on remaining a member of a church in which you are no longer active.

When I bailed on Mormonism nearly four years ago (I practically have a college degree in being inactive), it was after a number of years of frustration and resentment. Suddenly and strangely liberated-- and by this, meaning that I no longer felt inclined to keep a certain balance on my savings account, should I need to finance a wedding on the fly-- I bought a Dutch bicycle and I started this blog. Leaving the church, getting the Old Dutch Treat, and this silly little blogchurch were all part of that funny, disorienting moment in my life.

new bike owner. the ride home was 100% terrifying.

The thing about my membership in the Church-- the LDS Church-- is that I'm kind of unwilling to give it up. Sure, I don't acknowledge priesthood authority as a force that governs my life, and we all know I have done my fair share of things that would probably disqualify me from membership-- but the fact of the matter is, even though I don't go and I don't intend to go back, my membership, ensured through my baptism, means a lot to me. I still regard Mormons as my tribe-- adopted, to be sure-- and I just don't feel the inclination to resign my membership, in spite of everything. It's like keeping your married name after a divorce-- you can't deny that you made that choice, and it changed you in powerful ways (that's mixing metaphors, because this whole post is a metaphor, but whatever). I still identify as Mormon-- albiet a lapsed one- because Christian, atheist, agnostic- those labels just don't seem to fit. It's who I am, I can't shake it.


Ok, this post isn't actually about my relationship to the Church. It's about my relationship to my Dutch bike. I bought it with the intention of coasting down hills at the U, to feel the wind on my face-- and I did. The bike was not a burden. I had a large living room to store it in, and even when it didn't shift right or it blew over in the wind- I was just so into it. The bike was the symbol of the freedom I felt, and I might have spent a lot of my rides thinking, "Look at me! Don't you see how free I am? ACKNOWLEDGE MY FREEDOM."

my first fall in Philly.

So what went wrong? You will recall that I moved into a second floor apartment with a very narrow staircase. And even though the ODT carried me through a very exciting transition my life-- from West to East, car-owner to full-time city cyclist-- I still had to drag that heavy-ass bike up the stairs every night. It felt good to ride, but it's a lot of bike. I was covered in bruises from our battles. And the more I rode it, the more I had to maintain it. Have you ever taken the wheel off of a Dutch bicycle? No? GOOD. What I'm saying is, I could never find a shop that didn't bitch about my bike when I brought it in, so the bike and I were forced to duke it out and this tended to make for weeks of the ODT sitting around half dismantled.

the "aggressively hauling shit" phase. note that I had, by that time, gone to war with my skirt guards.

When I moved last year, getting a place with first floor access was a big deal for me. But then, you know, we have had a world of trouble with our pesky storm door. And the bike is still huge and hard to take care of. The headlight, which hadn't worked in over a year, started popping off and kickstand lost its functionality. Things were getting ramshackle. And then I started my exams. Being exhausted and hauling thirty books a trip up and down the hill-- because my commute doubled and now included a hill-- it just stopped working. I resented the bike, I didn't enjoy riding it (except on the downhills) and when the chain popped off when I was running late for school last Spring, I didn't bother to fix it. I told myself I'd take the train to school and ride the Dahon in the neighborhood and fix the bike when there weren't so many other demands on my energies. I had worked really hard to make the bike work, and it just wasn't happening. 

oh, the weight. by then, my Basil basket had disintegrated too. 

Fast forward, two months later--I finally finished fixing the bike today (it probably needs an adjustment at some hater bike shop).


And then I went to the shop to pick up the bike I bought in Tacoma. The tiny, light bike that won't be a bother when I'm late for school. The bike that will be much easier to lock up. The bike that shops won't mind working on. The bike I can actually take out on long rides. The bike that actually fits my leg length. The Bike. The Guez.


I'm not selling the Old Dutch, but I think it's time to put it in the basement. Maybe not forever-- I will probably want those fenders in the winter-- but for now, there's just no sense in keeping it out. Is this a rejection of the Cycle Chic, slow bicycle ethos that got me into cycling? It feels like it, a little bit. Riding in a skirt isn't my first priority these days, and slow only fits my life some of the time. But putting the Old Dutch to pasture doesn't mean getting rid of it-- like my church membership, it remains a powerful symbol of choices I made and things I wanted for my life. It will be there when I want it.


I like to think that I can cast off the weight of the symbol of being free and just be free. So I'll keep worshipping at the Church of the Granny Bike, just not on it. 

First thing out of the shop, I took my bike for a zip along the river to my favorite spot. Note that Big Brother cable tied my old tires on for shipping, and that the seat is the perfect height because BB made a note when he packed it! He is too wonderful.

america, america.

