Monday, June 30, 2008
Luckily, I've been enhancing my life lately by taking self-discovery quizzes on Facebook. And I've discovered (by answering "maybe" to every question on a politics quiz) a catchy new label for people like me who just can't decide on any issues: Centrists. Yes, I'm a centrist. How very open-minded and balanced of me.
For other righteous centrists like me, here's a video to help you weather these trying times.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
So I think we should monetarily support this movie. Once the rest of you have seen it, let's chat about it. I won't ruin it for you by talking more here.
I put my diva in the closet for the winter, not living up to my Party Diva title, so I've felt very insecure in interviews when they call me a party diva. So I've been diva-ing it back up this week with cooking.
Mike and I rolled out Spinach Ravioli with our leftover pasta dough. First time we've made ravioli, and it was pretty good, though we should have rolled the dough out thinner. We filled it with a mix of feta, parmesan, mozarella, cilantro pesto, and shredded chicken. Then we topped it with olive oil and red pepper flakes. Mmmm...
Then for a snack I made Vanilla Sorbet, and I swear this only took 10 minutes. I don't know if it's ice cream or sorbet or what, because I didn't put any eggs in. But it was fresh and summery and lower calorie than ice cream.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Honestly. What's with rappers? Mike and I are driving down the road on Friday, you know, jammin' it out as we travel to Estes. We're driving through my old 'hood at 1-25 and Arapahoe, so we turn to 107.5 to get down.
Seriously. Are these your lyrics? Is this really all you've got? I want to think you have hidden depths, but you're sure not giving any hints. I can't even exaggerate your lyrics, because they're so ridiculous to begin with, they just can't get any worse. How do you mock something this bad:
You give me the business.
You give me the business.
You give me the business.
You give me the business.
Then I'ma give the business to you. Oooh ooh ooh.
Yeah, I'ma give the business to you.
Really? Really? I want to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume there are some thoughtful, meaningful lyrics to your other songs. You know, maybe you could throw in a song about how your father's abandonment really affected your self esteem. Or maybe about how life is confusing and hard for a rapper. But upon looking closer at your artistic portfolio, these above lyrics really are quite poetic and meaningful and tame in comparison.
It's really quite smart. The return upon time invested as a rap lyricist really must be incredible. Just throw a couple "throw ya hands up in da air" and a couple "business" offers and a couple violent threats, and you can be off enjoying your meaningful rapper life. (I thought that the "throw ya hands up in da air" would be dead by now. I mean, you were doing that when I was in high school. We're still throwing our hands up? You still really feel compelled to say that in every song? Can't we think of another move for the dance floor?)
Now Back to Domestic Amber Since I've Been Provocative Enough:
We made Homemade Spinach Pasta tonight using our plethora of spinach and mixed it with the rest of the Cilantro Lime Pesto we made. And we didn't destroy it like the last time I tried to make pasta. Delicious!
Since I had extra egg whites, I thought I'd make Cherry Almond Meringues. I was so excited for them. I pureed almonds and cherries together for a delicious almond paste. Then I added my paste to the meringue....
And look what it made:
Mmmm....Burnt Egg White Soup. You want some? I have lots and lots left if you want me to mail you some.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
We were driving blissfully through Estes Park, on our way to the cabin, deciding when we might make our obligatory trip or two to the Malt Shop, a must on any trip to Estes.
After we turned past the tacky Indian Village shop and our car waded through the waves of tourists in Colorado Rockies Tees, I turned my head over my shoulder, as I always do, to peek into the always open door of the Malt Shop.
It was gone. The old pastel sign was gone. The door was closed. And a familiar Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory sign was hanging in its place.
Now I'm fine with the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory. It's far less depressing than a Coldstone or a Krispy Kreme. But there is already a Chocolate Factory next to McD's. Why'd they have to take my Malt Shop?
The Malt Shop had old wire chairs with red plastic seats. It's walls were papered with vintage Coca Cola wallpaper. It had a soda bar, complete with a marble countertop, swively stools, and an old cash register. The ice cream was Blue Bunny, but you can't win 'em all.
They made apple pie shakes, something so beautiful I included the recipe in my book. They would blend a big piece of apple pie with vanilla ice cream. (That's me eating one blissfully below last summer.)
We visited the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory on Saturday. As a nod to their beloved predecessor, they left the Apple Pie Shake on the menu. But it's $6.25. I got a chocolate suicide malt. It was delicious. But gone were the barstools and Cola signs and old wire furniture, so we ate it outside by the river. I'll miss my Malt Shop.
Tonight we made fresh Cilantro Lime Pesto with more of our freshy fresh farm ingredients. It made a delicious chicken sandwich. I love summer. I love summer food. I'll try not to go on and on about food all summer.
I'm eating more rhubarb than I ever have: 3 days in a row. Tonight I made rhubarb lime ice cream. It was tasty and super tart. Here's what I did (I only had enough to make 1 serving, and please excuse the craptacular photography) :
2 stalks rhubarb, chopped
1/8 cup water
2 teaspoons lime juice
Simmer all these together until the rhubarb is falling apart. Then mash and cool. Then whip together:
1/8 cup cream
1/8 cup milk
1 tablespoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
Then freeze all together, periodically stirring to make smooth.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Beware, the video contains the *A* word that rhymes with ballast and means booty. So if you don't like this word, don't watch this video.
In other news, we received our second week of farm produce. So I made up a tasty rhubarb tart that is basically a cobbler topping used as a crust with a pie filling on top.
