Happy Halloween, everyone!

We're doing a Wizard of Oz costume theme at work. We have a Glinda, a Dorothy, a Toto, and the Tin Man will be coming in this afternoon. Even though people might think I'm the Wicked Witch, I know that actually I am Elphaba, which means I rock.

What's everyone else being for Halloween?

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Because purple-faced is the new sexy

Am actually quite excited to hit the gym tonight. I started back up last week and it is doing very good things for my mental state. I find that in those first 48 hours after some cardio, I am less likely to start with the voodoo curses and the body-checking and car-running-over of old slow women who just won't get out of the way. Which is a good thing, I feel.

I also really like my gym. It was about time to get back there, since they'd actually moved locations while we were On A Break and I didn't even realize it. I go to Planet Fitness, which is dead cheap and where you can be thrown out for grunting. Which I think is pretty much awesome. I wish there were more places in the world that would throw people out for obnoxious, "hey, look at me" behavior. I bet people would actually start thinking about what they're doing if at any moment they could be handed a "Yeah . . . Get Out" ticket by some kind of Grand Righteous Hall Monitor.

This gym isn't a meat market, but it's not the rec center either where you have to fight packs of glaring middle-aged women for the right to use one of the 2 available ellipticals. There may be 3 ellipticals, but you can be sure that one of them is always out of order or creaking/shaking/smoking in some suspicious and possibly evil way. My gym has loads and loads of new machines and you never have to wait for one.

Plus I feel comfortable there. People aren't trying to impress each other. So I don't have to feel like I should feel self-conscious about using an old MP3 player instead of an iPod. Or listening to not-cool-at-all booty-shaking music. Or not wearing nice workout clothes, since I understand that you must give tradespeople money in order to acquire such things. I also don't work out in thongs or fake boobs, because I actually like myself.

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The Gauntlet begins.

The series of battles of wits, writing might and luck shall commence tomorrow. Legions, wish me utmost luck.

PS: I'm referring it to The Diabolical A Levels, if you are oblivious.

*gathers my mental strength and prepares for War*

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Depths of despair

So on Saturday I threw Cicada's bridal shower, in which many, many things went perfectly right:

The food was fabulous.

Lovely people like Jenny and Daltongirl and Ambrosia helped out.

I got to meet Cicada's darling mom.

We didn't play one single lame shower game, on account of I am against those and Cicada didn't want them anyway.

Cicada bought Jenny and me presents for hosting the thing. Which just goes to confirm that Cicada is one who puts the class in classy. (As opposed to people who include registry and/or other money-grubbing information in their wedding invitations. For said people's contribution, simply remove the c and the l.)

The problem is that after we got everything set up I was going to take pics of the food but realized that I left my camera in the car and couldn't find my keys. And then guests started showing up and I got all busy. At the end of the shower, when everything had been devoured, I realized that I never got my pictures. And that it was everlastingly too late. I kind of wanted to shoot myself in the face at that point, since I was SO excited to take the pictures and show the Internet my moment of domestic goddessity.

So instead I'll have to tell you what we had and you'll have to just imagine it. I feel like such a failure, even if the food did kick trash.

Cream of Pumpkin Soup

Crusty rosemary bread

Cheese tray of Chevre, Camembert, and Irish Cheddar

Veggie platters with Green Goddess Dip (not the exact recipe)

Chocolate cupcakes with Nutella filling and chocolate hazelnut frosting, rolled in crushed toasted hazelnuts (Jenny made these because she is the best)

Archer Farms Italian soda, brought by Daltongirl
(blood orange is my favorite!)

So yeah. See why I'm sad?

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Been a while.

Since I have experienced the exhilrating sensation of good live music, especially metal. I shall head down to Fort Canning to chill around and listen (yes, I intend to save for future black/viking/folk metal gigs) to Black Sabbath, sans Ozzy though. But I heard Dio could pull off a great show nonetheless, so it's good.

Let me feel the power of metal! Too fucking long since I have had that extremely pleasant feeling of being a metalhead, ever since Slipknot anyway. But Slipknot. Meh. They are like, sigh, nevermind. Haha!

Darf, the wonderous She-Viking has took the immense courage and drive to email various reputable folk/viking bands, requesting their eminent presence here in Singapore. I hope it will turn out well, then it will be heaven. Thank you, Darf!

Other things-wise, I have nothing much happening really. Everyday is wake up, thinking what to study, procrasinate for a while, does the actual studying for half the day, and goes online. 20 odd days of that shit lifestyle and I will be done. Can't wait for freedom. Can't wait for a proper Ling flourishing video. Can't wait to read all the books I wanted. Can't wait to watch the films I wanted. Can't wait to learn proper meditation. Can't wait to go back to JC and scorn the rest of their probable future mugging miseries. Can't wait to move on in life to University. The list is endless.

