This is for all the NORMAL girls

Starbiz (Glitter Trail!) and KaRyn Daley

2011-09-27T21:34:00.002-06:00

If you are looking for more information about my music after seeing the WILDLY popular, HIGHLY controversial, DEEPLY entertaining BYUtv show, STARBIZ...check out my facebook fanpage at www.facebook.com/karyndaley or myspace (what? Does that even exist anymore?) www.myspace.com/karynmusic I don't have a website yet (BRYAN!!!) but someday. In the meantime, you can at least listen to a few of my old songs in rough format and find out what happens next on STARBIZ...glitter trail.

All this Wanting

2011-09-22T23:29:00.002-06:00

There was this time in the life of NinnyBeth where I did not think I would ever register for presents for my wedding. I said to myself, "Self, you have all that you need and if someone want to gift you a thing upon your nuptials, they will know you well enough to get you something cool."

This week, I said another thing to my self. I said, "Self, actually, you don't have a shower curtain for your hypothetical new apartment. And then there is that part where you might also want to consider the fact that you just might need to iron a shirt for your hypothetical new husband and though you have ignored wrinkles for the past 34 years, it is possible that owning an iron and an ironing board might not be a bad idea."

And so my self and I have registered at a few different stores just in case a friend who might want to buy us something cool wants to also buy us something useful since we are poor. Here's what I wish though. I wish I could register generically like, just have a list on a website somewhere that says just the idea of a things like:

rug

toilet brush

grill type thing in fashion of George Foreman for syphoning fat from delicious red meat patties in round shape.

kitchenaid mixer (any color, go crazy)

laundry basket

hangers

picture for over bed because we don't have an actual bedframe and that will make it look more like a grownup bed.*

towels*

shower curtain*

*note: we like blues and greens and things that look old.

Would that be a cool kind of registry? You know, something a little more generic that will allow us to allow for some freedom. I don't usually plan my decorating schemes as carefully as this whole registry thing would have me do. My decor is usually a really weird mix of found items, DI castoffs, hand me downs, and leftover college posters. I'm uncomfortable with the level of decisiveness that this whole thing requires. I also philosophically feel challenged by the idea of NB and JR leaping down the aisles of target gunning out the things that we think you should buy us. Gross. Additionally, I don't want ANYONE to think that they have to bring a present in order to eat our chocolate cake and play the pianica at the concert/reception. But then there is the reality. People give gifts and registries are helpful. blah blah blah....

Maybe my registry idea is a little bit like the DRUM CIRCLE DEBAUCLE OF LATE SUMMER 2011 (in which NB tried desperately to get everyone to agree that having a drum circle of jembe drums at the reception would be the coolest thing EVER and to which no one would agree. EVER.) but I think it would be more fun that way. I like my friends. I'm mostly friends with them because they have style and humor and sass and they like me. I would like to trust them with this one. But I guess I will have to settle for spending a day gunning crap at Kohl's and Target that we need and pray that there are some surprises in the mix.

I wonder what emily post would say about asking your guests who want to give you a present to give you 10 bucks and list of their favorite yardsale locations. That sounds like the perfect gift to me!

Oh Hey There...Remember Me?

2011-09-09T20:52:00.003-06:00

Yes. i am still alive. I'm engaged though, so maybe I'm only half alive? I'm joining the rank and file of Mormondom and I must admit that while I am so very very very excited to marry JR, I'm having a slightly rocky transition. Oh, believe me, I know what you're thinking, "HOLY HELL. ALL I"VE HEARD YOU DO IS WHINE ABOUT THE BABIES IN THE BASKETS AND THE WOMEN WITH THE WEDDING RINGS AND NOW YOU"RE ALL, 'wo wo wo is me! I'm getting everything I've ever wanted!' HRRRRMPH. PPHLLLLLPTTTT. BOO HISS."

I allow you to be annoyed.

But I also allow me to be annoying.

So there.

There's this part about how I'm having a slight identity crisis. For the last many years, I've been a single active mormon virgin trying to reconcile my place in a church where the mainstream is not me. And I was really really good at being that girl. I was wise. I was optimistic. I was inspirational to myself. I was secretely fond of being the girl that confused the masses, "I just don't understand why you're not married?"

but now, when we have a chastity lesson in Relief Society in JR's ward, I'm not "the other". I'm not the girl who doesn't know if she'll ever get to have sex (in this life, blah blah blah). I have this ring (a beautiful one, I might add) on my left hand that makes me indistinguishable from the girl across the aisle from me who got married at 22 and has three kids. There was this row of single girls behind me in JR's family ward during said chastity lesson who looked like some of my girls...the kind I would quickly connect to and kvetch about the marrieds and the world and talk about how we were finding our place in this community. I had a weird desire to hide my ring and go sit with them while yelling, I"M ONE OF YOU! I SWEAR IT! I"M ONE OF YOU!...instead I just turned quickly around at the end of the lesson, introduced myself and blurted out, "I'm 34, I just got engaged, and I don't know what I'm doing!" Smooth. Really smooth.

And then there is the part where I'm really putting this body image thing to the test...This is too much information, I'm sure, and I'm sorry if you've stumbled upon this and wish you hadn't...but I just need to put this somewhere. If you're aren't LDS, you will probably think this is ridiculously backward and feel sorry for me. But maybe just maybe you will identify.

For years, I've been battling with my body. Hating it and loving it in equal measure. I've lost 75 pounds, up and down, back and forth and my body, my dear 34 year old body has seen better days. All this is to say that I don't look good naked. Skinny or not, my body is not that of a taut 22 year old (I guess I'm really over those 22 year olds?). And I'm going to be naked for the first time with a man who has the body of a greek god. Though he is wonderful and I know he wants me as I am, it is not JR's responsibility to make me feel good about myself. This is between me and the world that has taught me poorly. Today I tried on lingerie. I cried for a solid 10 minutes in the dressing room, the desperate tears of someone who knows she will never (at least not without surgery) look like the images of sexy that are purveyed by the makers of underpants. I found a beautiful vintage inspired robe thing that did make me feel pretty, but I couldn't get past the feeling that I was a failure at sexy in the grand scheme of things.

Here is where you want to write me some sweet comment about sexy is a feeling and that men don't really care....but please don't because I care. I get those things. I care because I'm angry that I'm still seeing myself through someone else's eyes, namely society. I care because I know that this is a last ditch adversarial effort to undermine my sense of self and worth. I care because I haven't yet mustered up whatever courage or strength it takes to not give a crap if my inner thighs are jiggly even though my legs are rock solid from all the strength training I've been doing. I'm angry that I'm still angry. Sigh. But I do have something. I have a Father in Heaven who loves me and will send help to comfort me and teach me whatever I need to know. Remember this girl?

http://normalgirls.blogspot.com/2010/03/good-courage.html

She's still me, ring or no ring.

This is How We Know It's Finals....

2011-04-12T22:56:00.002-06:00

1. I shaved my legs. When I got out of the shower, I looked down to discover that one leg was perfectly smooth and the other was as hairy as sasquatch with PCOS. My initial reaction was to try to figure out what was wrong with my razor...why did it gloss over my right leg with "nairy" (get it?) a hair removed? Obviously it was a defective razor??? Oh wait. uh. Yeah. I suppose it could be that I LATHERED UP THE SAME LEG TWICE and didn't notice a problem. Note to self- stop thinking about qualitative research while enacting hair removal. 2. I pulled up to a four way stop in my neighborhood. The second one on 300 south going north (you know which one I mean, the one by the elementary school) The car at the opposite stop sign had his turn signal on to make a left hand turn. The car directly to my right was waiting patiently. The car turning left was not going. sitting there. with his blinker on. I got annoyed. I mean, really, Utah, can't you figure out how a four way stop works???? DUHHHHH. So I finally wave the left turner on. He was obviously there first. He finally goes, but not without a few blank searching stares from his passengers as I frustratedly make the face you make when someone is doing something dumb. And then the guy to my right. Just sitting there. Not going. So I wave him on too. Do I have to tell EVERYONE how to do a four way stop in this town?!>!>!>?!?!? Only after the idiot drivers who don't know what clockwise means are completely gone do I proceed through the intersection. But wait. what's this up ahead? A four way stop???? But...I don't underst...................ah. um. right. There was no stop sign back there. I stopped for no reason. I laughed for the entire ride to my destination, sad that I couldn't share the funny joke with the two idiots who don't know how to do a four way stop.

It happened one night at the Texas Roadhouse...

2011-02-25T13:01:00.003-07:00

Don't judge me.

I had to go there because I was meeting some old mission companions for dinner. But also, I like throwing peanut shells on the floor.

Don't judge me about this part either:

I was feeling really sorry for myself because I'm 33 and practically the last one standing single from ye old west virginia charleston mission. After a recent string of less than stellar dating stories, my usual can-do attitude was waning in the face of dinner with my mormon-culturally-deemed-more-successful friends - one pregnant with 6th child and the other newly married with 6 month old. So I was driving to the American Fork Texas Roadhouse whining to God about a) eating at the TR b) driving to AF c) alone. alone. alone. I said a few things and asked that the spirit could help me be grateful for what I have instead of dwelling on what I lack. Whatever. The usual.

After we ordered an artery clogging onion dipped in oil and garnished with more oil, a different server came over to our table bearing three desserts. "You have the wrong table," we chimed in unison. The server, shaking his head in defeat, said, "no. it's the right table." Theories flew...was it J's friends at the table behind us? Was it one of the married girls' husbands? Longshot: Maybe it was the cute guy with the two kids at the table across from us who had made eye contact with me several times? I didn't see a ring, but we single ladies knwo that doesn't mean squat. More theorizing and observation and eventually, the server came back and said: "these desserts are from the gentleman in the booth back there. He just wanted to make sure that you had a great evening." to which J screamed and slapped me, "SHE'S SINGLE!". The waiter...errr, I mean server, then handed me a piece of paper - with the name Ethan and a phone number scrawled on it.

ARE YOU KIDDING????? Since when does something like this happen to me? There was no battle of wits, no exchange of cultural knowledge, no proving that I am smart and funny and a good housekeeper or whatever else I seem to think men like...He just thought I was pretty enough to hit on. me. ninnybeth.

And that, my friends, is how God answers whiney prayers occassionally. The story doesn't end with flourishing romance. Ethan, it turns out, is a nice guy but we have almost nearly possibly nothing in common except for proximity and a willingness to put ourselves on the line. It probably won't even lead to a first date. But God bless him for doing something. For taking a chance and being confident. In the narrative of my understanding of myself and making sense of a distorted vision of how others perceive me, this story will weave itself into my knowing and become part of that new fabric. Maybe it will sound overly dramatic to anyone but me, but these moments are healing and revelatory.

The Phantom Ovary and Other Short Stories

2011-02-10T09:44:00.005-07:00

she noted that the day was unusually cold and the air wafted with the smell of garlic sticks and pizza (with too much cheese. Note that, brick oven, too much cheese). The pain in her abdomen was growing steadily as she gripped the bathroom stall door and realized that she needed to call someone...anyone! HELP! "I just need to lie down for a second"....(author note: this mystery novel-ish formula is not working...maybe try as children's book?)

Ninny Beth had a scary monster cyst. It was very big. The scary monster cyst was crushing Ninny Beth's future babies. Ninny Beth had to go to the hospital because she couldn't breathe and had claw hands. She was probably dying. Most definitely dying. Then three doctors came. Each doctor gave her a different gift: Doctor 1 gave her a special potion to drink called morphine that made her feel like a princess. Doctor 2 was just starting his shift at the hospital and gave Ninny Beth pretty much nothing except a bill for his services and the secret name of the scary monster cyst (DERMOID). The third doctor gave her another bigger bill and told her that she could help NB remove the cyst, but only if she could take the future babies with her....
(author note: story kind of loses steam here...might need to switch to poetry?)

Disgusted,
Eagerly, I have them
Remove this
Massive shape sitting on my
Ovary. oh hell take the whole thing
Its not doing anyone any good right now anyway
Delete. Delete. Delete.
Certainly, I can grow something better in there than this
Yesterday's tissue
Surely, this body can produce more than just a ball of
Teeth and hair?

(author's note: grossing self out with bad poetry. Try visual imagery. Maybe words are wrong medium)

Oh forget it. So I had surgery. I will be paying for it in more ways than one for the rest of my life. but I'm alive and not in pain anymore. I got to take a break from school and watch hours upon hours of 'Eureka'. I got to have visits from good friends. And I got to experience the Relief Society in action. It was a really lovely experience except for the part where they removed a vital organ. You know...whathaveyou.

Academician is a really dumb sounding word, but it's REAL.

2011-01-08T15:59:00.004-07:00

It's been a month since I posted. Over a month. But don't feel bad...its not just this blog that's been ignored. My paper and pen journal is bereft of content as well. My guitar sits completely untouched. I haven't made a watercolor since summer and I can't tell you the last time I wrote a poem.

But I'm contemplating a Ph.D. And I wrote a paper about websites and nonprofits and documentary film that I'm submitting to an academic conference. So...that's something, I guess?

Academia, I shake my fist at thee. You're squeezing the creative life right out of me...or are you? Doesn't it take creativity to think of questions you want to answer? Doesn't it take a bit of creativity to take 50 articles on seemingly disparate topics and weave them into a coherent (if not completely logical) argument to justify your study? Maybe I'm just transfering my energy instead of stiffling it. Maybe.

Still, I can't help but think that I'm shriveling a tiny bit. Like my once full, plump cells have been submerged in bathwater and instead of soaking it up, I'm getting prune hands. When I'm not studying, I don't take breaks with my guitar. For some reason, I head outside to shovel icy snow or pull weeds that are just going to grow right back or rearrange the furniture in the mauve living room yet again. There is no space for my art. And it's really not about time. I don't have the motivation. I'm fried. And I miss being a kindergarten theater teacher. I miss making magic with duct tape and paperbags. Remember when I wrote a musical version of "The Paper Bag Princess" and little asian kids were singing "I am elizabeth and I am a princess!" down the halls of school? Those were good days.

Whatever. I'm being self-pitying and revisionist. And I really do like what I'm learning. I feel like there is something really structurally important in what I'm starting to contribute. I guess I just wish there was a way to have it all? I left teaching because I felt like I could do more good in the world on a larger scale (forgive my illusions of granduer, but I'm tired of sanitized blogging)and I felt there was a calling in my future. And I know that I'm on that path right now. I guess today when there is so much haze on the whatever mountains those are to the east and gray snow that WILL NOT DIE and not a green thing to be found in provotown, I'm wishing there was just a little more magic in my life. A little more art. A little more of that OTHER kind of creativity that made me feel possible and powerful and full of love for everything and everyone.

Can we please call down spring now???????

Gratitude through the lens of charity

2010-11-22T09:44:00.003-07:00

(please notice that the title of this post has been done in APA style. Thank you.)

This is the talk I gave in church last week. It was about gratitude sort of...

For two years, I lived downtown in Seoul South Korea. It was my first experience living overseas and as you can imagine I experienced a great amount of culture shock. Seoul itself is a beehive of a city that in recent years has become a strange conglomeration of cultures. Because of the US military’s presence, there are outback steakhouses (sometimes two across the street from one another!), gaps, starbucks, dunkin donuts(Koreans LOVE them some donuts) and mcdonalds sharing storefront space with boshintang restaurants (that’s DOG SOUP!) and little cobbler stands where you can get your shoes resoled for under 4 korean won, which about 3 us dollars.

Every day, I walked through the streets on my way to the bus that would take me to the newer, highrise dominated suburbs and after a while, the oddities of seoul stopped seeming so odd. I grew used to the smell of bundegi ( steamed silkworm larva, a popular street snack ) and the strange site of little children licking their lips and saying, “YUM DELICIOUS” as they stared at our pet goldfish swimming around in his tank. Eventually, even the anachronisms of this asian city ceased to call attention to themselves and everything started to look about normal. But there was one thing that continued to bother me. Every day as I made my way through pighead alley to the bus stop at 8 am, I would see an old man (and we’re talking 80 year old man) with a makeshift wheelbarrow loaded to overcapacity with cardboard boxes. Every day, he would pull his cart through the street alongside a sea of yellow taxi cabs and brand new Hyundai sedans. It was like a scene out of a national geographic.

I learned from some of my Korean friends that this was a common way of making money for older Koreans. All night long while the city sort of slept, these adjushis & adjumas (or old men & women) would pick through the recycling, load up their carts and then turn them in for a very small sum of money. There were sort of turf wars for the best garbage gathering place, and occasionally, I would come home late at night and discover an old man in my garbage hut, bickering with someone over who’s beat this was and who got to take the load. The man that I saw each morning bothered me in particular because he seemed too feeble to be hauling such a heavy load. Sometimes his cart was so heavy that he could barely maneuver it across the street with his bent back and gnarled weatherworn hands. Korean drivers are crazy to begin with, but their patience evidently ran even thinner when it came to the junk carts. I watched regularly as he tried in vain to heave the cart from one side of the street to the other, waiting cars honking and yelling for him to move! My heart was heavy as I watched him struggle morning after morning and I wondered about his life. Surely it was miserable. SURELY it must be miserable. He couldn’t possibly be happy. I didn’t understand where he got the strength to live each day, to get back out there and haul his load through honking cars and sometimes vicious rain and cold.

