Life's Too Short To Eat Fake Butter

Oh, to support a local business

2009-10-13T12:31:00.002-05:00

Ivanka Trump just published a book called The Trump Card: Playing to Win In Work and Life this month that has already received many good reviews. I’m intrigued enough to want to spend the money to get it in hardback [uber-rare for me], so the next question was: where should I buy it?

First I considered picking it up from the local Barnes & Noble because I love B&N and want to keep it going. Then I thought about buying it online from a used bookseller in Tennessee through the B&N site, which would save me some money and a little of the gas that goes into shipping. Then I thought about buying it from BetterWorldBooks because they support literacy programs and the shipping is free.

During this hour of indecisiveness (during which I was analyzing whether I really, really wanted this book more than any of the dozens of others on my wish lists), I found the web site IndieBound.org, where you can look up local independent booksellers and retailers. I found Davis Kidd, which is near me and even having a 10% off sale on Thursday, but they are located in a part of town that I despise driving through. Looking for a place closer to my work, though, yielded Landmark Booksellers, a local small business whose hours are listed as "open most days about 9:00 or 10:00 . . . closed most days about 5:00 or 6:00 But some nights we're open till 8:00 or 9:00." Add to this that they are purveyors of rare books as well as new books and offer a special room on book collecting and the care of rare books, well, I'm in love. When I called, the woman who answered the phone said she was with a customer and asked if she could call me back: whoah. Of course I said that would be fine. Then she called back and offered to order the book for me, as any bookstore would.

At this point in the economic slump, most people probably understand the value of shopping locally. It's just nice to see that there are so many options out there to do a good thing in a way that is still convenient. No, I won't be saving any money with this particular option, but maybe I'll be helping in a little way to save that bastion of the American dream, the independently owned business.

Growing Old Is . . .

2009-07-20T21:31:00.003-05:00

Watching the year you were born get farther and farther down the pull-down menu on a web form.

Seeing a commercial for new, energy-efficient windows to replace those old, drafty '90s windows.

Realizing the kids who were in kindergarten when you graduated high school have now graduated from high school.

Thinking kids these days don't know what real music is.

Acknowledging that certain clothing is no longer appropriate in public.

Not taking everything so seriously.

Not so bad if you don't think about it too much.

Bye-Bye Chemicals. Hello, Fire In The Belly.

2009-06-08T13:28:00.011-05:00

My husband believes that some people overeat to calm the fire in their belly. He's not talking about indigestion but about the burn to do something, to love someone, to be someone. It's a real physical pang that most people are not ready to deal with, so, he believes, they eat to mute the internal calling.

I can tell that the chemicals from my anti-depressants have left my body, and now the overwhelming love and compassion I used to feel as a teenager have returned (except without the attachment issues, thank God). It's an uncomfortable yearning characterized by an urge to act, an urge to speak out, and a simultaneous urge to hide from these pressing needs. Sometimes I can't imagine feeling this way for my whole life, but after my recent period of relative calm and complacency, I welcome the moments of such humongous emotion that my body radiates with energy. Will it ever go away? As long as there are people unable to govern or protect themselves, there will be others to exploit them, and I cannot be at peace. You can fight the passion - try to numb it, ignore it, demoralize or deprive it - but it will always return. Peace isn't just a lack of conflict; it's knowing that you've done something to help bring that lack of conflict to its fruition.

Learning Spanish! Soy mujer!

2009-06-07T19:52:00.003-05:00

I just finished my first lesson at LiveMocha, a free language learning web site that is comparable to Rosetta Stone, but cooler because you get to befriend people and chat with people and help them with their lessons. I'm sad to admit I turned down the first three people who tried to chat with me because I was shy, but I'll get in there next time. I listened to a few lessons of other people and rated them, and people can rate mine, and it's an active learning community. What an exciting way to learn a language and connect with people around the world!