Felicity, my lower secondary class, will be holding a 2 D 1 N chalet at Changi in December. Sweet Sherlock. My chance to visit the OCH and the nearby wilderness, and the changi beach too, just to relish The Mayhem Meetup Experience in 2006. Hehe. :P I shall saunter around.

I ran out of things to say, haha.

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How to be a bleeding-heart pinko commie treehugger

Because really, who doesn't want that? Y'all remember how much I loved Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver. My book group is reading it this month and I can't wait to chat about it--seems like at least one other member is liking it too.

A few weeks ago on the PUBLIB listserv (for public libraries & librarians) one member asked for ideas about consumerism-type books, as her library's book club wanted to read one. And oh, did people respond. We're librarians, remember? Asking us for book recommendations is pretty much like throwing prime chum in the water next to both seals and surfers.

I figured I would get the list up here so that anyone who may want to be considered for membership at our future hippie compound in Montana (other members: Daltongirl and Sakhmet, who is pushing for a milder climate, which I can get behind). can get caught up on the syllabus. And possibly also so that I don't lose the list.

The Travels of a T-Shirt in the Global Economy: An Economist Examines the Markets, Power and Politics of World Trade, Pietra Rivoli.

Not Buying It: My Year Without Shopping, Judith Levine

Affluenza: The All-Consuming Epidemic, John de Graffe, et al

Fast Food Nation, Eric Schlosser

Why We Buy: The Science of Shopping, Paco Underhill

Nickel and Dimed: On (not) Getting By in America, Barbara Ehrenreicht

No Logo: Taking Aim at Brand Bullies, Naomi Klein

Shock Doctrine: Rise of Disaster Capitalism, Naomi Klein

A Year Without “Made In China”: One Family’s Adventures in the Global Economy, Sara Bongiorni

How Starbucks Saved My Life: A Son of Privilege Learns to Live Like Everyone Else, Michael Gates Gill

Bittersweet : the story of sugar, Peter Macinnis

Consumed: How Markets Corrupt Children, Infantilize Adults, and Swallow Citizens Whole, Michael Norton

Omnivore's Dilemma, Michael Pollan.

Crunchy cons: the new conservative counterculture and its return to roots, Dreher 2006 (psst! This one is about conservatives who eat organic vegetables without shame!)

American Mania: When More is Not Enough, Whybrow 2005

Consuming religion: Christian faith and practice in a consumer culture, Miller 2005

Don't get too comfortable: The Indignities of Coach Class, The Torments of Low Thread Count, The Never- Ending Quest for Artisanal Olive Oil, and Other First World Problems, Rakoff 2005

Exporting America: Why Corporate Greed is Shipping American Jobs Overseas, Dobbs 2004

I want that! : how we all became shoppers, Thomas Hine

The Long Tail: Why the Future of Business is Selling Less of More, Chris Anderson

The Tipping Point: How Little Things Can Make a Big Difference, Malcom Gladwell

The Wisdom of Crowds, James Surowiecki

Waste and Want: A Social History of Trash, Susan Strasser

And really, this is a whole nuther blog post in the making (so, you know, gird up your loins for that one) but I really do not understand what the deal is with conservatives and the environment--or, I should say more specifically, with Mormons (who tend to be politically conservative) and the environment.

Is it because we believe in the Last Days and so there's really no need to bother preserving the earth because it's just going to get all burned up anyway?

Does living in Utah and other wide-open spaces make us feel like there's always going to be more of everything and if there isn't then that's not our problem?

Is it because conservation and the environment are frequently supported by the politically liberal, and we should never believe anything the liberals say about anything, including things like "Hi, my name is Bob" and "My, the sky looks hazy today." Probably this whole environmentalism thing is just a trick to get us running abortion clinics out of our garages.

And guess what else? I don't care if global warming turns out to be fake. Seriously. I absolutely do not care. It will not change the way I feel about my responsibilities and my feeling that I should be trying to make the world a better place rather than squeezing every last bit of use from it and leaving nothing for the people who come after me. And it's funny that more LDS people (and Christians in general) don't talk about this, considering what we are taught about exactly those ideas: stewardship, responsibility, moderation, unselfishness, preparation, priorities. If you need scriptural evidence, look at what God told Adam when he gave him stewardship over the earth. Look at the parable of the talents. It's right there.

Aaaand possibly I won't be needing that second blog post now. Woops.

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Pretty sure I need this

It's a new shirt over at Threadless, and it is my new favorite thing.



Nice, huh?

