Happy Halloween!

Halloween, for me, has always been kinda fun but I'm not one of those crazy Halloween people who go all nuts and create haunted houses on their lawns. Though it's tempting, it's just too much effort. I have two requirements for a Happy Halloween and, handily, they're very easy to fulfil.

Requirement one: Candy. Lots of candy. I don't have to eat it (in fact it's best if I'm not the one eating it) but I love handing out candy. It's always a bit disappointing though as our house is kind of in a less used part of the neighborhood (good 99% of the time) and so many families don't trek down our little cul-de-sac. Which is very sad. For me. Not for those who do make the trek and end up with HUGE handsful of candy. Anyway, I swear one of these years I'm just going to go ahead and actually do what I always say I'm going to do and hand out full size candy bars. As it is, I have purchased more candy than it's possible we'll ever need. This is not a bad thing.

Requirement two: Punkins! Sadly this year we have no punkin. I'm very annoyed with myself for letting it get to this state - I may have to try and find something in the picked over bins on my way home from work just so I have something to put on my stoop.

However, the matter of punkin carving is apparently a hot topic these days. I tend to agree with Robert, though I have tried my hand at the artistic carvings - simply from the standpoint that it can look cool if done properly and might've been interesting for centerpieces at other times in the year. Sadly, as it the case with most artistic endeavors other than some small exceptions, pumpkin carving other than goofy or toothy generic faces excapes my skill. Yes, even with the whole template and hole poking and all that. Not. Going. To. Happen.

That said, I will allow that the pumpkin carving tools that come with said little sets are really much easier to use than the average steak knife (my previous tool of choice) that inevitably ends up with some red added to the the lovely pumpkin orange. (Though one could say that lends to the realism if you're going for Vampire Pumpkin.)

The rest - the whole dressing up thing is very cute for kids - and oh, all you teens out there, if you can't be bothered to dress up as something other than a lazy teenager, don't bother ringing my bell - but not so much for adults. The scary thing - eh, whatever.

Candy and pumpkins, people. Candy and pumpkins.

Hey Robbo...

Tim would like to thank you for this post which has since sucked many a minute that should have been spent in homework. However, he wanted me to show you the following, you know, because he could.

The Cost of Turkey Just Went Up

When Tim and I moved to DC it was a move "back" for me and it landed us within 30ish minutes of my folks (on a good day with no traffic, so, you know, never) and 10ish of my sister (on back roads, so that's fairly accurate.) With my sister and me located so close to one another, it got to the point where mom and dad now are the most likely to travel down our way for any family get-together.

I have long enjoyed cooking and look for excuses to indulge the whim to experiment with new recipies and fancy things. Holidays rapidly presented themselves as opportunities where, for once, I could take the menu out of a Gourmet magazine and put it together for the six of us and we would be able to make reasonable inroads on the food (generally all the dishes are designed for 10) without having to eat it for the next millenium. And so it was that every Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter, the clan would gather at our house and I would prepare strange and delectable delights and we would feast thereon.

At first, mom and my sister would chip in some money to offset the cost of the meals and this was greatly appreciated. Except that when it was time to go home, having now offset the cost, they felt (justifiably, I might add) entitled to a share in the leftovers. This would not be a problem if Tim and I weren't greedy. And so I began to suggest they could bring such and such if they wanted to chip in, cause that way Tim and I could feast like kings for a week after each meal with a guilt-free heart as we greedily hoarded the leftovers in our own fridge. Though there was minor grumbling, acclimation to the new plan has followed. And, just as gradually, there has been a marginal lessening in greediness and now on occasion, leftovers are sent home with a joyful heart.

After these, what I will dub FeastAPaLoozas, we would toddle down into the basement wherein movies would be watched and death and destruction would be wreaked upon the heads of the evil minions who dared to challenge the game-playing skill of Tim, daddy, and my brother-in-law (and very often my sister, who is every bit as good at wreaking death and destruction upon the heads of evil minons as any boy.) And with the six of us there was plenty of room. And it was good.

You may recall that Tim's family now lives within 20ish minutes of us. And, like my mom and sister, Tim's mom does not care to cook. (Nor does Tim's dad or sister, by the by.) And so it is that this year our holiday FeastAPaLoozas are expanding from six to nine. (Can one get heartburn before one eats?)

I was considering this fact as I began making my mental list of what preparations must be made for Thanksgiving as it fast approaches. And as I surveyed our dining room, I figured a way to crowd three more people around the table. Then I looked at the basement and cringed. There is not enough room for additional people resting down there. Nor, in all honestly, will Tim's family be interested in the usual melee of activity that follows our holiday meals. Thus I stood in the kitchen and surveyed our den. Our den that has exactly three chairs. (Chairs, mind you, no sofa to be found. The sofa is down in the theater.) It's not exactly an area set up for casual conversation or the gathering of, well honestly, anyone other than Tim and myself. The music room (formerly the living room) is not any better as it holds exactly one grand piano. (Well, someone can sit on the bench in a pinch.)

There seems to be nothing for it - a new sofa must be purchased and installed in the den. Before Thanksgiving.

So, instead of the usual $200, I'm telling Tim to budget another 0 onto the number this year so there's a place to sit afterward.

Maybe we should charge admission.

Friday Fiction - Chapter 4

In case you haven't been following along with this very October-y blogvella, you can catch up with Chapter 1 - The Elixir, Chapter 2 - The Elixir Part II, and Chapter 3 - Salvation. The final, fifth chapter will be written and posted by Nuggets next week.

In the mean time, I present my attempts at Chapter 4. Enjoy!

The Gathering

Mortimer darted through the woods, eyes scanning rapidly for the path he sought. As he ran, flashes of his past lives flickered in and out. Most of the images featured Samuel, for it had been Samuel he initially chose. It was Samuel’s heart that was linked to his own. Choosing Constance this last time was an act of necessity, part of a greater plan developed in quiet whispers on the brightest days, when agents of evil and darkness stayed close to their dens and were less likely to overhear.

Just as he was beginning to question if he’d missed his turn, Mortimer spied the game trail and ducked under a tangle of branches, slowing marginally as he had to pick his way over roots and poisonous leaves. The vegetation thinned rapidly as he neared the edges of the forested area and the meadow beyond came into view. Staying just inside the shadow of the trees, Mortimer stopped and searched the sky. Circling lazily was an enormous falcon with no visible jesses hanging from its talons. He pounced on a lizard making its way quietly up a nearby tree trunk and sent it skittering out into the meadow. The falcon circled lower at the movement but made no move to hunt. Hoping that was enough verification, Mortimer padded into the middle of the meadow and sat, eyes following the raptor as it dove, talons extended.

Mortimer gathered himself and prepared to flee. The rush of wind and sharp bite of talons never came, replaced instead with a silvery tinkle of laughter as the bird shimmered and morphed into a startlingly plain young woman in a simple tunic and fitted trousers. She reached down and rubbed his ears, “Mortimer, old friend, it is time.”

Eilana quickly rattled off the list of ingredients that she would need and sent Mortimer off to find them as fast as he could. While she waited, she cleared a patch of meadow grass and created a small circle of stones in its center. As Mortimer returned with each ingredient, Eilana began concocting her potion directly on the earth in the stone circle. When the last was added, she nodded once and wiggled her fingers.

“Darling,” she squatted and rubbed the cat’s ears again, “thank you. You’d best stand back. This will either work or we’ll both die.” Eilana stood and raised her arms to the sky. Mortimer scrabbled back several feet, unwilling to have yet another death this close to his last. Eilana moved her hands as if gathering the air into a ball and with a quiet chant, threw her handiwork into the center of the stone circle. Dirt exploded, leaving an impact crater. Then it was silent.
Eilana stepped back slowly and frowned, glancing at the cat, “Or I guess it won’t work but we won’t die?”

