Awesome, part 2

In other news, Martin bought some new furniture recently. We needed to move the old couch out of the way before the new stuff got delivered, so we decided it should go in the library (as I am pretentiously calling the upstairs loft area). When I realized this would entail carrying a couch UPSTAIRS, I was trying to think of who I could call to help me.

I would like to point out that Martin is a featherweight. Like, a complete pansy. As she would say, "I have muscles, they're just not very big." So having her help me was kind of out of the question. I figured I'd have time to come up with something before the delivery date, which wasn't going to be for a while.

But. Yesterday the store called us and told us our new furniture had come in early, and could they deliver it that night? Eek!

But you know who's awesome? Martin! We totally carried a couch. Upstairs. By ourselves!

Awesome.

Wine Key?

My new job requires me to carry this at all times:



However, as of yet, they do not require me to know what it is for or how to use it.

Conversations Among Sisters.

So I'm thinking about trying to possibly get around to maybe looking for a job now that I'm officially settled in. As part of this, I've been working on my résumé.

Yesterday I asked my eldest sister, Mean Mommy, to look over portions of it and give me some advice. Apparently she and Martin were chatting at the same time because...

Martin: Why are you having [Mean Mommy] help with your résumé?

What, my expertise isn't good enough for you?

Me: Nope.

What kind of jobs have you ever gotten with your résumé?

She was clearly the better choice here

Martin: What?

I have a job!

She didn't need her resume for having kids!

Me: :)

I continued my chat with Mean Mommy in the other window...

Me: Martin says having kids isn't a job

And requires no skill

Mean Mommy: :|

Me: I know! I'm so glad I didn't ask her to help.

Mean Mommy: Yeah. She has a crappy 'government' job. Who wants that?

I can only imagine the conversation held between them after that, but soon enough...

Martin: Tattling on me?

Me: I thought [Mean Mommy] should know what you really think of her.

Martin: I just said she didn't need a resume.

Not that having kids wasn't a job.

Which it isn't.

me: !

Anyway. Apparently I like sewing seeds of discord.

And also posting private conversations without getting permission first.

Or asking forgiveness after, for that matter.

My legacy?

Googling my name is way less awesome than it used to be. There used to be a clunky little webpage for a book club I was in. There used to be a passing reference to me in my school district's newsletter describing me as an AP scholar with distinction. There used to be a list titled "People I fre@kin Love" on the personal website of an old friend; I was one of those fre@kin people. Now all of those things have disappeared.

Also, my name used to be mine. Now there is some new chick with my name popping up everywhere. She must have gotten married recently, 'cause she didn't exist before. Now she's all the sudden #1! I've been me my whole life, but she gets the first result! With her MySpace of all things! (Outrage!)

There are only four actual references to me anymore. One is my Facebook profile, two are comments I've made about the 100 Hour Board, and one is a credit for a short film project I "acted" in. That is apparently all the Internet knows about me.

I am unlikely to go around posting things under my full name just to change this, though. I should feel lucky for what I do have. Most people don't have a name uncommon enough to google themselves anyway.

I guess I am resigned.

But still.

Bummer.

The Distracting Artful Edit.

I recently read somewhere that "it is hard to say what you really mean without having another go - an indulgence daily life seldom allows." [Be more specific about source? Is link necessary?]

I think this is one of the reasons I like digital mediums for communication so much. [Reconsider word choice: "mediums for communication"?] I can take time to decide what I want to say, punch it up with some witty humor, revise and rethink, and then when I am finally satisfied, publish hit send. Of course, sometimes I still say something dumb, but at least there are a few extra safeguards to keep my foot out of my mouth.

I don't have a major problem talking to good friends in person. For one, they know me well enough to still like me even if I say something ridiculous, and I will eventually have a chance to correct any errant assumptions they logically derive from my thoughtless assertions. [wordy; consider simplifying]

But around strangers, I get flustered. As we know, some people's good opinions once lost, are lost forever [Pride and Prejudice reference? Really necessary?]. Sometimes I start talking just because I feel inclined pressured to say something, and end up saying something I don't mean at all. Or I say something that makes sense in my head, but to a newcomer uninitiated to the inner workings of my twisted mind, it is altogether senseless. Sometimes I'll even end up deliberately saying something completely contrary to my own opinion just to push the conversation forward in an interesting direction. [insert humorous incident here]

Texting, IMing, blogging, and emailing all give me a chance to reflect before I commit myself to speaking (though I admit I may not always take advantage of that opportunity). While I find this enormously comforting, I worry it means I have even less practice expressing myself in true conversation. [Are so-called "digital" conversations less valid?] Maybe it's a crutch, but one I can't really separate myself from.

And now, for lack of a better way to end this post, a baby eating its own foot:



[Baby ending = cop out. Reconsider a solid closing paragraph that will bring post to an obvious conclusion about ideas discussed.]

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.)