They say clothes don't make the man

And they would be right.

However.

They still kinda do. Think of that scene in Pride and Prejudice where Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Hurst walk home across the fields after a day of shooting innocent birds that they probably won't even eat. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley stride along in full-length duster coats, which drape manfully out behind them. This is how you know they are cool. Mr. Hurst lacks the long coat, which is how you know he is dumpy and lame and drinks himself into a red-nosed stupor every night.


Ever since I have known him, GH has been strictly a t-shirt & hoodies kind of guy. When the mood strikes he'll don a polo. This works for him, and, as he pointed out to me one day, his t-shirts get more remarks and compliments when we're out in public than mine do. I maintain that it's not my fault there are a lot of geeks out there.

For a few months now I've been wanting to get him into a nice button-up cotton shirt. You know, the kind without a tie where you roll the sleeves up a bit and immediately look about 3 times hotter. (Amyjane and I used to refer to this phenomenon as Post-Church Dress Shirt. And believe me, gentlemen, there's power there.)

Over the weekend we stopped in Kohls to grab (and pay for) a new pair of Sunday pants for GH. On the way out, I spied some nice striped shirts on a clearance rack for 70% off and decided that today was the day. I grabbed one, took it up front, and bulldozed GH into taking it. To humor me, he wore it the next day for his mother's birthday dinner.

I pretty much could not take my eyes (or, fine, hands) off him for the rest of the night, he looked so good.

Check it out:

I know, right???

GH may not realize it yet, but that shirt is going to be getting a whole lot of brothers and sisters.

Update: I forgot to mention this before, but GH has a job interview today for a really cool job. So please, please cross fingers, say prayers, send good vibes, inform the universe, visualize success, etc. Thank you!

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The vissitudes of time

Today I was awoken by a text message from my friend who announced the news of the passing of the, arguably, greatest pop icon in at least 5 decades - Michael Jackson. Be assured I didn't went back to sleep after reading that message. An individual who I admired and respected with immense proportions. His anthems which captured countless hearts of the generations down the timeline and qualified as musical landmarks in history. Billie Jean. Thriller. Beat It. Bad. The list is endless. I can only say I am unfortunate to have missed the golden moment when he bloomed in his full regal prowess with his impeccable performance antics and his signature move Moonwalk.

It was believed he died from a sudden cardiac arrest. What a quick and uneventful death that was, to such a man who created such deep, wide and lasting impact on generations globally. Ironic, everyone would have thought such people would have a blast towards their demises. Such is human nature. Unpredictable, impermanent, and very much volatile.

Comment no further upon a dead man about his last moments, and let us be reminded by his inspiring works and the better days which he was involved in creating. Better days which we witnessed, revelled, and glad to be part of. Earth was honoured to have such an individual upon its surface. If mankind is gone, and I could leave something behind for the next phase of life in remembrance of our humankind, I'd leave Michael Jackson's Thriller album behind.

Rest in eternal peace in Neverland, Michael Jackson. Hope your soul will return to Earth to create more pieces of art, sometime in the future.

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Why I haven't blogged yet this week

a. I am newly pregnant with triplets and have decided to start the bed rest early.
b. I got mauled by a bear in the Samurai Sushi parking lot on Girl's Day and have been in the hospital.
c. I foolishly agreed to take on a freelance editing project (like a fool) and so am spending every spare minute working on it.

Which do you think it is?

But yes, I made it home from Alaska safely, if not sanely. I think I'm getting too old for this redeye [stuff]. I was a complete zombie by the time I made it home, approximately 102 hours after I left my parents' house. But I guess I did have it easier than my b-in-law, who is driving a car down from Alaska this very minute through bear-infested lands. Please cross fingers that he doesn't get eaten.

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Why hello, pretty Alaska

Sigh. Vacations are so wonderful. Especially when you get to spend them at my parents' house. Have gained 8 pounds from things like chocolate chip cheesecake, brownies, movie popcorn, seafoods dipped in butter, seafoods fried in batter, Costco's chocolate-covered raisins, biscuits & gravy, movie theatre popcorn, ice cream cones, blueberry-macadamia-nut pancakes and I don't even know what else.

