My Christmas Music-lessness

It is now less than a week before Christmas. I haven't listened to a single Christmas song. Not a one. And I don't miss them, not one little bit. In fact, I'm not really sure I even like most Christmas songs.

I'm sure part of this, like my fear of cannibals, is rooted in my childhood. Most children grow up surrounded by a wide variety of beloved classics. The lone Christmas cassette tape at my home was the Carpenters. We would play that tape on an endless loop from the moment we set the tree up, until the moment we abandoned the tree to scavenging boy scouts. And in the spirit of full disclosure that tape may or may not have made numerous guest appearances throughout the year. I like the Carpenters and all their sweet seventies cheese, I really do. It's not Christmas for me without and the occasional hint of a synthesizer and the special smooth seventies harmonies. I'll lay down Ms. Karen Carpenters "Ave Maria" against anyone else's, any day of the week.  And don't get me started on Sleigh Ride.

Because of this somewhat narrow exposure to Christmas music, I began life predisposed against many of the supposed Christmas classics, or at least without the added sentimental value that so often makes up for quality. For some inexplicable reason, most of the rest of the world doesn't share my love of the Carpenters, so they are largely left out of the annual Holiday rotation*. In turn, I'm none to found of many of you peoples supposed classics. I hate Bing Crosby. I think his songs sound like they were sung by a drunk hobo, his voice bobbing and weaving around in an attempt to find a steady note. I'm always happy when Frost melts. I don't understand why oh so many songs consist of saying the same words over and over again (Feliz Navidad, I'm looking at you). I have never needed only a little Christmas right this very minute, I want the whole Christmas experience and I'm willing to wait for it. You get the idea.

From my Carpenters Christmas capades, my next great exposure to Christmas music came from choir. I actually enjoyed most of those songs, at least at first. Choir tends to avoid most pop music debacles, and goes with some relatively fun or pretty classics. The Hallelujah chorus and carol of the bells are wonderful. But, the quality of the songs sung can ultimately only help so much. As anyone who has ever been even remotely connected to a choir knows, by the time December comes around you have spent several months of you life utterly immersed in the same 3-5 Christmas songs, and by now you hate every note, every syllable, every stanza, with every ounce of your soul. Still, by the time next December had come around, I was generally healed and ready to launch into another session.

However, I think my time as a receptionist at BYU really cemented my malaise towards Christmas Music. You see, for my junior year I had a pretty sweet gig as the morning secretary for BYU catering. The work was mildly interesting, the coworkers were sweet, and I had plenty of time to do homework/meander the internet. I could even have the radio on to provide a bit of pleasant background noise. However, like everything else at BYU, there was a catch. the only station that was approved by the powers that be was a syrupy sweet soft rock station that could not offend the curmudgeony old donors, just those of use with actual taste. It was pleasant to have as background noise, but the standard line up of the same songs every morning was more than a little repetitious.

I would soon come to beg for mercy for such a wide repetoir of musical masterpeices. When Thanksgiving week arrived, soft rock gave way to Christmas songs. Do you know how many Christmas songs are played on the radio? It can't possibly be more than 50. This may be fine for the occasional car trip, where you just get a 15 minute dose of Christmas cheer. But I spent 3 hours, every day, for a month, trapped in a small room with Feliz Navidad** echoing about every 45 minutes. And please, don't even get me started on Christmas Shoes. At first I was able to find respite in some of the less offensive tunes. Every "O Holy Night" from Josh Groban, or similarly inoffensive tune, was a balm on my soul. Or at least it was for about a week, until all the joy and beauty was slowly stripped away from my soul.

Something inside me broke that December.*** Hearing a few tell tale notes spewing out of the radio in November brings back traumatic flashbacks of those dark days, and I just can't bear to be subjected to that again. I suppose I don't really hate most Christmas songs, there are still quite a few I genuinely enjoy. I just don't really have the desire to seek them out. I especially don't want to hear them too much, too soon. I've lost too much Christmas music joy already, I feel the need to protect what little I have left. I'll probably sink into a Christmas Carpenters coma (wow, I'm really abusing alliteration today) in the next few days, but for now I'm enjoying the silence.

* With the notable exception of Merry Christmas Darling, which I didn't like even as a child.

**Yes, this is the second time I'm mentioning this song. I really really hate Feliz Navidad. ***I am being a tad hyperbolic and dramaqueeny. It's a blog, what do you expect- measured restraint?

(Also, I completely stole the whole * footnote thing from Mormon Child Bride, and guiltily feel liek I should give her credit. It's not plagirism if you cite, right? If your just looking for fun, slighly snarky read, you should go there. She is so much better than me. For the readers with an actual personal connection to me, well I suppose your stuck with me. Sorry.)

Grad School v. Law School

Zach and I are both engaged in fairly demanding programs right now- he's working on a masters degree in history and is immersed in the often narcissistic realm of academia, while my time in law school has me engaged in a self-important professional program. With both of us knee deep in upper level degrees, and with both of us having considered pursuing the track chosen by the other, I often find myself wondering who is in the most demanding program.

Most of the time I'm inclined to think that the law program is by far the harder of the two. I think the concepts are harder to grasp, the intricacies make less rational sense, and many of the cases feel like they were written by egotistical monkeys on typewriters. And I almost always take more credits than he does, and spend much more time in class. Plus if I don't learn my stuff I can potentially ruin the lives of my future clients. I'm not sure what harm a slightly off analysis of old events that will mostly be read and criticized by other academics can really cause. I'm not saying its not important, but the stakes are slightly different.

However, then there are weeks like this one. Weeks where Zach has barely slept as he pumps out paper after paper. And reads book after book after book. This is what his desk has looked like for the past month. And he's read pretty much all of those. Not to mention the books scattered in other places throughout the apartment. Outlining is its own kind of hell, and the encyclopedia sized law books are nothing to scoff at, but at least I have some desk space.

Of course, I still have a week left of finals and he's scott free until next semester. So, we'll see how long my sympathy for his program lasts (I'll give it 36 hours, tops).

Rawr, rawr, rawr, rawr, rawr

I'm not sure how or when it happened, but somehow I've developed  a love of the craziness, sexuality-subverting, pop artistry that is Lady Gaga. Or perhaps more specifically her song, "Bad Romance". Because, or perhaps in spite of that, I've had that song stuck in my head all week. Which means I've also been listening to it all week. Which means Zach has been listening to it, or at least had its sound forced on him via proximity. I don't think he quite gets it, especially as he's been wandering around singing "Rawr, rawr, rawr, rawr, rawr" to the tune of the song ever sense. I tried to show him the music video, but that just added vaguely dinosauresque dance moves to his "rawr, rawrs." In fairness, they are a somewhat accurate impersonation of some of the dance moves.

I suppose I wish he was more pop-culture savy every now and again, but it's more fun this way.

