Cinco De Mayo Rant

So the wonderful people at our apartment building not only told us that they can't renew our lease (not that we wanted to, but seeing as we don't have to give notice for another 3 weeks or so, it seemed a little premature), but they broke our living room window this week. They were gutting the cabinets from the apartment above ours, which finally explains the banging, bumping, and thuds I hear at all hours of the day from up there (though I can't imagine they're the ones who were up there at 10pm and 3am and all the other odd hours...), and tossing the cabinets out the window from the third floor. One fell funny and broke the outer pane of glass on our window. That was brilliant. I had been having a not-so-terrible day up until I was walking back from class and saw that our window looked a little strange. It looked broken, but not having my glasses on, I couldn't be sure.
    I dashed upstairs, and sure enough, it was broken. Quite a big piece of the middle section is missing now, with pointy shards sticking out at the edges. Now, it was a double pane window, and the inner pane is still intact, so we're not getting any unusual weather, but it was so much brighter in here when I came in that I thought the whole window had been broken through.
    The management has told us that someone will be in next Thursday or Friday (that's right, a whole week staring out an unusually bright, broken window) to replace it. If this window is not in by 5pm next Friday, someone may need to restrain me from beating down their door. It just seems like the last straw: one pretty huge crappy thing they've done in the less than four months we've lived here. First, it was sending us a notice to vacate three months early. Then it was shutting the water off every other week. They removed the dumpster nearest to our end of the building, overloading the remaining dumpsters. They now want us to get new parking passes for the last month we'll live here. They are never in their offices when they're supposed to be. Basically, these people suck at managing apartments. Cutting costs and raising rental rates. It kind of feels like living in a boarding school or something where the people in charge are trying to control every part of your life without giving you some of the courtesies or necessities that might have been given by a more customer service friendly place.
    Did I mention the internet was out for a few days this week? Without notice? The only reason I posted a couple days ago was because I had that draft in there, Seeing Double, and I used the school computers to get online and publish it.
    Needless to say, it's been a rough week living here. But, all is not lost. Today was my last day of class, and I have a weekend to look forward to. I may still have 3 finals to take next week, but I'm not worried. Yet.

Three cheers for property managment companies. Not.

Seeing Double

I think I'm going to switch up the format a bit today. Have a chill. Or a laugh. Whichever comes first.

Annie lay in bed, reading The Murder of Roger Ackroyd and listening to some Nirvana. She didn't like bright lights, and as it was eleven o'clock at night, she only had the bedside table lamp on to read by. The plot thickened seemingly with every page, and even though she became more and more tired, she couldn't bring herself to put the book down. Her eyelids got heavier, and heavier, but the story was so good, she forced her self to push forward through the exhaustion and keep turning pages.
    She didn't know what time she had finally drifted off. But the book was still in her hands, the lamp was still on, and the radio still playing, when she awoke again. Her husband was already lying in bed next to her. She hadn't woken up, even though he had to climb over her to get to his side of the bed. Their bedroom was so small, one side of the bed had to be pushed up against a wall if they were to have any floor space whatsoever. She was used to him climbing over her in the middle of the night, and he had gotten pretty good about not waking her up when he did so. She noticed that he had already fallen asleep, jaw slack and snoring slightly, sprawled on what was more than his share of their bed.
    She shook her head, and was about to sit up to close her book, turn the radio off and put out the light, when she saw her husband coming to climb over her to get into bed. She froze, terribly confused. He was already in bed, asleep, right next to her. She'd seen him. How could he be on the other side of her, climbing into bed over her again? She cringed, shrinking away from the impostor. She thought if he touched her, she might scream. Or she might be tainted with the alienness of this impostor. The impostor stayed quite close, climbing over her body rather than just her feet, and her eyes darted back and forth from her husband beside her to her impostor husband climbing over her, and she had a horrifying premonition of what might happen should they meet.
    Perhaps it would be like in time travel stories when one kills the other one, or maybe it would turn out that the impostor was really a ghost or a spirit of some kind who would possess him and turn him into a completely different person. Or perhaps, somehow, his soul had somehow been torn away from his body and was trying to reincorporate itself now.
    It slithered, she thought, as it climbed over her. And she felt like shrinking into the bed itself if she could have, to distance herself from this thing that so resembled her husband, but wasn't.
    It gave her a grin as it finally made it to the other side of the bed--a hollow, joyless grin that seemed to be the grin of something dead, before slipping into? behind? disappearing altogether? the body of her sleeping husband. She gasped, and her breath caught in her chest, like an air bubble that refused to burst or escape. She was shaking, trembling fiercely, and now sobbing, so much that he finally woke up.
    'Annie? Jesus, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost.'
    Her shocked frozen breath now released, and destabilized into hyperventilation.
    'I thought I had,' she panted.

Creepy enough for you? Or just silly? Talk amongst yourselves.

If X=Praying Mantis, What Is Y?

Sorry for the cryptic title. I thought it was catchy. What do you do when you have an ex that refuses to let you move on? I know I don't usually talk about dating or relationships really, but it's the only interesting subject I have at the moment, so bear with me. I don't really have any "exes", per se, and most of the ones out there that could possibly fit that description are still friends of mine, so the topic today isn't from personal experience. It's about someone else's experience. While I don't know all the details, since I'm not quite a confidante, I think I can get the gist of it explained here.
    So there's an ex, who seems positively hell bent on reconnecting--not necessarily in a romantic manner, but possibly. However, the person with the ex, A, doesn't really want to reconnect. Not because of any character flaws or extreme pain or resentment that's still bubbling under the surface, mainly just that A is over the ex, who shall heretofore be known as--aptly--X. A has simply moved on.
    But how does A explain to X that A doesn't have any interest in "reconnecting"? X is persistent. X wants to spend time with A. Furthermore, A has tried several methods of showing X that A wants nothing to do with X anymore. A has not returned X's phone calls or text messages on several occasions. A has turned down suggested meetings with X several times. And, rather unfortunately I think, A has acted extremely, and perhaps excessively, mean, rude, and unkind toward X in several instances. While I disapprove of this uncouth behavior, I marvel at the fact that X has not yet taken the hint.
   Why do some people, like X, seem to sit back and take the abuse, thinking they must try harder to win someone's affections back? Why, rather than stopping and saying: this is SO not worth it, and telling that someone to put their shit attitude where the sun don't shine? Why do people like X keep at it, never giving in even when it appears that things will only end badly? (On a side note, this is a particularly interesting case study in human behavior. I thought stuff like this only happened in the movies.)
    Perhaps I can answer this question. Although I was never in such a situation when someone treated me horribly and I decided to give up on them, I have been in situations where it is quite clear that the person has no interest in anything beyond friendship, and yet I persisted. I'm stubborn that way, I guess. Sometimes, the person you're pursuing is so great--or at least your obsession has led you to believe that--that you can't let go. You can't stop trying. You can't move on. That may be what's happening here. X is under the impression that A is so great--and knowing A myself, X may have a point--that X cannot give up on A, no matter how badly A behaves.
    In spite of all this, I can't help but condemn X. If someone is treating you like shit, consistently, it seems completely absurd to continue trying to be their friend or get them to like you. Even though A liked X once upon a time, that is no longer the case. I can't believe X doesn't see that to some degree.
    A has decided, according to my most recent knowledge, to tell X that there is something horribly wrong with A, so horrible that A hopes X will decide to back off. I think this is a mistake. Not only is A lying, again, but if X is as persistent as it seems, it probably isn't going to make much difference in achieving A's end--the end being getting X to stop pursuing A.
    What A needs to do to accomplish this is to tell X the truth. What a concept! So simple, and yet, so frighteningly difficult. To really drive the point home, A ought to tell X that A has no interest in seeing X anymore. While A and X shared something once, A has moved on, and A would like X to respect that by not calling, texting, or asking to see A anymore. That kind of talk isn't easy to have with someone. I think most of us avoid it, like the plague. But sometimes, with some people, it is necessary.
    Now, wouldn't it have been so much simpler if I had used pronouns to tell this story? But, for anonymity's sake, I did my best to preserve it completely. While I hope that A will muster the courage to tell X the truth about how A feels about this situation, I have a feeling this drama might continue for a while.
     So, I get to sit back and watch this live soap opera unfold before my eyes, hoping that our protagonist will do the right thing. In the meantime, consider this: exes are like ghosts. Unless you straight up tell them to bugger off, they may haunt you indefinitely.

