Laptops and Lions

I'm not sure how I feel about the buy a laptop give a laptop to a kid in Africa concept. Which African child is it going to? If the commercials are to be believed, it's kids in a dumpy one-roomed schoolhouse in the middle of the savannah. But what good are laptops to kids without electricity or clothes or clean water? Granted the computer is over the top exciting for them and probably the only time they'll use one, but in the middle of nowhere Africa, all they'll be able to do is type a Word document. It's doubtful they'll have internet, which would be able to bring the world to the small village in Kenya and probably the best, if not the only, reason to give them a computer. Fat lot of good it does with no internet access.
So maybe the commercials aren't correct. Maybe the computers are going to a school in the middle of the city. Those students would be more likely to have access to the internet and electricity and it's feasible that learning how to use a computer in primary school helps them in secondary school.
But pull the camera lens back a bit and look at the whole picture. The unemployment rates on the Dark Continent are abismal. The child may know how to use a laptop, but there's no guarantee it will help him get a job if there are no jobs to be had.
It makes far more sense to provide that child in the middle of the grasslands with a nearby source of clean water, immunizations, training in hygiene, and, perhaps most importantly, a source of income for the family. If the parents have a source of income, they'll be more likely to send their children to school. Otherwise, every able body in the family will be needed to scrounge for the next meal.
And what about the cities? There are no shortage of experts, armed with solid data, that claim Africa is in dire need of economic development. A great example is Nigeria and there telecommunications boom. Not only are people gaining access to phones, think of the jobs it's providing.
One could argue that a student who graduates with years of experience on a computer under his belt is perfectly placed to be a leader in any development ventures. This is true, but only if the development is happening. What good is an educated workforce with no work?
Laptops to African children has the potential to be a great idea, but in order for it to have an impact far more is needed. It's a bit like spitting into a forrest fire. It isn't enough to pat yourself on the back when your spit gives a satisfying sizzle, while the rest of the world continues to burn.

Dog Treat Confession

There was a box of animal-shaped cookies sitting on the counter. The front had a picture of a cartoon dog and the back of the box had silly word games. It was a disappointingly small box, but I figured some cookies were better than none and I popped one in my mouth. It was delicous! Thick texture and rich in vanilla flavoring. I threw some more in my mouth, grabbed the box, and headed for the stairs.
"What are you doing?" my mom asked.
"Eating," I replied through a mouthful of cookies.
She blinked at me and said, "Those are dog treats."
Sure enough, they were animal shaped, vanilla flavored dog treats. I blame the misleading packaging. Word puzzles on a dog treat box? What dog unscrambles letters while they snack away? But they were good cookies, I'll have you know. If my mom hadn't been watching I'd have finished the box and no one, not even me, would've been the wiser.
This isn't the first time I've misread a label and lived to regret it. One day I grabbed what I thought was a tube of Vagisil. Two minutes later I realized it was actually a tube of IcyHot. I'm sorry to say it took a while for me to put two and two together. My first thoughts were ones of panic, as I was deadly certain the California public bathrooms had given me an STD. I sat there, in pain, wondering how I was going to explain an STD to my family and imagining all sorts of other horrible things before I thought to check the label. I would've thought the minty-fresh smell would've tipped me off, but apparently not.
It reminds me of a story I was once told about my grandma. While using the bathroom after a particularily spicy Mexican meal, she spit on the toilet paper before using it for its specified purpose. I understand your pain, grandma.
I consider these geneticly acquired Lucy Moments, as we call them, a mark of hidden and untapped genius and I'm not alone in this belief. I've heard people read, for example, the warning label of cortisone cream stating that the contents are not to be ingested and they wonder what sort of GENIUS sticks cortisone in their mouth. I am that genius. Is it my fault that the cortisone container is the exact size, shape and color of my toothpaste?
I believe it was Einstien (possibly not) who said, "There is a fine line between genius and insanity. I have erased that line." What he failed to mention was that he erased the line because he was tired of misreading the labels.
And erasing lines and labels opens up a whole world of ways to spice up your life, some, perhaps, more embarassing than others.