Purging people

As I was adding a new number to my cell phone, I noticed just how many numbers I still have crowding my address book that I haven't used in years, and likely will never use again. I can't imagine any circumstance in which I would feel the desire to call my old supervisor from the Target I worked at 3 years ago, but if the need arises, I'm prepared. I have no way of knowing if most of these numbers are even accurate. Some numbers just have a first name attached to them - a name which has no meaning to me. I have no idea who Susan is, but I can call her with just a simple click.

It takes me far to long to scroll through the list of numbers to get to the person I actually want to contact. It' s impractical and cumbersome. But the idea of deleting any entries just seems so wrong to me. Just poofing them away, like they never existed. vanishing into cyberspace. Its so final, such a dramatic way of cutting off any line of contact.

There's also a bit of ego involved. My big list of numbers feels a little like my own private facebook friends page - it may serve no practical purpose, but it makes me feel popular to see this big list of people who deemed me worthy of exchanging phone numbers with. Yes, most of them just gave me the number so I could call the about group projects or other mundanities, but it still counts, at least to me.

I don't purge my facebook friends list either, and for much of the same reasons. There are probably at least 50 people on there who I barely remember, but I'll never cut them out. It always seems too cruel. Occasionaly I'll glance at my number of "friends" and notice that its a few numbers smaller then I remember. I can never figure out who cut me out, which usualy means I don't really remember them and can hardly blame them from culling me from the herd. It still stung a little. It may not really matter, but removing those little cyber ties still has a bit of a bite. It seems a little too middle-schoolish, "we're not friends anymore so I'm just going to delete you from my life". So even with a cell phone list that no one but me sees, I just can't bring myself to hit the delete button.

What about you? Are you frequent purgers, or do you hold on to numbers, just in case?

My high horse

Some people are grammar nazis, or can't handle typos, or are otherwise feel like nails are slowly and painfully scratching a chalkboard in response to a number of seemingly innocent human behaviors. As you can probably tell afetre a casual survey of past posts, my blog is riddled with typos and a host of other ghastly errors. I'm not sure how I manage to always type the as teh, but I do, every time. And every post at least one won't get caught in my so quick it's almost useless proofread. I know it makes me look like an idiot. i deserve whatever judgement comes my way. Anyways, I may not be one of those people, but I promise I too judge people based on silly little mistakes that don't really matter, but I am unable to tolerate with any sense of charity or compassion.

Today I am judging people based on their ability to discern between "gender" and "sex". You know all the baby announcements I've mentioned? Well, once I get them and feel all appropriatley excited for the happy familly, a small part of me begins dreding the inevitable post that will appear a month or so latter to reveal the "gender" of the baby.

People. Allow me to help/get this off of my chest. GENDER AND SEX ARE NOT THE SAME THING. Gender refers to "the socially constructed roles, behaviors, activities, and attributes that a given society considers appropriate for men and women." Sex on the other hand refers to the bilogical distinction between males and females. So when you get excited over your first glimpse of your son's penis on the ultrasound, you are excited over finding out his sex. Several months latter when that blessed child enters the world and is lovingly wrapped up in a blue blanket and people start referring to how big and strong he is, BAM! Congratulations, your son has been gendered. Alternatively, if your son comes up to you at age 18 and tells you that he has always identified as a woman, well, congratulations, your son's sex may be male, but his gender is female. Gender=social cnstruct. Sex=biology. Get it? Good, I now expect great things from any and all future offspring related facebook updates. You have been warned.

I know that colloquially gender and sex are interchangeable, and I shouldn't get so worked up. And really, short of having taken a sociology or gender studies class, I'm not sure how I would expect people to know. I know that sex also refers to the sweet, sweet loving that has produced the child whose gender you will not know until they have had a chance to be exposed to all the categories the world is anxiously waiting to stuff them into. Maybe some of you get giggle like middle schoolers when the word sex is used, but if you're having sexual intercourse, you should be able to say sex in reference to the result of said intercourse.

Ahem. And that's my judgemental, high horse of the day. So tell me, what are you using to judge others today? Any pet peeves out there?

I can take a hint

I feel a little silly admitting this out loud, but for a sizeable chunk of November I was hit with crazy baby fever. I'm not sure what if it was some sort of hive mind response to seemingly everyone I know having just had a baby or just found out that they're expecting (I swear, there is some sort of baby announcement on my facebook wall everyday, not to mention the people I blog stalk), or if I actually do have some sort of crazy baby, hungry biological clock deal, but oh I wanted one so bad. I was looking at all the adorable nursery things, and thinking about names and cute wittle baby smiles. Even practical Genavee kind of got into the game, and started looking at birth plans, new apartments and what not. It was pretty bad, but I got over it. We have a nice plan that calls for kids in 4-5 years when we have some sort of stability  - little things like jobs and maybe even living in a place with more than one room. Big dreams, I know. But its a good plan for us, and I'm sticking with it.

Now my period is about two weeks late. I'm 99.5% sure that this is nothing. I've peed on a stick and gotten negative results, we are very responsible birth control users, all in all I can't fathom how I could possibly be pregnant. But just the very though of it being possible sends ice cold shivers of fear running down my spine. There is no way we can afford a baby. Our apartment is far to small. My health insurance is a joke. We don't even have a good network of support here in DC that could help us limp along. Not to mention how hard having a baby now would make finishing school, let alone finding a job and paying down student loans. I always know these things. But during these times of fear, I really really know. I'm choosing to interprete this little punctuality problem as the universes way of forcibly reminding me how catastrophic a baby would be right now. I get it Universe - right now baby=bad. Message received. Now if you would be so kind as to give me some peace of mind, I'd greatly appreciate it.

Snow (or how my Utah heart began to thaw)

This morning I woke up, brushed me teeth, turned on my computer and was greeted by my weather bug chirping about snowfall in the DC area. I wasn't quite ready to accept the icon, so I stubbornly kept the blinds drawn in a desperate attempt to stave off the harsh chill of reality. Alas, Zach had no such bashfullness. Because his inner child was raised in Alaska, Zach was bouncing around like a puppy, pulling open the blinds in a giddy fervor and revealing the ice cold flakes of evil coating my once temperate and pleasant home. 


Can you tell that snow is not my most favorite of weather? It didn't used to always be this way. In my Oregon childhood snow was a miraculous substance that blanketed in the world in loveliness and winter cheer, and most importantly of all brought with the miracle of school cancellation. But four miserable years of trudging about in Utah winters managed to beat most of my snow spirit out of me. During those perpetually snow and sludge coated months I began to bitterly refer to snow as the hate of the world and would generally had a bah-humbugesque attitude.  


But, even with my bitterness, it seemed worth snapping a photo or two through my window, so as to have evidence of my discontent.

Curiously enough it was actually kind of fun having an excuse to use my camera. And avoiding studying did seem like a solid plan. So I figured I may as well through a coat and boots on over my oh so chic yoga pants and giant shirt ensemble, meander down stairs and take a few shots. Hey, I'll take any excuse to wear my awesome whale boots.

