"There's No Time On The River"

In one of my classes today, the professor asked us to play one of those getting-to-know you games that you wish teachers got out of their systems in junior high. While someone in the class was describing their hobbies, and I was busy doodling Spanish galleons in my notebook, something he said caught my attention. He said that his favorite thing in the world to do is drive, and he has made a road trip from Idaho down to Florida and then back through Michigan just for fun. Actually, he's done this twice.

It was then that I had two simultaneous and divergent reactions. On one hand I was like, “Dude! That's a lot of gas! That's bad for the environment AND for your finances.” On the other hand I was like, “Dude! That's wicked! I would love to do that, and I am having a hard time controlling my jealousy right now.”

See, I have this problem, a dilemma if you will.

I love driving. I love the control, the feeling of independence that is a part of our cultural identity. I love watching trees and rivers and landscapes change before me. I love setting that little slice of Americana to my own personal soundtrack and singing out to the hills. I love rolling down the windows, feeling the pressure of the wind on my face and its pull on my hair as I inhale the land's scent.

Bliss, Idaho smells like sage and sand, river water and crickets. Olympia, Washington smells like moss and marijuana, salt water and steel. St. Louis, Missouri smells like grass and sweat, mud and thunderstorms.

In high school, and even later on, when I got frustrated or completely broken down or couldn't sleep, I would jump in my car and drive. I would drive east until I found a sunrise, drive into the mountains until I could see all the stars, drive through the twisted foothill roads until my mind was straight.

When Nicole and I were working for the transportation department (best summer job ever, by the way) we spent most of our time driving on roads that only saw a few people a year. It was intoxicating. There was one day, one moment really, somewhere outside Rigby, Idaho that may have changed my life. We were mapping a road on the border of some kind of nature reserve or wetland conservation area.

It was just us, we were surrounded by tall grass and cattails stretching for miles. To our right was a break in the marsh and a long stretch of smooth, dark water reaching out to a wooded area of slender trees and underbrush.

The day was that kind of clear beauty that comes right after rain in the desert. The sky was an unbelievable blue, so pure and bright it seemed fake. The clouds were few and fluffy, cottony white. The wind was warm and barely strong enough to sway the grasses and ripple the surface of the lake, but enough to carry birdsong in through our windows. Our beat-up old jeep sailed down the road to the tune of “Aqueous Transmission.” Then way off to our right we saw a blue heron emerge from the shadowed water, sweep upward toward the impossibly blue sky, and then glide over the glittering lake. We were wrapped in sensation, to the point of bursting, almost to the point of crying, for no reason other than we might never experience anything this spontaneously wonderful in all our life. The moment was so perfect that we were afraid to move, to stop, to talk, as if it would break the spell, end it all. It felt sacred.

That sight, that day, encapsulated the joy I felt being at home in the west. It was one of the reasons I decided to come back here, to abandon my scholarship and the promise of a secure career, to revisit all the reasons I have become who I am. The summer I spent driving around southern Idaho completely altered the course of my life, I think for the better. So driving is a very symbolic act for me in some ways.

However, all emotion aside. I have to hate freeways. They brought about urban sprawl, the endangerment of small towns, and massive use of fossil fuels. I'm an environmentalist, a lazy one I'll grant you, but I still really care about it. I went to Sierra Club Summer Camp for crying out loud. Can I really justify driving for the sake of driving? Isn't it kind of perverse and opulent and arrogant to suppose that's a valid lifestyle choice?

Probably not. Thus my dilemma. I suppose it is a tribute to the complexity of humans that I can both love and hate the same thing. Why doesn't that make me feel better?

I did have fun reminiscing though. Perhaps tonight I will dream of blue herons in summer and black-eyed Susans. One can only hope.

***

"Lying face up on the floor of my vessel

I marvel at the stars
And feel my heart overflow"

-from "Aqueous Transmission" by Incubus

We're Gonna Party Like It's Revelations 19:99!

“humanity is doomed, by the way”-Mark

Maybe it's because I just finished reading an anthropology text concerning the similarities of female genital mutilation in the third world and breast implants in the first, but I'm in the mood to believe that statement (taken from my brother's blog via Facebook today).