One particular morning, I was feeling very sorry for the old man as I contemplated his life again. I’m pretty sure I was wondering why God would allow him to be so much more miserable than me in this life. when suddenly (and I think by inspiration) I had this thought: Who am I to assume that his life is any less happy than mine simply because I have more things and different life work? Is it not entirely possible that within the scope of his life, there have been times when his peace and happiness and contentment have eclipsed mine? If I believe in the message of the gospel of Jesus Christ, then I must also believe that the gifts of spirit are available to all his children regardless of station in life.

This thought has been important to me as I contemplate my own life mission. As I prepare to work with the world’s poor and vulnerable populations, I must be able to see them not as objects of my pity or condescension, but rather as brothers and sisters with different life trajectories, no less capable of bearing the burdens placed upon them with joy and peace. I know plenty of people who have everything and still find themselves with gnarled hearts and bent spirits, unable to navigate their loaded carts through traffic.

So what does this mini, personal revelation have to do with gratitude? I submit that it is a lesson in Best practices…of HOW to cultivate a spirit of gratitude in true Christian form. I think that we can all agree that being grateful is important. It’s a moral truism that almost no one would find problematic. It’s such an important principle in the gospel of Christ that our prayers are structured to include a hefty portion of thanksgiving before just about anything else. I don’t need to spend 15 minutes convincing any of you that being grateful is a worthwhile pursuit. You’re already working on it. You’re here. You’re seeking to connect. Gratitude is part of that connection.

What I do think is worthwhile is thinking about how we use charity, the pure love of Christ in our efforts to be a grateful people.

Moroni 7:47-48 But charity is the pure love of Christ, and it endureth forever, and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him.
Wherefore my beloved brethren (and sisters), pray unto the father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ; that ye may become the sons (and daughters) of Christ; that when He shall appear we shall be like Him, for we shall SEE HIM AS HE IS; that we may have this hope; that we may be purified as he is pure. Amen.

As I’ve thought about this scripture, I’ve wondered how charity will make it so that we will be able to see Christ as he is and I’ve come to the conclusion that love, specifically Christ-like love as described in the preceding verses (envieth not, is not puffed up, seeketh not her own, suffereth long, etc) creates a new perception of the world – a new way to see everything. It’s as though you’ve put on a pair of clarifying glasses in which you can suddenly see things from someone else’s eyes. I call it looking at the world through the LENS of CHARITY. I employed my charity lenses recently when I was feeling hurt by one of my friend’s seemingly careless actions. I prayed to Heavenly Father to help me look at the situation with my other eyes and suddenly, a new possibility opened up to me that helped to still my pain and understand that maybe there was more to the story than I could begin to perceive in my emotional state. After talking to my friend, I realized that indeed, there was more to the story. The lens of charity helped me to see things as they really were instead of how I perceived them. I believe that seeing things as they really is a gift that we must ask for and practice receiving. It is this gift that will ultimately makes us able to see Christ as he really is. We will see him through the same lens of charity that we have cultivated in this life.

Now for gratitude-

A few years ago, psychologists undertook a research study to determine how gratitude interacts with happiness. They used the idea of a gratitude journal and tested it against several different conditions. One condition was having subjects focus only on their hassles or struggles. You can imagine that this yielded very few positive results. The other condition that they tested against the gratitude journal was what social scientists called “downward social comparison” which they defined as ways in which participants thought they were better off than others. This is a happiness intervention that I bet we can all relate to. How many of us when feeling low about something quickly try to think about someone who has it worse than we do in order to feel better?

My friend's mom was very fond of reminding us, anytime we were dissatisfied with the fact that we were not married yet, to just think about that women who don’t have both of their legs or women who are put into arranged marriages. While it was sometimes good for a laugh, it didn’t really help us feel better about OUR own situation. In retrospect, I think this type of comparative gratitude can lead to a great deal of sorrow not only by diminishing or negating the authenticity of our own experiences but also, paradoxically intimating that someone else’s experience is more miserable than ours and that perhaps God has been kinder to us than to them. It’s a recipe for a slick kind of pride and denies the basic tenet of our understanding of who God is and that he gives gifts equally yet differently to each of his beloved children. It is the antithesis of seeing things with the lens of charity.

The results of the study showed that subjects who used the daily gratitude intervention (such as a gratitude journal) reported higher levels of positive states of alertness, enthusiasm, determination, attentiveness and energy compared to the subjects in the other group using downward social comparison. They were also more likely to have helped someone with a personal problem or offered emotional support to another person.

Science is simply reminding us of what King Benjamin said LONG LONG ago in his sermon to the nephites when he said, “ye will administer of your substance unto him that standeth in need and ye will not suffer that the beggar putteth up his petition to you in vain, and turn him out to perish.

Perhaps thou shalt say, the man has brought upon himself his misery. Therefore I will stay my hand and will not give unto him of my food nor impart unto him of my substance that he many not suffer for his punishments are just.

But I say unto you, o man, whosoever doeth this the same hath great cause to repent and except he repenteth of that which hath done he perisheth forever, and hath no interest in the kingdom of God.

For behold, are we not all beggars? Do we not all depend upon the same Being, even God for all the substance which we have, for both food and raiment, and for gold, and for silver, and for all the riches which we have of every kind?"

Though King Benjamin is talking about the ways in which we impart of our material goods to the needy, his point is that we must focus on our own status with God in order to live the better law. It is the same principle that we see in the scientific study about gratitude. If we focus on what we are grateful for without using downward social comparison, we are better able to access our lens of charity. We can begin to see our brothers and sisters life experiences as different but equal with our own and treat them with dignity and respect instead of pity and condescension. We will be better able to acknowledge that God is working in the lives of every one of his sons and daughters. And we will see more clearly things as they really are instead of how our fallen intellect and narrow perceptions make them out to be.

Most importantly, we will be kinder to ourselves , HAPPIER and more content with the things allotted us in this life because we will understand that EVERYONE has a load to bear. Some of us carry our loads in the form of cardboard. Others are hauling around mental anguish, inability to move forward, fear, loneliness, exhaustion. But in each case, God is present, succoring and teaching. In each case, the atonement of Jesus Christ is sufficient to heal and bring peace. Our role in this great work of revelation (because I believe that missionaries are ultimately only revelators, wiping the dust off truth that exists in each person from birth) is to first believe and be grateful for that knowledge and then lovingly help others to see it as well.

Home Office (no *&%icle)

2010-11-04T18:31:00.002-06:00

Sometimes being a student is cool. like on fridays and wednesdays when I don't have class and I wake up at 9 and take a leisurely stroll to the gym and then get dressed around 11am. But sometimes, sometimes, I miss having a place to go to that is mine for working, namely an office. I've been reduced to using my bed as my office (I have a desk, but really, who would choose that over that glorious memory foam mattress?). I generally don't get ready for work, as evidenced by my bird hair and on occassion I end up falling asleep mid sentence. But I suppose it's not that much different than any of the other jobs I've had. I guess this looks kind of awkward?Currently KA also works from home and now at least I get to have a co-worker! She favors the little chair in the living room facing the front door with the DVD player as a coaster for her office.

At my actual school they have three computer stations in a closet designated as the graduate student office. There are books and papers in all the cubbys from like 10 years ago. I've threatened to decorate and clean it up during the thanksgiving break just so that we have something that seems kind of officey. This is a sickness.

Stairway to....HELL...a post halloween post

2010-11-01T21:50:00.006-06:00

This is what I do every day.

By this point, I'm sweating and pulling my legs up one at a time with my hands in the manner of frankenstein. I am also dropping more than one F bomb (gasp!) and cursing the bar that separates me from the people moving up the stairwell more quickly than me. It's preventing me from subtley sweeping my leg out to the side to trip up the 19 year old biscuit who beat me to the top by taking the stairs two at a time. Bitch.
Ahh....sweet respite. I think I'll stop here and pretend to adjust my computer satchel and/or pantyhose which have fallen to my knees in the rigorous climb. Thank goodness there's no more....dun dun dun!!!!
Evidently, I'm not the only one with problems. Everytime I get to the top I see this:

DEAD PEOPLE EVERYWHERE!

Just in case I thought I was done...

Are you scared? My thighs are.

Scissor Sister

2010-10-14T21:14:00.002-06:00

I cut it all off. But I stayed blonde. I'll probably get more Kate Gosselin than Charlize Theron, but so far, I like it. Also, I don't have spikey back head business, just in case you were wondering just how butch I've gone. Thank you.

Where have you been, Ninny B?

2010-10-13T09:47:00.003-06:00

I've just been in the world of "the literature" thank you very much... which is a scary, exhilirating place to be. I'm reading article after article after article in preparation for my first papers and my first RESEARCH PROJECT (that's right, RESEARCH...let's say it again, RESEARCH!) I don't think I really understand everything that I'm reading and I am amazed at the way these scholars are able to extrapolate theories and connect the dots in their lit reviews. It's made me think a lot about my intellect and question whether I'm academically fit enough to write a thesis. It's as though I can't ever really be complete secure about ANYTHING. I get the body image thing somewhat under control and then I'm like, oh, where is there a soft spot now? Brain. There's a soft spot in my brain. You thought you were smart and creative, try this, brain. what? Can't do it? muhahahahahahahahahah! (evil rubbing of hands) Bastard.

Yesterday I was reminded of something. I was struggling with these feelings of inadequacy and blaming it on the fact that I skated through my undergrad which left me unequipped to deal with the challenge of graduate level research. But you know how memory is usually kinder than it should be. I was remembering what it was like to be a senior undergraduate, FOUR years into the program. THAT was easy only because along the way, I had those FRESHMAN crying phone calls home to my Dad when I was paralyzed with fear at writing my first 8 page essay for a feminism class (don't get me started...this was the class that prompted my grandmother to say,
"What? FEM-I-NISM????? you'll come back as one of those LIBERALS!"). I was reminded that my freshman year, I constantly doubted my capacity to swim with the big dogs...wait, I think I got that wrong...but again, you know what I mean. I always told people that I got into Penn so they could fill their diversity quotient (because every ivy league school is looking for another white girl from the north eastern united states). I never thought I belonged there in the beginning.

The point is that now is not that different. I'm a baby. I'm a little freshman! And I'm not really up to the task of writing a thesis and understanding every theory perfectly and connecting ALL the dots....YET. But I'm here. And I love to learn. And I'm diligent. Soon I'll be a senior and before I know it, I'll be remember grad school with the soft lense of time. I might even remember it so fondly that I (gasp) sign up for a Ph.D. program. But probably not.

This Paper Moth Belongs to A Long and Brown Girl

2010-09-20T23:45:00.004-06:00

oh oh.... because once I was a poet. Once I wrote and wrote and wrote not because I needed to find the hole in your argument or because it was due, but because once there were words that meant 200 different things in one syllable. And trumpets. There were words that were trumpets. Once I was a poet. But now I am a just a grave digger, an un-tangler of necklaces stuck in your casket....but sometimes people and their art make me alive to words again...like this:

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GO TO HERE AND READ THIS KRISANNE'S WRITING. YOU WILL NOT REGRET IT. THANK YOU.

A Paper Moth

NB + JS

2010-09-19T18:16:00.002-06:00

I have so many things to write about...I keep this list of topics for the blog...dutifully take pictures when I do something cool...and then promptly never write about it. Remember when you thought that NB moving to Provo and attending BYU was going to provide endless humorous anecdotes?

Ugh. Well, the two years aren't over yet, and I will someday need somewhere to put all of the HILARIOUS flyers that I've begun collecting from the women's bathroom in the Brimhall Building...but for now, I'm going to record something kind of not funny, but still cool.

You know I didn't go to a "church" school for my undergrad right? And you know that I was called to be the Institute Council President during my senior year but then never ever went to institute, right? And of course you know that during college, my crowning religious achievement was organizing JELL-O wrestling at Valley Forge National Park, right? (no, seriously, it was awesome...a huge pool of rainbow jello and like 40 single mormons sliding around.)

But now here I am, 33 and at BYU where I am doing what many of you did years ago. I'm taking a religion class to round out my credit hours. I decided to take a Joseph Smith History class and was not disappointed when the professor turned out to be a softy with a penchant for open book quizzes and reading instead of papers. The thought did cross my mind that maybe I would learn something new about the founder of Mormonism and the man that I consider to be a modern day Prophet of God. But I think I'm getting way more than I bargained for.

You know what I thought about today? Repentence. I thought about sin. And not in that "OH, I'm going to be damned to hell" kind of way...but in that "maybe just maybe I have some unfinished business that I need to take care of if I'm going to be right with God" kind of way. And then I had a sweet prayer...the kind that reaffirms life and reminds you that you aren't alone. The kind that opens your soul and helps you to desire the things of the spirit more than you have in a long time. A prayer of repentence...and the end result is that I'm thinking about forgiveness now instead of sin.

All of this because of my Joseph Smith History class. I'm learning a lot about the prophet and his imperfections. We have to read a book of our choosing along with the other coursework, and I've chosen (probably unwisely due to the sheer length and weight of the tome) Bushman's cultural biography about JS, "Rough Stone Rolling". I like that Bushman doesn't shy away from the critics of the prophet and their theories. It's forcing me to decide if he was a charlatan or a prophet with an informed logical spirituality as I like to call it. Along with the details of his life, I'm finding application. Joseph Smith didn't go to a grove of trees to have a revelation and to see God and the Savior. Joseph Smith didn't go to a grove of trees to become a leader of a people, a standard bearer of what believers consider a restoration of religious truth. He went into the grove of trees to seek forgiveness of his sins and to be made whole as an individual. In fact, in the early days of the church's history, that was the part of the account that he relayed most often and most fervently. The other stuff, you know, that whole founder of a huge religious sect thing, was SECONDARY to his personal relationship with diety.

It's reminding me to take care. To be more connected. To believe in those things that are most important. Church governance and structure is a big deal and I believe inspired. The growth of the church is a big deal and I believe due to the truthfulness of the message. BUT, what's really important is this: One girl. On her knees. With God.

Joseph was a huge proponent of each person having a miraculous relationship with God and having big personal revelation just like him. And I believe. I believe.

My fingers will now breed love...

2010-09-06T22:15:00.004-06:00

Today was miraculous. Please notice the sweeping light of angels bending down from heaven to guide me out of the Guitar Center doors as I leave with my prize...a Pro Series Breedlove C25 on sale for labor day. That's right...cheap and easy, the way a Ninny Beth guitar should be.See as I walk carefully to Ray, a little nervous to introduce him to the new baby...I don't want him to get jealous. But it's going to be hard not to play favorites...Doreen (we think that's her name but I'm not signing anything until I know her a little longer) is rosewood and cedar with deep bass tones and a working pickup. She sounds like a choir of a million little Dolly Partons. How can you not favor that?Lest you think I suddenly got good enough with money to afford something without an insurance company, I would like to take a minute to thank my arts benefactor for the birthday present. My 33rd year will be a much better one because of you and your generosity.... xoxoxox. I will write a song about you....

And now, I can provo properly.

The Rituals of the End

2010-08-26T16:47:00.008-06:00

I had a pretty important realization as I prepared to make my exit from DC to the land of Provo. I've been doing this forever...this leaving thing. I even have rituals that have been cultivated over the years. You've probably been part of one of my rituals and if you haven't, don't worry, I'll leave somewhere soon and you won't be spared. Here's how it goes:

1. I stop answering phone calls and text messages and email

2. I start hording bubble wrap and smallish boxes, sometimes stealing them from the amazon boxes that come to work

3. I begin organizing my memories, in shoe boxes, to be exhumed sometime in the near distant future and maybe stuck to a cork board in my new location to remind me of where I've just come from

4. I plan a concert

5. I pretend that I am crafty and stay up late into the night making handmade gifts (water color magnets, felted t-shirts, picture frames) for the people I love. Never mind that I haven't done anything of the sort the entire time I've been there...it's a gift entirely cultivated to say farewell.

6. I find a person or people in my new location to fixate on so that I can be excited about the moving on, the leaving behind, the changing

7. I stop cleaning

8. My mom comes to help me pack all my belongings into very small spaces and drive with me to where e're it is I'm going (this one doesn't apply to korea - She's too afraid of long flights)

9. I mourn the sadness by eating things, lots of things. Hopefully I'm mostly eating them with friends, but sometimes I just eat them by myself. I gain at least 5 pounds

And I did it again. Here are some pictures to prove it. Don't freak out if this looks at all familiar from the last time I left you. Its just what I do, evidently.

The Triple Threat Diva Concert. Three roommates, all musicians, all the time. I had been trying to make this concert happen since February, but it was a perfect capstone to the amazing house that I lived in. Patti Papworth, Shannon Simmons and I each performed our own songs and a couple of collaborative three part harmony songs. The highlight for me was Patti playing a drum during "Oh, Seoul". She added this whole element of Korea to the song that was missing when I play it by myself. Talk about painting a picture. Amazing. I love these girls.
> Patti sings JAZZ.
We sang, "Down in the River To Pray" by alison krauss...it was ril cool.
Patti was the drummer in the band. Do you have a crush on her? Everyone always has a crush on the drummer.
some well loved patrons of the arts.

Shannon sings ROCK and the ROLL.

My lizzie came all the way from Connecticut to be here in all her cute yellow-ness. That is true best friend.

