What I really spent the semester doing OR I'm not actually obsessed with my neighbor

Ok, so you know the title's not actually true, because denials are--without loss of generality--never true.

That said, here's what I spent the semester doing:

1. Reading articles...and more articles
2. Writing papers...and more papers
3. Practicing for a real job by showing up for my 8 a.m. class at 8ish.
4. Pushing the limits of my ride's carrying capacity (AKA stuffing as much crap as possible into the milk crate bungied to the back of my bike).
5. Thinking about how cold my feet are (activity is not unique to this semester, but rather is a constant activity that gives my life consistency)
6. Pondering the imminent doom of the journalism-as-we-know-it industry
7. Wondering why people never warn me about things (namely, why people didn't tell me about #6 before I started studying journalism and why people never warned me that #1 and #2 are all you ever do in grad school)
8. Defending liberals to my conservative friends and conservatives to my liberal friends...and struggling with my personal love/hate relationship with both.
9. Trying to become the kind of person who isn't ashamed to admit that she likes drinking box wine.
10. Becoming a defender of Communism. Not because of its merits, but rather because I get tired of people immediately writing it off as being merit-less and...dangerous.
11. Being glad that we don't actually live in a Communist nation. That would mean food rationing, and I certainly needed more than my fair ration of frozen food to survive this semester.

Is he just toying with my heart every time he drives down the street toward my house?

Different women are wooed in different ways. If a man ever asked how best to woo me, I think I would have to say, "Move into the house across the street from me, walk your dog around the neighborhood every day, put up an Obama sign in your front yard and NEVER TALK TO ME."

I only say this because that's what my SWM neighbor has done, and it's been pretty effective. And by effective I mean all he has to do is ask and my dance card is his. Problem is, he is completely clueless. He has no idea that I'm secretly in love with him.

In case you aren't creeped out enough, here's one more thing: I just talked to him for the first time a couple weeks ago. On my birthday. It was pretty much my best birthday present this year. I will transcribe the conversation for you exactly as it happened:

Me (Riding my bike out of my driveway on the coldest day yet of winter): "It's way too cold to be biking."

Him (Also riding his bike down the driveway, directly across from me such that he is socially required to respond): *smile*

So yeah, I think there's definitely something there.

A Burning Question

So, today in my journalism class, the lecturer was presenting various examples of using graphics to make newspaper articles more interesting and more readable. That was the point of the lecture.

But what caught my attention was the "Chick Flicks: the Ultimate Guide to this Misunderstood Genre" graphic.

Now, it didn't grab my attention because it was "the ultimate guide"; rather, I was concerned that "the ultimate guide" might actually be wrong. Especially since the person who wrote the article was a guy. Now, let's not be sexist, but shouldn't chicks be the ones writing about chick flicks?

The writer was working from the idea that movies like Fried Green Tomatoes and Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood are stereotypical chick flicks. My contention is that this type of film is its own genre, namely the "Fried Green Tomatoes" genre. And the real chick flicks are movies like While You Were Sleeping and You've Got Mail.

But, I might be wrong. Perhaps Fried Green Tomatoes is a chick flick, and You've Got Mail should be considered a romantic comedy. Maybe that's how the movie genre lines should be drawn.

(For those of you who don't understand the difference, Fried Green Tomatoes appeals to women because it deals with close, female relationships and how relationships triumph through hardship. You've Got Mail appeals to females because it deals with a man and a woman falling in love.)

Ok, so here's where you, my die-hard blog fans come in: Where do you think the movie genre lines in this issue should be drawn? Is You've Got Mail a chick flick or a romantic comedy? What about Fried Green Tomatoes? A chick flick or the representative of its own genre?

My Autobiography

If I ever write an autobiography, I'm going to title it, "I Thought I Had Cancer, But Then It Peeled Off".

That pretty much sums up my life.

Elevator-Induced Epiphanies

"I hate Missouri weather." It came as an epiphany, even as I spoke the words. I was taking the elevator up to my office. The only other person aboard was a coworker, but I knew him too well to ignore him as I do with most elevator passengers. It had been unseasonably rainy and cold for a while: clearly the weather was our best topic."I've lived in Missouri my whole life," I continued, "And yet I'm just now coming to this conclusion." In an attempt to assure my new confidante that this decision was not just an emotional response to biking to work against 30 mi/hr winds, I added, "I've waffled back and forth on the matter for a while."