Also, I overheard this conversation today at the bookstore:

Coworker Ross: Are you ready, ma'am?
Awesome, Snarky Customer: Are you ready?
Coworker Ross: For the apocalypse? Yeah, for about ten years now.

Also, I just reread my blog entry on Catholicism and saw a trailer for Legion while folding laundry at my mom's house. So, the rapture is on my brain, but not in a like....depressing, fire-and-brimstone kind of way, but in an academic, curious kind of way.

I'm wondering why, as cultures, (not just my culture, but multiple cultures around the world) we torture ourselves. I mean, why do we have rituals that cause unnecessary harm? Why do we terrorize ourselves with images of impending doom and destruction on a “biblical” scale? I know there are reasons having to do with how the cultures evolved, the symbolism, etc., but don't you find it interesting that in just about every culture, there is something inherently damaging that we as humans do to ourselves.

Why, when we, ourselves, understand pain, would we culturally impose it on ourselves and others?

I mean that seriously, not in a froufrou, bleeding-heart way. Outside of what is required for survival-- because that's instinct and hormones, I get that—outside of that, what fundamentally causes that desire to inflict and experience pain and terror?

I'm not excluding myself from this, there's no judgment here. I have a tattoo, and not even I can give a really clear reason why I paid someone to drag a needle across my skin and fill the bleeding wounds with ink. That's kind of messed up, but I did it and I would gladly do it again. In fact, I probably will. I also get a kick out of jumping out from behind doors and scaring the pants off of people. Why is that? Why is that funny or enjoyable? For that matter, why do people go to horror movies? I love horror movies, but when I think about it in a cold, rational way, that too is pretty messed up.

I could go on, but I wont. I think you get my gist. Each specific example, I'm sure, has an anthropological or historical or psychological or sociological reason behind it, but it had to start somewhere. That's what I want to know. What kicked off this crazy game?

So I leave you with that, a whole lot of nothing. A whole lot of questions at least, which I guess in and of themselves are something. A representation of a pursuit of truth as my Nonfiction Writing professor would say. (What's her name Dr. McGonnagul? McGowl? No. McSomething-or-other, I should probably know that) Anyway, I'm certainly not going to answer these questions by staring into space in the middle of the night, so I'm for sleepy time.

Farewell, dear hearts!

*more words that I had to add to the word processor dictionary today: Snarky and Facebook
**word I was surprised I didn't have to add: froufrou

A Few Fathoms Short of a Full Lake

Pram Ram Long Song, originally uploaded by The Waters of March.

First day of classes, and I am reminded how tedious school is. At work, if something needs doing, I do it. At school, if something needs doing, someone has to explain and re-explain and answer questions and lay out criteria while simultaneously holding the hand of and shoving a pacifier in the mouth of ninety infantilized students....it was awesome...

...or something like that.

I am pretty excited by a few of the courses though. Cultural Anthropology sounds like an awesome class with an awesome professor who hates busy work. That makes two of us, so bonus. The other is my creative nonfiction writing class. The professor is the kind of hard ass teacher that ends up really forcing you to do your best, and I really thrive in that environment. It also sounds like we're going to get a lot of freedom and do a lot of writing. I may, over the course of the semester, use my blog posts as informal writing assignments for this class. We'll see how that goes.

I will have to work on one rather long and involved topic over the course of the semester. The topic is ideally one that I am inherently confused or conflicted by, very interested in, and/or may have a persuasive component.

ANY THOUGHTFUL SUGGESTION, ANY AT ALL, WOULD BE GRATEFULLY ACCEPTED!

I have thought of one idea so far. I decided to become a vegetarian at the age of ten. I have changed a lot since I was ten. The world has changed, society has changed, and science has learned a lot more about diet and nutrition in those twelve years. So, knowing what I know now, and what I can learn, would I make the same decision over again? Taking into account all the moral, ecological, philosophical, practical, and dietary considerations, is it still a wise choice? Do some of those criteria count more than others? Should they?

