. Trust me.
Going to the mall the day after Thanksgiving is like diving into shark-infested waters with a gaping wound in your leg: you are asking for trouble. If you don't find it in the parking lot (where you will drive around for half an hour before you find a space, at which point someone will appear without warning from another direction and snake it from you, forcing you to drive around for another half an hour before you give up and leave the parking lot to find a spot on the street two blocks away), then you will find it in the stores (where countless numbers of frenzied shoppers will step on your toes as they hurry past, hold up check-out lines by asking the harried cashier questions like "but are you SURE this isn't on sale, I mean even though the tag clearly indicates that there is no discount on this item, still it was on the rack where all the other sale stuff is, can you just check please even though there are 10 billion people waiting in line behind me?", or who will walk really slowly RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU, taking up the entire walkway in big groups as you try to hurry from one end of the mall to the other).
You think I'm exaggerating, don't you. Fine. You just go ahead and take yourself down to the Galleria or South Coast Plaza or wherever is closest to you this Friday. If you don't end up feeling like you've descended into the seventh circle of HELL before you've been there for one hour, then you obviously like shopping a lot more than I do. Maybe too much, actually.
Monday, November 22, 2004
Bear With Me
I think that if I weren't human, I would have made a pretty good bear, because I like the idea of hibernating. I think I would be good at it too. For example, I spent a fair amount of time yesterday lying on the floor of my bedroom, my body curled as closely as possible around the standing heater. The rest of the time I was curled up on a couch watching a movie, under a blanket and bundled up in sweats, socks, beanie, and gloves. I moved very little all day.
(If that sounds boring to anyone, well, it's just proof that you were not cut out for bearhood, as I am. Maybe you would be more like a mongoose or a flamingo, I don't know. You tell me.)
In addition to hibernating, I would never again have to worry about gaining holiday pounds, because bears are SUPPOSED to be fat in winter. I wouldn't have to try and find excuses for that extra helping of turkey and mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving dinner. I'd just say, "Hey, it's almost time to hibernate, need the padding to keep warm and all." Then the day after Thanksgiving I would go into my room and not come out for 6 months, at which point I'd be skinny again. No dieting! It would be great!
I'd probably wake up for Christmas though.
By the way, because I can see my friends rolling their eyes as they read this, I want to make it clear that I am not saying I am fat. I'm just saying I COULD be and it wouldn't matter, because I'd be a bear and it's ok for bears to be fat.
Happy Monday.
(If that sounds boring to anyone, well, it's just proof that you were not cut out for bearhood, as I am. Maybe you would be more like a mongoose or a flamingo, I don't know. You tell me.)
In addition to hibernating, I would never again have to worry about gaining holiday pounds, because bears are SUPPOSED to be fat in winter. I wouldn't have to try and find excuses for that extra helping of turkey and mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving dinner. I'd just say, "Hey, it's almost time to hibernate, need the padding to keep warm and all." Then the day after Thanksgiving I would go into my room and not come out for 6 months, at which point I'd be skinny again. No dieting! It would be great!
I'd probably wake up for Christmas though.
By the way, because I can see my friends rolling their eyes as they read this, I want to make it clear that I am not saying I am fat. I'm just saying I COULD be and it wouldn't matter, because I'd be a bear and it's ok for bears to be fat.
Happy Monday.
Friday, November 19, 2004
No Creative Title Today, Sorry
Yesterday I registered at a temp agency. I got to take a typing test, which was fun. And for once I'm not being sarcastic. I like typing tests because typing is one of the few clerical skills that I do really, really well. In fact, I ROCK at it. I don't rock at a lot of things, especially in an office setting, but typing--oh yeah, baby. Bring it ON.
So in the lobby of this temp agency, they had some washed-out watercolors of palm trees with squiggly watercolor writing underneath. It took me awhile to decipher the words on one of them; for a few minutes I was convinced that it said "such itchy palms." Then I figured out that "itchy" was actually "stately."
This happens to me a lot actually, misreading things. Once I was driving along a street in Concord, CA, and passed a Chinese restaurant called Peking Boy, but at first glance I swear I thought the sign said Peeking Boy. (Coincidentally, this restaurant was next door to an adult entertainment shop--no joke.)
One of the funniest signs I ever saw was on a lonely stretch of road near the top of New Zealand's north island. It was a wooden board with white painted lettering that said, "Will the bastard who stole my blue canvas tarp bring it back?" And no, I didn't misread that one at all.
Funny how I started out talking about one thing, but ended up somewhere completely different. This also happens to me a lot.
So in the lobby of this temp agency, they had some washed-out watercolors of palm trees with squiggly watercolor writing underneath. It took me awhile to decipher the words on one of them; for a few minutes I was convinced that it said "such itchy palms." Then I figured out that "itchy" was actually "stately."
This happens to me a lot actually, misreading things. Once I was driving along a street in Concord, CA, and passed a Chinese restaurant called Peking Boy, but at first glance I swear I thought the sign said Peeking Boy. (Coincidentally, this restaurant was next door to an adult entertainment shop--no joke.)
One of the funniest signs I ever saw was on a lonely stretch of road near the top of New Zealand's north island. It was a wooden board with white painted lettering that said, "Will the bastard who stole my blue canvas tarp bring it back?" And no, I didn't misread that one at all.
Funny how I started out talking about one thing, but ended up somewhere completely different. This also happens to me a lot.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Remembering the Leonids
Leonid Meteor Shower
I love shooting stars.
Living in Los Angeles with all the bright lights, it's not easy to catch sight of them, so whenever I do, I get really excited. I'm stoked for the rest of the night!
Right now the Leonid meteor shower is falling, and I'm sad that I probably won't get to see any of it. Then again, I think I saw it at it's best a couple of years ago, in 2001. I'll never forget it...
That year, the meteors were going to be passing through the debris and dust of a comet tail, as they do about every 33 years, so the meteors were supposed to be more spectacular than usual. I was living in the Bay Area at the time, and Mt Tamalpais was probably the closest prime viewing spot, so I invited some friends to go, and we all agreed to meet there at about midnight on the peak night/morning.
I left home a little early, and I was so glad I did! I think the entire population of San Francisco decided to turn out for the event. I hit traffic before I got to the mountain, and I realized pretty quickly that there was no way I was going to find my friends once I arrived, and they weren't going to find me. In fact, soon after I got there, officials closed off the route to the top of the mountain, so some of my friends (including my sister) had to stay down at the bottom and find a spot to watch from there. So I was alone.
It was a freezing November night, or early morning rather. It was very dark; I saw flashlights waving here and there, bouncing over the ground. I heard the muffled sounds of strangers' voices. I got a blanket out of the car, lay down on the grass with hundreds of other people and fixed my eyes on the sky.
I have never seen anything like it.
Shooting stars everywhere I looked, seconds apart. Long ones with glowing trails that faded slowly. Short quick ones. And on that I remember as being more green than white, that seemed to fall through the entire sky in one huge fireball. Whenever the really big ones fell, a loud collective "oooooaaahhh!!" would rise up from the crowd scattered across the mountain.
I was there for about two hours or so, shivering in the pre-dawn air, absolutely in awe of the cosmic display. I couldn't tear myself away. I think I was there til about 3am. Even driving on the way home, along the eerily empty freeways (580 to Berkeley, 24 to Walnut Creek), I still saw a few shooting stars...bidding me a last goodnight.
It remains one of the most beautiful sights I have seen in my life. I hope get the chance to see it again someday, because the thing is, I am never entirely satisfied with just once. I'm greedy, I admit it. I always want more of the good stuff.
But I'm glad to have had at least the once anyway.
I love shooting stars.
Living in Los Angeles with all the bright lights, it's not easy to catch sight of them, so whenever I do, I get really excited. I'm stoked for the rest of the night!
Right now the Leonid meteor shower is falling, and I'm sad that I probably won't get to see any of it. Then again, I think I saw it at it's best a couple of years ago, in 2001. I'll never forget it...
That year, the meteors were going to be passing through the debris and dust of a comet tail, as they do about every 33 years, so the meteors were supposed to be more spectacular than usual. I was living in the Bay Area at the time, and Mt Tamalpais was probably the closest prime viewing spot, so I invited some friends to go, and we all agreed to meet there at about midnight on the peak night/morning.
I left home a little early, and I was so glad I did! I think the entire population of San Francisco decided to turn out for the event. I hit traffic before I got to the mountain, and I realized pretty quickly that there was no way I was going to find my friends once I arrived, and they weren't going to find me. In fact, soon after I got there, officials closed off the route to the top of the mountain, so some of my friends (including my sister) had to stay down at the bottom and find a spot to watch from there. So I was alone.
It was a freezing November night, or early morning rather. It was very dark; I saw flashlights waving here and there, bouncing over the ground. I heard the muffled sounds of strangers' voices. I got a blanket out of the car, lay down on the grass with hundreds of other people and fixed my eyes on the sky.
I have never seen anything like it.
Shooting stars everywhere I looked, seconds apart. Long ones with glowing trails that faded slowly. Short quick ones. And on that I remember as being more green than white, that seemed to fall through the entire sky in one huge fireball. Whenever the really big ones fell, a loud collective "oooooaaahhh!!" would rise up from the crowd scattered across the mountain.
I was there for about two hours or so, shivering in the pre-dawn air, absolutely in awe of the cosmic display. I couldn't tear myself away. I think I was there til about 3am. Even driving on the way home, along the eerily empty freeways (580 to Berkeley, 24 to Walnut Creek), I still saw a few shooting stars...bidding me a last goodnight.
It remains one of the most beautiful sights I have seen in my life. I hope get the chance to see it again someday, because the thing is, I am never entirely satisfied with just once. I'm greedy, I admit it. I always want more of the good stuff.
But I'm glad to have had at least the once anyway.
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
And the Winner in the You've-Got-To-Be-Kidding-Me Category...
I find it amazing that with all the stuff going on in our world today, CNN manages to make room on it's FRONT PAGE for a link to a story about a 10-year-old grilled cheese sandwich which apparently bears the image of--the Virgin Mary.