I probably owe you all an apology. I've been pretty distracted lately on account of work stuff. Which I know is amazingly lame of me since it's not like I'm being a cool spy or anything who gets to wear all the different outfits and wigs and then make out with Michael Vartan. (Or am I . . . ) It's like when Sydney Bristow would be all whining about her masters program and I'd yell "Shut UP already! Where is Vaughn? Why isn't Vaughn here now and speaking the French and making me shake the windowpanes with my squeals???" As I'm sure you did, too.

All I'm actually doing is running a library and being a lone reed. And even though there are stories there that would have you writing your congressional representatives, I can't actually tell them if I want to keep this job. But I can say that I'm working on making this place amazing beyond belief and that it feels really, really good. And I've let the City know that I'm interested in the actual Real director position in the hopes of moving that many notches higher on the Intimidating To Young Mormon Men scale. (Least intimidating: dental assistants, high-school students, and coma patients. Most intimidating: lawyers, doctors, and feminist goddesses of doooooom.)

So here's what I've been working on for the last few weeks:

Setting up free wireless access so that the glassy-eyed Runescape-addicted 11-year-old boys can now bring in their own computers and play until their eyes dry out and their fingers fall off.

Installing free, open-source timers on the public computers so that the computer starts doing the kicking off for me and I can just sit at my desk with my feet up and laugh evilly when people get automatically logged off after an hour. Because I like to bottle the tears of children and use them in secret midnight ceremonies.

Starting a new storytelling program. Because I've really, really missed the storytime rush, what with the screaming, the negligence and subsequent perv bait, the vandalism . . . [sigh] . . . all good times.

Making friends with the other library directors in the area, who are actually a pretty cool bunch.

Revolutionizing the acquisitions process by introducing a little thing I like to call record keeping. It's an amazing thing. I can now staunchly recommend it.

Buying fabulous, fabulous things for the collection, and ignoring the very existence of items like Blonde Ambition: The Untold Story Behind Anna Nicole's Death. Books like this, to me, are the literary version of rubbernecking. And just because it's on the Times Bestseller list one week doesn't mean it'll be on there two weeks later (and it wasn't).

Compiling all the yearly stats and writing a 3-year plan for the library's future, which . . . wow. Because I was really getting bored before, you know, with all the free time. So finding out about this all of a sudden was pretty much the same as getting Ioan for my birthday (in Righteous, Noble, Slave-freeing and France-Defeating mode rather than Stretchy, Jessica-Alba-Pretend-Liking mode or even Drugged, Accidentally-Marrying-Wrong-Blond-Person-in-Mexico mode) for my birthday.

I need a vacation.

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How to be the smartest

Because really, isn't that what we all want? It's what I want, anyway.

I must admit something shameful to you. I realize that I got a degree in The Internet and everything, but I think all that time I spent swooning over British accents and baby lambs may have scrambled my brain. So now, when people ask questions, I frequently go mentally dead and reach for Google and Wikipedia without stopping to think about where I could get better/more relevant/more reliable answers rather than wading through lists of crap like some kind of rank amateur.

Today I read a post over at Scholastici.us called Beyond Wikipedia: 20 References You Can't Do Without. I am grateful for articles like this, which remind me that I am supposed to be an information professional, who uses the Internet in a streamlined, sophisticated, dead sexy way which possibly involves wearing brick-red lipstick and smoking a cigarette afterward.

So check this list out and I bet you'll find some yummy stuff. Some sites, like JSTOR, are meant for those who have access through an academic library or similar, but most are for the average brilliant Internet user who just wants to be better than the mouth-breathers.

Enjoy!

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Wild nights are my glory

So says Mrs. Whatsit in A Wrinkle in Time. My dad read us that book when I was 8 or 9, and every time a storm kicks up I remember it and agree with her. On the drive out to Desmama's on Saturday night there were storms on either side of me, so I pulled over next to the cows and the hay bales to get some pics. My dying batteries only allowed two shots!

The first one is the view to the west of Cache Valley, and the second is the view to the east.

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Polling the group, again, some more

Once again I ask for your expertise. You've never let me down before. (Aaaaand now I have Shrek singing in my head. Perfect.)

The director left, as you may remember, and took her big Storytime program attraction with her. So now we're trying to come up with something that is simple enough to keep us from killing ourselves, since we can't hire any more staff to take this on, but fun enough to keep the children from stoning us. I just want to live, basically. And the trick is that hers was always such a massive production, and we can't do massive anymore, but none of us really have experience with putting together something normal.

So. It's coming together. The basic bones of what I have in mind is one Toddler Time for the 0-2 crowd (since the mommies love it) and one Story Time for the 3-5 group. There will be activity songs and stories and puppets, etc.