It's something that I think I should re-examine as an intelligent adult even if to yet again come to the conclusion that I don't want to eat meat. Any long held belief should be able to stand up to repeated analysis or it's no longer valid. To quote Baz Luhrman, “Just because it is, doesn't mean it should be.”

Or, you know, maybe I'm not crazy. That's also an option.
Anyway, I think there are a lot of things I could examine and delve into, so I wouldn't get bored. There's the added bonus that I would be writing a 10-20 page paper on two of my favorite things: me and my food!

Speaking of which, had some delicious Thai food with Nicole today (shown above) before we went out to Pengilly's Saloon with the boys for some Tuesday night Booze Clues! We knew several of the answers this time, but Josh is the only one who won a free drink. I ate pretzels and laughed a lot. It was a good night, and now it's time for some good sleep.

Sleep well, my angels!

PREVIEW:

I'm learning how to do receiving at the bookstore tomorrow. YEEE HAW!

By the way, a fathom is six feet deep. I know you were curious.

The Day No Pictures Would Die

Sorry, no picture today. I'm lazy. Hopefully, now that I cleaned the cesspool that was my bedroom and found my camera charger, I will have new exciting photos to share! Any requests in that regard? I'm open to suggestions.

I'm going to attempt to get some good pictures of my mom. I just realized that I don't have very many of them. As morbid as this sounds, I don't want to look back when I'm older and say to myself that I wish I had taken the time to take more pictures of her. Mortality has been on my mind this week, and can I just say, for the record: suicide and suicide attempts are sad and selfish and stupid and they make me angry.

ANYWAY, moving on...

I was at work late tonight, those manga kids are CRAZY! Also messy, so I had to empty a lot of trash cans. I came home and made delicious Mexicali Quinoa! That's what I'm calling it anyway.

Here's what I did: I mixed about one tablespoon of butter with one tablespoon of olive oil and sauteed half an onion and some minced garlic While I was doing that, I rinsed a cup of quinoa.

fun fact: I adapted this dish from a Curried Quinoa recipe found at www.quinoa-recipes.com where I found out that

“Quinoa is coated with a natural substance called saponin that protects the grain by repelling insects and birds. Rinsing the quinoa is important to avoid a raw or bitter taste. You can tell if there is saponin by the production of a soapy looking "suds" when the seeds are swished in water.”

Good to know!

Anyway, instead of adding a bunch of spices, I just used salt, pepper, and some cumin. I then added the quinoa, stirred constantly for a while then added about a half cup of leftover black beans (frijoles negros!!!) and cooked for a little longer. Then I added about two glugs of salsa. Yes, glug is a measurement in my book, but if you must know: two glugs equals approximately a third of a cup. Stirred that up and then added the water. I reduced the water to a cup and a half because of the moisture in my salsa. I have pretty chunky salsa (with corn in it!) so if you're using some more liquidy stuff, I would reduce the water even more. Bring to a boil, cover, reduce heat, simmer for 15-20 minutes. Took about 18 minutes for me I think.

And, voila! Delicious. This made enough for dinner with enough leftover for take to school lunch Tuesday and Thursday.

Bonus feature (correct me if I'm wrong, Theresa) because this recipe has both a whole grain (quinoa) and a legume (frijoles negros!!!), this dish is a complete protein!

Ba badum BAAAAAAAAH!!!!

(Those are my triumphant trumpet noises! Imagine a little animated stooge in velvet livery showing up and trumpeting my glory and success, mostly because that's what I'm imagining. Don't judge me.)

Anyway, that about does it for me. I'm going to go finish packing my school bag, lay out my clothes, and prepare my coffee pot so I can just press 'On' in the morning. My early morning motor skills preclude me from filling coffee filters gracefully. It's not pretty.

Wish me luck! *muah*

Curse Your Delicious, Nutrient-Rich Nature!!!

FUNgi, originally uploaded by The Waters of March.

I just had a fabulous time grocery shopping. In the middle of the night on Sunday is always the best time to go to Winco, no one is there except for teenagers racing grocery carts and the restocking guys. The (oh my gosh, gorgeous!) cashier and I had an awesome conversation about the varied uses for jicama, and I bought some quinoa! The quinoa, in fact, ended up being a third of the cost of the entire shopping trip.