Virgin Mary sandwich back on eBay
The owner of the sandwich, a woman named Diana Duyser, put the sandwich up for sale on eBay last week. You know how high the bidding went? Over $20,000. For a sandwich. A sandwich that has been sitting on its owner's nightstand for about 10 years. Oh yes, and she took a bite out of it too before she noticed the face in the bread staring back at her.
I am a born skeptic when it comes to manifestations of the miraculous in the present day, and sometimes this saddens me, because I want very much to believe in them. But in this case...I'm sorry, I just refuse. The shroud of Turin is one thing (perhaps), but the Sandwich of Diana is another altogether, and I for one am not buying it.
However, that won't make a difference to Ms Duyer, because in the second round of bidding, she's already being offered over $16,000 (eBay took the sandwich off of their site at first because they thought it was a joke).
I guess from now on I should pay more attention to my food before scarfing it down. I think once I found a potato chip in the shape of Africa. That has to be worth at least a couple hundred, right?
Virgin Mary sandwich back on eBay
The owner of the sandwich, a woman named Diana Duyser, put the sandwich up for sale on eBay last week. You know how high the bidding went? Over $20,000. For a sandwich. A sandwich that has been sitting on its owner's nightstand for about 10 years. Oh yes, and she took a bite out of it too before she noticed the face in the bread staring back at her.
I am a born skeptic when it comes to manifestations of the miraculous in the present day, and sometimes this saddens me, because I want very much to believe in them. But in this case...I'm sorry, I just refuse. The shroud of Turin is one thing (perhaps), but the Sandwich of Diana is another altogether, and I for one am not buying it.
However, that won't make a difference to Ms Duyer, because in the second round of bidding, she's already being offered over $16,000 (eBay took the sandwich off of their site at first because they thought it was a joke).
I guess from now on I should pay more attention to my food before scarfing it down. I think once I found a potato chip in the shape of Africa. That has to be worth at least a couple hundred, right?
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Sticking With It
Last night I picked up a book about holiness and the fear of God. After reading only a few pages, I wanted to hurl it across the room, not because I am opposed to holiness or God, but because I am tired of being confronted with my inability to be perfect in my life, especially when it comes to the area of my faith.
The book wasn't even about that, really. But somehow that's what I got out of it, and it set off yet another of my "temper tantrum" prayers to God, wherein I basically tell him to leave me alone because we would both probably be better off if he did. He doesn't let me get away with that attitude for long, but I'm not always thankful for his interference in my pity parties. At least, not right away.
I think this may explain why I go through what some call a "crisis of faith" about every two minutes or so. For me, the nature of my personal faith crisis has little to do with wondering about whether or not God actually exists, and a great deal to do with whether or not I want him to, because sometimes I think my life would be much easier if he didn't.
You would think that years of being a Christian, being active in church life, leading a high school youth group, leading Bible studies, playing and singing in a worship band, and being a missionary for nearly two years would cure a person of any lingering doubts about how great it is to follow God, but in my case that's far from the truth. I don't always think it's great. Sometimes it seems terribly hard.
Someone may ask, "So why do you stick with it?" Well, I guess it's like the apostle Peter said to Jesus ages ago, when Jesus asked him and some of the other disciples if they wanted to call it quits. A bunch of the disciples had, in fact, decided that following Jesus was too hard, and they said forget it. So Jesus turned to his inner circle and said, "What about you guys?" And Peter said, "Well, where would we go?"
Where would I go if I left Jesus?
The thought depresses me, because in spite of my struggles I feel like the world will be a lot emptier and lonelier without him. I don't WANT to go anywhere else. Even though sometimes I kick and scream and want to have my way, at the end of the day what I really want is to curl up in the arms of a God who loves me, who knows all about my imperfections and failures and unholiness and will take me anyway. I don't always know if I really believe God is like that, but when I look at his son Jesus, I get an idea that yeah, maybe he is.
So I'm not leaving him, not anytime soon. I'll hang on with gritted teeth and clenched knuckles and I guess if I fall along the way, or have trouble walking, well, I'll do my best to crawl. I have a feeling I'm going to have some bloody knees by the time I get to the end of this crazy road, but by the grace of God, I'll get there.
Here's hoping...
The book wasn't even about that, really. But somehow that's what I got out of it, and it set off yet another of my "temper tantrum" prayers to God, wherein I basically tell him to leave me alone because we would both probably be better off if he did. He doesn't let me get away with that attitude for long, but I'm not always thankful for his interference in my pity parties. At least, not right away.
I think this may explain why I go through what some call a "crisis of faith" about every two minutes or so. For me, the nature of my personal faith crisis has little to do with wondering about whether or not God actually exists, and a great deal to do with whether or not I want him to, because sometimes I think my life would be much easier if he didn't.
You would think that years of being a Christian, being active in church life, leading a high school youth group, leading Bible studies, playing and singing in a worship band, and being a missionary for nearly two years would cure a person of any lingering doubts about how great it is to follow God, but in my case that's far from the truth. I don't always think it's great. Sometimes it seems terribly hard.
Someone may ask, "So why do you stick with it?" Well, I guess it's like the apostle Peter said to Jesus ages ago, when Jesus asked him and some of the other disciples if they wanted to call it quits. A bunch of the disciples had, in fact, decided that following Jesus was too hard, and they said forget it. So Jesus turned to his inner circle and said, "What about you guys?" And Peter said, "Well, where would we go?"
Where would I go if I left Jesus?
The thought depresses me, because in spite of my struggles I feel like the world will be a lot emptier and lonelier without him. I don't WANT to go anywhere else. Even though sometimes I kick and scream and want to have my way, at the end of the day what I really want is to curl up in the arms of a God who loves me, who knows all about my imperfections and failures and unholiness and will take me anyway. I don't always know if I really believe God is like that, but when I look at his son Jesus, I get an idea that yeah, maybe he is.
So I'm not leaving him, not anytime soon. I'll hang on with gritted teeth and clenched knuckles and I guess if I fall along the way, or have trouble walking, well, I'll do my best to crawl. I have a feeling I'm going to have some bloody knees by the time I get to the end of this crazy road, but by the grace of God, I'll get there.
Here's hoping...
Monday, November 15, 2004
Tough Decisions
In dating, as in politics, sometimes you are faced with choosing between the lesser of two evils.
The good thing about dating is that you can decide NOT to choose, without someone screaming at you about how you are shirking your civic duty.
The good thing about dating is that you can decide NOT to choose, without someone screaming at you about how you are shirking your civic duty.
All Thumbs
On Saturday I went to a friend's house. When I got there, practically the first thing he said to me was, "You have GOT to see this movie we rented last night, it's hilARious."
"Great," I said. "What is it?"
"I'm not going to tell you."
Immediately my suspicions were aroused. The last time I watched what he assured me was a "hilarious" movie, I didn't actually laugh all that much. And conversely, I watched _Waiting for Guffman_ after he told me it was totally lame, and I cracked up, laughing out loud at some scenes even though I was by myself when I saw it. I watched it a second time to make sure I'd seen it correctly, and still laughed, which is a good indication that I do in fact think it's pretty comical.
So I was a little concerned that our ideas of what constitutes a "hilarious" movie might be slightly divergent. My fears were not alleviated at all when the DVD selection screen came on and I saw the titles "Thumb Wars" and "Thumbtanic."
"You are kidding me, right?" I groaned, thinking longingly of _Fargo_, which was at that moment playing on cable.
Five minutes later, I was laughing my head off at a spoof of the Titanic movie with all the characters played by--no joke--people's THUMBS.
Don't ask me why this was funny, but it was. If the thumbs' little faces had merely been drawn on, I wouldn't have been half as amused. But thanks to the wonders of cinematic technology, these thumbs had real eyes and mouths and they make these weird faces, and it is just too hysterical to even describe. On the same DVD is a spoof of _Star Wars_ called "Thumb Wars." If you have seen _Star Wars (original trilogy)_ and _Titanic_, I really think you need to see these movies. The satire is great, and come on, it's a chance to see people's THUMBS, acting!! With little faces!! It's not something you see every day, trust me (if you do, that's weird).
One of the best bits is during the spoof of the Titanic sex scene. Those of you who have seen Titanic (many of you more than 10 times...do you realize that equates to about 30 HOURS of your LIFE dedicated to watching a ship go down as a dramatic backdrop to one of the most cliche'd love stories in movie history?) will remember that the sex scene takes place in a steamy car, which only gets steamier as Leonardo and Kate get down to business, and then there is the beyond-cheesy moment where you see this HAND come up and hit the window in what you can only assume is a moment of severe ecstasy, and then the hand drags slowly down the steamy window (blech). Well, in "Thumbtanic", the thumb playing Kate doesn't exactly have hands...or she does, but they are useless and don't really do anything besides wiggle around when she moves. So when the big moment comes, instead of a hand, "Kate" hits the window with her whole FACE (the thumb! haha!) and then falls slowly down the steamy window.
If you don't think this is funny, I don't think there is any help for you. I am laughing just thinking about it.
The moviemakers also get points for giving Princess Leia in "Thumb Wars" cinnamon rolls for hair, complete with icing.
But I admit it's very hard to do justice to these short flicks by writing about them--they really have to be seen to be believed and appreciated. I know they sound stupid; well, I'm not saying they aren't! But they are still FUNNY!
So I urge you to find a gullible friend that you can convince to rent this movie with you. You can find it at Blockbuster, as a 1-week rental. And don't talk to me about a waste of time...you watched _Titanic_ more than 10 times, remember?
Ok everyone, have a great day and may the THUMB be with you!
"Great," I said. "What is it?"
"I'm not going to tell you."
Immediately my suspicions were aroused. The last time I watched what he assured me was a "hilarious" movie, I didn't actually laugh all that much. And conversely, I watched _Waiting for Guffman_ after he told me it was totally lame, and I cracked up, laughing out loud at some scenes even though I was by myself when I saw it. I watched it a second time to make sure I'd seen it correctly, and still laughed, which is a good indication that I do in fact think it's pretty comical.
