Friday Reflection: A New Leaf?

Freshman year of high school I had an amazing English teacher who challenged me in every aspect of her class. Every week we had to submit three short "journal entries" that could be on whatever topic we chose. The next week we would get them back with two grades—one for grammar and one for content. I still have no idea what her grading criteria were, but they frustrated me to no end.

Admittedly, I usually cranked these reflections out three-at-a-time during my lunch period every Friday (I never was one for planning ahead). That probably explains why I never got 'A's on my grammar, but the content grades drove me nuts. Since she gave us no criteria for what to write on, I had no clue what to say. But I knew I had to write them. In my attempts to sound sophisticated and win that content-based A, I inevitably ended up with rambling, childish attempts to say something significant and poignant. I think I missed the point, really.

I wasn't supposed to be recording earth-shattering revelations that would paint the world in a new light for readers. I was just supposed to get used to writing. Whether I used the space to recall thoughts, foster new ones, or just entertain my reader, writing was the key. Taking an idea and putting it into words. As I look back, I regret wasting that opportunity by cramming it into a half-hour of frantic typing each week.

I keep thinking I should use this blog to do more writing. Truth be told, I'm still not sure I have anything worth while to say. But the ability to express my thoughts is important to me, so I'm going to try something new. One reflection a week, posted on Fridays. I'll try to keep the length between 300 and 500 words. I invite anyone reading this to join me. If you do, let me know, I'd love to read your stuff! I promise not to leave comments grading you based on grammar OR content.

My Two-hundredth Post

I was named after a childhood friend of my mother. I've only met her a few times. This is her.



I know a few things about her. For one, she's a ballet dancer. Or was. She came to visit once when I was really young. She gave me a musical spinning ballerina figurine. It was a fragile thing to give a young child, so my mom hid it away in the back of her closet. Sometimes I used to sneak in and wind it up and look at it. I wonder what happened to it.



Also, she's deaf. She's really good at lip reading and vocalizing. I can't imagine the difficulties of being a dancer without being able to hear the music.

I was googling her today. I found out her middle name is Sue. Also, she's an artist. This is one of her... paintings? drawings? I'm not really sure.



Anyway, I think it's pretty cool.

But it's strange to me that there's this woman I'm supposed to have some sort of connection with. I don't know her at all.

My One-hundred-and-ninety-ninth Post

So as many of you know, my little sister Faybe got married a year ago.

Yep, that's her and her hubby. This week she told me that she's pregnant. This is exciting news, of course. It also means that 3 out of 3 of my married siblings are having babies in 2010 (and 0/3 of my unmarried siblings are, for the record). Congrats, you guys.

But it seems my family are not the only ones obsessed with babies in 2010. Does anyone else find the concept of the upcoming movie Babies a little disturbing?



It pretty much just documents the lives of four babies for their first year of life. So the audience can see how cute they are. That's basically it. The title pretty much says it all. Weird.

My One-hundred-and-ninety-eighth Post

After our family moved to Tucson, Faybe and I always shared a room together. It made complete sense logistically to group us together, and we never had many major line-down-the-middle-of-the-room problems, aside from her strange affinity for a 101 Dalmatians poster that I could not abide.



We stuck together until Martin moved out and Faybe claimed her own little cave of a room on the opposite side of the house. Which was fine--we were both glad to have our own space for some of those dramatic teenage years.

After she moved out, my mom and I began a summer-long remodel of what was now my room. We pulled out the brown speckled shag carpet and laid wood floors. We stripped the popcorn off the ceiling and replastered it. We put up base boards and moulding. We planned and painted and decorated. It turned out pretty nice, if I do say so myself.

But here's the thing. When I come home to visit I stay in the same room I've slept in since I was 11, but it is not the room of my childhood. It's different. And sometimes I wish I could go back to visit. I miss that gross shag carpet and that stupid poster. I miss staying up talking with Faybe until we drifted off listening to my cassette tape collection.



But when all is said and done, I supposed I'm grateful for the big, soft, fluffy bed (which I'm currently stretch out across). It makes reminiscing so comfortable. The squeaky twin bed of yore would be much less conducive to my nostalgia.

My One-hundred-and-ninety-seventh Post

For the last several weeks I've been trying to come up with something clever to say about the similarities in names of

Rob Pattinson:

and Pat Robertson:


I mean, there's got to be a pun or a play on words or something in there. Right?

No? To much of a stretch?