A real post is coming but I still have a day of vacation left. Tomorrow is Girls Day, wherein my mom and I will do fabulous things like visit yarn stores and eat sushi and drink estrogen shakes. We had to take GH to the airport this morning so he will miss out on Girls Day (sad).

Here are a few pics to tide you over--more to come!

(And yes, it's just windy in that last picture. I do not wear my hair that big usually.)

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Evolution for the worse?

I was reading the papers the other day, and an article attracted attention to me, the title of the article reads "Have we lost the ability to feel?" To summarise what the article is about how in this modern world and the daily hassles and monotonous grind of social roles to assume and fulfil, we seemed to have lost the ability to experience life and events in a wholesome manner, to re-inspire our weary souls. I couldn't have agreed more with the writer, for I feel that weighing down on me like stones tied onto my ankles.

Isn't it sad?

To deepen my sense of melancholy, my recent trip to the Science Centre for the Da Vinci Exhibition made me more embedded on my idea that modern human life is downright lacklustre. To see the sheer amount of inventions and ideas ranging from that wide a range of expertises coming from one single man in an era where little external support exists, it's definitely very inspiring and mind-blowing initially. Then, that initial spark of inspiration turned into something brooding as I pondered further upon the fellow humans in this current age. Glued to the screen that permeates every aspect of their lives - handphones, TVs, computers, billboards, advertisement panels, the list is endless. Being thrusted to a set of social roles to fulfil from the age of a toddler. *damn you to the depths of anarchy hell, political philosophy!* The subsequent endless series of social expectations to fulfil - friends, grades, a degree, a partner, sex, stable desk job, to rise up the corporate ladder, to get that senior position, have children amidst the irrational state of mind during sex, bring up children who will become irremovable burdens in life, get a house which will require you 20 years to finish paying, when your children moves out then starts to ponder and worry about whether your pension is enough for your old age. True but tragic.

So fixated are our comtemporary mindset that we have forgotten about the wonders of the human mind and what those wonders can bring forward.

That is why I make it a point to have solitary trips as often as possible where the only company I have is my music player and a long bus/train ride or a stroll in the park. For myself to heal, for myself to feel, for myself to recharge, for myself to reach mental/ emotional/ spiritual equilibrium. To treat every moment alone as golden, to ignore the voices of the mob, to stare far ahead at the horizon, to look at the clouds, to look within myself.

People may think I am insane, but to me, the insane are the people. =)

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Flying to Alaska tonight!

Can. Not. Wait.

The only stinky thing is that we don't fly out of SLC until 9pm, arriving in Anchorage at 2:30am. (So, you know, 4:30am UT time. Which will be a normal Friday night for GH but not so much for me.) Also? If the TSA people try to take my knitting needles, you watch this space, because there will surely be a blog post on the way entitled "That one time I froke completely out at the airport and got arrested and would totally do it again because there was a principle involved."

My poor parents have to drive out to the airport to pick us up. But it's always such a great moment, though, coming down the escalator to see them standing at the bottom next to the huge stuffed polar bear that greets visitors. (Welcome to Alaska. Try not to get eaten.)

Our itinerary includes the following delights:

Much sleeping in

Much knitting

No working

Steak Night

Seafood Feast Night, wherein there will be lobster and king crab legs, courtesy of my awesome dad and the good people at Costco

Seward Day, including an afternoon wildlife & glacier cruise in Resurrection Bay and dinner at Ray's

Temple night at the Anchorage Temple

Walks along the bike path with Gabby the Sheltie, whom my mother is able to manage NOT to bring into the library with her.

In case I'm too busy sleeping and stuffing myself with shellfish to blog right away, I've included some previous Alaskan adventures of mine here:

Why I'm not a true Alaskan

Only in Alaska

July 2005 visit

That time when I lived there in September 2006

And still in October 2006

And then in November 2006 it started looking like this and I decided I was done.

July 2008 visit


(cruise image found here)

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I love me some Friday

Days like Wednesday make me think I should get a new job. Or just leave the world of work entirely.