So I was a little concerned that our ideas of what constitutes a "hilarious" movie might be slightly divergent. My fears were not alleviated at all when the DVD selection screen came on and I saw the titles "Thumb Wars" and "Thumbtanic."
"You are kidding me, right?" I groaned, thinking longingly of _Fargo_, which was at that moment playing on cable.
Five minutes later, I was laughing my head off at a spoof of the Titanic movie with all the characters played by--no joke--people's THUMBS.
Don't ask me why this was funny, but it was. If the thumbs' little faces had merely been drawn on, I wouldn't have been half as amused. But thanks to the wonders of cinematic technology, these thumbs had real eyes and mouths and they make these weird faces, and it is just too hysterical to even describe. On the same DVD is a spoof of _Star Wars_ called "Thumb Wars." If you have seen _Star Wars (original trilogy)_ and _Titanic_, I really think you need to see these movies. The satire is great, and come on, it's a chance to see people's THUMBS, acting!! With little faces!! It's not something you see every day, trust me (if you do, that's weird).
One of the best bits is during the spoof of the Titanic sex scene. Those of you who have seen Titanic (many of you more than 10 times...do you realize that equates to about 30 HOURS of your LIFE dedicated to watching a ship go down as a dramatic backdrop to one of the most cliche'd love stories in movie history?) will remember that the sex scene takes place in a steamy car, which only gets steamier as Leonardo and Kate get down to business, and then there is the beyond-cheesy moment where you see this HAND come up and hit the window in what you can only assume is a moment of severe ecstasy, and then the hand drags slowly down the steamy window (blech). Well, in "Thumbtanic", the thumb playing Kate doesn't exactly have hands...or she does, but they are useless and don't really do anything besides wiggle around when she moves. So when the big moment comes, instead of a hand, "Kate" hits the window with her whole FACE (the thumb! haha!) and then falls slowly down the steamy window.
If you don't think this is funny, I don't think there is any help for you. I am laughing just thinking about it.
The moviemakers also get points for giving Princess Leia in "Thumb Wars" cinnamon rolls for hair, complete with icing.
But I admit it's very hard to do justice to these short flicks by writing about them--they really have to be seen to be believed and appreciated. I know they sound stupid; well, I'm not saying they aren't! But they are still FUNNY!
So I urge you to find a gullible friend that you can convince to rent this movie with you. You can find it at Blockbuster, as a 1-week rental. And don't talk to me about a waste of time...you watched _Titanic_ more than 10 times, remember?
Ok everyone, have a great day and may the THUMB be with you!
Saturday, November 13, 2004
Singin' the Cowgirl Blues
My sister is a real cowgirl. She has boots and wranglers and a cowboy (er, cowgirl) hat. She also has spurs and a horse.
I remember when she was still going through school, in the animal-science program at Cal Poly San Luis Obispo. One day I got an e-mail from her that said, "I castrated a pig today." Whoa. Now how many people do YOU know who can say that?
So she's a cowgirl for sure, but right now she is a salesperson. She does a good job, as far as I can tell. Better than I would do, anyway. I mean, she actually sells stuff, whereas I couldn't sell a steak to a starving man. I'd feel bad that he was starving and would probably give it to him for free. Giving things away is not salespersonly behavior.
But the point of all this is that my sister has a blog now. Check it out cowgirltunes. I like the part about the adhesive caulk. Don't ask me, just read it, ok? Tell her the frogg sent ya.
I remember when she was still going through school, in the animal-science program at Cal Poly San Luis Obispo. One day I got an e-mail from her that said, "I castrated a pig today." Whoa. Now how many people do YOU know who can say that?
So she's a cowgirl for sure, but right now she is a salesperson. She does a good job, as far as I can tell. Better than I would do, anyway. I mean, she actually sells stuff, whereas I couldn't sell a steak to a starving man. I'd feel bad that he was starving and would probably give it to him for free. Giving things away is not salespersonly behavior.
But the point of all this is that my sister has a blog now. Check it out cowgirltunes. I like the part about the adhesive caulk. Don't ask me, just read it, ok? Tell her the frogg sent ya.
Friday, November 12, 2004
Ch-ch-ch-changes!!
As you can see, I have changed the look of my blog. I was bored with the old template. I don't know if I like this one but at least it's something different. I'll probably keep it for awhile.
I used to go through the same thing with my hair. Getting bored with it, I mean. Back when I was in college, and for a few years after that, I used to change my hair color every couple of months. I used Clairol Natural Instincts Semi-Permanent Haircolor in varying shades of reds. One time I colored it Burgundy. I kind of liked it, but I think Rosewood was my all-time favorite.
But of course the inevitable day came when I had a "hair disaster." My boyfriend at the time had helped me to put some cool highlights in my hair one day, with bleach. I had never tried to lighten my hair before. He did a good job, but I wasn't satisfied...the highlights were too subtle, and I wanted dramatic! So I took some of the extra bleaching powder and developer, and one night on my own I tried to add some more highlights.
Well, to make a long story kind of short, I messed up. I was sloppy with the application so that sections of hair that I did NOT want to color, got colored! I tried to fix it somehow, and ended up with hair that was very blond on top and very brown underneath. Talk about dramatic! By no stretch of the imagination could it be considered a "good look." I realized I was going to have to dye the whole thing to cover it up. But what color?
After some consideration at the local Sav-On, I finally settled on some shade called "Copper Penny" which looked absolutely fabulous on the box--a rich, gleaming, light auburn. On me, though, it was simply orange. I was horrified yet again, but what could I do? I mean, short of going to a salon and forking out the big bucks to have a professional try to salvage the horrible mess I'd created--I couldn't afford that. Stark two-tone colored hair wasn't quite "in" yet, so I stuck with the orange. That was also quite dramatic, especially in the sunlight.
I think I took a break from the whole hair coloring thing for awhile after that.
I used to go through the same thing with my hair. Getting bored with it, I mean. Back when I was in college, and for a few years after that, I used to change my hair color every couple of months. I used Clairol Natural Instincts Semi-Permanent Haircolor in varying shades of reds. One time I colored it Burgundy. I kind of liked it, but I think Rosewood was my all-time favorite.
But of course the inevitable day came when I had a "hair disaster." My boyfriend at the time had helped me to put some cool highlights in my hair one day, with bleach. I had never tried to lighten my hair before. He did a good job, but I wasn't satisfied...the highlights were too subtle, and I wanted dramatic! So I took some of the extra bleaching powder and developer, and one night on my own I tried to add some more highlights.
Well, to make a long story kind of short, I messed up. I was sloppy with the application so that sections of hair that I did NOT want to color, got colored! I tried to fix it somehow, and ended up with hair that was very blond on top and very brown underneath. Talk about dramatic! By no stretch of the imagination could it be considered a "good look." I realized I was going to have to dye the whole thing to cover it up. But what color?
After some consideration at the local Sav-On, I finally settled on some shade called "Copper Penny" which looked absolutely fabulous on the box--a rich, gleaming, light auburn. On me, though, it was simply orange. I was horrified yet again, but what could I do? I mean, short of going to a salon and forking out the big bucks to have a professional try to salvage the horrible mess I'd created--I couldn't afford that. Stark two-tone colored hair wasn't quite "in" yet, so I stuck with the orange. That was also quite dramatic, especially in the sunlight.
I think I took a break from the whole hair coloring thing for awhile after that.
SFO International
San Francisco is a scary airport to fly into, if you are in a window seat. Up until the last possible second, it looks like the plane is going to be doing a nice big bellyflop into the ocean. Just as you start fumbling for that flotation device they always talk about on the safety video everyone ignores while wondering if you remember how to inflate it with those little red tubes because you are sure yours will be the one that doesn't inflate all the way when you pull the cord (and you're trying to remember which cord it was in the first place, dang why didn't you pay attention to the video!), suddenly the runway appears beneath the plane, which means you will be landing on LAND after all, and that's when you realize that you have been holding your breath for a really, really long time because it comes out in a gasping sigh of relief that makes the other passengers stare at you, and move slightly away, as best they can with their seat belts on.
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Keeping It Real
Ok, I want to set something straight about Christianity, because the other day I was watching Joel Osteen on tv and he really irritated me.
I don't normally watch televangelists, for several reasons. Mostly because when I watch TV I want to be entertained, not sermonized. Also, I admit that I am probably prejudiced and judgmental. But a friend of mine introduced me to Joel Osteen's show, and I have seen it a few times now. And every single gosh-darned time I get mad. Here's this young, Billy-from-Melrose-Place lookalike pacing back and forth on a massive velvety stage in front of his vast, sparkling, upper-middle-class audience at his church in Houston, TX, and he is basically running a self-help seminar with the words "God" and "prayer" occasionally thrown in to make it sound religious! He rambles on (and on and on) about the power of positive thinking, about how God just wants to rain down blessings (generally of a financial nature) on each one of us, and how we just have to CLAIM THE PROMISES that God gives us in his Word (many of which, if he quotes them at all, are taken out of context). It drives me absolutely nuts, because he is not telling the truth about Christianity.
So, here's the truth. To paraphrase a quote from one of my favorite movies, _The Princess Bride_: "Christianity is pain...anyone who says different is selling something."
Please don't misunderstand me on this. I am not saying "Christianity is _a_pain" (as in, a pain in the...butt). Sometimes it can be! But that's not what I mean. I also don't mean, "Christianity is _only_ pain and you will always be depressed and sad and pathetic if you are a Christian." That would be completely ridiculous, and if I said that, I would be lying, on the opposite extreme of Mr Osteen's feel-good theology.
So what AM I saying? Well. I have been a Christian for a long time now--somewhere in the neighborhood of 26 years. And if there is one thing that I have learned, it's that God is not about being our "happiness genie." God is about growing us up into men and women of character and faith and strength and courage. These virtues don't come without a price, and that price is usually exacted in blood, sweat, and/or tears. I'm not trying to scare anyone by saying this, I'm just telling the truth. God promises not to leave or abandon those who take the path of following his son Jesus, but he does NOT promise that the path won't wind through some pretty murky territory.