I'm getting input from neighboring libraries and observing what they're doing. But I'd like to hear from you as well, since I imagine lots of you have seen good (and bad) storytimes at your own libraries. What have you liked? What have your kids liked? What have you seen that has been simple but effective? What is the basic routine of your storytimes?

On another work-related note, I just bought myself a 2008 desk calendar. Because by gum I'm going to have something pretty and handmade to look at this year. There were so very many to choose from, and it was not easy to pick just one. I kind of wanted them all, and maybe I could just have them in four different locations like the filthy capitalist that I am. And I could lean back and look at them while I throw dollar bills into the fire. But after consulting the Circle of Truth I believe I've made the right choice--Annacote's 2008 Screen/Gocco Printed Botanical Calendar, available at her Etsy shop.

I'm pretty sure I'll be more likely to drag myself to work in the mornings if I know this darling thing is waiting there for me.

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Yes, I judge people by their bookshelves

And their video/DVD collections, if it comes to that. To me it's the best way to tell if someone's a kindred spirit. When I was 14 I went to babysit and was stunned to see an exact replication of my father's bookshelves in this couple's living room. Complete with the leather-bound Louis L'amour, the Tom Clancy collection, and the Jason Bourne novels. So when I come to your house please don't be surprised if I move directly to the book shelves and possibly knock over your aged grandmother in the process. If you don't have bookshelves at your house, then . . . I'm really not sure what we have to talk about, actually, and we should probably just call it a night.

So yes. I am highly attracted to bookshelves. I cannot resist them. And on Sunday I created something that I'd seen other people do and which is pretty much my new favorite thing ever:



Book. Shelf. Porn.

Who even knew that my books arranged by color would be so sexy? They're suddenly so much more interesting this way.



Now I just stare at them and make love to them with my eyes. And when friends come over drag them upstairs to Gaze upon the Hotness.

The only problem is that now it's just a tiny bit harder to find what I'm looking for. I previously had a shelf designated as Bathroom Reads. Now those stand-bys are all interspersed among the others, which will possibly lead to me doing the Bathroom Dance in front of the bookshelf and maybe bursting a kidney. Still. It's a small price to pay for beauty.

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To the large Dodge truck behind me at the stoplight

Dear ma'am:

I'm not sure why you felt the need to keep inching closer and closer to me while we both sat at a red light.

Were you hoping that I would get the hint and start inching out into 55-miles per hour traffic? Because I'm not going to. I'm polite, but I'm not that polite.

Did you think you would arrive at your final destination faster if you were on top of my car when the light changed?

Has your car developed a mind of its own and found itself overwhelmingly attracted to my car and, in the manner of a love-struck Herbie, moved of its own volition, as a flame to a moth? Because my car is not actually that sort of girl, nor was she feeling that kind of attraction.

Were you playing some sort of strange "How close can I get" game? Because that's a good way to find yourself replacing my bumper. Or, if I were a different sort of person, getting shot in the face.

Best Wishes,

Nemesis

ps. My sister Jenny wants you to know that she is totally up for playing that game with you, on account of she could use a new bumper.

Gentle readers, who would you like to write a letter to?

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Congregation, albeit shortly.

Well, well, so I have finally stopped procrasinating and messaged Matyn, an almost immoral immortal whom I have the utmost pleasure to be acquainted with since late 2005 AD, but lost touch in the middle of the yester year.

Let's examine. Matyn. What has became of his charming, at times, odd man after a year or more of silence? The answer is simple. Matyn never changes. It's the world that changes. Matyn is still fucking esoteric, terribly obsessed over the deviantly-perverse and the dexterity of the English language. No idea if he is still bent on the notion of 'goth' though. However, I am certain he mentioned it is an inappropriate word for his "extravagrant" sense of dressing. Burr. He has a cool necklace. On the pechant lies a bunch of hair, which I questioned, "I suppose those hairs are your victims'?", he merely agreed in the most non-chalant air.

To give you a more wholesome view of Matyn, I shall quote him; from a lengthy SMS chat;

"I like my victims on the harbinger of eternal regret." - Matyn.
"God has a competitor!" - Me.
"God resigned due to stiff competition." - Matyn.
"And, I heard he's (God) claustrophobic in his custom made casket." - Matyn.
"Oh, don't be discriminating. Everyone has their flaws." - Me.
"His incessant advertisements revealed his foibles. I am just tactlessly observant." - Matyn
"Oh, then that wasn't very smart of him." - Me.

Such banter brightens my day.

Thank you for your much appreciated input, Matyn. We shall meet properly again, soon. I thank you for your Marquis De Sade book, too. I bet I will have a great night reading it, that I am most certain of.

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Hooky is my new favorite

Highlights from today with the Preciouses:

It was a beautiful, gorgeous sunny fall day. Absolutely the best day to leave work early and go find fabulous things about L**** to offset the poop smells.

