on remaining a member of a church in which you are no longer active.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

summing up my time in tacoma.

Movies in my favorite bar = animated gif with my bestie. <3

three years with the Old Dutch [Treat] and review: schwalbe marathon plus tires.

The Old Dutch and I are celebrating our three year anniversary around this time of the year. As a bike owner, I've gone from a terrified first year grad student to a seasoned fourth year with a dissertation topic and comps committee.  I've gone from a casual campus rider to an aggressive daily city commuter.  I have even started to tackle the art of bicycle maintenance.

I have mixed feelings about the Old Dutch at this point. Don't get me wrong- I love it and have no intent to ever get rid of it. The rigor of my longer commute-- now around ten miles a day-- leaves me longing for a lighter bike. With a lock and loads of books, hauling 50+ pounds of bike up and down the hill leaves me pretty exhausted. As someone with anxiety issues who otherwise has difficulty falling asleep at night, this is not necessarily a bad thing. But it is a thing.  Additionally, that some of my components have not held up very nicely (skirt hards, chain guard, headlight, I am looking at you) leaves me a little sad. Bike shops hate working on this bike. Hauling it up narrow stairs for a year took its toll, on me and the bike. 

Still, I love my rolling bike church.  Putting new tires on it has renewed this love. Philly's streets demand a substantial tire-- there is too much broken glass and pothole-ery for anything less.  The Schwalbe Marathon Plus tires have increased the smoothness of my ride-- I now merrily bounce over bumps. The tires have great traction. The Schwalbe Marathon Plus are the urban assault tires that my bike has needed.  I am happy to say that I even installed them myself (though my roommate checked my work).  I feel confident that these tires will serve me well during the miserly winter bike commute. 

I love the clear caps on the Schwalbe tubes.

Last year's bike-a-versary here.

are we here for a reason?

When my school friends here in Philly met me last year, they got the impression that I was something of a patriot. We were in a class discussing an article that critiqued the Korean War Memorial and I, new blonde person from Utah, seemingly out of the blue gave a forceful defense of the monument based on my grandfather's love of the monument as a veteran of that conflict. It was an awkward moment in a conversation amongst the ivory tower bourgeois. As they got to know me, they got to know me as a member of my family-- a military family. From birth, it seems, I have been reared to see the primacy of sacrifice for country. That trip to see the travelling Vietnam Veteran's Memorial come through Tulsa, the POW-MIA sticker on the Jeep, the flagpole dominating our front yard, home, and street-- it's in my cells.


So I got teary over this article about the lady Marines serving with combat units in Afghanistan. Their sacrifice requires them to take extra steps so that they avoid official combat designation. Their sacrifice requires them to do something that isn't acknowledged by their employer- something our country pretends not to practice is their daily reality.  Congress and DoD's continued denial of the sacrifices these women are making as combat troops is an effort to pretend that out-moded traditional gender norms surrounding war are still in place. Pretending that these women, now full protectors of our country, are doing something less is shameful.  Their sacrifice is real, and policy cannot diminish it.

I am proud of these women, and I am proud of the leaders that trust them and train them as Marines, not women, to be so close to the action. Of the official line, I think the sentence that concludes the article is especially poignant: 

"In the end, she said, “They’re going to remember what we did.” 

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.

slow and steady wins the race.

In conversations about the health benefits of moving to Philadelphia and bike commuting, I typically use the "fat summer" of 2008 as a point of reference.  I had moved to Utah, lost ten pounds from the stress, bought a bike, gained all the weight back, and then set upon a rather solitary, sedentary summer that included a lot of air-conditioned hours spent watching movies while consuming a steady intake of drinks, Pringles, Cheeze-Nips, Oreos, and the like.  It was a lonely time that was met with poor food choices. We've all been there.  There are basically no pictures of me from that time because I took special care to delete them along the way.  I had no energy, wore loose sundresses because my pants didn't fit, and was pretty squishy.  I didn't have a waist.  We don't have to talk exact numbers here, other than that I had a BMI of ~27- right in the middle of the overweight category.