Look, if someone comes along and all they tell you about Christianity is that God wants to bless you and make you happy all the time, don't buy it. God DOES want to bless us, but his blessings aren't always what we're looking for. Believe me, I know this from experience. And on the flipside, if someone comes along and all they can tell you is how miserable you will be as a Christian, don't buy that either. Christianity isn't about extremes, or it shouldn't be. It's about being real, and it encompasses ALL aspects of the human experience--pain, joy, elation, despair. If you don't believe me, just read the Psalms in the Bible. I can tell you that they weren't written by someone who was just coasting along on cloud 9, naming and claiming promises of health, wealth, and invulnerability when he wasn't busy writing songs all about how great life is!
In the end, I guess I get mad at people like Joel Osteen because they are taking the easy way of telling people what they want to hear. True Christianity is not what people want to hear. That was made pretty obvious 2000 years ago when the Man who started it all got nailed to a cross in a Roman execution. But Joel never talks about that either. His audience sits there dutifully taking notes with Bibles open on their laps, and he tells them absolutely nothing at all.
Give them something real, man--you owe it to them.
I don't normally watch televangelists, for several reasons. Mostly because when I watch TV I want to be entertained, not sermonized. Also, I admit that I am probably prejudiced and judgmental. But a friend of mine introduced me to Joel Osteen's show, and I have seen it a few times now. And every single gosh-darned time I get mad. Here's this young, Billy-from-Melrose-Place lookalike pacing back and forth on a massive velvety stage in front of his vast, sparkling, upper-middle-class audience at his church in Houston, TX, and he is basically running a self-help seminar with the words "God" and "prayer" occasionally thrown in to make it sound religious! He rambles on (and on and on) about the power of positive thinking, about how God just wants to rain down blessings (generally of a financial nature) on each one of us, and how we just have to CLAIM THE PROMISES that God gives us in his Word (many of which, if he quotes them at all, are taken out of context). It drives me absolutely nuts, because he is not telling the truth about Christianity.
So, here's the truth. To paraphrase a quote from one of my favorite movies, _The Princess Bride_: "Christianity is pain...anyone who says different is selling something."
Please don't misunderstand me on this. I am not saying "Christianity is _a_pain" (as in, a pain in the...butt). Sometimes it can be! But that's not what I mean. I also don't mean, "Christianity is _only_ pain and you will always be depressed and sad and pathetic if you are a Christian." That would be completely ridiculous, and if I said that, I would be lying, on the opposite extreme of Mr Osteen's feel-good theology.
So what AM I saying? Well. I have been a Christian for a long time now--somewhere in the neighborhood of 26 years. And if there is one thing that I have learned, it's that God is not about being our "happiness genie." God is about growing us up into men and women of character and faith and strength and courage. These virtues don't come without a price, and that price is usually exacted in blood, sweat, and/or tears. I'm not trying to scare anyone by saying this, I'm just telling the truth. God promises not to leave or abandon those who take the path of following his son Jesus, but he does NOT promise that the path won't wind through some pretty murky territory.
Look, if someone comes along and all they tell you about Christianity is that God wants to bless you and make you happy all the time, don't buy it. God DOES want to bless us, but his blessings aren't always what we're looking for. Believe me, I know this from experience. And on the flipside, if someone comes along and all they can tell you is how miserable you will be as a Christian, don't buy that either. Christianity isn't about extremes, or it shouldn't be. It's about being real, and it encompasses ALL aspects of the human experience--pain, joy, elation, despair. If you don't believe me, just read the Psalms in the Bible. I can tell you that they weren't written by someone who was just coasting along on cloud 9, naming and claiming promises of health, wealth, and invulnerability when he wasn't busy writing songs all about how great life is!
In the end, I guess I get mad at people like Joel Osteen because they are taking the easy way of telling people what they want to hear. True Christianity is not what people want to hear. That was made pretty obvious 2000 years ago when the Man who started it all got nailed to a cross in a Roman execution. But Joel never talks about that either. His audience sits there dutifully taking notes with Bibles open on their laps, and he tells them absolutely nothing at all.
Give them something real, man--you owe it to them.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
The Eleventh Commandment
Last night, my dad asked me if I'd eaten any fruit during the day. He's been on this kick lately of preaching fruit-eating to people, because it's good for you. Eating fruit, I mean. He said, "Those who love me keep my commandments." I said, "You're commanding me to eat fruit?"
He tried to make me eat an apple before I went to bed, but I wouldn't do it.
It's a good thing I wrote my age on my profile here. I thought for a moment I'd turned 12 again, without noticing.
I bet you are wondering why on earth I'm up at 3.45am. I was wondering the same thing, and then I remembered that I have this flight to catch. Off to Seattle...
(PS I love you Dad.)
He tried to make me eat an apple before I went to bed, but I wouldn't do it.
It's a good thing I wrote my age on my profile here. I thought for a moment I'd turned 12 again, without noticing.
I bet you are wondering why on earth I'm up at 3.45am. I was wondering the same thing, and then I remembered that I have this flight to catch. Off to Seattle...
(PS I love you Dad.)
Monday, November 08, 2004
It's Not Nice to be Rude
The other day, a woman flipped me off as I was pulling out of our driveway.
You have to understand that our house is situated on a very odd corner. People coming from the left can't see the driveway until they are practically in front of it. So it's always a bit of a gamble every time anyone makes that left turn. If someone is coming around the corner too fast, they just might hit the one coming out of the driveway.
Well, it hasn't happened yet, but it almost did on Saturday, with this woman. She came barrelling around that corner, definitely too fast, driving one of those I'm-a-car-but-I-wish-I-was-a-house sort of cars, a big brown Buick or Cadillac or something. I had just put my foot on the accelerator after looking both ways, and had begun to move out of the driveway into the street. If I had stopped, she would still have had to swerve around the front end of my car, probably. Then she has the nerve to scream and yell and make obscene gestures because SHE almost hit ME.
I think that when you get to be a certain age, you really shouldn't be relying on juvenile physical reactions to get your emotional point across. In other words, she really looked too old to be flipping people off. She also looked like she might have been a hippie once, or maybe she still is, and that annoyed me because hippies were supposed to be all about peace and love and happy thoughts. She definitely didn't look like she was thinking happy thoughts that morning, nor was she "spreading the love."
My brother was with me and wanted me to stop and ask if she was alright, because it looked like she might be bursting a blood vessel, but I said forget it. I was too irritated and incredulous to care. (My attitude may not have been entirely Christ-like right then, I admit.)
The thing that troubled me most about the whole encounter as I kept thinking about it was that it wasn't even 10 in the morning at that point. So this woman was furiously angry before the day had even properly begun. And not just any day--a Saturday! Of course, maybe she was mad that she had to be up before 10 on a Saturday. We won't ever know.
All this to say, life is too short, people. It really is. The Bible says that our days are but a breath, and that's true. Time goes so fast, so don't waste it flipping people off and yelling at them. Even if they are the ones at fault (not that I am saying I was at fault, because I WASN'T).
That's my moral and spiritual lesson for the day, which I am taking the time to share, in spite of the fact that I have a deadline looming on an article I'm writing for the local paper. See how much I care about you guys, putting you before my career? Feel special.
You have to understand that our house is situated on a very odd corner. People coming from the left can't see the driveway until they are practically in front of it. So it's always a bit of a gamble every time anyone makes that left turn. If someone is coming around the corner too fast, they just might hit the one coming out of the driveway.
Well, it hasn't happened yet, but it almost did on Saturday, with this woman. She came barrelling around that corner, definitely too fast, driving one of those I'm-a-car-but-I-wish-I-was-a-house sort of cars, a big brown Buick or Cadillac or something. I had just put my foot on the accelerator after looking both ways, and had begun to move out of the driveway into the street. If I had stopped, she would still have had to swerve around the front end of my car, probably. Then she has the nerve to scream and yell and make obscene gestures because SHE almost hit ME.
I think that when you get to be a certain age, you really shouldn't be relying on juvenile physical reactions to get your emotional point across. In other words, she really looked too old to be flipping people off. She also looked like she might have been a hippie once, or maybe she still is, and that annoyed me because hippies were supposed to be all about peace and love and happy thoughts. She definitely didn't look like she was thinking happy thoughts that morning, nor was she "spreading the love."
My brother was with me and wanted me to stop and ask if she was alright, because it looked like she might be bursting a blood vessel, but I said forget it. I was too irritated and incredulous to care. (My attitude may not have been entirely Christ-like right then, I admit.)
The thing that troubled me most about the whole encounter as I kept thinking about it was that it wasn't even 10 in the morning at that point. So this woman was furiously angry before the day had even properly begun. And not just any day--a Saturday! Of course, maybe she was mad that she had to be up before 10 on a Saturday. We won't ever know.
All this to say, life is too short, people. It really is. The Bible says that our days are but a breath, and that's true. Time goes so fast, so don't waste it flipping people off and yelling at them. Even if they are the ones at fault (not that I am saying I was at fault, because I WASN'T).
That's my moral and spiritual lesson for the day, which I am taking the time to share, in spite of the fact that I have a deadline looming on an article I'm writing for the local paper. See how much I care about you guys, putting you before my career? Feel special.
Thursday, November 04, 2004
Writer's Block
I am not feeling creative today. The muse is not merely elusive, she's checked out and gone to Tahiti. (Stupid muse. She never takes ME to Tahiti.)
Of course, there are some people who say you shouldn't rely on muses, because they are terribly fickle. Writing is work, they say, and you just have to treat it like any other job, which means you do it even when you don't feel like it. Sit down at a certain time every day, crack your knuckles, and go for it. Stare at that blank page til you go blind, and then write your name over and over again. Eventually, the experts assure me, you will get bored of that and start rearranging the letters of your name to form other words, and then you will start making up new words out of friends' names, and suddenly a story will start flowing out of you, and angels will start singing as heavenly light falls around youand you will think, "Wow, where did all THIS come from?? I'm sure glad I sat down and did my work of staring at the blank page for awhile! I'm sure glad I didn't give up!"