Mortimer meowed curiously, then stood, his back arched and hissed.

Eilana’s gaze snapped back to the crater where a tendril of smoke was beginning to curl. There was a flash of pure, white light, and a shimmering oval appeared. With a grin, Eilana reached into the oval, her arm disappearing to the shoulder for several seconds before she stepped back. With a covert glance to be sure her arm was ok she bent and scooped Mortimer into her arms, absently scratching his ears.

In the distance, thunder rumbled. Rather than looking to the sky, however, Eilana’s eyes remained fixed on the shimmering oval. The sound intensified as the first of six chestnut horses galloped through the portal. When the last equine tail had cleared, the portal snapped shut.

Eilana deposited Mortimer on the pommel of the only empty saddle and mounted the horse, nodding to the five other riders, “Onward, Samuel is in need. The time of the Seven has come.”

----------------

Claude stared at the heap of an old woman for several minutes before bending to grab and toss her over his shoulder. His mind darted back to the implied payment and his heart quickened. Such a reward for so simple a deed. Forcing his mind back to the task at hand, he began picking his way through the woods.

Eventually he found the place he was looking for. He paused at the edge of the black pool and stared into its depths. He pictured his cell, forcing himself to reconstruct the image exactly. The metal bunks bolted to the wall, the chipped toilet that cut your leg if you sat on it, the rust-stained sink. And the smell. Claude fought back a gag as the smell of prison flooded back.

In his mind’s eye, the cell door slid open and the guard pushed a new cellmate into the room, “Got yerself a roomie now, Claude. Don’t worry though, I didn’t tell him you were a pedophile.” The guard laughed, “Oops, guess I jest did, huh.” The cell door clanged shut, “Be good now, y’all.”

Claude’s fists tightened as he remembered what happened after that, though eventually he and his roommate had come to…terms. He forced his hands to relax and recalled the conversation, taking care to execute the steps word for word.

He laid Constance’s unconscious form gently on the pool’s muddy bank, taking care to straighten her legs and fold her arms across her chest as if she were clutching a bouquet. Bending his head so that his cheek nearly touched her mouth he waited until he was sure he felt the exhalation of air. His roommate had been adamant that she must be alive. Claude touched the scar, a reminder that death was not the worst thing that could happen to a person.

Claude glanced up, hoping for a glimpse of sky that would let him gauge how far off the storm responsible for the now practically continuous thunder was; all he saw was tree branches. With a shrug, he picked up the dagger, fumbling the chant slightly as the thunder grew louder and the ground beneath him began to quiver.

Thursday Theological Thinking

I don't have concrete thoughts today - little swirls still mulling around my brain, yes - concrete thoughts to share, nope. So instead, I will refer you to another thought I found, well, thought provoking. As well as a site I enjoy browsing for theological goodness. Both are on the BreakPoint website, which is part of Prison Fellowship.

Enjoy the reading and, if you have thoughts, I'd love to hear them, please share as a comment (or link to your own blog if your thoughts are huge.)

Nurturing Hope or Courting Disaster

Ever since we "officially" signed up with Bethany I have been brimming with baby madness. (Well, that and impatience since their process is incredibly slow.) I find myself rather surprised. For eight years of treatments I have never really allowed myself to get caught up beyond that "If it works *this* time, then I'll be due in whatever-month." There was never an urge to start making plans for a nursery or purchasing the generic items that would be good for any kind of baby, because I didn't want to end up with a tub full of might-have-beens tucked under my bed.
I'm not sure what changed. Perhaps it's to do with the fact that adoption is gauranteed. Not that any kind of what I would consider reasonable timeframe is guaranteed, mind you. But, unless you withdraw your application, you will, at some point, adopt. Even if it means you've been waiting so long that your name bubbles to the top of the list of people who are called when babies are dropped off at hospitals. Medical treatments don't have that kind of guarantee - in fact, we never even qualified for the refund guarantee, because my problems are so severe they knew it wasn't a good risk on their part. Maybe that was part of it as well. Maybe it's the fact that 8 years ago I was 24 and felt like, reproductively speaking, I had my whole life ahead of me and now I realize that, again reproductively speaking, I'm reaching the point that even if everything did work right I'd be almost to the point where adoption is the only realistic option. And maybe it's the fact that I'm finally at a place where I know we're persuing the right option.

I was never really comfortable with infertility treatment. I don't mean from the standpoint of having a parade of doctors, nurses, and sonogram technicians in and out - I doubt there are many women who are totally comfortable with that. It's humiliating. I mean from the standpoint of thinking that this was the right thing to do, that it was the ethical thing to do, that it was the avenue we were supposed to persue. I think, in some ways, it's good that I felt that way though because while I was disappointed, even crushed, when it never worked, I wasn't crushed with the soul-crushing crush that so many go through month after month after month.

Why did I do it if I wasn't comfortable with it? So many reasons. In some ways I felt a little pressure - that I'd be letting people down if I didn't. In other ways it was the hope that it would be easy and I wouldn't have to deal with all the messiness involved with adoption (I mean come on - I have to move all of my cleaning products out from under my sink. I just can't have them there. After 32 years of having cleaning supplies under the sink, I have to a) figure out where they should go and b) try to remember where I put them - all because some bureaucrat somewhere decided that while parents who are biologically able to have children can responsibly store cleaning supplies wherever they choose, people who are at the mercy of the state to be deemed "qualified" to raise children have to be reminded that this is not a good idea and then forced into different behavior.) Adoption is messy and invasive. And I rebelled against it because it wasn't fair.

Let me tell you, once you've had a parade of nurses in training at your RE's office parade in with no knock, no warning, and no by your leave to view the "most unresponsive ovaries I've ever seen in my 15+ years of practice", unfair takes on a whole new meaning.

So now that that's behind me and the prospect of actually being a parent is in front - I'm impatient. I want our "check the block" seminars to be over so we can move on to waiting to be matched, rather than waiting to wait to be matched. And I want to start decorating my nursery.

It's the last sentence that terrifies me. I want to buy something for a baby that I don't have, that I really have no guarantee I'm going to have any time soon. And my rational, logical brain is calling the other parts of my brain idiotic. The other parts fire back that it's not idiotic, it's optimistic. And the response is that I'm setting myself up for heartache.

But I think for once in my life I'm going to muzzle the negative nellie that lives in my head and let myself do a little bit of dreaming - even if it means I make a few frivolous purchases. Even if it means I'm courting disaster - I prefer to think of it as nurturing hope.

500 Steps

It is a 500 step round trip to the grocery store (wherein lies a superb soup and salad bar) where I typically purchase lunch.

I just thought you'd like to know.

(Actually, my sister and I were discussing this yesterday - so this is really nickel knowledge for her. It's more than I figured it would be, less than she thought.)

The Wheels On The Bus

Having just gotten thrown under the bus for the third time today, I was walking past the little kitchen that sits directly outside my door and I chanced to notice that they have Earl Grey. And Mini-moos. And raw sugar. So I decided that a little mental trip to Ireland, courtesy of tea with milk, was just the ticket. Because in Ireland you only end up under a bus if you fail to look both ways before crossing the street.