Why? Why, Quinoa? Why must you be so delicious and nutritious and expensive?

It is worth noting that neither jicama or quinoa was in my word processor's standard dictionary. FAIL.

Anyway, while I was roaming the aisles, wantonly gazing at almond milk (I didn't splurge, but it was a near thing), I had the best idea for a character quirk. Sort of like a tick even, obsessive compulsive. Imagine someone obsessed with numbers, but not mathematically, that's old hat. I mean historically: dates, times, coordinates. Like, they only buy bulk foods with number codes that are years of significance.

-Rainbow Rotini, 1604, last observed super nova in the milky way galaxy.

-Cranberry Almond Granola, 1912, Republic of China and the Girl Scouts of America are founded, also the Titanic sinks.

Or like the dollar amount of gas.
-$18.64, 1864, Lincoln is reelected and appoints Ulysses S. Grant commander in chief of the Union Army

You get the picture.

(Also, rotini was not in the program's dictionary either. They should let you choose between 'Standard Dictionary' and 'Eccentric Dictionary')

Anyway, the number thing, I think it could be a fun, quirky tick for a character to have. I guess strange character traits have been on my mind since breakfast. Brenton and I were talking about Fat Kid Rules the World by K. L. Going. It's an awesome young adult literature title, and the character has this habit of interjecting “headlines” that sort of comically describe the situation. They're sort of brutally honest and self deprecating (for instance: FAT KID HIT BY TRAIN!), and it gives the whole book an occasional punch of fresh air. I really like that (the fresh air, not fat kids dying), so I've been musing on different internal habits a character could have that aren't as played out as some are (counting steps, repeating stuff, finding complex calculus equations in everyday items...)

I guess I could have a former spelling bee champion who constantly spells words in her head. Or a Latin geek who runs through word etymologies and contexts. I guess that could either be fun and quirky, and potentially education, or it could be really obnoxious. Depends on how I handle it, I guess.

The point is, I LOVE neurotic characters. They're so complicated and interesting and harshly vulnerable. So I'm working on writing one. Remember Arcadia York from a few posts ago? My perfect name that needed a character? Now, we have established that she is going to have a bizarre, and currently undetermined, internal quirk.

Any ideas? Suggestions or opinion on the existing options?
You should probably comment and tell me what you think.

Till then, adieu and good night!

(What? Adieu is in there, but jicama isn't? What incompetent baboon compiled this dictionary? ...oh wait....Microsoft)

Gimme That Old Time Religion!

I'm having a hard time writing characters with different religious beliefs than myself. I mean, I can do it, it just always accidentally ends up being an extreme. And then it doesn't work because I end up hating my character, and I don't want to write the story of someone I hate.

I can't grasp that....normalcy, that sort of middle ground between total evangelical nightmare and creepy depressed Nihilist. Maybe because I never had it. When I was LDS, I considered myself really LDS. You know, I dotted my i's and crossed all my t's and said all my prayers and jumped through every hoop. And then when I decided that I wasn't LDS, I became an atheist. And I was really and atheist.

Now I've simply stopped caring all that much, and I'm pretty decent at being what I call a Moral Agnostic ish. So I've never really experienced that "average" religious experience for myself. I think that's why I'm having a hard time understanding the motivations, getting into the head. I simply can not be moved to do anything out of religious zeal, no matter how minor, so having my characters do it always sounds insincere.

But I really love catholicism as part of plots, it's so dark and twisty and full of fun facts and artifacts. I like the idea of a character moved by religion but not, like, the Joan of Arc, Muhammad, Moses on the mountain kind of moved. Something more subtle and introspective, but I'm having a hard time grasping it. Thus my dilemma.

On an only somewhat related note:

Sometimes I want to be Catholic. Not really for any religious reason. It has something to do with rituals and beautiful places. I was looking through old pictures of the St. Louis Basilica and I found that I really wanted to be there. Even by looking at the pictures, I felt calmer and more at ease. Even though the scholar in me knows all the historical corruption of the church (No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!) I still fall in love with the grandeur every time. The giant space filled with quiet and filtered light almost makes me want to pray. Nonsensical half formed thoughts about peace and awe.