Me, I usually give up. Five minutes of writer's block is about all I can take. After that I start looking around and noticing how dirty my room is, for example. This never seems to catch my attention until I sit down to write. Or I will go play the piano. Or the guitar. (I don't actually know how to play the guitar all that well, but I'll strum through the good ol' G-C-D-Em chords until my fingers fall off rather than continue facing that horrible white wasteland, The Blank Page.)
In short, I often find myself doing ANYTHING to avoid writing, which is troubling to me since I tell everyone that I am a writer. How can you be a writer and NOT write? It's a mystery.
So today, I leave you with this meditation: if a writer is walking through a forest, and there are trees around, does she exist? And if a tree falls on her, will she tell a story about it?
Of course, there are some people who say you shouldn't rely on muses, because they are terribly fickle. Writing is work, they say, and you just have to treat it like any other job, which means you do it even when you don't feel like it. Sit down at a certain time every day, crack your knuckles, and go for it. Stare at that blank page til you go blind, and then write your name over and over again. Eventually, the experts assure me, you will get bored of that and start rearranging the letters of your name to form other words, and then you will start making up new words out of friends' names, and suddenly a story will start flowing out of you, and angels will start singing as heavenly light falls around youand you will think, "Wow, where did all THIS come from?? I'm sure glad I sat down and did my work of staring at the blank page for awhile! I'm sure glad I didn't give up!"
Me, I usually give up. Five minutes of writer's block is about all I can take. After that I start looking around and noticing how dirty my room is, for example. This never seems to catch my attention until I sit down to write. Or I will go play the piano. Or the guitar. (I don't actually know how to play the guitar all that well, but I'll strum through the good ol' G-C-D-Em chords until my fingers fall off rather than continue facing that horrible white wasteland, The Blank Page.)
In short, I often find myself doing ANYTHING to avoid writing, which is troubling to me since I tell everyone that I am a writer. How can you be a writer and NOT write? It's a mystery.
So today, I leave you with this meditation: if a writer is walking through a forest, and there are trees around, does she exist? And if a tree falls on her, will she tell a story about it?
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
Post Election Day Blues
So. Kerry is conceding before all the votes are in, Bush is planning his victory speech, and I'm still unemployed. But it is sunny and warm outside. I love California.
My youngest sister voted for the first time yesterday. She was so cute! We walked into the polling place and when she said she'd never done it before, all these adorable old people started smiling and clapping. When she finished and had cast her ballot, this woman even told her that "you did that very well." No one told ME that. At least I still got a sticker.
You are probably wondering who I voted for, aren't you? Well. I wrote in my post yesterday, as a joke, that I would vote for my friend Steve but the longer I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. So I did it. And before you start yelling at me about throwing away my vote, let me just say that the electoral college has already ensured that my votes will be pretty worthless in California unless I always vote Democrat. So at least I voted for someone that I trust and like, and who my conscience would not trouble me about later. This also frees me up to criticize whoever does end up as the President with total impunity, because I didn't vote for either of them--BUT I still did my civic duty and voted. I have the sticker to prove it.
(I like criticism. It is fun when it is directed by me at other people. It is not as fun the other way around though. Please don't do it. I get sad. Thank you.)
I'm going to go look for jobs now. Well, after I work on my tan, since it is so nice and sunny outside. I love California, except when it makes my votes worthless and good people like Steve can't become President. Then I hate it.
My youngest sister voted for the first time yesterday. She was so cute! We walked into the polling place and when she said she'd never done it before, all these adorable old people started smiling and clapping. When she finished and had cast her ballot, this woman even told her that "you did that very well." No one told ME that. At least I still got a sticker.
You are probably wondering who I voted for, aren't you? Well. I wrote in my post yesterday, as a joke, that I would vote for my friend Steve but the longer I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. So I did it. And before you start yelling at me about throwing away my vote, let me just say that the electoral college has already ensured that my votes will be pretty worthless in California unless I always vote Democrat. So at least I voted for someone that I trust and like, and who my conscience would not trouble me about later. This also frees me up to criticize whoever does end up as the President with total impunity, because I didn't vote for either of them--BUT I still did my civic duty and voted. I have the sticker to prove it.
(I like criticism. It is fun when it is directed by me at other people. It is not as fun the other way around though. Please don't do it. I get sad. Thank you.)
I'm going to go look for jobs now. Well, after I work on my tan, since it is so nice and sunny outside. I love California, except when it makes my votes worthless and good people like Steve can't become President. Then I hate it.
Monday, November 01, 2004
Election Day Blues
Well. Here we are, countdown to Election 2004, and I still don't know who I'm going to vote for, Bush or Kerry.
It's been interesting to be a Christian lately, because overwhelmingly, most Christians seem to be staunch supporters of Bush. I, however, am not, which might just possibly be a cardinal sin in some quarters.
Most of the people I have heard praising Bush do so on the basis of the Iraq war, and the fact that we have brought peace to the land, and established a democratic government. I wonder though...I just read an article on the BBC web site recently, about how the civilian deaths in Iraq are well over 10,000 since the war began. That's not really much better than Saddam's record, is it? And what about the soldiers still being killed in battles and skirmishes and bombings? Not exactly a shining testimony to peace.
And anyway, how did Iraq win the freedom lottery? There are lots of other countries suffering under oppressive or corrupt governments. What about Sudan? What about Saudi Arabia (which, by the way, has the highest rate of persecution of Christians in the world)? Are we going to free other nations too, or was Iraq just lucky?
Well, we have to remember that the rallying cry for the Iraq war was not initially about liberation. It was about the legendary weapons of mass destruction...which, in fact, turned out to BE legendary, for all practical purposes. When that became apparent, the rhetoric changed dramatically to the whole "liberating Iraq" mantra. Nobody really stopped to ask if the Iraqis were asking to be liberated. Even if they were, did they want the US to do it?
But this is all a bit beside the original point, which was something along the lines of: as a Christian, is it a foregone conclusion that I must vote for Bush, who also claims to be a Christian? You know, support the home team: all for one, one for all. He's one of the family, so to speak, so you've got to support him. Well, I am not going to question the genuineness of the guy's faith, because to do so means I have to question my own. After all, I am not perfect (shhh! don't tell!), and I don't always do "the right thing." But I believe that Christianity is about grace, and grace is about getting what you don't deserve, in the best possible way. If there is grace for me, there has to be grace for Bush. Otherwise, Christianity is just another religious system and what's really the point? We all know you can't be good all the time, we don't need another system to tell us that.
So I don't question his Christianity. But I DO question, and I have a right to question, his ability to make wise decisions. I question his commitment to my civil liberties. I question his understanding of diplomacy and our position in the global community. And these are reasons why I lean toward voting "No" for Bush.
And yet...I can't quite bring myself to vote "Yes" for Kerry, who appears to me to have elevated being-swayed-by-public-opinion to an art form. Or maybe it's teling-people-what-they-want-to-hear. Whatever the case, I'm in a definite quandary.
I think I'll vote for me. Oh wait, I'm not over 35. Well, I'll vote for my friend Steve then. Maybe you should too. He's pretty cool. He even has a blog: blah, blah, blog..... Comment on one of his posts, it will make him feel happy.
It's been interesting to be a Christian lately, because overwhelmingly, most Christians seem to be staunch supporters of Bush. I, however, am not, which might just possibly be a cardinal sin in some quarters.
Most of the people I have heard praising Bush do so on the basis of the Iraq war, and the fact that we have brought peace to the land, and established a democratic government. I wonder though...I just read an article on the BBC web site recently, about how the civilian deaths in Iraq are well over 10,000 since the war began. That's not really much better than Saddam's record, is it? And what about the soldiers still being killed in battles and skirmishes and bombings? Not exactly a shining testimony to peace.
And anyway, how did Iraq win the freedom lottery? There are lots of other countries suffering under oppressive or corrupt governments. What about Sudan? What about Saudi Arabia (which, by the way, has the highest rate of persecution of Christians in the world)? Are we going to free other nations too, or was Iraq just lucky?
Well, we have to remember that the rallying cry for the Iraq war was not initially about liberation. It was about the legendary weapons of mass destruction...which, in fact, turned out to BE legendary, for all practical purposes. When that became apparent, the rhetoric changed dramatically to the whole "liberating Iraq" mantra. Nobody really stopped to ask if the Iraqis were asking to be liberated. Even if they were, did they want the US to do it?
But this is all a bit beside the original point, which was something along the lines of: as a Christian, is it a foregone conclusion that I must vote for Bush, who also claims to be a Christian? You know, support the home team: all for one, one for all. He's one of the family, so to speak, so you've got to support him. Well, I am not going to question the genuineness of the guy's faith, because to do so means I have to question my own. After all, I am not perfect (shhh! don't tell!), and I don't always do "the right thing." But I believe that Christianity is about grace, and grace is about getting what you don't deserve, in the best possible way. If there is grace for me, there has to be grace for Bush. Otherwise, Christianity is just another religious system and what's really the point? We all know you can't be good all the time, we don't need another system to tell us that.
So I don't question his Christianity. But I DO question, and I have a right to question, his ability to make wise decisions. I question his commitment to my civil liberties. I question his understanding of diplomacy and our position in the global community. And these are reasons why I lean toward voting "No" for Bush.
And yet...I can't quite bring myself to vote "Yes" for Kerry, who appears to me to have elevated being-swayed-by-public-opinion to an art form. Or maybe it's teling-people-what-they-want-to-hear. Whatever the case, I'm in a definite quandary.