A Few of My Favorite Things

2009-05-21T21:10:00.010-05:00

I seem to be finding a lot of products I like lately. Since I'm the type of person who wants everyone to have good experiences, I like to be an unpaid and sometimes unwelcome/overenthusiastic spokesperson for awesome products I find. Considering my recent list of favorites, one of two conclusions can be drawn: either I have really been lucky in picking good stuff, or my ability to discern quality has been severely hampered. It's up to readers, since "Everyone," as Marie says in When Harry Met Sally, "thinks they have good taste."

1) Tide Total Care: This stuff does what it says it will. My clothes are softer, brighter, not stretching out in the wash, and my husband's t-shirts smell heavenly on him. It got out dried blood, old dried-in schmutz on a hand-me-down, and tomato sauce. Stains? I laugh in the face of stains - ha ha ha ha! Tide even offers a free sample here. It's a little pricey, but it's totally worth it. Don't be fooled by the smell in the bottle; it's so concentrated that it smells a little weird before it's been diluted in the wash. It may not be appropriate for people with skin allergies due to the high fragrance content, but for the rest of us, it's better than Gain!

2) Allergen Block: There are two versions of this, Chloroseptic and Little Allergies, the latter being the only one I've been able to find (I found it at WalMart). It's a drug-free ointment that you rub around your nostrils and upper lip, and it claims to have a positive charge that repels negatively-charged allergens. Although it seemed far-fetched, I've built up a tolerance to Zyrtec and needed to find an affordable alternative. You may be shocked to know that I actually like it! It does have to be reapplied every 4-6 hours or if you get your face wet or have to blow your nose a lot - it doesn't stop post-nasal drip until your body stops reacting to the allergens you've already inhaled. Once my body got over what it was already reacting to, this stuff did a pretty good job of taming the outdoor allergens! It's not so great against my furry pets and fur-covered bed, though, so a little preventative maintenance of allergens might help prevent waking up miserable. You can get a $3 rebate from Rite-Aid until May 30th [it's about a third of the way down the page of the link]. Balancing the cost against the cost-per-use makes it a decent deal.

3) Hugo Naturals: I started with their French Lavender Calming Shampoo, Conditioner, and lotion while on our vacation, then fell in love with their bar soaps after we got back. The shampoo doesn't have icky sodium lauryl sulfate or other detergents, and the conditioner doesn't have alcohol. It feels weird to use, but it leaves hair thoroughly clean yet not stripped. The lotion absorbs quickly and doesn't have a heavy smell. The soap is one of the only soaps around that doesn't leave my skin dry and itchy, but it does have one caveat: it contains castor oil. Castor oil is perfectly safe to use but extremely toxic to harvest, making it a product that contributes to unsafe work places. I intend to let Hugo Naturals know about my concern and switch to their shower gel for my next go-round. I buy it at Whole Foods/Whole Body, but it can be purchased directly here.

These are just three of my favorite things of late, but let's face it, it's not that interesting a blog entry to read. It also doesn't endorse my favorite product site, Etsy.com. You can see all those favorite things in the box on the right, and buying things there supports independent craftspeople. Go Handmade!

Busy Isn't Always Busy

2009-05-15T19:59:00.004-05:00

Sometimes busy is busy resting, busy recovering, busy watching movies, or busy overeating. Sometimes, busy means preoccupied. I always feel busy, but maybe that's 'cause even when I'm being lazy, it's intentional. There has to be some value in that.

We Will Put Anything In Our Mouths

2009-05-05T21:51:00.009-05:00

Humans can be so overly concerned with their health (Swine Flu, anyone?), and yet we will put just about anything in our mouths. Why is this? The phenomenon occurred to me while looking up the potential side effects of quitting the anti-depressant Lexapro. People who cut off Lexapro without a tapering off reported things like brain shivers/brain freezes, memory loss, raging headaches, loss of sexual desire, and, of course, a return of their depression. "What's in those things?" my husband asked. Whatever it is, I want it to not be in my brain anymore, so I am ignoring my doctor's advice to just stop taking the drug and am cutting the pills in half while gradually increasing the time between doses. So far, I've had only one little brain freeze that does, in fact, feel like someone is blowing cold air over your frontal lobe. Perhaps I don't want to know what's in those things.

