Expect Great Pie

On Halloween, our office had a chili cook-off. We had six different types of chili with lots of chips, breads, veggies, and desserts. Someone brought in a store-bought pumpkin pie, a piece of which I found to be fluffier and lighter and more delicious than any pumpkin pie I had enjoyed in the past. It was very similar to the pumpkin cheesecake at the Cheesecake Factory, and I wondered how a store bakery had created such a great pie. Had they used fresh pumpkin?

When Cooking.com sent me my latest e-newsletter, it highlighted several pumpkin pie recipes. I noshed on leftover pie from the office fridge and still wondered, how had they done it? Would one of these recipes yield a pie that was thicker than an inch and not so dense as the ones that come from the recipe on a can of pumpkin?

Today I tried the pie for one last time, figuring it still looked good. This time I noticed the label from the grocery store: "SWEET POTATO PIE." Ahh. When I ate it this time, it tasted just like sweet potatoes. I have to smile at how much the taste changed from when I thought it was pumpkin to when I discovered it was sweet potato. It's an interesting lesson in how much our experiences are shaped by our expectations!

Rembrandt 2-Hour Whitening Kit

Pardon me for sounding like a commercial, but I get excited about new products.  This one from Rembrandt sounded so good, too: a whitening kit that works in two hours with a $5 coupon available online.  I used Rembrandt toothpaste for the entire year prior to my wedding with decent, but not whitening-kit, results.  Thus, I went to the Rembrandt site, downloaded the coupon, then turned around and left it on my desk while I went to the store.  Still, the kit only cost $19, so I bought it anyway.

Much to my surprise and delight, the process actually takes slightly less than two hours.  You wear it for 20 minutes, rest 10 minutes, then do that three more times.  I used it while watching a movie, then quickly ran into the bathroom to check out my magnificent new smile.  The results were pretty good.

My teeth were whiter, white enough to notice, but not obscenely fluorescent.  I probably could have achieved better results with a 7-Day kit, but I got natural-looking white teeth for less than twenty bucks (would have been less than 15 with the coupon) in less than two hours.  Before and after photos might have been nice, but did I take any?  No.  My husband prefers his Crest Whitestrips, but for my level of patience, this was perfect.

No Such Thing As A Useless Invention

As I have been frequently distracted of late and unable to think of blog entries that would be of interest to anyone other than my future self, Holly gave me an assignment: research and write about a useless invention.  How appropriate:

"Our inventions are wont to be pretty toys, which distract our attention from serious things.  They are but an improved means to an unimproved end." Henry David Thoreau, Walden

So to distract me from my distractions in serious things, I began to think about useless things.  Small, uncelebrated inventions abound, like the Downy ® Ball ® fabric softener dispenser and the Reach ® Access ^TM Flosser.  Useless inventions came to mind less quickly until I began to think of who buys most of the useless material excesses in this world: new parents, pet owners, obscenely rich people, and people addicted to Wal-Mart.  I thought of the Baby Toupee, costumes for cats, decorative throw pillows, and a $40 Monogrammed Steak Brand from Williams-Sonoma.

Suddenly, though, Tom Smykowski came to mind, a supporting character in the film, Office Space. Tom represents the average American: working for a living, trying to make it to retirement age, paranoid about corporate downsizing.  In one scene, he and the three main characters, all programmers in a software corporation, are discussing possible layoffs. 

TOM

"You know there are people in this world who don't have to put up with this shit? Like that guy that invented the Pet Rock.  You see, that's what you have to do.  You have to use your mind and come up with some really great idea like that and you never have to work again!"

MICHAEL

"I don't think the Pet Rock was really such a great idea."

TOM

"That guy made a million dollars!"

Immediately I realized that the Pet Rock might be the most useless thing ever invented.  Just the idea that someone purchased something like a pet rock, that thousands of people purchased something like a pet rock, burned my sensibilities.  A rock, even in pretty packaging, doesn't entertain for more than a moment, and as a gift, is somewhat insulting.  Here, you say, I've found the perfect pet for you.  Clearly you are too inept to care for something living, even a fern, so here is something to serve as a warning to every casual acquaintance who might otherwise mistakenly ask you to house-sit.

Invented, or rather, dreamt up in 1975 by a drunk advertiser named Gary Dahl, each rock cost one cent to Dahl, and with packaging, he charged $3.95.  That's three ninety-five in 1975 dollars.  For a rock.  The guy really did make millions within months, and by Valentine's Day of 1976, the Pet Rock had become a dead fad.  While reading the history of this embarrassing lack of judgement on the part of my fellow Americans on virtualpet.com, I learned that the Pet Rock may have faded in popularity, but it's inventor did not.  Authors were interviewing Dahl as an inspiration to the average person seeking that one invention that would let them retire young.  Dahl produced a product "that gave people a few moments of absolutely meaningless pleasure in a troubled world."  