No means no.

Write Through the Pain

I have a headache right now. But, I insist on putting another post up tonight since I have little to no homework to deter me from writing. Writing when you have nothing to say can be painful. You feel like nothing is making sense, or nothing is relevant, or your choice of a slew of other self-deprecating criticisms. But sometimes, if you power through the pain of churning out crappy writing, then the good stuff gets a chance to resurface. For those who have forgotten this tenet, hopefully this discussion will be therapeutic. (And yes, I managed to equivocate a bit on the word "pain" in this paragraph. And yes, I now use big words like equivocate because I've taken so much logic this semester. Hazard of the trade, I suppose.)
    When the words get stuck, they need a little coercion and a little patience to make them come back out. Sitting down and writing when you think you have nothing to say is exactly the time when you MUST sit down and write. Write about having nothing to say (somewhat like I'm doing...), and whatever else may pop up; the asshole who cut you off in traffic this afternoon, or the ridiculous Birthers and how they need to get a life, even the speck of carpet fuzz on the floor next to your desk. Any of these are excellent ideas if you're stuck but need to do something to unstick the words from your brain. They may seem trivial or pointless, but you never know: the asshole driver could be the flawed hero of your next plotline, or the carpet fuzz could have some very interesting insights into what people carry around with them on their feet or what the room looks like from the floor.
    "A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men." [Gene Wilder as Willy Wonka] And don't you forget it. Write the drivel, the nonsense, the tomfoolery; write it until you're all driveled and nonsensed out. Maybe it'll help the brilliant words come forth and make themselves known in the beautiful and excellent prose you believe yourself capable of. Or maybe it'll just remain blather and you'll feel like you wasted your time writing about a piece of carpet fuzz. But, dear readers, writing is never a waste of time for people who love writing. Even when it's difficult, even when you feel like you'd rather do anything but write, there's always that blissful memory of the 3 AM frenzy when you managed to crank out 10, 20, or even 30 pages in a single night, and getting back to that feeling of accomplishment, of excitement, of ecstatic, if punch drunk, enjoyment, is the reason we writers write in the first place. Unless you're one of those writers who writes for the money. If that's the case, I'm not talking to you.
    So the next time you get the dreaded W-R-I-T-E-R-S B-L-O-C-K (that might have been cuter had I been speaking rather than writing--oh well), expel the babble and incoherent gobbledygook, and maybe you'll be able to get back to the good stuff. What started out as a rambling piece of trash could turn out somewhat interesting. We can dream. Be not afraid. Write all the boring out of your brain and make way for innovation!--or at least something you can say is less sucky than the last.

A few words to take with you: hogwash, twaddle, poppycock, rot. 

Skiing: A Review

I went skiing yesterday for the first time ever. And I'd like to share that experience since I don't really have much else to talk about today.
    First, I had planned on heading home Thursday evening, but I had a paper to write for one of my classes, so I thought I would have more success with it if I stayed at my apartment and headed up Friday morning. I wrote my paper, after several hours and much tribulation and effort, and sent it in to my teacher. I took my time a little more than I intended on Friday morning, but finally I got all my stuff together and headed home. I waited for my boyfriend, who's the skiing expert that was going to teach me a few things, to come pick me up to head up to mountains. He was late, as usual, due to bad traffic, as usual.
    Around 1:30 in the afternoon (bear in mind, the ski resort closes at 4pm), we left. We stopped to get Chipotle, so I wouldn't starve all afternoon after all that extra exertion that I'm not used to, and then we were really on our way. When we finally got there, it was about 3pm, giving him an hour, or so, to teach me the basics. We bought a lift ticket off of someone in the parking lot who was finished for the day--this is common practice, I gathered, but I felt somewhat guilty nonetheless--and we went to get in line for the chair lift. (Just my luck, the Bunny Hill was closed, so I had no choice but to go down a regular run with everyone else.)

Photo from the Road Up to the Ski Resort

    The second I got my boots locked onto my skis, I felt I'd made a huge mistake. I couldn't stand still because they kept slipping around, and I didn't think I'd ever be able to control my legs enough to get down the entire hill. I could barely move my feet to get the skis pointed in the right direction, and the ski lift was beginning to look terrifying. The chairs at least were chair level, so all you had to do was sit down. Mission accomplished. But on the long ride up the hill, the ground's distance below me varying from a few feet to nearly 20 feet, my anxiety kicked in and I started to cry. I had no confidence in myself at all that I'd be able to get off the chair lift once we got to the top, and I'd just keep going around and around until they stopped it and I could get off.
    My only frame of reference for the chair lift experience was movies and TV, and in those, the people usually jumped from the chair to the ground which was several feet below. I was afraid I'd jump and break an ankle or something, or worse, tumble back down the hill. However, I soon learned that my fears were completely unfounded and, in fact, ridiculous because when you get off the chair, the ground is right at your feet. You don't have to jump at all. You just have to get out of the way before the chair knocks you over. Crisis one: resolved. Except I did fall after getting off the chair lift. The only time that day that I fell accidentally. The other times, I fell on purpose so I wouldn't get going too fast and lose control.

Another Photo on the Way Up

    The next thing was getting down the run. The first part was very straight and not steep at all, so I felt ok. Not confident, but at least not terrified. I managed to get to the end of the straight stretch mostly unscathed and still standing, for the most part. However, there was a turn at the end of it, which was not only terrifying, but seemingly impossible.
    I won't go through every detail of the entire exercise of my first experience on skis, as this post would probably be twice as long, so I'll skip ahead. I finally made it about halfway down the mountain, though I walked across one part that was particularly ominous and steep, before the ski patrol people wanted us off the mountain since they were closing for the day, and they called a snowmobile to take me the rest of the way down the hill. This was probably for the best, as I would have been there another half hour trying to go by myself because I refused to go any faster than a slow skid.