People people everywhere. I think we fit 65 people in our living room, dining room and backyard. Although we are extremely boho, the scarves on the light fixture have a non-decorative purpose to help unusally tall people not bonk their heads on the unusually low dining room light. Obviously there has been a casualty before.

It was an amazing experience. Thanks to everyone who helped make this ritual what it was meant to be. A delicious farewell.
And I love Sang Hai Lung. I call her my old lady...emphasis on the MY. I was her lucky visiting teacher for the past year and she taught me so much about generosity and sass. Sister Lung had no front teeth and would often teach me lessons in broken english. When I broke up with SB, she was the first to console me by telling me as I cried in her living room, "He good looking man. But you better be single. Get married, is like bird in cage. Now you free. Be friend." Sang Hai came to America as a bride in an arranged marriage at 15. She worked hard at a restaurant that her husband wanted and bore 8 children, none of whom speak Chinese. She is now 80 years old and has crippling arthritis and joined the LDS church only 8 months ago. She is strong willed and determined and loves God. Its been a joy to be with her.

Here is my Ray...well packed to the hilt by my talented momma. Somehow she made my life fit and I love her for that and for much much more. It was amazing to spend so much dedicated time with her. I guess that's one blessing of being a single girl...

And of course, one final round with my roommates at Bob and Edith's...a special place where you can get pamcakes, scrapple, AND french fries. A place where no one asks questions and the homeless man who likes to come in and order lettuce is served with a smile. (please note that Patti is wearing her felted t-shirt!)

And then we drove.....

2,106 miles to be exact.

My Childhood in Food

2010-08-26T11:15:00.007-06:00

Before I left DC, I did a little east coast touring. My mom came and we traveled to the Hometown market and then to Hazleton and Conyngham where I grew up.

This is the house that I consider my childhood home, although I realized when we went back to my "hometown" that my parents have actually lived in Portland, OR longer than we ever lived in Conyngham, PA. But this is the place where a young nerdy ninny concocted a pully system to bring books and potato chips to the top branches of the backyard tree. I can still remember the feeling of lolling on the brown carpet in the sunlight pouring through the formal living room window and the turquoise walls of my bedroom sanctuary where I had a pink telephone and the top of a bunk bed with my sister, Mo. There was Mrs. Ferrazano in the house behind us who cut pizza with scissors and paid $5 to mow her yard. The church parking lot that filled with puddles full of worms on rainy mornings - a perfect battleground for me and my brothers as we walked to the bus stop every morning on our way to Rock Glen Jr. High. This is the Valley Hi drive-inn. When I saw it, I freaked out because evidently it was somewhere important to my teenage years. The truth about the streets of the "big city" Hazelton is that it was and is a dump. But I didn't realize it as a kid...it was just the place where I grew up and the home of my friends.

You know memory is subjective, right? When I was a kid, all the richest kids seemed to be able to do all kinds of things that I NEVER got to do. Like eat icecream EVERYDAY at stewarts drive inn. This orange eyesore is right in the main strip of Conyngham (which consists of a grocery store and well...stewarts) and it features orange picnic tables and loads of shiftless youth after softball and football games. I made my mom get icecream there because I NEVER got to do it as a child (which she kindly reminded me is a falsehood. I actually had plenty of stewarts experiences).At the hometown market we ate every kind of delicious food that Pennsylvania has to offer.

Birch Beer. I don't really know what this stuff is, but you can only really get it in PA. Also, you can only really call it P.A. if you've lived there.

Whoopie Pies made by real amish ladies.

Pennsylvania pretzels. The only real pretzels.

The market was sweltering and smelled like new orleans in august. My mom likes to cool off with a little beverage.

My old young women's leader and her husband came to accompany us to the market. I was happy to show that I had overcome my painfully awkward phase and become just plain awkward (or painful...not sure which).

We bought senapes pizza and took a trip through the Gould's IGA. It was the perfect trip down memory lane and now I can safely say that I don't need to go back. Ever.

However, my family is another story. I am very aware that this time on the East Coast with my mom's extended family was a gift. My nan and pap and their scary freezer food. My crazy great aunt katie who now knows how to use predictive text because of me and sends me pictures of herself kissing her dog Bandit goodmorning. My 30 + cousins and their children, my uncles and aunts who are easy to be with not because we have anything in common but because we share something more important than interests...memories, ancestry, history, blood.

Welcome to Provo, SINGLE LADY.

2010-08-03T06:16:00.003-06:00

Today I was looking on craigs list and saw this posting for a LOVELY MARRIED APARTMENT.
I'm not really sure what a married apartment is, but I'm happy for it. Good job, apartment! I can only suppose that just like in real life, this apartment recently took the plunge and has magically stopped being able to relate to the pathetic single apartments that dropped $50 on their wedding present only 2 months ago.

The best part about ad was the assertion that the apartment gets lots of light. And then they posted THIS PICTURE to illustrate:

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! Behold, the sacred grove of the Lovely Married Apartment, bathed in glorious light from above. I think I have nothing else to say about this. I keep trying, but words are not working.

I AM SO EXCITED FOR PROVO!!!!!!!

Closing Out the East Coast

2010-07-28T08:03:00.007-06:00

Family. Isn't it about time? As I get closer and closer to leaving DC, I realize that I'm not just leaving a place...or even good friends...I'm moving away from all my maternal extended family. Nanny. Pappy. Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. A million and one cousins. Family. Acceptance and belonging just because I exist and for no other reason. This weekend, I went to the Fultz family homestead for a painting party. My brother, Ian drove up from South Carolina to see my mom and sister who had just arrived by car from Cali. We ate, we worked, we cleaned, we partied...we made fun of a crappy talk in sacrament meeting but only after we quietly and reverently participated in the sacrament. It reminded me of everything good about my family. And I cried a little. Of course. Because that's the other thing we Fultz's do.

Three sisters and a cute nanny.

Two sisters and a cute nanny.

Meg and Me. We've always been totally different in our personalities, but that's the amazing thing about sisters...different doesn't stop the love. And look at our eyes! One and the same. Just like our momma's.Aunt Kathy and Great Aunt Katy...Kathy gave me my childhood nickname and Katy took me shopping for my very first NEON outfit. Those are some awesome legacies of love.
One granddaughter and a cute pappy.

And then there is the matter of my other family...these girls. I don't know if it's a function of being single for so long or if it's because I've lived away from my biological family for so many years, but my friends have truly become my family. I've been so lucky here in DC to find such an immediate and perfect for me family.

Thanks for making me laugh so hard that I had to get up and run around the room and then massage my face. No matter what happens, you will always be one T behind....

Thanks for lending me your babies and letting them build crusty baby ponds in our firepit...

Thanks for travelling hours upon hours to eat cookies and play dress up with me.... (not that you'll ever read this, lizzie)

Thanks for serving with me and giving my 14 year old dating advice (which sadly applied almost every time)....

Thank you for teaching me and letting me love you....

Remembering the War

2010-07-26T14:08:00.002-06:00

Do you know how life affirming it is to discover you aren't the only one who always wished they had dressed up in fake costumes at an amusement park for those old-timey pictures?

$75 dollars and 15 minutes later.....

It's a Hershey Chocolate World!

2010-07-23T13:13:00.006-06:00

I have always loved amusement parks. In fact, when I was a kid growing up in NEPA (that's northeastern Pennsylvania for the un-schooled), there were few things that really signified summer like the nearly annual Hershey Park trip. My brothers and I had a paper route that my mom basically did for us (driving us around with the station wagon tailgate down so we could hop out and toss the papers strategically on porches, flowerbeds and roofs) so that we could earn enough money to go to the place where streets smelled like chocolate and the lampposts were large wrapped and unwrapped chocolate kisses. (Please see below and imagine a young impressionable NB believing it when her evil older brothers told her that those were REAL Hershey's kisses...daydreaming about climbing the pole in the middle of the night and digging my teeth directly into the base of the chocolate lamppost and then falling down fully satisfied with a chocolate face into a cloud of marshmallows...)

When we were too poor to get into the actual park, my family would go to the considerably cheaper (re: free) Hershey Chocolate World, where you get in a little train thing and ride along as they show you how they make the chocolate. I can't do the experience justice here, but just know that there is a nut roaster that actually feels HOT when your traincar goes through it AND big vats of what, to a child, appears to be real chocolate syrup.

ONe of my to-do's before I left the east coast for the west again was to go to Hershey Park. I dragged my roommates and friends with promises of water parks and roller coasters and that reality defying NUT ROASTER...and you know what??? Hershey Park did NOT disappoint us.

In fact, when we discovered that there was a redrobin right next to the park, we dubbed this THE BEST DAY EVER...and it kind of was. Here are a few pictures to prove it.

Bottomless Fries? Never-Ending Roller Coasters? This is a beautiful world we live in.

Just about to go on the tour in our little train bucket thingy....Patti particularly liked the singing cows during the Hershey Chocolate World Exhibit. At the end of the ride, they give you a free hershey bar and then dump you out into a marketing nightmare...millions of hershey paraphernalia and the smell of chocolate being pumped in through the air ducts to lull you into a buying frenzy. As a kid, this part was torture because you always wanted to buy the Worlds! Largest! Hershey! Kiss! but your mom (my mom) was smartly ushering you (me) through the gift shop with pursed lips and a hell no! look on her face.At the park, we discovered Sharyn's gift for ride hopping...She would get off the ride and then skulk around on the other side watching for empty seats at which point she would just jump right back on. Three or four rides in a row later, she'd come bounding out of the exit more excited than a 3 year old who got an M&M for potty training success.
Me and the girls.

There's another surprise picture that I have scan in...so watch for it soon.

Breaking Up with Work

2010-07-06T10:41:00.002-06:00

I'm moving to Provo UT to attend BYU. There. I said it. I haven't been able to tell you this until now - not because of embarrassment (harrrumph!) but because I hadn't told work yet and I didn't want it discovered by an unassuming co-worker who was trying to find my rad youtube video of me flaring my nostrils to jingle bells. But today the deed is done. Work knows and so everyone can know.

I'm very excited and will tell you much much more than you ever wanted to know about my new life in Happy Valley.

I have things to say about:
my program (mass communications. That's like talking....to a LOT of people)

my social plans (the cougar cougar project begins September ONE. Know any 21 year olds looking for a sugar momma?)

my new digs (any chance that you know of a cool loft-ish one bedroom in a place that was basically BARFED into existence in 1962?)

my new geography (well not really that new...remember that whole Salt Lake thing? I mean, how DIFFERENT can Provo and SLC be???!!! she asks innocently.)

my impending move (mom is coming. Buying a roof rack for Ray. Trying to reconcile the thought of YET another cross country, shove it all in the back of my- car experience.)

my impending reconciliation with my STUFF that has been in storage for three years (dishes! BOOKS! paintings! chairs!)

my new crush.

You say you want a Stadium of Fire???????? Coming soon, provo...coming soon.

I have a crush on these guys

2010-06-25T12:41:00.003-06:00

It's really difficult to choose which unshowered, tattooed rockstar I will love most, so generally i just crush a while and move on. Today it's these blues rockers...

The Black Keys to my heart. YUM.

The Daley O'Daly Confusion: A Late Father's Day Essay

2010-06-21T18:01:00.010-06:00

Once when I feeling a bit smart-ass-ish, I told an audience at 5th Friday (a secular open-mic thingy that my dad and some friends started in Portland, OR) that I was KaRyn and I was part of the Daley/O'Daly Confusion. It got a good laugh and the name for our family has stuck, showing up on blogs and facebook pages as a way to make light of something kind of funny/ strange that has happened to our family.

You see, a few years ago, my dad legally changed his last name.

But it's not like he changed it from Daley to Brown. He changed it back to the original O'Daly which you'll please notice is only two letters and an apostrophe different from the old (new) name. Originally, my Mom would have none of it and retained the old (new) last name. When they went to church, she was Sister Daley and her husband was Brother O'Daly. Are you confused yet? Eventually, my youngest brother and mom (tired of explaining it to the masses) followed suit and changed their last name to the new (old) last name. We now effectively have 3 O'Daly's and 13 Daleys in my immediate family.

I tell you all of this as a precursor to something kind of awesome. Do you want to know WHY my old man changed his last name? Well, I think it is connected to the reason my Dad, who is a very talented musician is NOT a rockstar today. Wait for it...wait for it...I promise it's going to make sense in a minute:

So, as legend has it, Pop was poised for rockstardom. He had the hair. He had the platform shoes. He had the guitar face and hip gyrations. He also had 5 kids. It's a little bit hard to pursue a dream that requires road trips, late nights and imminent poverty when you've got a wife and lots of cereal eaters at home. And so, a sacrafice was born. I don't know all the mechanics of my parents early years and what went into his decisions but knowing my dad, there had to have been an element of goodness and prayer involved. That doesn't mean he let it go effortlessly...I mean, there were all those hours of amplified guitar riffs in our faces while we tried to watch KIDS Incorporated and more than a few nights when we thought he loved his guitar more than us. But did he really? Obviously not. There are plenty of Lifetime movies that teach us about children and families torn apart by the selfish pursuits of fame. Like Honey I Shrunk The Kids...oh wait.... that wasn't fame, that was ridiculously impossible science...but whatever, you get it. My family, though imperfect, has remained intact long enough to confuse the world.

And so you see, when it comes down to it , my dad is a man who has always listened when the Lord directs. once upon a time, he felt prompted to reconnect to his ancestral roots and he knew that it meant changing his name. Maybe there were more than a few moments where he wondered, like Saul of the bible or Prince of The Revolution, "am I crazy for doing this whole name change thing?". I don't expect you to understand it. I don't fully understand it. Plenty of really good people don't understand it. And I suspect that sometimes Michael O'Daly doesn't understand it either. But he did it. He paid someone 110 bucks to become Michael O'Daly (which BTW is the name of my great great great grandfather who came to the United States from Ireland and then changed his own name to Daley to fit in) And we see that this man who raised me to understand and value perserverance and to trust in revelation and take faithful leaps into the unknown leads by example.

My dad is a smart man. He's well educated and thoughtful (even that thoughtful is displayed in expletories directed at liberal democrats on the television). You can call him quirky if you want but the truth is that my dad does things that might seem strange or non-sensical and he does them because he believes in a little something called God and revelation. He listens and follows even if it requires some explanation on occassion. He's taught me well and I'm proud to be one of the products of his dutiful, creative life.

Thanks, Dad. I love you.

It's Unbelievable!

2010-06-15T16:05:00.008-06:00

I've been at a work conference for the past two days. This one is small and it's afforded me the opportunity to actually talk to some of the faculty members that we organize said institutes for. I ain't gonna lie, a dinner table full of microbiology professors shooting the breeze used to would make me break out into hives and run hiding in the pantry under the rice sacks (ewwww sacks). But I'm discovering that I can generally hold my own even though my end of the conversation is intermittently peppered with phrases such as, "bacteriophages, I'll need to wikipedia that." and "are you gonna eat that?" (speaking of quiche, of course).

At any rate, today while we were chit chatting at breakfast, one of my new ph.d. type friends stopped the conversation with this statement: "WAIT. So how old are you? So far, you've lived in like 400 places and done like 500 things. What's the next little bomb - 'so I was working as a sherpa in nepal while conquering liver cancer and then I taught oprah everything she knows?"

They proceeded to have a 10 minute (ok, more like 3 minute) conversation about how varied my life has been considering I appear to be about 12 years old (that was *sort* of a compliment?) I vehemently explained that I was nearing 33 which didn't seem to make a dent in their assessment of the situation. But I started to feel embarrassed because why can't I just shut up. There is no reason people at a breakfast table at a science society should know the details of my life so easily and really are those details so completely off-beat as to require discussion?

I think they were most weirded out by the seemingly random path of my career from arts to science to arts and back to science and now back to the arts. oh and that part about almost law school. and the foster child. and well, pretty much the whole thing seems kind of ridiculous I'm sure to a ph.d. who made a decision about what to do and then followed through. And now they have some letters and a CV at the same age as me.

But you know what I think? I think if you really ask and really listen, you will discover that every person's story is abnormal. Everyone has a surprise for you, even the people whose lives seem to be scripted and straight shot. So start asking and start believing.

And believe that this guy's hair is REAL.

Californicationing

2010-05-30T21:53:00.002-06:00

I've been in San Diego, LA and San Francisco since the 19th of this month. I have things to say, but not today. Mostly I just want to keep you coming back. Don't forget about me (sitemeter says I have 8 visits a day on average and that just won't do for an attention whore like me. sad.)

I'm going to the golden gate bridge tomorrow. I ate a garlic potato pizza 3 days ago that has kept me up at night with nightmares and good dreams in equal portions.

I'm ready to be back in DC but I'm not really sure why. Pictures to come.
XO

Hypothetically Speaking: A Logic Puzzle

2010-04-21T09:39:00.003-06:00

Let's say there's this girl who comes home from a foreign country, a country like, oh, I don't know....Korea. Let's say this girl hasn't driven a car for two years and didn't really have a squeaky-clean accident record before she left the United States...(maybe she was even ranked as the 5th worse driver in Utah by an independent polling authority.) Let's just say this girl gets insurance right when she returns to America and then has two at-fault accidents within a 10 month period...like oh, I don't know...backing into an audi in the driveway and just for fun, let's say she rear-ended a brand new jeep because she was trying to kill a spider that was threatening her life. (hypothetically of course).