So here I've been sitting, fuming over the audacity of a man who would pawn off this rip-off to impressionable consumers as a legitimate gift, when all along it's popularity was established by the fact that people really did enjoy that goofy, expensive rock.  It's value, akin to that of a greeting card, was purely in creating a moment, lightening the spirits and serving as a reminder that someone wanted to see someone else smile.  Thoreau, like myself, was too mired down in the "serious things" of life and failed to see how even the most useless-looking invention has some worth, even if only momentarily.  In the case of the Pet Rock, its enduring worth lies its ability to continue to inspire people to dream, create, and reach out for a better life.

Somewhere in history, an unwieldy, expensive piece of farm equipment that neither improved upon previous technology nor brought anyone anything but angst probably tops the useless inventions list, but I haven't heard of it.  It occurs to me that perhaps considering the myriad mysterious connections between people and events that often only time reveals, there may be no such thing as a useless invention.  Inventions, like art, reflect the inherent worth in their creators and in the greater story of humanity.

From My Head Down to My Legs

I love eggs. Remember that commercial? I always thought it was pretty catchy. No Daisy sour cream ad for sure, but still catchy.

Anyway, it is because of my love for eggs that every morning I pick up my plate and lick it clean.

I wish there was a good reason for this. I came up with a few including gas prices and the Bush administration. I toyed with the connection to global warming, but it was slippery at best. I really think this awesome new habit I have came because this is the fifth year that have lived Alone. One day you just realize that no one can see you, you will not hear keys jingling in the door and then have to explain why there is yolk in your hair, and no matter how badly they may want to, your pets can't tell on you.

Once you realize that, a transformation occurs and your Living Alone self comes out. It is the part of your brain that would be Booger if all the characters in Animal House represented parts of your psyche. I look forward to discussing Booger the Living Alone self in greater detail in the coming weeks.

Have a lovely day. :)

Happy Sleepy Time

Alright, perhaps I have gotten far too introspective.  I have to admit that I usually think of blogging when I'm doing random daily things like enjoying my variety of new skin care products from Origins -- bless Origins -- or drinking ginseng tea that makes me feel like a fresh-eyed kid again.

Right now I am listening to my Happy Sleepy Time mix in iTunes.  I've been perfecting two mixes: one soporific mix of peaceful tunes for when I'm in a good mood, and one emotionally cleansing mix called Time To Let Go for when I'm down.  Each only lasts about half an hour, long enough to let you drift off but not so long as to be a distraction.

This latest incarnation of Happy Sleepy Time is my favorite:

1. "Write You A Song" - Plain White T's, Every Second Counts

2. "Across The Universe" - Fiona Apple, Pleasantville (music from the motion picture)

3. "Another Rainy Day" - Corinne Bailey Ray, Corrine Bailey Ray

4. "Down To The River To Pray" - Alison Krauss, O Brother, Where Art Thou?

5. "Julia" - Medeski Scofield Martin & Wood, Out Louder

6. "No Ke Ano Ahiahi" - Medeski, Martin & Wood, Combustication

7. "Pablo's Song" - Ana Serrano van der Laan, Chocolate and Roses

I submitted it to iTunes as an iMix today; maybe someone else will like it, too.

I can't wait to see what Holly's listening to; she needs to tell me the name of the Dutch Prog Rock band she introduced me to last summer!

Testing....Testing......Is this thing on?

I would like to formally announce that I am here, and that I intend to dilute the meaningful soul searching on this blog with things such as essays written by my cat, and ode to the skirtini, and an essay on the wonders of cinnamon toast.

This is only a test.

The real fun will begin at a later time. I think that I should have a column here, and I have a few ideas as to things that I would like to cover:

Things I Like
What I Am Currently Listening To/ Music I Think You Should Like
Confessions of Gross, Odd, and Generally Unsavory Things I Do When No One's Looking
This Week in The Election Year

Christine, please pick one or two and then just let the magic happen. Thanks in advance.

The Road To Happiness Could Use Some Road Signs

I shall not go into the reasons for my silence these past couple of months.  Those months are behind me, and my husband and I are making a conscientious effort to embrace the possibilities of the future.  That being said, when a positive opportunity came up this weekend, we found that we weren't sure we were ready to take advantage of it.