 

To my great surprise it was actually kind of pretty outside. With the snow icing the previously bare and depressing trees and lending a touch of softness to the old brick buildings, Soft, white flakes gently floated down, leaving little kisses on my nose. In spite of myself, there was something nice about the scene. 

I ventured out a little ways, took a few silly shots of myself in the classic outstretched arm method. I may have started to skip and twirl a little bit amidst the flurry.

Catching sight of the church steeple towards the end of the block, I made my way down towards the lot of Christmas trees on its lawn, took a bit of a detour over to the Catholic church across the street, and other wise enjoyed wandering around for a bit.

 

For the bored and the curious, I have more pictures on facebook. All in all, I'm not sure if it's just the lack of Utah-ness, my love of the whale boots or if it really was pretty outside, but for the first time in a while I really enjoyed the snow. It remains to be seen wheteher this will last, especially as teh winter wears on, but for today it was a pleasant surprise.

Thanksgiving - breaking free edition

I had a hard time getting excited about Thanksgiving this year. Last year, Thanksgiving was kind of a big deal. It was our first married Thanksgiving, and  it was going to be a perfect, punch-drunk love affair to be seered into our memories in all its fuzzy, warm glory - so help me. We anxiously tried to find the best recipes ever. We pillaged the grocery store like kids run a muck in a Willy Wonka paradise. We carefully brined the bird and spent all Thanksgiving day making sure we had every single traditional dish lovingly set out on our itsy bitsy coffee/dining/everything else table. We barely had room for our plates. A week later we were still trying to slog our way through the massive amounts of leftovers. I know that everyone has leftovers for Thanksgiving, but two people trying to make their way through a meal that could easily have fed 6 people for a few days is a special experience. We spent the rest of the weekend blissfully enjoying our last free weekend until finals, hitting the town and fighting our way through museums, cuddling up to watch Christmas movies and otherwise basking in the holiday spirit.

This year I was just a big pile of meh. First of all, neither of us really even like most Thanksgiving foods. Turkey is usually kind of dry and flavorless, and I've yet to find a good way to use the leftovers. Turkey enchiladas just don't quite cut it. I do love a good sausage stuffing, but not a 9x13 pan full of it. Zach loves cranberries only slightly less than he loves me, but he makes a new helping of cranberries every other day during the holiday season, so there is no danger of him being deprived. Pumpkin pie and rolls are good. Allright, I suppose I'm on decent terms with many staples, just not for 2 weeks. And I don't really want to cook any of it.


Fortunately, I remembered something very important. There are only two of us. We have no children that will be scarred by memories of a non-traditional Thanksgiving. We can do whatever we want. WHATEVER. We could have nothing but pie. Or no pie at all. Definetley no turkey. I don't really care what the puritans did. As a matter of fact, I don't even like the mostly because I would definetley of been killed as a witch - which frankly would have come as a bit of a relief. I see no reason to eat turkey on the account of people who would have hung me.



Anyway's I was emboldened by my new found freedom to do whatever we want. Apparently what we wanted was lamb. And given my love of puns, Silence of the Leg O' Lamb became the recipe of choice. With a side of rolls, salad, mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie. Because we wantes those too, dangit. A quick trip to the grocery store, and we had the most beautiful lamb ever.



I spent about 5 minutes making the marinade, 5 more rolling the thing up. Maybe another 5 minutes checking the roast, and tossing in the frozen rolls. 5 more mixing up the canned pumpkin and other ingredients and pouring it into the premade pie shell. Zach did the potatoes, and the salad kind of got forgoten about, because I don't have to eat vegetables if I don't want too. 20 minutes prep time tops. 

Admittedly, not the prettiest of meals. Not even a tablecloth, let alone a centerpiece, napkin rings (or napkins for that matter). But that lamb? Amazing. Stupendous. Juicy and tender and perfect. My mouth has never been happier. No stress, great food - I'll call that a great Thanksgiving. I love family and hope we can spend Thanksgiving with them sometime, and there is something comforting about traditions - even if Turkey does kind of suck. But this year a quiet, delicious, destressful Thanksgiving was just what I needed. And I'm grateful for that - and so much more. 

Happy Holidays you guys - I hope you can find what you really need and what makes you happy, no matter what that may be.

If I go missing, check the stairs for evidence

My law school isn't that big, so I usually try to take the stairs. I'd like to claim that it's because I'm oh-so healthy and seek opportunities for exercise everywhere I go, but it really has much more to do with my impatience for the elevators and my hatred of being crammed in like a sardine. The stairs are usually nice and isolated, which is usually a welcome thing. I suppose I can't blame most people for avoiding the stairs - they are a little creepy. They have this unnatural florescent glow bouncing around the dank cinder blocks, and there seems to be no rhyme or reason as to the distance between the floors, which combined with the way the stairs sort of zig and zag around can be a little disconcerting. You just go up flight after flight, hoping a doorway will appear and allow you to escape. But when its just me and my nice quiet stairs that doesn't really bother me.

You see, in addition to all of the stairwells other charms, it also has a horrible echo. So whenever another student starts to clomp down the stairs at a brisk pace, I hear this ominous sound of footsteps racing down the stairs, just seconds away from overtaking me.I know rationally its just another student in a bit of a hurry. But to me it sounds like a serial killer is right behind me and if I do not book it I will meet a horrific demise involving chainsaws and other very bad, no good things.


On the plus side, every time that happens I'm glad that I haven't joined the stilleto crowd yet, as everyone knows what happens to women in high heels in horror movie scenerios. And I'm sure the extra sprinting is good for me. I'm just a little scared that on a particularly stressful day that extra bit of terror may push me over the edge. that or I'll develop a sense of complacancy, and thats when it will all go down. Come to think of it, I'm somewhat surprised that more law students don't snap into scary bad criminals. You get this many type A, overstressed people in a constant state of high pressure and then teach them all the ins and outs of the criminal justice system, and well, thats just a breeding ground for an American psycho scenerio. Just like PhD programs breed super villains. Maybe I should just take the elevator.

Leaves that are green

I woke up in my usual morning haze, stumbled through my morning routine and sloughed out to the bus stop. As is usual I had my ipod shuffling away, but not really paying attention. Then, "The Leaves that are Green" by Simon and Garfunkel came up. A pretty song, but nothing I've really though much of. As it played a gentle wind started up, and I found myself surrounded by a soft shower of autumn leaves drifting away from the trees. I just listened, really listened, and watched and just was. For a brief moment I felt the song and just floated away on its harmonies and the soft wind.

It's cheesy I know, but sometimes it feels like little almost transcendent moments like these are what make things ok, just for a little bit.

Cannibalism is fiscally responsible, but creepy

Question - How much do normal people spend on food? Because for the first time I'm seeing how much we spend, and holy cow.