What do YOU think would happen to this hypothetical person's insurance premium at the next insurance review?

Well, you're wrong.

There has been a hypothetical CHRISTMAS MIRACLE. I am in love with my insurance company (until they hypothetically discover their mistake).

Also in the miracle department- I have a muscle in my shoulder. Ivan, my personal trainer helped me discover it and along with all my spinning and squatting and crunching, I'm also starting to see other kinds of miracle muscles. I think the obvious next step for me is anabolic steriods. Stop me if I'm wrong about this.

Songwriting

2010-04-16T09:37:00.003-06:00

I'm not sure why, but I'm out of tricks. Everything sounds the same. I need other musicians to collaborate with and I haven't done a thing about it since I got to DC. I've written 1 song since Korea (since I'm losing everything but my blog these days, here are the lyrics for posterity).

The Middle

Hey, let's meet in the middle
we'll drive this car through amber waves of grain
we'll take it through Wichita, Omaha, Madison
St. Cloud, Louisville, Bloomington
And we'll see,
if we even believe
in the middle.

They say it's nicer in the middle
there's never a gray cloud in the wide open skies
Everyone's corn fed, in their beds by nine o'clock
Warm hearts, open doors, ready to stop
for two strangers
stuck on the side
in the middle

Does it really exist
beyond the myth
I don't know
But I'll never know
If I never go
To the middle.

So hey, meet me in the middle
Me with my overkill and you with your thoughts
We'll drive them around the world, over hills, underground
Over land, over seas until we've found what could be,
common ground
commond ground
in the middle.

I've written half a song tentatively called Love + Science

But I want to do more. I blame it on my busted guitar. I blame it on getting ready for grad school. I blame it on heartache (which you'd THINK could make things easier in the confessional songwriting category, but, no.) I blame it on everything but what it really is which is laziness and lack of drive. And then I listen to other musicians who are doing things and I think, I could be doing things. Maybe I should be doing things. Blah. Blah. Blah. I guess this is me, calling myself out on my blog. Write more, NB. Play more, NB. Collaborate more, NB. Ok. fine.

Blue Ray and Jolene

2010-04-12T08:38:00.004-06:00

Meet Ray.Get it?
Blue Ray.
Named after Ray LaMontagne because what's more blue than Ray?
It's also apropos because my GPS is named Jolene thanks to SB who was once so upset by the sheer number of songs written about women with names ending in ENE that I think he might have burst a blood vessel. In the song of the same name (Jolene, in case you forgot by the time I actually finished my run on sentence) by Mr. LaMontagne, Ray sings, "Jolene...I ain't about to go straight...it's too late" which is what my car often sings to the GPS when I refuse to listen to her crazy garbled directionals.

Ray has a few features that the Go-Cart didn't even know existed. There are these buttons that you push and the windows go UP AND DOWN all by themselves!!!! There's a little hole where I can plug in The Best iPod Ever. And here's another surprise: Oh no, the sun is shining in my eyes! What do I do????? (NB pushes a button and a little trap door opens revealing SUNGLASSES hidden in the trap door) Amazing. Cruise control. Alloy wheels. And best of all- four very grown up doors where people who ride in Ray can just GET IN without having to push, pull and duck through the front door. I almost don't know how to breathe when I'm cruise controlling down the highway.

The most important thing for you to remember about Ray is that I did it all by mineself!! I bought this car from a dealership. I did lots of research. I read lots of reviews. I talked to many a dealer and acted appropriately paranoid (so much so that one pushy dealer asked condescendingly, "is this your first car, honey?") There were a few moments of angst in which I was angry that I had been thrust into the car buying market to fend for myself among the sharks and creepies. But in the end, it was thoroughly empowering to buy a car. A few favorite phrases that I cultivated in my newly empowered state?

NB: George. I like you. You seem like a good guy and have a great sense of humor. I want to buy a car from you. I know I'm going to buy a nissan versa today. I can either buy it from you, or I can drive to Maryland and buy it from them. Don't make me go to Maryland, George.

NB: 6% apr is not good enough. You want me to drive out the door with this car today? Do better.

NB: Is this car spider proof?

Road Trip to Provo, anyone???

Eulogy for a friend

2010-03-25T14:04:00.003-06:00

The Go-Cart is no more. No more will your undercarriage make that ee-ee-ee sound when I turn a corner. There will be no more phone calls from frantic borrowers who can't figure out how to put you in reverse with your ridiculous 'european' gear shift. Now you will live only through the stories...oh, the stories.

There was that one time you were stolen and driven to the border on what must have been a drug run, only to be discovered abandoned like a harlot with a rash in West Valley with a tribal tattoo-like windshield decal and bloodstains on the dashboard. I drove you home that day in tears, fingers barely touching the steering wheel...not because I didn't love you, but because you were full of some other person's chlamydic disgustingness and I didn't know where you had been.

There was that other time when I backed you into a melon truck...remember that? HA. ha. Oh, the farmers market.

And of course, we'll always have the $550 monday.

There were better times too...like the move to DC with SB cross-country, packed in like sardines falling in love.

This time, your airbags engaged. There was a spider on my leg. I hate spiders. I looked down and then I hit the jeep and those airbags, those airbags meant that something really bad had happened. And now, you are gone. And my insurance rates are sure to go up. But you kept me safe even as you eeked out the last breaths into those airbags. Thanks for the memories, GC. You were a squeeky, tiny little bullet and you were my first.

Sometimes it feels like you lose everything in the blink of an eye if the eye is focused on the spider on your leg instead of the road ahead.

Anyone know of a good used car and maybe a chiropractor?

Getting There

2010-03-18T14:05:00.005-06:00

I can feel it. I'm going to be this girl again very soon. I'm almost there. Wait for it...wait for it...

This Girl

2010-03-05T11:18:00.002-07:00

A few years ago when I was starting at WW, I had to do a visualization exercise...I was supposed to imagine myself where I wanted to be at the end of the journey. While I believe that the idea of an end is certainly subjective, I visualized with all my dreamer, story-telling heart. And what did I visualize? A confident, thin (but not too thin) blond KaRyn standing in a pencil skirt (?) talking to a really good looking man. Way to get crazy with the dream, right?

Well, yesterday as I was walking through the streets of DC pondering my aloneness, I happened to glance at myself in a plate glass window. I stopped dead in my tracks. Because there she was...that girl in my visualization! She's in another big city, conquering another big fear, taking on another big challenge, making more big dreams. She's alive! She's ALIVE! And yeah, right now she's talking to herself (as usual) instead of the man, but she's real and more than that, she's me. Whoa. Whoa.

I'm not taking this moment for granted. It's ironic (or apropos) that it comes at a time when I'm recalibrating and thinking about what's next for my personal growth. Sometimes it's a gift to step back and see how far you've come.

Pocket Eggs

2010-03-04T09:14:00.002-07:00

Sometimes I have poor judgement. Like yesterday when I convinced myself during my morning frenzy, that it was entirely possible to carry two raw eggs in my coat pocket all the way from my house to the bus to the streets of DC. In the moment, my logic was rock solid...pockets are made to protect- they protect my hands from the searing wind every day! Eggs are stronger than they look- I once dropped an egg and NOTHING happened. I'm careful and painfully aware of my surroundings and will anticipate any and all danger to the eggs.

AND once when I was in the 5th grade, my friends and I carried around egg babies like freakyfreaks for weeks with only minor damage (see what good MOTHERS we will be!?).

But the truth: egg shells are wimpy assed excuses for underarmor. Pockets pick and choose what they will protect and how much protection they will actually offer. And though I am generally extremely aware of my surroundings, sometimes storm doors come out of nowhere and slam into your side. The side with the eggs in the pocket.

And all you can do is stick your hand in the eggy pocket, scoop out the evidence of your stupidity, throw it in gloppy snot-like fits all over the front lawn, gently chatise yourself with "of course" and go back inside to rinse it all out. Then you find two new eggs and this time, put them in a screw lid container, encased in papertowel, safely tucked in plastic grocery bag. Sigh.

If I was a drinker...

2010-03-02T11:16:00.003-07:00

You can bet that I would be doing something a whole hell of a lot harder than a 24 oz of diet dr. pepper. This has been a week: I broke up. I blew out a tire. I had food poisoning. I accidently watched "My Life In Ruins" (seriously, why do I continue to ignore the metacritic ratings???)

I'm holding on by a thread. SO if you walk by my desk today and wonder why I'm not chirpily befriending you as you collect your coffee, take a minute to notice that I'm wiping my nose on the back of my sleeve and staring off into space and that might mean something is awry. Please just back away slowly and leave me to my desperately sad playlist. I'm pretty sure I'll figure this out and come to some profound conclusion about why I live the patterns and take the risks that I do. I'm sure that soon I'll be messing around like always. I'll figure out how to smile again. I always do. just not today.

A Good Courage

2010-03-01T12:35:00.001-07:00

This is my talk from last Sunday:

I am not an athlete. As a kid, my idea of exercise was climbing a tree with a bag of potato chips and a Babysitters Club book. In highschool, I was on the JV soccer team. I started as a half-back which turned into a full-back and finally a full-bench. Needless to say, after 32 years of sports failure, I have become pretty comfortable with this non-athletic identity. That’s why it’s so amusing that 2010 has been dubbed The Year of the Muscle. I live with an athlete now and I’ve been inspired to attempt something new.

To this end, I’ve started taking a spin class. You may be familiar with this particular brand of gym “class” where they strap you into a stationary bike and turn all the lights down really low so they can torture you in relative obscurity. You pretend to cycle on a flat road and climb hills while a super perky instructor named Jen yells at you to ‘turn it up!!!!’. A few of the maneuvers are known as standing and hovering where you lift yourself out of the bike saddle to get more leverage as you virtually climb a big hill. The idea is to maintain as much stability as you can so that you can go faster up your hill. One Saturday, as I was hovering up the hill, my instructor got off her bike and came over to show me that I was bouncing too much. With her hands on my shoulders, she encouraged me to engage my core muscles to stabilize myself. I must have given her a look that screamed “I have one core muscle and it’s as engaged as it’s gonna get!!!” because she meekly offered the following alternative as she walked away, “or you can increase your resistance…um, if you feel comfortable.” This was interesting…increase resistance to increase my stability? Today, I’m going to talk about this concept, so hold on to that thought.

Joshua 1:9 reads “Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord they God is with they withersoever thou goest.

This is the Mutual theme for this year and I’ve really become excited about incorporating it into my life in new ways. I studied poetry in college so of course I tend towards overly close readings of otherwise simple lines. I’ve become obsessed with the idea of a “good courage”. For my purposes in this talk, I’m going to ask you to assume that the use of the word GOOD is intentional rather than a lucky coincidence of translation. If indeed the word “good” is intentionally modifying courage in that passage, then how is a good courage different than just plain old courage? Isn’t all courage by definition “good”?

Traditional thought about courage might say that it is “doing something hard and not being afraid.” In keeping with my gym theme, I have to tell you that they’ve just installed a cardio theater where you can walk for hours on end in another dark room (not really sure what all this exercising in the dark says about us as a society?) while you watch a movie on a big screen with surround sound. For the past week they’ve been playing The Lord of the Rings, so you’ll forgive this Hobbit reference but I’ve seen the same scene 4 times now.

In the scene, the little hobbit dudes are thrust into battle unwittingly. They stand in the middle of the battle, close their eyes and try to look as invisible as possible until the fighting passes over them. They didn’t retreat. In effect, they were courageous – doing something hard but they missed great opportunities to make the situation better for their friends or even themselves. Where was the growth?

Joshua admonishes us to be not afraid, NEITHER BE THOU DISMAYED. I submit that not being afraid is not enough. The answer to a good courage is tied to the idea of facing challenges with HOPE rather than a desire to vanish through them or face them while praying for as little damage or change as possible.

So how do we have a good courage, or a hopeful courage in the face of challenges?

Acknowledge risk
This is your license to whine. By its very nature, courage is only necessary when the situation you face is scary enough to require it. Acknowledge that what you are doing is risky, hard and that the outcome is unsure. Let yourself fully feel the weight of the challenge and don’t judge yourself for initial fear and trepidation. This is the first step in practicing an “eyes wide open” good courage. Even Moses, a great prophet, felt fear in the face of Satan’s rantings and ravings. (see moses 1).

Trust in God
Remember who He really is and who He is in relation to you. Remember that his entire work and glory is to bring to pass your immortality and eternal life (Moses 1:39). If you don’t know how to trust in God, then study him and his attributes (Mosiah 4:9-12). As you come to understand his goodness and his willingness to provide all that is good for you, you will begin to trust his care as you move through your life trajectory.

Trust in the Savior and His atonement
Believe that it is true that He can and will and has healed your battle wounds.
Remember the times past when you have been scathed in battle and then been made whole enough to feel the sun again.
(3Nephi 11:14-15) I’m always amazed by the fact that Christ in his perfected form chose to retain the scars on his hands and feet and side. I believe that he wanted us to see, to literally feel that he can understand us, that He is connected to us in a very real way. We may still bear the scars of our fight when all is said and done, but we can be made whole and stronger through the atonement of Jesus Christ.

Trust in your own divine ability to respond to adversity with growth and change
We are children of divine parents. We have the ability to be different and in fact, we are meant to be different after challenges…it is our GIFT from a truly loving Father in Heaven.

And now back to the part about stability through resistance:
Recognize that resistance is necessary to stabilize us and accept that resistance as part of the process of life.

I know a remarkable woman named Sally Mart Unable to have children of her own, Sally and her husband (both medically trained) began the grand adventure of a family in an extremely unconventional way. They are the adoptive parents of 16 special needs children. A few years ago and a house full of children into their adventure, Sally was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer- the kind of cancer that most likely kills. After receiving her diagnosis, Sally went home and got down on her knees in a rare moment of quiet to address the Lord. I will never forget the words she spoke to the Lord and then recounted to me. She said, “Lord, if I am going to have this cancer, if I’m going to have the inconvenience and fear and pain, then let’s not waste a minute of it! Make it a doozy. (she really did use the word “doozy”) I want to get as many lessons and as much growth from this experience as possible. So bring it on!”

Sally’s attitude seems nearly impossible for me to emulate and yet there is something in that prayer that teaches me about good courage.

What if instead of cursing resistance or even hiding from it, we embraced it?

What kind of power could we harness if we changed our perspective from one of self-pity to one of understanding and opportunity?

What peace and hope could it bring into our lives and the lives of others?

I imagine that Sally had a great amount of stability in the moments of resistance that followed as she relied on the Lord and her own understanding of the trial she was experiencing. That resistance helped her to engage completely new muscles and trained them to meet the weight of her challenge. I’m sure she also had moments of well-deserved whining and confusion. But overall, I think she understood that a good courage is one that builds us regardless of the outcome and finally allows us to acknowledge God’s will in all things.

A good courage will look different for each of us.

Maybe it’s giving love another chance after a particularly painful breakup.

Maybe it’s waking up and praying even though you haven’t heard the voice of God clearly for a long time and you’re unconvinced that today will be the day.

Whatever it looks like, a good courage brings us closer to our true identity as capable, strong children of God with the possibility of miracles in our hearts. It reconciles us to ourselves and unifies us as a church and a community.

The truth is that resistance is inevitable and there will definitely be times when it’s ok to stand in the middle and pray to go unnoticed as the battle slides overhead. There may even be times when God answers that prayer with that outcome. But more times than not, we will be on our bikes, standing and hovering, sweating and pushing ourselves to our limits because the HILL MUST BE CONQUERED. In those quiet, most difficult moments if we have prepared to do so with a good courage, I KNOW that God will also answer our prayer with an increased measure of stability and peace and muscles that help us bear the weight of our challenges.

For Lumina and Ansley

2010-02-19T13:53:00.002-07:00

Every child has known God
Every child has known God, Not the God of names, Not the God of don’ts, Not the God who ever does Anything weird, But the God who knows only 4 words. And keeps repeating them, saying: “Come Dance with Me , come dance with me.”
-- Hafiz

We've Been Busy

2010-02-19T09:55:00.006-07:00

It's been a little snowy round here. We've been shoveling people out of the streets. And then I got tired of carrying my shovel...nice boys carry two shovels.

This is me contemplating the snow fort I just don't have the energy to build.

You might wonder why it has taken me so long to post these pictures of Snowmageddon? Well, it should be obvious as you look at the way I shovel. It has taken me a week to finish. Mostly, this picture was supposed to prove my shovelling superiority to one SB. But it doesn't seem to have done the trick. (SB, you are probably right and I will most likely concede at some point.)

These are all my girls shaking out the trees to make sure we didn't down a power line. I stayed safely (warmly) in the house during the shaking. I only like shaking if it involves a baptist preacher or babies (just kidding!) (sort of).

This is actually from the first snow-in but I never posted it...SB has an internal thermostat that is always set at like 200 degrees. This was no big whoop.

And, thus we see that bananas are the first thing to go during a vicious snow storm. SB and I went to the store Monday night before Tuesday's reprise and the vegetables were slim pickins. I guess we really do get so used to having whatever we want when we want it here in this country of ours...this was a wake up call. (Why didn't anyone want a snowday coconut????)

In the next post I will talk about real things. I have some real things to talk about.