I don't know if it's the rainy weather, the bad economy, or what, but we were swamped all day long. Children ran and screamed everywhere. The H-B possibly made another appearance, based on the description the PTSDed shelver gave me of the destruction. A toddler slipped out the doors by himself in the melee and they shut behind him (not ON him, mercifully) and he started toddling toward the street before someone saw him and alerted me. Homeless men wandered in and out. People asked me impossible questions like, "I'm looking for that movie that was set during World War II." A woman turned up with a Sheltie and tried to say she was training her to be a service dog. Which, sure, if "training" consists of letting a dog jump up on you repeatedly while you implore her to sit. (On the plus side, am now well versed in the state code regarding service & companion dogs. Quiz me.) I finally escaped and drove home only to find that my shoulders were hiked up around my ears. I had to go set cases of food storage on them to get them to go down again. Then I went to the temple, which was v. soothing.

But then days like yesterday remind me how much I actually enjoy being a librarian. All day long I was the happiness fairy, making everyone's wildest library dreams come true. I found the books and DVDs that appeared to be missing, I signed people up for library cards, I blew adults, teens, and children alike away with the glory that is the summer reading program. I weeded out a few overpacked shelves, winning the love of the beleagured shelvers. I taught teens how to use the online catalog to reserve their books and I introduced a brother and sister to the world of graphic novels. A woman walk up to the desk with her children and said, "Hi, we were hoping you would be here today!"

And then I got to go eat raclette and discuss nursing pads with my dinner group. How could you NOT love a day like that?

(image from Wikipedia's Raclette page)

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Because step one is making the universe aware of your desires

And in this case Universe = Internet.

GH is looking for a new job. They say that when you are on the job hunt you are supposed to tell everyone you know, since 80% of the jobs that get filled do so through networking and referrals rather than the pedestrian old "send in your application" routine. So I am telling everyone and trusting that someone out there is going to help us come across the perfect thing. Here are a few reasons why a new job would be nice:

1. There is nowhere to move up to and no way to advance salary-wise in GH's current job, where he writes & produces a morning news show.

2. He works the graveyard shift, which means we do not sleep together at night and on the one night a week when we DO sleep together it does not go smoothly on account of we are both used to taking up a whole bed. Injuries and accusations ensue.

3. His current employer keeps doing layoffs and stuff, and we think it would be better to just jump ship while we can.

4. A new job is my only chance to be a Stay At Home Mommy Blogger. And come on. Aren't you just dying to hear me talk (more) about poop?

So. Now that you're motivated, lets talk job specs. I think the job GH is really holding out for would be Protege to Joss Whedon, but he's willing to settle. His degree is in Broadcast Journalism and for the last few years he has been working in the news (which has been a good experience builder but is really not a passion of his). He's looking for pretty much anything in the Media/Entertainment/TV/Film industry. He's also up for PR or other writing jobs. Right now we're looking primarily in UT, but a move is not outside the realm of possibility if it's for a good job.

So if anyone knows of or hears of anything at all remotely related (or hey, even non-related if it's a good job with benefits), can you please drop me a line? I have not decided yet what the reward will be for the person who provides the job-lead-that-leads-to-job, but I can promise you: it will be awesome.

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Because letter writing is an endangered art

Dear mother who allowed her small child to sweep an entire shelf of juvenile non-fiction books and, later, about 50 board books out onto the carpet in scattered heaps and then waltzed off without trying to straighten it up or notify anyone of the mess,

You are a ho-bag.

Love,
Nem


Dear everybody else,

Here is how to not be a ho-bag while using your library.

1. Please keep an eye on children who might be prone to creating such messes. Actually, just keep an eye on your children, period. If you can't see them, that is not good. Seriously. There are freaky people at libraries. And things children might be tempted to climb up and then fall off of. Also sharp corners. And maybe exposed wiring. Who even knows.

2. When your child makes a mess, please clean it up. I don't CARE if the other kids were pulling out board books too. Please take pride in your library and don't leave it looking trashed.

Helpful Note: You library should have several shelves or carts specifically designed for books that need to be put away. Locate them and make them your friends. If at the end of your visit you realize that you have all these items you don't want to check out, you can just leave them on that shelf/cart to be put away by the library staff. Then you're not leaving a mess, the books go back where they belong, everybody wins and can go frolic in the meadows together while sharing moments of ecstasy and love.