Lunch at the Indian Oven (new location on Main Street, y'all!). Which was, in Jen's words, "rill, rill good." I love me that lunch buffet.

Took Savvy and Ethan to the historic Bluebird Cafe to buy chocolates. I knew the spinning stools at the soda fountain would change their world forever. And then I blew the rest of Ethan's mind when I gave him his first gummy worm. He approached the thing dubiously and bit it right in the middle, with the two ends hanging out the sides of his mouth. Then he realized that he was eating the kids' version of crack cocaine. He was mine for the next five minutes. This is what I do when Spitfire's not around, trying to raise my stock. (She's his real favorite.) And then Ethan and Savvy played an impromptu round of "Ring around the Rosies" out in the fall leaves, which made my heart explode in my chest cavity.

Went to Second Dam and walked around. One too many Phil Hartman impressions later, Savvy called her dad to tell him that she saw the "Dam fish, daddy."

Spitfire and I took Savvy to FHE. The group was decorating Halloween cookies, but first there was a very good but forever long (to a 3-yr-old) mini-lesson. Savvy held up admirably, sitting on my lap for the boring bits. But I'd promised her a party, which she kept reminding me in a very reverent whisper. I couldn't understand why people were sitting there talking about and looking at other things when there was pretty much the most precious girl ever placed on this earth sitting right there. I mean, what if she did something amazing and they miss it?

Savvy loves my Rosehill Dairy milk, as do I. In fact, when I was at Jen's last and drank her Target milk I wondered if someone slipped dishwashing detergent into my glass. Whereas when I drink my milk I wonder if people slipped sugar and sunshine and rainbows in. At least 6 times Savvy asked for my "special milk."

Kids playing with Jen on my bed. Me: "See? My bed is totally fun. It's too bad more boys don't realize that."

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Sometimes L**** is just too precious

On 800 East there is a house with loads of pumpkins and squash and assorted seasonal gourds lining the front curb. There is no one outside to take the money--a toolbox sits on a table next to the pumpkins and a homemade sign directs patrons to leave their payment inside it.




I've been meaning to stop and support them (and to take pictures for the blog). I mentioned this to a friend on Friday night and he shook his head at the things I find amusing. Saturday afternoon I drove over and had a mini photo shoot. As I crouched down, straddling the curb to get that first picture, a car drove by and then flipped a U-turn to pull over. I was pleased to see that others were supporting this local enterprise until I saw that it was actually the friend from Friday, laughing his head off at me for being a geek (his words). Which, you know, is totally okay of him to think. He tried to amend the mockery by saying that it's an adorable kind of geekiness. So to show that there were no hard feelings, I complimented him on the way he drove up over the curb and nearly lost a tire during his U-turn. Because I'm a giver.

And then I picked out my very cute 75 cent pumpkin, which perfectly complements the two larger pumpkins already on my porch. I'm pretty much the Autumn Queen. Savvy and Ethan are coming up with Jen tomorrow and I'm going to take them over to pick one out. They will think it's cool.

What sort of things are you doing to celebrate autumn? Aside from eating glazed donuts and drinking apple cider, of course.

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Yes, I will absolutely bribe people with carbs

Had my first Smackdown Staff Meeting (unofficial title). To get everyone happy and relaxed and playing nicely, I baked. From scratch. There were fresh apple muffins made with apples from my obliging (read: too lazy to pick their own dang apples instead of just letting them rot, wasters) neighbors' tree. They were fabulous, and excuse me while I go get another one. I did cheat a bit on the blueberry muffins, but that's because I haven't found a recipe yet that I love. So they came from a box, but it's from a Salt Lake City company. I tell myself that this somehow makes me a better person than I would have been if I'd gone with Duncan Hines. Also I added more blueberries.

Meeting went well, I think. I like to think things are generally going well here, but now that I'm the official Person We Will Blame And Possibly Burn Alive in a Public Ceremony of Some Sort if This All Goes to Crap I find myself thinking about work all the time and even dreaming about it. Which, hi, unless my work involves candle-lit workroom trysts with members of my breeches-wearing British male harem, I don't want to be thinking or dreaming about it when I don't need to be.

Also I'm slightly terrified that the place is just going to burn down one of these days and it will be on my head. Am also reminding myself not to do too much too fast (like take all the crap movies out of the collection and replace them with every BBC drama ever created--it's happening, but slowly).

Am also facing the fact that my semi-anonymity is even further compromised and that the ramifications would be even worse if I were to shoot my mouth off about something that I shouldn't. Which, really, is kind of lame. Don't worry though, you'll still receive unsettling updates about my greying ovaries, because like I could deprive the Internet of that.