Moment of Enlightment #458

2010-02-05T10:04:00.002-07:00

I've been feeling crappy about myself since Toad the Wet Sprocket. I think it's time to do life a different way. Well, at least I should change my hair. That was NOT a good look.

Should I try "the rachel"?

Just so you don't get lost...

2010-02-01T12:57:00.005-07:00

my computer died again. Even though I backed it up, I may have lost more. And more. You can back up until your face falls off, but it doesn't mean you won't lose something. I'm trying everything a new way - computers, self, love and sometimes it feels like you will lose. So this is just a reminder:

I'm not losing this.

Great Expectations

2010-01-29T10:08:00.002-07:00

I'm interested in collecting stories of people for whom love/life has come in unexpected forms. I think sometimes we have an idea of what/who we will end up with and how it will all play out. That idea can create destructive (oxymoronic?) energy if we cling to it too fervently.

I was reminded of the story of Alma and Ammonihah recently from ye olde book of the mormons...Alma the missionary got tired and counted the city of Ammonihah as a loss (with good reason! Those jerks were pelting him with sticks and stones and words that hurt him) and headed out...on his way home an angel came and told him to go back (WHAT???!!!) so he did, BUT HE WENT THE BACK WAY. And at the back gate of the city he found his BFF Amulek who was prepared by a dream to take him in and minister to him. As Elder Holland reminds us in one of my favorite talks of all time "Cast Not Away Therefore Your Confidence"

"That is the second lesson of the spirit of revelation. After you have gotten the message, after you have paid the price to feel his love and hear the word of the Lord, "go forward." Don't fear, don't vacillate, don't quibble, don't whine. You may, like Alma going to Ammonihah, have to find a route that leads an unusual way, but that is exactly what the Lord was doing here for the children of Israel. Nobody had ever crossed the Red Sea this way, but so what? There's always a first time. With the spirit of revelation, dismiss your fears and wade in with both feet. " Jeffrey R. Holland, BYU address, 1999

So what has the back door looked like for you in matters of love and pursuing authentic adventures of self?

Spinning Ninny

2010-01-27T10:54:00.002-07:00

I did a spinning class this Saturday. No, not the kind where you learn how to turn some sort of grass into yarn, or the kind where you twirl like a dervish. The kind where they put you on a bike, strap you into said bike and then proceed to turn the lights off and yell at you to "get out of the saddle and CRANK IT UP!" while you spin your way to glorious nowhere.

I've been afraid of the spinning class because the only people I ever see going INTO that room of bikes are people with no fat on their bodies (great genetics/workethic) and special butt padded pants (great confidence). I, therefore, lacking two of the two qualifications for spinning class, concluded that I would never be able to do it. But I did! I did! And though they never said it would be easy, it was worth it.

I sweated my way through a full hour of intense uphill biking while staying comfortably in one place. It was more fun than running and by the end, I was asking around about those butt padded spandex. (PS...I was sore in my nether regions for a good 3 days, but now I'm all better and ready to hit the spin again...)

All this is precursor to a very special NormalGirls announcement:

I bought and wear a pair of size 12 jeans. THE END.

A conversation that I had with myself

2010-01-20T14:09:00.003-07:00

Self: What did you do at work today NB?
NB: Oh you mean besides the normal coordinating things that one does when one coordinates for a national scientific society? Let's see... hmm...nothing out of the ordinary...oh, um, except maybe for the part where I spent TWO hours blindfolded being spoon fed baby food while wearing a garbage bag and holding a bottle in my coworkers mouth.

(awkward pause)

Self: You work in non-profit, right?
NB: Yeah.
Self: Thought so.

Whatever the mess you are, you're mine, ok?

2010-01-19T13:32:00.002-07:00

There's this boy. He's really smart. I'm completely in love with him. Completely. More than I've ever been in love with any boy in my entire crush-heavy life. It's slow and frictiony, slightly exhausting and it grows a little bit deeper every single day. And guess what? He's in love with me too. When he holds my hand, I feel connected to everything and free from it all at the same time. Sometimes I watch him while he's asleep (which is all the time) and I think, now my life has exploded into a real existence.

The most perfect love story ever? Nope. Not by a long shot if you're tallying up perfection by hollywood standards. In fact, if I was sitting across from Dr. Phil, he might listen to our complications and advise me to cut and run. The most important part of all this love is that I've come to a few conclusions that have changed me in a million little and big ways. And then there's this part:

Today he said, "we bring out the best in each other in so many ways." I'm my best self with him even in the parts that are frictiony- that friction borne of honesty seems somehow to meet my roughest parts and create a humility that leads me closer to God. That's pretty F-ing amazing stuff, people. A gift, really. From one soul mate to another.

And what of the end? Still unknown. Neither of us can confidently exclaim that we will be eternally connected though there is so much so much so much hope. Ain't that a kick in the gut? And somehow, it doesn't even matter. Would I do it again? Yes, yes, a million times, yes. Will I do it again should the outcome come out in sadness this time? Yes, yes, a million times, yes. I'm built for love. No regrets.

There was this time when SB and I lay meditating in the morning. Eyes closed, our breath coming in and out. in. out. warm air swirling in and out like slick sea lions. I was breathing in love and breathing out peace. Gently barking a command to every pore and synapse. love and peace. And he was beside me, breathing his own command in sync with mine. Different but the same. I don't know what he was asking his breath to teach him. It wasn't mine to know. Breathing each other's air, pups coasting in and out, pumping warmth into frigid veins full of old sorrow. Eyes closed. Hopeful.

Sometimes Rilke Says It All

2010-01-07T13:00:00.002-07:00

Overflowing heavens of squandered stars
flame brilliantly above your troubles. Instead
of into your pillows, weep up toward them.
There, at the already weeping, at the ending visage,
slowly thinning out, ravishing
worldspace begins. Who will interrupt,
once you force your way there,
the current? No one. You may panic,
and fight that overwhelming course of stars
that streams toward you. Breathe.
Breathe the darkness of the earth and again
look up! Again. Lightly and facelessly
depths lean toward you from above. The serene
countenance dissolved in night makes room for you.

--Rainer Maria Rilke, Paris, April 1913, from _Uncollected poems_ selected and translated by Edward Snow New York : North Point Press, 1996

You the belovedlost in advance,
you the never-arrived,
I don’t know what songs you like most.
No longer, when the future crests toward the present,
do I try to discern you. All the great
images in me – the landscape experienced far off,
cities and towers and bridges and un-
suspected turns in the path
and the forcefulness of those lands
once intertwined with gods:
all mount up in me to signify
you, who forever eludes.

Ah, you are the gardens!
With such hope I
watched them! An open window
in the country house –, and you almost
stepped out pensively to meet me. I found streets,—
you had just walked down them,
and sometimes in the merchants’ shops the mirrors
were still reeling from you and gave back with a start
my too-sudden image.—Who knows if the same
bird did not ring through both of us
yesterday, alone, at evening?

-Paris, winter 1913-14

I'm desperate to find the Ed Snow translation of an uncollected Rilke poem that starts "Again and Again even though we know love's landscape and the reticent gorge in which the others end." There are many imposters on the internet, but only Snow's translation will do. I have it in a book (Uncollected Rilke by Snow) which I love more than any other poetry book (and I have many) but it is trapped in a storage unit in Utah. I pay the $53 a month ransom to keep it alive, but its release is dependent upon acceptance to a certain graduate program. This is a poem that deserves liberty. Once I find it in cyberspace, I will send it out to you to change your lives as it has mine. I guess I have to try the library. Sigh.

(this post is dedicated to KA whom I miss and who sends me poetry and stamps from far off lands reminding me of who I was once upon a time)

The Death of Creativity in Korea

2009-12-23T13:32:00.011-07:00

Remember this guy? And this one?

Remember how I broke my back to help build something really amazing that made me proud and excited to go to work every day? I just got word that Creativity School will close at the end of January. The University board was taken over by the publishing company that held a few of its seats and Creativity School was deemed unnecessary.

And so all I can do is spend a few minutes in gratitude for the time that I had there...strangely enough, all the people that were 'mine', Krisanne, Geoffrey, Lumina, Jill...would all have been gone by this February anyway. It almost feels a little like it existed just to be a vehicle for our growth and experience. BUT there is still something tragic about many people I love (my korean friends) losing their jobs and the fruits of their countless sleepless nights in the pursuit of excellence.

So here's to Hong Shilkjongnim. Elina. Erica. Sunny. Debby. Kitchen Teacher. Bus Teacher (haha). Library Teacher. Here's to all the people who stay and for whom the school closing does not just mean an early flight back to their real lives. Thanks for the years of paper bag costumes, concerts, beach sets, puppet shows and children's cd's, Changwehakkyo. Thanks for the little people that I loved and the countless lessons in humility and process. Thanks for teaching me how to teach and letting me explore things that other schools never would have allowed. Thanks for being forward thinking. It's so strange to be so removed and still have to let go.

NinnyBeth Takes A Rickshaw Ride

2009-12-23T13:28:00.005-07:00

When in Colorado, one must ride in a bicycle rickshaw and while one is in the rickshaw, one must think about the sheer power and strength of the little man pulling one and one's boss and their normal girl bodies through the streets of denver. It was the MOST fun.

Mormons On Parade

2009-12-22T14:04:00.004-07:00

Today I will tell you a story that I should probably save for some girls camp testimony meeting or general conference talk that I will never actually be asked to give:

One christmas, my boss, who is not mormon but has many mormon friends and lives right next to the LDS temple in DC, bounded into my office with unbridled enthusiasm and said to me, "I have an idea! Let's get everyone in our office together to eat dinner at my house and then go to the LDS visitors center to see the festival of lights!" Since I AM mormon and generally like to share what is most important in my life with those around me (you'll recall the many posts about bathrooms, vegetables, Smart Boy, diet coke, Smart Boy, God, Thrift Stores, diet cherry coke, oh, and SB) you might think that I would be as excited as Boss, right? WRONG. I smiled woodenly as I listened to her plan for a weeknight sometime in the next two weeks thinking to myself that I would rather poke a hot iron into my eyeball than hang out with work after work. Not because I don't love my work friends and my job, but I have things to do and people to see and presents to make and buy.

But then I started to think about it. Really. How often does your non-mormon boss want to plan your missionary opportunities for you? And how often do you get the chance to really talk about the things that are most important in the world in meaningful ways with people who you spend all day with? And frankly, what kind of disciple of Christ am I if I can't do what I said I would do and share the most important message of the restoration of the fullness of Christ's gospel (even if it is in an informative, un-preachy, professional sort of way)? So, I popped into Boss' office the next day and with renewed enthusiasm, I said, "Hey! let's do it next Thursday!"

And we did it. It was really really wonderful to share the things that I love the most with these good friends. At one point in the evening, I think I sounded a little like Ms. Teen South Carolina when I bumblingly tried to explain the "Temple In Terms We Can All Understand". "like, we don't totally do like ancestor worship, but such and we like, there is baptism, but not like people baptism, but like and such and yeah." So, false doctrine aside, I did get to talk about moroni and the book of mormon and The Savior was everywhere.

And there were Ukrainians.

Adorable little Ukranian children waving their hands and talking in stage voices that reminded me of "Waiting for Guffman". Hilarious and sweet.

7 Ways to Tell That You Should Stop Reading Dating Advice

2009-12-16T12:07:00.003-07:00

1. You identify with EVERY SINGLE ARTICLE YOU EVER READ. "7 ways to know you are a desperate dater". "7 Ways To Know That You Are Not Desperate Enough" "7 Ways To Know If Your Partner Is Enough and Desperate" "7 Ways To Read This Article With Desperation"

2. You don't identify with ANY article you read.

3. You accidently refer to your friends as Relationship Experts.

4. You start to notice that every movie, every song, every television show is full of crap and doesn't apply to real life at all and it's all emotionally manipulative swill that teaches us to distort reality.

5. You find yourself curled up in a ball under your desk at work clutching your cell phone to your heart repeating the words, "I should call. I shouldn't call. I should call. I shouldn't call."

6. You start to think you've got it all figured out.

7. You realize you will never actually have it all figured out no matter how many boards of directors you employ or msn relationship articles you read and the truth is that this is between you and your "partner" and God and at some point, you do it your way and someone sees through it and somehow falls in love with what's rolled up in the crazy.

Bathroom Cookies/ Urinal Cakes

2009-12-15T14:05:00.002-07:00

I left my camera in NYC a few weekends ago and have not had the wherewithall (I just wanted to say wherewithall) to get it back quite yet so this update is sans pictures. I'm a little boring to myself without pictures but so it is...

The bathrooms are back! After two months of painful, bladder exploding, stair running, pilgrammage jokes at work, we are able to walk down the hall to go to the bathroom again. I was so excited about the announcement that I made bathroom cookies to celebrate. They were affectionately dubbed "urinal cakes" by my office friends and I'm happy to report that they were snapped up immediately and filled the measure of their creation. (I laced them with fiber. I wasn't messing around.)

I spent thanksgiving with my grandparents and I made yeast rolls that turned out like my mommas except that they looked sadly phallic in a droopy kind of way. The good news is that they tasted just fine. fine indeed.

I took the GRE! I did it and I got high enough on the math portion that it doesn't look like I filled in bubbles randomly...it just looks like I'm mildly retarded which is much, much better. I would like to take the time now, in this forum to thank SB and my roommates and that guy who helped me with square roots when he could have been playing rock band. I whined for weeks and made myself an absolute bore. I cried openly about my lack of left brain will power and my slowly shrinking vocabulary to anyone who would listen and blamed genetics, the long haul to the bathroom at work and carb-loading for my failure to understand the whole point about prime numbers and equilateral triangles. Won't being with me through grad school be a pleasure???

I've been sick and it's been the best diet ever. I reached a milestone today that will bring me so much closer to my WW goal than I have ever been in my entire adult life. And the best part about it is that I did it slowly, tenatiously and healthily. I realized recently that this whole body image, weight thing has been one of the most important journeys of my life and has really shown me that change is not only possible but inevitable. The key is three things 1.) Every day is different and you really can start over 2.) spend time getting used to each plateau so that you know how you have to eat at each weight to maintain and then when you are ready ramp it up 3.) Choose to be honest. Step on a scale even in you're scared you've made mistakes. It is better to face each week in the know than to pretend you don't see what's happening. That's the only way to move forward.

The cool thing is that these three principles apply to just about everything that you are trying to accomplish. We get nothing out of dishonesty. We sometimes need to rest and let our bodies and our minds adjust to new situations. Nothing is ever a lost cause. All this is gospel stuff, but it's like I just discovered that it applies to life for ril.

Ok, now I am done being didactic (gre word).

Sometimes I Speak My Heart And My Heart Wins

2009-12-08T09:48:00.003-07:00

Sometimes I tell you what I am really feeling, unafraid of the consequences because this is what love and trust are and I am nothing without those two things in my life.
Sometimes I let the chips fall as they will and believe that God makes everything work for the good of those who believe in Him.
Sometimes I have the courage to choose myself.
And sometimes, I am rewarded for my efforts - maybe not in the way the world understands reward, but in my way.
Integrity is your lesson to me. I will not forget it. I am changed.

Colorado Called....

2009-11-11T18:03:00.003-07:00

She said to say hi and tell you not to feel guilty about all the times you never came to visit. She found some very nice people from DC who will play bridge with her and call her "home" for a few days. She'll be just fine. No, really. Just. Fine.

Celebrity Look-Alike (part 3) Mrs. Beasley

2009-11-06T11:34:00.005-07:00

The other day, I walked into work and my boss kept staring at me kind of funny. You know that look. The one that says you have broccoli stuck in your teeth. After a while, in the middle of a conversation about some microbiological thing, she leaped out of her chair and screamed, "MRS BEASLEY!!!!" I don't know who Mrs. Beasley is, so I just sort of turned uncomfortably in my chair to see if there was someone outside the door named Mrs. Beasley. No. Turns out, I AM MRS. BEASLEY. A doll. A creepy, old lady doll from the show Family Affair. Does she talk? I really hope not, because I don't know if I could handle the sad plummeting value of the real estate of me that has gone from Drew Barrymore (before braces) to Charlize Theron (once) to the bird guy from that sci-fi show to Kate Gosselin to a creepy freaky doll beloved by a sitcom child named Buffy (with a brother with a girl's name). I'm all out of surgery cards (stimulus), so I guess I'll just have to wait patiently for the tide to turn in the market and someone somewhere to tell me I look like, oh, I don't know, my grandmother (would do me just fine).

Of Anxiety and Happiness

2009-10-22T14:52:00.003-06:00

Two totally unrelated emotional events today:

1. Sitting on the bus as it barrels through the streets of NW DC. The sun is shining. It's abnormally hot for October, but it feels good. I'm peeking through the window, thinking and texting in between the spindles of prayer that are seeping from my brain to the heavens. I see a man playing the trumpet but I can't hear him. He's homeless or at least slightly destitute. Another man in a business suit walks up to him, hand outstretched and I can see there's something in his palm...he slips it gently into the palm of the trumpet player. I think maybe it's a cigarette. The trumpet player smiles big, wide, overbearingly at the palmer and hugs him in an awkward hold. Words are coming out of his mouth now- these men are old friends. I imagine business suit gives trumpet a cigarette every morning. They are friends! I still can't hear the conversation, I'm just a bus observer, just like always...But then. Then. The suit walks away, shaking his head and smiling just as the bus rolls slowly past the trumpet. The trumpet is blowing hard, long notes. His cheeks distended like dizzy. A triumphal shout to his friend and the cigarette at 8 am. I can actually hear it and this makes me as happy as anyone.

