Cynicism, Anti-intellectualism, and Getting Stuff Done

The problem with cynicism

I will admit that at times I don the mantle of the cynic with perverse pleasure. It allows me to comment from the position of the holy underdog, the misunderstood minority, the intellectual martyr. I'm observant and critical and make no apologies for it because there are things that need to be critiqued, and it takes the eyes of an observer to make an astute critique rather than a reckless one. However, cynicism presents a problem because cynicism by default negates action. What defines cynicism and allows it to thrive is viewing action to remedy whatever ills are present as ineffective.

It is easy for me to allow my criticism to slide into cynicism because it is easy to snarkily and haughtily comment on the unfairness and backwardness of something without doing anything about it. It's easy to complain and feel sorry for myself because I'm soooo misunderstood and "nobody" gets it. But it's hard to do something concrete to be the change I want to see.

The church and anti-intellectualism

Having said that, I will very tentatively ascend my soapbox and try not to be unwarrantedly snarky as I sound off.

It makes me want to scream when some ministers debase higher learning by putting it in opposition to the "wisdom of God." Let me back up and say that yes, I realize the danger of becoming prideful because of acquisition of knowledge. I realize that an impressive educational resume cannot even begin to compare to God's infinite wisdom. But to imply that somehow the more education you get the easier it is to fall away from God is woefully erroneous. The idea that bettering yourself through going to school is just a bunch of highfalutin' excess and all you really need is Jesus, in my opinion, needs to be tweaked a little.

Let's back up some more. Who wrote the overwhelming majority of the New Testament? A guy named Paul who had more than a Strong's concordance and "the anointing" to guide him. In fact, most Bible scholars agree that the had the modern day equivalent of a PhD. My point is not that God couldn't have used one of his unlearned fishermen apostles to do the same. God can do whatever He wants. But I do believe Paul was chosen because his preparation was fitted to his task.

Because of my liberal, secular, humanistic education, I'm able to translate during the preaching of God's Word so that a Spanish-speaking someone who doesn't understand English will be able to receive it. Not that God couldn't choose any old monolingual average Joe Sixpack out there and impress upon him the gift of tongues and interpretation so that he could miraculously do the same thing I do without having studied abroad. Heck, it happened on the Day of Pentecost, right? But my point is that what some debase as superfluous and even, in some instances, somehow working against the true and greater wisdom of God is actually what God can use to do His work and fulfill His purposes.

You can have all the education in the world, and be empty without Him. What does it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his soul? But if you're walking with Him and decide to better yourself and use your education for Him, how can that be considered in opposition to Him?

I have to do my thing, God's thing

Lately, I've had a series of existential crises dealing with various and sundry points of tension. (I say that in an I (Heart) Huckabees way). My response has generally been that of pity party. Why, oh, why have I been placed in the thick of such tension? Oh, God, You're so unfair. Why torment my mind with such complexities?

My forehead is already etched with an "11" because I furrow my brow so much. But as I mentally chisel away at these granite blocks of the unknown, the form of an answer is slowly starting to take shape: The way forward in unchartered territory is always met with resistance.

Knowing me, I will probably continue to critique and occasionally spout off with snarky rants. But I can't stop there. What good would that do? I can't get so busy feeling sorry for myself that I don't do what I'm supposed to be doing, and not just doing it, but doing it to the best of my ability. Because God requires no less. I have to concentrate on getting my stuff done and doing my thing, which, if I'm doing it as I should, is God's thing.

Little Girl Wants Puppy Dog

A little girl and her mother enter a pet store.

Little Girl: Ooh! A puppy dog! I like this puppy dog. It's fun. It makes me laugh. It's cuddly and cute. I want this puppy dog. Mommy, I want this puppy dog!

Mommy: Sweetie, why do you want this puppy dog? There are so many other kinds of puppy dogs out there. This one, well . . . Daddy and I don't really think this is the puppy dog you should have. Don't let it bother you that all your friends are starting to get puppy dogs. Not having a puppy dog doesn't make it any less fun playing hopscotch and jump rope and freeze tag and hide-and-go-seek, does it? Besides, you're just a little girl. Enjoy being a little girl.

Little girl picks up the puppy dog and cuddles it.

Little Girl: But Mommy, I want this puppy dog. And I'm not a little girl. I'm a big girl! And big girls can have puppy dogs, because big girls are big enough to take care of them. And I want this puppy dog, Mommy!

Mommy: Sweetie, what did Mommy say? Not this one. You can get a different one another day.

Little girl: No, Mommy, I'm a big girl! And I want this puppy dog!

Mommy: Put the puppy dog down, sweetie. Not this one. Another day.

Little girl: No, Mommy!

Mommy: Listen to Mommy, sweetie. Mommy said no!

Little girl: No!

Mommy makes a motion to take the puppy away, and Little girl clutches it tighter. She begins to cry.

Little girl: No, Mommy, no! It's not fair! I'm a big girl! I'm a big girl!

Little girl gets hysterical and starts pitching a fit. Mommy thinks for a minute.

Mommy: (sigh) Okay, sweetie, you're right. You really are a big girl. Daddy and I have to realize that.

Little girl stops crying and looks at Mommy quizzically.

Mommy: If that's the puppy you want, Mommy is not going to say anything else negative about it.

Little girl: You—you're not? But, but . . .

Mommy wanders off to look at the parakeets. Little girl looks at the puppy in her arms and begins examining it.

Weary and Frustrated

Why is it that one minute a really awesome thing like winning a 6 month scholarship to study in a foreign country happens that sends you to cloud 9, and the next minute, the most frustrating situation in the universe rears its head once again and sends you way, way down?

I am thankful for what God has done. I really am. He's done literal miracles in my life. But He also knows well that I didn't want to have to go through the emotional wringer again, and He's putting me through exactly what I begged Him not to put me through again in this area of my life, but this time it's even worse.

The last time, it was kind of like, I knew better. I was hoping against hope for the wrong reasons, and I blame myself. But this time, what have I done wrong? It almost feels like I've been set up or something. The stress is overwhelming, and stress is what I need the least of right now. And I can't even sit through class without tearing up? It's wretched.

I would ordinarily blame me, but I can't see where I went wrong this time. My human impulse is to blame Him.

I'm Freaking Out! (In a Good Way)

Ahem. Where do I begin . . . ?

Let me take you back to . . . maybe it was March? Or was it April? I got an email through my AU student account about study abroad scholarships offered by the Rotary Club International. One particular scholarship caught my interest. It would send you to a language institute, all expenses paid, to study a language that you aren't familiar with and to study in a country in which you haven't studied abroad previously for more than 5 months combined. Spanish and Spain were out. I've done that. This time around, I had my eyes set on French and France.

See, with my Master's program, one of my requirements is that I also be proficient in a language other than Spanish or English. We can fulfill the requirement either by taking a proficiency test or by taking a first year sequence of another language. I chose French. (It probably would have been easier had I chosen Italian, though. It's closer to Spanish. But it's not spoken in near as many places as French.) I don't want to stop at the elementary level, though. If I'm going to learn another language, I'm going to learn another language. And what better way to do so than to spend 6 months in a country where that language is spoken?

However, I had doubts. I printed out the application and sat on it. I was sort of wondering if I really wanted to continue to be a world traveler. I had this whack idea that I wasn't sure if I were going to apply because, well, there's no other way to say it, the girly side of me wants marriage and motherhood, and how could I do that if I'm gallivanting around Europe? But then the common sense side of me slapped the taste out of the mouth of the girly side of me and said, "Um, are you outside of your everlovin' mind? Six months is nothing. Do you realize you're cheating yourself out of an opportunity because of whether something you don't know will happen will happen?" The problem is that common sense me waited until the due date to knock some sense into girly me. After getting approval from the district director to apply anyway, I went for it with gusto.

Fast forward to last Monday. I had an interview. Eleven people, four scholarships. Two of them were one-year, the other two were 6-month (what I was applying for). I never knew how many out of the eleven were applying for the 6-month. But I went in there, looked people in the eye, answered questions candidly, and had fun. "You should hear something from us within 7-10 days," they said. Standard answer.

