It's snowing outside like a mo-fo. Most unfortunate. As I was watching the snow fall and waiting for the computer to open my program, I noticed the recycle bin icon was full to the brim of crumpled paper. "Hmmm," I thought. "There's a lot of deleted things in there. I should empty it and make room on my computer." There's only one thing inside. So if there's only one item in the recycle basket, why show all those crumpled papers and make you think it's overflowing? Why not show only one crumpled paper?
Sigh.
I haven't had much time for updating my blog. I've been plotting out my giant 48x48 painting. As of now it will be of the Laie Temple, but if that turns out to be too complicated...well...maybe I'll do something abstract (aka it can look like crap and no one will notice because it's "abstract").
Monday, March 28, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Outside my window are snow flurries and the ground is slowly being covered by the deathly white I'm sick of seeing. It has been raining recently and silly me was sure I saw spring in the air. I've been digging out my sandals and my ballet flats to wear because I'm sick and tired of my snow boots. So much for that...
Still no job. I've stopped counting how many applications I've filled out. Somewhere around the 60s or 70s. And its always the same reply, "We're going with someone more qualified." Whatever.
Still no job. I've stopped counting how many applications I've filled out. Somewhere around the 60s or 70s. And its always the same reply, "We're going with someone more qualified." Whatever.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
The Threat to My Life
Water is evil discarnate, but over the years H2O and I have come to a tenuous agreement. I don't go near him, and he holds off on his homicidal tendancies. I'm not entirely sure what I've done to make him so angry, but my word has he tried to kill me an awful lot of times!
By the time I reached high school, I realized he was thristing for my blood and I'd so assiduously avoided any incarnation of him I scarcely showered. But junior year we went to Hawaii and when you're on a tropical island, you have to go in the water.
It was there and then that Senor Agua decided to pull his dirty trick. You see, I was very careful not to go too near the water or spend too much time in the water, so as not to give him the uperhand. He realized this and devised a way to make sure I was miserable even when I wasn't in the water.
All he had to do was get me wet and I'd break into this horribly read and painfully burning, itchy rash all over! The heavily touristed beaches have makeshift showers to wash the salt water off, but seculded beaches do not. So I sat there and burned and itched and everyone wondered why I was so allergic to paradise.
At first we thought it was just that one year. Perhaps some sort of odd weather event with a Spanish name (El Itcho?) had caused some strange microbes to churn up in the water. Plausible. But everytime I've returned to my island home, water still gives me a rash that threatens to eat me from the outside in.
And H2O likes to keep me on my toes. He likes sending reminders that even on dry land, a thousand miles away from the nearest ocean, he's watching and waiting. He'll send me a dream full of tidal waves larger and more ominous than anything reality can produce.
But although my life is in constant peril, I have my little revenges. I drink a glass of him and there's nothing he can do about it and after a while, I'll smirk and wave as I flush him down the toilet.
By the time I reached high school, I realized he was thristing for my blood and I'd so assiduously avoided any incarnation of him I scarcely showered. But junior year we went to Hawaii and when you're on a tropical island, you have to go in the water.
It was there and then that Senor Agua decided to pull his dirty trick. You see, I was very careful not to go too near the water or spend too much time in the water, so as not to give him the uperhand. He realized this and devised a way to make sure I was miserable even when I wasn't in the water.
All he had to do was get me wet and I'd break into this horribly read and painfully burning, itchy rash all over! The heavily touristed beaches have makeshift showers to wash the salt water off, but seculded beaches do not. So I sat there and burned and itched and everyone wondered why I was so allergic to paradise.
At first we thought it was just that one year. Perhaps some sort of odd weather event with a Spanish name (El Itcho?) had caused some strange microbes to churn up in the water. Plausible. But everytime I've returned to my island home, water still gives me a rash that threatens to eat me from the outside in.
And H2O likes to keep me on my toes. He likes sending reminders that even on dry land, a thousand miles away from the nearest ocean, he's watching and waiting. He'll send me a dream full of tidal waves larger and more ominous than anything reality can produce.
But although my life is in constant peril, I have my little revenges. I drink a glass of him and there's nothing he can do about it and after a while, I'll smirk and wave as I flush him down the toilet.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
The Lone Democrat
Last night I did something completely out of character. I walked around looking at cows...for fun! Actually they were bulls, but whatever. The fam was headed to Riverbend to check out the bulls they'll be auctioning off today and to eat a ranch-worthy meal of steaks washed down with Mountain Dew and I figured I'd go along. You know, spend time with the siblings. Anyone who knows me knows when I was younger I had reoccuring dreams about cows (with blood dripping down their vampire teeth) eating people. Probably a product of my life-long fear of cows. And anyone who knows me knows I'm not really a farm/ranch/cowboy kind of person. Apparently that gene skipped me. So while Shay and Sidnee were eyeing the bulls with FFA trained skills and making a mental wish list, I was fretting about the mud getting on my boots and wondering who was stupid enough to climb in the pens to walk around with the giant, scary animals. Once they were satisfied they'd seen every last animal, we went back into the barn-that-looked-more-like-a-hotel-than-a-barn-cum-auction-area and got in line for the food (which, of course, was the real reason I came). The salad was delicious, the cheesecake to die for, and the steak...well...I came to the realization that despite my previous declarations, I could never eat a human being. No matter how hungry I was. The steak, though it smelled really good, was bleeding all over my paper plate and soaking through onto the plastic table covering. It wasn't really cooked at all, just browned on the outside, so that the inside was chewy and reminding me very much of the autopsy I'd witnessed. When you get right down to it, flesh all looks like flesh, no matter where it comes from. I tried to eat some, to be polite. I mean, I was surrounded by BIG beef people, all of whom looked like they could beat the crap out of me (and who no doubt could tell I was completely out of my element). But every bite I took made me feel like a cannibal. Unlike some carnivorous vampires (aka my brother), I can't handle the taste of blood. About half way through the dinner I realized a few things. Practically everyone there had a cowboy hat on and the same exact mustache, the ones that look like it's dripping onto their chins. I also realized the only guy I saw there that was remotely attractive was the only one not wearing cowboy gear. That's rather telling. And the third thing I realized? My little sister is smarter than practically everyone on our table. She was holding conversations with doctor so and so from Simplot and miss so and so from Altech. I didn't understand a single flipping word she said, so I started holding coversations in my head with imaginary people. And then the room started to smell like cow poo, so I looked around and noticed the farmhands, or whatever they perfer to be called, had walked in to get some dinner. No one else noticed the smell, I'm sure. To them it no doubt smells like money or washes them in waves of nostalgia. As for me, well, I was wearing Dolce and Gabbana perfume, thinking it would be funny if my reggae ringtone went off, and realizing I don't fit into any category whatsoever. Hmmmmm.....
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, February 14, 2011
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.
"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.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
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...
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...
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