2. New drug. New dread. Everyday at 1 o'clock, I think the sky is falling for about two hours. I can't think. I can't do much of anything except bounce my leg and blink. I've been taking the NSAID for three weeks and now I can bend, stand and jump without breaking. But this gross cloud of two hour anxiety is NOT working. I texted you once and asked if you were ok? Is something terrible going to happen? You said you were fine. I thought it was intuition. Turns out it was just the damn drugs. I guess I'm not a visionary afterall.

Stories I will probably tell my children Part 3

2009-10-20T11:14:00.000-06:00

NINNY BETH GETS EVICTED

So my landlords are getting a divorce. It's a quiet sort of separation. We don't hear from them often unless we have a fly infestation (true story) or the air conditioning breaks down during the hottest week of the summer (true story). That's why the email we got at the end September was so alarming- NOTICE: 30 days to vacate. In this communication, the landlady expressed her sorrow at having to kick us out, but she needs a place to live and a home for her children. Are you kidding???? The letter was overly dramatic and cc'd the landman who happened to be at our house fixing the squealing dryer (true story) so I assumed it was a passive aggressive ode to divorce if ever such a thing existed. And it was. Turns out, she had no legal ground to stand on and we get to keep our lovely home at least until February when we may be booted out into the winter snow drifts of northern virginia (lie).

NINNY BETH FINDS JOY TUCKED AWAY IN A CUPBOARD AND THEN THROWS IT AWAY BECAUSE IT'S OLD.

NINNY BETH REUNITES WITH HER KOREAN ROOTS.

There was this time I saw Dai and Scott in Virginia!

We did as we always do: smile for the camera (cheese-uh), eat korean food from dubious vendors, buy tights that are made to look like skinny jeans and watch some serious b-boy action. All in the parking lot of a K-mart. I love

NINNYBETH AND THE CHLOES.

I got a new calling. I'm in the Young Women's Presidency and I have the charge to befriend the chloes. That's right. Two completely adorable blondies who flip their hair and exclaim "awwww, that's sooooooooooo Sweeeeeeeeeeet!" to everything you say. The best part about this is that I am once again reminded of how NOT cool I was at 14 (true story). But if you look at the chloe's hair and compare it to the picture of me on the right (don't get confused) you might see that was headed in the right direction (lie).

At any rate, it's back to mutual for the likes of me...young women values, charm bracelets and awkward teen angst. It's good for me. It's good for me. It's good for me.

Well, This Is Most Inconvenient, Indeed

2009-10-15T10:52:00.004-06:00

How many times do I go to the bathroom in a day?
How many minutes after drinking a thimble of water do I need to use the facilities?
How often have I purposely chosen dehydration in fear of no discernable (or less desireable) toileting options?

If you know the answer to any of these questions, you will understand why the CLOSED (for one month) BATHROOMS ON THE SECOND FLOOR (my floor) of my workplace is distressing. NAY, unacceptable. There are a few reasons this has driven me to consider a removable catheter:

Other people (my boss) will now be very aware of JUST how many times I go to the bathroom every day (10) as I will be missing from my office for 15 (30) minutes at a time.
Strangers use the other bathrooms...STRANGERS! People I DON"T KNOW are sitting their naked bums on the same seat as me. At least on my floor I know everyone and can ascertain to some acceptable degree their cleanliness and hygiene. I don't know those other butts.
There are stairs. Just in case you were confused about that...the 1st floor and 3rd floor require that I walk up STAIRS. Try navigating stairs with your legs crossed. not easy.
Kidney failure imminent. Holding it, not good.
Though I have ceased and desisted (for the most part) with caffeinated beverages of the diet variety, I still like to retain the possibility that I could drink a diuretic if necessary. But not so now. No no. This bathroom situation has killed HOPE.

That is all.

All This Going To Crazy

2009-10-07T10:33:00.002-06:00

I don't know how else to say this so I just will. I'm crazy. I have been for a long time, I feel like I will be for a long time to come. I can not rest my brain. It swirls and buzzes with all manner of thoughts, ideas, stories, weirdness. I hyperfocus on somethings, blow off others. Right now, in this space, I am hyperfocusing on why I am not married. An ex sent me an email link to an article about why men marry some women and not others. I can't stop thinking about it. There are all these women all over the streets of DC. They have rings, they have husbands, they have babies in little baskets in their bikes. They are on their cell phones talking about the ring, husband and baby in basket. I walk with my face turned to the sun, wind whipping my hair, thinking about everything dying and wondering how I got so shaken. How I got so wobbly.

What's so very interesting is that I feel ashamed. Ashamed that no one has chosen me. Embarrassed that I wear a badge that screams unwanted. I know I can't be the only person to feel shame at being single, but it's a new emotional revelation to me. The thing is that I realize this feeling is so outside of me... that my shame is based on the idea that others are judging me when in reality, no one probably even gives a crap. Most importantly (and perhaps ironically?), why do I feel the need to say it out loud to my blog? To the very audience that could be that silent judge I beat back with feverish prayers and moments of hard earned clarity from a source outside of myself. But, still I do...I need to tell you about it. I feel like this is so big in my body right now that if I don't put it somewhere it will implode and I will be lost.

Caviat: I'm not the bitter type and I'm not heartbroken. Please don't respond to this with how men are jerks and I'm perfectly ok. I'm working through these thought processes so I can eventually have the kind of marriage that I want to have. I brought you along for the ride. I'm willing to experience a little discomfort in this endeavor. It quiets my brain for while.

Hated for Loving

2009-10-02T10:54:00.004-06:00

I don't know when it all changed. Once upon a time, they had to beg me to eat my vegetables, practically shoving them down my throat under severe duress. But like any good romance novel, those hateful, violent first glances soon began to turn and before I could say, "WHAT THE ...WHAT?" I was accidently brushing up against brussel sprouts only to discover a gentle flame fanning in my loins. (has anyone else noticed a recent theme in my blog posts? or is it only the single mormon man backing away carefully who can hear my shriveling eggs screaming?)

So yes, I love the carrot, the spinach, the tomato, the eggplant, the asparagus, the pepper and even the aforementioned sprout. In fact, I love them so much the I routinely add them to everything I consume...you'll find them sneaked in to the most unassuming dishes...chili with broccoli, eggs with spinach, burritos with EVERYTHING. I've even started tossing a handful of normandy blend and brussel sprouts into my carcinogenic microwaved lunches. But here's where I'm confused. Instead of being CELEBRATED for my healthy ways, I am mocked. Routinely. My coworkers stand at the door of my office, shake their heads and laugh while saying things like, "What the hell is that? Carrots? Only you would eat carrots." Really? I'm really the only person you've ever known to ever eat carrots?

or my favorite "Why are you eating broccoli????!!!"

I've tried to understand this phenomenon and explain it away. The truth is that these people have not been with me on my journey toward a healthy self/body image and the subsequent change from a costco sized bag of cheetos for breakfast to a handful of baked cheetos and a sweet potato for lunch. But it still doesn't really make sense. It's not like I am that naturally skinny girl who can pound a pizza and then wake up the next morning bloat free. We're all allowed to hate her and be annoyed when she says, "I'm on a diet. I'm fat. Watch me eat my celery and pills for lunch." I LOOK at a piece of pizza and my face starts to swell. That's painfully obvious to anyone who's seen me post-papa john's two for 10.

So what's the deal? At what point did the sentiment change from, "oh, look, that fat girl is eating green things instead of a pint of ben and jerry's. Good." to "I will point and mock and make you seem like a freakish vegetable eating outsider." ? I can't be the only one eating carrots and wondering about this?

It's Saturday and I'm at work. :(

2009-09-26T10:35:00.001-06:00

What did you do today?

Don't Get Jealous

2009-09-21T11:04:00.003-06:00

Dear Korea-

Do you remember all those times when your nose was running, your face was melting, you coughed all over me and I was breathing your stale sick air while your head bobbed back and forth on my shoulder as you passed out on the bus from sheer exhaustion? That was a special time. A time when you should NOT HAVE COME INTO WORK and INFECTED ME WITH YOUR BACTERIAL SWILL.

But I'm not angry. No no...I understand that you thought the problem was me. I refused to wear one of those surgical masks to protect me. But I just wasn't willing to let go of one of the most amazing parts of American culture. You see, I still believed in the "sick day"- that glorious invention by which those who are deathly, infectiously ill stay home and get better and then go back to work after the potential for passing on the pinkeye/flu/stomach virus/H1N1/ herpes outbreak has passed. YES SUH! I BEEEEEEEELIEEEEEEEVE!

And now that I've been home for 6 months and employed again for 2, I've been happily reunited with the Sick Day. And we are in love. This morning in fact, we lolled around in bed together after a fitful night of sleeplessness which ended in an ill advised fistful of Tylenol PM.

And then I came to work where I was NOT greeted by harried coworkers who had to cover my classes and did NOT reek of guilt for taking some time to myself to make sure I was functional.

but don't get jealous Korea, because before sick day and I had our tryst, you and I were getting busy in America over the weekend. Don't you remember? I took pictures to prove it. I'll post them soon so you can put them in your scrap book.

xoxox,
NB

RHETT MILLER DAY!!!

2009-09-19T20:28:00.004-06:00

No seriously, this is the best we could do. I left my camera in the car and SB brought his BB but Rhett was rocking and rolling so VERY much that the crappy "smart phone" couldn't even contain all his glory. '

And it was GLORIOUS. OH, Rhett charms the ladies and even the mens with his wit and sweaty hip gyrations. Before we even got to the Black Cat, SB told me that he thought he was probably going to throw up just a little in his mouth as he watched me swoon over Stuart Ransom Miller III. But truth be told, By the time Rhett finished breathing out one of his seminal geniusy twangy ditties "The last thing I need....is another girlfriend.... two's enough for me...two's enough....and you would make three!" I do think it was he who was swooning (this is a lie. It was definitely still me.)

sigh. Every day should be Rhett day. more sighing.

Cliche

2009-09-14T10:34:00.004-06:00

I do my best.
I put my whole heart into it.
I swirl it around in the pot
soaking it with cilantro, peppers, chiles,
(the green ones you like)- turn out another
bubbling witch's brew of nice try.

The Fall and Rise

2009-09-09T10:24:00.003-06:00

I'm not who you think I am. However you've imagined me in your mind's eye, whatever you drew on that paper of yours, I'm different in countless ways. That's the problem with perception. Or maybe it's the genius of perception? It means that everytime we look at another person, there is a universe to uncover- a million hidden quirks swirling around birthing a complex new interaction with the world.

This weekend I faced my greatest fear. I stood at the threshold of the moment that I thought would destroy me, riddle me with holes large enough for the best parts of me to seep out, uncollectible. But it was miraculous, really. I remained. And I didn't just remain. I stood full.

We are all spinning around the edges, bumping into one another, creating friction that has the power to transform. I have an idea today that I will try harder to be honest about who I am and will try a little harder to let you tell me who you are. Honesty is that scariest leap from the precipice but it makes us possible to be healed. And I will pray for it.

Shared Birthday Update

2009-08-25T10:03:00.005-06:00

I wasn't so sure that sharing my birthday with SB was going to make me happy. I mean, birthdays are all about ME ME ME and we all know that I like ME ME ME. But I discovered the exciting, perfect, upside of sharing your birthday with another person that you like:

CAKE!!!!! TWO TIMES THE CAKE!!!!

This is the cake I'm going to eat tonight. Chocolate. Chocolate and More Chocolate. This is the costco 6 pound cake. I've been dreaming about this cake for years. Chocolate. I CAN'T WAIT!!!This is the austrian sachertorte that I made for SB. I took me two and half hours and is also going to be consumed tonight. Chocolate, apricots glaze, chocolate ganache, heavy whipping cream and more chocolate. That's right...TWO birthday cakes.
I couldn't be happier. Thanks, SB for being born on the same day as me and Elvis.

to: you from: SB re: the birth of first child

2009-08-24T10:14:00.000-06:00

SmartBoy told me that if he ever gets really passionate about some event or experience in his life and wanted to capture the moment, he would not write a passionate poem. He would not write a passionate song. He would not write a passionate sonnet, speech or essay.

He would probably write, oh, i don't know.... a passionate memo?

This is why I laughed for 10 minutes straight without breathing, near tears on Sunday night.

A passionate MEMO. be still, my beating heart.

Disgusting Eater Syndrome

2009-08-21T13:29:00.004-06:00

Have you been to dinner with me lately? Did you secretely want to throw up a little bit in your mouth as you watched me eat? THere's a joke flying around these parts that I have Disgusting Eater Syndrome. Evidently, unbeknownst to me, I have somehow failed to develop eating habits worthy of the 1st world. As SB (resident food snob and he- who- eats -everything (including pizza?) -with -a -fork- and- knife) pointed out, There is no doubt as to my ability to "clean up" when necessary ...this syndrome is obviously a CHOICE.

Here are my self-admitted evidences of DE syndrome:

I pull things apart with my fingers at most restaurants.
I dissect most food in an attempt to see what's really in that sandwich.
I think it's almost always funny to show people the chewed food in my mouth.
I sometimes can't stop talking long enough to actually chew the food.
I need 5 times the amount of napkins required by most functional adults.

Now a bit more on the idea of choice. I admit that I am motivated in my actions by a certain desire to be funny, charming, childlike and cute. That can lead to some rather silly dinners. However, I think the problem is really that I LIKE high falutin' stuff (goat cheeses, nice breads, delicious organic produce whipped into a salmon frenzy) BUT I am just as happy, if not more so when we pull up to a 7-11 and run in for a chili dog (with that orange cheese goop...oh...my!) and a big gulp. I mean, I've been on weightwatchers since birth so a redrobin which is generally off limits during low points weeks can look like disney land with their never ending baskets of rectangular fried starch deliciousness. And these foods are a little messier and a little harder to eat gracefully. Maybe?

This penchant for diners, any restaurant with a booth and keep it coming diet coke with lime does NOT make me impervious to the delights of fine dining. I ooh'd and ahh'd appropriately when I had my $100 meal at the Hyatt in downtown Seoul and I dont' think I showed the chewed food in my mouth once during that experience. But after accidently ordering my second $8 thimble of diet coke (that's right $16 worth of Diet Coke that ended up being approximately HALF of a 20 oz bottle) the magic of the fine food experience wore off and I started wishing I was tucked in a booth, asking the waitress for more napkins so I could wipe the dripping grease from my palms as I pulled a Whiskey River Burger apart to evenly spread out the onion rings.

So I'm a DE. Maybe it's because I'm red blooded American? Maybe it's because of WW deprivation? Maybe it's a result of a childhood in which every meal started and ended with some form of hamburger, tomato sauce, potato casserole? I don't know where it came from and I'm sorry if you have to eat with me. But just know that I'm enjoying it. (I guess you'll know when I open my mouth mid bite to tell you how much "I love this spinach dip!!!")

The Blog has gone out of me...

2009-07-31T20:43:00.017-06:00

But I'm going to put my head down and power through. You see, I just can't seem to get excited about writing because most of the things I want to write about are now off limits. I'm back in America and that means that I can't post cute pictures of adorable children whose parents don't speak enough english to find me. Here in America, that's creepy. I can't post about my new job at a trade association for scientists which starts next Tuesday. That's unprofessional. I can't post about my current pre-boyfriend aka SmartBoy(who is DREAMY and WONDERFUL and HILARIOUS and ADORABLE). That's relationship suicide. And I can't very well write about the joys of Diet Coke now that I'm off the caffeinated version and what's left is NOTHING to sing about. That's lame. So what's a girl supposed to write about???

I guess I could write about how I live in Washington DC now. I moved here over the 4th of July weekend in the go-cart packed to the hilt with my stuff which has been sadly reduced to a pre-adolescent proportions due to my NON STOP NEVER ENDING wanderlust. I could write about how the road trip was one of the most memorable of my life, not because I got pulled over and given a $140 ticket in Indiana for speeding...and certainly not because of the $59 a night motel that I stayed in which had a shower cap AND makeup remover in the toiletries (better than the W, right KA?)
but probably because we spent 2 hours at a crackerbarrel in ohio just because we could.
I guess I could also write about how I've had so many Korea reunions that it isn't even funny... (that's Rpotter who graciously agreed to meet with me even though she was now a movie star)
(this is me and alissa, reunited in the only place that was big enough for me, her and her massive bucket of cheezeballs...TARGET!) (those are lady willoughby's floral pants and her camera)

(this is J...one of my students...this is his aunt and H Mart in Annandale, VA which could double for seoul if it smelled a little bit more like pig parts and had more old men spitting in the streets)

I guess I could write about how I'm sampling the local fare and trying to remain a dedicated WW accolyte even in the face of BEN's CHILI BOWL (I've now eaten at more than two DC establishments where President Obama's one time visit has sparked a media and customer frenzy. I'm surprised they haven't framed his used napkins right next to the zagat rating on the door)

(sorry SB, this picture proves two things: We really were at Ben's and you really CAN fall asleep anywhere!)