Fast forward to today. Exactly seven days later, I got an email and a phone call of congratulations! I was freaking out. I mean, seriously, I almost didn't apply, and I won it? I was so happy today. I will spend 6 months either in France (my first choice, please, please!) or Belgium (my second choice) sometime after July 1, 2009 to study French. I can't say that I don't know what I'm going to do after I graduate anymore, can I?

But he knoweth the way that I take: when he hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold. (Job 23:10)

For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end. (Jeremiah 29:11)

Passed on by a fellow pundit

Palin on SNL. Hilarious!

Colin Powell Endorses Barack Obama for President

Powell is a highly respected, experienced, grounded figure. He gives a compelling and balanced rationale for his decision. I know that a lot of people may say that Powell is deciding to endorse Obama based on race, (which is something Brokaw asks him about in the full version of the interview) and not only is that insulting, but if you listen to this segment, you will understand that it isn't true. Why is it that no one wonders if white endorsers of McCain are endorsing him because he's white? When looked at from that perspective, the absurdity of it is seen a little clearer. Perhaps we're not over the race thing. Perhaps we never will be. I'm not one of those bleeding heart, wide-eyed innocents who thinks Barack Obama as president will cleanse our country of its racial woes. Please. But I'm very hopeful that we're making progress.

You're kidding me, right?

You have absolutely GOT to be kidding me. Like Obama's campaign, I have no comment.

Obama as Stand Up Comedian

If he loses the presidency, he might be able to make a good living as a stand up comedian. This is hilarious!

Joe the Plumber Speaks!

A-zing-a-ling-a-ling!

That's what Pic says when someone gets a good zinger in there.

I'm up so early because I just finished creating a test for my faculty mentor that was technically due last night, but whatever, as long as she wakes up this morning with it sitting in her email inbox, she's cool.

I went to a debate watching party last night hosted by Pic. He posted it as an event on barackobama.com on a whim, and someone contacted him and brought two other people with her! In all there were 8 of us, including Pic's mom. I will admit that I felt like a part of something new and awesome, I guess because of the people's response to Pic's party posting online and because we were a racially and culturally diverse group all brought together by a common desire—we want to see Barack Obama in the White House.

This debate was by far the best. McCain definitely stepped up his game. I have to be fair and hand it to him for that. This was his last chance to do it big, my friends. (And he only said "my friends" once! Egads!) He dropped the first zinger when he said, “Senator Obama, I am not President Bush. If you wanted to run against President Bush, you should have run four years ago.” A-zing-a-ling-a-ling!

But then we gave a standing ovation when our boy came back with, “The fact of the matter is that if I occasionally mistake your policies for George Bush’s policies, it’s because on the core economic issues that matter to the American people — on tax policy, on energy policy, on spending priorities — you have been a vigorous supporter of President Bush.” A-zing-a-ling-a-ling!

But McCain was tenacious. We all went "Ooooh" when he threw down the gauntlet on Ayers. Everyone was in suspense, wondering if he was going to go there, and he did. But whenever he does go there, he always looks bad because it's negative and irrelevant. Seriously. Most folks don't care about what "a washed-up terrorist" (as McCain referred to Ayers) did when Obama was in 2nd grade. Um, economy? Er, health care? This was the best zinger of the night: “I think the fact that this has become such an important part of your campaign, Senator McCain, says more about your campaign than it says about me.” A-zing-a-ling-a-ling!

I wish someone in the media would get on the ball and find Joe the Plumber. (I started singing "Joe the Plumber" to the tune of "Bob the Builder" and drew good laugh.) I'd love to know how he felt about being referred to as some kind of icon over 24 times during the debate, but most importantly, who is he going to vote for? The Joes are the ones who are really going to decide this thing.

The Return of Padre

I have tons of work to do tonight. I mean, when do I not? Oh, I wish I were a go-getter. I'm anal about a lot of things, but I wish I were more anal about getting my work done. (sigh.) Anyway, I was overjoyed today because I saw Padre out of the blue. I hadn't seen that man in so long. I was so happy. It really made my day. He was all worried about a test he had to take and was all like, "I'm not going to do very well," and I told him, "Have faith, Father." LOL. It was funny at the time. Okay, back to work.

The Confidant

Is there something about me that makes people want to tell me things in confidence? What can you do when the only thing to do is listen? (In my case, listen and cry?) There is a reason I switched from Social Work to Education in undergrad. Otherwise, I'd be crying every living day. That would not be good.

Reasons to Be Happy

1. God loves me, understands me, thinks I'm special, and knows what's going on with me.

2. I found an outrageously cheap plane ticket to get to St. Louis in time to see my friend present his paper.

3. I think my interview for a scholarship to study abroad in a French-speaking country went well. I should know by next week whether I made the cut!

4. I was able to get from Montgomery to Auburn, change, find a parking spot and get to the Haley Center in time for my observation. A matchless feat!

Here's a story . . .

“A ship owner was about to send to sea an emigrant ship. He had seen that she was old, and not overwell built at the first; that she had seen many seas and climes, and often had needed repairs. Doubts had been suggested to him that possibly she was not seaworthy. These doubts preyed on his mind, and made him unhappy; he thought that perhaps he ought to have her thoroughly overhauled and refitted, even though this should put him to great expense. Before the ship sailed, however, he succeeded in overcoming the melancholy reflections. He said to himself that she had gone safely through so many voyages and weathered so many storms, that it was idle to suppose that she would not come safely home from this trip also. He would put his trust in Providence, which could hardly fail to protect all these unhappy families that were leaving their fatherland to seek for better times elsewhere. He would dismiss from his mind all ungenerous suspicions about the honesty of the builders and the contractors. In such ways he acquired a sincere and comfortable conviction that his vessel was thoroughly safe and seaworthy; he watched her departure with a light heart, and benevolent wishes for the success of the exiles in their strange new home that was to be; and he got his insurance money when she went down in mid-ocean and told no tales.

What shall we say of him? Surely this, that he was verily guilty of the death of those men. It is admitted that he did sincerely believe in the soundness of his ship; but the sincerity of his conviction can in nowise help him, because he had no right to believe on such evidence as was before him. He had acquired his belief not by honestly earning it in patient investigation, but by stifling his doubts…”

— William K. Clifford

The Ethics of Belief (1874)

Biden is nuts . . . in a good way

This guy had me in tears this morning . . . from laughing so hard! When he took off his jacket, I lost all composure. He's nuts! What, you got somethin to say? Say it to my face!

To Remain Inside

“In my sealed world, a problem person who crossed over to the outside was briefly mourned and soon forgotten: an enemy all knew how to handle. They stood away from such a person. But a problem person who chose for whatever reason to remain inside became a feared and troubling liability, and ultimately a demonic presence. They didn’t know how to relate to you because you were inside and outside simultaneously; you blurred the lines of separation; they didn’t know what to tell their children.”

—from My Name is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok

My Take on Prez Debate #2

Oh, boy. This one was more exciting. Again, not a game changer. In fact, at this point, I'm doubtful that anything would be a game changer, with the exception of some hidden scandal or salacious details suddenly brought to light. Neither of them said anything startlingly new about their policy ideas. After we've heard the same thing several times over and everyone knows where the candidates stand and know where they differ (contrasts were drawn even sharper last night than they were at the first debate), the debates become more of a show. I don't say that negatively--we want to know the facts and details, but Americans want to see a show too. How do the candidates temperaments play out? What kind of connection do the candidates make to voters? Who gives off a more presidential air? All of these things were being considered last night.

The 'Straight Talk Express' Lost a Wheel
Obama said that last night in reference to McCain's representation of one of Obama's policies. But it sums up perfectly what happened to our maverick last night.

Mistake #1 First, when Tom Brokaw asks who McCain would appoint to the position of treasury secretary if elected, he says, "Not you, Tom." Ummm . . . that kind of took me off guard. It just seemed out of place. Maybe he was trying to be funny, but it made him look crotchety.

Mistake #2 Then he speaks a bit condescendingly to a young African-American man who asked a question about the economy. In answering his question when talking about Fannie and Freddie he said something to the effect of, "I'll bet you've never even heard of Fannie Mae or Freddie Mac until recently." Er, kind of a gross assumption. That sort of took me off guard, too. Anyone who's ever taken out a student loan is somewhat familiar with at least Fannie.