For most of our (admittedly short) married life, Zach and I just never bothered to do any sort of finance merging. We each had our own bank accounts and debit cards and what not. We still though of all of that money as collectively ours, so it wasn't really a big deal who paid for what, we just had no way of really keeping track of what the other person was doing. Overall it worked fine (ignorance is bliss). Sure, we would occasionally come this close to missing the rent deadline because we each thought the other person had taken care of it. We're responsible like that. But hey, everything always got taken care of, so I just assumed that the system worked.

Recently we decided to get a joint Costco American Express card, mostly because we were seduced by the grand promises of 1% cash back, but also because we figured it would just be less hassle and good for budgeting and unity and it just seems like one of those things married people do. We're still not sure how this whole married grownups thing is supposed to work, so we largely just try to copy others who seem like they have things figured out. It seems like a sound strategy.

Anyways. So we now have a joint card and can actually see what each of us is spending. Aside from severly cutting down on my internet purchasing (when Zach would ask how much my pretty new things cost, I was in the habit of going on about how they were marked down x%, and I got such a good deal, and never actually say how much they cost. That is less effective now that he can actually look at the card statement.)  this also has the nasty side effect of being able to actually see how much we spend on food and other so-called essentials. I knew we spent a decent amount, but since I only saw what went on my card, it didn't seem to outrageous. I think I had managed to convince myself that I paid for things much more often than I actually did. 

Because I was looking at the balance today and I just can't figure out how we spent over $500 on groceries in the past month. I suppose we did eat out once or twice, but no place expensive. And that does include a big Costco trip, and some prescriptions, and we've run out of a few more things that usual this past month. But still. Is this normal? We are in DC, which is expensive. And we do like to eat things like fruits and other fresh, expensive things. And Whole Foods is much closer than other grocery stores, and so much nicer...I know its more expensive but I had no idea it was this much. I don't feel like we eat anything amazing. Lots of potato based dishes and rice and beans and the like. Not really much meat, just chicken breasts from Costco and some sausage from time to time. What are we doing wrong? This just doesn't seem right!

Inconceivable

When I was at BYU one of my favorite professors was Dr. Christensen.* The first class I took from him was this awesome freshman seminar on Comparative politics, where are only assignment was to read the Economist, and class consisted of solely of us asking him whatever questions we wanted. Needless to say, this guy is crazy smart. The second class was a giant monstrosity of class on political science research and writing. Incredibly dull. Or at least it would have been if Christensen didn't have a near endless supply of hilarious stories.** Things like how on his honeymoon, his wife told him "Dear, it would be better if you stopped giggling" and other fun little tidbits. Add that to endless supply of witty comments, sarcasm and other such awesomeness and Christensen made that class slightly more than bearable. However, when he got excited, which was frequent, he would start to talk in a really fast, high pitched voice. Combine that with the fact that he was a little on the shorter side of things, and well there was more than a passing resemblance to this guy:

So, when he passed out cards asking for our comments on his teaching in the middle of the semester, under the section asking for things that we thought he could improve upon, I noted that I would appreciate it if he would say inconceivable more frequently.

The next week at the end of class he started to discuss the comments he had received. Including how he was so offended that someone would compare him to the Princess Bride guy, how that was a bad person, and not flattering, and so on and so forth. I'm pretty sure he was looking at me the whole time he was speaking. I felt about two inches tall, and was convinced he knew that I was the one who had written that comment. But you guys? During that whole tirade he starte dto get excited, and speaking all fast and high pitched like. Towards the end he said that the comment was just inconceivable to him. He sounded just like Vizzini, and I felt justified. It was a good day.




*At one point he said that I was just like him, only liberal, young and female. So my liking him so much may have just been a case of supreme narcissism.

**Also at one point he called on my as I was dozing off. I had no idea what the question he had asked me was, let alone the answer. being a Church school I made a wild guess and said Jesus. I still have no idea what that class was about, but that was somehow the right answer. This has nothing to do with anything - I just like this story.

A Healthy Dose of Feminist Reading

I probably spend more time than is entirely healthy on the internet - a decent portion of which is spent on blogs. This can lead to all sorts of side effects. I can keep up with the lives of old friends and peek into the lives of complete strangers in a somewhat voyeuristic fashion. I see people posting pictures and descriptions of new shoes and other goodies that I want and have to talk myself out of overextending my budget to snatch up - not to mention learning how to control envy and be happy with how much I really do have. And on the political side of my internet meanderings I can become better informed - learning new facts and pondering new perspectives. Or I can just get really pissed off.

I could rant and rave on all sorts of issues raised by articles like those below; and someday when I feel like I have something original, insightful or at least coherent to say I probably will. For now I'll just say that I wish people could just treat people like people. Not sex objects, or any other kind of object. Not bags of cash. Not impersonal stereotypes. Not obstacles in the way of what we really want and really value. Just people.

In that light if you're in the mood for some feminist type thoughts (and more than a little ire) here are a few things that have caught my eye lately.

The Fourth Wave: Motherhood Feminism - The next phase for feminism is truly respecting and supporting motherhood. We've gotten better at (some) forms of gender equality, especially in the workplace, but this equality shatters as soon as motherhood is factored in. The #1 risk factor for poverty is motherhood. We need to fix this - or at least start talking about it.

Let's hear it for the boys and The standards for fathers - And speaking of motherhood, we've got to talk about fatherhood. I love all the examples in the first post and subsequent comments about the huge value of and service offered by so many men. And as for the second, I love seeing how much how we think about fathers and families is changing. I think one of the best things to come from feminism is the freedom given to men to engage more fully in some of the wonderful things that men of old have missed out on just because they were thought of as exclusively feminine. Families are wonderful, and the more all people, men and women, are able to really fully engage in all of that, the better things will be for everyone.

The Obama's Marriage - Speaking of families, here's a piece on how one very driven, very modern, but still very family focused couple has tried to make things work.

The Women's Crusade - I've heard a lot of wonderful things recently about how essential supporting women in developing nations is to bringing them out of crushing poverty. This article excelently outlines how simple and how essential supporting women is to supporting the world. But on the flip side, I share this article's concerns about treating the empowerment of women as a means to an end, rather than a worthwhile end in and of itself.

Schrödinger’s Rapist: or a guy’s guide to approaching strange women without being maced - a practical look at some simple things that good guys can and should do to take rape culture down a peg or two (because really, rape prevention isn't about self defense classes for women - it's changing how we think about rape and people choosing not to rape or support rape)

Have you tried not being so sexy? - A sort of companion piece to Schrödinger's Rapist and a brief look at how we treat women as presumably available objects (some language that may offend people who aren't me)

And if your looking for something a little more entertaining but still with a bit of a thoughtful feminist flavor, may I recommend checking out Dollhouse? I'm a huge Joss Whedon geek fan, which would be enough for me to fall in love with this show. But the more I watch it, and the more the show has gotten into the swing of things, the more I find myself falling head over heels for the way this show deals with humanity, consumerism, objectification and all sorts of other things that shape our society (and that I am now convinced will lead to a horrifying dystopian future). Some of the most recent episodes are on hulu - although being a Joss Whedon show, knowing the mythology and everything else set forth in earlier episodes is probably helpful, so go wander over to SurftheChannel or someplace like that and enjoy your weekend.