Jon Contino continues his amazing guestbloggery at my favorite blog Friends of Type.

I love America.  I love that the Fourth of July is the day I get to wave my nationalist freak flag, let my patriotic cup overflow with stars and stripes and eagles, and permit tears come right to the surface when I hear "America, The Beautiful."


I love that I've lived in so many parts of this great nation.  From my earliest years in the heartland of Oklahoma to growing up amidst Washington's evergreens, to my collegiate journey amongst the arid mountain vistas of Utah to the gritty urbanity of Philadelphia.  These places and the people I've known in them have made me who I am--O beautiful for spacious skies / For amber waves of grain / For purple mountain majesties /Above the fruited plain!
America! America! / God shed His grace on thee / And crown thy good with brotherhood /From sea to shining sea!

I love that America was a place my ancestors wanted to come to- from the minister who came to Virginia's red soil in the 1740s from Ireland to my great-grandfather who came from Denmark as a young man, working in dairies as he made his way west-- O beautiful for pilgrim feet / whose stern impassion'd stress / thoroughfare for freedom beat / Across the wilderness.


I love that the history of America is my life's work.  I love it for all its flaws and missteps, in spite of its shameful inequalities and slow progress towards change.  I love getting a sense of what mattered to Americans, understanding how their dreams and vision shaped the world we live in today.  I love that our Constitution provides us with freedom of expression, equal protection, and the opportunity to vote and elect representatives-- America! America! / God mend thine ev'ry flaw / Confirm thy soul in self-control / Thy liberty in law.


I love that America is a country that people in my family have fought for.  From the Revolutionary War to the right and wrong sides of the Civil War to Korea, Vietnam, and Iraq, my people have been there, giving all.  I am so proud of my mom, a courageous servicewoman who sacrifices every single day to contribute to the cause of freedom-- O beautiful for heroes prov'd in liberating strife / who more than self their country loved / and mercy more than life.  


I love that this country gives me hope.  I love the sense that things are going to get better and brighter, that opportunity is just around the corner.  I love coming home after trips abroad.  I love our past, our present, our future, is proud, persistant, and promising because we are Americans.  I love that my dad put a seventeen foot flagpole in our front yard, I love seeing the flag hanging in my window, I love to see it waving from the back of my brother's bike. I love everything that America is to me-- America! America! / May God thy gold refine / Till all success be nobleness / And ev'ry gain divine.
O beautiful for patriot dream/ That sees beyond the years / Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears!

(lyrics from here)

the ghosts of graduations past: a lesson in comparative graduations.

My cousin is graduating from high school today and I am overcome with sentimentality.  Was it eight years ago that I sat in my white gown hopefully eating contraband M&M’s with my best friends in the Tacoma Dome?  Was it just four years ago that I again trod the floor of the Tacoma Dome, this time in black, and with a greater sense of terror about where my life was going?  Or a year ago even that I was hooded in the Huntsman Center, finally graduating with a life plan? 

I thought it would be fun to dig through my paper archives and share with you some blurbs from the exceptionally fair weathered days of graduations past:

“It’s crazy though, because the next five years will probably determine my whole life.  No pressure or anything! …. Lots of cool options, when it comes to careers and what to study in college.  The whole world is in front of me! Weeeeee! I can do anything I want with my life! Ha! I can do whatever I want.  If I wanted I could go find some dweeby singles ward guy and get married.  I could go to college and become a teacher, a translator, a counselor- anything! … I can do anything I want!  The world is my pancake and I’m ready for breakfast!!!!!”

-June 10, 2002

This is obviously the first time I had thought about my future.  I’m glad that, after a few close calls,  I didn’t follow through with the “dweeby singles ward guy” option.  

“It seemed like the day would never come soon enough, and without really giving a care as to what happens after, well, it came.  Suddenly it would seem—barring [sic] all classes are passed- that I am to be an adult, an educated person, some sort or worker.  I can’t say that I’m particularly prepared for the finality of my educational pursuits but alas, the unpreparedness is my reality…

I cannot say that the post-graduate lifestyle will be without its struggles.  The need for full-time employment is imminent.  Greater independence must be obtained, as must a more fuel-efficient car.  The blessings of love and family will bring their own set of stressors; still, well, the potential of life inspires too much hope to feel overwhelmed.  Sure, Monday will come and I may feel some despair but that does not change the infinite possibilities for my future.”