Mistake #3 He makes another lame attempt at humor when talking about health care and refers to himself as perhaps needing a hair transplant. Um, boooo. Not EVEN funny. It was kind of painful how flatly that joke fell. It was just awkward.

Mistake #4 And then, he commits the mother of all his mistakes up to this point when he refers to Obama as "that one." Ewww and yikes. I'm not suggesting any racist intent. Come on. But it just looked and sounded reaaallly bad. Let's just say his (perhaps inadvertant) objectifying of his opponent did not play in his favor. Oh, at not all, my friends.

Though this is not exactly a "mistake," it also didn't look good when he and Obama were kind of parrying for more time than they were allowed. Though it would only be fair that they both be allowed the same amount of time, somehow McCain came off as whiny when he insisted that he have a chance to follow up, too. Have you ever been babysitting two siblings and gave them each a scoop of ice cream after dinner? One normally cries, "No fair, he has more than I do!" That was McCain's tone.

And lastly, it looked bad when afterward, he and Cindy got the heck out of dodge, leaving Barack and Michelle to work the crowd alone. It was pretty telling, if you ask me.

'That One' Won
Okay, okay, I'm biased. To be fair, Obama had some shaky moments. Foreign policy isn't quite his forte. Obama also has a tendency to get into speechifying mode instead of directly answering the question, and when he gets too wonkish, he loses people. But other than a few moments that could have used a bit of smoothing over, he seemed pretty confident and collected overall. I daresay he seemed presidential.

Look, both of them have reputations--Obama has a reputation for being cool and collected, and has even been criticized by the media for being too cool, for not springing to action fast enough and hard enough. McCain has a reptuation for being hotheaded and impulsive. Both of them lived up to their reputations in obvious ways last night. McCain popped off with some awkward, testy comments, and Obama sat back and smiled, allowing McCain to sink his own ship.

Chris Matthews, during some post-debate commentary, made a comment about the two candidates' smiles. Obama, he said was "gifted with a wonderful smile", while McCain's smile has a "menacing quality." Okay, he's obviously biased too, but that was funny. No? Judge for yourself:

My New Favorite Song

I love it when a song communicates a feeling for me that I can't put into words myself.

When the world has fallen out from under me/ I'll be found in You, still standing/ When the sky rolls up and mountains fall on their knees/ When time and space are through/ I'll be found in You . . .

Wanted: Paper Spokeswoman?

I don't know what I want to do when I graduate. But I've really been mulling a few things over.

It seems that I may have a knack for concisely explaining the points of nerdily theologically complex papers. Let's say you had a nerdily theologically complex paper to present. And let's say you explained the nuts and bolts of your paper to me. I would, in turn, become the spokeswoman for your paper. Any inquiries as to your general state of being would become the starting point for an exposition of your paper. I would talk it up amongst the masses and explain in concise and easy-to-understand terms the heart and soul of your paper, thereby disseminating your ideas into the world at large.

It's just an idea I've been kicking around lately. I should try googling the average salary of a paper spokeswoman. Hmm. No hits. Maybe it's just something I could do on the side.

My Beautiful Cookie Children

If there is one thing that I cannot tolerate, it's burnt cookies. When I say burnt, I don't just mean the whole cookie being burnt to a crisp. To me, 'burnt' is if any part of the cookie is overdone, especially the bottom. What good is a pretty cookie on the top if the bottom is unattractively crunchy?

Just the idea of burnt cookies makes me want to scream. Cookies are meant to be enjoyed. They're meant to be sweet and comforting and indulgent. Taking such a delicious, nurturing image and prefacing it with 'burnt' is a travesty. It's criminal.

Oh, but when they come out perfectly . . . it's so great. There is an art to cooking them just the right amount of time. I may have perfected it. Note that I didn't say that I may have perfected the art of actually making the cookie batter. I mean, why bother when you can just buy those Toll House packages of jumbo cookies, break the little perforated cookie dough squares apart, neatly arrange them on a cookie sheet and pop them in to bake? I was so happy when I rescued my cookie babies out of the oven at just the right time. They're so beautiful! ::sniff, sniff::
Little things make me happy.

The Veep Debate

It's been endlessly dissected and masticated by the media, so my observations are nothing new. But allow me to sum it up.

Palin did better than expected, and Biden gave a solid performance. I was proud of him for not jumping all over his opponent in moments where it would have been easy to.

This is what kills me, though. Some people are gushing about how well Palin did. Let's be clear. It wasn't that she did well, it's that she didn't totally blow it. All she had to do to be a success was not screw up. The bar was set excruciatingly low. She definitely beat the spread by clearing it, but let's get real and not chalk it up to an overwhelming victory. To her credit, she brought up some points where Biden and Obama had differences of opinion in the past. But to her discredit, she repeated vague talking points a lot, and skirted questions by redirecting the conversation to what she felt comfortable talking about (energy), even at one point outrightly refusing to answer. She also hammed it up a little too much with gee-whiz, folksy rhetoric, winking, and cutesy little comeback lines (i.e. "Oh, say it ain't so, Joe"). Come on. You are running for the vice presidency of the United States, not for homecoming queen of Hickville High.

Biden, thank God, reigned it in. He didn't come off as sexist, but neither did he treat her with kid gloves. He pulled it off by not attacking her, but by attacking McCain. He spoke in specifics, and rattled off some pretty salient stats. Our country spends in three weeks in Iraq what we've spent in Afghanistan the whole 6 1/2 years we've been there? He established himself as knowledgeable and having a grasp of the issues, and criticized specific points of McCain's proposals that Palin wasn't able to rebut. He even had an emotional moment while talking about the loss of his first wife and daughter. Palin could have gained some points acknowledging his loss and seeming sympathetic, but instead she rattled off more talking points and tired attack lines.

That Biden won is not anything to gloat over. He had the obvious advantage as a senior statesman. That Palin didn't mess it up is only something for the Republican base to rejoice over. Because that's all she did--reassured the base. It didn't change the game. Because in a race this close, the game is left up to the swingers. States and voters, that is.

Telemarketer Tales

Okay, so I get a unknown number call, and it's a recording saying that I have no problem with my credit card account, but if I'd like to lower my interest rate to 6.8%, press one. Sweet. I pressed one. A real lady answers, and I ask about lowering my credit card's interest rate. Then she asks, "Are you in credit card debt of $4,000 or more?"

I admittedly said,"Noooo," laughingly. I realize it's not uncommon for people to be in credit card debt of those proportions, so my laughter wasn't derisive, but just out of relief that I'm not. And she immediately hung up! Aw, but I wanted to lower my interest rate.

It reminds me of a time a while back when this guy called the house and he said, "Hello, this is Kermit with blah blah blah company. We can do blah blah blah and blah blah blah--"

I felt a torrent of laughter about to break forth. It took everything in me to hold it in for long enough to ask,"Wait a minute, wait a minute. Did you just say 'this is Kermit'?"

He paused and hesitatingly said, "Yes."

I couldn't help myself after that. I mean, come on, the guy's name was Kermit! Like the frog! I went into hysterics and finally said, "Mom, Kermit is on phone for you!"

When my mom got the phone she said, "Hello, Kermit? Please forgive my daughter . . . "

Extrathisblogular Writings

Here are some articles/posts of mine in other writing venues if you care to explore:

Trapped Between Worlds--Uncomfortable with Like-Minded Believers
(Cover article on this week's ninetyandnine.com)

Pentecostal Biography: Aimee Semple McPherson
(Latest bio on Azusa Remixed)

Enjoy!

Pundits, Payday, Pronouncements and Peeves

My Pundit-in-crime
I don't believe it is imperative to agree on political matters in order to have a meaningful relationship with someone. But it is fun to have a pundit-in-crime (Pic). Someone with whom you can guffaw at McCain's grandstanding and subsequent backpedaling. Someone with whom to look up youTube clips of Chris Matthews owning people for entertainment. Someone with whom you can discuss the merits and/or partisanship of various New York Times columnists—David Brooks? Thoughtful and generally right of center. Maureen Dowd? Left-leaning and mean, but witty and insightful. Frank Rich? Bleeding heart liberal. Bill Kristol? Right-wing ideologue. It's great to have a pal who wants to have a VP debate-watching party. Bring on the chips, salsa, wings and (root) beer!