I think I'll vote for me. Oh wait, I'm not over 35. Well, I'll vote for my friend Steve then. Maybe you should too. He's pretty cool. He even has a blog: blah, blah, blog..... Comment on one of his posts, it will make him feel happy.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
A Halloween Story
Well, I had all these grandiose plans to write a fun little Halloween story, complete with dark and stormy nights, in honor of the holiday that I really don't like all that much on principle. That is, I like dressing up, I like the emphasis on junk food and candy, but the whole concept of Halloween is more than a little weird to me.
For example, today I went for a walk with a friend, and saw...well, you know how some houses go all out at Christmas time with decorations? Like this one house in my neighborhood when I was a kid, I mean they had the full on animatronic Winter Wonderland scene, with fake snow galore and cute woodland creatures on seesaws and swings and a 6-foot-tall Santa standing in front of their doorway waving at passersby. Ok, so this house I saw today was like the "dark side" version of the winter wonderland house. Skeletons everywhere, numerous gravestones in the driveway, a hideously disfigured body hanging from one of the trees (eew gross), a giant hairy tarantula covering their bushes, a very lifelike--or deathlike?--statue of a guy holding a knife in one hand and his own messily severed head in the other...and that's just the OUTSIDE of the house. My friend informed me that the inside is just as "festive."
All I know is, I'm glad I'm not one of their kids. I wouldn't want to come home and sleep in my own house, if I were!
But about this story I was going to write. Well. I didn't write it. However, I have the picture that was going to go with it, which I am posting here. Maybe you can make up your own story to go with it.
Take care, kids. Be safe out there. This is the frogg, heading back to Los Angeles. See you there.
For example, today I went for a walk with a friend, and saw...well, you know how some houses go all out at Christmas time with decorations? Like this one house in my neighborhood when I was a kid, I mean they had the full on animatronic Winter Wonderland scene, with fake snow galore and cute woodland creatures on seesaws and swings and a 6-foot-tall Santa standing in front of their doorway waving at passersby. Ok, so this house I saw today was like the "dark side" version of the winter wonderland house. Skeletons everywhere, numerous gravestones in the driveway, a hideously disfigured body hanging from one of the trees (eew gross), a giant hairy tarantula covering their bushes, a very lifelike--or deathlike?--statue of a guy holding a knife in one hand and his own messily severed head in the other...and that's just the OUTSIDE of the house. My friend informed me that the inside is just as "festive."
All I know is, I'm glad I'm not one of their kids. I wouldn't want to come home and sleep in my own house, if I were!
But about this story I was going to write. Well. I didn't write it. However, I have the picture that was going to go with it, which I am posting here. Maybe you can make up your own story to go with it.
Take care, kids. Be safe out there. This is the frogg, heading back to Los Angeles. See you there.
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Scary Stuff
I'm not a big fan of being scared.
I don't do well with scary movies, for example. I find it very hard to convince myself that "it's just a movie." Oh, I realize that it's fictional on some abstract, intellectual level. But on a heart-pounding, visceral, gut-wrenching level, it seems all too real.
I'll never forget the time I watched "Pet Cemetery." It was late at night (of course), and it was just me, my brother, his girlfriend, and my boyfriend in the house. I think I almost cried when the movie was over, and not from an overdose of sentiment. No, it was out and out terror. I made my boyfriend check every single room of the house before he left, especially under my bed and in my closet. (I would have asked my brother, but he was also terrified. He and I shared a room that night. And no, I'm not telling you how old we were.)
One time, years ago, I had to go to Knott's Scary Farm, back when I worked with the YMCA and was a volunteer youth leader for the jr. high kids. I did NOT want to go, but it was a field trip for the kids, and I had to chaperone. For those of you who have not had the dubious privilege of experiencing Knott's Scary Farm, let me just say this: if you have a heart condition, or are even remotely highly strung, you should avoid it at all costs.
It's not just the people dressed in terribly realistic costumes of werewolves, witches, and other creatures of the night, who hang out in the shadows until you walk by and then rush out at you without warning. They're scary, alright, but since you can usually spot them before they jump, run, or slide on their knees out toward you, it's harder to be caught off guard. But when you go inside the mazes--all bets are off. Take a clean pair of underwear along; trust me, you'll need it.
I was in one of the mazes with some of the other jr. high leaders, and I was clutching the backpack of one of the guys, trying to stick as close as possible to safety. The thing about the mazes is that the passages are so narrow. If something reaches out of the shadows, there really is no escape. I was also trying to walk with my eyes closed and it wasn't working too well.
Then I had the sensation of someone following close behind me. I looked over my shoulder and screamed!!! A monster! RIGHT BEHIND ME!!! I didn't stop to think, but acted swiftly. I was still holding onto my friend's backpack, so I did what any normal, red-blooded, terrified female would do--with superhuman, adrenaline-boosted strength, I swung my friend around and shoved him straight into the arms of the monster, and took off running!
Not my finest hour, I admit. But greatly amusing for everyone around me.
All this to say, Halloween is not exactly my favorite holiday. I think it's strange to "celebrate" death by dressing up as...well, a dead person or a zombie or whatever. It's ugly and scary and wrong. On the other hand, the free candy is a definite perk. If you get your hands on Bottlecaps, save me some! They're my favorite!
So, the moral of my story: have fun this Halloween, stay safe, and don't invite me to any scary movies, unless you are prepared to hold my hand and listen to my whimpering and moaning all the way through. There, you have been warned! Mmmuu-hahahahahaha!!!!
I don't do well with scary movies, for example. I find it very hard to convince myself that "it's just a movie." Oh, I realize that it's fictional on some abstract, intellectual level. But on a heart-pounding, visceral, gut-wrenching level, it seems all too real.
I'll never forget the time I watched "Pet Cemetery." It was late at night (of course), and it was just me, my brother, his girlfriend, and my boyfriend in the house. I think I almost cried when the movie was over, and not from an overdose of sentiment. No, it was out and out terror. I made my boyfriend check every single room of the house before he left, especially under my bed and in my closet. (I would have asked my brother, but he was also terrified. He and I shared a room that night. And no, I'm not telling you how old we were.)
One time, years ago, I had to go to Knott's Scary Farm, back when I worked with the YMCA and was a volunteer youth leader for the jr. high kids. I did NOT want to go, but it was a field trip for the kids, and I had to chaperone. For those of you who have not had the dubious privilege of experiencing Knott's Scary Farm, let me just say this: if you have a heart condition, or are even remotely highly strung, you should avoid it at all costs.
It's not just the people dressed in terribly realistic costumes of werewolves, witches, and other creatures of the night, who hang out in the shadows until you walk by and then rush out at you without warning. They're scary, alright, but since you can usually spot them before they jump, run, or slide on their knees out toward you, it's harder to be caught off guard. But when you go inside the mazes--all bets are off. Take a clean pair of underwear along; trust me, you'll need it.
I was in one of the mazes with some of the other jr. high leaders, and I was clutching the backpack of one of the guys, trying to stick as close as possible to safety. The thing about the mazes is that the passages are so narrow. If something reaches out of the shadows, there really is no escape. I was also trying to walk with my eyes closed and it wasn't working too well.
Then I had the sensation of someone following close behind me. I looked over my shoulder and screamed!!! A monster! RIGHT BEHIND ME!!! I didn't stop to think, but acted swiftly. I was still holding onto my friend's backpack, so I did what any normal, red-blooded, terrified female would do--with superhuman, adrenaline-boosted strength, I swung my friend around and shoved him straight into the arms of the monster, and took off running!
Not my finest hour, I admit. But greatly amusing for everyone around me.
All this to say, Halloween is not exactly my favorite holiday. I think it's strange to "celebrate" death by dressing up as...well, a dead person or a zombie or whatever. It's ugly and scary and wrong. On the other hand, the free candy is a definite perk. If you get your hands on Bottlecaps, save me some! They're my favorite!
So, the moral of my story: have fun this Halloween, stay safe, and don't invite me to any scary movies, unless you are prepared to hold my hand and listen to my whimpering and moaning all the way through. There, you have been warned! Mmmuu-hahahahahaha!!!!
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Heros and Hovercrafts
I want someone to invent the personal hovercraft car, with an autopilot switch.
The thought hit me as I was driving up to the San Francisco Bay Area from Los Angeles recently, along that long straight stretch of boredom known as I-5.
The last time I took that route, which takes about 6 hours, I was in a car with no air conditioning, making the trip in August when it is about as hot as it gets in California. I was not at all appreciative of the dry, dusty scenery, as you can imagine. This time, though, the view was beautiful, after the recent rains. The air was fresh and clear, and as afternoon wore on, golden sunlight tangled with lengthening shadows on the rolling hills and farming fields. The sight of the mountains meeting the valley as I came down over the Grapevine was particularly picturesque--grey clouds with bright white lining, and long shafts of light slanting down into the valley.
All this beauty did not make the drive any less long, however, and I began to wish that I could just program my destination into a computer system that would take over the task of driving entirely, leaving me free to relax and possibly even sleep in the back seat. You know, something like the vehicles they have in the future as projected by the movie Demolition Man.
I kind of liked Demolition Man. Well, ok, the movie was dumb, but I liked Wesley Snipes, who played the bad guy. I am not as crazy about Sylvester Stallone, who was the good guy. But I like Sly better than some of the other brawn-over-brains actors out there; for example, Jean Claude Van Damme. Did anyone else think it was weird that in Kickboxer, Jean-Claude, bless his arrogant little heart, could barely string two words together in intelligible English and yet was supposedly the brother of a guy who spoke with the most stereotypical American accents you could possibly hope to find?
Bruce Willis is another typical action-hero guy, but I like him a lot. He's hilarious. He also experienced the joys of hovercrafting, as a taxi driver of the future, in Fifth Element. For some reason I thoroughly enjoyed this movie. I can't give any good reasons for this; it's just one of those things that simply IS.
And then there is Steven Segal. He is the one I really love to hate. I think he wants to be seen as the "sensitive" type of burly muscle-hero, but all I see is a guy who can't seem to stop squinting and who talks in a perpetual whisper. He also smirks alot in what I think he hopes is an all-wise, all-knowing fashion, but which comes across, to me at least, as all-annoying.