TAR 10 - Like a Dream Come True Edition (Spoilers Ahead)

Not a recap, just random thoughts:

• The Brothers Win gained *huge* points in my book. They even said they had set out to play the game a certain way and they were going to stick to it, even if it meant they were out. I'd've been heartbroken if it hadn't turned out the way it did, but I loved the fact that they were ok with it. Talk about having ideals and sticking to them when it can potentially cost you everything.
• In contrast to that, you have the Skin-Deep Queens, who continue to represent every negative stereotype that exists about pageant participants. I think it's certain that neither of these girls won Miss Congeniality. Unfortunately, it continues to pay off (and had it not been for the Win brothers, I probably would have had something in the title about how only the awful people seem to prosper on "reality" shows) and they were not eliminated. Please let my mental "yet" come true soon!
• Kentucky managed to save themselves - due only and completely to the Brothers Win - which they recognized and worried about. Props to them for understanding and not being ungrateful. Mr. Kentucky babbled on about how this show takes your dreams and makes them reality as they're geared up like firefighters and creeping toward a faux oil-fire to get their fast-forward.
• Alabama Catty actually managed to not be catty this episode - perhaps they were simply overshadowed by the Skin Deep Girls, not sure. But there's trouble a'brewin' between the four of them, it seems. Anyway, they and the pretty boys chose the right detour option. I laughed when one of them commented that the camel needed to quit with the attitude. Tim then laughed until he teared up and literally slapped his knee in hilarity when shortly thereafter they showed a closeup of the camel baring its teeth and protesting. I couldn't decide which was funnier - the picture or Tim splitting a gut. He rewound that scene several times and there might have been mention of "Big! Pointy! Teeth!" a few times as well.
• I did not lose the bet that since climbing was involved that Peter would make Sarah do it and then be seen lounging. Of course, he got his at the end when Sarah says for the world, "He's not a kind individual." You got that right, babe. Sorry to see her go. Not sorry to see him depart. (Him leaving is also part of the "dream come true" idea - except from my perspective.)
• Gradually I am really starting to like Rob & Kimberly. Strange. Very, very strange.

A Weekend In the Country

The weekend away was good. Restful. (Though perhaps not quite as restful as I might have liked, since sleeping in on weekends is a longstanding tradition for me and B&Bs are not known for their flexibility in serving times. So...despite late nights, it was breakfast at 8:30 or no food for you!)

Friday afternoon we left a tad earlier than usual, thinking to make it around the inevitable traffic and get to Lancaster in a reasonable amount of time. (Lancaster, PA is only about a 2.5 hour drive from here, so it's a good enough distance to be relaxing, but close enough that you're not spending your weekend in the car. Usually.) Two and a half hours later we had finished travelling just about 20 miles and were finally on I95 headed north. Five hours later we finally arrived in Lancaster. Traffic around here is nuts. (Though I suppose we can say this trip was better than our last excursion up that way, as that trek took us just under 8 hours to complete.)

R&C made it just about an hour after we did, having had to stop and drop of the little one with her aunt and uncle for the weekend. So much for doing anything Friday night, but at least we were there safe & sound and there was pizza close by.

Saturday morning found us up and at 'em for our early breakfast. Thereafter we headed out to see the crafty shops and quilty things for which Lancaster is known. Highlight of this portion of the day was, most likely, feeding the goats and miniature horse that were at a little mini-petting zoo in one of the shopping locales. (Well, that and getting a picture of Tim riding one of those little rocking animal things on a spring - this one was a turtle.) At about 2, C had found the perfect wall hanging quilt and our shopping mission was complete, so we thought lunch might be in order. Thinking we would've missed the rush, we stopped at one of the ubiquitous family style places and balked at the 45 minute wait. At 2 in the afternoon. Investigation into another restaurant showed a slightly longer wait, so Burger King it was!

From there it was covered bridge hunting. This involved much driving, backtracing of steps, getting lost, oohing and ahhing over scenery, looking for places to pull off the road to take a picture, etc. It was a good time. I did some playing with my "real" camera - once I get those developed I'll have some to post. Tim took some with the digital, I'll see about putting them up sooner.

After we lost the light, we headed back to the family style place thinking dinner might not be as crowded. Still a 45 minute wait. But this time we waited, browsing through the tourista gift shop and laughing at some of the weird things for sale therein. R&C found a few gifty type things, I don't think Tim or I were really seriously looking. (I saw a few things that I thought various people might like, but then came the inevitable, "What would they do with it?" And, as I know the people in question are on a quest to declutter not reclutter, I resisted. I think the sum total of my Christmas shopping this year may be "good intentions." As in, "I intended to get you something, but couldn't come up with an idea that was something you actually wanted and would use. So instead, please know I thought of you this year.")

Back to the B&B we went after supper to play cards and watch Royal Wedding. It was an earlishy late night (just about midnight) since we knew an early breakfast was again in store and we were already tired.

Sunday was breakfast and then clean up and check out and go pick up the kiddo and then go home. Thankfully the ride home was right around the 2.5 hour duration, and not another marathon of traffic madness. Picked up the puppies at my sister's, saw mom and dad who were down visiting, saw the awesome job sister did on her new basement bathroom with the tiling, and went home. Watched a little tv and was in bed by 8:30. And at 5:15 this morning I could open my eyes without the usual groan of exhaustion, though I'm still tired.

Still, in all, a good weekend in the country with friends.

One Last One

Your Hidden Talent

You have the power to persuade and influence others. You're the type of person who can turn a whole room around. The potential for great leadership is there, as long as you don't abuse it. Always remember, you have a lot more power over people than you might think!

What's Your Hidden Talent?

Hmmm

Your Pride Quotient: 33%

You're a little prideful, but nothing out of the norm. Like everyone, you enjoy attention. But you're also good at sharing the spotlight!

How Much Pride Do You Have?

Proof that Learning Style Quizzes are So Much Bunk

You Are a Kinetic Learner

You learn best by doing, and you have a talent for complicated, physical tasks. You excel at athletics, drama, and fixing things. You would be an excellent Olympic athlete - or a Broadway star!

What's Your Learning Style?

Um...could it be more wrong? I don't really see how. Unless they're talking about the Math Olympics...I might do ok in those.

Random, Scattered Thoughts on Adoption (Celebrity and Otherwise)

I have a bundle of thoughts (one might say I had a plethora of thoughts...and sweaters, actually) sparked by the whole Madonna-Adoption thing. In fact, they're fairly generalizable to adoption in general for the most part. I will endeavor here to spew them forth for general digestion, but please be aware that I actually have work to do today (I! Know!! Amazing!!) so I am writing this in bits and pieces as I contemplate next steps or wait for things to compile or transfer from my system to the test system and so forth (thus the random and scattered attributes of the thoughts).

Enough preamble. (Do you ever wonder if someone mumbled that at the first reading of the Constitution?)

First, and this is really not relegated to celebrities, there are regular people who do this as well, I have a problem with people who adopt for any reason other than they want to add a child to their family. I don't care if it's your first or sixteenth child, but really, if you're going to adopt, it needs to be about wanting a child and all that's involved in that. You don't adopt to "save children" nor do you adopt to draw attention to issues in certain parts of the world. You adopt because you have enough love in your hearts and in your family that you need to share it with a child. Period. All the other stuff may also come about, but seriously, if you're not starting out to adopt for that reason, you are essentially taking advantage of another human being to make a point - regardless of whether or not a side effect is that the child has a better life than it would've. It needs to be about that child being part of your family first and foremost. (Realistically this also applies to those who can conceive children biologically - it's the same principle. You don't get pregnant to save a marriage. Or to keep up with the Jones family. Or because you want to be a soccer mom. Or because you've got sixteen girls and all you really ever wanted was a boy. Or whatever.)