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Relief and Anguish.

Relief because tomorrow marks the official end of my Junior College life, which invoked both great joy and a sense of surrealness. The former is obviously self-explanatory. The latter, well, time passed too fast for anyone's health, I have just began to get used to that routine and it's ending now. Just couldn't believe I survived JC, when in the very first place, I wanted to go to a Polytechnic. The JC education, albeit hellishly intensive, does imparted me with great knowledge and it has showed to me how evil can really Mathematics get. Thank you.

Fucking Finally

Anguish because in the next hurdle, and the last and final one of all - The Apocalytic Anally Annoying A Levels, will impede me in attending 2 major events. One, David Copperfield's (probably last Asia/Singapore) stage show on 2th and 3rd of November. Two, the Eleventh German Film Festival which will be held from the 1st to 11th November. How despicable! How frustrating! "Ugh", I say. I am going to watch one movie in the German Film Festival though - Grave Decisions/Wer frueher stirbt, ist langer tot, it looks highly amusing. Ack, give me a break eh? I have a week-long break between papers, which could be deemed as an market failure, as I will experience a deadweight loss. Not efficient, at all. Bleah.

On a lighter note, auf wiedersehen, SRJC, hopefully!

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This will likely be anticlimactic

My most recent date was not my worst blind date, (I've already told that story) but it was still special. And it's one more story I'll be trotting out the next time someone accuses me of Not Making an Effort. I'll also be trotting out a taser, because who even walks up to a middle-aged spinster librarian and tells them they're just being too picky? That's when I think a good idea would be to look at the speaker's spouse, raise The Eyebrow, and say, "Clearly that wasn't your problem."

A little while back I decided to drive down to Provo to spend time with the Preciouses. And their parents, I suppose. When Jen's friend heard I was coming she said that she needed to set me up with a guy who works in the same lab as her husband. All she could tell me about him is that he's cute, smart, and nice. Which . . . okay, that's a good start. Of course, there's also the works in a lab part, which I kind of smoothed over in my mind as we spinster women occasionally do when it's either that or start downloading application forms for adopting unwanted Korean infants. So I said okay, gave her my number, and said that if he wanted to get together for a couple of hours that would be cool.

I got a call as I was heading home from work to pack for the weekend. The important part of the conversation went a-like so:

Blind Date: "So, do you like karaoke?"

Me: "Um, I don't actually know. I can't say that I've really . . . done much karaoke."

On account of I'm normal and not drunk in a pub somewhere.

BD: "Really? You've never tried it?"

Me: "Nope." (see above) "Why, was that . . . one of your ideas for tonight?"

BD: "Yeah, there's this place I go to pretty much every week, it's great."

Getting worse and worse, while I tried to decide if I could really let myself in for an evening of sitting in a crowded (or worse, uncrowded) place watching my Science Boy date croon Lady in Red while I convulsed with embarrassment. Which could then only get worse if I were convinced to get up there and take the microphone myself. On account of I like to think I have this low, well-modulated voice, only I actually don't. It's high and brittle and when I sing it sounds like an old lady with pneumonia is trying to claw her way out of my sinuses.

Me: "Okay, see . . . here's the thing. I am not a very confident singer. And I think in order for me to get up in front of a group of people and sing like that I would probably need to be with people I know really well, and not someone that I haven't actually met before. Or I would need to be really drunk."

BD: "Oh . . . oh. Okay, no, I know what you mean. I guess that makes sense that it wouldn't be the best idea for a blind date."

Me: "Yeah, maybe not this time."

BD: "Well, my other grand passion is bowling."

Which, would have actually been kind of witty if he'd been kidding, which he wasn't. Turns out he was on a league and everything. So I said that bowling sounded fine, and inwardly resigned myself to One Of Those Nights. I just don't see the point of bowling. I mean, who decided that it was the great go-to date idea? But I just couldn't shoot down both his ideas without feeling like a jerk.

I called my sister and told her she was dead to me, while she hyperventilated with laughter on the phone. And then she called her friend, who felt responsible for unknowingly setting me up with a Karaoke Singer. So she decided to invite herself and her husband along on the date just in case it needed salvaging. Only then she needed to find a babysitter for her two little kids. And my sister volunteered.

So . . . the original plan was for me and Spitfire to head down and spend a relaxing weekend with our family. Instead, we now had my two sisters spending their night at someone else's house babysitting, a tired, pregnant married couple joining a late-night bowling date out of a sense of responsibility and guilt, and me and this guy going on a date that neither of us were looking forward to.

Smart, huh?