All these eco-friendly, save-the-earth people advocate biking. And so do I. The problem is that I liked Missouri weather a lot more before I started biking in below-freezing temperatures, above-melting temperatures, and Aprils winds and snow.

What's the best kind of candy?

If we're talking about the non-chocolate genre, then hands down Shock Tarts is the best candy around. Closely followed by Sour-Patch Kids. At least, that's what I thought until tonight.

I grew up with a candy-aholic for a mother, so it's in the genes. Rides home from school customarily began with the offer of a piece of Bubble Yum. Bags of Jolly Ranchers could always be found in my mom's not-so-secret hiding places. And for Christmas, my mom's stocking is always filled with a variety of movie theatre box candies--Dots, Mike & Ikes, Good & Plenties, etc.

Halloween and Valentine's Day are the best holidays--candywise. What could beat Candy Corns and those little chalky hearts that say "I love you"...or "IM me"? You think I'm being ironic, but I'm not.

Tonight I discovered Nerds Rope, self-described as "Soft Gummy Rope Covered With Tiny Tangy Crunchy Nerds Candy." Why has no one ever thought of this before? Probably because it didn't make it among mainstream candy eaters, as evidenced by the fact that boxes of them can be found at the Food Pantry. Yes, that's right, my friend who feeds her foster kids Food Pantry fare picked up a whole box of Nerds Rope on her last visit. Because what the Food Pantry needs to be providing foster kids is Nerds Rope.

Right now, as I'm writing this, I'm on my third rope in two hours. I just can't get enough of this stuff.

Thoughts on a Lunar Eclipse

So apparently a lunar eclipse occurs when the earth gets directly in between the moon and the sun; the earth's shadow falls directly on the moon, obscuring the moon.

This got me to thinking about eclipses. What about a solar eclipse? Well, that's when the moon gets directly in between the earth and the sun, obscuring the sun.

So how come no one ever talks about stellar eclipses? Think about how many times the moon gets directly in between the earth and some star, and we no longer see the star. Does anyone ever notice? No. They don't.

What about equality of celestial bodies?

Today's Discoveries

I discovered two things today:

1. The booming voice lecturing in the classroom next to me belongs to one of the greatest philosophy professors of all time...I, a lowly TA, lecture next to a philosophy great.

2. When I was sixteen, I was the babysitter for one of my current students. Apparently we both look rather unlike we did ten years ago, because it's taken us three weeks to figure this out.

My Great American Novel

A friend has challenged me to write a great American novel, something to be found in the company of, say, Moby Dick or Huckleberry Finn. When I enquired as to the requisite features of said genre, I was told that it must encapsulate the yearnings, the desires, the angst of the typical modern American. So, I've decided my first step will be to learn a current American English dialect. I will standardize its spelling and grammar to provide my readers a bit of assistance in following the vast passages of incoherent dialog in my novel. My next step will be to befriend a particularly ornery child who speaks this dialect. I will then catalog his various schemes and mishaps as he travels down the river in search of his nemesis, a very large, very white fish--a fish about the size of Jonah's...fish. I think that should do it.

The Week of China...of Politics...of Poop...of C.S. Lewis

I've done nothing but talk to people. This entire week. As you can see from this post's title, this will be a four point essay on the Hot Topics of the week.

1. China--I attended a couple Chinese New Year celebrations this past week. I also discovered Sexy Beijing, a series on YouTube where a young American woman takes to the streets of Beijing to ask street vendors, students, and housewives questions such as, "I want to marry a Chinese man. Which is better? A northern man from Beijing or a southern man from Hong Kong?" Also, as my new officemate is obsessed with China, I've spent quite a bit of time this week discussing topics such as, "Who is your favorite Chinese political figure?" I've also learned that Confucius's teachings say nothing and yet they say everything. I still have no idea what that means.

2. Politics--Do you really think Barack could handle the presidency? How exactly does universal healthcare work again? Do you think Chelsea is cute?--was she maybe just in her Awkward Phase during Bill's presidency? Did you vote? Could our country really swallow having a president with a name like Huckabee?

3. Poop--This has been the topic of choice for dinnertime conversation at my dinner/Bible study for the past few weeks. When we're not sharing intimate BM stories, we're discussing items that people have been known to swallow--goldfish, Barbie heads, large quantities of hair. Some people look forward to Wednesday nights because they know they're going to get Miss Naomi's Famous Brownies, but I've started to go for the poop stories.