3. There are exceptions to the Stay And Clean It Up Your Own Dang Self Rule.

a. You discover a big ol' mess about 5 minutes after you needed to leave for another appointment.

b. You have a fussy/screaming child with you.

c. You're not sure how to clean it up (especially when it involves, say, reshelving books by Dewey Decimal number) or where the items go.

d. Your water just broke.

In such cases, gather the books up so it's obvious that you made an effort, then go find a library employee. Say words like this: "I'm so sorry, I turned my back on [----]den for a second and he made a big mess. I've tried to straighten it up but I'm not sure how to put these books away in order . . ." Just explain the situation. At this point the librarian or whoever will stop you and say, "Oh, don't worry, we'll take care of it, thanks for letting us know."

And they really will mean that. They'd much rather put the books back in the right order than have to go over and fix books that have been shoved somewhere willy-nilly. They would also much rather clean up the mess with a cheerful heart than listen to your child scream while you try to clean it. Pretty much if the choice is ever between a crying child and something else, we will always pick the something else. Trust me. (Unless the something else is poop or vomit.) And they will respect you for coming forward, for taking responsibility, and for asking for assistance rather than just assuming that it's the library staff's job to clean up the huge messes you regularly leave in your wake. As if the library were Denny's with books.

When they see you during subsequent visits, they will not think, "Oh great, here comes that hobag who lets her kids trash the library. We know what we'll be doing later." They will instead think, "Oh hey, it's that nice lady who takes responsibility and doesn't think we are servants. We like her."

And believe you me: it's good to have the librarians on your side.

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Of ringing ears and a neck that feels decapitated.

So I have put myself through 6 hours of continuous live metal music today at the Resurrection concert. Draining as it were, but it was definitely worth every single ounce of energy as it is not an everyday sight and sound to hear the music that one so fervently adore being played at such an indignant volumes and where its supporters can revel in unison.

I was there especially to witness performances from Rudra, Meza Virs and Draconis Infernum, although the other acts were nice introductory listens which offered certain times of auditory and visual enjoyment, the latter being the self-asphysixation with microphone wire act from Meltsgnow.

In retrospect, I thoroughly enjoyed every song from the 3 abovementioned bands, with no distinct difference in preference, which created a seamless stream of auditory roller coaster ride. Each offering times for one's expression through headbanging, moshing, and sometimes bodysurfing. The sensation of having those unrepentent sound waves reverberating through your body and your ears at full intensity while you unhinge your self awareness and then subsequently unleash your weary soul away from your physical body. Henceforth, you find yourself clasping your arms over to your neighbour's shoulders and your head being flung up and down at quite incredible speed and momentum. It doesn't matter if you don't know the neighbour-audience, or if you start to think you look mentally unbalanced with your hair flaying all over when your head starts flinging on its own will. You are smiling inside. And, that is what made the difference and that is what made it worth the ounces of energy.

One afterthought that kept me anticipiating for the next round of metal madness was that from the Meza Virs' frontman, Cedric, who quite calmly announced his glorious plan of sending the normal Baybeats crowd to hospital later this year. I can't wait to witness the reactions of the ''indie-rock-alternative-emo-whatever-you-want-to-label-it" fans. =D Let the invasion commence!

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Funniest thing I've seen all week

They recently released the official trailer for New Moon (for the bunker-dwellers, that would be the sequel to Twilight) and I saw it online.



My reaction? If I have to pick a team, I am completely back on Jacob's. Or possibly Laurent's, cuz, yeah, hot.

These ladies, though? Their reactions are a bit more entertaining than mine. I think my favorite part though was when you hear the stars introduce the trailer. Robert Pattinson comes on sounding all British and "it's all for you, the fans" and Taylor Lautner is all, "Yeah, I'm pretty much adorable" and then we get Kristin Stewart . . .

(Note: You can quit around 2:40, the rest of it is just more of the same. And at the very end one of them notices that the MTV Movie Awards are still on, says "Who gives a [flip] about this show?" and turns off the TV.)



I think these ladies may be on Team Jacob as well, perhaps. ;-) Seriously, though, did Kristen Stewart not sound like a teenager being forced to participate in a family reunion skit? "There are motorcycles in this movie. Or something. Whatever. Ughh . . . "

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I only share this in the fervent hope that it may be useful to you

Because I am like Colonel Brandon/Alan Rickman in that way.