The computer camera is staring at me

Well, here I am updating my blog after heaven only knows how long since my last post. Interesting, this compulsion to update, despite the obvious lack of blogowers. As I'm not entirely sure when my last post was, and I certainly don't care enough to check, I can't update the void on the comings and goings of my jejune life. So why not begin where everyone else does? Somewhere in the middle.
I've reached 52 applications (in two different states) in my ongoing quest for gainful employment. It's a painful process, really, on so many levels. At times you wonder why you bother being a good employee to build an inspiring resume when it does squat to get you a job at the eternally-hiring Walmart. Michael said not too long ago that he has a new coworker who used to be a carnie. Maybe that's where I've gone wrong. I became a store manager supervising six employees. I should have dropped out of school and hit the road with the Bearded Lady and Elephant Man.
I'm back in Rexburg, as of Saturday. My comparison with The Burg and black holes is depressingly accurate. I can't seem to get out of this place! I'm dreadfully aware of the look people give me when I mention how much I dislike it here. It's a look similar to the one they wear when they're emptying the litter box. Why do heads shake and tongues tisk when I say "I hate Rexburg" but it's perfectly normal for the head waggers to say "I hate California?" or "I hate New York?" So what if Rexburg is 99.99999% Mormon? No where does it say I have to like it simply because of the religious convictions of a majority of the population and because my religious views match theirs. It doesn't fit me, never has, but I took the step back into the Twilight Zone with a great deal of faith....and because I pretty much had no other option.
I cannot tell you how difficult it is going to be for me here. Aside from the Pavlovian response to Rexburg in general and BYUI specifically, I'll be living with my mom. When you're used to being on your own, moving back in with parents is a bit like a kick in the crotch. Much as a person cares for their family, they don't want to be nit-picked all the time, especially after the year I've been having, and the relationship/friendship/whatever between my mom and her ex-husband is beyond the bounds of awkward for me. But when your mom has only one friend, you bite your tongue about awkwardness.
At any rate, I'm holding onto the memories of my friends in Bozeman with a bonafide death grip. It makes me sick to think I may never see some people again, to think that life will move on and whatever part I played in their lives and memories will disappear. I like change, I embrace it (most of the time), but the idea of being forgotten, or of forgetting, is difficult. As is moving forward into the darkness (as usual) without their constant support (not as usual). A great deal in my life has been sacrificed, or taken, these past 13 months, but the idea of Bozeman and the people there kept me holding on. I stuck it out for them, so now that I've been put in a situation without them I'm at a loss.
And so as I struggle to hold onto the scrap of faith I'm hoping I still have that things will work out and that the Lord led me here for a reason and that I'll have the blessings to balance out the pain, I'll, with any luck, keep updating this blog for the benefit of posterity and the security of the nation. To wrap it up, I'll leave you with a quote from Dale on King of the Hill: "That is the worst smelling feces I've ever smelled."
Wise words, my friends...

Hello my faithful blogowers. My have things been busy! My computer died, so I've been using my little sister's computer. However, she is always gone with State FFA and takes her computer with her, so my access to the outside world is limited. That sucks. My other little sister had her baby and I can't seem to get enough snuggle time. By the end of August I'll be in Bozeman again and I'm both excited and nervous. Excited to be back among friends, but nervous that they way things have been so difficult will continue and my last refuge of sanity will be tainted. By Daneesha's wedding is on the 18th and I am very excited for it! Hopefully my computer will either be fixed or replaced by the time school rolls around.

Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

Family reunions are such awkward affairs. When we were children they were great fun. The cousins would come over to play with and grandma would have Pepperidge Farm reject cookies and plenty of Feature Films for Families to watch. As we got older, however, it got less fun. Now that most of us are in marrying age, it's just downright awkward. There's nothing much else to do but talk, which gets old after the first 45 minutes, and then you just sit there making polite sounds and waiting for it to be over. Then there is the joy that comes from introducing your future eternal companion to (dum DUM dum) the family. This particular brand of awkwardness is short lived, as the family members usually spend a great deal of time peppering the intended with questions about who they are. However, it makes things a bit more difficult for the other cousins who have yet to find their own intended, because there are the inevitable looks and pointed hints about what's taking you so long. Not to mention that family reunions are in Preston, the barnacle on the butt of Idaho.
I felt my sister's very pregnant belly the other day. The baby was squirming around so it looked like a scene from Alien. Felt absolutely disgusting. Then the baby girl got the hiccups. THAT was adorable. The entire belly shakes. My sister hates it because it hurts, but the idea of a tiny baby with hiccups is so cute...She's certainly taking her time getting here...the naughty little mooch.

Stupid Insects

My friend Caleb is serving a mission in the Philippines and his last letter mentioned they had resolved their cockroach problem. Cockroaches are so disgusting. The spawn of satan I tell you. During my high school trip to Mexico, the hallways of the hotel would be covered in cockroach carcasses in the morning. COVERED. Every morning. When I lived in Hawaii, I was in the room alone one day and noticed a cockroach the size of a small horse was sneaking around. Since it was obviously far too big to squash with a plastic flip-flop, I found the hale's can of aersol poison. I chased that cursed thing all over that room, spraying it every time it landed somewhere. This was not a silent chase of death. I squealed and yelped every time it came near me. Next door I could hear our two Samoan neighbors laughing. No doubt they were laughing at me, the pansy white girl who can't handle one little cockroach. The flying devil finally hid in some little crack where I couldn't get at it. The room was one big fog of poison, so I left for a bit so I didn't asphixiate myself. Come to find out, the cockroach was giant because it was going to be a mommy. Instead, me and my roomate had to deal with the hordes of tiny little cockroaches crawling over everything.
We never had to deal with these in Idaho. The closest we got were those spindly legged Box Elder bugs, the ones with the red-orange lines on their black wings. I hate those things. They covered the granparent's house and always threatened to sneak inside or swarm you. The houseflies DID swarm you, or so it felt. There were alway so many in the house it looked like the ceiling fan was black, instead of white. You quickly learned to sleep with your entire body under the covers and the make sure there weren't any holes the flies could crawl in. To this day I can't sleep unless my head is covered.

Aa-choo!

So Memorial Day evening I went back up to Driggs with my mom. This week went by so fast, considering all I've done is sleep in and watch old cartoons on Boomerang (the greatest channel ever). Yesterday I babysat for Natalie again. Her and Roger drove to Salt Lake to pick up their daughter from the airport and I stayed with their son. I was there until 4am but luckily Dawson was asleep by 10pm, so a great deal of time I was sleeping as well. My nose was ridiculously stuffy while I was there and by the time I went home, I knew I had a cold. So I feel like crap. Fitting, considering the weather, which is also crappy. The stupid thing about a cold is that I'm starving, but can't taste anything and nothing sits well on the stomach. Bleh. C'mon immune system! Fight!