Second, if you're going to adopt, learn the language. It appalls me that people who are adoptive parents who also have biological children refer to said children as their "natural" child. So..your adopted kid is unnatural? Honestly, I don't really see why you need to draw attention to the fact of adopted vs. biological anyway. These are your kids. And if people look and see every race of the world represented and aren't able to decide between either some or all of the kids being adopted or you getting busy with delegates from every country in the UN, how is it their business anyway? (This is not to say that if the question comes up you answer dishonestly - adoption isn't a cause for shame and there should be no hesitancy in saying that they're adopted. But don't point it out as "these two are adopted" - unless you also make bizarre social statements like, "These are my kids, these two are wearing pink.") Then there's the issue of "real" parent (so adoptive parents are...fake?). And the birthmother didn't "give up" her child, she "placed the child for adoption". In fact - even if you're not going to adopt, learn the language. The PC police get up in arms with so many other words that make so little difference in the scheme of things, just add these terms to your vocabulary, because they go beyond PC.

Third, and this one applies mostly to celebrities and very rich people (like celebrities), adopt from countries who actually want non-nationals to adopt from there. Go through the proper channels and agencies and don't get special waivers and exceptions just because you can. Also, don't say you want to build an orphange and "raise $3M" to do this. You're rolling in money. You make more than $3M in one concert tour. If this is your project, then finanace it, make it available for other people to contribute - they're going to because you have a big name - but don't go around begging for an amount of money that's paltry when compared to the money you have sitting around in your various designer purses at home. (And honestly, my belief in that sentiment goes way beyond adoption to every celebrity out there with a pet cause.)

Finally, understand that some celebrities manage to adopt without creating a huge international fuss - it can be done. Jamie Lee Curtis shines as the primary example for this. And Kate Jackson is another. If you're scratching your heads and thinking, "Huh, they adopted?" then you've got the picture. (Heck, as much as I really dislike Tom Cruise, he makes no secret that he and Nicole Kidman adopted, but at the same time, they keep it low key.)

Many people think that big name, media circus adoptions do wonders for adoption and I'm not silly enough to think that there isn't some potential good that can come out of it. But really? Honestly? I think it does more harm in the long run. It creates an impression that parents wanting to adopt simply go out and buy a child, that it's easy, and that the rules and laws of a country only matter if you can't afford to buy the kid outright. Adoption is a long, paper-filled process. And it should be. As frustrating as it is, all the paperwork and toil is focused around making sure that the child is going to the family who is going to provide the best environment for nurturing and loving that child into adulthood. Which neatly circles us back around the first point. The reason behind all the frustration, waiting, and paperwork is because you want to add a child to your family. And that's the only reason that really matters.

(Oh, and speaking of which, Slush and her hubs just got their referral from Guatemala - go say congratulations!)

TAR 10 - The Homeless Cow Edition (SPOILERS)

I will admit to having watched parts of this on fast forward last night, so I might have missed some of the finer points, but I definitely got the gist. See Jen's recap for more insights (and spoilers) and links to other recaps (and spoilers).

On the first train trip, some alliances are formed to share information. This, I think, is a pretty good strategy. Kentucky, Win Bros, and Alabama Catty have teamed up and seem to share a good deal of comraderie. The Pretty Boys and Rob & Kim have a slightly less binding alliance but at least an agreement. Peter decides (without consulting Sarah it seems) that he wants in on some of this action, but rather than approaching it in a mature manner (like, oh, I don't know, asking to be part of the alliance) he parades up and down the aisle like a rooster crowing about how he knows where the closest travel agent is and he'll tell them if they want. The only ones even marginally interested are the Barbies, who make no promise of reciprocity and then make sure that the world knows that they're "turning up their competitive game" - cause cutting in line all the time clearly isn't quite competitive enough.

The Barbies then go on to use the rest of the episode to prove that, yes folks, it is indeed just skin deep. This week, the Barbies made Alabama Catty look like the kind of people you want your kids to grow up to be like.

Peter continues to regress into misogyny, harranguing Sarah to hurry up when it's clear that she's run/hopping as much as she can on her leg at this point. This culminates in him telling her that the only alternative is for him to just stop caring - that he's either ultra competitive or doesn't give a crud. Sarah suggests that this might be something he should work on. He counters that he likes who he is and besides, this is all for fun, it's just a game. And then Sarah replies, "I'm not really having fun with you Peter." Good for you, girlie-o. Not that I think it'll make a dent. I also find it hillarious that Peter opted to do the challenge - the non-physical challenge. So yeah, Sarah had to essentially scale a cliff face with only her arms and Peter has eaten fish eyes and gone to driving school. Who's the physically challenged one again?

The decision to learn to chill that Rob & Kim made last week seems to actually be taking effect and if they can really hold it together like that and learn and grow from it, there might just be hope for them yet. I'm not holding my breath, mind you, but they did well (and therefore got very little airtime) this week. Though Kim did manage a few really good quotes this episode, including bemoaning the fact that they're in poverty stricken countries and wishing that they could go to Europe "where the rich people are" and seeing an admittedly skinny cow on the side of the road in India commenting on how skinny it is and then wondering, "Is it a homeless cow?"

Kentucky ended up last, but wasn't eliminated, though the penalty imposed may very well push them out next week. Since this is the first season I've watched I can't comment first hand on previous penalties, but I do agree that this seems like a really good penalty and does alleviate the skeeviness of clearly wealthy (certainly in comparison) Americans begging on the street of poverty stricken countries in front of their camera crews.

Escapism at its Finest

This weekend I found myself exhausted (very typical) and in no mood to try and just cheerfully motor through it. Thus I employed my favorite avoidance tactics and, the net result of same, is two book reviews for you lovely people. Aren't you glad I was avoiding things?

First up, Morrigan's Cross, book one in Nora Roberts' new "Circle Trillogy". I was looking forward to this as it's a new series set in Ireland and to combine Ireland with Nora is generally a recipe for wonderful reading. Not so this go-round, it seems. Honestly, once I read the premise (which of course I didn't do until I had paid my money and was home already - because usually seeing that it's a new release of hers is enough for me to know I'm going to like it), I was already skeptical. Vampires. Bleh. I'm so tired of vampires. Plus, seriously, the whole idea just seemed 1) overdone and 2) if she had to do it, more suited to something for Eve Dallas to undertake (though of course then you couldn't have the time travel in it.) Oh, did I mention there's time travel? Yeah. Vampires AND time travel. Oh and witches. Witches in the "way-too-much-information-to-get-the-point-across" way like in her whole witch trillogy. Throw in rampant predictability and voila! you have her new novel.

Normally I don't mind the predictability (they all have some aspect of it) and normally I don't mind that you read about a character, get the mental image (because she really is very good at painting people into realistic pictures) and then all of the sudden you realize that she's exactly the same character as in novel X, except this time she's the same down to the tattoo and swinging hair and mannerisms. Just with a different name. Oh, and almost all of the six major characters have that same striking resembalance. Though I guess it's good they're not all from the same other novel. And seriously, if one of the women changes her name after she marries who it's clear she's going to end up with, her last name will rhyme with her first name. Sometimes in real life you can't escape that, but you'd think an author could avoid the singsong.

I was about 100 pages in when I started looking toward the end wondering how much longer I had before I was finished with the drivel. It kills me to type that, normally I'm a big fan of Roberts, but...wow. This sucked. Half a star out of five (and only because I just can't bring myself to give it no stars, out of deference for the body of work that Roberts has produced that doesn't suck. But I don't think I'll be buying the other two in the series.)