All these were taken in the car, since I left my phone in the car, not wanting to break it from falling so many times.

     So, two panic attacks, about half a dozen falls, and over an hour later, I was at the bottom again. I skied for the first time, and rode a snowmobile for the first time, both in one day. I was pretty pleased with myself. Despite my terror, the unpleasant wind, and the fact that I am sore pretty much everywhere today--in muscles I had no idea I used--I think I'll be heading back up to the mountain. The season is pretty much over now, but there's always next year. But when that time comes, I will definitely be going on a day when the damn Bunny Hill is open.

Fear: check. No broken bones: check. I think it's safe to call that a success.

All Quiet on the Reefer Front

[DAMN!! This was supposed to be published yesterday, but my stupid apartment complex WiFi went out several times, and despite it saying that it got scheduled, it failed, so my apologies. Pretend it's yesterday while you're reading, I guess. :/ ]
Today is April 20th. While a lot of unfortunate things happened on this day, the massacre at Columbine High School, Hitler was born, the damnable oil spill in the Gulf last year, this day also means something special to a lot of Americans. April 20th, or 4/20 as it is affectionately known to some, is an unofficial national holiday for people who like to smoke pot or people who support the legalization of marijuana. While I personally haven't had much to do with this particular day in history, I know plenty of people who have. This year, the day seems to have gone off without a hitch (SO FAR--I don't want to jinx it), a.k.a. no oil spills, natural disasters, or incidents extreme violence and hatred. So, I decided to speak a little to the day and why so many anti-4/20 people could use a little mellowing themselves.
    Marijuana is still illegal in many US states, and is only "legal" for medicinal purposes in some states. For some reason, weed has been labeled a gateway drug that will lead people who smoke it to try other drugs, many more dangerous and harmful like heroin, cocaine, and opium. While there is no unequivocal proof for this claim, many people do believe it. Pot is a mind altering drug, and like other mind altering substances, alcohol, and even tobacco and caffeine, it requires moderation and caution in its usage. However, as far as I know, nobody ever overdosed from smoking too much grass. It requires moderation for different reasons. It can cause some people to lose motivation for anything besides having that lovely high that the THC brings. But, in its defense, those people probably didn't have far to go to lose that motivation anyway.
    Some people think weed is dangerous, and even a threat to the lives and safety of America's youth and everyone else, so that even to consider making marijuana legal seems absurd. This is a fallacy, based on unfounded opinions, rumors, and propaganda. It is more dangerous now, as an "illegal" drug, than it would be as a legal drug. The illegality of it breeds corruption, violence and other dangers, because cartels and growers can turn a higher profit on something that is hard to get due to its illegal status. If marijuana were legal, it could be regulated more closely, and monitored, much like alcohol production is regulated. Take note, there isn't a whole lot of moonshine these days in the states since Prohibition ended. And if the "War On Drugs" would end, with respect specifically to weed (the other illegal drugs should probably stay illegal), not only could we see the negative results disappear, i.e. the violence and secrecy involved with transporting, selling and using an illegal drug, but some positive results could come about as well.
    By legalizing it and regulating it, the government could tax marijuana and generate some more money to combat the tailspin of debt and deficit we have at the moment. The government could control who consumes the product and why. These may not sound like pleasant reasons to the average stoner who wants to fight the powers that be, but on the road to legalization, some compromise must be made, and if that means adding a federal sales tax to the sale of ganja, maybe we should just deal with that.
    So, while the extreme conservatives may still hold that weed is one of the many evil things corrupting the youth and turning everyone into a bunch of unpatriotic, lazy, anarchist, pro-choice liberals, it's high time we try to gain a little perspective on the possibility of there being more greens to cash out of what we call the marijuana industry.

Motives, Reasons and Productivity

What an amazingly unproductive weekend! I finally got my hair cut, which I've been meaning to do for about a month. But when I sat down to do homework, I worked out how much each assignment would take me, approximately, and discovered I had about 11 hours of homework to do this weekend (though not all of it is due Monday, I will probably not find eleven hours during the week to complete it). This was so overwhelming, it may have set me up for the procrastination that followed. I started off with the assignment due soonest, and it managed to put me to sleep after five pages of reading. When I woke up about 45 minutes later, that pretty much shot my motivation on the homework front. I spent the rest of the day writing and watching hockey. But I did get back to my exercise routine for the first time in weeks, so that's all right.
    Today was much of the same. Went out to breakfast, ate way too much of several things that did me absolutely no good with regard to my healthy eating plan. Watched more hockey. Headed to a birthday BBQ at my boyfriend's family's house. Did no homework once again, despite being REALLY far behind now.
On the other hand, it was quite productive personally, if not scholastically. Hair cut: check. Writing: check. Hockey: check. IHOP: check. Exercise: check. Plus, I got my first birthday present. A TV. Yeah. Totally blown away. it is a couple years old and previously owned, but it's quite an update for me. I'm still using the tube TV I got for my brithday about ten years ago. So, in that light, it was quite a productive weekend, aside from the whole homework fiasco.
    Productivity is so closely tied to motivation, but motivation is a tricky thing. It depends on so many different factors. Motivation to do something may depend on money, how afraid you are of the consequences of not doing it, obligations of various kinds, the thing you're doing could be a means to an end, or you could just be motivated to do something because it makes you feel good in one way or another. Sometimes one type of motivation isn't enough to make you do something. Sure, I feel obligated to show up to class, but I do also enjoy my class, so I'll go to it. Exercise is good for me and will help me lose those stubborn last 5 pounds, but it also makes me feel good afterward, even though the during part is somewhat strenuous and un-fun. But even with the proper motivation, sometimes we still avoid actually doing things.
    While some productivity is good--the kind that helps you be a better, healthier, more intelligent, more prepared person, or the kind that pays the rent--other kinds of productivity can be bad. Working 80 hours a week may make you money and get you on good terms with your boss, but it's going to wreak havoc on your sleep schedule and your social life. (Like it or not, positive human interaction is a necessary part of your physical and psychological well-being.) So, even if you do have the right practical reasons to do some things, there are always further considerations to be made.
    Surprising how we managed to get from not doing homework to healthy forms of productivity so quickly, but that's how it seems to go when we do a sort of stream of consciousness writing. I probably could have spent more time going into the difference between reasons and motives, but being aware that there is a difference, and knowing when you have both or neither, can be a useful decision-making tool.

Having motivation is not equivalent to having a reason.

OK, OK, I Surrender!!