We live in a small apartment in the top of a house at the top of a hill.  We are surrounded by trees filled with deer, raccoons, foxes, owls, chipmunks, bunnies, squirrels, and a rainbow of bird species.  We love our little apartment, and we pay a petite sum for it relative to it's location overlooking downtown Nashville.  We have only two wishes: we'd like to be in the house alone, without a family living beneath us (friendly and tolerant though they may be), and we'd like a yard for our Border Collie to play in.  This weekend, a coworker showed us her house that she's putting up for rent.  Other than the micro-machine oven/stove combo, it seemed to perfectly fit our needs.  It was as though we'd brought it into fruition through our desires.  Less than a mile from where we currently live, it has nearly everything we want at a great rental rate.  Within a few hours, we called my coworker to tell her we were definitely interested.

Then, a few hours after calling to claim the house for our own, my husband's face reflected his discontent.  He kept asking me what I was thinking, and all I kept thinking about was how I was going to make that tiny kitchen work.  My husband, though, worried that we might not be making the wisest choice financially.  Although I just received a raise at my job, the new rent would suck that up and then some.  In this precarious job market, with my husband working for a car dealership, we suddenly both began to worry that if he lost his job, or if I finally had an opportunity for a job in publishing that required me to take a pay cut, we'd be screwed.  I wanted to believe that if we embraced the opportunity with the house and had faith that God would continue to provide us with great opportunities, our financial stability would follow.  The cautious side of me saw that we could be using my raise to pay down our debt and to start an emergency fund.  Perhaps the blessing was in the raise, and the house is a temptation.  Perhaps everything would work out just fine in the new house, or perhaps by staying where we we are, we'll be rewarded for managing our money responsibly.  All day on Sunday and all morning yesterday while we prepared for work, we debated the pros and cons.  In the end, though, it just came down to the fact that the increase in rent came out to about $2,400 over the course of a year, and that's a big chunk of change towards becoming debt free and building a cushion of savings.

The book Conversations With God explains that God has given us everything we need, if only we accept it.  Joel Osteen in Your Best Life Now reiterates that thought and proclaims that God wants abundance in our lives, and we must believe that God can do anything to help us gain that abundance.  Dr. Wayne Dyer in The Power of Intention (which I haven't read) explains that we must open ourselves to The Source, and when we put good things out there, good things will come back to us.  I believe the new book Quantum Wellness, which I would like to read, also says that.  So taking all of this into account, I wanted -- oh, how I wanted -- to embrace the opportunity in that rental that we'd dreamed of, perhaps even dreamed up, and have faith that abundance would soon follow.  Of all these inspirational authors, though, no one tells you how to determine when an opportunity is a good one or when a responsible decision is the better one.  My husband and I thus decided that we could have complete faith in the abundance to come while using our current abundance to pay for the things we bought on credit when abundance was lacking.

A friend of mine who is going through radiation to treat breast cancer took me to lunch today.  After explaining the aforementioned situation to her, she came up with a great analogy that eased my anxieties.  She explained that there are jigsaw puzzles in the cancer treatment center waiting room.  As she worked on one yesterday, she found a piece that seemed to fit in a hole, but it wasn't quite right.  The colors were close, and the size was almost the same, but it just didn't fit.  If she left it there, the whole puzzle would have been messed up.  She said that perhaps the house was, for us, like that puzzle piece.  It seemed so close to perfect, but it just wasn't the right fit.  If we had tried to make it fit, it would have messed up the bigger picture. 

She bowled me over with her wisdom.  Of course, it's hard to feel too anxious about one's choices in how to best spend a raise when speaking with someone who's winning the battle against cancer . . . and who still believes that God has fantastic plans for her.

Happiness is . . . somewhere

This morning I started reading The Geography of Bliss by Eric Weiner.  I am only on page 3 of the introduction, but he immediately struck me with his proclamation that:

. . . where we are is vital to who we are.

By 'where,' I'm speaking not only of our physical environment but also of our cultural environment.  Culture is the sea we swim in--so pervasive, so all-consuming, that we fail to notice its existence until we step out of it.  It matters more than we think.

AH-HAH!  It's as though he confirmed what I've suspected all along but was ashamed to admit.  Perhaps happiness isn't entirely inside us, and I shouldn't feel so guilty if it's difficult to maintain it in a city like, oh, say, Nashville.