Since it seemed to be a weekend for predictability, I sat down with James Patterson's 4th of July. This is the 4th (wow, seriously!?) in the series of the women's murder club (I think that's what they call themselves) books. I loved First to Die. Thought 2nd Chance was pretty good. 3rd Degree was disappointing, but still an ok read. And so I dragged my feet on reading 4th of July because I didn't know where it was going after some of the things that happened in the 3rd one. In 4th of July, you find Lt. Boxer on trial for shooting perps who fired on her and her partner first, subsequently on vacation at her sister's house and investigating a series of homicides in that town that tie back to one of her first unsolved cases. Patterson does manage to stay on track with his twists and turns and while I had picked out one of the bad guys, the other two threw me (one because he did a really good job at faking you out and the other because he basically introduced the character and that was almost the last you heard of that person until you find out that they're involved. Which seems a little cheap - why would you suspect someone if all you ever know about them consumes one of the notorious Patterson 2 page chapters?)

Can I just add here that the 2 page chapter drives me insane? I know they're supposed to make the book feel fast paced, but honestly, if I'm angling for an extra 10 or 15 minutes reading, my usual tactic is to show Tim the page where I am and ask to finish the chapter. When you can clearly see that the chapter ends 1/2 way down the page opposite where the chapter clearly started, this doesn't work and you have to try and angle for "Just 3 more chapters" which is akin to a normal chapter in a regular, non-ADD book.

The other thing that bugged me was that he goes to the trouble of introducing you to this pet pig and makes a big deal about how pet pigs are great watch animals...and so you're all primed for a fantastic scene involving the pig saving the day and then you get nothing. Nada. Zip. So then all your thoughts about fun puns involving "Saving my bacon" and so forth...useless. Seemed a little mean, all things considered. Anyway, 4th of July was better than 3rd Degree and right back up to the brimming recommendation of "pretty good" that 2nd Chance got. So I might actually read the 5th Horseman (already been out a long time) - if I can get around to getting a library card (cause honestly, Lindsay is such a whiner that I grow tired of her as the major character. Be. Decisive. Woman!). 1.5 stars out of 5.

Friday Roundup

I'm struggling to come up with frivolity today. Several reasons for that, not the least of which being that my current place of enslavement employment needs a swift kick to the head with a steel toed boot so it can just finally be put out of its misery and motivate those of us who hate job hunting (i.e. myself) to be forced to do so. As fascinating as it is to sit and watch a company implode violently all over itself, all the while singing gustily about how wonderful everything is, my tolerance for same has taken a nose dive. Thus the kick to the head. Or someone needs to get me another pitcher of Kool-Aid.

So to motor off in search of other, more cheeful things, I give you the following:

• Gwynne has a very good post about perspective (something I needed very much today)
• Christina has linked to the next installment of the final 2006 blogvella (in which I will participate later this month). Haven't read it yet, but am clicking that way as soon as I hit post!
• Robert the Llamabutcher is celebrating Margaret Thatcher's birthday. May I just comment on how cool it is that he was a research assistant in Parliment? Tres cool.
• There's not a new entry yet that I've seen, but the Bonny Glen crew are on their way to the West coast and journaling fun adventures as they go. (This is one of the boons of surfing other people's blogrolls - you find neat blogs. Growing up to be like Melissa doesn't seem like it'd be a bad thing at all.)
• And then there's always a chance to catch up on Michelle's Ireland trip recap and any new tidbits on the publication of her debut novel (now officially retitled Her Irish Warrior).

There's probably other good stuff out there, I just haven't had time to get to it yet (please don't feel slighted if you posted the world's best blog entry today and I didn't mention you.)

Have a happy Friday and a fantabulous weekend!

An Irish Tale

At the end of August I mentioned that I had just begun delving into Ireland, by Frank Delaney. I'm ashamed to say that that was just about the last time I picked up the book until this weekend. I can make all kinds of excuses about school and so on and so forth, but the truth of the matter is that I've been feeling uninspired by reading lately. Usually reading is my outlet for escape but with the huge quantities of reading I've been doing for school, I've found myself looking at my "for fun" books and just sighing. So, despite a real desire to read this book (and a stack of others), I haven't found the motivation and, well, if it's something I read for fun, I'm not going to force myself to do it when I'm not feeling that it's fun.

Well, this weekend I was finally back in a reading mood, so I picked up Ireland again and resumed the tale, about 150 pages in. By the end of the weekend, the 600 or so pages had been quickly consumed. The slowness in getting to it had nothing to do with the story.

In Ireland, Delaney tells the tale of Ronan, his father, mother, and aunt, and Ronan's 20 year quest for the storyteller who visits them for three blissful nights when he's 8. Along with this tale, Delaney also tells the story of Ireland through the words of the storyteller and other storytellers or historians Ronan encounters on his quest. Legend as well as known historical fact are presented with fiction to soften the edges and personalize the events as they're retold, so you can get a feeling of what those living through the events might have felt as they listened to St. Patrick or watched Brendan the Navigator sail off to the west or fought along side Strongbow or suffered under the Papal Laws or barricaded themselves in the Dublin Post Office on Easter Monday.

While history is by far my least favorite subject, I would have been every bit as in love with this book if Delaney had chosen to leave out the story of Ronan and just provide the stories from history. Adding Ronan into the mix adds the dimension that pushes this book out of the category of something anyone with an interest in Ireland should read into the category of books that anyone who loves good writing and quality storytelling should read.

Six stars out of five.

TV Tales (possibly spoilerish)

Following are various and sundry thoughts from the DVR - there are more than likely spoilers herein, so proceed with caution if you're not caught up with The Amazing Race (and probably NCIS) I think the rest of the commentary is fairly general.

Heroes - I enjoyed the first episode and was looking forward to the second. However, it's taken a turn for the serious-creepy and now I'm not sure that I'll actually be able to watch for much longer (there's really very little point in watching a show that has you hiding your face under a blanket and asking Tim if it's safe yet.) That and...when are the characters actually going to develop? We have all these weird little snapshots of people, but there's no depth or even really hints of depth. And it's just all a little too ADD - flitting here and there with no sembalance of reason that I can find. We'll see. I'll give it another few episodes but it's shifting slowly into the Battlestar Gallactica category for me.

Vanished - I'm bummed they're moving this to Friday nights, I'm guessing that's its death knell. Hopefully they'll air the whole season so we can get to the end of this mystery (and another thing that happened this past episode kind of also makes me think that it might be on its way to the series graveyard, but I'll avoid that spoiler for now.) Overall, if it does get cancelled I don't know that I'll be amazingly surprised, but I'll be disappointed. I've been enjoying it.

Dr. Who - I was skeptical of the new Doctor...I really liked Christopher Eccleston and figured he'd be a tough act to follow. Thus far, I'm really pleased with the new guy. The writers have done a good job just making a point of the whole, yep, new guy here - so it's not like in some shows where an actor will change and you're just supposed to ignore it. So far, quite an enjoyable season and I'm looking forward to further episodes.

CSI: Las Vegas - Is it bad that they have the talking corpse episode this early in the season? I just kind of wonder if they feel like they're running out of creative ideas.

CSI: Miami - *Sigh* Is there ever going to be a situation where Horatio doesn't manage to give his business card to a child who is then able to call him so that he can save the day? And what was up with the whole walking off into the sunset thing at the end of the episode? I guess I can see if the CSI team was there - but um, why was Alex along? She's the coroner, not part of the team.

CSI: New York - This is still probably my favorite of the franchise.