Pic is ridiculous. There's a Republican headquarters down the street from campus and there are signs plastered all over it that say: "Save Alabama, Vote Republican." I've been here for almost 15 years— I didn't give it a second thought.

But one day, out of the blue, Pic calls in a tizzy yelling, "Did you see that?! Save Alabama?? Save Alabama from what? What is this, freaking Birth of a Nation?! I'm going into that headquarters to ask them to clarify to me exactly what it is that voting Republican is supposed to save Alabama from." LOL.

The next day I asked him how his meeting at the Republican headquarters went. He said when he went in there and asked what voting Republican is supposed to save Alabama from, the guy in there smiled and said, "From non-Republicans." Hilarious.

Getting Paid
Most normal people get excited about the prospect of having a little bit of dough to roll around to have a little bit of fun on payday. You know you're broke when you get excited about paying bills and going to WalMart on payday. ::hyperventilating:: I can pay my bills on time! I can buy milk and bread! It's mindblowing how radically payday has evolved for me. I've gone from admiring my freshly done pedicures to nearly speaking in tongues upon discovering a 2-for-1 special on cartons of Peach Orchard Punch.

Being broke is utterly un-fun, but I will admit that small things begin to take on great meaning. Little things make you happy. Like, being able to bring home half a jug of Milo's sweet tea after a church get together. Enjoying a free concert that much more because it's FREE. Realizing you have one more squeeze of toothpaste left before you throw the withered tube away. Inwardly rejoicing as you catch the transit to and from campus because you're saving on gas. In a weird way, contentment is a little easier and simpler to experience.

Declarer of Things That Are Not as Though They Were
I talk to myself a lot. I didn't say I answered myself! Besides, I read somewhere that talking to oneself was a sign of intelligence. It's a little quirk, I guess. Along with that, comes talking to inanimate things. "Keys, where did you go?" Combined with my tendency to be a control freak, I find myself commanding things to be. My little pot of yellow mums drooping? "Didn't I tell you not to die? How many times do I have to tell you not to die? Live, I said!" Meanwhile, I flood it with water and sit it directly in the sun. But it works. A while ago, I killed a roach in righteous indignation. How dare it invade my abode? After wiping up roach guts, I declared, "From this day forward, I will never have to kill another roach in this apartment. Ever again." I added an "in Jesus' name" to seal the deal. Nary a roach after that have I seen.

I Hate When These Little Things Happen
1. When I'm dunking a tea bag up and down in a mug of hot water and suddenly the string comes loose.

2. When I get a tiny crack in my nail painfully close to the quick and so I have to file it and pray that it doesn't snag on any thing to make the crack go any further thus forcing me to painfully remove it.

3. When my stomach growls are audible to other people. There's absolutely nothing you can do to supress a stomach growl. (Other than eat.)

There are others, but these were the ones weighing on me.

Oh, one last random thing. I've learned enough French to make a voicemail recording. You know, "leave your name and number" kind of thing. The one I have now is in English and Spanish, but now I'm going to change it to English and French. Chic!

Political Saturday Musings

Politics and Bloodlust
I have a friend who likes UFC fights. You know where two guys get in there and beat the stew out of each other not just with punches, but in "mixed martial arts" style. Though I formerly looked at it with disdain as a primeval, bloody free for all, I changed my attitude a bit when I came to understand a little about the expertise and skill it takes to win.

I also realized that I have my own brand of bloodlust. It's not with people literally drawing blood, but verbally drawing blood. It dawned on me last night as I got all fired up for the first presidential debate. I was ready for a fight. I wanted to see blood. I wanted to see Obama rip into McCain and completely own him, leaving him bloodied and bruised, cowering and sputtering with a little trickle of verbally drawn blood seeping out of the trembling corner of his mouth. I was disappointed. There was a little bit of tit for tat—even the moderator was trying to make them fight. He was all like, "I want you to directly address him," and Obama smiled that Colgate smile, turned to McCain and said, "All right, John . . . " lol.

They drew contrasts, but not in any way that threw any knockout punches. It was more like they were both preaching to their respective choirs. But still, I love to see my boy in action. I love when he says, "Now, let's be clear . . . " It's like his little phrase to set the record straight. Anyway, this was just the first one. There will be others to look forward to. But now we have the VP debates this coming Thursday. lol. Aw, that's gonna be a mess. Which brings me to my next musings . . .

Palin
I have posted in the past about how inexperienced she is and how she is so clueless it's a crime that she was chosen. I've changed my attitude a little bit towards her, though. And it happened after I saw excerpts of her recent interview with Katie Couric. It's not that she's any less clueless, but instead of feeling this condescending, "she is sooooo unqualified" feeling, I felt sorry for her. Like, truly. It feels unfair. I mean, how can she be expected to be this foreign policy or economic policy expert? Look at where she's come from! Think about where (and how) she graduated, and what her job(s) was/were before the VP pick. There's no way she could be this . . . policy savvy lady right now. I mean, on the big, grand, world stage. But now that she's in this position, she's expected to be. And she's way in over her head. But it's not even her fault. Well, it's slightly her fault in that she accepted the VP nomination, but other than that, it leaves a sour taste in my mouth about McCain's blatant recklessness. It feels like she's being used. And as a woman, I feel true sympathy for her and it ticks me off a little bit. Like, it was painful watching her give convoluted, sputtering answers to Couric's questions. So much so that I'd feel badly posting bits of the interview of my blog. It wasn't even funny.

The Veep Debates
I've already talked about Biden's status as a gaffe machine. I've already mentioned Palin's unpreparedness. Put those two together, and you're bound to have some theater. Part of me feels badly even writing that. That our concepts of politics and policy have devolved into concepts of entertainment, bloodlust and theater. But you know that's going to be some mess. Biden jovially letting things fly and Palin as a deer caught in the headlights. But the show must go on, right?

One Last Thing . . . the Bailout
Ay, caramba indeed. This is what kills me, though. We can't have universal health care. We can't raise taxes on the wealthiest Americans to try to dig the country as a whole out of this absurd hole. That's pinko communist manifesto socialist "European" style stuff. We can't have that. It's unAmerican. Oh, but we CAN use a criminal amount of taxpayer money to bail out Wall Street. It's unAmerican to use "socialist" policy to help out people who are struggling, but peachy to subsidize the fat cats who got us into this mess. Welfare for Wall Street. Unbelievable. It's like punishing your kid for wrecking your jalopy by giving him the keys to a brand new Lexus. But, like I said, the show must go on.

You're killing me, Biden

If you haven't noticed, I want Barack Obama to win. But Biden keeps letting things slip that are not exactly helping my boy out.

First he says Hillary would have been a better VP pick than him. What?? Then he ticks off Ohioans by making some comments about their football team. Biden, sweetie, Ohio is a swing state. I mean, not that what he said did irreparable damage, but why? Then today I read that he said an Obama ad was "terrible." Egads!

If I could sit down and have a talk with Biden, woman to man, this is what I would say: Look, Joe, I know you're excited about being on the ticket. I mean, seriously, it's something to be excited about. Even though you talked junk about my boy during the primaries, I know you're giddy that in the end you were chosen to be along for the ride. But you have GOT to rein it in, buster. Okay. You have a bad rep for being long winded and I know you've made concerted efforts to take it down a thousand. I appreciate that. Additionally, I know you've got this rep to uphold for speaking your mind and everything, and that's fine. But there is a difference between speaking your mind and having an acute case of diarrhea of the mouth. And you're leaning towards the latter. You're killing me, Biden. Not only that, but you're probably tempting my boy's staff to slap the taste out of your mouth and put a gag order on you. Try to control the urges. Breathe. Carry a sock around with you to use in case of an emergency. Do whatever you need to do to stop yourself from messing up my boy's chances. Thank you.

I Like Brit Pop

I don't know why I like this darn song so much. I guess I like the melancholy melody. I guess I just generally like brit pop, too. And then when I saw the video, I was just entranced. I like how the guy in the beginning is just kind of chilling sitting there on the cliff, overlooking the water and the rocks. I want to do that. I want to be in that place. I like how passionately the guys sing into the mics in the end, like they're about to eat the mics or something. And I like how bunches of water jets burst up behind them in the end. And I like their shaggy British hair.