-May 21, 2006

If a student wrote this, I would spend a lot of time debating about whether I'd give her an A- for being reasonably articulate or a B+ for being inflated and obnoxious, containing tense confusion and misusing words.  She would probably get the A- as like, four times elsewhere in the entry she talks about how graduation made her really want to go to graduate school.

Bonus points because my life plan was to become “some sort of worker."

“I am nearly 25 and I feel like I haven’t done anything yet.  I know I have to let go of that, take a deep breath, (<-- grad school made me put that comma there, so not me) & somehow I must believe that I can do what I said I would do…. I suppose that’s it.  I have no deep thoughts about life right now, just a lot of peace about my choices.”

      -May 16, 2009

 I think by the time I got my MA, I had finally floated down to earth and found some real goals.  Clearly after graduating so many times, its momentousness is lost on me.  I now struggle to buy people sincere graduation cards because I’m like, “Really?  I’ve graduated like a gazillion times. Do it a couple more times and then we'll talk.”

And so, class of 2010, I present you with the same wry card I presented myself with last year:

card available through Sycamore Street Press on Etsy.  Check it out- they run a mean letterpress. 

Photo links to the card as this is their sales photo. 

randoseru: the perfect cute backpack for bicycle commuting.

I'm here today to tell you about my Mom.

She's pretty special. She lives in Japan and knows just what I like.

Such as very early birthday presents.

She saw the little kids in Japan wearing these backpacks- randoseru- and knew that it would be just the thing for bike commuting.

She scoured and scoured ebay until she found the perfect one.

It's made out of a horse.

Horse leather, that is.

It's red because the girls in Japan get the red ones. I like the red- it's very high vis.

As you can see, it's very finely crafted. The randoseru are made for the children to wear as a part of their uniforms through six  primary school years.  

The clasp closes magnetically and can also be locked with that little swivel.  The straps swivel as well.  I love the metal construction- it is industrial.

The back is cushy, as are the straps.  They are also adjustable.

The randoseru has a see-through pocket for your homework, forms for your parents to sign, or if you're a history grad student, your "haircuts of the U.S. presidents" print-out.

I have the hardest time remembering who the Gilded Age presidents were.

The front pocket zips closed and is perfect for pens and wallets and lipgloss and such.  The front has a see-through space your ID. But not your id. 

This randoseru has really adorable white piping. 

It has a deep storage compartment that would fit three or four history monographs and some composition books.

It sits up really high on your back for proper ergonomics.

My mom would probably suggest that I move that towel before taking pictures to post on the internet. At least she taught me how to apply mascara.

Water rolls right off the back when it's raining- I made it through a storm yesterday and all my stuff stayed perfectly dry.

Isn't my mom the coolest?

(these pictures brought to you by photo booth, since my camera was never recovered)

my life in bike stats.

Big Brother and I have a monthly bicycle miles accountability routine.  Tonight we checked in and I went a little crazy with my numbers.  They reveal a lot about my habits- though not entirely, as there was a lot more bussing, subway-ing, and walking in January than a typical in-school month.  But here's what I was up to on my bike:


I rode 118 miles.
I rode 82 of my total miles on or after school started on January 19.


I rode 35.3 of my total miles at night.  
Are you watching for bikes when you drive at night?


I failed to encounter zen and the art of bicycle maintenance.


I averaged 3.8 miles a day, or 6.2 on days that I rode (I like my days off).
My average round trip was 4.9 miles.

A. 32% of my miles involved acquiring or imbibing drink.*
B. 27% of my miles involved picking up library books or amazon.com orders from the post office.
C. 26% of my miles involved getting groceries.


There was no overlap between A and B or A and C. There was a teensy bit of overlap between B and C thanks to a sweet new supermarket by my school.


I had a Church of the Granny Bike moment on my folding bike.


I made 15 round trips on the Dahon.
I made 11 round trips on the Old Dutch Treat.
This was the first month that I've ridden the Hello Kitty bike more, thanks to my snazzy new headlight.


I've ridden approximately 685 miles since going car-free last August.  Amazing what the body can do without the Honda, isn't it?




All routes were checked using Google Maps. My lifetime car-free cumulative numbers include some earnest fudging from unrecorded rides early on and when I was on vacation away from my lovely spreadsheet.  All errors are due to the fact that I'm a historian who's never taken a statistics class. All bike miles were accrued wearing regular clothes for the purpose of transportation. All January miles were accrued wearing a helmet.


*Know your limits before you get on your bike and plan accordingly (that's how I roll). Drink and ride responsibly, judiciously, or not at all. I'm not here to tell you how to live your life so don't blame me, sue me, or judge me.  I'm not looking for a conversation, that is, unless you are the awesome dude who was hauling a mega-case of bottles on your front rack in 20 degree weather the other day.  Because that was awesome and required some serious skills.

unexpected day in the life.