Fast forward fifteen months.  There were some slow and steady changes made over time.  I started with not buying junk and drinking less.  I lost about 12 pounds doing that.  I moved to a city with a Trader Joe's where I do most of my shopping, making sure to toss a bag of spinach in with my groceries and skipping out on the treats (I bought sweets at TJ's for the first time in Philly this week... seriously).  The last 8 pounds came off as I embarked on a car-free lifestyle.*  This was unintentional.**  I should round out Fall Semester with 500 miles under my belt.  


I've mentioned the changes in posts along the way, but today was a big milestone.  I've lost 20 pounds since the "fat summer." My BMI is 23- right in the midst of the normal weight range.  I am decidedly less doughy. I've lost about four inches off my waist and now have an extensive collection of pants that are much too large.  Double chins in photographs are seldom a problem.  I weigh less than I did my senior year of high school in 2002 and any time since.


I'm not trying to brag-- but I really, truly believe in the power of lifestyle change.  There are lots of reasons to consider getting on a bike, and weight loss is a legitimate one.  Most days I ride between 2 and 6 miles, with the occasional 10 or 12 mile day.  So there you have it-- you don't have to run a marathon to see results!






*My comments about nutrition should be qualified to note, in earnest, that I consume lager and fried bar food with greater frequency nowadays.  That's slowed my weight loss but nonetheless, since selling my car, I have steadily lost weight without any gaining back. Eating everything I can- including glorious full fat dairy- has not stemmed the tide of weight loss.  So there's some logic there.


**No, really. My poor roommate can attest to the endless whining about being hungry all the time and how none of my clothes fit- and I couldn't even buy Gap Jeans any more because even the smaller sizes are cut too wide (I recommend J. Crew for bike-altered bodies) .  It was a very rough time for him. 

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! 

a little wednesday girl power rock for you.

I don't know why, but this song makes me feel like kicking ass and taking names.

I think it's this lyric:

She's an old-time ambassador
Of sweet talking, night walking games
And she's known in the darkest clubs
For pushing ahead of the dames
If she says she can do it
Then she can do it,
she don't make false claims
But she's a Queen,
and such are queens.

Maybe it's too much Gossip Girl, but I'm into the Queen Bitch motif today... Wait, what?

Which reminds me, Gossip Girl is very much into music that involves spelling.

michelle, this is for you. and me.

More here.

don't bunt.

My cousin posted this picture on facebook this week. It brought back a lot of memories. Back during my days as a receptionist, I always looked forward to when it was my turn to take the company cars for cleaning at the Elephant Car Wash. It was an hour and a half out of the claustrophobic hallway office that I shared with three other women, a kind of sacred time for listening to NPR and The Mountain. It's funny what a picture brings back. I can almost hear the Tom Petty coming out of the radio as I headed down 5th Avenue.

I was connected yet again to that transitonary period of my life (between educational institutions, and, little did I know, out of the church) when I discovered a cannister of change in one of my dresser drawers as I was packing today. In addition to the change, there were barrettes and other detritus that I'd been stashing for no real reason. I was happy to find one of the bits was meaningful.

On my first day at Callison, my co-workers took me out to lunch at Palomino, a restaurant in the building we worked in. I felt so grown-up and professional-- until we sat down at the table. There were little cards on the table with inspirational quotes inside. I saved mine because it horrified me at the time-- here I was starting a new job, only to realize on my very first day that it was not enough.


Needless to say, it set the tone for my employment there. I finally reconciled my aspirations with my faith (at least temporarily), secretly applied to graduate school and ended up here in Utah. I was glad to find this little reminder of my time in Seattle, that profound year of deciding to be somebody. For all the doubts I've had lately about where I decided to do my PhD, it was reassuring to remember that this is not the first time I've gone jobless in my little Honda car towards the unknown.

the internet plays into my hand yet again, providing me an excuse to post photos of dolph lundgren.

No, really, I have a legitimate excuse for doing this.

Really, I do.


I'll get to it in just a second.


I promise.


Just one more.


Ha, got ya!


Ok, for reals this time.

(that last one was just to see if you were paying attention)

Dolph Lundgren made the news today.

and now she sews people up too.

heroic women, part two.