The side effects of prescription drugs described in commercials make a lot of people laugh, but it's a little scary when you think about what people will risk to get some other benefit. Then there are diet pills, untested supplements, exotic foods, random pills given to us at parties, pens and pencils, Pop Rocks, tobacco, fermented grains, corners of packages that have been passed through the hands of loaders, stockers, and cashiers . . . we are so gross! What is wrong with us that we believe our saliva has the power to kill the germs on a ketchup packet from a bin in a fast food restaurant, but we close schools and businesses at the mere threat of someone sneezing near us? Or why do we take a product that will "gently remind us when we're not eating right" - i.e., alli ® - which gives us diarrhea if we eat too much fatty food rather than just, say, limit our intake of fatty foods all on our own? Why is my father-in-law being directed to take vomit-inducing levels of iron but abstain from greens because they will react with his Coumadin rather than being directed to take some aspirin and eat some spinach?

The photos below are some of the food that my husband and I ate in Mexico on our vacation to San Miguel de Allende. It was the only time I've ever known this man to willingly and happily eat raw tomatoes, which really were so good I wrote home to my mother about them. Their food was fresh, flavorful, whole. It was the food people were meant to eat. It made us feel good because it was filled with nutrition, and it was a joy to smell, chew on, swallow, and moan over. It made me want to grow a garden. It also made me want to pay more attention to what I put in my mouth. Now, I'm perfecting my homemade bread, homemade applesauce, and homemade jam, which is surprisingly simple when made in small batches that aren't meant to keep all winter.

An Omelet with Avacado and Tomato; Fried Fish with Rice and Beans

Fresh-Squeezed Juices of Mango, Papaya, Pineapple, and Watermelon

The last photo is a sample of tequila ice cream, which turned out to be one of my favorite sensory experiences of the whole trip. It came from a street vendor, and it tasted a little like Kahlua, which I suppose may be because the best tequila has hints of coffee in it. The brightness of the tequila first hit my nose and then soared over my tongue while the sweetness and icy-milky texture following behind it had me licking the cup. This was my second helping during the trip, which was still soft and therefore could not be served in a waffle cone. Of course, in Mexico, we didn't have any idea what the kitchens were like where our food was made, if standard sanitation practices were in use, or even whether local water was part of the mix, but I didn't get sick once. And I wasn't scared. After all, we will put just about anything in our mouths!

Time To Recoup

2009-02-25T21:27:00.013-06:00

Lately, whenever I get excited about an opportunity that falls through, I have to go through a little down time. Before I moved to Nashville, I could jump into a new project after barely absorbing a moment of disappointment. Now, I don't hop up so quickly.

I joke with former coworkers about my escape plan from my current job and the progress I'm making - or not making, really. There was the private housekeeper job at the home of the Dollar General founder and his wife, a children's book writer. How could I not get hired with my hotel and bed-and-breakfast experience, or my enthusiasm? There was the reporter job at the Nashville Business Journal, for which I was unqualified, but the editor interviewed me anyway because I was so determined. Some brokers who left the office where I currently work asked if I'd like to interview to be their assistant at the new firm, but the other two men on their new team hired an assistant that had just returned to the city after living in Kentucky. I did my best to procure an assistant job at Thomas Nelson Publishers under the VP of Marketing, sending notes and, finally, a cardboard book with three boxes inside. The title was, "What To Expect When You Hire Christine"; one box said "Save" with a fake watch inside to represent time, one box said "Make" with a roll of fake money inside, and one box said "Have" with a ball inside. Then Thomas Nelson Publishers instituted a hiring freeze. Three weeks later, they laid off ten percent of their workforce.

On the 13th of this month, I submitted my application to Teach For America. Last year, nearly 25,000 applicants applied for 3,700 positions. The date was the final date for submission out of four possible dates, but I had just read that they were going to be starting a corps in Nashville on the 12th. I filled out the application in two nights, including the 500-word essay, the 500-word letter of intent, and the 500-word description of how I overcame an obstacle. Over the ensuing week and half, I began to really see myself as a teacher, planning out lessons in my head. I felt sure that my life experiences and hard work supporting myself during college would be positive points, but as of yesterday, I was officially rejected. Never mind that they only have a limited number of positions, and I was probably only one of thousands who were rejected; it still stung a little. I decided long before that, though, that I would not be too disappointed and would apply again at the first deadline for next year.