Got quite a lot of responsibility laid on me today. It's a little terrifying. On the one hand, I'm fairly confident that I can handle it. I'm responsible to a fault, if there is such a thing, and I feel like I am constantly taking it upon myself to memorize other people's schedules and remind them to do the stuff they need to do too. This is somewhat ironic as I seem to have a horrible memory sometimes. I have a thought and twenty seconds later, it's gone. Sometimes it comes back, and sometimes it doesn't. And yet, scheduling, time management, keeping track of other people, these things make sense to me and stick in my head. I'll remember your dentist appointment on Tuesday, but I can't remember what I wanted to ask you five seconds ago. Oh well. Can't win 'em all.
    However, I have been thinking a lot about these new responsibilities, and the prospect of acting like a productive member of society, being a grown-up, and it's starting to scare me again. I enjoy paying my bills (gasp!), and taking care of myself, even if I'm still not that great at it, but I am still 22 for another week, and some of these adult things and responsibilities seem beyond me. It's not because I am incapable of handling them at my tender age, but because I simply don't want them.
    I enjoy having a little bit of freedom, and I enjoy having a little more say over what I will and will not do. I know I can manage these new things that will soon be a part of my life and what I do, but I wish I could delay them for a while. I still feel like a kid in many ways, and while part of me wants the grown-up stuff so people will quit treating me like a kid, the other part of me wants to keep some of that childlike innocence and enthusiasm. You're only young once, and I don't feel like I've taken complete advantage of that ideal. Yet. I'm working on it.
    Maybe the fear of having to take on these new responsibilities is just a fear of change. I think everyone has a fear of change in some respect; probably because the familiar is already programmed into our brains and having to learn something new--a new routine, a new process, a new person--means more effort and more screw-ups while that learning gets programmed in.
    Yes, I am comparing us to machines by saying our brains require programming, but that is not to say that choice no longer exists. I made the choice to accept these responsibilities, so, for better or worse, I will dive into them head on. If they prove to be beyond my physical and mental capacity, or if they turn out be ill-fitting for the direction I see myself headed in, then we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. But in the meantime, it's Friday, the playoffs are on, and I get to sleep in tomorrow. I think a little congratulations are in order for surviving yet another week and coming out on the other side with my poor addled brain still intact and functional.

Cheers, na zdrowie, bottoms up, and salud.

Happy Weekend to One and All.

A Shameless Plug for the Playoffs

If anyone out there--and based on my calculations, there probably aren't too many of you--follow hockey, I implore you to watch the NHL Stanley Cup Playoffs this year. They are tons of fun, and they last from now until June. If you are not a hockey fan, or just don't get it, give it another shot. The best time to learn is in the post season because those who do know will be tickled pink to share their knowledge and love of the game with you in hopes that you too will get a little Cup Crazy.
    I'm a different breed, being raised on hockey, raised to believe that ice hockey is the greatest sport ever, and the Stanley Cup not only is, but deserves to be, the most sought after trophy in sports. My objective today is to convert a few of you out there to believe in hockey the way I do.

How To Become a Hockey Fan
Step 1: Turn on your TV. Versus and NBC (along with local affiliate stations) will be hosting the games live this year. You can pretty much count on games being on at 7pm ET every day of the week for the first round, which will last about 1-2 weeks from today. The best way to learn is to see it in action. (Pay no attention to the men behind the microphones who will favor Detroit no matter who's playing.)
Step 2: If you're not a lifelong puck-head like me, visit http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ice_hockey and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nhl to learn more about the game.
Step 3: Check out http://www.nhl.com/ to find out which games are scheduled, as well as stats, polls, news and more.
Step 4: Choose your loyalties!! There are 30 to pick from, you can go with whoever's in your state, or nearby, or just pick one with a cool name, excellent players, or a stellar record.


Some Vocabulary: 
1) Dropping the gloves--There will be a fight. Yes, they pretty much box on skates.
2) He iced the puck--The puck was shot down the length of the ice in order to delay the game, drawing a penalty.
3) Drawing a penalty--Getting (see manipulating in some instances) the referees to call a penalty by making it obvious you were impeded during play
4) Five for fighting--Five minutes in the penalty box (or in the locker room if the period is almost over) for participating in a fight
5) Penalty shot--The rare reward for a penalty in which a player for the team who was impeded during the play gets to take a free shot at the opposing team's goalie to try to score a goal
6) Period--Hockey is divided into 3 periods of play, not quarters, or halves. It's Canadian, what can I say?
7) Goal--They're called goals, not points, when someone puts the puck past the goalie into the net.
8) Hat Trick--When a single player scores 3 goals in a single game.
9) Gordie Howe Hat Trick--named for Gordie Howe, a retired Detroit Red Wing player; when a single player gets an assist, a goal, and a fight in a single game
10) Five Hole--Beating the goalie through one of the five holes that his body creates between him and the net; Also a style of goaltending

There are more terms, but I can't go into every single one of them here. You can probably find some of them on the aforementioned websites, or learn them as the game is played. The commentators like to explain things more during the playoffs for people who are new to hockey.

Guide to Being a Hockey Fan: 
1) Fights are a part of the game. Just go with it. They rarely get too gory or dangerous.
2) Pick on the referees. They aren't perfect, and if they slight your team, they deserve all the insults you can throw at them.
3) Cheer loudly, whether you're at a sports bar, in your living room, or at the arena itself. The team deserves your support no matter where you're watching from.
4) Don't be a fair weather fan. Cheer and support your team through the good games and the bad. 

Lord Stanley is coming to town. WAY better than Santa Claus.

Crisis Averted

After being stressed out for about two weeks now, the looming storm on the horizon has disappeared and it's sunny again. Well, maybe sunny with a few clouds.
    So, as promised, I will get into the "stressor number 2" I mentioned last week. (Just to clarify, this is the reason I've been absent and erratic from Insistent and Persistent for the last couple weeks--sorting all this out.) After long deliberation, some of which I've shared here, I've decided not to continue grad school in the fall. There are plenty of reasons behind it, some of which include job prospects after graduation (or rather lack thereof), not enjoying being a teaching assistant (which indicates probably not enjoying teaching in the future), and liking my job more than school. I never thought that would happen, but for now, I consider myself lucky.
    While I realize I have disappointed many people making this decision (a couple of whom I haven't had a chance to tell yet), being young and knowing myself well enough to make pretty good decisions about things, I had to go with the decision that would lead me in the direction I wanted to go, rather than a direction that other people wanted me to go. Sometimes those two are the same, but this time, they aren't, and I couldn't keep doing something that meant more to other people than it did to me.
    So, that's done. It's official. I turned down about 12 grand in financial aid (plus tuition waivers) for nine months of school next year--another thing I never would have thought I could do. Turning down free money is even harder than turning down free food for me. And with that done, I'm down to four weeks of school, not counting finals, of course.
    One of the best parts of finally sharing this decision is that everyone has been really supportive. I had been so worried that they would ask all kinds of questions and demand more explanation than I was prepared to give. So, me being the overachiever that I am, I prepared explanations, as in-depth as I could, to explain my reasoning. But no one did demand that kind of explanation. Not yet, anyway. But the people who needed to know most, the school, and certain family members, know now. I still have to tell the teacher that I TA for--and while I can hope she will have the same optimistic and supportive attitude as everyone else so far has had, I still doubt it.
    A good outcome of this is that I really don't regret this semester, despite the amount of stress and anxiety it has caused me. I don't think I would have known that I didn't want to be in grad school until I had done it and seen what I have seen and learned what I have learned. I'm a big fan of process of elimination, and doing a semester of grad school has shown me that it needs to be eliminated as a possibility for me and my future job prospects. However, it's not completely eliminated. I may still decide to go back, later on sometime, but if that day comes, I will definitely be applying to a different program. As much as I like philosophy, I never saw myself with a career in it.
    Although I never had the idea that the particular job I have currently would be anything more than a temporary place for me to earn money until I got my financial aid to finish graduate school, I'm glad that it has turned into more than that. A place with good people, good opportunities, and satisfying and challenging work. I'm not counting on doing it forever, or being at the same company forever, but in the meantime, I think--and desperately hope--that I've made the right choice. I get to be a grown up for the first time in my life, and for once, the idea doesn't completely terrify me.