Nashville is a unique animal with music, celebrity, and arts like L.A. and New York City, but this music is country music, and this city is in the South.  It has the perks of a metropolitan area while maintaining a community mentality.  As a child who grew up never wanting to fit in--never ever, no, not ever--I've found as an adult that not fitting in can be terribly lonely.

In high school, my efforts to distinguish myself caused my sister great angst.  She was a senior when I was a freshman.  At some point that year, I discovered yellow rain boots in a catalog.  At first I wanted red ones, but yellow boots symbolized to me the playfulness of childhood and a grand departure from anything that was in style.  I wore them to school on the sunniest of days, and considered it a worthy sacrifice to be laughed at because at least I was making people smile.  The year before, I had decided and declared to a friend that the purpose of life was to make people happy.  It wasn't to be happy, but it was to make others happy, which, I surmised, could only lead to self-fulfillment.  My sister did not appreciate this and cringed to have to claim me as part of her family.  Bless my friends for sticking by me!

Earlier this year, though, I was complaining to my husband that no matter how lofty the ideal of not caring what other people think may be, in a professional environment, one is ever-conscious of what other people think.  In my search for a new job and simultaneous longing for a promotion in my current, I became fixated on that point.  Since I had no money for new clothes, I did not look professional.  Finally, last Thanksgiving, I got up early and headed to Kohl's and Target for their ridiculous Black Friday sales and stocked up on a new professional-looking wardrobe.  I cut off my long hair to a more mature chin-length, and to my chagrin, the changes garnered much positive feedback at work.  It's like the show "What Not To Wear" on TLC: who can help but respect someone who appears to respect herself?  I wondered if I was selling out to fit in with an industry (publishing) that doesn't seem to want me in a city where exclusivity can be a painful segregator.  I'm not radically different -- no face jewelry, no visible tattoos, no real badge of originality.  I don't even know what my real complaint is, whether I'm more upset that I can't break out of the hippie-receptionist persona or that I can't break into the publishing arena.  It's probably knowing that I must do the former to accomplish the latter and not having the slightest idea how to do so.

My husband struggles in this city, as well.  He is a drummer, but not a country drummer.  Despite having contacts at one of the major labels in this city, the tight-knit music industry here prevents outsiders from cracking through its sugary candy shell.  To make things worse, because the city overflows with mediocre struggling musicians, it makes entry-level jobs scarce.  We both love many other things about Nashville, but we frequently question if this is the right city for us for our careers.

Thus I picked up Weiner's The Geography of Bliss at the library.  Whether it's my pioneer heritage or some escapist tendency, when opportunities seem to be exhausted in one place, I head for somewhere new.  Whether in a job or in a city, I need to feel that growth is possible and available.  I've lived in six states in my nearly 29 years, three since leaving home at 19.  After college, I interviewed for positions in Washington, D.C, and New York City, only to turn down the first job offer to interview and subsequently be rejected for the second.  My solution?  I began planning to get rid of my stuff to take a month-long bike trip up the East Coast, and I thought I'd find a job wherever I landed.  I prayed for a sign, and awoke the next morning to discover my bicycle had been stolen.  If not for that ominous happenstance, I might be living in Maine right now and not married to the love of my life.

At the other side of the spectrum, my husband's best friend, a painter, is making the last preparations for his move to San Miguel, Mexico.  There, he and his fiancee have found nothing but appreciation for their art, joie de vivre in the locals, and unfathomably reasonably-priced luxury.  My heart aches with envy; I just can't help it.  After years of struggling as artists in Charleston, South Carolina, they've found their heart's song in Mexico.

So will Weiner conclude that being in a location where what you value is available contributes directly to happiness?  Would I be much happier if I were in a town where true opportunity to fulfill my dreams exists?  I suspect it to be true.  It might be reassuring to think that if my husband and I found a culture that coincides with our natural mentalities, we might balance those internal and external happiness-stimuli.  On the other hand, if we didn't have the hope that happiness lies within us no matter our circumstances, we might never have a reason to make the most of whatever comes our way.

The Other Side

Tonight I found out that an old friend's little sister, Laura, died in a car accident.  At first, I was just shocked.  I didn't know Laura well, and in fact hadn't seen her since we were in high school ten years ago.  Alas, you never know when another life lesson is going to smack you in the face.

My friend is a year younger than I am, and her little sister was a freshman when I was a senior.  It was my dear friend, Melisa, who called to tell me.  She grew up with Laura, and she and I and Laura's older sister had so much fun together in high school.