Give me a day that starts out with me falling asleep around 4am.


I'll tell you that it's not going to be a good day.  There's that midday social obligation.  There's articles to read.  There's all those bike miles to add up.  There's that class I'm not interested in, talking about that book that I didn't get much out of with that group of people who bore me with that nutty professor.  That's going to happen.


Ugh.


I'm going to wake up a little grumpy.


And things are going to add up.


That toast is delicious.  And that music?  It's music to my ears.


Those people outside the liquor store?- yes, I'm there at 11:30am- the ones who always heckle me for cash when I pretend I'm not listening?-- dollar bills all around, not really thinking about it.  It's windy, get some coffee.


Let's get on that bike, the one I fight with, the one that carries me through Center City as that van honks at me but I miss all the potholes.  Bake some cookies, my favorite thing to do.  Baking with the girls who are like my Relief Society, making our own group just like the Relief Society would've told us to.  But give us mimosas- the idea they scoffed at, drinking at noon- give us mimosas and chocolate chips and snickerdoodles.  A few hours of much needed sisterhood and that bread!  Something you could only find in Philly, that bread!


Breeze through those articles, the ones we won't talk about, and on to dinner.  Leftover spaghetti noodles somehow transform themselves into some proto-yakisoba, pan-fried noodles, onions, garlic, pea sprouts, soy sauce.  And we have that conversation, texting back and forth about that UPS guy who likes you.  I look forward to that, you know.  Coffee, yes, at 6pm, class tonight, what a bore! But I'm glad we talk- a different we- when we meet in the kitchen. I'm glad when you offer me some of that soup and when you tell me you liked the latkes I made, the ones you ate without asking.  Going to that talk tomorrow, getting an advisor tomorrow, class tomorrow.


Let's not think about tomorrow.


Let's talk about going to OAH in April, tenement style, with everyone.  Or you- the other you- call me and squeeze in that five minute conversation while you walk home and I race out the door.  Headlight, blinkee light, helmet, lock.  Green lights and minimal traffic, easy parking and not even late!


Allow me to bust out every strategy in the book to get through that class.  The instant challenge to a viewpoint that you tell me later will make me that professor, the one people are afraid to take and who challenges them to learn!  The notes to the person sitting next to me that inspire discreet smiles and solidarity.  The discussion's dragging, please, let me ask that question- the one about how this book would look if we wrote it from a different methodological perspective.  Let it be 9 o'clock when the professor starts answering that question, when he lays out how the book would be called "Spain on the Brain: Anglo Anxieties in Hispanic World, 1500-1800," and tells us the who thesis and sums up the class just perfectly in spite of repeating the phrase "Spain on the Brain" five, eight times.  Who cares if the monologue lasted 35 minutes?  It's the second time I've made this happen, that question, this monologue.  I've already forgotten I don't care about colonialism.  What a time we had with those guys! The ones who drive us crazy, the ones who tell us they enjoyed our comments and that they like our folding bike. The ones who exist only as types and never come out with us afterwards.


Beer, glorious beer, finally!  Let there be the favorite usual waitress who we always overtip at our favorite usual bar, the ones where people's eyes twinkle as the pitcher gets emptier and the light reflects off the yellow glass lamps and the dingy wood paneling.  Oh, that laugh that reminds me of my cousin, and please, tell me again that twenty-five isn't that old.


Oh you guys! You don't have to wait.  Headlight, blinkee light, helmet, lock.  I'll try that smaller intersection, just right, an easy left turn.  Why have I never taken that route before? 


Give me third gear all the way down the Parkway, wind on my face, no cars, dim lights glowing against the Art Museum.  I'm on the folding bike, it's not as blissfully cruise-y as the other bike, but wait, it is.  Sublime propulsion along the usual unnoticeable route.  Don't let the cat in, he comes in anyways, but he's home, I'm home, he's happy, I'm happy.  I'm headed up the stairs, happy because I'm leading this life that I never planned to lead, happy that I enjoyed this day that I didn't expect to enjoy.

gratitude.

It's time for the annual "I'm thankful for" list. I'm just dashing it out as I have a lot of writing to do this evening, but this really is one of my favorite yearly exercises.

I am thankful for my always supportive family. They keep me going when times are tough. They give me perspective and insight and patience and love.  In this past year in particular, they generously and graciously opened their homes to me when I needed the time and the space to rebuild my tattered sense of self. My family sustains me, and there really aren't words to express how grateful I am for that.  I couldn't do this alone. I can't wait to be with them soon!