NCIS - Ok. Glad Gibbs is back. He needs to lose the mustache, however. And I really kind of wish Tony had taken the assignment...or that he'd grow up. One of the two really needs to occur.
The Amazing Race - Last week I watched the episode on fast forward. It just didn't hold my interest. This week I did manage to watch the whole thing and have a few thoughts of a spoilerish variety, but this won't be a full-blown recap:

• Alabama catty is still amazingly catty and I shudder that they think they're being rolemodels for their kids. Yes, it's cool they're there and doing this, but if you can't demonstrate grace under pressure, are you really making a positive impact for your kids? Everytime they're doing their little confessional - scratch that, every time they open their mouths - I just cringe. Such hateful, small women.
• The Kentucky chick is rapidly turning into a whiner and irritating me.
• I laughed so hard when the Barbies thought they had to row to the Pit Stop. I really wish they'd stuck to that thought process. I also really wish they'd go just one day without dressing like too cute for words twins.
• Peter. I'm not sure there are words to express how far my opinion of him has fallen. I'm glad Sarah's patience with him is thinning as well. Wish there was a way for her to dump him and just finish on her own - I think she'd be better off. The editing on the climbing challenge was priceless - her working her arse off, stressed and frustrated, and him being patronizing down below, laid back and drinking his soda. Especially when he turned into such a whiner on the basket harvest.

SlugFest, 2006

Because you needed to chuckle on Monday morning, and how better to do that but YouTube?

Project Powder Room: Finis!

You may recall that back in *cough* July *cough* I began a renovation of my sister's powder room. (If you don't recall, you can catch up here, here and here.) (Oh, and here.)

Well, it has finally been completely completed! And so it is with great pleasure that I present to you a photo of the final remodel after a mere 3 months!


I'm particularly pleased with the choice of blue my sister made (she did all the painting herself) - it looks much better than the yellow, especially with the nice white fixtures. (If you want the full "before" treatment, click the first 'here' link above.)

Blueberries, Redux

So, Friday after work, I ambled over to the grocery store that's next to my office building, believing that I had seen blueberries therein when I was there to get a salad the other day at lunch. As I walked to the entrance, I eyed their gorgeous display of teeny, yellow, happy-faced mums and pumpkins and winter cabbages (oh my!) with something bordering on envy. Scanning the flowers, I considered whether I needed (yes, needed) to purchase said mums to bring a little bit of fall sunshine to my office or home. There was one pot in particular that caught my attention, and so caught up in the general happy mumminess of the flowers was I that I didn't see, let alone hear, the youngish man who walked past and said, "Hi, how are you doing today?" Thus it was that I didn't respond and, with a slight sigh, persuaded myself to attend to the task of blueberry gathering and leave the mums for another day.

Inside, I found the fruit and scanned the pricetags at the top of the display to see what 24oz of blueberries was going to run me. With a roll of my eyes, I realized three things:
1) They had only 4.4 oz containers also
2) Grocery stores apparently consider 4.4 oz to be a half-pint (I need to try and figure that one out.)
3) The price for a half-pint? $3.99

But at least these were labeled appropriately.

Resigned, I began to gather six containers when someone sidles a bit too close and says, "Why do you look so sad?"

Taken aback a bit, I glanced up and looked at the young black man standing next to me and raised a brow, "Excuse me?"

"Why do you look so sad? You didn't even say hi back to me when I passed you."

At this, I'll admit, I laughed, "It's not sad, it's in a hurry." I reached for another half-pint of blueberries, with my left hand, trying to angle it so my anniversary band would catch the light and maybe he'd take a hint.

"I'm Devon, by the way."
"Ah."
"Do you have someone in your life? A boyfriend?"

At this moment, several things flitted through my head. First and foremost was the startled revelation that this guy was trying to pick me up. Second was near-hysterical hillarity at the situation in general. Third was general irritation that I was actually going to spend $25 on blueberries in October (though I'm not sure when else you'd spend $25 on blueberries as during blueberry season that would be an enormous quanitity of berries.) Finally was a question of exactly how persistent this guy was going to be, cause I just didn't have time.

"I've been married to the most wonderful man on the planet for 11 years, actually. He makes me smile plenty."
"Oh." And at that, he wandered off.

I sighed, relieved, and gathered up my berries, waited on line and considered what cashiers must think about during their days. First on line? Woman buying $25 worth of blueberries. Second on line? Older gentleman with a card, a package of sliced mozzerella, and dental floss.

Still clearly a bit rattled, I took my bag and walked out the in door. And there was Tim, waiting for me in the parking lot. And that gave me something to smile about.

Friday Fiction

The final (for 2006, at least) five week blogvella has begun. Christina has posted the oh-so-Octobery first installment here. The schedule of authors is here, and you may notice that yours truly will be participating this go-round (though having seen the start, I question my sanity when I thought I could actually produce something of the caliber available by current participants. We shall see.)

Go! Read! Enjoy! And as the story develops if you have any ideas for my 1,000 words...drop me a note. Please!

Word of the Day

I've loved words all my life. I think I can thank not only mom for that, but nana as well (my mom's mom). There was always a love of language and reading and etymology and something fascinating, linguistically speaking, to discover. I can remember perusing mom's word origin books for hours. I also still will find myself ruminating over a word, breaking it apart and thinking it over until it's become an entity in its own right and even my mental pronounciation has changed slightly as I consider the oddity of words as the building blocks of lanugage. Seirously, haven't you ever said something (or thought it) and then remarked to yourself what an odd word that is? I would qualify this as a daily activity.

Consequently, just about every day I go over to Merriam-Webster and check out their word of the day. I'm always on the prowl for new vocabulary - not because I necessarily use the words to try to sound grown up and important, but more because there are so many words out there - and they have such rich and varied meanings and more often than not do a better job of expressing the actual intent of what you'd like to say than the pedestrian sub-set of language that we (and I include myself here!) generally use on a given day. Unfortunately, Merriam-Webster has been very disappointing lately in regard to their word of the day choices. But today, today they have hit a low from which I'm not sure they'll ever recover.

Today's word of the day: Techno-thriller.

Is this seriously a word that the average, let's be generous, fourteen year old doesn't have an idea of the meaning? Isn't the "Word of the Day" supposed to introduce you to phenomenal new words so that your vocabulary can soar into the heights of splendor? And even if the idea is more to provide meanings for commonly mis-used words...techno-thriller? Shouldn't anyone with a moderate grasp of the language be able to figure that out contextually? And why would anyone struggling to learn English care about the banality that is the word "techno-thriller"?(Banality. Now that's a fun word.)

Does anyone have a word of the day site that's less pathetic?

(And yes, I know I already posted one really long post today, and I seriously contemplated saving this for a rainy day - except for two things: 1) Today it is raining cats, dogs and potentially farm animals here in DC, so we're definitely qualified for the rainy day aspect and 2) I've tried to save ideas before - even gone so far as to scribble them down on a scrap of paper...and I never remember either where I've put the paper or that I even had said paper full of great blogging ideas when I'm staring at my screen, trying desperately to lumber over the enormous block some idiot writer left in my path. Thus, today you get two really long posts and Monday, we'll you'll probably get something rife with banality.)

It comes in pints?

Yesterday evening, feeling a bit too much like Old Mother Hubbard as I scrounged around for something for supper, I phoned my sister to see if she, too, might need a quick jaunt that evening to the local Safeway. It turned out that she did, so shortly after supper we ventured forth in the misty evening to gather groceries.

I had two missions: 1) Get regular groceries so that we weren't relegated to experiments in ketchup soup and 2) Gather the ingredients for baked blueberry pecan french toast to be made for our Sunday school brunch on Saturday morning.

Shopping with my sister is always pleasant. We're both commando shoppers and, even on days when there isn't a list, per se, we tend to need the same aisles and know where they are and where within that aisle the particular item in question is located. There is very little ambling up and down scouring shelves for a specific thing. (I did have one lapse, totally forgetting the baguettes for the french toast since I generally skip the bread aisle all together. So I had to run back for that, but such is life at the grocery store.)

The produce aisle is our last stop before checkout. I surveyed the contents of my cart: Baguettes? Check. Pecans? Check. Eggs? Check. Milk? Check. The last thing I needed was blueberries.