Good Melancholy Morning

It's a sunny, fresh, new day. I don't have class until 12. I have a fuzzy afghan draped over my shoulders, nursing a strawberry yogurt and granola parfait, waiting for the water to boil for my standard cup of Lipton chai tea.

I flipped to September 19th on my desk calendar and read the quote of the day: "The foolish person seeks happiness in the distance, the wise grow it under their feet."

(sigh.) I suppose I'm a fool. Thanks a lot, desk calendar.

I don't know what it means to grow happiness under my feet. If it means,"Make it happen for yourself," then I'm in trouble. It's not that I'm averse to the idea of making it happen, it's just that everytime I've tried, it ended up being a manufactured engineering of something that wasn't meant to be. I know where I am. I'm in what Dr. Seuss called "The Waiting Place" in his standard graduation gift book, Oh, the Places You'll Go!:

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.

Some windows are lighted. But mostly they're darked.

A place you could sprain both you elbow and chin!

Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?

How much can you lose? How much can you win?

And IF you go in, should you turn left or right...

or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?

Or go around back and sneak in from behind?

Simple it's not, I'm afraid you will find,

for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.

You can get so confused

that you'll start in to race

down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace

and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,

headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.

The Waiting Place...

...for people just waiting.

Waiting for a train to go

or a bus to come, or a plane to go

or the mail to come, or the rain to go

or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow

or waiting around for a Yes or a No

or waiting for their hair to grow.

Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite

or waiting for wind to fly a kite

or waiting around for Friday night

or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake

or a pot to boil, or a Better Break

or a sting of pearls, or a pair of pants

or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.

Everyone is just waiting.

NO!

That's not for you!
Somehow you'll escape

all that waiting and staying.

You'll find the bright places

where Boom Bands are playing.

Okay, Dr. Seuss, it's nice to know that "somehow" I'll escape. The Boom Bands are out there somewhere, right? But I get the sense that somehow, in general, it's not healthy to want "escape." Escape is unrealistic. Escape is naive. Escape is for wusses. Escape is for dreamers. Escape is for sell-outs. It's more virtuous to "endure," right? Enduring is hard core. Enduring puts meat on your bones. Enduring puts steel in your spine. Enduring sticks to your ribs. Enduring yanks you up by the scruff of the neck and sets you down on rough-hewn planks in the middle of the woods and sets raw liver in front of you on a dented tin plate and says in a weathered baritone, "Eat it, son. It'll make a man out of you." I BEEN through the fi-ya, bless God!

I mean, it's cool. In reality, I don't have anything to complain about. It's just that I feel like I've been plunged into a glass tank of lukewarm chicken noodle soup. Nothing's burning me, all the nourishment that I need is surrounding me, it's just that the view from the tank is a little cloudy.

The title of this article absolutely killed me

I'm easily amused, I know. But I couldn't help myself when I read this in Time.

I kind of have a personal connection to this whole little kerfluffle, too. I was in Spain when the train bombings happened which completely changed the political climate in Spain just in time for the elections in 2004 (for reasons that I don't entirely agree with, but oh, well). In the beginning, Zapatero wasn't expected to have a chance, but in the end, his party won by a landslide.

Pobre McCain. Maybe he is a tad too viejo for the job, no?

Bewildering

This is what happens when markets are left unregulated. It's bewildering that subprime mortgage loans were even allowed to exist. And not just exist, but exist in such an irresponsible, disgustingly deceptive way. Now the walls come tumbling down, and the trickle down theory is exhibited at its finest. The consequences of Wall Street greed are not only affecting the perpetrators, they're trickling down to us.

What'chu got to say about THAT, français?

Oui, oui. C'est moi!

My only response is, "Ay, caramba!"

I'm supposed to be creating a test for Intermediate Spanish I for my faculty mentor. And I'm slowly working on it. But politics easily distract me, and I just have to get this off my chest.

In one way, I'm glad that the Republican party has made the historic choice of a woman as a vice presidential candidate. It's about time, right? But in another way, I'm flabbergasted. Choosing a woman, regardless of speculation over why a woman was chosen in this particular instance, fantastic. But why a woefully inexperienced Palin, as great of a motivator as she may be and as tenacious of a hockey mom as she may be? I cringe to watch her responses concerning vital, crucial issues. I don't mean to rain on anyone's parade, but it's embarrassing and a little frightening to think that if the Reps win, and if, God forbid, McCain kicks the bucket, this is commander-in-chief:

Bush doctrine? What's that?

Like, I actually felt sorry for her watching this one . . . it was so obvious she didn't have a clue. It's like, I've had those moments where I was asked something which was way over my head to even attempt to answer. And knowing that feeling, I felt embarrassed for her.

War with Russia?

Though I don't agree with Russia's tactics at all, and though I do not agree that they are in anyway justified for what went down in South Ossetia, it's disingenuous to say that they were completely unprovoked. "They're our next-door neighbors" gives you relevant insight?! And to hint at a possible necessity of war with them . . . dear God.

National security = Energy policy?

Charlie is trying to have patience with her and is being a gentleman by not unleashing a Chris Matthews-style owning on her. But he's letting some of his confoundment with her answers show.

Please don't assume I'm suffering from the effects of a haterade overdose. My dismay has nothing to do with a dislike of her personally. To her credit, she is personable, has connected with a lot of people, she has energized the Republican base and added vigor to the ticket. But my dismay arises from a concern with the lack of judgment involved in choosing her.

My question is simply, "Why?" And my only response is, "Ay, caramba!"

I Don't Call Boys . . . Usually

In spite of my liberal political views, at the end of the day, I'm pretty old school.

I don't call boys. Like, if a guy wants to talk to me, he can ask for my number, and if I want to talk to him, I'll give him my number, and he can call me. But I'm (usually) not going to call him.

I was trying to explain this concept to a male friend of mine who thought my "I don't call boys" policy was ludicrous and 18th century. I tried to clarify myself a little. It kind of depends on the boy. If it's a brother-boy, then I might be more apt to call him, like for a specific reason. Like to ask a question or something. But even then, there are very rare brother-boys that I'll call just to shoot the breeze with or for a sympathetic ear. (That is reserved almost exclusively for girl friends.) The male friend to whom I was trying to explain my policy is classified as a brother-boy, for example. I may call him for specific reasons, (though I am loath to be the one to call in general) but I don't call him to shoot the breeze (although he may call me for that reason).

Then, there is another category of boy. This one is hard to categorize because it's not exactly defined. It's more like official-friend-but-interested-boy. This is the category of boy that I never call, the only exception being if he calls me and I can't talk right then, so I call him back. My reasoning is:

1. If he is interested in talking to me, he'll call.

2. I'm old-school and I feel that the man should be the one to initiate things.

3. I don't want to either make myself too available or be bothersome by being in the guy's grill 24/7. I prefer to give him space.

4. This may sound a little medieval, but I want him to pursue me. Not vice versa.

Then, brother-boy said, "But what if he's shy? Like what if he's not sure how you feel and he needs encouragement?" Well, I know there are shy guys, but honestly, I feel that you should be man enough to call me if you want to talk to me. There are other ways for a girl to give a guy encouragement without blowing up his phone. In other words, if a shy guy wants to call me and I want him to call me, he'll know.

Then, brother-boy cried, "But isn't that just giving the man all the power in the relationship? Aren't you in effect just sitting around waiting for him to call you?" I say nay. He may have a certain type of power, but I have a type of power too. He may have the power over whether to call, but I have the power over whether to answer. And if someone has "power" because I've voluntarily given it to him and I want him to have it, is that being dominated? And I'm not sitting around waiting. I don't have time to sit around, really. At least not since I've been in grad school.

Now, am I occasionally the one to initiate an exchange of special texts and/or witty emails? Perhaps. But that's not the same thing as calling someone. Not to me.

I can't be the only one who has a boy phone policy. I would think that guys would prefer to be the callers . . . but I'm not sure because I don't have a guy mind. (Nor would I really want to. Eww.)

Questions I Have, in Light of the Facts

Yep. It's going to be political this time.