I guess I could write about how AWESOME america is...how nice it is to be home and how much fun I'm having. Well, now that I have a job, a bed and airconditioning. Ok, so I guess I have some things to write about. xoxoxo NB

Accounted for...

2009-07-05T21:53:00.005-06:00

If you're anything like me, you might be a wondering if Ninny Beth's traveling companion has left her stranded without a phone, purse or car at some random gas station in Wyoming. Well, rest assured she is still alive and texting.
-Alie

Here We Go Again

2009-06-24T00:57:00.002-06:00

Sigh.

Is it True?

2009-06-21T01:39:00.002-06:00

Am I a mid-single????!!! I'm 31 and apparently in mormon land, I'm no longer fit for Young Single Adult consumption and have been thrown into the murky waters of the Single Adult Program which Nichole just reminded me does have an age cut off: DEATH. I already kind of knew all about this because of my calling in Korea as the single adult rep for the entire english speaking world in the ROK, but I didn't really understand what it meant for me until tonight when I accidently attended my first American SA dance...technically, I was only there to assist with the dessert but then they broke out some Bon Jovi and a couple of Beyonce bootie shakers and suddenly I was an attendee.

Yes. It was revelatory.

The weirdest part (and please forgive me for venting) was that there was one guy, one really good looking guy there. He was THAT GUY...you know, tight fitted black button down with some sort of necklace and those designer jeans that have the gay (it's ok, I have gay friends and they would agree) pockets with embroidery on the butt. And he was checking me out all night. At first I decided to smile at him, mostly because I was enjoying the fact that for ONCE IN MY LIFE, I was the young biscuit at a church dance. I was tempted to pull out my gum and twirl it around on my finger and go flat iron my hair ril quick in the bathroom. It was almost as exciting as that moment when the 50 something woman came huffing into the kitchen and told us we needed to find the police NOW! because something was going down. (the something going down was apparently her ex-husband trying to register for the dance at the makeshift welcome table in the foyer).

But back to me...so TG is making regular eye contact in between his usual bouts of body rubbing with girls named Ginger and Stacey who are wearing the girl version (ha!) of the gay jeans. And then I started to get kind of angry. Not because of Ginger and Stacey, but because I realize that this joker is the kind of guy who NEVER WOULD HAVE LOOKED AT ME TWICE 65.2 pounds ago. And I was the same girl, damnit! I was just as effervescent! Just as interesting! and now, Angry! Justifiably Annoyed! Righteous! Anger!

So I get home from said dance without ever speaking to TG and I tell my longsuffering brother about the encounter. And do you know what he said?????? Not a loving, "of course, dear sister, men are scum. You are righteously angered. I apologize like Obama for the whole of guydom." no. No. this is what he had to say:

"WAIT. You are NOT allowed to get angry at some guy you've never met, who never knew you and never did anything to you except pay you some attention. "

??????????????????????????????????????????//

"But!" I say, "He would have!! He would have!! I know that type and his jeans!"

"No, no." Says wise younger brother. "don't be THAT GIRL. Yes, I'm sure his jeans were terrible, but you've got to get over this need to be righteously angry at and make snap judgements about, I REPEAT, men you've never met who've never done anything to you except think you're cute. You'll turn into a weird bitter undateable hag. That is all. Now away with you to your computer to blog it all out."

And so, dear reader, you can see that I am certainly a mid-single with just as much baggage as the divorced ex-husband hater mentioned above. And as such I am going to try very hard to take my younger brother's advice and not be THAT GIRL. And I'm sorry Ginger and Stacey...I'm sure we'll be best friends at the next dance. (rilly).

Celebrity Look Alikes (part 2)

2009-06-04T13:37:00.006-06:00

Every Aunt thinks her nephews and nieces are the cutest. But can every Aunt say that her 14 month old nephew looks like Bill Murray? I think not. And that's what makes this edition of celebrity look-a-like so magical. Take a look at the amazing Bill Murray Baby.

and this one just because HOW CUTE IS THIS BABY!???AND HOW CUTE IS THIS BILL MURRAY?!!???
The best part is that every time I call him Bill Murray, his brother (4 years old) yells, "HE IS NOT BILL MURRAY!"

Ninny LIVE! The eastcoast tour: Washington DC

2009-05-06T13:38:00.011-06:00

Wonder where I've been? Wonder no more. I've been everywhere and nowhere. Still gainfully unemployed. Still wandering. Still trying to figure out america. First I drove to Utah, met up with dear friends, managed to remember where a few things were (you'd think after three years, I wouldn't forget major landmarks like the temple???) and checked on my stuff in my storage unit. Still there although there was a minor lizard scare.

DC was a stop along the way...I happily reunited with many dear dear friends and saw all that the district has to offer...Went to the LDS Temple in Maryland with my Nan and Pap. THis was a really lovely experience not only for the spiritual recharge but for the yummy Korean food we consumed beforehand. Nan killed it with her chopsticks and my Pap was taking care of some serious Jjigae. I got to speak some korean and it made me happy.
I took a tour of the Dirksen and Russell Senate buildings in DC. I hoped it would help me understand this great country of ours. The tour was led by my dear friend E, formerly of the Department of Justice. E is best known for his work with the crack whores of the south east but has in the last two years changed career track and now monitors the crack whores of the hill...He showed me the best the senate has to offer.

Sour Patch kids in brown paper bags (gov't version of the 40?) and old white guys.Here I saw Evita-esque views of Capitol Hill from the window balcony of a colleague's office and listened as E told a charming story of being unceremoniously shooed off said balcony by guards with AK47's during Obama's inauguration speech.

Let's just pause for a moment to admire the ease with which we wandered into Ted Kennedy's office and took a photograph. There. That was nice, wasn't it?

And now, some very important instruction for viewing these pictures: ignore my bad hair. There was this surprise east coast rain storm and I thought to myself, "surely, in the nation's capitol there will be a little man selling emergency umbrellas from the back of a taco truck or news stand for twice the usual price." Boy, was I mistaken. Nea'ry a taco truck or convenience store could be found. I knew I was in trouble when I saw lots and lots of stately looking people in very staid brown, black and navy outfits huddled in doorways of old buildings waiting for the rain to stop. I couldn't even find a stray newspaper to act as shield.

And so I walked in the rain and showed up at the dirksen senate building in GASP! brightly colored clothing and GASP! looking like I had just been given a swirly by John Kerry (I saw him BTW. E pointed him out to me during out SPOT THE SENATOR GAME (we saw 5!) and said, "You know who that is, don't you?" to which I answered, "uh, no." to which E said, "he ran for president." to which I replied, "heh. still don't know." at which point E decided that I didn't deserve the ride the special underground train from the senate building to the hill. I've got some work to do, America.)

Empty hallways echo loudest

2009-04-02T11:52:00.016-06:00

Once I was a teacher in Korea. I had a classroom.

I had order. (see all the planets aligned???? )
I had my own little version of a family. You probably heard me talking about "my kids". They did things like play dress up...And pretend to eat fake chickens...And flash you a peace sign in their pink shirts and crocs with a smile like a wince...Some of them were even starting to look like me....

And now.....

Adventures in Americana

2009-03-26T23:29:00.002-06:00

I'm home.
I'll write more about my last weeks in Korea soon...
but in the meantime, some things to consider about America:

Just in case you've been wondering...they do NOT allow quail eggs to touch American soil. No matter how well you've packed them deep in the folds of your underpants, they will find them and rid the western world of these possibly toxic bird influenza-ed balls of brown goodness while you innocently watch on the sidelines.

RedRobin tastes better when you're not falling asleep in the ketchup. NOTE TO SELF: next time you want to eat french fries to celebrate your homecoming, wait until jetlag has subsided.

Remember how I complained that it took 45 minutes to get anywhere in Seoul? It still takes 45 minutes to walk to the grocery store in the suburbs. Curses!

Carrying a 12 pack of caffeine free Diet Dr. Pepper back from said Grocery Store for 45 minutes should count as a full week of exercise. It doesn't. But luckily....

24 hour fitness has a lot of white people sweating in it and no naked asian women in the sauna.

Understanding what everyone is saying has its advantages when you want to ask where something is in a store but presents a distinct disadvantage when you are awkwardly seated next to a weird guy on an 8 hour overseas flight.

Nieces and Nephews are the best thing since sliced bread.

Fair Warning

2009-03-17T07:49:00.003-06:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n4JAcDYlya8

My friend Robyn recorded this bit of my concert...it's the first time in my entire life of guitaring that I have felt completely and utterly comfortable performing in front of people. Not a nerve in sight...Seriously, this is a major win on the battle of stage fright which has made performance a necessary evil. This time it was decidedly joyful!

What made the difference, you ask? I've narrowed it down to three possibilities: 1) I was surrounded by people I love. 2) I was wearing my sparkly kimono diva dress (designed and constructed by the one and only Jill Bowen) that has magical powers tucked into those massive dangling sleeves or 3) I has such a terrible experience blowing out a friend's $700 borrowed acousting amplifier just moments before showtime that I exhausted the mental receptors usually reserved for performance anxiety. I had nothing left to give the nerves after a solid ten minutes of swearing as smoke and fried electronic stench poured from that machine as if the wizard of oz was only moments away from cracking open the lid and leaping out. It was a disaster that only *I* am capable of orchestrating. Truly.

Now, was it any of the above three options? Who knows. I hope I can recapture it next time without needing to destroy things first.

Oh, Seoul

2009-03-07T07:34:00.003-07:00

Ok, so not only did I spell Seoul wrong in korean on the back of the invites that I handed out to EVERYONE, I just realized that I also wrote 2008 on them. Blah. So don't go to the concert last year, come to the one THIS YEAR!!! Who knew I could be so lame at making invitations? I think I was just so mesmerized by my own picture with the shifty eyes that I couldn't possibly concentrate. And now for some directions. Line up and more details coming soon.

Directions to Ewha & IEB:

Subway Line 2 (Green), Exit 3: Ewha Womans University

As you walk out of Exit 3 you will be next to a Teenie Weenie store (hey, I didn’t name it, I’m only stating facts, however bad they may be). Walk past the store and keep heading down the hill. (You’ll pass a Burger King, Starbucks, Cold Stone, Auntie Annies, and other such “Americana”.)

At the “end” of the street, keep walking straight and you will enter Ewha Womans University.

As you enter campus you will see a huge underground glass building on your right, a set of stairs leading up to an older brick building straight in front of you, and the Ewha Museum on your left. Take the sidewalk to the left, immediately after the museum.

Behind the museum you will see the tallest building on campus, the International Education Building (IEB) – this is your destination.

Enter the building, find the elevators to your left, and come to the 14th floor.

See you there.

Today. Abundance. Possibility.

2009-02-23T04:24:00.002-07:00

Something feels different today. Everything feels more connected, more possible, more available, more clear. There are uncontrollable unknowns and really big change on my horizon, including a one way plane ticket dated March 25th and somehow, I don't feel anxious. Yes, there is still a buzzing halo of "what ifs?" but I don't mind them. They are melting into "yes, what if!". Will you understand me when I say that I have a constant feeling of being together though I am solidly alone in this adventure? I have been and will continue to be my whole self no matter the outcome. I belong to something bigger than questions.

I tend to live my life as though every door half open door is begging to be kicked in. I lean into it. I push with both arms outstretched, body triangled, heaving breaths. But not this time. Right here, I wait. I stand back with confidence, enjoying that uneven trickle of spring air wafting from the space between. I am whole and wholeness is rich. I can afford the wait.

Sneak Preview

2009-02-19T04:18:00.002-07:00

The Trouble With iPods: A Retrospective

2009-02-16T05:21:00.003-07:00

Little Miss: First generation shuffle. Mostly dance music from Arthur Anchors, the youngest brother of my best friend, Liz. Dipped in soapy washing machine water in the sketchy basement laundry room of The Covey Apartments. Evidently, the can-do attitude of the building's namesake washed off on Little Miss. She survived with aplomb, only to meet her demise a few months later in some sort of lame computer USB mishap. It was time to give up the ghost anyway as the new shuffle was hot on her heels. RIP 2006.

International iPod: 20 gig refurbished old school brick. Acquired in Oregon during the Thanksgiving of 2006 in anticipation of upcoming travels. Became a happy companion to the monster suitcase and 12 hour flight. Most noteable characteristic: Quick adaptation to new and strange environments. Greatest Weakness: Co-dependent (re: sick) relationship with my IBM laptop...when the laptop ran off with a taxi driver, this pathetic hanger-on-er went right along with her. Lame. Last Seen: March 2008

Teeny Tiny: 2 Gig silver shuffle. A gift from my laptop patron. Asexual (like morrissey)/androgynous (like Michael Jackson). Generally loyal except for the 3 months it went missing. Loves to run as evidenced by the fact that it was hiding in the toe of my running shoes (don't judge me). Especially fond of USE (United States of Electronica) and Lykke Li. Gets a little weird when you try to listen to Aha! songs. I can understand. Currently resting in its little dock.

Not Quite Right: 1 Gig turqouise Shuffle. bought as a replacement for Teeny Tiny during the three month disappearance. Turns out, I don't really like turquoise electronics. Sold to a friend (who could give her the home and love she deserved) at the ressurgence of Teeny T. Whereabouts unknown.

Pretty Young Thing: 80 Gig newish iPod Classic. Acquired spring/summer of 2008. Introduced me to TV on demand. Faithfully served well during long bus rides, annoying work days in a communal office, escapism on the treadmill. Failed me finally this morning by choosing to remain on the 5500-1 bus long after I had disembarked. I remain Cauptimistic (cautiously optimistic) for a return as Korea is known for it's surprising returns. But should she decide to go the way of most of my other electronics, I will refrain from passing judgement. It is obvious now that I am not meant to hold on to, care about or spend money on anything smaller than a frying pan if I am not willing or able to sotter chains to it and myself.

I'm scared to get an iPhone when I get home. It might bring with it the apocolypse. Seriously, when will the iSorrow end?

Writing A Poem With God

2009-02-04T05:56:00.005-07:00

Krisanne asked me the other day why I find poetry more appealing than prose. It was such a simple question, but if forced me to articulate something that has been percolating for some time, but which I don't think I've consciously explored before. And that is this... In my opinion (feel free to debate this if you'd like but nicely because I'm a wimp), prose is about presenting an experience and describing it fully. Using as many words as it takes to draw the picture, making sure that it's beautifully laid out and understood. But poetry is about the complexity and the nuances of one word. Poetry is the efficiency of language, compact and dense, like bones.

Then you take all the density and you apply it to the pursuit of communicating emotion and experience and something very cool happens. One word becomes a universe. A conversation. I put it on paper and breathe some context into it and then you read it and breathe your own context into it and we're talking. I'm not just telling a story like prose. I'm singing. It's jazz. It's call and response. I'm saying something and you're saying something and we say it through one word. A friend once told me that he prays that way. One word conversations with God. And I realized that that is the essence of poetry for me.

So then I thought if I was going to write a poem with God, what would that look like...

Writing A Poem With God

NB: Hey.
G: Hey.
NB: I want to write a poem, maybe about the meaning of my life.
G: ok. That sounds good. Start throwing out words and we'll see what sticks.
NB: meaning.
G: too subjective. try purpose.
NB: nope. sounds too much like porpoise. You know me...can't do it. Destiny?
G: Hmmm...has the word tiny in it. Takes away. You're more than that. Breathe.
NB: Yes! like inspiration.
G: Breathe.
NB: I already said yes. You want more breathing?
G: Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Say it 500 times, it starts to sound funny.
NB: breathe. yes. I still like it. It's life.
G: life?
NB: uh huh. life.
G: deep.
NB: You made me that way. It's not my fault!
G: blame. lame. flame.
NB: Rhyming is really tired, God. We're not using that in our poem, OK?
G: I know. I know. You think I'm sooooo conventional. Try this. Restless. Sleep. Anchored. I am awake.
NB: I think it's been done. But what about trust?
G: heart wide
NB: heart ache
G: but not heart attack
NB: Right. With. God.
G: justified
NB: enthusiasm
G: back to that whole breathing thing again? Already?
NB: this time your breath, not mine. Not Mine.
G: what about peace? You want that one?
NB: always.
G: always, that's easy. You got it.
NB: This is getting good. But it seems redundant.
G: Really? Overdone? But I thought you needed it again and again and again?
NB: I will take it. You give it. I will take it. You give it. I will take it. You give it. I will take it.
G: You give it. I will take it. You give it. I will take it. You give it. I will take it. You give it.
NB: Are we done here?
G: Are we?
NB: Yes.
G: Yes.

Holy Crap!

2009-02-01T08:19:00.000-07:00

It's 2000 and NINE!??????!!!!!!

Sister Daley Revisited

2009-01-30T16:57:00.002-07:00

Do you remember when I was a missionary in West Virginia? Remember how I was terrifically depressed and anxious and ate biscuits and gravy with reckless abandon? Well, friends. Today marks a milestone. Thanks to lots of vegetables, lots of ellipticals and a slow and steady process of getting my health back, I've recaptured my pre-mission weight (although I look a little bit pregnant in this peacock dress/shirt, don't let it fool you, I'm all hotness and no baby :( ). I'm in this for the long haul. I am committed to those vegetables. In fact, I kind of love them. I'm committed to treating my body with respect and being strong, capable and POWERFUL. I can't do what I want/need to do without it.