This image was a highlight of my day. I think because The Queen looks so teeny and cute next to the statuesque Obamas. It also makes me think of the coronation mugs I inherited from my great-great-aunt that have pretty dainty gold handles and a picture of the hopeful young Queen (I can't wait to be reunited with all of my stuff!), and the chapter on the coronation in my favorite book, Behind the Scenes at the Museum, and Helen Mirren in The Queen looking at the stag...what can I say? I like her constant symbolic power, the way she simultaneously embodies post-war progress and centuries and centuries of tradition.

You can see a slideshow of The Queen with all the presidents here. That it goes backwards kind of makes me want to throw up.

why i love meghan mccain.

After taking the weekend off from my thesis-- annoyed with changes proposed during my defense that I have no desire to integrate (while I am sure they are very good ideas)-- naturally, it would be the thing keeping me from falling asleep. Turning away from the pages of suggestions to the internet, it occured to me that I have a touch of Stockholm syndrome.

One of the things I like best about The Daily Beast is that it includes voices of conservative writers. I don't have the patience for actual conservative blogs, but I enjoy it when there is an effort at balance in the mainstream media. As The Times has been in flux in this regard (thank goodness they got rid of William Kristol!), The Daily Beast has stepped up. Furthermore, the conservatives they have writing for them are women-- women who aren't afraid to offer some scathing critiques of the movement and the GOP.

I can't lie. I am a junkie for conservative politics. Sure, I'm basically a socialist when the water meets the road, but being as my professional development requires that I set my own politics aside, I get to be as interested as I want. Admitedly, I study conservatives because they shock me. I like a kum-bay-ya history of the women's movement as much as any feminist, but prefer the intellectual gymnastics I have to do when confronted with a bunch of pro-life libertarians calling their legislators about porn and the gay agenda. I just don't get the same sense of wide eyed fascination when I read about lesbian baseball teams.

Anyways, everyday when I read the news and the commentary I ask myself how on earth the conservative movement is ever going to regain its strength. It's turned into kind of a sad story, really, kind of like the Democrats after McGovern, Dukakis... basically every candidate they put forth between LBJ and WJC really. So in all of this tragedy (or maybe it's a comedy) I have been surprised to find that Meghan McCain, daughter of the unsuccessful Senator from Arizona, has become one of the few reasonable voices amidst the cacaphony of crazies (Rush, 14 year old boy, etc. etc.).

The Girl McCain is not a particularly great writer-- there is a laissez faire approach to the editing of her work that does her no favors. But the ideas are good, when she doesn't paint herself into the corner of acknowledging her privledge or naivete. That she can stay afloat with so many caveats says a lot more about the movement than the person. I tried really hard to be dismissive but then I realized her perspective is unparalleled. Though I love David Brooks, it's a shit time to be preaching old school, preReagan sermons and nobody wants to try out his good ideas anyways.

So M. McCain: I find it refreshing that she takes on Ann Coulter, because AC scares the shit out of liberals and the first thing the RNC et al should be doing is to make itself look less scary (though the selfish part of me says "don't ever stop"). I like that she takes a moderate stance on social issues, and recognizes that base pandering is a dangerous thing when trying to attain electoral majorities. Though the writing was particularly bad in her "Looking for Mr. Far Right" piece, I thought it was a clever way to showcase the shambles of right politics. Her recent body image bit was rational and I think we need as many voices as possible, from whatever side, to protest the way women's bodies are attacked in politics.

Ok, so maybe the standards are low, but I think Meghan McCain is establishing herself as a person to listen to in the conservative movement. Or at the very least, a person liberals can tolerate listening to. I have a pretty high tolerance and even I can't handle the vacuous pundits-- here here for more sensible folks making it look like there's a slight possibility that our two-party system can start working again.

dance biscuits.

I think it can seldom be said that the best part of SNL was the musical performance, but last night Beyonce' really stole the show. The song is full of pop goodness and she looks like she is genuinely enjoying herself.

Video

I also love the fact that they spoofed it. (can't find it on the interwebs, sorry)

Not the funniest thing in the world maybe, but I do love that Andy Samberg.

Yay Gawker for beating Hulu to the punch!