Live and learn.

Anxiety Strikes

Basically had a miniature anxiety attack bubbling under the surface since Friday afternoon, causing me to neglect my blog for three whole days! For that, I apologize, but with nothing interesting to write about, and so much lack of focus and motivation due to said anxiety, I thought it would be best to wait to post a new topic rather than crank out something resembling a poorly polished turd.
Stressors and Anxiety Causers Countdown: 
    Anxiety causer number 3: I had to lead the review session for the test in the class I'm the TA for this evening, and I was quite pleased with how well it went. There weren't many students there, and no one asked anything too difficult. And even though it seemed like it went by fast, we were there for a whole hour.
    Stressor number 2: Also have come to a mostly decided decision, saying it aloud to someone this afternoon makes it more real, and that bit of anxiety about sharing that decision has been alleviated. More details on this decision to come (eventually), once it's actually finalized and there's no turning back.
    Anxiety cause number 1: I won't go into too much detail because it seems silly now, but I switched out my mouse at work on Friday because the new one they gave me was the wrong shape for my hand. And we're not supposed to change equipment without telling the boss, and the bosses were out of the office on Friday. So, long story short, anxious and guilty all weekend over a computer mouse.
    Is anxiety a useless emotion that should be discarded and swept under the rug as quickly as jealousy, fear, or regret? Anxiety does not accomplish anything. And oftentimes, we become anxious about something for no good reason because it turns out all right in the end.
    Anxiety and guilt are two of those emotions that strike me far too often without rationality, and in the meantime, cause distress and plenty of other unpleasant emotions. So, that's our goal for the week. Stop letting anxiety and guilt take over, especially when they override rationality. Hopefully you found this slightly interesting, as far as my posts go, and I really hope that despite being a couple days late with this post, it was a little bit worthwhile for someone.

Life is short. Don't let the little things get to you.

Love Your Neighbor Day

I may have made that one up. Or maybe it really exists and is just on a different day. But it seems like the right message to send out at this juncture, so, love your neighbor today.
    Due to time constraints and feeling too tired to write much, I'm going to be a bit lazy this time, not writing a full post, but don't let that take away from the message here, dear readers. (I at least took the time to track down some good media for this post, if that can be permitted to assuage some my guilt at said laziness.)
   Stop being angry. Stop being vengeful. Stop being cynical. Stop being critical. Stop being resentful. Stop doing everything that hurts someone, especially if that someone is you. If everyone put a little more love out there, maybe the world wouldn't need saving all the time.
    We can't prevent these emotions all day, every day, but for a few minutes, let it all go. Need some inspiration?
    Just push play.

Dionne Warwick-What the World Needs Now

The Beatles-All You Need is Love

Love is all you need.

No Regrets

Most things seem to happen for no apparent reason at all. But some things work out perfectly every once in a while, as if by design. People who have regrets don't believe this. People who have regrets are also people who blame someone else for what happened to them.
    It may be childish or fantastical, but I think it's nice to think that some things happen for a reason, even if they don't work out the way you originally had in mind. We're only human and sometimes our design isn't fully thought out or doesn't take certain things into account. But the universe, whether you want to call it that, or God, or destiny, can see things from every angle and see the game 20 moves ahead. For this reason, the universe can arrange things to play out perfectly from time to time. Sometimes, it takes us some time to realize that it was for the best that things happened in such a way.
    Pessimists and regretful people have a tendency not to see things as having worked out for the best. Maybe it's self-importance, wanting things to go their way or the highway, or maybe it's just closed-mindedness, that if things didn't go a certain way, they went the wrong way. It's unfortunate, because if you only look at the world from that perspective, you end up missing out on some of the beautiful and amazing, if unexpected, things that happen.
    I find regrets to be a waste of time. Regrets mean that you focus on something that happened in the past, and if that is still eating away at you, weeks or months or years later, part of you is being wasted and consumed by something that shouldn't matter anymore. It only still has bearing on your life because you allow it to. While my life has certainly not gone according to any plans I made at any point--eight years ago, I was going to move to New York when I was 18 and be a writer, and that didn't happen--I can't say that I regret anything that's happened to me or that I've done.
    Other people, were they in my shoes, might regret some of the things in my life. I spent three and a half years on a degree that didn't help me get a job very easily. But I did get a job. A great job that I really enjoy. It has absolutely nothing to with my degree, but I never expected to go into philosophy after all. I expected to have a bachelor's degree, some more knowledge than I started with, and to be a more well-rounded person, and that's all true. So how can I possibly regret something that put me in a good place in my life, even if it took a little longer than expected? Answer: I don't.
    There are plenty of other things that could have thrown me off track and made me regret that they happened or changed me in a way I didn't want to be changed. But even all the bad things that have happened, all the things that went wrong thus far in my young life, put me where I am today and prepared me for other things I would face. They made me stronger, and for that, I can't really regret those things either. Even if they sucked when they happened, I can't really blame anyone for what happened, even if a person was the catalyst that caused that particular event to happen. Blame is a by-product of regret, and if you don't regret anything, you can't blame anyone for where you are today or what has happened to you up until now.
    As they say, you can't make an omelet without cracking a few eggs, and sometimes the things that don't go according to plan are the eggs that the universe breaks to help you make your omelet. (That came out so much cheesier than I meant it to, but oh well.) Next time something goes wrong, give it a chance to work itself out before automatically writing it off as the universe being out to screw you over again. That seemingly unfortunate, unexpected event may lead to something great.

Sing in the rain.