I am thankful for opportunities. I'm grateful I'm in my seventh year of college. I'm thankful that I've been able to travel, present at conferences, meet new people, take on exciting projects, and have such a dang cool career path. I forget how awesome it is when I get caught up in the drudgery and the logistics, but I'm glad that I continuously get reminded that I am doing something special.

I am thankful I changed my life. This city, this school, this program, this life, these challenges-- they were all exactly what I needed. I have never worked so hard or put so much of myself into anything, and I'm grateful for what that experience has done to my spirit. I feel fortified. I am glad I didn't take other paths and that so many things in my life didn't happen so that I can be here, now.

I am thankful that I sold my car and became a bike commuter. The 455 miles I've ridden since moving to Philly last August have made my body fit and relieved me of so much stress.  Those miles also allow me to consume lager and fries several times a week without consequences, which I am particularly grateful for.

Which reminds me, I am thankful for my health. In a season of colds and swine flu, I feel phenomenally blessed that I have not been sick once. 

I am thankful for my friends in every time zone. I like knowing that they are out there in the world being good people and making the world a better place. It gives me hope. I am thankful that we have the bonds that we do. 

In the moment- I'm thankful I have a place to be this Thanksgiving. I'm thankful that in the past month I've become apart of a great group of friends who give me endless opportunities to laugh. I'm grateful for the prospect of pear butterscotch pie, a ride in the rain, finally being able to understand how to write about political culture, and getting to tell stories that have never been told this way.  I'm thankful for white Christmas lights and a roommate who, in five seconds, is going to ask me to help him start preparing an amazing meal for tomorrow.  And I'm thankful for all of you who read my blog and make me smile with your comments and encouragement. I have so much to be thankful for!

Happy Thanksgiving! 

three disparate things.

1. I'm reading The Handmaid's Tale again.  After a particularly difficult year of high school, I asked a favored English teacher what to read that summer, knowing that she had to have good taste because she'd done her masters thesis on e.e. cummings.  She suggested Atwood's book. I loved it. It got me thinking about woman's place in the world.

As an undergraduate I pursuaded another kind English instructor to let me do a paper on it. The course of that research introduced me to Phyllis Schlafly, the ERA, the Christian Right, and the LDS Church's efforts against the proposed Amendment. It revealed to me that dirty word: feminism. As a graduate student I've done work on the Eagle Forum and am now working on the Moral Majority. The Handmaid's Tale was written in a very particular moment, and that moment has come to define my career and how I spend my days.

And to think it all stemmed from a very casual book recommendation to a teenage student.

2. When I was living in the dorms at college, I embarked on a mission to a suburban Macy's for a bathrobe. I left the store with a piece of fluff the color of buttercream frosting. It was one of the first times that I said, "damn the costs," and bought something because I liked it and I knew I would need it for a long time.  Now that it's suddenly winter bathrobe season, wearing it puts me back in Pflueger Hall, back in the steamy smell of Dove body wash, back next to the drafty window where I used to sit after my showers. It puts me back in a time before I was an aunt and before my relationship with Mormonism got so fraught. I put on this bathrobe and I go back in time, back to before I knew anything about how good life could be.

And yet I kind of like that my cozy bathrobe takes me back to that time of not knowing any better.

3. Yesterday I went to New York City for the first time. It was big and bustling and dense and busy and shadowy. I only saw a few rushed snippets of the city, and I didn't like it all that much. How do people live there?  Why would anyone choose that? 

And then I remembered that I was in New York City, where I had never been before. That I made choices- a lot of them, big ones- that got me there. That I'd better enjoy right where I was because I'd never get to go to New York City for the first time ever again. Times Square got a little prettier and the people seemed a little nicer. 

New York made more sense to me when it was a myth, but at the very least, there I was. And Philly seemed so blissfully quaint when I returned.

reflections on "the way 'we' live now."

David Brooks' column really got me today. I have been following the Sotomayor confirmation pretty closely because I've found it all together horrifying. The questions mustered under the euphemistic concern over her "identity"- her race, ethnic heritage, and gender (pick your construct!) have angered me deeply. Is this the America I live in? Why is her racial identity an issue when John Roberts' wasn't?

So I've been mad because it's so out of control and as a homeless person I can't open the safety valve with a quick email to my elected representative (Utahns, do you know what your senior senator has been up to today?). Fortunately the Brooks column helped me to see a different side of things. He looks at Sotomayor's biography and says, yah, it's an awesome American story about civil rights coming a long way, but also, "It’s the upward mobility story — about a person who worked hard and contributes profoundly to society, but who also sacrificed things along the way."