In the spirit of recipricioty I'm always looking for new things to read and obsess over, so any suggestions or thoughts or anything really is always appreciated.

Fall Desserts

I keep seeing all these bloggers posting about all the scrumptious fall delights they've been baking up.

My celebration of fall has consisted of blowing through a box of pumpkin donut holes picked up from the bakery section of the local giant which definitely has nothing resembling a bakery on the premises. Although even calling those clazed morsels pumpkin is a bit of a stretch, since the closest thing to pumpkin they contain is the seventh ingredient, something called "pumpkin flakes," which doesn't seem all that closely related to any sort of real squash. They sort of tasted like sawdust. I loved every bite.

Matilda, you hurt me so

When I am in a procrastination lets-dream-about-the future kind of mood, one of my favorite things to do is look at houses online. Ever since I was a little kid I've loved houses; I would draw up my own design plans, go to home shows, and page through design and architecture books. I still waste way to much time drooling over design blogs, wishing and hoping. But hey, I accept that I'm in law school right now, and in a fit of craziness have located myself on the opposite coast from my beloved Oregon. So buying a house just isn't anywhere close to reality right now.

But every now and again I come across a house that just breaks my heart. This house is one of those. I named her Matilda - she's just a tad old fashioned and quirky but all she needs is a little love to shine. She's all I could ever want in a house, with her big open porch, retro stylings, and forested backyard. Sure the place could use a little help to recover from some poor choices in its past, but ist nothing we couldn't work out together. And the part that just twists a knife around in my stomach? The monthly payments for this beauty are just about how much we pay in rent for our shoebox studio. This lawschool thing so better be worth all this.

I hope the squirrels believe in universal heath care

As I was waiting for the bus this morning I watched two squirrels play some weird hybrid of tag and hide and go seek. They would chase each other around the tree in a flurry of squirrel excitement. And then one of them would just freeze like a rock. And the other one would kind of freeze to, and then slowly poke its head around the tree, like its trying to sneak up on the other squirrel, and just as its about to catch site of the other one - BAM, they're off again. I could not stop laughing - and when I'm still not quite awake, that is a decent feat. Also, have you ever paid attention to a squirrel running? They do this great bounding leap thing, sort of like an elegant gazelle bounding across the Savannah - only it looks kind of ridiculous because its a little squirrel running for no apparent reason across the lawn in front of my apartment building. It's a great way to start the morning.

Of course, despite their adorableness, squirrels have a well known nefarious side. When I was in high school the teenage boys in my ward (congregation) had some horrible luck with squirrel related attacks on camping trips. For example, one guy was sleeping in a mummy bag - which as many of you may know leaves you pretty much stuck in a really tight bag, with just your face sticking out - so when a squirrel decides to hop onto your face and maul you with its little squirrel claws, there really isn't much you can do besides scream. Most other reported squirrel attacks were fairly minor, just squirrels throwing things, or taking things, or staring menacingly. And honestly, I'm not entirely sure that any of these supposed events are actually 100% accurate - but that's not particularly important. What is important is that the youth in the ward developed some grand mythology of squirrels as conspiratorial masterminds, bent on world domination. A squirrel dashing away would be a spy reporting to the master group. Buried nuts were really secret communication devices. Forest fires are caused by intersquirrel conflict, as the various factions vied for control in a horrifyingly vicious serious of coups. Little things like that. For a group of teenagers, this was a high form of amusement.

Despite their possible nefarious plans, or possibly because of them, squirrels always make me smile. Also if they ever succeed, I think they would be benevolent overlords.

My desire to divorce people may be scaring my husband

So, I really really love family law. It has everything I'm looking for in a field of law - crazy stories brimming with human drama, personal lives intertwined with the political process, principles and public policy, social values and tons of feminist goodness. I actually occasionally have an odd desire to look up and read articles and other tidbits on my own free time and of my own free will. Now tell me, is there any greater love than that?

The only downside? Whenever I find something that just seems like the coolest thing ever, I like to share it with Zach. And law is so much easier to explain with hypothetical situations. And well, family law is pretty much all about marriage and divorce. And hey, we're married and explaining things using us as an example is just a great way to make things more relatable. Which is how almost every discusion about my cool new family law thing eventually involves the phrase "So if we got divorced..."

I think this may freak him out just a teeny tiny bit. Can't imagine why.

the normalcy of home

My Dad was in DC over the weekend. In many ways I'm shocked by how non-eventful it was. I haven't seen him, or really any of the original family members since Christmas 2008 (Zach and his parents certainly count as family - but they are new family - which is still quite good, its just different. You understand, yes? good. moving on.). I suppose I was expecting that since it had been so long it would be this huge deal, an emotional high and maybe even a little bit stressful and awkward. But instead it just was. We didn't really do anything too terribly exciting over the weekend, as the sun did not shine and it was too wet to play, so we just sat in the house all those cold, cold wet days. We just set an talked, and everything just felt so very normal, like we lived just a few miles away and had decided to spend a few afternoons together. Seeing each other wasn't a big deal, it was just how life was supposed to be

I suppose that's one of the best things with family. Of course all families have there little or not so little dramas, but at the heart of it all being with family is just like coming home - just a natural, normal state of being that feels oh so comfortable and oh so right. This weekend was a wonderful slice of that homey comfortable normalcy, and I loved every minute of it.

Recomendation for a Saturday Morning

Any day that begins with animal shaped blueberry pancakes and Classic X-men cartoons is going to be awesome. It's like all the best parts of being a kid, minus the having to wake up early thing.

I had my morning class canceled today. Hallelujah.

In return for the universe's kindness I have used my day to have a wonderful breakfast of swedish pancakes (no cold cereal today, I'm celebrating) while letting my inner high school drama nerd bask in the the cheesy fest that is Glee!.

Way better than learning that you can not search some ones home without a warrant or consent. Never, ever, ever. Bright line people, bright line.

1 Year Down

So Zach and I got married a year ago (plus one month*). At least that's what the calendar claims, and I suppose it's accurate. Really, I'm having a hard time deciding if it feels like everything just happened yesterday, or if we've been cohabitating in the shoebox since the dawn of time. Being with Zach is just such a big part of what my life is now that sometimes its hard to remember that it wasn't always this way, and yet its still such a big thing that its almost hard to fathom that yes, we are actually married.

At this point, I feel like I should go off on some syrupy sweet ode to the utter perfection and sunshine that is married life and how I'm so grateful that my white night rode in and saved me from the treachery of singledom (at the horrifically spinster age of 21). Maybe even go all out and profess my love in a sonnet or a haiku. But really, that's not what its all about, and I feel like pretending our marriage is something it isn't would do it a disservice.