We didn't get to the bowling alley until about 10pm, and the conversation in the car was practically nonexistent even though I did try. The guy was perfectly nice and good-looking but we had absolutely nothing to talk about. All I got out of him were one-word responses. And I was too tired to sparkle in my usual sparkly way. I kind of hoped that the bowling alley could have burned down on our way there so that we could have just forgotten about the whole thing.

At the bowling alley they asked us how many games we wanted to play. The married couple and I were undoubtedly all having the same thought: "One." Or, you know, maybe they could tell us that they were closing. Or that they were having an anthrax scare, or that the child molester on lane 3 keeps flashing people so they're evacuating the building while they wait for the cops.

Our companion looked at us and said, "Well, my best game is always game 3."

We compromised at 2. I got a rubbish score. My date did a strange stiff-jointed dance every time he got up to bowl. Me and the pregnant girl yawned a lot. My date and I stopped pretending to be interested in conversing with each other. We drove back to the married people's house and he kept repeating over and over again how tired he was, so I told him that I would just go home with my sisters.

Aren't we all glad we did that? It could have been worse, though. I could have agreed to the karaoke.

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A post is coming

And it's going to be about my most recent blind date. But first I have to go to a mother-long meeting, so please excuse me. If people would like to get the party started by offering details of some of their best (and by best, I mean worst) blind dates, that would be fabulous.

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My encounter with The Sangha!

I finally picked up the courage.

Courage to do something physical for my increasingly deepening interest in Buddhism. I approached a group of seemingly Tibetian Buddhism practitioners, whom I have seen last weekend, but didn't muster up the courage then, asking them about the local community. As much as it sounds wonderful, I realised they aren't locals and they could only refer me to their international community's website - Kadampa.org. Nonetheless, it has been a great pleasure to be able to meet the international Sangha and converse with them, albeit shortly. A side note, I have not heard such a soft, gentle and peaceable voice in a very long while. It's very absolutely refreshing an experience.

On a similar note, this was the first ever time in my life I said "Blessings." as a farewell to a group of strangers. It sure feels great to do it. Somehow, I feel different.

I came home. Checked on their website. Dang, I missed a great week-long workshop on Tantra Buddhism that taught The LamRim and The Higher Yogi Tantra methods, conducted by Venerable Geshe Kelsang Gyatso. Sigh. Ah wells, it costs $255, I can't afford it anyway. Haha.

Svaha Sangha!

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Times like these I realize PMS is a real thing

My mother thinks I get really grouchy at certain phases of the moon. This is, of course, absurd. And if there have been times when a simple question from her (like, "So, how was your weekend?") has made me start Googling such terms as "discreet professional killer" and "make that moose attack look like an accident" then I'm sure my responses were warranted and not at all overreactions.

It is, however, kind of uncanny that my mother and sisters know exactly when I might be entering the grouchy moon phase, if in fact I do such a thing. So maybe there actually is something to that. And maybe I should consider the fact that my mom can hint that once I do get married I'd better start having babies right away to lower my children's risk of birth defects, and I can deal with that and even laugh about it. But the other night she told me that she received the "I Read Banned Books" tote bag I sent her and that she's excited to have it but is now reconsidering the whole "carry it to church" thing. I was paralyzed with rage and had to stop myself from throwing my cell phone against the wall and screaming IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT THEN JUST GIVE IT BACK, YOU BOOK BURNER!!!

Obviously, not rational. Should probably get tested for rabies or something.

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The combo in question

Is glazed donuts and apple cider together.

Didn't think of that one, didja? I think this autumn we should all try it, though, as a way of embracing other cultures.

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If you're a Cache-er and you know it . . .

So Desmama and I are having words about autumn foods. I have discovered what is a new to me food combination. It's not a bad combination at all, mind you, it's just two things that I never consciously paired together.

Desmama mentioned it first, and I thought this was maybe just something she liked or grew up with. But when the same combination was brought up by several other local people I decided that this must be a Cache Valley thing. She, however, thinks I'm on crack and that everyone knows and loves this seasonal treat. I told her that I would take it to the Internet and see if it's a regional thing or not.

So. Let's do this. In the interest of science, please tell me where you're from and what you think of as the quintessential sweet treat to be enjoyed on a cozy autumn evening. And if you got this idea from anyone with ties to Cache Valley or Utah, please mention that as well. Anonymous entries are welcome!

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My laugh for the morning

I don't always wear makeup. And since my skin decided to stop the post-college crisis that consumed much of 2001-2005, I found it even less necessary to slather foundation all over my face. (Note: I am glad, however, that this facial crisis decided to hold off until after high school. Because really, the braces and the bad curly bangs and the high-rise CK jeans from Costco were bad enough.)