The experience at least pushed to the fore my lingering desire to teach, the desire I've squelched for so long for lack of funds. I could try for Nashville Teacher Fellows next year, too, which is a similar program, and if I could raise the money, I could go to Western Governor's University to study teaching over the next few years. There are other options. I just need a day or to to heal from yet another bruising.

Visualization

2009-02-17T10:18:00.005-06:00

I've been praciticing visualization lately. After reading Kathy Freston's Quantum Wellness and Joel Osteen's Become a Better You, I committed to working on myself from the inside as well as from the outside.

First I started with visualizing myself in a new career. That hasn't been going so well, but perhaps it is because I haven't committed to any sort of career yet. It is more like trying on clothes, seeing if I can imagine myself as a writer, a teacher, a baker, or an assistant in a publishing company. Lately I have been particularly drawn to the visualization of teaching because I recently applied to Teach For America. It may be the only way I can break into teaching without breaking the bank.

My most successful visualization so far has been visualizing myself as a 6-foot tall supermodel. Maybe I will never attain that career, but I do these visualizations while I'm walking, even if I'm just walking to the restroom. I try to carry myself like I am tall, slender, and practiced in the art of graceful walking. So far, it has helped me carry myself more confidently, and I feel better! I also feel slimmer! It's a challenge to not rush around like I usually do, or to not be self-conscious about my hair or worry about my belly. This practice takes my focus away from my imagined flaws and puts them on my envisioned exquisite beauty and charm. It makes me smile. When I'm in the restroom, I practice Joel Osteen's suggestion of telling myself I am smart, I am creative, I am beautiful, I am annointed, I have a purpose, I inspire people, etc. If I ever do get to be a teacher, this is something I can give them: the experience of visualization in creating a better self, even if is something small like walking taller. Of course at that point, I will have also visualized myself into a new career!

Let's Jump!

2009-02-05T15:17:00.003-06:00

The local research hospital where I go for all of my medical needs has free valet parking. The waiting area for the people who were waiting for their cars was quite full today after my 10 am appointment. As I entered the waiting area, two little girls caught my eye because they were wearing fleece pullovers in twenty-degree weather without hats, gloves, or overcoats. Their mother seemed kind enough, young and proud and attentive. I remember a comedian once saying that children are like little heaters, so I figured these girls' energy must be keeping them from noticing the cold.

The younger girl looked just like her mother, blonde and petite and a little like the Swiss Miss girl. Her sister had brown hair but otherwise looked just like the other two. They were chattering away in their little girl ways and goofing around with little games like, "This is MY mommy!" where they took turns hugging Mommy. The younger girl began to hop around and laugh at her own antics when the older girl blurted out, "Let's jump!"

They lined themselves up next to each other, then hopped to the side of the room, then hopped back to Mommy. The woman did not stop them or corral them to her side but instead smiled as they hopped back and forth across the floor. Smart woman, I thought, to let them use up all that energy. Someone asked their ages - 4 and 5 was the answer - and the girls continued to hop around like, no kidding, little rabbits. They were delightful to watch. All I could think was how nice it must be to have fun hopping around the floor with no particular goal, no rules for a game, no reason at all except for fun.

Sometimes, when no one is looking, I'll hop in the air and click my heels together. I get it. Maybe I just need to do it more.

Georgia Ain't Louisiana, and It Sure Ain't Tennessee

2009-02-03T12:31:00.031-06:00

I'm reading a section of Stephen King's On Writing where he talks about writing dialogue. In two of his examples, a southern-style accent seems to indicate ignorance. It's actually that style of speaking I like to refer to as "coun'ry," that slow rolling of words into one another that probably came about because southern humidity was far too oppressive to allow haste in anything, even speaking. Either way, such representations usually show the ignorance of the writer as well as the character. In my short life so far, I have lived in three southern states, four if you count Florida, but no one counts Florida. Each state has not just one version of a southern accent, but several. The great South is like Great Britain: when you're from there, you can tell where someone else is from simply by the way they speak.