I Feel Way Too Old

Not only have I got a birthday coming up, dear readers, but I find myself complaining and scolding America's youth like someone 40 or 50 years my senior. These young kids these days, I tell you. Grading homework last night was positively brutal. Not only was I so exhausted I felt like my brain was disintegrating inside my skull, but I was doing an extremely mind-numbing and loathsome task that is fast disintegrating my hope for the future.
    These punk-ass kids, as my wonderfully witty and entertaining capstone seminar professor so aptly named them (or us, at the time), are doing absolutely nothing but wasting both their time in college and mine. If you're not going to actually try to do the homework, even to the point of mediocrity, why bother turning it in? Consistently getting 2s and 4s out of 10 points on homework is not going to help your grade that much. And the seriously abysmal ones always take so much longer to grade because I either: a) can't read their handwriting, b) can't figure out how they could have possibly gone so wrong, or c) can't find enough margin space to write everything that's wrong with their answer.
    It hit me last night, as my poor little brain was hanging on by a thread to both sanity and wakefulness, that these students are not just a bunch of punk-ass kids--they are the biggest group of underachievers I have ever encountered. I'm an achiever myself. So underachievers are, by definition, unacceptable and often useless human beings that are just sucking up too much oxygen and failing to recycle too many valuable resources.
    OK, that may be a bit harsh. But I do worry. Seeing so many underachievers--even in a class that may not be that enjoyable or useful to them--in one small corner of my microcosm worries me. This is the future of America's youth? I may as well move to Canada and be done with it. Why would you bother doing anything if you're not going to at least try to do well in it? Maybe you'll fail. But putting forth so little effort and still expecting to see results from it seems absurd.
    I don't know if the reason for this is laziness, lack of motivation, or just this mentality that if it's not easy, it's not worth it. I don't particularly care for this class that much either, but I'm still putting forth a substantial amount of time and energy to do well in it. I'm not doing an outstanding job, and I probably should be putting at least another hour or two's worth of time into it each week to be excelling in it, but I am doing the work. I am trying.
    Maybe I'm just venting because I was so inhumanly depleted of energy last night, and seeing what poor effort was put forth by these kids was so incredibly discouraging. But still, it has always baffled me that some people can be so blasé about things. Even if it's a class you hate, it's still part of your education, and if you value your education at all, it seems that you would have to put in a certain amount of work if you want to at least pass the class.
    I really hope these kids try to do something useful with their lives besides playing beer pong and video games for the next ten years out of their parents' basements. The world is in poor enough shape as it is without a bunch of underachievers bringing up the ranks of the new generation.

You've gotta ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya--punk?

-Harry Callahan in Dirty Harry

Feeling Carnivorous?

I think it's spring's fault. My 70-30 vegetarian diet went by the wayside all last week and part of this week already. Part of that is because over spring break, I worked full days and went out to lunch with the guys I work with, and inevitably had to order something meaty: pork, beef, chicken--I had some of everything. So today, in a small effort to try to make up for it, I ate nothing but what I like to call rabbit food for dinner--2 servings of salad and a vegetarian burrito.
    If you could have seen me 10 years ago, your jaw would have dropped in shock to see me eating salad, probably a burrito too. I was picky to the extreme when I was younger. I couldn't even eat the chunks of tomato in my spaghetti sauce, and now there are RAW tomatoes in my vegetarian burrito? WTF.
    Vegetarian wasn't even in my vocabulary back then, and I hated 90% of vegetables in any form up until about 5 years ago. Tomatoes went in ketchup and spaghetti/pizza sauce, nowhere else--not on my burger, not on my sandwich. Plain cheeseburger was my typical order at a burger restaurant. And at Subway, I'd order the meat, cheese, and bread, and maybe mayonnaise, but not a single vegetable at the end of the sandwich line. Lettuce tastes like paper, I thought (and still think so of iceberg lettuce). Potatoes were bland and inedible unless they came deep fried and in French fry form. And don't even get me started on broccoli.
    I ate like a five year old until I was in my late teens, mainly because I was allowed to, but also because I hadn't learned to like things that were good for me, and wasn't willing to try them. But now, I'll try most anything once. I regularly eat raw spinach, romaine lettuce, potatoes in any form (except instant), and even carrots. I still have a hard time with the broccoli, but considering the only real vegetables I used to eat were string beans and corn, I think this is a massive improvement.
    The origin of the 70-30 vegetarian diet happens to be because of my boyfriend. He used to eat steak, hamburgers, sushi, and other animal products like they were going out of style, but once he went vegetarian, I had to convert--at least a little bit. My self esteem would not allow me to continue to feel unhealthy and inferior every time I ordered a steak when he ordered a plate of spaghetti without meat sauce or meatballs. I got used to it. I even like some of the veggies. But every now and again, I have to have the pork tenderloin, the clam chowder, the gigantic mushroom burger with five pounds of cheese on it. And I'm okay with that.
    I refuse to go 100% vegetarian, however. Not only because I want that skewer of shrimp or barbecue ribs that just went by, but because the crap they try to give you to make up for not eating meat is just that: crap. Tofu is gelatinous. Boca burgers are edible, but incomparable to the real thing. And seitan--no way in hell. (Just ate some of that for the first time today: pork flavored rubber that chews like gristle. So, yeah, I'll pass.)
    So, while vegetarianism may be better for the environment, and more immediately, better for my cholesterol and my overall health, I'll do my best, but I can't commit to it. Vegetables are acceptable--some of them, anyway--but all meat substitutes should just stop trying.

You can have my burger when you pry it from my cold, dead fingers.

Rejection Can Be Good

    Rejection is hard--at first. You feel like you've been punched in the stomach, and the wind's been knocked out of you. Whether you submitted a story to a magazine and got a curt, succinct rejection letter, or asked someone new out on a date and they said they "aren't dating right now", or simply gave your poem to a friend to read and they hated it, I know that rejection is no fun. But it can be helpful. Maybe your story could use some more work. Maybe the person you asked out just got out of a bad relationship. And maybe your friend needs to learn how to give constructive criticism. That, or your poem really is bad.
    Learning to deal with rejection takes time, and it takes a lot of behavior modification. You have to learn that rejection isn't always personal. Sometimes it's just business. Other times, you can never know the whole story of what's going on in someone else's life to know whether their reasons for rejecting you are because of something having to do with them or something having to do with you.
    Dealing with rejection means you have to steel yourself, prepare for it. You have a 50-50 chance your story will be rejected; you have a 50-50 chance of getting the date, or not; and you have a 50-50 chance your friend will hate the poem. You have to recognize the situations in which you may possibly experience rejection as an outcome, and then prepare for it. Maybe it will turn out fine in the end, but knowing it may not, and preparing yourself for that, helps in coping with the rejection and not taking it personally (even if it is actually personal). 
    So, how is rejection good? It hurts. Steeled or not, it still hurts. It still shocks. It still sucks. But--you can learn from it. For anything that happens, if you can learn from it, then it wasn't completely pointless; it wasn't a complete waste of time; it wasn't all for nothing. What you may learn from that rejection will depend on the situation. You may learn you're a terrible poet, and you'll have to accept that. You could learn that you shouldn't ask people out who are of that personality type, no matter how much you like them.
    You could learn any number of things, but in order to do so, you cannot mope. You can't bitch and complain that nothing ever goes right. You can't beat yourself up about it. I've said it before, dear readers, and I'll say it again: shit happens. Rejection is just one of those shit things that happens sometimes.
    But if you never put yourself out there, if you never take some risks--you don't have to invest your life savings in the stock market or skydive out of an airplane at 20,000 feet to take risks--you'll never experience the rewards that do occasionally follow. Your story may get published. The person will say yes to dinner. Your friend thinks your poem is reminiscent of an early Robert Frost. Whatever the case may be, risks are a part of life, a part of humanity. Greatness was never achieved by playing it safe.

"Sometimes, you just have to say, 'What the fuck.' " (Joel-Risky Business)

"I'll Have What She's Having."