PS. That really is a picture of Johnny from Karate Kid behind me. Thank you.

For No Good Reason

2009-01-28T06:05:00.002-07:00

Why does listening to Ray Lamontagne = instant loneliness????

It's because

When he opens his mouth, my heart remembers everything it thinks it forgot.
There's a little bit of tragedy in the juxtaposition of soaring love dangling dangerously at the edge of vicious heartbreak in almost every song.
I'm eavesdropping on some wicked secret whispered to anyone but me.

Go ahead. Try it. I promise you'll feel it too and then you'll understand.

Jolene

Shelter

Stories I Will (probably not) Tell My Children: Part 2

2009-01-24T06:36:00.017-07:00

Once I Had To Chose The Right and Probably Failed

One cold Costco evening, K and I were hauling bulk items back to our respective homes via bus. With the windows all fogged up on the bus, we had nothing to look at but the people. One of the people was a particularly attractive Korean man. I'm sure it was me who said, "Um, he's hot." at which moment, said Korean man looked over at us with raised eyebrows making it very clear that he spoke PERFECT english. (well, enough english to know "hot"). We giggled in horror and reminded ourselves silently that EVERYONE in Korea speaks english. When we disembarked and parted ways, K to the subway and I to another bus stop, I noticed that our bus friend was going in the same direction as me. We stood awkwardly at the light waiting to cross the street ( I pretended I didn't see him...a feat of no small accomplishment) and then stood awkwardly at the bus stop, again pretending I didn't see him.

Just as I was trying to figure out how I could pretend not to see him if we got on the same bus, something that has NEVER happened to me in my two years in Korea happened...bus friend leaned forward and started to hit on me (ok, so really he just started to talk to me, but let me have this one, ok?) Right when he was about to ask for my business card, the christmas bus appeared.

This bus is the mythical blue 470 from gangnam to jongno...bedazzled for two glorious months out of each year with sparkles, spangles and all manner of lights. I have dreamt about riding the christmas bus for about as long as I've dreamt about being talked to by a hot korean man on the streets of Seoul. And of course the fates chose to converge in a cruel twist at that very moment, making me choose between the two????? Well of course, we know which one I chose...as evidenced by the fact that I am sitting here on a Saturday night typing this story instead of drinking hot vanilla with my namja chingu. hrmmmph.

Once I Saw Korean Transvestites and Unicorns All In The Same Night

After a rousing performance of "The Rocky Horror Show" all in Korean, (a taste for mature bilingual audiences only ) in which they cleverly captured the essence of Dr. Frankenfurter (and had a funny little joke about the name Brad sounding like bread as pronounced by Koreans)...we stumbled upon an icesculpture exhibit outside taehangno. There were unicorns and iceslides. There were no other adults on the iceslide. And there were potholes. But it was lovely anyway.Once I Played Blackjack and Lost 5 Billion Dollars

This is Chansoo explaining the rules of blackjack and the value of this coin. He looks harmless doesn't he?

This is before it got ugly.Soon enough, I was all out of coins. I'm sure with my general dislike of round, flat, monetary thingys, this turn of events will not surprise you. J was the highroller of the evening. She swears she knows nothing of card games and sharking, but I heard her singing "The Gambler" quietly under her breath. Don't lie, J.When the chips are out, you've got to do a show. Some people chose to define that rather liberally.(picture omitted because I've already upset my grandma with that Rocky Horror stuff)In the end, everything was just fine. Fully clothed and just fine.Once I Worked At A Place Where Shoes Are In The Hallway and Children Are In The Closets.

This is T & J's version of playing with the cardboard box instead of the toy that came in it. We were supposed to be making a very cool dragon costume, but they spent the bulk of drama school sitting in the closet shaking tubes of sand and glitter. Sigh. So it goes.

Question

2009-01-18T20:34:00.002-07:00

Does anyone know exactly how many WW points are in reconstituted fish parts marinated in scary brown dirt water??? because for some ODD reason, Weight Watchers DOESN'T list it in their catalogue of common foods?

Also, side note: I had a semi-sexual dream that included a trans-gendered German immigrant (Hedwig of the Angry Inch), a white trash barely-legal in a wife beater (who I made out with????) and some circus folk who were going to kill us at a picnic.

On Being a Jerk

2009-01-15T18:20:00.002-07:00

One of the hazards of being me is a complete and utterly annoying self awareness. A sharp, pokey, overbearing self awareness. SO much so that I am perfectly aware when I spiral into jerkdom. Like watching a movie reel in slow motion...screaming to myself to cease and desist with any and all jerkish behavior only to realize that the other me (the one being a jerk) is deaf or dumb or both. It doesn't work. Especially when computers and poor communication abound. I can only feel like a crappy person after the fact because I am aware that I am not my highest self. I can apologize (which I do). I can ask for what I need in positive ways (which I try to do). I can cry in the bathroom stall at work (which I do). I can pray for a little more self control (which I do).

Oprah Style: My Favorite Things

2009-01-14T05:23:00.002-07:00

1. Asparagus
this is news because for a very long time, I've had a disinterested/hate relationship with this stalk of green goodness. But I felt like asparagus was just something that a girl like me should like. So I bought some with the intention of pushing my palate. Luckily I landed on this recipe thanks to Krisanne. And voila! An asparagus acolyte is born.

2. Diclofenac
Oh that I was Oprah. How excited would you be to hear, "Everyone in the audience is takin' home an NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNSSSSSSSSSSSSSSAIDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!" ??? I thought so.

3. Santogold
So what if I'm behind the curve. I live in a country where the hot lyric of the moment is, "Nobody, nobody but you! (clap clap, clap! clap clap, clap!)" as sung by the wondergirls, (a korean girl group and pedophile's dream). Santogold is blowing my mind. Every song. Seriously.

4. TED!!!!
Did I already mention this?

5. Arthur
Cutest student on the planet. We are studying the opera Aida complete with love triangle and gruesome death by live burial. Arthur, who has a little perm and the sweetest smile, raised his hand during class to announce that he thinks he is like Radames, the Hero of Aida who is loved by two women. His reason? "All girls in Apple class love me, but I don't love." Can we have a moment of silence for the complexity of the Kindergarten social clime?

6. these wool socks
It's %$$# COLD here! And evidently I have seriously poor circulation. Sad but true that I wear these bad boys EVERY DAY.

7. ENTP personalities

8. smoked quail eggs
six of these little babies, which taste a little like a bacon-flavored rubber ball, and I've never been happier at breakfast.

TED!!!!!!

2009-01-12T06:33:00.004-07:00

All the others were LOSERS. TED is the only one I care about now. SomeBody introduced us, and it was like, seriously, love at first sight. Now all I do is count the minutes until I can get in another 18 minutes with him.

He's intelligent! OK, so he's a little bit nerdy, but hey, aren't we all in our own quirky way?
He's funny...nay WITTY!
He's full of useful information and committed to helping the world (HUMANITARIAN=TED!)
He's never unavailable!
He's all about technology, entertainment and design which is kind of like dating a hot german architect and his esoteric iPod.

Wanna see TED?

What The Kids at Creativity School Are Singing These Days

2009-01-05T23:23:00.001-07:00

Cosi Fan Tutte and other Saucy Tales of the Kindergarten

2009-01-05T23:04:00.003-07:00

When I was in the 3rd, 4th or 5th grade (can't really remember), we went on a fieldtrip to the New York Metropolitan Opera where we were given a guided tour of the wig shop, costume closets and stage trap doors. I don't remember if I was mesmerized. I remember being creeped out by the wigs which were made of human hair. I'm sure that it has some bearing on my post elementary school musical pursuits which included a year in highschool learning about the different types of sopranos and contraltos and whathaveyou. But mesmerized by the opera at 10? Probably not.

So what happened today came as a welcome yet jarring surprise.

I'm out of tricks as a theater teacher. At our school, we teach the same kids for three years, in mixed grade classes which means that I have to develop curriculum that is not repeated from year to year and flexible so that it reaches both the new students who know nothing and the older students who know EVERYTHING. We've done it all at this point. Chinese Shadow Puppets, Set Design and construction, Musicals, Songwriting, Neighborhood paper bag puppet interviews, concerts, plays, lighting design, costume design, vocal exploration, emotions and acting, storytelling, african drumming, pantomime, dance combinations, blah blah blah. I'm grasping at straws for January and February so I thought I would take the easy route and just do something that I'm interested in but which might be really boring for the kids. OPERA.

Today, we talked about the difference between a straight play, a musical and opera. I busted out a few notes from some italian art songs that I learned ages ago. They plugged their ears, wrinkled their noses and said, "noisy!" This was to be expected. I even heard a few of the younger ones mumbling in Korean, "musicals are NOT fun. Boring!" I told them that I was going to show them an aria from "The Magic Flute" by Mozart. Did they know who Mozart was? All the hands shot up. YES! Then it started. A small boy who looks like a cross between Hansel and Gretel (if H&G were asian) with a perm began to hum the tune to "The Queen of the Night's Revenge Aria". You know, the high, twisty, flutey coloratura that makes you heave your diaphragm in sympathy?

I turned on my heels.

"M, are you singing the "Queen of the Night's Revenge?"

He smiled sweetly and said, "Yes." like it was the dumbest thing I had ever asked. Of course he was. Of course. And then I showed the other kids and they were RIVETED. Glued to the floor and the computer screen. "Again teacher! again!" "Why does that queen want to kill that man, sorastro?" "It sounds like screaming! A screaming flute or violin!"

After they couldn't get enough Magic Flute, I showed them a little scene from "Cosi Fan Tutte" which I had seen in Philadelphia in college. They loved it! "More! I want to watch the whole thing!" "Do the girls kiss the boys?" I finally turned it off when Ferrando began to cop a feel with Dorabella during the "fidelity test" in act two. But they weren't satisfied. I turned my back and someone clicked the screen and Mozart flooded the classroom. They worked quietly on their worksheets then, listening and absorbing this opera quartet's baudy little game in Italian.

Who knew? Now I just have to get up the energy to harvest this little crop of opera enthusiasts. Being a teacher is so rewarding and so positively draining...here's to a little more Mozart and a little less B.S. (that's Britney Spears).

Celebrity Look Alike

2009-01-01T19:30:00.005-07:00

One time, someone said that I looked like Charlize Theron and I have never let anyone forget it. Most often, I get Drew Barrymore (complete with requests from my cousins ange and stephanie to repeat the phrase "alligators in the sewer"?) Sometimes, when I flat iron my hair, I can make myself look like David Bowie in Labyrinth. But this is my very first Buck Rogers comparison. You decide.

And in keeping with the television star theme, here's the celebrity I think SB looks most like...

Public Transportation

2008-12-30T05:41:00.002-07:00

We move
angrily in clumps,
tender shoots from the same seed.
God help us
find
a
seat
alone.

Elixir of Love

2008-12-23T06:49:00.009-07:00

We've found it! It's white, lowfat, warm and has the reminiscent flavor of texturally neutral tapioca fluff. The best part about this elixir of love is its perfect abundance in Seoul. Need some in the morning before work? Try the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf on the corner of Insadong and Nagwondong. Need some in the evening before a lengthy bus ride to Osan? Try the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf in the train station. Need it in the middle of the day because you are addicted and think of nothing but texturally neutral tapioca essence all through the live long day? Try the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf located in the cockles of your heart (because I'm sure they've staked a claim there too next to burger king and dunkin donuts)

Evidently, True LOVE can be purchased for a mere pittance (if you consider 4,500 won and your soul, a pittance). WARNING: may cause some facial distortion and sexual nightmares.

ps. why I am the only one with wiley nostrils? I've got to stop having friends with such straight, lovely, un-flaring noses.

Another historical moment brought to you by the letters S and B.

2008-12-23T06:31:00.003-07:00

Nota bene is a Latin phrase meaning "note well," coming from notāre—to note. It is in the singular imperative mood, instructing one individual to note well the matter at hand. (The pluralis form is notate bene.) In present-day English, it is used to draw the attention of the reader to a certain (side) aspect or detail of the subject on hand, translating it as "pay attention" or "take notice". It is often written in the abbreviated form: N.B.

does it get any cuter? Seriously.

Sometimes, you're just tired

2008-12-22T04:47:00.002-07:00

Going To Bed Early

Nine below something Celsius
Christmas in three days
First, I think about you, strange country that is not strange
(but will be in three months)
And my gut is too twisted from
(too many vegetables at dinner)
thousands of unknowns pushing themselves up against me
(or just something I ate)
I see the clock says 7:16
And I remember that it’s actually 7:08
(I set it eight minutes fast because doing math wakes me up faster than alarms)
I know it’s too early, but nine below
a good book
and maybe a vision or two when I close my eyes
It’s enough.

A Crush Is Born

2008-12-17T00:01:00.003-07:00

Take note:

1. Smart Boy requests that I send him music.

2. Smart Boy then listens to every song, taking note of structure, possible connections between songs and why and how each song may have captured my ear/heart.

and as if that weren't enough to lay me out...

3. Smart Boy sends me a poem that includes the words, "my head exploded" to describe his listening experience. The poem has a RUBRIC (!!!!!) on how to unlock the layered meaning.

Excuse me, Smart Boy, but I'm pretty sure I'm the one with the exploding head.

New News Now!

2008-12-10T08:01:00.008-07:00

I ate at Bennigans!

(This is Misook Werner from Pennsylvania! She knows my Nan and Pap! We ate a BROWNIE!)

It Snowed!!!

(this is where I live! There was a pony! I knew this was a magical place, and then that PONY!!!)

(we love the snow!)

I sang! I was on a poster and everything! LOOK!

BAM! Crush UP! Crush Down!

2008-12-05T08:25:00.002-07:00

May I introduce a few new concepts to your vernacular?

B.A.M. Boy Attention Moment (noun) A (pathetic) replacement for real dating and relationships meant to make you feel the soaring leap of hope necessary to prove to yourself that you are not slightly socially autistic.
usage
friend: Um, were you crying during church today? I would have handed you some tissue to clean...well, you know...but I was kind of on a sacrament date and I couldn't really stop in the middle of the rub-down portion... I wanted him to ask me to Sunday School. You understand, right?
NB: Oh, yeah, no problem. Well, yeah, it was a rough day, but it's ok because tonight at the Break The Fast, ______________ (insert boy name) totally gave me a BAM! Like eye contact and everything. I think he wants to marry me.
Friend: excellent.

Crush Up (verb) moving your crush to level 2 (level 1 = facebook stalking) by making real life contact in some written or verbal form.
Usage: I totally crushed up on ________________ after blogstalking for many months and I think he really liked my comment on his facebook status. I think he wants to marry me.

Crush Down (verb) Taking your crush back down to level 1 shortly after a failed attempt at crushing up.
usage: I guess I will have to crush down as it appears ______________ was unimpressed with my comments on linkup, facebook, friendster and myspace. Do you think the unsolicited chat on gmail was too much?

Credit where credit is due...crush up (or is it crush down? I can't remember!) is a trademark of Bottari

Love = ceramic hearts+ handwritten notes

2008-11-30T17:57:00.005-07:00

Thank you, R. I taught you the word "homesick" and you taught me about compassion.

If you are ever looking for something to serve as a miracle in your life...I present these little people...old souls who are the culmination of their families spiritual gifts and talents who know more about the things that really matter than all of our collective adult "wisdom". I am humbled to be part of their lives. God really knows what He's doing.

Things I remembered that I forgot

2008-11-19T05:34:00.005-07:00

1. I forgot that I love www.toothpastefordinner.com but now I remember.

2. I forgot that when I was 14, I thought 31 year olds were old and freaky and not cool, but I recently remembered as I was at a movie with a smattering of tweens who were all pretending they didn't know who we were, even though we were the ones with their movie tickets and drivers licenses.

3. I forgot that I am an ENFP in meyers briggs land but when I finally remembered, it also jogged my memory of all my flaws. Which are many. (yeah, like I could forget that...especially since I remember that I'm also a virgo which reminds me that I'm doubly screwed...self-absorbed and highly aware of it. BLURG!)

4. I forgot (but my older brothers and their GI Joes certainly didn't) that I don't make very good bombing, helicopter and gun explosion sounds. Had I remembered this very important bit of information sooner, I may have avoided this very awkward and weird "sound effect" phase in which I am currently stuck. Has this ever happened to anyone else???? Like, instead of saying a word, I make a noise. Example. Someone says, "Hey, you're a totally and utterly self-absorbed, fruity ENFP, aren't you? I can tell by the way you whore for attention at any given moment!" to which I reply with a perfectly pitched, "DING!" and follow it up with a lower, more sophisticated "Merp." It's completely out of my control and the worst part is how I can't even seem to approximate a machine gun when necessary after all these years.

5. I also forgot, but now choose to remember that I can choose my life. That's more serious and lest I bore you with the depths of my mental pinings, just imagine that for years you thought everything you did was on some sort of string being manipulated by someone else and then you realize that there is a string, but you've got it in your hands. There's no puppet master, only a loving God who hands you a blank pad of paper before the show and says, "make it up. I'll make it work for your good if you love me." That's a really amazing reminder during times of transition.

I got interviewed

2008-11-10T18:23:00.002-07:00

check out this blog by Arthur Hatton. He features LDS musicians who aren't Colors and this week-ish, he's featured me.

Linescratchers

No pressure.