Brooks then goes on to catalog Sotomayor's relationships throughout her life- an extended family as a child, mentors, friends, and a spouse as an adult. This was the part of the piece that really hit me. Excuse the lengthy quote:

"This isn’t the old story of a career woman trying to balance work and family. This is the story of pressures that affect men as well as women ... It’s the story of people in a meritocracy that gets more purified and competitive by the year, with the time demands growing more and more insistent.

These profiles give an authentic glimpse of a style of life that hasn’t yet been captured by a novel or a movie — the subtle blend of high-achiever successes, trade-offs and deep commitments to others. In the profiles, you see the intoxicating lure of work, which provides an organizing purpose and identity. You see the web of mentor-mentee relationships — the courtship between the young and the middle-aged, and then the tensions as the mentees break off on their own. You see the strains of a multicultural establishment, in which people try to preserve their ethnic heritage as they ascend into the ranks of the elite. "

I wish I didn't feel this so deeply. I'm not pretentious enough to say I'm apart of the "elite" or to seriously self-identify as "a high achiever," nor am I naive enough to think that these strains are limited to those of a particular educational level or class attainment. But, I can say wholeheartedly that I have felt what Brooks describes, and to see it on 'paper' freaked me out, but it also gave me a lot of comfort. Particularly when I consider the crazy semester I just finished, where the work I loved started to feel like my undoing and I struggled to negotiate my role as a "mentee," it was nice for someone in the world to point out that yes, this is common.

Brooks concludes powerfully that in Sotomayor's story, "You see the way people not only choose a profession, it chooses them. It changes them in a way they probably didn’t anticipate at first.... You don’t succeed at that level without developing a single-minded focus, and struggling against its consequences."

Every time I read that quote, the tears come right into my eyes. I don't think I ever could have comprehended how consuming graduate school would be- the development of my single-mindedness was for me a somewhat painful process. It happened as soon as I started my program, as I confronted what it meant to miss my nieces' birthday and how little time and energy I had to manage the significant issues I had with my faith. It wasn't that those things quit mattering or that I became immune to the sting I felt from them, but like pioneers chucking stuff out of a wagon to lighten the load, I learned how to tune stuff out that wasn't right in front of me so I could handle the tasks at hand. I think that's been the craziest part-- somewhere between those heartrending first couple of months and the moment towards the end when moving east didn't seem like such a big deal because it felt like the only deal. It's still something that's constantly being reconciled, but I would say by and large, at some point the consequences stopped feeling sad and ultimately I've gotten to the point where doing what needs to be done so I can do what I want to do makes me really happy.

Nobody told me that that would happen.

(Brooks doesn't talk about the happiness element much, but that's what this article made me think about. Being successful isn't entirely about surrendering relationships as he runs the risk of implying, but man, you do learn how to become happy spending time with yourself).

vacation and mildly depressing politics sandwich.

Yes, it's true, borne out by my Twitter feed and many annoying facebook updates to tease and taunt- I'm in the UK and loving it. I decided to share this photo because it features prominent quadriceps gifted to me by the ODT, so you know, I can be a schmuck and brag about how fit biking's made me. With this picture I can also brag about how good the 9% apple cider is, but you know, I think that's pretty obvious.

Anywho, if you get the chance, check out Frank Rich's commentary on the recent spate of right-wing violence and conspiracy theories. Obviously, conspiracies are nothing new, but I think Rich is correct that the lack of conservative / Republican leadership on the issue isn't helping and will cause further problems. Interesting stuff to chew on.

Here also is a fascinating summation of the Iranian elections. I too believe that the election was stolen and think it's a total bummer because well, the implications suck.

What, you're depressed now? Yah, well here's some tips on what to take to people who invite you over (I liked the idea of bringing a giant jar of Nutella) and a funny food oriented photo from the Tesco grocery store offering a good pairing for Father's Day. Best to eat our feelings when it comes to domestic and international politics.


p.s. I laughed, I cried, I peed a little: "45 Ridiculous Pictures of Boy Bands." I miss the 90s!

i decided.

I had to make the best decision for my future, not just the short term. I think a life with a PhD from Temple University-- School B-- is a life I can look forward to and the life I most want. I am still a little shocked that I made the decision-- actually turning down the U, actually sending off the forms-- but I think I would be remiss to surrender such a great opportunity, both for learning and personal growth. I think Philly will offer me a new and different perspective on the world-- something you can never get enough of as a historian trying to understand what it means to be human. I'm nervous and I know I'm taking a huge risk-- I have never taken such a leap of faith in my life-- but I know that there is really no better path for me to take it this point.