In the countryside of Tennessee, you will find what may be the most typical country southern accent I've ever heard. In South Carolina, Charleston alone has the refined Charleston accent of the old south (click here to hear former Senator Ernest "Fritz" Hollings), the Gullah accent of its slave descendants (click here to hear examples), and the lack of an accent at all in its younger generation (actress Mena Suvari and comedian Stephen Colbert of "The Colbert Report" grew up there). The rest of the state has a much more common-sounding southern accent but not much of a country accent. Georgia, Atlanta not included, has a somewhat country accent pervasive throughout, although people speak faster in urban areas than Georgians from the actual countryside. Think of Paula Deen without the theatrical emphasis on her Southern-ness. In the mountains around Georgia and in some of the more rural areas, though, you'll find what some call a "hick" accent - see the comic strip above. That's the accent most used to represent ignorance in books because it represents people whom others assume aren't exposed to outside influences or a proper education. It's prevalent in many Appalachian areas, not because the people are ignorant, but because the people are geographically isolated and have developed their own dialects. In Atlanta, the diversity of its residents causes the southern accent to be less pervasive. The African American youth of Atlanta, though, have a way of speaking that is partly an accent, partly a colloquial vocabulary, and entirely their own.

The actresses in the movie "Steel Magnolias" did a fine job of their southern accents, even though Dolly Parton is from Tennessee and Julia Roberts is from Georgia. The playwright who originally penned "Steel Magnolias" for stage was from Louisiana, where the story takes place, and he knew how to write that Louisiana drawl. It's in the writing of the accent that the differences need to appear, and it's in the poor writing of accents where people get confused and begin to attach the stereotypes associated with the way people speak. Did Alice Walker get the accents right in The Color Purple? It wasn't until the movie came out that I even understood what half of the characters were supposed to be saying. Margaret Mitchell Marsh, though, thoroughly researched the history behind Gone With The Wind, and she represented a variety of different dialects as accurately as anyone can, I suppose, when writing phonetically.

North Carolina, Alabama, Mississipi, Texas, and Oklahoma all have their own accents, too. Perhaps authors who are going to write dialogue of someone in the South but aren't from the South should begin with a travel journal!

Wellness Sure Is Time-Consuming!

2009-01-22T21:20:00.005-06:00

This year I made several resolutions, which I don't always do because they so often fail. I was already underway with an attempt to exercise more regularly and meditate, though, so I simply added my resolve to write daily to the list. Well, I also wanted to be a better listener and get to work early every day, but those are separate from the wellness kick I'm on. With a new empty calendar on the wall, I began to track my resolution progress with little sparkly smiley-face stickers. The yellow stickers, which I have more of, signify the days or nights when I write for at least 15 minutes. The other colors signify at least 30 minutes of exercise. Meditating had, at the beginning of the year, become part of my evening routine, so I didn't keep track of it.

As with most resolutions, the first week was filled with success and sparkly smiley-faces. It filled me with child-like glee to get to stick another symbol of hard work on my calendar most nights. The second week, I exercised once. I was tired, and I didn't feel good most of the week. I also only wrote once. I found it difficult to pull myself away from my husband in the evenings, although I did make time to start reading Stephen King's book, On Writing. I was going to bed by 8:30 every night, so that in itself was an accomplishment. This week, I've written for four days in a row, but I didn't exercise at all. Meditating has become a source of composing myself only when I am the most stressed but not too tired. If I'm too tired, I just get antsy or fall asleep. Tonight I tried exercising again, hula hooping on my bed, but after 15 minutes my esophagus burned with indigestion from exercising too soon after eating.

This is quite a dilemma! I am, as the good Lord knows, not a morning person. Years, many years, of trying to wake up early to exercise has taught me that it will never happen. I can accept that. In the evenings, though, how do I fit it all in? If I exercise for 30 minutes, then I have to shower and dry my hair, which takes at least 30 minutes. If I write for 15 minutes, then I'm going to end up writing for half an hour because I enjoy it. Then I have to fit in eating, resting at least an hour after eating before exercising, spending quality time with my husband (I guess resting and quality time go together), and meditating -- another 10 to 30 minutes. With about four hours between the time I get home and the time I go to bed, I haven't quite learned how to make it all fit.