    Why do we want we can't have? You order the grilled salmon at the restaurant, but once your friend gets his 12 ounce sirloin steak, you wish you'd ordered the steak. You bought the 32" TV in good spirits, but when your neighbor buys the 48" television, you kick yourself for not spending the extra money on a bigger set. You love your dog, but you can't help wanting to get another one, a puppy that will be oh-so-cute for a few months, just because he's new and different. I think we're getting close to the heart of it here: novelty. [Note: Title of this post taken from a line from When Harry Met Sally. Haven't seen it? You should.]
    Novelty is the reason so many people have so much stuff and spend so much money and want even more. Well, I know that I already have the new I-Pod, but they just put out another newer one, with a touchscreen, and 50 GB with video last week. It only costs $500. I just bought new shoes yesterday, but that girl over there has these awesome-looking pumps that I think I have to have for... $200.
    We like new stuff--that's not news. But is it because it's new, or is it actually an improvement on what we now have? In some cases, we do need an update on something. The stereo only brings in the radio if you stand really close to it? It might be time for a new one. Or at least a new antenna. The jeans you're wearing have holes in them and so many patches you can't even tell where the original fabric is? You may want to invest in a new pair.
    However, it's not these cases that are the issue. It's the cases where you have something that's perfectly good, works fine, serves its purpose, you still enjoy using/wearing it, but the new one just came out, or a cooler looking one just came out, and even though it's way out of your budget, and completely unreasonable to spend that kind of money on it, something inside you tells you that you want it--not only want it, but have to have it. You may even feel like you can't live without it--it's just so much more convenient and user-friendly and better than what you have now.
    I'm guilty of this "grass is greener" mentality as much as the next person. I constantly want what the person next to me ordered, to the point that I mooch off their plate all night. I have bought clothes that I didn't absolutely need for the reason that they were trendier or prettier-looking than something I already had. It's always a frustrating boat to be in, not having something you want, or worse, not being able to afford something you really want. I know how lucky I am to be where I am in this world and have what I have. Some of it I've earned, some of it I've received due to the generosity of others, or with the help of others, but I am grateful for what I have. It's just that sometimes, I do want the new shoes, or that incredible-looking steak on my dinner companion's plate.
    Perhaps it's biology, or evolution, to want what we can't have. It keeps us working hard, doing more, trying to have more, trying to make ourselves cooler, sexier, more attractive, interesting, intelligent--even if it's only in appearance, and not in actuality. [Digression: Appearance actually seems to play quite a large role in evolution and adaptation from what I understand--though I'm no scientist.]
    While the reason for wanting what we can't have may remain a mystery, with only speculation available as some kind of answer to it, at the very least, if we can recognize that we want something for its novelty rather than its necessity, perhaps we can scale that impulse back a little bit. Learn to do without. It probably won't happen, but awareness is the first step on the path to change.

You can't always get what you want. [The Rolling Stones]

Waiting for Number Three

    When it rains, it pours. When it comes to little superstitions, I'm pretty much a sucker, despite my philosophical and extremely logical background. I won't pick up a penny that's upside down. I occasionally play the numbers from my fortune cookie in the Powerball drawing. And I do think that bad things seem to happen in threes. If not fours, fives, sixes, etc.
    Japan happened Friday morning (US time, anyway). I woke up to destruction and obliteration, essentially, on the Weather Channel, seeing cars and buildings completely destroyed and swept away by the tsunami. It really did look like the beginning of the end. While I really hope that it isn't, not yet, it certainly looked that way in the morning news, and indeed, all day.
    I spent a couple hours this evening with CNN, and got even more in-depth coverage of the horror and devastation that continues as the aftermath ensues. The nuclear plant situation was the most terrifying thing. And this is the carnage that I see on the American news--thousands of miles away; I can't even fathom the kind of images and bad news being reported to so many people who are going through and trying to recover from this disaster. (Visit the Red Cross to learn how you can help.)

Bad Thing Number One: Japan's earthquake and subsequent tsunamis.

Bad Thing Number Two: deathbeds. 

    While I won't get into the details of number two, as it's especially personal and painful to discuss, I'll just say that when the inevitable and imminent conclusion of this event obtains, for me, it will certainly rank as bad thing number two in my book, even if it only affects my little microcosm.
    As to bad thing number three, I can't say. It hasn't been revealed yet, as far as I can tell. But I have no doubt it will come to pass eventually. Sooner rather than later.
    So, if I didn't bring you down too much today and you're still reading this far, I'll give you a joke. And while it is a somewhat dirty joke, hopefully it won't seem disrespectful as a follow-up to the above content. Just trying to lighten things up, just a tiny bit.

A beautiful, long-legged blond woman walks into a bar. 

She sits down at the bar, and asks the bartender for a Double Entendre. 

So he gives it her. 

And that's it for me! You've been great! I'm outta here!

Seriously?

    One of the most frustrating encounters you can have with another human being is one in which they will listen to what you say, but still not take you seriously. "Not take you seriously" can mean many things: maybe they still think you're wrong; they think you have no idea what you're talking about; they are picking apart what you're saying and condescending you in their heads as you speak; they insist they know more, are right, or are better than you in one way or another.
    Not being taken seriously is humiliating. Not in the same way as discovering you're standing in a crowded room wearing only your underpants is humiliating, but humiliating in the sense that you are made to feel like your opinion doesn't matter, you don't know what you're talking about, you're little and your interlocutor is big, and worst of all--there's nothing you can do about it.
    Most people do not being the person who's condescended or not taken seriously, and yet we/they continue to condescend and not take seriously people on a regular basis. While some people do know better--your tax man knows whether you can deduct those peep-toe pumps as "work-related attire" or not--they sometimes forget that they are just as fallible as everyone else is. I know a lot about Microsoft Word, but I don't know every little minute detail. I learned something new just a couple weeks ago. I wouldn't say I'm an expert, I'm just quite familiar with it such that I could probably teach the basics to someone new to the program.
    Another example: Bank tellers are good at math, theoretically. They count and subtract and crunch numbers on their computers and calculators for people all day. But (we're getting to the crux of the episode, dear readers), mistaking WITHDRAWAL for DEPOSIT as a bank teller is a pretty big difference--perhaps a crucial difference in some cases. You say, for example: I would like to deposit $50 from this check into Account A, and cash the other $50 from the check. They agree, take your account number, and if all goes to plan, subtract that amount from the check and deposit that into the account, giving you the remainder of the check's value back in cash.
    Now, when the teller hands you $150 cash back, you may wonder, why am I getting 3 times as much as I asked for? And 50% more than my check was for? The teller must have made a mistake, you think. The teller must have heard withdraw when you said deposit. That's acceptable. People make mistakes. But when you say after this occurs: Excuse me, but I wanted to deposit $50 from my check, not cash it all and withdraw an additional $50 from my account, and the teller still insists they know better--"Oh, that's just the difference between them"--, that's not OK. $100 less in your account may be a pretty dramatic difference for some people.
    While the above scenario is a fictionalization of yesterday's excursion to the bank, I think it makes an important point. Make mistakes, learn from them, try not to do them again, but please--pretty please--don't make a mistake and not admit to it. Your mistake is costing me an extra 20 to 30 minutes of my time, and an extra couple bucks of extremely unaffordable gas in my car to come back to the bank to correct the mistake that you refused to correct when I was already there and caught it. It's not like I was belligerent about the error. I simply knew that something had gone awry and wanted to correct it so I would not have to make another trip. Perhaps I should have been more insistent that I shouldn't have had as much cash back as was given, and that might have saved me another trip--but my Tuesdays are rough, and by four in the afternoon, my brain is not in any shape to try to contradict people or argue with them articulately, even if my brain is still functional enough to register that something did go wrong in this particular transaction.
    Mistakes are tricky. We don't like to be put down for them, at least not too harshly. But when we make them, most people, or perhaps just people like me, like to know what they are so we can make sure they don't happen again. In any case, when I return to the bank, it'll be to another branch where hopefully the tellers are slightly more competent.