These are facts which are easily corroborated:

1. President Bush has been the President of the United States for the last eight years.

2. 82 percent of Americans feel the country is on the wrong track.

3. McCain says he's a maverick, and is going to bring change to Washington.

4. John McCain has voted in agreement with Bush 95 percent of the time.

5. John McCain says, "The fact is, I have agreed with President Bush far more than I've disagreed with him. On the transcendent issues, the most important issues of our day, I've been in total agreement and supportive of President Bush."

6. Synonyms for the word 'change' according to Merriam-Webster's Thesaurus: alteration, difference, modification, redoing, refashioning, remaking, remodeling, revamping, revise, revision, reworking, variation.

7. The pertinent meaning for 'maverick' according to Merriam-Webster's Dictionary: "An independent individual who does not go along with a group or party."

In light of these facts, these are the questions I have:

1. If fact #2 is true, is it safe to say that the overwhelming majority of Americans feel that change must happen?

2. How can change or any of the synonyms for it (see fact #6) happen in the US if the person who becomes the next leader of the country is in "total agreement" with the way things have been done for the last eight years (see fact #1) on "the most important issues of our day"?

3. How can John McCain claim to be a maverick (see fact #7) in light of facts #4 and #5?

4. What is John McCain going to do to alleviate fact #2 that differs in any significant way from what Bush and his administration has done for the past eight years (see fact #1) in light of facts #4 and #5?

I'm just asking. Inquiring minds want to know.

Special

Every once in a while, as I'm prone to do, I'll develop a crush. A word crush, that is. Usually my word crushes are what a friend of mine calls SAT words. Snobby words that I used to get sarcastically high-fived for if I let one slip. But compared to the others, my latest word crush is not as pretentious. (Oops, there I go.) Lately, I've been taken with the word 'special.' According to Webster, 'special' means:

1. distinctive or unique
2. exceptional; unusual
3. highly valued
4. of or for a particular purpose, etc.
5. general; specific

But for some reason, to me, 'special' has an element of surprise about it. When I want something special to happen, what I mean is that I want something pleasantly out of the ordinary to happen.

I will also admit that there is something special, well, that I feel is special, that gets me to wishing special things. And, it may be odd, but I know I can't be the only one who has a . . . special sign. My special sign is the time 12:34. I know, that's ludicrous, right? But if I look at a digital clock at the exact time of 12:34 (it has to be unpremeditated, or it doesn't count), then it means, well, the only way I can explain it is that it means something special. The closest equivalent is something akin to God smiling on me.

Call me crazy, but I guarantee that the next time you see 12:34 on a digital clock, you'll smile. You'll feel special.

P.S. To those for whom words set hearts a flutter, Google has a cool feature. Just type in "define:" followed by whatever word or term you want to know the meaning of and watch a delicious litany of options (with links) pop up.

I need to be doing my article summary for Spanish American Theater, but . . .

I'm upset. How dare anyone else have a Don Miller crush?

Just click here and scroll down to "Cass" and then to "Christina."

Grrr . . . I'M the only one allowed to love him!

A Reason to Be Informed

I love the news. I love being in the know on current events. I love opinion columns and political ticker updates. And . . . okay, I like the less noble stuff too—Maureen Dowd's hilarious offerings of equal-opportunity haterade at the New York Times, snarky commentary on Slate, watching Chris Matthews give people the beatdown on Hardball and stuff like that.

I'm a CNN girl too. Now, I realize that not everyone is a news/politics junkie, and that's okay. Honestly, I'm getting kind of weary of the media's feeding frenzy concerning Sarah Palin's daughter's pregnancy . . . you have to draw the line somewhere. But I digress. What I'm saying is that even if you aren't into this stuff, there is a little . . . shall we say, motivator, who can be found over at CNN. If you find yourself waxing apathetic over being informed, believe me, T.J. Holmes will give you a reason to want to be informed. Ladies, don't bite your knuckes too hard!

The Stories They Don’t Tell in Sunday School

It wasn’t until college that I read the Bible the whole way through for the first time. Before then, I will admit that there were a few stories, especially in the Old Testament, that I was completely unaware of.

Let me start by saying this: If the Bible were made into a feature-length film, it would be rated R, unequivocally. It’s the Word of God, but there are some pretty scandalous things in there. Kids learn about Noah’s ark and all the smiling little animals that went along on the ride, but they don’t learn about how a few chapters later, Noah was found naked and drunk in his tent. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not advocating that children be taught about that ignominious little chapter in Noah’s life in Sunday School. I’m just saying that when you don’t read the Bible for yourself, you miss out on a lot.

It was almost 10 years ago. I was 17. I was going through a phase, well, not exactly a phase, but let’s say I was developing a sense of women’s spiritual empowerment. I know there are some hard core people out there who disagree, but I believe that God also calls women to do anything men are traditionally called to do, including preaching and pastoring. And at 17, I was determined to find examples of women leaders in the Bible to prove all the naysayers wrong. I checked out a book from the church library called All the Women in the Bible. And the book was exactly what the title declared it to be—an account of every single woman ever mentioned in any shape, form or fashion in the Bible, even women not mentioned by name. While reading, I came across a magnificent story that I had never read before.

The story can be found in Judges 4. Deborah was the current judge of the Israelites (and if that isn’t a clear biblical example of a woman in a leadership role, then I don’t know what is), and they were going into battle against this Canaanite captain, Sisera. The Israelite captain, Barak, was being a sissy and told Deborah he wouldn’t go to war unless she went with him. She was like, “Fine, I’ll go with you, but know that the honor is not going to you because a woman will be the one to take out Sisera.” Barak then proceeded to annihilate Sisera’s army, but Sisera got away. However, this lady named Jael saw him and persuaded him to hide for a while in her tent. She was all nice, gave him some milk and a comfy blanket, and he fell asleep. Then, the unthinkable happened. She grabbed a tent spike and a hammer, padded softly over to where Sisera lay, and then drove the tent spike clear through his temples into the ground. Barak finally caught up to where Sisera had fled, and Jael went out to meet him. She said, “Hey, Barak, I have a little surprise for you,” flipped back the flap of her tent, and revealed the tent spike-punctured Sisera, bloodied and utterly dead.

I’m telling you, until I read that book, I had NEVER read that story in the Bible on my own. I was enthralled with it. I thought it was the coolest story ever. And I became enchanted with the name Jael. I told myself that if I ever had a daughter, I would name her Jael.

I was recently reminded of the coolness of that story, and I found the exact entry amidst my angst-ridden scribblings of yesteryear where I first described my captivation with both the story and the heroine’s name. It was a beautiful rediscovery because now I know that someone else liked the story enough to want to one day name their daughter Jael, too.

Don Miller Has a New Blog!

I love Don Miller. I love Don Miller. I love Don Miller!

And now he has a new blog! ::shrieks girlishly::

Check it out, not only under my "Other Blogs of Interest" links, but also here.

From Me to Self

Dear Self,

I've been wondering about you lately. Seriously, what's going on? What makes me think something's up? Well, for starters, you thought yesterday was Monday. That's messed up. After a discussion concerning changing the class schedule, you asked, "Dr. Such-and-Such, since we're having class today, it will be cancelled Wednesday, right?" Dr. Such-and-Such looked at you quizzically and said, "Um, Chantell, today is Wednesday." Yikes.

Your driving skills have seemed to have diminished as well. Since when couldn't you back out of a driveway without scraping the side of your car against a mailbox? Coughing up a $500 deductible to patch it up is a wee bit beyond your means now, don't you think?

And as much time as you spend blogging and sending introspective, stream-of-consciousness emails hither and yon, you'd think you'd at least check online ahead of time for your notoriously anal professor's posted assignments. You had to skip French to write an article summary! Ça ne va pas.

Okay, Self, okay. I know you're trying to get back into the school groove after three years of being a working woman. I got that. But for the love of God, like, get some sleep. You can watch the highlights of the Democratic National Convention later. And calm the heck down! Hyperventilating and giving your tear ducts a workout is only going to leave you breathless and wet-faced. Also, please stop complaining that "everything is up in the air." Yeah, there's a lot of uncertainty going on in your life right now. Newsflash: It's okay. You have to learn to take it as it comes.