My One-hundred-and-ninety-sixth Post

Many food blogs have recipes recommendations at the bottom of their posts. These can be similar food items, complimentary menu ideas, or sometimes throw backs (recipes that were featured on the same day in years pasts, for example). I like this concept, because it gives me pointed direction into the archives of a site that might otherwise be overwhelming.

Our Best Bites is one of my favorite food blogs. I frequent a lot of these types of blogs, but this one just speaks to me. The thing is, I can't figure out for the life of me how they determine their end-of-post recommendations. I was looking at a recipe for breadsticks today, and this was at the end:


Um, this cracks me up. None of these recipes is logically connected to breadsticks: they're not bread recipes, general baking recipes, Italian recipes, or even basic side dish recipes. So, I might like these suggestions based on... what criteria, exactly? That I appear to be a carbon-based lifeform that likes food? "Mangoes" isn't even a recipe! It's an ingredient!

The widget the site is using is LinkWithin, which claims it will help you "link to related stories from your blog archive." Methinks it still needs some work, though

My One-hundred-and-ninety-fifth Post

International titles of the television show Growing Pains, translated:

China: The Frustrations of Growing Up
Taiwan: Happy Family
France: What Is New, Doctor?
Germany: Our Loud Home
Italy: Parents In Blue Jeans
Japan: Happy Seaver's Family
Latin America: Ouch! How Painful Is Growing Up
Poland: Our Kids, Trouble and Us
Spain: The Problems Grow
Sweden: Dad Knows Best

My One-hundred-and-ninety-fourth Post

So the clock on my computer likes to do this weird thing. It kind of just keeps adding new numbers on top of the old ones instead of replacing them. Like this:



Isn't that amusing? I think that deserves a blog post all by itself.

I'm to lazy to look it up / fix my clock most of the time, so I often don't know what time it is while I'm on my computer. It's easiest just to ask someone else. I've recently started asking who ever I'm chatting with about the time. Most people just tell me, but some people are mean about it. People like my sister Martin.

Martin: Get a watch.
Me: :| But I have a computer, which is awesomer.
Martin: But apparently can't tell you the time.
Me: Did I :| you yet?
Martin: Yes?
Me: I don't think I did.
Me: :|

My One-hundred-and-ninety-third Post

Things my sister Martin has promised if I move in with her after I graduate (compiled by searching our chat history for the phrases "if you lived here," "if you lived with me," "if you moved to Phoenix," etc):

• She will no longer be the de facto favorite sister/aunt just because she lives significantly closer to the family than I do.
• She will watch any past, current, or future Terminator movies with me.
• She will always have pie for me.
• She will let me use her Blu-Ray player, giant TV, and StarGate Blu-Ray any time I want.
• She will give me her laptop.
• She will let me get a puppy or kitty.
• She will let me make chicken noodle soup for her.
• She will let me scare off her friends by alienating them with threatening text messages.
• She will eat my baked goods.
• She will bake me chocolate round cake, with strawberries in the middle.
• She will expect me to keep cake in the house at all times.
• She will make sure my birthday is way cooler than it has been in Provo (metaphorically, not temperature-wise).
  
• She will buy me a couch that I can keep in her dining room.
• She will not protect my stuffed squirrel army from her cats.
• She will switch to a 2 bedroom apartment.
• She will not allow any of my stuff out of my room because it will clash with her "pretty decor".
• She will buy a fancy set of cookware.
• She will share her pumpkin spice cake with me.
• She will visit me from work.
• She will let me live with her rent free if I kill any scorpions we encounter.
• She will provide me with tortillas
• She will write scary limericks on her food to warn me not to eat it.
• She will provide me with peaches.
• She will take me to the grocery store or, realistically, give me her car keys.
• She will hide all the good food in her closet.
• She will play with me except during homework time and actual work time. Mostly just for a few hours in the evening and on weekends.
• She will support me / let me mooch off her.
• She will never have to throw away her Australian liquorice.
• She will let me eat ice cream for dinner every day.
• She will help me conduct a controlled study to compare the ice cream experience of Provo with that of Phoenix.
• She will feed me black beans, rice, chicken, salsa, corn, cheese, and sour cream.
• She will have instant access to my DVD collection and vice versa.

Many of them involve food, which is fairly indicative of our relationship, I think. Some of these are incentives to move there, and some are deterrents. Some of them are bizarre and can not rightly be classified as a incentive or deterrent. Also, some are contradictory.

What do you think? Should I accept her proposal? Or wait and see what else she's willing to offer?

My One-hundred-and-ninety-second Post

So I dyed my hair blonde last night...



But I think something went wrong.