(Now let me preface the following with this: I do know it's a bit late in the year to be hoping for fresh blueberries. But, having seen them all over the Giant that's near my office just yesterday, I figured Chile was probably bursting with berries right now and we would reap the rewards of having imports from South America for the french toast and then I would file the recipe away for next season.)

Glancing over the options was a bit disheartening. I needed 24 ounces of blueberries, ideally this would come in the form of 3 half pints or 1 pint and 1 half pint. In the three cases of assorted berries there were pints of strawberries. There were pints of blackberries. There were no pints of blueberries. There were, however, pricetags for pints of blueberries - $3.99 a pint. What blueberries did exist were in packages about 3 inches long, 2 inches wide and 1/2 inch deep. These were marked 4.4 oz.

Frowning, I considered. There are 2 cups to a pint. There are 8 oz to a cup. So that means 16 oz to a pint or, roughly, three 4.4 oz packages (give or take - certainly close enough for government work). So, I reasoned that needing 24 oz of blueberries would necessitate 6 packages in their piddly 4.4oz size, it would be over, but better too many than too few.

Try thought I might I could not find out the cost of a 4.4 oz package of blueberries.

With a vague sense of foreboding, I loaded six packages into the cart and headed off to the checkout where my sister was already waiting. She let me scoot in first and I unloaded the goods onto the conveyer. As the blueberries rang up, I glanced at the monitor. $3.99?

"Um. The blueberries? The tag said $3.99 for a pint, but that," I pointed to the package, "is not a pint. It's only 4.4 oz, there are 16 oz in a pint."

The cashier was flummoxed. She tried the reasoning of, "That's how it rang up so it must be what it costs."

I countered, "If your tag says $3.99 a pint, why would I pay $3.99 for just over a quarter of a pint? That's nearly 4 times what your listed price says by the time I get to a pint."

I very well may have been speaking elvish at this point because the dear girl looked as though I had just recited a formula for calculating the area under a curve. She took a package and wandered off to talk to the "PIC" - or "Person in Charge" over by the cigarette case. What transpired, I don't know, there were quiet whispers, points and head shakes. I'm guessing they were trying to figure out how I knew there were 16 oz in a pint.

Raising my voice slightly so it would carry over to them, I offered to the PIC, "That package is only 4.4 oz. Your sign says that it's $3.99 for a pint - which would be 16 oz, not 4.4."

More whispering and head shaking and the cashier toddled off in the direction of produce. It was at this moment that I had an out of body experience. I realized that right then, in that very instance, I had become that woman. The one with a coupon that expired yesterday who just wonders if it mightn't still be good today. The one who is complaining because the sale item was supposed to cost $3.99 and it rang up as $4.01. As I reflected on this, the cashier came back and told me that there were no pricetags at all for blueberries.

"Can I show you?" So off we both toddled to the produce aisle where I pointed out the sign that very clearly says, "Blueberries. $3.99 per pint."

All during this, it should be noted, there are only two lanes open. Mine and the express lane. And the traffic is piling up behind me as I dicker over the price of some fruit. I'd've been happy for a hole to open up and swallow me, if it would just let me take the berries with me.

Clutching the sign, the cashier took it and the berries back to the PIC, then they came back over to me where the PIC said, "Well, the sign says $3.99 per pint, true, but we don't have any pints."

"I realize that," I said, "However you also don't have a price for the 4.4 oz container, so to expect me to pay the pint price for a quarter pint is a bit unreasonable. These," and I stacked three containers on top of one another, "are slightly less than but close enough to a pint. As are these," I did the same stacking mechanism with the other 3 containers, "So why not charge me $3.99 twice, for the two pints of berries, and we can all be on our way."

"Well I couldn't authorize a loss like that. Besides, we don't have pints."

"But there's no loss! If anything, I'm the one getting less than I should. 16 oz in a pint, 3 containers of 4 oz for the same price. This isn't hard. It's two pints."

"Well, I could let you have two containers for the pint price, but I couldn't let you buy more than two containers."

"But I need two pints of berries."

"But, we don't have pints."

We went round and round a few more times before I gave up, admitted defeat and had the berries removed from my bill. Apparently the equivalent of two pints of berries is not the same thing as two pints of berries.

As I loaded my groceries into the car I sighed and thought to myself, "Gosh, I'd really love a pint."

Thursday Theological Thinking

Some friends of mine (well, technically they were friends of Tim's first, though I now consider them my own friends in my own right) from college have a blog where they basically just share their thoughts du jour - sort of a way to keep in touch (and thus why I'm not going to link to it, I don't have their permission - nor do I have their permission to lift the pieces that are following, I figure they can complain if they mind.) Anyway, periodically their discussions travel down into deep thoughts and, since I'm running a bit low on something worth posting that doesn't travel down into "Woe is me" land right now, I thought I would share some of their thoughts and my thoughts on their thoughts. And then see if you had any thoughts on their thoughts or my thoughts. (Lost yet?) These conversations took place a few weeks ago.

"Do any of you remember a photograph from the late 80s where the photographerhad taken a crucifix and submerged it into a jar full of urine. I remember people at Wheaton chattering away about this in a rather offended tone, wondering how an artist could dare to represent Christ in this fashion.

The reason I ask is because I was down last night, listening to a friend preach to a cowd of 200 or so. The stench in this room was nothing short of horrific. Most of these guys hadn't bathed in a month (if even that recently) and to be honest, I really didn't know what to do with that. It was that overpowering. Anyway, as I sat there listening to my friend, I couldn't help but think back upon that painting, and I started to wonder whether we missed the point entirely. We (being conservative evangelical Christians) were so worried about protecting the dignity of Christ, that we tended to forget that He sacrificed His dignity of His own accord. ...Kind of makes me wonder: was it Christ's dignity that we were trying to protect, or was it the illusion of our own dignity?"

Basically the responses from two other friends expressed a bit of confusion, so the original author clarified:

If the three of you are anything like me, you probably tend to live with the mistaken belief that, generally speaking, you have it together. You have wives, you have a house, maybe you have a kid, you got jobs that you like ... In that kind of environment, its sometimes tempting to live as if God doesn't exist. And no, we would never say this out loud, becasue that is offensive to Christian ears. But if we're being honest, we sometimes get so caught up in the journey of our daily lives that we lose sight of the fact that God has a vested interest in what we are doing and why. What I failed to mention in my last post is this: while sitting listening to my friend, I was also staring at a new pair of shoes I was wearing. It sounds dumb, but I really like these shoes. These are probably some of the best shoes I've ever owned. They feel good, they look good, and for whatever reason, I couldn't stop admiring them. So I'm sitting there in this stench, and I'm thinking about Jude and how he says that our rotted flesh is so nasty that it even stains our clothing (including my fine new pair of shoes), and I'm thinking about that photograph of Christ, and I get this flash that I am still a very long way away from being perfected. I'm sitting with all these desperately impoverished people - any by impoverished, I'm not just talking about material wealth -- and all I can think about is the fact that I look good in my new pair of shoes. And that's when it strikes me. Maybe that photograph (regardless of the artist's second-rate intentions) is really, REALLY accurate. In response to your post, dude, I would say two things. One, when it comes to visual art, that is one of the few arenas where I believe the postmodernists are right. Visual art is not propositional. It is an attempt to capture a moment or an idea, but because there is no written or verbal explanation, it leaves itself open to all manner of interpretations. So regardless of the artist's intentions, he put something out there and asked people to think about. This is where I landed.

My thoughts were the following:

While I would agree that I'm also guilty of the living-as-if-God-doesn't-exist thing, and I see the point, I have to wonder if there isn't a point where one has taken "art" too far.