So who does that leave us? Oh yes, good ol' Arnie Schwarzenegger. I think the Terminator was without doubt the best possible role for him. He didn't have to talk much, and when he did, it was ok for him to sound weird, because after all he was a robot; it's acceptable for them to be unemotional and monosyllabic. Unfortunately, I don't think he got to drive any hovercrafts. (He did, however, look pretty good on a Harley.)
I know what you're thinking: what does all this have to do with anything? Well.. nothing at all, really. There, do you feel better now?
The thought hit me as I was driving up to the San Francisco Bay Area from Los Angeles recently, along that long straight stretch of boredom known as I-5.
The last time I took that route, which takes about 6 hours, I was in a car with no air conditioning, making the trip in August when it is about as hot as it gets in California. I was not at all appreciative of the dry, dusty scenery, as you can imagine. This time, though, the view was beautiful, after the recent rains. The air was fresh and clear, and as afternoon wore on, golden sunlight tangled with lengthening shadows on the rolling hills and farming fields. The sight of the mountains meeting the valley as I came down over the Grapevine was particularly picturesque--grey clouds with bright white lining, and long shafts of light slanting down into the valley.
All this beauty did not make the drive any less long, however, and I began to wish that I could just program my destination into a computer system that would take over the task of driving entirely, leaving me free to relax and possibly even sleep in the back seat. You know, something like the vehicles they have in the future as projected by the movie Demolition Man.
I kind of liked Demolition Man. Well, ok, the movie was dumb, but I liked Wesley Snipes, who played the bad guy. I am not as crazy about Sylvester Stallone, who was the good guy. But I like Sly better than some of the other brawn-over-brains actors out there; for example, Jean Claude Van Damme. Did anyone else think it was weird that in Kickboxer, Jean-Claude, bless his arrogant little heart, could barely string two words together in intelligible English and yet was supposedly the brother of a guy who spoke with the most stereotypical American accents you could possibly hope to find?
Bruce Willis is another typical action-hero guy, but I like him a lot. He's hilarious. He also experienced the joys of hovercrafting, as a taxi driver of the future, in Fifth Element. For some reason I thoroughly enjoyed this movie. I can't give any good reasons for this; it's just one of those things that simply IS.
And then there is Steven Segal. He is the one I really love to hate. I think he wants to be seen as the "sensitive" type of burly muscle-hero, but all I see is a guy who can't seem to stop squinting and who talks in a perpetual whisper. He also smirks alot in what I think he hopes is an all-wise, all-knowing fashion, but which comes across, to me at least, as all-annoying.
So who does that leave us? Oh yes, good ol' Arnie Schwarzenegger. I think the Terminator was without doubt the best possible role for him. He didn't have to talk much, and when he did, it was ok for him to sound weird, because after all he was a robot; it's acceptable for them to be unemotional and monosyllabic. Unfortunately, I don't think he got to drive any hovercrafts. (He did, however, look pretty good on a Harley.)
I know what you're thinking: what does all this have to do with anything? Well.. nothing at all, really. There, do you feel better now?
Monday, October 25, 2004
Road Trip
I don't know if I've ever done a real road trip. You know, where you go with a group of friends on some wild and crazy adventure, crossing at least three states while acting out some sort of coming-of-age drama involving sex, drugs, or rock 'n' roll. (Hey, that's what Hollywood calls a road trip, and we all know that Hollywood is always right!)
No, but I have done my fair share and then some of driving in my 29 years. One time my brother and I took a trip out to Montana. We set off from Los Angeles, and drove all the way to Provo, Utah, where we spent the night with some friends who go to BYU. Somewhere in Utah I vividly remember seeing a billboard for Shasta cola (do they even MAKE Shasta anymore?) that had a bunch of huge 3-D tongues stuck all over it, all improbably colored in pink, yellow, blue and other bright, cheerful hues. Mick Jagger would've been jealous. I was amused. My brother was driving.
We stopped in Salt Lake City as well and saw City Hall. On the steps were these big bronze statues of...beehives. Beehives? Is that, like, the state mascot or something? I never did figure it out, but I noticed that beehives made an appearance on freeway signs and elsewhere. Hmmm.
I don't remember my brother and I talking much, except when we passed the Grand Tetons on our way to Yellowstone, and then we proceeded to make up an entire episode of Seinfeld which both of us still remember to this day, in which Elaine, Jerry, George, Kramer, Newman and the hyperactive Johnny Cochrane-like lawyer all made an appearance and somehow ended up in Yellowstone. I'd tell it to you, but it won't be nearly as funny in print as it is when we act out the lines. You'll just have to trust me when I say it was hilarious. Try to imagine it, you'll really laugh.
My favorite memory of Yellowstone was when my brother saw a huge female elk on the side of the road, and pulled up next to her so we could get a picture. She didn't seem too concerned, and my brother got the camera ready. Then we heard a weird noise.
Neither of us had heard an elk bugle before, so we just looked at each other. "What was that?" we both said. We heard a movement in the forest, and turned quickly to look. The sun had set and it was getting quite dark, but suddenly we saw a set of branches moving not far away. It took only a few more moments to realize that they weren't branches, but ANTLERS, and that they were coming our way at a pretty quick rate, very much attached to the huge bull elk who was apparently the female's jealous boyfriend!
"Let's get out of here!" one of us said. My brother dropped the camera as he threw the van back into gear and slammed on the accelerator. We drove off without ever getting our picture, although later, when we got everything developed from the trip, we came across a photo of the car seat, my brother's jeans and the edge of his flannel shirt (this was back when he still wore flannel). We realized he must have hit the button as he dropped the camera, so instead of getting a cool picture of an elk, we got a picture of...his jeans. Typical!
I remember on our way back from Montana, we did the whole journey without stopping to sleep. I think it was something like 20 hours or so. I drove the homestretch from Vegas to LA, leaving Vegas around midnight. I tried every trick in the book to keep me awake...rolling the window down, pinching myself, counting how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop (you think I'm joking about that last one, but I'm not). We were completely exhausted by the time we rocked up to our parents' house, somewhere in the neighborhood of 4am.
I've never forgotten that trip. I've never forgotten the little boy I saw in Wyoming, getting off of his schoolbus and making his way up the long drive to his house as he played air drums and danced like his life depended on it, utterly oblivious to anyone who might be watching. I've never forgotten the crisp cool air of Jackson Hole, where we stopped for Subway sandwiches, nor have I forgotten the eerie quietness of the land around Old Faithful, marked by rising steam and geysers, under a rich sunset and a silver moon.
Hmmm. I thought I was ready to settle down for awhile, but memories make me restless. Once you've been bitten by the travel bug, I guess you never fully recover. Here's to a lifetime journey...
"Blessed is the one...whose heart is set on pilgrimage..." Psalm 84.5b
No, but I have done my fair share and then some of driving in my 29 years. One time my brother and I took a trip out to Montana. We set off from Los Angeles, and drove all the way to Provo, Utah, where we spent the night with some friends who go to BYU. Somewhere in Utah I vividly remember seeing a billboard for Shasta cola (do they even MAKE Shasta anymore?) that had a bunch of huge 3-D tongues stuck all over it, all improbably colored in pink, yellow, blue and other bright, cheerful hues. Mick Jagger would've been jealous. I was amused. My brother was driving.
We stopped in Salt Lake City as well and saw City Hall. On the steps were these big bronze statues of...beehives. Beehives? Is that, like, the state mascot or something? I never did figure it out, but I noticed that beehives made an appearance on freeway signs and elsewhere. Hmmm.
I don't remember my brother and I talking much, except when we passed the Grand Tetons on our way to Yellowstone, and then we proceeded to make up an entire episode of Seinfeld which both of us still remember to this day, in which Elaine, Jerry, George, Kramer, Newman and the hyperactive Johnny Cochrane-like lawyer all made an appearance and somehow ended up in Yellowstone. I'd tell it to you, but it won't be nearly as funny in print as it is when we act out the lines. You'll just have to trust me when I say it was hilarious. Try to imagine it, you'll really laugh.
My favorite memory of Yellowstone was when my brother saw a huge female elk on the side of the road, and pulled up next to her so we could get a picture. She didn't seem too concerned, and my brother got the camera ready. Then we heard a weird noise.
Neither of us had heard an elk bugle before, so we just looked at each other. "What was that?" we both said. We heard a movement in the forest, and turned quickly to look. The sun had set and it was getting quite dark, but suddenly we saw a set of branches moving not far away. It took only a few more moments to realize that they weren't branches, but ANTLERS, and that they were coming our way at a pretty quick rate, very much attached to the huge bull elk who was apparently the female's jealous boyfriend!
"Let's get out of here!" one of us said. My brother dropped the camera as he threw the van back into gear and slammed on the accelerator. We drove off without ever getting our picture, although later, when we got everything developed from the trip, we came across a photo of the car seat, my brother's jeans and the edge of his flannel shirt (this was back when he still wore flannel). We realized he must have hit the button as he dropped the camera, so instead of getting a cool picture of an elk, we got a picture of...his jeans. Typical!
I remember on our way back from Montana, we did the whole journey without stopping to sleep. I think it was something like 20 hours or so. I drove the homestretch from Vegas to LA, leaving Vegas around midnight. I tried every trick in the book to keep me awake...rolling the window down, pinching myself, counting how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop (you think I'm joking about that last one, but I'm not). We were completely exhausted by the time we rocked up to our parents' house, somewhere in the neighborhood of 4am.
I've never forgotten that trip. I've never forgotten the little boy I saw in Wyoming, getting off of his schoolbus and making his way up the long drive to his house as he played air drums and danced like his life depended on it, utterly oblivious to anyone who might be watching. I've never forgotten the crisp cool air of Jackson Hole, where we stopped for Subway sandwiches, nor have I forgotten the eerie quietness of the land around Old Faithful, marked by rising steam and geysers, under a rich sunset and a silver moon.