Because really, being married is pretty much the same as being single. Life is always just life. Sometimes it really, really sucks. Other times are filled with rainbows and unicorns. Most of the time it's just ok. Marriage is still just life, but with another person in it. All the time.

And if I'm going to be sharing all the goop that life can throw at you with someone, I want to do it with Zach. I want to come home from a crappy day and whine about it with him, and watch his forehead get all crinkly as he tries to think of how to make it better. I want to stay up way too late and be exhausted and useless the next day because we just couldn't stop talking at bedtime. I want to laugh so hard it hurts with him. If I'm going to be crying and screaming at someone because I'm just so mad, I want it to be with him, because I know that we always care enough about each other to (eventually) put aside our hurt and selfishness and make things right again. When I have yet another seizure, I want his arms around me. He's the first person I want to share things with, good news and bad. All the ups and downs, the dreams and plans, its all better together. I just want to live life with him, every bit of it.

And with that being said, here are some pretty pictures. I know its more than a little cliche, but so is doing an anniversary post. And I'm ok with that.


*Uhm, I kindo of started writing this on our actual anniversary and got distracted by having lots and lots of hot, passionate sex having a sweet anniversary dinner with Zach. But I like what I managed to write, and figured it was still worth posting, even if it is late.

The Saucy Temptress

Do you remember when you first went to high school and learned that you could have pizza every day if you so choose? Maybe not at all high schools, but for me high school was pizza heaven and it seemed like the coolest thing. Really, the only thing that kept me from subsisting entirely on pizza was that I got my lunch money in cash, and pizza could be a little spendy. It seemed like a much better idea to hoard the money for various teenage frivolities. I kind of wonder if my parents knew I was skipping lunch in favor of having fun money. It doesn't really matter, I'm just curious if I was really "getting away with it." Latter when my brother became a teen and I saw how much money he could mooch off of my parents I started to realize that maybe I could have fulfilled my pizza fantasy without giving up the finer things in life, but by then I had moved on to mooching of off my parents through child support, groceries and other goods and services.

Anyways, teenage me would have loved law school. Well, not the work, but she would have dug the never ending pizza. Not only is pizza readily available, but its free. You may have to sit through some sort of a lecture or meeting to get it, but it doesn't come out of my student loan money and that's as good as free. While someday we law students will be making $100+ an hour (please oh please), for now an hour of our time can be bought by 2 pieces of pizza. Not even good pizza. After a year of law school pizza from various local places I've learned that Boli's crust really does taste like cardboard, and that any event geared towards public interest law is probably not only going to have no pizza with meat, but also at least a couple boxes without any cheese. I really respect people that commit to eating vegan, but unexpectedly cheeseless pizza is so very disappointing.

I know that eating pizza that often is really, really bad for me. Trust me, every morning I get up and sigh as I reach past my skinny jeans in favor of something that can button up I am reminded. But despite that knowledge, every day I am faced with that saucy cheap temptress waiting in the wings to draw me into her cheesy clutches. And I can always lie and say that I'm just going for the networking, or to expand my legal education, or some other less than true explanation. But really its just because that morning I was too lazy to pack something remotely healthy for lunch, and now its noon and I'm hungry and prowling the halls for a free lunch.

With all that being said, yesterday was a bit of a victory for me. I started the day right with a healthy lunch stowed away in my backpack. I didn't actually make it, as I am a righteous woman who supports my husband in developing his divine nurturing, lunch making skills, but I still had it and that's all that really matters. I was all ready and set for the day, and was only going to go to a lunch seminar because I was actually interested. Just go and learn and network and eat my healthy lunch. Even if the pizza everyone else is eating smells really good and actually came from one of the non cardboard places. But I held strong! Really, kind of sort anyways. Well, I only had one piece. You have to start somewhere, right?

I dress like a Mom

I'm not sure when or how it happened, but somehow I have begun to dress like a Mom. Not a young hip Mom, or even an older classically chic Mom. Nope, I'm talking full on frumpster. Not that there's anything wrong with that, anyone wrestling small child(ren) that can manage an occasional shower is just fine by me. But I'm a twenty something, very childless person going to a professional school.

Which is most of the cause of my frumpy feeling. I heard once that all the pretty, smart women become lawyers. It's so very true. I am surrounded by teeny tiny women with perfect hair, and perfect bodies clothed in perfect little skinny jeans, with little banana republic tops and j crew cardigans, mincing by in their perfect little sensibly stylish heels. I don't know how they manage to have that perfect mix of stylish but not too trendy, young but still classic and professional. On the other hand today I am waltzing around in not terribly flattering light blue jeans, a navy blue cap sleeve shirt and a really fuzzy and comfortable grey cardigan that as a result of being fuzzy and comfortable is also entirely shapeless and hangs kind of wierd. Oh, and of course trusty, beat up flip flops. It's not a horrible look if you're loading 3 kids into a minivan. Less so for the casually chic halls of law school.

I don't remember feeling quite this out of place, but I may have lost what little style I had during my summer of nothingness. Every day at about noon I would go through teh excruciating effort of getting ready for the day by swapping out yesterdays yoga pants for a new pair and choosing whatever t-shirt clashed the least and smelled the best. Occasionally I would venture out of my cozy apartment into the real world and begrudgingly put on a pair of jeans. Once every couple weeks I might feel a little flirty (or out of clean yoga pants) and dare to put on a simple skirt (and a t-shirt, I didn't want to get too crazy). After a summer of such wonderful laziness, making a cute outfit just seems so hard. Add that to my natural lack of fashion talent and a lack of funds to quickly remedy that and well, you get my Mom uniform of blah jeans, plain cotton shirt and a cardigan.

I used to kind of look forward to the simplicity that awaited me when I would get taken on by some soulless law firm. Just day after day of nice, simple suits. Of course, then I rememebered that I'm a woman and there is no such thing as simple womens clothing. Which cut of suit would I wear? Which fabric? what kind or color of shirt. Not to mention shoes, accesories and a pretty but still serious hairstyle. And if i fail at that, well that just means that I'm not professional or trustworthy. Oh boy.

Maybe we'll actually get to some scifi future soon, and I can just wear jumpsuits? I like clothes, I think they can be fun, but if I can't wear what I really want without feeling awkward, it would be nice if what I'm supposed to wear was easy to figure out.

Church Bells

Today we went for a lovely walk over to the National Cathedral - mostly just so we could get out of the apartment, but largely because we live only a few blocks away and have never taken the time to go look around, and I felt kind of pathetic about that. And so we went and enjoyed the pretty architecture (for a wannabe Notre Dame it really is quite nice), flowers and occasional butterflies. On the way home we were serenaded by the strains of church bells from the Catholic Church across the street. All in all a wonderful way to spend a not-entirely lazy Sunday afternoon.

Lessons learned

So my in-laws are in town for a couple of days, and Zach and I are busy trying to be good hosts. So far I have learned a few important things...