Perhaps I'm being a little hard on you. Forgive me. But you have to realize that you can only do what you can do. Plan accordingly, and give it your best shot. You'll get through this. You might even have fun while you're getting through it if you'd lighten up a little. Atta girl!

Sincerely,

Me

Don Miller Prays at the DNC!

I haven't blogged politically for a little bit. I was going to go on and on about why Obama's choice of Biden as his veep running mate was a good one. But I didn't. I spared you.

Like a good Obamamaniac, I stayed up watching the Democratic National Convention, really only to hear Michelle. I lost a little bit of steam and started nodding off, (I'll watch Michelle on Obama's website later), but then bolted awake when they announced Don Miller would be doing the benediction! I nearly went nuts. If you're a faithful reader, you know how I am about Don Miller. Enjoy!

My Bespectacled Debut, Foiled!

Okay, I have already talked at length about my attachment to spectacles.

Though I tentatively experimented with my prescriptionless glasses upon buying them, I still hadn't made a debut in them, as it were. I never presented myself in them in the eye of the general public. My reasons for this hesitation are understandable. For starters, what would I say when someone who's only known me glasses-less remarks, "I didn't know you wore glasses"? I wouldn't want to lie and make people think that I actually need glasses, neither would I want to answer in a way that would prompt a follow-up question about contacts, since I don't use those either. I was trying to think of a way to answer any inquiries about the spectacles that wouldn't have to end in my admitting that I don't really need them and that I just have a fixation with wearing them. I pondered it for a while and thought I'd say something like, "Oh, I just wear them every once in a while. Whenever the mood strikes me," and hope that there would be no further inquiries.

So, I was all ready to go. I imagined myself monitoring the communication activities during the Spanish 1020 class I observe, smartly pushing my glasses up over the bridge of my nose as I slowly walked around the class, answering questions and nodding encouragingly to the various conversation groups. But it wasn't to be.

After a call from a classmate, I received an email alerting all students that classes were cancelled as of 11 a.m. today due to inclement weather. I was happy about not having class and having more time to read the stuff I should have read this weekend, but I was kind of bummed about the foiling of my bespectacled debut. Ah, well. Tomorrow, I guess.

Back to reading El Cid.

How to Make the Best Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich Ever

1. The bread has to be soft white bread. Stale bread or wheat bread . . . boo! (Sidenote: I have nothing against wheat bread in and of itself, in fact, I like wheat bread, just not for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.)

2. You have to have a lot of peanut butter. In fact, the perfectly made sandwich has a peanut butter to jelly ratio of about 3:1.

3. You have to use jam. Jam spreads so beautifully. Jelly is just chunky and gelatinous. (Sidenote: it's still called a peanut butter and jelly sandwich even though jam is used.)

4. Not only do you have to use jam, but you have to use grape jam. Any other flavor . . . it's just not right.

5. You have to lay a superthick layer of peanut butter on one slice, and a more thin layer of jam on the other slice. It won't do to try to spread the jam over the peanut butter on the same slice. (Or worse, try to spread peanut butter over the jam on the same slice.)

6. Align the slices perfectly and gently place slices together. If you squish down on it, it'll get unnecessarily gooey.

7. Cut the sandwich diagonally. It's not right if you cut it straight down the middle.

8. You must have 2% milk to accompany your sandwich. Otherwise, forget it.

Enjoy!

Don't Worry, Mom

I'm eating healthy!

Guy Friends

My assessment of grad school as of today: so far so good. I only have one class Tues/Thurs. Medieval Spanish Lit. Just imagine the Old English of Canterbury Tales, but in Spanish. Argh! But my professor is extremely cool and puts everything in total context and we go through parts of the work together so that he can check our comprehension.

But I arrived home super tired because I stayed up pretty late the night before. No, not partying hardy, but discussing topics like race, religion, faith and relationships with a couple of guy friends at a 24-hour Starbucks. I didn't know such a thing as a 24-hour Starbucks existed, but there you go.

I dearly cherish my girl friends. Girl friends are important because you have to have people with whom you can share girly stuff. People who are there with you because, among other things, you share the unique, at times bittersweet experience of being a woman. People with whom you can build sisterly solidarity. It's empowering, comforting, encouraging.

But there's something different about hanging with the guys. Mind you, guys who have proven themselves to have your best interests at heart and who have brotherly intentions. It's nice to have big brothers to intellectually engage with and with whom you can be yourself. It's nice to have people who are friends but that take care of you like a sister. It's interesting (and hilarious) to get honest glimpses into the male mind. (By the way, I don't mean to imply that I don't intellectually engage with my girls. Of course I do!)

When my brothers and I were younger we had an array of regular babysitters my mom would rely on. But our favorites were the two guys. They were just more fun. The girls would sit around and read. Or expect us to just sit still and watch TV. But the guys would do stuff with us. Play games with us. Let us jump on them and try to wrestle them to the floor.

In a weird way, that partly explains the difference I feel hanging with the guys. Verbally wrestling each other to the floor, so to speak, isn't negatively combative. There's no offense taken, it's just part of the game, in a manner of speaking.

Maybe this is it . . . girl conversation, usually, is agreeable exchange. Empathetic sharing. Usually, we avoid conflict-causing conversation. But the guys seem to embrace it . . . they want to explore conflict. That, to me, is the fun part. But it's not argument for argument's sake. Just like empathetic sharing, it's a way to come to an understanding of each other.

Yippee!

I get excited over small things. Like finding shower curtain rods. Now I know that is probably the most inane thing ever, and how weird that I've been obsessing over a thing as random as a shower curtain rod, right? But no, listen. I've been trying to hunt one down since I moved in Saturday. So today after class, I prayed and said, "God, please lead me to a shower curtain rod that fits. Amen."

So I drive down the road towards a little city right outside of Auburn, see a Sears, pull in and park. I know my shower curtain rod has got to be there. I just happen to park at the little home furnishings/appliances entrance. I walk down two or three aisles, and there it is. There is only one left, and it's the right size. That was MY shower curtain rod, youknaaimsayin?

Next time, I'm going to pray, "God, please lead me to 50 G's of cold, hard cash. Amen."

I Need to Calm Down

Okay, I survived day one of grad school. I can do this.

What I'm learning, more than teaching methodology, more than Spanish American Theater, more than Elementary French, is that I need to breathe.

For me, it's really hard to do. I always have to have it worked out. I always have to know. I have to know what the next three steps are before I can feel comfortable and secure.

But it seems that God is smiling a mischievous little smile, because He knows what He's doing. He's trying to get me to trust Him more. And He's doing it in a such a way that I have no choice but to do just that. And it is indeed very uncomfortable. I'm making less money than I've made in three years—yeah, a lowly grad student assistant's salary is not exactly comparable to that of a full-time teacher (puny as it is). I'm going to have to ride out the French pedicure I got a few weeks ago for as long as I can.

And do you know what it's like to take a shower without a shower curtain? College towns have an uncanny way of making all suitably-sized shower curtain rods disappear from WalMart's trusty shelves. My cute little shower curtain sits patiently folded up, awaiting the day that it will hang securely from the perfectly-sized shower curtain rod. Meanwhile, I'll try not to splash too much water on the bathroom floor.

I exist, in the unique mix of discomfort and expectation that only grad school produces, amidst unopened boxes and cluttered tables in my little apartment/nest. I stare, amused, at the garishly yellow, too long curtains I've had to tack up over my bedroom window and one living room window because of their lack of mini blinds. Don't want the good ol' boys across the way to see what they oughtn't, now do we? Why are they garishly yellow? I couldn't get a straight answer out of their donor, mommy dearest. Yard sale prize? Poorly conceived gift? A dyeing project gone bad? One of the mysteries of motherhood.

And lastly, the laugh of my French professor. Even though he's bespectacled, his laugh cancels out any possibility of my going ga-ga. It's like a nervous, sudden, gasping laugh. And he does it every time he says something that was supposed to be funny. Comment ça va? Terrible.

(Sigh.) I'm sure it'll get better. One step at a time. One step at a time.