An important exception to the I Can't Be Bothered about Makeup rule occurred whenever I flew home to AK. I spent the "initial descent" period hastily applying whatever I'd stashed in my bag, so that my mother would be pleased when she saw me at the airport. I'm sure the results of my in-flight artistry were not the best, as I was generally so strung out from finals and lack of sleep that I couldn't even hold my hand steady. Or see clearly through the eye twitches. But that's just what you do to make your mom happy. For my dad, it was two boxes of Kristy Kreme donuts which you had to guard with your life the entire plane ride or you got left at the Anchorage airport with all the stuffed polar bears.

Anyway. Point. I put on makeup this morning. As I did so I glanced over at my roommate's Chi flatiron, residing on the bathroom sink. For the first time I noticed a large white tag affixed to the cord with a drawing of a human eye and text that read "Will Burn Eyes". Because I guess some people thought that even though those hot slabs of metal can singe the flesh right off your finger and leave you with a blackened, smoking stump, it still might make for an amazing eyelash curler.

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The 80s were always a bad idea

Read a post today by MBC (a lovely and witty fellow librarian spinster whose blog I recommend) that jogged a special, even sacred memory which I must now share. A couple of weeks ago I weeded through some of the YA collection, looking for ripped up, outdated, low-circulating items. What I found were stacks of books with cover designs from the 1980s, complete with the worst of the day's fashions. MBC describes how difficult it is to convince teenagers to take a book seriously when the cover model is wearing pegged pants. And oh, what truth she speaks.

The biggest treasure in the collection for me, though, was an entire shelf of books with titles like Too Young to Die. They all have really soft, misty photography on the cover, with pensive models wearing pastel-colored sweaters. I remember reading books just like these in the late 80s and early 90s. I owned one in which a girl starts volunteering as a candy striper and not only loses weight because she works so hard that she forgets to eat, but she also meets a teen cancer patient named Matt and he becomes her boyfriend. Until he dies. Now I have to wonder what exactly was going on with us as young girls that made terminal cancer and the teens who have it such a riveting literature form?

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As I take a break from studying for As.

" Abbe satta
May all beings
sabbe pana
all breathing things
sabbe bhutta
all creatures
sabbe puggala
all individuals
sabbe attabhava - pariyapanna
all personalities (all beings with mind and body)
sabbe itthoyo
may all females
sabbe purisa
all males
sabbe ariya
all noble ones (saints)
sabbe anariya
all worldlings (those yet to attain sainthood)
sabbe deva
all devas (deities)
sabbe manussa
all humans
sabbe vinipatika
all those in the four woeful planes

avera hontu
be free from enmity and dangers
abyapajjha hontu
be free from mental suffering
anigha hontu
be free from physical suffering
sukhi - attanam pariharantu
may they take care of themselves happily
Dukkha muccantu
May all being be free from suffering
Yattha-laddha-sampattito mavigacchantu
May whatever they have gained not be lost
Kammassaka
All beings are owners of their own Kamma (Karma) "
- The Chant of Metta, an excerpt.

http://www.metta.org.uk/Wds/wds33.asp

Thank you.

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Believe me, wish I were posting

Am leaving right this second for a soul-sucking day of libraryish meetings in Ogden--the bad kind, not the good kind. Will post when I get home, if I'm not in a coma or crouched in a corner rocking back and forth while talking to my thumb.

Wish me luck. Free wireless would be even better, though.

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In which FHE could have gone very, very badly

Last night Spitfire and I decided to be supportive and social and junk by attending our ward's Family Home Evening activity. I'm still not calling anyone my Mom or my Dad. They're an FHE Group Leader or they're nothing. And yes, it does matter. And if I ever hear anyone suggest that precision in language is not important again then they're going to get a number 2 pencil in the leg. Are we clear?

So a big ol' group of us were gathered around, playing this game. Everyone writes down the name of famous people on pieces of paper, you put the pieces in a bowl, and then the game proceeds in phases.

First phase, you pull pieces of paper from the bowl and describe the celebrity for your teammates to guess. You do as many as you can in 30 seconds.

In the second phase, all the pieces go back in and you can only use 3 words to describe them.

In the third phase, you have to act them out with no talking (I got Harriet Tubman at one point, which was not an easy one, I tell you.) I'm glad no one drew Chairman Mao's name, though, for the charades bit. Because I can't imagine how you would do that without looking really racist.

Anyway, this is L***n, where there are lots and lots of country music fans. Just ask my car radio, which only has like three stations programmed in. So there were a few country music singers in the bowl.

During round 2 (where you can only use 3 words), one of my team members drew a name.

Team member: "Redneck."

Me: "Garth Brooks!!!"

Everyone: Sudden Silence

And then I remembered where I was, and that I was probably close to death. Luckily a few people laughed, which saved me.

I'm still watching my back, though.

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