1. We do not know DC nearly as well as we think we do. Several interesting turns will be made to find a giant museum. We will drive past our turns and then realize that oh of course that was the street we really meant. That cute little sandwich store that I know exactly where it is... uhm apparently my memory may be a little fizy.
2. Wandering around looking for the cute little sandwich shop that is just a block away...hmm, maybe in the other direction...no wait, over there...uhm...lets go ask someone... Yah. That isn't all that fun when people are hungry and hot.
3. Tourists ruin everything. They make long lines, crowded museums and probably somehow make the weather hotter and muggier. (We and any and all relations that come to visit us do not count as tourists of course)
4. Offering use of a car for a "couple of errands" to carless city dwellers who live at the mercy of their feet and public transportation will result in several hours at IKEA and a giant Costco run. I'm sure they enjoyed it?
   
5. We spent most of last week making our apartment absolutely spotless. I drove Zach crazy rearranging things over and over again, and freaking out over teeny tiny details. Only 10 minutes will actually be spent inside said apartment.
6. All in all, I really have good in-laws. Even with things going less than perfect and Zach and I being less than perfectly organized, its still just good to spend time with them. So far we have zero judgmental comments or looks, or subtle criticism or any of the other things that tend to bug people about their in-laws. Just fun stories and conversation and otherwise enjoying each others company. And really, based on all my past interactions with them I expect all those good trends to keep right on going. We still haven't spent a huge amount of time with each other, still definitely in the get to know you stage. But I'm still surprised how overall comfortable I am with them, how much I enjoy spending time with them, how much I care about them. It's like their family.
   

Somewhat belated semi obligatory 4th of July Post

Living in DC it really felt obligatory to go out and do something all celebratory for Independence day. There's really no excuse not to. And I had an all too clear vision of inevitable conversations:

"So what did you do for Independence Day?"

"Oh nothing special, just stayed home and watched a movie. It's not like we live close to various monuments, a big fireworks show, free concert or anything cool like that. Besides, everyone knows that liberals secretly hate America."

Well I'd rather not deal with that and the ensuing feelings of loserdom that would result from such an exchange. Besides, at the last liberal conspiracy meeting in between plotting the downfall of the family and creating a government run dystopia, we promised to do a better job of keeping the Anti-Americanism under wraps. (Of course I kidd, liberals aren't anywhere near organized enough for any meaningful conspiracy. Oh, organized liberals, I crack myself up). Anyways, we had sufficient motivation to escape from our hermitage and hit the town for one day. After a few minutes of google searching we found that there was a concert at the south lawn of the Capital building right before the fireworks began, and as two things are better than one we decided that was the destination for us.

But, before undertaking such a great journey we had to be all prepared with a giant duffel bag of very important things we could not survive a few hours without. It all seemed very essential. Of course knowing that Zach would have to haul the giant bag from our shoebox apartment to the metro (about a mile and a half) and then from Union station to the Capital building may have influenced my decision making. And uh, I may possibly have added to his burden a little bit as I felt inclined to take the "scenic route" up to the metro. But even with the heavy load and the heat and the humidity we managed to make it up to the metro in decent time. Enough time to stop off at Whole Foods and gather a lovely picnic. I had visions of lovely baguettes with bits of cheese, fresh grapes and strawberries and other elements for a picture perfect picnic. Of course, other people must have had the same idea as whole foods was very much picked over. So Subway was substituted. Much less picturesque, but still quite tasty.

A quick metro ride and we were downtown. I don't think we've been downtown since Zach's birthday in the beginning of June, and up in our pretentious, suburbanesque corner of DC we tend to forget how cool this city really is. Seriously, everything is covered in marble and trying so hard to masquerade as a classic 500+ year old building. Not to mention the seemingly endless statues of men on horseback or dramatically holding an iron piece of paper. Also, as an added bonus, finding our way to the Capital building was rather easy. Being the biggest thing around all we really had to do was look up, and walk in the direction of the giant dome.

Finding the Capital was easy, but actually getting inside was a little more challenging. Zach and I thought we had left plenty early. The fireworks were set to start at 9:15pm, with the concert beginning at 8pm, and gates opened at 3pm. We arrived a little after 4pm, and were greeted with a long line which we shuffled forward in for about an hour. Once we arrived the end of the line the slow movement made a little more sense as every person was being scanned by mettle detectors and each bad was being hand searched. Not that the bag check was particularly thorough, I'm sure I could have hid some C4 or something in a hidden pocket if I was so inclined. But hey, the appearance of safety is all that really matters, and we were just happy to be out of that line and ready to lounge about for a few hours until the show started.

After the long wait in line I was less that thrilled to find that the lawn was already quite stuffed, especially any area that had a view of the stage. I didn't quite believe that the prime seating could really and truly be all full, and so I dragged the tired Zach and the giant bag around for a while, before ultimately ending up in the very same place we had first tried. It was still a decent spot and wasn't too crowded (yet). So we proceeded to settle in for the next 3 hours. Reading material and people watching more than provided enough entertainment.

Of course, as entertaining as books and people can be, we were quite happy when the concert started. Especially since they had raised up a big old jumbo tron on a crane, so we could actually kind of sort of see what was going on. And oh we were so glad we got to see what was going on. You see, like most free community concerts, and especially for ones in our nations capital, the concert had to be absolutely unoffensive to just about everyone. And so the headliners of the night were the great Barry Manilow and the Sesame Street Muppets. And as slightly ashamed as I am to admit it, I really enjoyed both of them. Manilow is just so infectious and happy to be there, that you kind of get swept up with him. And he is especially awesome when he's trying to be sexy, and you see this old, white guy shaking his hips with a touch of bedroom eyes. Oh Manilow, you try so hard.

But as awesome as the Manilow was, the best part of his performance was this little kid a few feet away from us who was seriously rocking out. He was shaking and grooving with everything he had and even threw in some classic disco moves. As a close second was an adorable Hispanic couple next to up who got all snuggly and cute during the slow songs. They also apparently own a hotel in Mexico. I know this because before they left early the husband introduced himself, pitched the hotel (which apparently makes really good fish?) and gave us his business card. It was loud and he had a bit of an accent so I only understood about half of what he said, and mostly just smiled and nodded. I really hope I didn't promise or agree to anything crazy. A little random, but still fun. And hey, a Caribbean Mexican vacation could always be fun. And the hotel really does look gorgeous. However, cute as they were, the award for best PDA of the night goes to the middle aged couple who totally started making out, complete with a sitting dip and the accompaniment of their preteens moans and complaints. Ah, old people love/lust.

Much fun as people had rocking out to Manilow (well, as much as you can rock out to Manilow) the Muppets were the real stars of the night. I mean they even got introduced by the President. And everyone loves Sesame Street and will happily cheer and sing along. Sesame Street really should be involved in more parts of life, it just makes everyone smile and teaches valuable lessons about how C is for cookies, and we should all love trash (reduce, reuse and recycle anyone?). Some other people sang and did a very nice job (well not so much Aretha Franklin, but shes so old and iconic that it doesn't really matter), but really Manilow and Sesame Street were the highlights.