Tragic Flaw

For whatever reason, I'm intrigued by the concept of tragic heroes and their flaws, especially in Shakespeare. Brutus's tragic flaw was faulty judgment—he trusted Cassius as a friend when in reality Cassius was manipulating him, and he underestimated Marc Antony's prowess. Othello's tragic flaw was jealousy—he became so blinded by it that he killed his faithful wife. Hamlet's was inaction—he was so pensive and deliberating about everything that by the time he decided to heed the ghost of his father and do something to avenge him, it was too late.

I feel like Hamlet right about now. The ghost of my murdered father that is trying to push me into action is the fact that I have a move hanging over my head. However, as of right now, I haven't placed a single, solitary article in a single, solitary box. Inaction shall be my downfall.

It's just that I can't believe I have orientation Friday, moving on Saturday and classes starting Monday. It doesn't seem true. It feels like I'm going to continue my little mundane, routine life. I'm not going anywhere new. I'm not doing anything new. Oh, but I am.

Change scares and excites me. I guess kind of like rollercoasters do. Indeed, I went to Six Flags last week, and my little brother had the pleasure of sitting next to me on a few rides. One particular instance, as the rollercoaster made its long, slow ascent before plummeting, I began shrieking wildly. "What is the matter with you?" he asked, annoyed. "It hasn't even started yet." But that's the thing—the buildup to the wild ride to me is often more anxiety-causing than the actual wild ride itself. The most intense part of the rollercoaster ride for me are those few seconds after you reach the top, right before the first big drop.

But anyway, here I am, struggling to overcome a massive, pensive inertia. To Hamlet: Snap out of it! Claudius killed your dad. Take care of him! "To be or not to be" is SO not going to get the job done. To me: Snap out of it! You're moving to another place and you're supposed to be taking some stuff up tomorrow before the big day Saturday. Get to it! Spacing out and relentlessly grinding your mental wheels are SO not going to get the job done.

Ken Doll's Antics

Maureen Dowd is my favorite columnist for the New York Times. The lady is hilarious. This time she skewers John Edwards for what she calls a "narcissistic" confession. When Edwards endorsed Obama, I was elated and thought he would definitely be at the top of the veep short list. Now . . . ugh. I just hope this Edwards fiasco doesn't negatively affect my boy. Here's a quotation from her column that is SO true. Seriously, every politician take note: "Still, it’s bizarre the way these pols spend millions getting their faces plastered everywhere and then think they can do something in secret."

Really. Power really does corrupt. People let it go to their heads and they begin to assume they are privileged to get whatever they want at whomever's expense. (Please don't let it happen to my boy.)

Anyway, if you want to laugh, read the whole article here. The last line did me in. LOL.

Ga-Ga for Glasses

I'm weird. At least I freely admit it. I may have mentioned this before, but I have this fixation with glasses. I've always wished that I could wear them, and I always think guys who wear them are cuter than guys who don't. They just give people a more sophisticated, intelligent look. It gives them a cool, slightly aloof, intellectual air that is highly attractive to me.

I think it stems from my gravitation towards the, er, professorial. What I mean is that I have a high regard for the pedagogical. Such a high regard, that at times, especially during my more naive undergrad years, the regard slid into the classic professorial crush. Yeah, I used to be the girl who hung around after class to ask special questions. Or worse, wrote emails at the end of the semester telling my professor "how much I enjoyed the class." (Sigh.) Anyway, thank God I've grown up a little. But my glasses obsession remains. Come to think of it, there was not one professor I had a crush on who didn't wear glasses. Not a one.

Anyway, like I said, I've always wished I could wear them although my eyesight is impeccable. I've tried on some prescriptionless glasses, but could never find any that looked okay on me. But I think I've finally found some that suit me. I'm not going to wear them all the time, I just like to have them and put them on when the mood strikes me. It's not that I think I look better in them or anything, but I feel that I look older, slightly more sophisticated, more serious, and intellectual. Like, I don't look like a giggly little girl. I look more, I dunno, like people would take me more seriously:



Or not. LOL.

"Okay, class, take out your books and turn to page 138." Or no,"Biographies are in the 920s." Or how about, "Let's discuss the finer points of solipsism and existentialism and how they form the basis of the postmodern relativist worldview." What is wrong with me?

I Have Done Zero Today

There are two ways you can feel from having done zero in 24 hours: Either refreshed or like a bum.

I feel like a bum. It is 8:11 p.m. and I still have on my pj's. That is just eww. I don't even want to discuss my hair or the dishes I haven't washed in nearly a week.

I had lofty intentions. Really, I did. See, I've been seized with the idea that I'm going to study abroad in France for 3 months after I graduate. (Well, I could have applied for the 6 month scholarship, but 6 months is kinda long.) France? I thought you were a Spanish major. Well, I am. But I have to be proficient in a language other than Spanish (and English, of course) as a program requirement. I chose French. By the time I graduate with my Masters (by this time next year, if the Lord tarries), I will have had one year of French under my belt. But I most definitely won't be fluent. So, since I have zero idea of what I'm going to do after I graduate, what better thing to do than gallivant off to France to perfect my elementary French? And what better way to do that than apply for a scholarship that will pay for your round trip airfare and 3 months of tuition, room and board while attending an intensive language institute?

Here's the thing. The deadline was July 31. As in last Thursday. So, why am I still applying for it? Well, when I first got wind of the scholarship, I immediately printed off the application and everything. But I hesitated. I didn't want to be a gallivanting world traveler after I graduated. I wanted to be settled. I wanted to have a white picket fence surrounding a house in the suburbs, a dog named Mark Antony, and 2.5 kids. So, I didn't go for it, even though I knew I could. But then on July 31, something hit me. Why am I not applying for something based on an uncertain future? Who knows where I'll be a year from now? And even though the dog is forseeable, if I were to have 2.5 kids by then, that would mean that I'd have to be pregnant with twins like, 3 months from now. The other 0.5, the house in the suburbs and the fence just seem that much more improbable. So I told myself, if I call the contact guy and he says, "Sorry, no can do, it's too late, you waited too long to apply, you bum," then oh, well. But if he says, "We're kind of lenient on the deadline, go ahead and turn in an application ASAP," then I'd do it. Well, obviously, he said the latter. So I'm going for it.

Which brings me back to my lofty intentions. I was planning on writing my no longer than 2 page autobiography, my no longer than 3 page detailed statement of intent, and my no longer than 1 page list of interests, activities, and leadership positions today. But what did I do? I lounged obscenely long around my apartment in my pj's, reading Newsweek, instant messaging, napping, blogsurfing, and blabbing on the phone for hours. Please don't let me go over my minutes again!

I Trust God, Too.

Well, hello.

I realize I may have driven some readers towards illness due to my vagueness—aneurysm, nausea and dementia were mentioned as ailments in a previous comment section—and I apologize.

I must start, however, maddening as it may be, with a preamble/disclaimer. Anyone who has been reading Where You Can Find Me for any amount of time should not be surprised, and anyone who knows me in real life knows that the preamble/disclaimer is part of the package.

This does not involve some guy somewhere who I thought was cute, or some random person who said something funny to me, or some nameless character who happened to temporarily wind his way into my life's narrative. It involves a flesh and blood person who has a name and a life and a personality and feelings, and I am very loath to publicly dissect anything concerning him. (Yes, having a blog has taught me well.) However, since I cryptically mentioned stuff, it's only fair to make it clearer, but you must forgive me for the lack of finite detail.

A young man came to visit me this weekend, and we had fun getting to know each other better. Howbeit, there are some complications which may influence the probability of it working out.

My first response to complications is usually emotional, and once that dissipates, analytical. But in my mind that is often riddled with the love child of emotional and analytical, worry, it's easy to forget that something God does best is being in control, and that what humans are better off doing is trusting Him rather than worrying.

Here's the flip side of the whole trusting God thing, though: Trusting God does not always = everything working out fine and dandy. The comfort in trusting Him doesn't come from getting your way. It comes from knowing that His will will be done, and knowing that He works all things together for our good.

Halftime

Whew. This weekend isn't over yet, though.

How can I talk about it without totally blowing everyone's cover? As far as my meeting with the main party involved, so far, so good. But as far as the main party involved's meeting with the factors surrounding me . . . mixed results.

What I can say is that up to this point, there have been no red circles with slashes through them, no bold red "x"s, no impenetrable brick walls. The best way I can put it is the way it has been put to me: Difficulty, but not impossibility.