Hmmm. I thought I was ready to settle down for awhile, but memories make me restless. Once you've been bitten by the travel bug, I guess you never fully recover. Here's to a lifetime journey...
"Blessed is the one...whose heart is set on pilgrimage..." Psalm 84.5b
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Interactive Friday
Well, here we are, the second week since I started this blog is almost finished, and I for one am having a lot of fun with it. I hope you are too!
Now I was thinking: I really like reading what you guys have to say too, but only a few of you are posting, and I just KNOW that more of you are reading these posts and you're being awfully quiet! So I've decided that Fridays are going to be Interactive Day on the frogg files. (I tried to think of a cooler name, but I couldn't really be bothered to try for very long, sorry.) This will be the day when I will ask a question, or pose a discussion topic, and you get to comment on it to your little hearts' delight. Ok?
So since we've been talking about guys and girls and RELATIONSHIP stuff, I thought I'd kick off the first Interactive Day with this question:
What's the strangest thing you've ever seen on a long road trip?
(Hey, that doesn't have ANYTHING to do with relationships! Huh. Oh well.)
Ok kids, I want to hear your stories. In the meantime, have a great weekend...this is the frogg, signing off in NorCal.
(As an alternate question to consider: if you can think of a better name than Interactive Fridays for my Friday posts, by all means post your suggestion!)
Now I was thinking: I really like reading what you guys have to say too, but only a few of you are posting, and I just KNOW that more of you are reading these posts and you're being awfully quiet! So I've decided that Fridays are going to be Interactive Day on the frogg files. (I tried to think of a cooler name, but I couldn't really be bothered to try for very long, sorry.) This will be the day when I will ask a question, or pose a discussion topic, and you get to comment on it to your little hearts' delight. Ok?
So since we've been talking about guys and girls and RELATIONSHIP stuff, I thought I'd kick off the first Interactive Day with this question:
What's the strangest thing you've ever seen on a long road trip?
(Hey, that doesn't have ANYTHING to do with relationships! Huh. Oh well.)
Ok kids, I want to hear your stories. In the meantime, have a great weekend...this is the frogg, signing off in NorCal.
(As an alternate question to consider: if you can think of a better name than Interactive Fridays for my Friday posts, by all means post your suggestion!)
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
The Game, part 1
My "Mystery of Marriage" post spawned some interesting conversations with a few friends. I was chatting with one of them on MSN soon after publishing it to this blog, and after he told me how hysterically funny it was, and how amazingly beautiful and talented I really am (ok, slight paraphrase there), he said, rather cryptically I thought, "Why don't you be more forward?"
"More forward about what?" I asked.
"About guys. If you dig a guy ask him out."
And all this time I'd thought he was sane.
"Are you NUTS?" I said. "Are you SERIOUS?"
"Yep," he said.
Riiiiiiight.
Well, I promised to give the question some careful consideration, possibly even some prayer. It always sounds good to say you are going to pray about something, very holy and spiritual. Well, there are actually a lot of people I know who WOULD pray about it if they said they were going to, and believe me when I say I wish I was a lot more like them than me. I always have good intentions to pray, I firmly believe in the importance of prayer, there are times (which lately are increasing) when I even ENJOY praying. I just kind of...forget to do it occasionally. Or often, as the case may be.
But I am digressing, which by the way is one of my many amazing talents. The point is, I didn't really give it careful thought, nor did I pray about it, because I forgot (which is probably more of a medical condition than a talent).
I'm thinking about it now, though, and here's what I've concluded. My friend is a lunatic (just kidding bees!). I mean, I'm a woman, right? I'm supposed to be mysterious and coy, right? It's my job to give off subliminal signals, and the guy's job to read them (and of course we all know how well guys do THAT) and come chasing after me. It's all part of The Game, after all.
The thing is, I'm getting really fed up with the whole idea of The Game.
In a nutshell, here's what I've learned from The Game: who I am will never be nearly as cool as whatever I project myself to be. My real self is probably pretty lame, so cover her up at all costs.
Well, doesn't that sound fun, kids. Who's up for Monopoly? At least those rules make sense!
I just want to know: Is it possible to not play The Game...and still win?
"More forward about what?" I asked.
"About guys. If you dig a guy ask him out."
And all this time I'd thought he was sane.
"Are you NUTS?" I said. "Are you SERIOUS?"
"Yep," he said.
Riiiiiiight.
Well, I promised to give the question some careful consideration, possibly even some prayer. It always sounds good to say you are going to pray about something, very holy and spiritual. Well, there are actually a lot of people I know who WOULD pray about it if they said they were going to, and believe me when I say I wish I was a lot more like them than me. I always have good intentions to pray, I firmly believe in the importance of prayer, there are times (which lately are increasing) when I even ENJOY praying. I just kind of...forget to do it occasionally. Or often, as the case may be.
But I am digressing, which by the way is one of my many amazing talents. The point is, I didn't really give it careful thought, nor did I pray about it, because I forgot (which is probably more of a medical condition than a talent).
I'm thinking about it now, though, and here's what I've concluded. My friend is a lunatic (just kidding bees!). I mean, I'm a woman, right? I'm supposed to be mysterious and coy, right? It's my job to give off subliminal signals, and the guy's job to read them (and of course we all know how well guys do THAT) and come chasing after me. It's all part of The Game, after all.
The thing is, I'm getting really fed up with the whole idea of The Game.
In a nutshell, here's what I've learned from The Game: who I am will never be nearly as cool as whatever I project myself to be. My real self is probably pretty lame, so cover her up at all costs.
Well, doesn't that sound fun, kids. Who's up for Monopoly? At least those rules make sense!
I just want to know: Is it possible to not play The Game...and still win?
Ring, Ring
So I'm curious: am I the only person in the twenty-first century who, when a phone rings doesn't feel the slightest obligation to answer it? Who is fine with just...letting it ring?
I've never been much of a phone person. When I was growing up, the calls were never for me. Since I HAVE grown up (ha!) I find that nothing much has changed. Now I get fond, loving calls from concerned telemarketers who, even though they don't even know me, want to make sure I know about the latest in carpet cleaning supplies, because my life will be truly incomplete if I don't buy this amazing product that I don't know how I managed to live without before I heard about it.
I don't like to brag, but I even got a call from Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger the other day. Apparently he doesn't have enough to do with untangling the California economy, so he is making up for it by recording phone messages for likely voters. Unfortunately, I thought he was a telemarketer and hung up on him.
For any telemarketers who might by some chance be reading this: I'm sorry. You have a crappy job. I really hope that you get at least one nice person every day who will listen to your spiel and not hang up on you, because wow, how depressing it must be to hear a click every time you start talking to someone. But honestly, why, WHY do you call at 9pm? Or in the middle of dinner? Or...well, why do you call? I hate to say this, but no one I know likes to receive telemarketing calls! I mean, do YOU even like it?
Every now and then, I break my policy and I will answer the phone when it rings. When I pick it up, and there is a little pause before the person answers my pleasant greeting, I know I'm in for it. I do try to be polite, but it's hard when they don't let you get a word in edgewise, like the guy who called me from Discover card the other day to inform me that they were going to send me information about some credit protection plan that I don't want. It's a 30-day free trial, he said, after which I will start to be charged for it. Only he said that in about two minutes, with a lot of other stuff that I couldn't understand because he was talking so fast. As soon as he took a breath, I said (politely I thought) "I don't want it," and he said emphatically over the next 2 minutes that I needed to have all the materials to make an informed decision--so he was sending it to me anyway. I think I'll cancel my Discover card. Good work, Mr Telemarketing Guy.
As I've been writing this for the past 15-20 minutes, I've heard the phone ring about five times. Well, I am home, but I am not answering. You can call, but you won't talk to me! I am beyond the reach of your feeble attempts to communicate with me! I HAVE DEFEATED YOU! Hahahahahahaha!!!!
Ahem. Sorry.
I'm, uh, going to go do some work now.
I've never been much of a phone person. When I was growing up, the calls were never for me. Since I HAVE grown up (ha!) I find that nothing much has changed. Now I get fond, loving calls from concerned telemarketers who, even though they don't even know me, want to make sure I know about the latest in carpet cleaning supplies, because my life will be truly incomplete if I don't buy this amazing product that I don't know how I managed to live without before I heard about it.
I don't like to brag, but I even got a call from Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger the other day. Apparently he doesn't have enough to do with untangling the California economy, so he is making up for it by recording phone messages for likely voters. Unfortunately, I thought he was a telemarketer and hung up on him.
For any telemarketers who might by some chance be reading this: I'm sorry. You have a crappy job. I really hope that you get at least one nice person every day who will listen to your spiel and not hang up on you, because wow, how depressing it must be to hear a click every time you start talking to someone. But honestly, why, WHY do you call at 9pm? Or in the middle of dinner? Or...well, why do you call? I hate to say this, but no one I know likes to receive telemarketing calls! I mean, do YOU even like it?
Every now and then, I break my policy and I will answer the phone when it rings. When I pick it up, and there is a little pause before the person answers my pleasant greeting, I know I'm in for it. I do try to be polite, but it's hard when they don't let you get a word in edgewise, like the guy who called me from Discover card the other day to inform me that they were going to send me information about some credit protection plan that I don't want. It's a 30-day free trial, he said, after which I will start to be charged for it. Only he said that in about two minutes, with a lot of other stuff that I couldn't understand because he was talking so fast. As soon as he took a breath, I said (politely I thought) "I don't want it," and he said emphatically over the next 2 minutes that I needed to have all the materials to make an informed decision--so he was sending it to me anyway. I think I'll cancel my Discover card. Good work, Mr Telemarketing Guy.
As I've been writing this for the past 15-20 minutes, I've heard the phone ring about five times. Well, I am home, but I am not answering. You can call, but you won't talk to me! I am beyond the reach of your feeble attempts to communicate with me! I HAVE DEFEATED YOU! Hahahahahahaha!!!!
Ahem. Sorry.
I'm, uh, going to go do some work now.
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