I guess that's what they were built for, so.....way to go, guys!

But it's not just that I'm a sucker for symbolic stone architecture, the compassionate gaze of the Madonna, and stained glass windows (which, I totally am), it is the comfort of repetition. Of script. The idea of having a prayer, a chant, a mantra to repeat sort of like a verbal/mental barrier against evil or negativity is something I can get behind. Even if it only has as much power as the performer thinks it does, I still envy them that.

Now that I'm thinking about it, is that really any different than a superstition? good luck charms and such? Something physical and substantial that we can do and feel and see in order to feel better, even if just for a minute. Perhaps it's nothing more than the desired illusion of control.

So knowing that, is it weak to seek it anyway? Knowing fully that it is merely pretense? I dunno, something to think about.

Anyway, so yeah, I kinda want to be Catholic.

How did we end up here?

ps-One more reason to be catholic: a Nun's life sounds totally awesome. No hair and makeup, no room and board, no clothes shopping, no messy romance, just a life of chillin' with the sisters and community service. I could dig that.

bella notte, my dears!

There's no greeting card for that...

What's really on my mind tonight I wont talk about. Partially out of respect for the privacy of a friend and partially because I haven't decided how to react to it yet.

It's kind of driving me crazy though.

The funny thing about second hand grief and anger is that it's harder to process than the first person kind. No, it's not harder, it's harder to process. Different. At least for me, I get an overwhelming feeling, a need to do something. But because I'm not really the one affected, my emotions are chaotic and impotent. I feel sad and angry that someone I care about is sad and angry. But my emotions aren't the important emotions, which is the kind of distinction that makes life as an adult suck. It's a lot easier to process things as a self-obsessed teenager when everything has to be about what you're feeling because you're feeling everything SO HARD.

Oh, to be young again. *sigh*

I spent all day at work avoiding thinking about this, so now all I can do is think about it. I came home from work and started frantically working. Second coat on the step stool gleaming, all the dirty dishes clean, refrigerator emptied of rotten food, emails meticulously answered. It's my best avoidance technique. I'm super good at being dysfunctional. Unfortunately, I'm sick and headachey and tired, so I couldn't keep up that pace. So, I sat down to write my blog post and all I could think to write about is the thing I've been avoiding all day. First rule of dysfunctional avoidance techniques? They never last as long as you want them to. Eventually you have to nut up and deal with it. Another reason why being an adult sucks.

Today, aside from all this angsty drama crap, my boss asked me to assess all three of our employment candidates today because I had a chance to meet and speak with all of them. One of the candidates was my good friend Brenton. Brenton is really smart and really chill. He is almost done with a college degree and still has to beg for rides to get back and forth from a crappy job waiting tables at a crappy diner. Brenton would love a better job, he would thrive at a better job. He is qualified for a job in my bookstore, he would be good at it and love it. When my friends are happy, I am happy. Seems like all win, so I got him an interview and helped him prep for it.

Unfortunately, the other two candidates were pretty stellar too. So when my boss asked me, "What are your impressions?" I stopped to think and gather my thought, and I had one of those bizarre angel on one shoulder, demon on the other moments.

Angel: You need to make this decision as a professional based on what would be good for the bookstore.

Demon: But wouldn't working with Brenton be fun? Wouldn't it be great if he were happier. He may not be the best candidate, but he'd still be pretty good.

Angel: Good isn't the best, this is a small, independent business. You can't let your personal relationships cloud your judgment.

Demon: Aren't you being a lousy friend by not recommending him? What kind of person gets their friend to apply and then tells the boss to hire someone else anyway?

I hate you both, there's a reason I'm an atheist. Very few things are black or white, good or evil. Moral ambiguity, the third reason adulthood sucks.

So, let's try to bring this post away from the doom and gloom.

hmmm...I guess I can say:

Life sucks a lot sometimes, but not all the time.

Sometimes it's really really awesome.

and adults can have ice cream whenever they want without asking permission first.

Zing!