Holy cow!!! There aren't words to express how crazy this feels and how wildly excited I am.
Watch out Philadelphia! The Granny Bike's going East Coast!

duly noted.

Rough day on the Granny Bike front. Enjoy this plucky song with me.

Also smilemaking? Cute icons for macs... for free!

snowed in.

Lordy! It's been snowing literally since the second I got home from an appointment at noon and has not stopped snowing since. They sent all the University employees home which means plowing services will be reduced to nothing and I will be forgoing a Christmas party in order to stay safe and cozy up on the hill.


It's pretty isn't it? There should be some foothills in the background but they are hidden by the clouds.

Fortunately I was able to hit up the little convenience store at campus housing before it closed so I could stock up on nutritious non-perishables to see me through the storm. It was the perfect day for The Dark Knight to come from Netflix. Can't wait to party by myself tonight! Technically only three pages of thesis left to write!

(no, they do not sell Bacardi at the student store... but it's just too cold for gimlets so rum and cokes will have to do!)

p.s. I changed the layout to a stretch format to benefit those of us with widescreen computers-- feedback?

i'm feeling festive.

what the world needs now.

There has been all this contention on the interwebs lately about politics and the involvement of certain exceptionally large churches getting involved in certain exceptionally volatile political issues in certain exceptionally large states. So to change the subject, I am going to get really, really fixated on Christmas. In fact, to show you I am committed, I am posting this Christmas themed video for your entertainment:

preparing the tenement.

The other night my sweet bacon adoring roommate stopped me in the hallway. She let me know that our other roommate had gone to LA that day and that the next day she too would be going to LA. To meet her husband and daughter who are coming to visit from China. Who, next Friday, will take up residence in our apartment-- the husband for five days, the eight year old for twenty.

UM HELLO?! You are MARRIED!?! You have a CHILD?!!?!

So maybe we don't talk that much-- but after living together for six months, you'd think that might come up. You'd think? It now makes sense that she asked if that picture of my brother and niece was of my husband and child. And the constant weighing-- duh, one must look good for hubbie! Kind of exciting to have an entire family setting up housekeeping in one of our bedrooms! I'm pretty sure there's some student housing policy against that, probably right next to the one prohibiting closets full of beer! So I couldn't really say anything.

Anyways, I stepped into our kitchen this morning and realized that the overlay of filth was now a matter of international perceptions of America on the global scale-- fuuuuuckkkk--- after two hours of scrubbing through permadirt, it sparkles and I can feel a little more like Nixon showing Khrushchev the model kitchen. Rest assured, America-- the worldwide reputation of democracy has once again been preserved!

i want a dog.

Dear Humanity, I want a cute puppeh like this.

house parties and being filled with love and whatevs.

Ok, so I am filled with love right now as I have just seen some of my friend's wedding pictures-- said wedding which of course I missed because I am a prisoner of the Wasatch Front*** and my thesis and goals and shit. Glad I saved the wine for Sunday because Sunday is always the day that I wish I had some, because I am prone to loneliness and reading outside and watching movies and being alone and stuff. Wine helps in making it suck less, which gives me some insight into Jesus, who also drank wine. I mean, after being chased around and shit by the Romans and the Pharisees et. al I think you would need something for the nerves. Which I can relate to, of course, because I am filled WITH NERVES because my successful interview lady HAS NOT EMAILED ME WITH HER CONTACTS. Which is a PROBLEM because I HAVE DEADLINES, PEOPLE.

Ok, but for your sake, I am going to keep it positive, because I am now, yet again, filled with white wine, and MORE unusually, filled with love. So first, my gramma is awesome because she called me back, and I haven't talked to her in a while, and she reminded me of the eight thousand reasons why I loved living with her-- the woman is amazing, she takes care of everybody and is SO UPBEAT ABOUT IT. And we just talked, like we used to when I would come home from school or reffing and she would tell me everything she ate that day and the dish on all the family. If you find me plodding about really, really fast in a pair of Sketchers with my sweatshirt sleeves rolled up, trust that I am trying to emulate this awesome woman who is clearly assuming the role of matriarch since the actual matriarch has taking to Houdini-ism******* (Gram-E's words, not mine). :D

Anywho, I watched Better Off Dead. For its genre ('80s teen movie) I thought it was pretty good-- in some ways it completely kills (SKI CHOREOGRAPHY?!?! ON ONE FOOT?!?!) and in other ways it sucks ass (weird talking hamburgers). I suppose one could just obtain some Warren Miller to compensate for the skiing but you have to see this film because, and only because, JOHN CUSACK IS SUCH A CUTIE. So cute, in fact, that all of his subsequent films INSTANTANEOUSLY BECOME ANNOYING!*