One solution shines brightly as a beacon to lead me toward freedom: I need to get rid of my day job! Clearly I must have been meant to be a career writer; it seems to be wired in my biorhythms. Only then will I have all the time I want to do the stuff I want. It's the writers, those damned self-help writers and columnists for magazines, who actually have the time to do all the stuff they keep telling us we need to do to be whole people. Therefore, all non-writers and aspiring writers take heart: those people telling you what to do clearly do not live in the real world. As for me, I'm going to set about figuring out how to make a living writing and create my own little world.

Why I Haven't Posted (and why I should have)

2009-01-19T15:01:00.006-06:00

Although I'd like to blame my not writing on the busy holidays, or on the fact that I've been working through depression the past couple months (that deserves another post), I just haven't posted lately because I haven't felt like I had anything to post. The subtitle of my blog is my motto, "Life's all about the experiences," and my life is pretty boring. Why write when I haven't had any noteworthy experiences?

Of course, I've had all sorts of noteworthy experiences, like visiting my family over Christmas. My dad gave his first Sunday sermon at his church, and it was only the second time I'd seen my niece, who was 10 months old at the time. There was the whole experience of reaching bottom emotionally and going to the doctor to get on medication. There are the experiences of my mindfulness practice through the book I've been studying, and experiences the book has asked me to notice, those pleasant things I notice while I'm experiencing them (like the snow falling gently through the air today).

My counselor suggested I carry around a journal with me, and she said I don't have to write long entries. I could just write a sentence or two as I'm feeling something. Her permission to write a sentence or two made all the difference. Sure, I knew that no one was going to grade me on my journal entries or judge me for writing a single sentence, yet I always felt compelled to write longer entries because they seemed more worthwhile. In my practice these past few weeks of writing shorter entries, it never occurred to me that rules of length don't exist for blog writing. If anything, people who blog generally post far shorter entries than I do. So now that I am learning to appreciate the small experiences, and now that I am learning to let myself write shorter pieces, and now that I'm committed this year to writing at least 15 minutes a night - it's a start - perhaps these posts will come more frequently. Perhaps these posts will be more enjoyable to read, too. I hope!

Expect Great Pie

2008-11-12T11:05:00.007-06:00

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

2008-10-30T20:34:00.003-05:00

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

2008-07-26T19:01:00.025-05:00

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

2008-06-23T14:34:00.003-05:00

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

2008-06-20T23:08:00.003-05:00

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?

2008-06-19T20:19:00.003-05:00

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

2008-06-03T20:51:00.012-05:00

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

2008-04-05T07:51:00.051-05:00

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

2008-03-27T21:25:00.010-05:00

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

2008-03-17T18:59:00.005-05:00

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?

2008-03-04T21:15:00.004-06:00

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!

Take the Power Back!

2007-12-28T14:43:00.000-06:00

For a few weeks now I've been putting together a contest entry to attempt to win $25,000 to start my nonprofit newsletter for high schools. I could start with next to nothing, and probably will, but it pains me not to have a website to correspond with the newsletter. To use the website development company I want to use will cost around $8,000. Thus, I enter a contest. The contest is meant for nonprofits that will encourage environmental sustainability, so I'm using the fact that young people are more in tune with the "green" movement as the crux of my entry even thought the newsletter will cover all sorts of topics.

I post the video part of the entry for my friends and family. It's not too late to make changes, but the damn thing's too big to send via e-mail. Thus, I finally start a blog so I can beg for their input. For those who would like to know, the music in the video is Rage Against The Machine's "Take The Power Back." If it's not there by the time you read this, then, well, life is full of disappointments.

I should admit now that I was anti-blog for years, believing that only delusions of grandeur would lead anyone to, for all intents and purposes, keep a public journal. Alas, "blogging" has become a verb, and some people have made it an art. As a person who espouses the virtues of accepting change, I open myself to the expression wave of the times. It has to be more fun than MySpace!