4. C.S. Lewis--I've been talking to one of the guys in my office a lot lately about religion and morality. I gave him Mere Christianity to read the other day. So far he's impressed with Lewis's explanation that all people, regardless of culture, have some sense of right and wrong. He concluded that must mean Lewis thinks we have morality and that's enough--no need for religion. I told him "Just wait."

A Trick I Learned from a Movie Prostitute

You know that part at the beginning of Pretty Woman where Julia Robert's character is fixing herself up--applying her face and donning some semblance of clothing--before she goes out to work her corner? After she zips up her thigh-high synthetic leather boots, she applies a permanent black marker to the scuff marks to make herself look a little less cheap than she is.

I have a pair of cheap boots. They have some scuff marks. And I have a permanent black marker. Who says watching movies like Pretty Woman is a waste of time?

Ballet

I work at a tutoring center. It's on the bottom level. On the floor above, there is a dance studio. Sometimes they grand jete across the floor and land with a thud on our ceiling. In time. At least, that's what I imagine they're doing.

While I was teaching in China, there were massive construction projects constantly in progress on my campus. For a period of time noisy, sputtering trucks passed by my classroom building, progressively drowning out my voice. I would raise my voice until it could be raised no more, and I would finally shut up.

Sometimes I think there is a conspiracy to prevent learning. All the noisiest activities and creatures conspire together to locate themselves next to those who want to learn.

The man who lectures one classroom over from me this semester has a loud, low-pitched voice. If I stop talking, the rumbling of his voice distracts me.

Sometimes we don't stop talking for fear of hearing the rumbling.

Pardon the stream of consciousness writing. I've been reading Annie Dillard. She writes like this, and she won a Pulitzer.

Computer Programmers are from Mars, Baristas are from Venus: Why Espresso-pullers aren't meant to be Troubleshooters

A coffeehouse without music is awkwardly silent. Like a movie without a soundtrack.

A coffeehouse without a functioning cash register is constipated. Like a pregnant woman.

Yesterday at the coffeehouse my principle role was not as barista. It was as troubleshooter. An hour into my shift, one of the speakers started making a thumping noise that caused patrons to start glancing around in concern. After disconnecting the offending speaker and calling all the techies on the employee phone list, I eventually had music running through the soundboard we use for live music.

A bit later, as I was about to take my break, the cash register locked up. Our sole owner-manager was absent and not responding to phone calls, so I broke out the reset manual myself. Twenty minutes later, the register was still locked up, but I had successfully reset its entire memory. When my boss arrived an hour later and announced that she would have to pull an all-nighter to rectify the damage done, my frazzled state delayed the realization that this was actually, to some degree, my fault.

The blessed redemption of the day was that I only had to do about three loads of dishes, a paltry amount for us barista-cum-dishwashers.

Au Revoir, Bridesmaids

The day of my friend's wedding, our hotel housekeeper arrived to the aftermath of wedding bustle and flurry and proceeded to tidy our room. When I left for the wedding, the floor was covered in a disordered scattering of various clothing, toiletries, Christmas gifts, and wedding paraphernelia. When I returned, I had no idea where anything was.

When the housekeeper saw us, she announced that everything in our room was "very easy to find." She had put everything in the closet or bathroom...or in random drawers around the room and other people's suitcases as we came to find out later. When I had trouble finding my purse, she assured me that everything was still in my room, to which I responded, "Oh, don't worry. I don't think you stole anything." Instantly, I was painfully aware that she was a hotel maid and I was the one wearing the Pretty Princess bridesmaid dress. My mind began screaming, "This is not what it seems. I believe in egalitarianism. I only wear dresses like this on wedding days." Unfortunately she did not hear my non-verbal protests. As I cringed in the closet where I was still trying to locate my purse, I heard, "I am a world traveler. I can speak three languages." And with an "Au revoir," the housekeeper breezed out of the room. Confused by this non sequitur, I eventually realized that this was her response to my stealing comment.

Epilogue: I eventually found my purse. There are quirky people out there, but that doesn't mean we need to accuse them of stealing.

A Couple Onions, Neighbor?

I was trying to cook Chinese food a couple nights ago, and I realized that I needed onions. Naturally, the best resources when lacking a necessary cooking ingredient are a little brother and a bag of homemade caramel popcorn. My brother left the house--caramel corn in hand--and minutes later returned with two small onions. He had bargained with the neighbors and, frankly, I think the neighbors got the better end of the deal. But I got my onions. Everyone's a winner!