First, I've yet to meet an artist who didn't have an underlying point to their art - wasn't trying to make a statement of some type. Very few artists create art for art's sake. Especially not art that is going to be controversial. When you submerge a crucifix into a jar of urine, you have a reason for doing so.

Very likely, the reason is not to get Christians to examine their lives and realize that they have a tendency to live as if God doesn't exist. But rather to make a slightly more simplistic - visceral, if you will - statement about the artist's feelings about Christianity.

To take a symbol that a particular group respects and submerge it into human waste conveys a disrespect for that symbol. Just as PETA throwing animal blood on wearers of fur conveys their disrespect for those who wear fur. You don't create "art" like that without wanting to also create a stir.

Now - that aside, it's entirely possible for God to redeem that art and give it significance for individuals. And this is what it seems has been the case with you, Scott. God spoke to you as you stood, thinking about your shoes in the midst of depravity and convicted you with an image designed to convey disrespect and negate the significance to the sacrifice that Christ made for us. It plunged you into further thought and will most likely, at some point, draw you to the conclusion that God has for you.

But does that mean the art had a bigger, better purpose of reminding Christians that we're no better than those who have nothing - that in fact we need to remember that this is where we would be without Christ? I would say no. The art still was designed to serve the artist's purpose - just like we are to serve our Artist's purpose, even though very often it's unclear to others what that purpose is and therefore we can go on to be misunderstood and used for purposes other than what was originally intended.

Eating Runny Yogurt with a Fork

If I had a little poster of captioned faces that you could circle which one best represents you to announce to the world how you feel, today I would circle "Frustrated".

Frustrated with what, you might ask (or you might just click on to another blog somewhere that has something uplifting and cheery to say because I'm kind of doubting that this will be either uplifting or cheery.) But, since you ask...I'm frustrated with school and I'm frustrated with work.

My classes this semester - you know, the ones I was kind of excited about because I thought the content was going to be really useful and applicable to things that I'm interested in? Well, they're kind of "content free", if I can borrow a categorization from Eric. Both of my "instructors" (I really have a hard time using that term, but none of the others - teacher, professor - really come close either. I could go with the term they'd probably in all honesty prefer, facilitator, but it makes me choke) are into constructivist learning to such a huge degree that I wonder exactly what the point behind my tuition was. See, in extreme constructivist learning, the learner (that's me - I prefer to think of myself as a student, but that's apparently not PC in the educational world these days, so we have to go with "learner", maybe then my "instructor" should just be called the "learned" - emphasis on the 'ed' for distinguishing purposes) is basically put in a room and told "Learn." Sometimes they're told "Learn about X." And then the Great Learned One (instructor) steps back and waits for the marvel of education to occur. Sometimes you're put in a room with other learners and then you're all supposed to work together to find education - kind of like how the 3 blind mice navigated around their farm and ended up running after the farmer's wife. In this model, you're supposed to view education as a journey, where you get just as much from the trip as you do from the final destination.

Yeah, someone was on a trip.

I have no problem being an independent learner - this is why I wanted an online program in the first place. I have no problem having minimal guidance, I'm quite capable of figuring things out on my own, doing research, whatever. What I do have a problem with is being told to complete assignment P but given no more information on exactly what is expected in terms of how P is going to be evaluated. Because helping eachother is all well and good, and fumbling around for explanations and being owners and creaters of our knowledge, blah blah blah - ok, fine, I can deal with thata. Right up until the point that you decide you're not going to grade my journey, you're only going to grade my destination. But if you only tell me to take a hike and never tell me where to end up, how do I know what direction to head in? And so I have this paper written that I think is finished but I don't know - she gave us one sample, my paper is very much like the sample provided, but my reviewer thinks it's boring and missing things. Now I have no idea what to do because the Great Learned One hasn't answered my query (read: desperate plea for guidance) and I'm skeptical that she ever actually will. Because here at the graduate level, we should just know these things.

Apparently I missed the required Mind Reading 101 course.

Throw in my frustration with work, which still centers around having very little to do, the pieces that I do have to do are all to fix the messes other people made (other people who really don't want me to help them because they think their stuff is fine and I'm just trying to horn in and steal their thunder), and the fact that, at the end of the day, I'm not convinced this is the career that is going to work for any kind of long term solution.

And then I'm frustrated because I'm frustrated. Because I don't like being frustrated - I want to be one of those people who loves what they do and finds fulfillment and purpose therein. Except that nothing I've tried has been any better, so I'm loath to make another change only to end up in a situation that's the same or, heaven forbid, worse.

So instead I sit here, in this situation that isn't the right consistency and try to make the best of it with the tools I have at hand even though they're not really the right tools for the job.

Yeah, that's me over there, eating runny yogurt with a fork.

What's not to love about a hamster dance?

Tim got this from a friend, I had to laugh - and share. I may be late to the party with it, isn't the first time, won't be the last.

What is this, an epidemic of quitting sickness?*

It's very sad, but there seems to be an epidemic of quitting sickness going around. However, fear not! I am not quitting! (I have to have something worthwhile to do at work every day.)

I know that made all 47 of you heave a collective sigh of relief. (Well, maybe not those of you who googled in here while wondering why people have a problem with the Kiwi accent. But let me assure you, I have no problem with the Kiwi accent, in fact I find it quite nice.) (Also maybe not those of you looking for information on "cheater hybrid carpool stickers", you might not be sighing in relief.)

However, I have a quandry for those of you who might be more versed in blog etiquette...bletiquette? Blogiquette? Anyway, you know what I mean. The quandry is thus: Do I delink people who announce for the world to see that they're quitting? Do I move them to a blog graveyard blogroll? Do I leave them alone hoping they'll come home wagging their tails behind them?

The thing is, presumably until their hosting company eats up their blog space, they'd still be giving me a link. So I don't really want to be a meanie and unlink them, but if they've announced that they're quitting (and in fact have then stopped posting), I don't really want them cluttering up the sidebar (I'm OCD that way). Thoughts?

Beyond that, I just want to say to all you quitters out there: you'll be missed. Even if I do end up delinking you.

*Bonus points for identifying the movie I stole/modified this from.

Random Thoughts About the Weekend

• Spent Friday night trying to motivate myself to do homework, instead got caught up on various and sundry DVRd things (CSI, CSI: Miami, and so forth). My only thought on CSI (Las Vegas) was wow, look how far down Danny Bonaducci has gone to be playing a corpse. Um, isn't that usually a job for extras? Then again, I imagine there was a good bit of neck strain involved in laying that way for the shoot.
• Mom and dad spent the night Friday as they were down in my neck of the woods for The Truth Project training. They said it was a good seminar and are looking forward to having opportunities to use it at their church.
• Saturday morning I made waffles for dad before they left for their conference then did homework - got about half of one of my formal book reviews written and spent way too long agonizing about the finer points of what the instructor meant when they said "Strict APA" in one place in the syllabus and in three other places said to use the dissertation guide for all paper formatting (marginally different from APA, but just enough that if she's really going to ding for format it would make a difference.) Finally sent a note, haven't heard back.
• Saturday afternoon I went to my sister's and finished the tiling by putting in the baseboard molding and the marble threshold. Need to go back and grout but otherwise it's finished. Pictures to come once the new toilet and vanity are in place.
• It was my brother-in-law's birthday so the whole family (sans Tim who was out of town on business) went to a new little hole-in-the-wall Mexican place. Tasty if way too much food.
• Yesterday after church I did more homework, watched a little tv, did some other little chores that always seem to fall between the cracks, including edging the next baby blanket (kiddo is due this month) so now I'm all set for that.

In all, a pretty laidback if productive weekend (can it be both?) But I will just state this for the record, as I have before and I'm sure will again, I don't sleep well when Tim's not home.