Some postman is gonna cry.

I have lived in seven different dwellings here in Provo. In that time, I have seen a lot of misdirected mail. I am always most surprised when bank statements or other official looking mail comes for people who moved years ago. If it looks especially important, I'll mark 'Moved' on it and send it back, but otherwise I'll just trash it. That's probably illegal or something, but I really don't have time to deal with all of the catalogs and insurance advertisements that end up in my mail box.

I have never wanted my personal information hanging out on somebody's coffee table, so in most cases I have always used my parent's address and opted for online notifications where ever possible. I think it's worked pretty well (although for all I know there could be a trail of junk mail with my name on it all across Provo).

Since I feel like my move to Arizona (at the end of this week!) will be pretty permanent, I have been actually updating my address at my bank, on my license and a few other places. This makes me feel very grown up.

I am also now an organ donor. All I had to do was check a box. I'm not sure how I feel about this, but all I had to do was check a box, and I couldn't not do it. So there it is.

I feel like "ADULT" is now stamped in red letters across my forehead. Except in a non-XXX sort of way.

Conversation with Martin about the census.

Martin: Hey, are you including yourself on your census?
Or should I put you on mine?
It says as of April 1, so I thought I would check

Me: Um, there's a thing that says census in a pile of crap on the bookcase.

Martin: Yes.

Me: So... chances are I will not be on it.

Martin: Okay.

Me: I don't really care though.

Martin: !
Haven't you seen the commercials?

Me: Nobody cares about censuses except for lame history geeks.
Also, no I haven't, what commercials?

Martin: The economy will collapse, volcanoes will erupt, and Hitler will come back to life if you don't do it!
And also, it's illegal to ignore it.
Plus, you are a lame history geek.

Me: Yeah, it says that on the envelope.

Martin: You thought you would test it?

Me: What are they gonna do?
Send someone to everyone's door asking questions about the census?!
Wait... there might be something to that...

Friday Reflection: Our Cultural Shorthand.

Last semester in one of my classes, the professor asked about the the meaning behind a student's shirt. I glanced at it and immediately understood it was a ThunderCats t-shirt. My professor, on the other hand, had assumed it must have been some sort of sports thing.

A brief discussion established that the ThunderCats were smack in the middle of a pop-culture blind spot for our professor. He was too old to have watched the show, and his kids were too young. He had no reason to be exposed to it, and therefore did not understand a symbol that most in our class could instantly identify.

I wonder what kind of pop-culture references I miss simply because I am unaware of them. Often I recognize when a allusion is made that I don't understand. For example, I am 85% likely to not understand a Simpsons reference. My mom didn't like the show and discouraged us from watching it while I was growing up.

What references I do catch are based on more recent exposure, and I'm not sure I really grasp the depth of the cultural bond. It's not something that comes naturally to me, but rather something I've made a conscious decision to be aware of. Am I really participating in the shared cultural understanding if I've only skimmed the Wikipedia article?

I fear I have an even larger blind spot that I'm not even aware of, primarily because most of the friends I've made while at BYU are Mormon. There is a large portion of media that we, as a group, limit our exposure to. This leads to a myriad of things that I don't even realize I don't understand.

I watched the Godfather for the first time a while ago. Suddenly a million little references and quotes and parodies floating around in my head made sense. I did not understand the deep roots this film has in our popular culture until I actually experienced the source material.

So the question is: Am I okay with this lack of understanding? In the last year or so, I've attempted to delve into some of the prolific material that I've previously abstained from. And the thing is, not all of it is worth understanding. Some of it is complete crap. I honestly wish I didn't know why people chuckle when someone says “This one time, at band camp...”

Another example: having noticed several mentions of the new show Archer around the internet, I watched several episodes so I could be conversant in this up-and-coming popular cultural element. And while the show is funny, and people have been taking about it, it's also pretty dirty.

I need to find a balance. How much am I willing to miss out on, culturally? How much am I willing to expose myself to, personally? These are easy decisions to make after the fact; the trick is knowing where the line is before I cross it.

Target Practice

"I used to bull's-eye wombats in my T-16 back home. They're not much bigger than two meters." -Luke Skywalker

I think Luke was simply horrible to shoot at these adorable creatures. I think this was clearly a sign of a troubled childhood. No wonder he grew up to join some mystical religious cult.

Friday Reflection: A Two Way Street

My sister Martin and I chat online nearly every single day. She sits at her desk all day doing her boring government job, so when I sign in she gets really excited. I'm pretty sure I am the best part of her day.

Actually, I wonder how close I would be with any of my sisters if it weren't for the internet. Any of my return missionary friends will tell you I'm crap at writing letters. Also, I'm just not big on talking on the phone. I've gotten better at it, but for the most part I don't do chatty phone calls.