With the genuine and somewhat unexpected fun of the show, I was rather excited to just lay back and watch the fireworks explode in blaze of beautifulness all over the sky. Yah, not so much. Not only is the Capital lawn at a funky angle from the fireworks, there were also many trees that worked wonderfully at providing some much appreciated shade earlier in the day but were less appreciated for their fireworks blocking. We tried to join the crowd struggling for a decent view between the trees, but we only got a few colorful glimpes. Very pretty glimpses, but not quite what I had hoped for.

I suppose all's well that ends well. Since we couldn't really see the fireworks Zach and I wormed our way through the crowd and headed back towards Union Station in the hopes of beating the crowds. It actually worked fairly well. The station filled up quickly, but as it was one of the first stops in DC that woudl be used by the fireworks viewers the train was mostly empty when we boarded so we actually managed to get a seat. a seat for which we were very grateful for everytime we pulled into a station packed to the gills and saw people struggling to fit into a car that I wouldn't have beleived could possibly hold anyone else. Even from the relative comfort of our seat cocoon, we were quite glad to get out of there, go home and collapse into a happy pile of goo. All in all it was a good day. And now for the obligatory pictures!

The closest I've come to getting arrested

In the spirit of full disclosure this entry isn't anywhere near as exciting as the title may have suggested.

Earlier today I was just sitting all alone in my apartment, diligently studying (aka facebook), when I was startled out of my innocent complacency by a loud, insistent banging on the front door. I assumed it was just someone from the building, as no one else ever randomly knocks on our door.

I was not expecting a big, burly police officer. I was certainly not expecting him to glare at me and say, "Well, come on."

Fortunately, my very confused look proved effective. He countered it with a skeptical look and asked if I was Hannah. Not being Hannah, I responded accordingly. After dragging out my ID and having it thoroughly inspected complete with multiple glances between me and my picture, it was firmly decided that I was in fact not Hannah.

However, the nefarious Hannah could still have been lurking in the apartment. I'm not sure where she could have hidden in the shoebox, but that Hannah is a tricky sort. Fortunately, proving that I was not Hannah seemed to have established some credibility, so I only had to assure the officer that Zach was the only other person who lived here, and no he was not home, no, no one else was here either, and yes, I was very sure.

After proving my non-Hannahness and asserting my awareness of who does and does not live in the shoebox with me, he grudgingly admitted that this might be the wrong apartment. And with that he was off to find the true Hannah. One other officer stopped by a few minutes later, but she was more immediately trusting of my nonHannahnimity.

So, I suppose today I am very grateful to my parents for not naming me Hannah. One, I'm glad to not share a name with the latest release from Disney's tween star factory. Secondly, and most importantly, being arrested or whatever they plan to do to Hannah would have been slightly inconvenient. Thanks folks!

The street where we live

While it is still hotter than it has any right to be (as evidenced by my continual habit of sticking my head in the freezer), today was just so lovely and alive that I suppose I may be inclined to forgive it. Management's promise to turn the lovely, cold air on tomorrow may also have helped to facilitate the forgiving spirit.

The hot weather also gave Zach and I a good excuse to go grab some gelato, and since it was so lovely I figured I may as well take the opportunity to present this neighborhood I reside in in a flattering fashion.

I love all the big trees that line the street where we live. Now that they're back to being all leafy again, I love them even more.


This is the building we live in. Its very, solidly mediocre. So lets focus on the trees, ok?


I didn't get any good pictures during cherry blossom season, and by now they've mostly turned into leaves. But let me assure you, they were quite lovely. I'm sure you can google a picture, if it makes you feel better, you can just pretend I took it.


Look! It's Zach next to a tree.

I'm also a huge fan of the many awesome old houses in our neighborhood. Old houses just have this great vibe to them, they're so fun and unique and awesomely quirky. A lot of the houses around here have some amazing stonework and kind of have this European cottage vibe. This house is one of my favorites - I love the big wood door, the beautiful stone and the funky swiss top.


Unfortunately, once we discovered all the cool houses, our pilgrimages to Whole Foods have become increasingly common. I know its expensive and a little pretentious, but the food is just so much better than our sad local Giant. They're produce section is just so shiny and smells nice. I've been thoroughly seduced.


That's pretty much it. Big trees, cool houses, and seductive fruit. All in all, its not a half bad place.

Hot stuff

It is hot. Very hot. And uncomfortable. And sticky. Did I mention the hot?

And oh look, a perfectly nice air conditioner. Just sitting there three feet away from me. The problem? It's. Just. Sitting. No cold air, absolutely nothing. Mocking me. It's not broken, it has no good excuse for not relieving the hotness. The building people just haven't deemed it necessary to turn it on yet, and we measly residents have no power. We just get to sit here being hot and mocked.

I really, really hate this shoebox furnace apartment.

Suicidal ipod Curse

My steady i-pod appears to have given up to ghost. Sure, its been a little persnickety for a while now, but all I had to do was reset and it would happily let me create a little personal music bubble, allowing me to further isolate myself from those around me. But now, no matter what I do, it just stares back at me with its sad little ipod face with the morbid x's instead of eyes.

My best explanation is some sort of a technology curse, or possibly the ghost of my old laptop, luring the sweet, innocent ipod to the other side. Or possibly the time I meant to put my i-pod in my purse, but instead dropped it, where it then met up with my walking foot, which drop kicked it onto the sidewalk. But as that was over a year ago, and its been working fine lately, I'm going with the curse theory. It's really the only logical option.

However, this really shouldn't be a big deal. Not to long ago Zach made a much needed upgrade to a new mac, which came with a lovely free ipod touch. I immediately laid claim to Zach's old i-pod, reveling in the idea of an i-pod that could do such magical things as hold all of my music, work, and even had the added bonus of color!

This i-pod didn't just slowly fade away in a dignified fashion, like my old ipod. No this one committed suicide and tried to take my computer along with it. As Zach had been the previous user, it was formatted for use on a Mac. So, I reset it to the original factory settings, and plugged it in to upload my music. A few minutes after plugging it in, my computer blue screened. So I tried again, and once again the i-pod lashed out and blue screened my computer. I've tried everything I can think of, but that thing just sits there, all empty and lifeless until I plug it in and it tries to kill my computer. Leaving me the proud owner of two useless ipods.

Yup, its definitely a curse.

Throw out the baby

"Let's not throw the baby out with the bathwater"

Probably the worst metaphor to use when discussing abortion. EVER

Oh Con Law, I will miss your inappropriate, awkward, hilariousness.

(Also funny, but probably just to me. I just read a case where Scalia cites a painting. A freakin' painting. Clearly the best source for legal values. very strictly construed. Oh Scalia, if only I could give you a hug and a vicodin)