Now that I am having some Hogue it reminds me of a recent wedding that I DID attend in which I consumed about as much Hogue as I've had now. And I am filled WITH EVEN MORE LOVE. Which reminds me of a post I was intending to do about HOW MUCH I LOVE HOUSE PARTIES*****. Seriously, I told my friend that House Parties**** are better than church. Sure, I mean there isn't the God factor (which I dig, but find ways to encounter in everyday life) but in terms of social contacting, it's like all the mingling without feeling forced too BECAUSE IT'S MY CALLING, AND OMG, LITERALLY, GOD WANTS ME TO KNOW AND LOVE EVERYONE! So it's way more comfortable, and at this particular HOUSE PARTY OF AWESOME-NESS, not only did I find awesome Mexican beer but many awesome APPROACHABLE PEOPLE which made me feel better about humanity in general. I mean, so many people just living and keeping it real in the SLC and that's what it's all about, right?! Right, Jim Hortis, regular reader and impending birthday extraordinaire??!?!? I mean hell, there was even a bit o' dancing and talk of LINDA KERBER.

It is my opinion that Librarian House Parties are WAY cooler than Skiier House Parties... though Skiier House Parties are of course cool in their own way, like that one time they threw Joe in the hottub with his clothes on. Obviously the Skiiers are a younger crowd, which is again a way in which the Librarians rock, because they are more my age and shit, or at least more my type because they drink like fish but are not so young and overt about DRINKiNG ALL THAT NATTY LITE****** (Librarians are smart and do the Hard A). Cheers to Librarian House Parties, and also cheers to Jim, because I never had any Jack Daniels before (and cheers to Big Brother for the recommendation) and now a bottle of my own is totes on my list** and also to Jim, because he was in a drunken state of elasticity that made me really, really look forward to my own birthday. In AUGUST. DON'T FORGET. THERE WILL BE A HUGE PARTY.

Anywho, the moral of the story is that the day of loneliness is much tempered by a call back from GRAM-E and an 80's teen flick and a bottle o' Hogue.

Frick.

Now I have to go back and link all of my meaningful references.



*sorry ABOUT THE CAPS LOCK but every time I do it IT MAKES MY EYES BUG OUT and I feel SO FULL OF EMPHASIS. Like I'm not yelling at you, BUT MY EYES ARE BUGGY, kind of JUST LIKE MY WHOLE FAMILY DOES. Ok. Inside joke, I APOLOGIZE. :P

**Because white wines is kind of expensive to go through a bottle each time, you know? Hard A is more of an investment or at least economical IN THESE TIMES of ECONOMIC HARDSHIP. Because I keep spending ALL MY MONEY on GAS to drive to the RIVAL SCHOOL AND HAVE AMAZING MILKSHAKES. But I digress, because my tongue is numb.

***I only feel that way on Sundays, when I am too not-busy to feel otherwise.

****Capitalized because House Parties are my third favorite thing, behind Nieces/Immediate-family-tasticness (including Sister in Law!!! she is so rad!!! and such a contributor to feisty nieces!!!! yeah!!!!!!!) and Chocolate Cake with Chocolate Frosting.

*****U know it's on my Netflix queue!

******which too my credit I only drink after skiing when it's been chillin in the snow all day and usually I go to bed after the Hard A and good beer is gone and as a personal policy, do not ever, ever drink canned aluminium tasting beers, except after skiing.

and p.s. if i am ever applying for a job, this blog will become way, way more anonymous in about eight thousand different ways. just so you aren't worried about me being screwed and even more poor after all this hard work (in relation to my career, not work posting-- believe you me i save all the emotional work for my journal, suckaz-- and perceived as a three times a week lush or something, which seems like a lot more than it is, really.

p.p.s it was not the whole bottle, there is still a glass left, suuuccckkkazzz.

*******Her career as an escape artist, since her removal to the Fijian old person's home of compassion, though she does not remember it, inspires me, if anything because she is in some way sticking it to THE MAN in a way that I know she'll be proud of when she gets to a place after this life in which she's in a place to appreciate it because she has ROCKED being old . I like to think she would've wanted it that way, back in the day when she was just bragging about subscribing to Mother Jones and being naturopathic and taking laughing classes and being 90 and living alone. Great-g truly set the example for aging in our family in a way that I look for me and my bro and all of my cuz-power to rock. Watch out, suburbs of Tacoma.