The "Fool me once" proverb does not apply here.

Spring, Sprang, Sprung

    I think I always liked spring better than fall. For one reason, school gets out in spring; while in fall, it's just beginning a whole new year. I like to see the flowers coming up--the irises were already pushing up a couple weeks ago in February here. A few trees around campus are getting leaves. I can't say I dislike spring more than fall for allergies, because I always seem to get them in both seasons. Spring is when I get to start bringing out my cute sandals and shoes, when I don't have to wear three layers of clothing anymore to survive the weather, and, I have a spring birthday.
    It seems that so many nice things happen in spring for me. The only thing about spring that isn't so nice happens at school. Yes, it does mean that school's almost out for three months, but it also means it's time to knuckle down. For some reason, the end of spring semester at school (in college, anyway) always seems to be much more exhausting and frustrating than the end of fall semester.

Crappy cell phone picture from two years ago :)

    It's possible that Spring Break causes this. Teachers have several weeks after break and before finals, so they have plenty of time to assign papers, projects, and excessively time-consuming assignments in this half of the semester. In the fall, Thanksgiving break (or fall break--as they seem to think is a more PC term...) occurs only about 2 weeks before finals. So teachers don't have the time (and, I might add, aren't permitted to) assign any large assignments or tests during the week prior to finals. In any case, the end of spring semester (subsequent to the break) always seems to cause more stress and cramming than any other time of the semester, even midterms and finals.
    I'm really hoping that this spring will be different. However, I have no syllabus for any of my classes that has concrete dates on it for anything except the final. I have no idea when my papers will be assigned, when my tests will be, or worst of all, whether they will all be due at the same time. Teachers must all run on the same wavelength when it comes to due dates, because they always want to assign something to be due at the exact same time as in other classes, or at least within a few days of each other, having no consideration or concern for the fact that, as much as they'd like to think otherwise, students do have other classes they're taking, and--gasp!--those other classes might be more important than their own class.
    There is a kind of hubris that I think you develop if you become a teacher. You find your subject incredibly interesting and relevant, so everyone else ought to, too. This is a mistake. In a class of 30 or 40 students, maybe 5 will enjoy it and appreciate it. It's probably less if it's a particularly unpleasant class like biochemistry or advanced calculus. While it may be a helpful subject or a required subject for some students, there are very few who will actually like it and commit any of it to long-term memory deliberately.
    Upon reflection, it looks like I've only taken 5 classes, out of 37 in my undergrad, that I actually liked. Now, this is classes only--I've had plenty of teachers that I liked. Most of the teachers I had, in fact, were good teachers. There was only maybe 1 each semester that wasn't. But considering I spent three and a half years in college for my BA, and I only liked a total of 5 classes that I took--that's only 1 semester's worth of classes, by the way--it seems like I mostly wasted a lot of time and money studying things that I didn't care for. While I may have learned a few things on the way, and met a few really interesting and intelligent people, that still seems like an unusually small percentage of my education spent on topics I enjoyed.
    While I can't say I regret my time as an undergrad, or even the degree I got (though it has done me little practical good so far)--I did enjoy being in school and taking those classes even if many were for the teachers rather than the subject matter--it is deeply troubling to consider the results of a college education. Its near inability to help me find a job, its expense, and the fact that, if I'd had more of a choice in my classes and still have been able to graduate on time, I probably would have taken a much wider variety of classes. I could have spent more time studying things that interested me rather than putting up with classes that I had to take for my major, or core credit.
    I guess the ball is in my college's court: College must redeem itself and give me a good reason to stay. If it doesn't, well, I guess I've some serious soul-searching to do...
    And, I'm sure you've noticed, I managed to digress--again. I edited out some of the even worse digressions before I published this one too. After all this, to return to my original topic, I'm glad it's getting to be spring. I'm hoping that spring fever will hit everyone and they'll be in such good moods, they'll be more flexible about due dates, extensions, and life in general.

Spring forward.

Creation - Destruction

Thought we'd go with a cheerier topic today. Sort of.
    We'll begin with creation. What does it mean to create? We can procreate. We can germinate plants from seeds. We can write, paint, sculpt, and perform many other artistic endeavors. We cook. We design our outfits and our homes. Even a paper airplane is creation. It's taking something ordinary, like a seed, a lump of clay, or a particularly nasty math assignment, and turning it into something beautiful, useful or enjoyable, like a flower, sculpture or paper airplane. Maybe they don't seem that great to everyone, but we can feel that little bubble of joy that surfaces when we do something new and creative. Creation is a necessary component for many of us to continue to function in a non-hostile way towards everyone else. Creation makes us feel special and important, and sometimes, when we have the compulsion to create, creation is one of the only things that can make us feel normal in the face of chaos, frustration, and things beyond our control.
    As human beings, having a sense of control is a priority. It's evolutionary, in a sense. You lose control, you fall off the cliff and die, or get lost in the woods and eaten by the tiger. Having control over ourselves and our surroundings has gotten to the point where we have black-out shades so we can sleep when it's daylight out, and web browsing on our cell phones so we can always know what the temperature is in Phoenix even though we live in Chicago.
    Having control isn't a bad thing. It gives us a sense of stability in a constantly changing world. Control is useful. But creativity is a greater result of being ego-maniacal control freaks. While being a control freak creates order and stability for you--one person--creativity can affect and give enjoyment to many people. Creativity links us to others outside ourselves in a unique way. And creating positive things, for the benefit of others as well as yourself, can only be a good thing.
     And looking at the other side of things, it is perhaps paradoxical that destruction often gives us the same kind of satisfaction that creation does. Stomping through a pile of dead leaves in Fall is immensely gratuitous and self-serving, destroying the crunchy leaves with our shoes, but we do it anyway. Burning a fire, adding more and more wood, destroying the logs, fiber by fiber, is enjoyable not only for warmth or light, but perhaps also for how amazed we all are once we burned through the whole woodpile, and yet all that remains is a small mound of ashes and mostly destroyed, blackened logs.
    While, semantically, it sounds much better to create than destroy, some things maybe should be destroyed. Atomic weapons, for one. In any case, you should always create, unless your creation causes more harm than good. Like Molotov cocktails. Create positively, and create with the same joy and passion that a child builds a fort out of sofa cushions.

Rome wasn't built in a day.