So. Here is my advice to the world.

If you, by any chance, say, open a Bill Me Later account one October while doing Christmas shopping because Amazon.com promises you an additional discount on your order, that is fine. And then you pay off that initial charge immediately and put your new little Bill Me Later account in the back of your mind as something that was useful during this venture but should probably be cancelled at some point, great.

Except here's the thing:

When you start getting emails about your Bill Me Later statement, you might choose to just delete them, since you know you don't owe them any money.

And when you get statements in the mail from Bill Me Later you might just choose to shred them, unopened, while rolling your eyes at how paper-happy some companies are to send you statements when you don't even owe them money.

And then, perhaps in May, you will start getting these automated phone messages that are supposedly about your Bill Me Later account. You ignore these, because you have been getting a lot of spam phone messages lately on account of accidentally getting your phone number on some sort of "please call me and spam me all the time" registry. When the messages don't stop you listen to one and hear that your account is past due and you owe over $100 and you can easily pay this bill over the phone. This, to you, might be ridiculous on multiple levels. #1) You know you don't owe anybody $100 and #2) you're not about to give any financial information out over the phone, because you were not raised by stupid monkeys who were themselves raised on a diet of moron sandwiches.

While relating this last experience to your husband, he may tentatively say something like, "Um, usually if a credit card company sends you a statement it's because you owe them money." You might dismiss this with a charming and very French pffft and wave of your hand. Five minutes later he will go get the mail and return with a Bill Me Later statement in his hand, suggesting that finally opening one of these things might solve the mystery.

You open the statement, read what it says, and then your head implodes.

You may have guessed by now that this story is actually about something that happened to ME. And, as Jim Dale would say on the cancelled-tragically-too-soon Pushing Daisies, the facts were these:

I placed my Amazon order, it went through, I paid off the Bill Me Later charge. BUT, it turned out that Amazon split my order in two and sent a second charge of $9 (yep, 9 bucks) to Bill Me Later about a day after I paid my bill. And then that charge just sat there, gathering late fees and processing fees and I know not what. While I blithely ignored all the letters, emails, and phone calls. Because perhaps there are moron sandwiches in my genes.

I will try to spare you the scene that transpired after the full enormity of my complete stupidity hit. Needless to say there was much moaning, thrashing, wailing, gnashing, and words like "My perfect credit score!" and "But I didn't KNOW that's what the mail meant, I've never even had a credit card balance!" and "Ruined! We're ruined!!"

GH was actually incredibly nice about me ruining our credit score and, ultimately, our future lives and the lives of all our future descendents. Much, much nicer than I would have been if the tables were turned, which is something he probably hopes I will remember down the road.

Then I had to call and throw myself upon the mercy of their billing department. Which is where I met my new lover, even Alex. I explained my situation and he actually chuckled. At which point my heart began to hope again. He waived all the charges, saying this had clearly been a mistake and I hadn't known about the additional charge. He also assured me that nothing had been reported to a credit agency so I was just fine there. Aaaaaand gently reminded me that I may wish to open my statements in the future. Of course by that point he could have suggested 45 minutes of Nutella Paintbrush Time and I would have agreed.

So yes. I hope we have all learned something valuable here today.

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But I never got to be a mother!

This morning I reached down past my skirt to scratch my bare leg and felt a large hard lump on my calf. For a split-second I was terrified that it was a tumor and I was about to die. Then I realized that it was my rock-hard, grapefruit-sized calf muscle. On account of I have worked out like 7 times in the past two weeks. And that is the kind of instant gratification with which my body (or at least the leg portion of my body) chooses to reward me.

I tell you. It's a good thing they're only 2 feet long and so pale and translucent as to resemble zebra haunches (if they were to make white & blue zebras) because otherwise? These legs would make you cry.

(Note: What is extra awesome about my oh-my-gosh-I-have-a-leg-tumor-and-now-I'm-going-to-die experience is that I forgot the part where I already had one exactly like it over two years ago. So, you know, the last time I was working out.)

(Note the Second: I was going to go find a body-building woman pic to post here so you'd know how hot my legs are except I did a Google image search and then I had to go pour Clorox into my eyes at how awful it all was. You can go look here, but I beg you not to. Seriously. You shouldn't.)

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