A friend of mine moved back home for the summer after her first year away at college. She ended up getting really stir-crazy, and her solution was to get me to entertain her. She used to call all the time just to chat. This was problematic for me because, while I wouldn't necessarily mind chatting for ten minutes, there was no finite cap on the chat-time. She'd keep me on the phone forever even when we had nothing to say.

I ended up coming up with lame excuses to get her off the line. I had to go switch my laundry, or a neighbor had just knocked on the door. These sounded more reasonable than the truth: that I'd really rather go back to reading my book or napping or whatever non-activity I had been involved with when she called. The problem was she'd just call back a day or two later to 'finish our conversation.'

Eventually I confessed to her my discomfort about the telephone. We came up with a code phrase I could use to let her know that while I still liked her as a person, I would rather break every bone in my ankle than remain on the telephone any longer. (For the record, I am irrationally terrified of breaking my ankle.) The phrase, for some reason, was "I have to go save my cat from the garbage disposal." This is weird. I know.

Anyway. Thank goodness for the internet. Without it, I'd probably only talk to my sisters a few times a year. And heaven knows they make my life more exciting. How else would I have gotten through these past years of living in Utah of all places?

(That one was for you, Martin.)

Friday Reflection: The Curious Incident

A friend and I were making final decisions about the various clothing items we had collected when I recognized the musical strains floating through the deserted store as a song I had recently become enamored with (White Sky by Vampire Weekend). After exclaiming to my companion about the awesomeness of the song, we proceeded to the check out stand where the obviously bored clerk seemed excited by the prospect of interacting! With real humans!

Apparently, Wednesday morning is not a busy time for the retail world.

She was pretty talkative and commented at one point on how weird the store's music was. Having just mentioned to my friend how I liked the current song, I felt obligated to defend it as one of my recent favorites. She looked flustered for a second before admitting that maybe this song was okay, but there was some definitely weird stuff in the store's musical selection. To prove her point she cited a particular song that went on about handstands and strawberries. I got inside-excited at this point because I knew she was referring to Bruises by Chairlift. It's an adorable song I happened across a while ago that has since made its way into many a playlist in my collection. I asked if that was it, and she admitted it was. Instead of being embarrassed about having accidentally-maybe-backhandedly insulted a customer's musical proclivities twice, she launched into a giggly, chipmunk-style rendition of the song; a humorous way of defending her perception of the song without arguing with me about my opinion. Nicely done.

It was a weird interaction, especially considering I try to not make eye contact with people I don't know, and rarely engage in chit-chat with cashiers. Way to go Marni from Old Navy, you managed to drag me out of my shell. Plus, you made me feel capable of conversing about music, which I typically don't consider myself informed enough to do.

Friday Reflection: Well Done, Sister Suffragette.

As a history major, I've had a lot of opportunity to think about women in history. There seems to be two different categories: women who did things and became famous because they were women, and women who did things and became famous because of those things.

I'll give you two examples. Elizabeth Blackwell was the first acknowledged female to be awarded an M. D.. What she did (going to medical school) is significant because she was a woman. Nellie Bly was a journalist who committed herself to an insane asylum to report on conditions for patients. What she did (pioneering investigative journalism) is significant despite her gender.

I have tendency to disregard the Elizabeth Blackwells as somehow less important than the Nellie Blys. I think this is partly because in some warped version of feminism, I try to eliminate gender as a factor in historical context. Many men had studied medicine and it was no surprise that a woman could do so as well. Blackwell was no more special or talented than the men who preceded her or the thousands of women who have since become doctors. The fact that we celebrate her accomplishment more than others seems sexist to me. "Oh wow! A woman doctor! That's something you'd never expected to see! What a curiosity!"

This, of course, is ridiculous. One of the hardest lessons I have learned is that history does not exist in a vacuum. I can't just eliminate factors and variables because my modern perspective tells me they should be insignificant. Blackwell lived in a time when societal gender roles placed enormous limitations on opportunities for women in the professional world, and Blackwell lead the way for all those who followed in her footsteps.

Women's history is tricky because of the limited resources we have to study them. I guess another aspect I have trouble with is how the few women we do know about seem overrepresented. What about the countless other unnamed women from the past who have made significant contributions to the narrative of history? Why on earth do we celebrate Betsy Ross (allegedly) sewing a simple flag when there are so many women who must have made more substantial contributions to the Revolutionary War? And the simple answer is that we can't celebrate those things that we don't know about. So maybe we can celebrate these unknown women symbolically through the few we do know. I think I'm okay with that.

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.