Melisa told me that the accident had been Laura's fault: she drifted into oncoming traffic.  The reports from the autopsy weren't back yet.  A woman in the car she hit also died.  The other three passengers were okay physically.  She told me about Laura's wake and how many friends and family were there.  She told me how distraught Laura's family was, and how hard it was to see them.  We went on to talk about other things and catch up on each other's lives.

After getting off the phone, I was still very bothered.  I could hear Laura's laugh, and her sister's, and see her face clearly.  I made dinner, ate with my very sympathetic husband, then got online to Google Laura and see if there were any pictures or memorials posted yet.  Instead, I found several news articles about the accident.  The local paper described how Laura, 25, had drifted into oncoming traffic and killed a 60 year old woman who was in town to watch her son graduate from the local federal training center.  The paper said it was unknown whether Laura had been drinking.  The bigger city paper, though, with all the sensitivity of a big city, led with a headline, "Alcohol, Speeding factor in collision."  The investigation "led police to suspect" that Laura had been drinking and speeding.  The different perspectives of the newspaper and my friend Melisa surprised me.

Those who know me well know I abhor drunk driving.  I openly and aggressively chastise any person who drives after drinking.  Then tonight I read about Laura, a woman whose sister was once a good friend of mine, possibly causing an accident by drinking and speeding.  I immediately felt how horrid it must be to read one newspaper after another painting your sister out to be just another drunk driver.

It took a couple more hours before, at long last, the emotion washed over me.  Thanks to some particularly dramatic music on the TV, a little barrier inside me fell, and there it was.  For all my self-righteous anger at those who deign to drive after drinking, for the first time I knew the person whom one family blames for the death of their loved one.  Outside of the perspective of the victim of a drunk driving accident, I sit mourning a sweet, sweet girl who was loved and loved others and was not evil at all.  Hell, I've known times when I was positive I was fine to drive after a few drinks, only to get halfway home and realize maybe I should have gotten a cab.  And then that existential realization washed over me that I've been sheltered from for far too long.  My husband was in a minor car accident just today when someone rear-ended him, but I have him home safely tonight.  More than anything, conflicting feelings of guilt and compassion push out from inside my chest, guilt that I've been so condemning of others without seeing their humanity, and compassion for those who have to watch their loved ones vilified for a tragic mistake.

This is obviously new to me, and everyone probably goes through the same self-examination at some point following a death.  It's worse knowing that tomorrow morning, though I'll still be shaken, my day will go on as usual and I'll probably have some good laughs while others are forever touched by this accident.  My friend should know, though, that my perspective is widened.  I remember Laura, funny and sweet, I'll be a little more compassionate because of her.

Confessions of a Web Site Virgin - Almost

As I plod defiantly through the mud that is the process of creating a new product, I've been debating when to start a website.  When planning my destination wedding last year, I wouldn't even consider using a company who didn't have a website.  I believe in keeping money within a community, but to not have a website means a company cares little for catering to out-of-towners.  Developing a newsletter for high school students similarly requires accepting that my online presence might as well be my only presence.  I wondered, though, Should I wait until I have enough money to pay for a professional site, or get something basic online immediately? 

 

I decided not to wait.  Even if I have to use a template to get the site started, it's better than not being online at all.  Today, after scouring the variety of established and well-rated site hosts, I finally registered for four domains, www.writetodaychangetomorrow.com, .org, .net, and .us.  OK, so the .us domain was probably overkill, but it was such a rush!  I designed my first website seven years ago in a desktop publishing/web design class that involved learning the basics of HTML code and consisted of photos of me and my family.  Like any good girl who's suffered one rebellious moment, I consider myself an almost-website-virgin who's had one brief and shallow experience.  Now I just have to create a website in an exponentially larger online world than what I learned in and attempt to draw in and inspire a teenage audience.  No problem!

Environmental Extremism?

I don't get extremists and fundamentalists. I don't understand vandalizing people's property in the name of environmentalism. I remember reading about a man who lived in an environmentally conscious neighborhood but purchased a Hummer. Not only did he have to deal with ugly stares from his neighbors, but masked vandals actually slashed his tires.

Yesterday, though, I read about vandals who - in the name of the Environmental Liberation Front - set several homes on fire that claimed to be green but, according to the vandals, were not totally green. The builders won't suffer financially - they have insurance. And the locals probably didn't appreciate the toxins released into the air from burning heaven-knows-what in those houses. Most importantly, the vandals only further enforced the belief by some that environmentalists have their priorities mixed up. They did nothing to further the development of so-called green building. Write to change, people, or picket, or petition, or come up with some other equally legal but more creative solution. But for the sake of those who actually want to initiate positive change, stop vandalizing in the name of good causes!