Rhubarb and Cherry Almond Tart
1/4 cup water
1/4 cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 tablespoon corn starch
Boil all together until thick, then mix in:
1 cup chopped rhubarb
6 chopped cherries
Then mix all these ingredients together:
2 tablespoons flour
2 tablespoons brown sugar
2 tablespoons rolled oats
2 tablespoons chopped almonds
1 tablespoon melted butter
Press into the bottoms of two mini tart pans. Top with the rhubarb cherry mixture. Bake 25 minutes at 350.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Please feel free to give me your constructive compliments...
(From The Office:
Michael: Attention, please. We're going to have our weekly suggestion box meeting. So, you can all get in your constructive compliments ASAP.
Ryan: Don't you mean constructive criticism?
Michael: What did I say?
Kelly: You said constructive compliments. That doesn't make any sense.
Michael: Well Kelly, that was neither constructive nor a compliment, so maybe you should stop criticizing my English and start making some suggestions.)
As my parents drove the bumpy, winding roads on Friday nights, I would push my nose against the window, gazing at the mountain cottages with their yellow windows blinking at me in the night. I’d think (between worried glances to make sure the Big Bad Wolf wasn’t behind that pine tree there), When I grow up, I want two things: to be a writer and to live in one of those mountain homes.
Part of the Denverite exodus each weekend (forgive us for we know not what we do), we were one of the families of four driving through your woods and trying for just one day to catch that peace and beauty and wildness of the mountains we didn’t find on our wide suburban sidewalks.
And so, my heart has always been on pilgrimage, desiring to know and embrace my beloved Colorado…always wanting to peek under that log and behind that tree and over that hill. Over the backs of the Never Summers, under the mossy rocks of Grand Lake, and around the curve of the Red Feather hills.
By God’s grace I became a writer…by night. By day I walk the wide suburban sidewalks from my white apartment to my grey cubicle. (It’s not as bad as it sounds. I work for a non-profit organization that seeks to release children from poverty, honored each day to play a tiny part in its mission.) But by night I walk the paths of words. By night I walk in my thoughts to the green mountains where I, one day, will be able to live and write full time.
March was a big month for me. My second book came out, a book that, by God’s grace, will inspire others to find out about those who don’t have enough, to love those in poverty, and to act to help them. Currently, I’m writing a book that will lead small groups through learning more about the needs in this wide world and how to pray for them. Who would have believed my dream would come true? Certainly not me. What a chance, what a blessing, to use my skills and my voice to speak up for those who have no voice.
Still, the heart wanders. Still my nose is pressed against the window, waiting for that time when my night will become my day. When I’ll spend my full time using my voice, my writing, to do good. OK, it sounds cliché. But clichés were made for a reason. They resonate. They clutch at our most deeply felt desires.
One of these days, I’m going to drive away from faceless apartments and sterile suburbs. I’m going to drive to a community. A simple place with neighbors who wave as you pass on the dirt road. I’m going to open that car door. I’m going to stand before my mountain home with its yellow eyes blinking kindly at me, surrounded by peace and beauty and wildness. And I’m going to write.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
When I was a little girl, we would take trips to Estes, playing putt-putt and hiking in Moraine Park. As we drove home to Denver at night, I'd press my nose against the car windows, trying to peer into the glowing windows of the mountain homes on the St. Vrain river. I vowed that one day I'd live in one of those homes.
I recently wrote an essay about this, my deepest dream of living in a mountain home, for a "win a home essay contest" in Red Feather Lakes. But I missed the deadline to apply, so my dream was crushed. But in writing this post, I just googled it to see who won...and found that they extended the deadline again, to July 14th. Should I enter? Is it fate?
Perhaps I'll post my essay here and you can all give me your comments.
Until I win a mountain home and move far, far away into the mountain deeps, here are a couple of our photos from the Estes Park trip. (I refrained from adding the 220 pictures Mike took.)
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Actually, I only became a writer/editor so that I can dress eccentricly. So that I can wear pashminas and gaudy jewelry and bright shoes. Then people say, "oh yeah, she's a writer." It's wild. When you're unpublished and you say you're a "writer," people assume you're some delusional no-talent dreamer. As soon as you're published, you're suddenly legitimate and authoritative. You can wear head turbans and people will want your advice on dog vaccinations and suddenly the things you say are "quotes." ("Change advocate Van Schooneveld says words, when uttered by a published author, become quotes.")
And by the way, my neck doesn't look really look like that when I eat, does it? Maybe that's why Mike always eats so fast, with his head down.
I got my copies of the Hope Lives ministry kits this week. They're real purty.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
I have a coworker who is so pretty I don't understand how her head doesn't explode.
She's one of those people that, in person, you can't help but just kind of stare at her in wonder. I'm really tempted to ask her if she's ever, like, in the bathroom washing her hands; she's looking down at her sudsy hands, rubbing them together, and then glances up to check her bangs. Does she ever just look up and, upon seeing her reflection, go, "DAMN!"?
(I'm sorry for the cursing, but it's really the only phrase that's appropriate here.)
She's so pretty that sitting across from her in a meeting, I can't help but picture her with many arms, hanging as a tapestry on someone's living room wall. I can't help but picture, as she sits there modestly, the men around her like those cartoon characters who go "AaawOooGaah" while their eyeballs pop out of their heads. She's that pretty.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
What's a garlic scape, you naively ask? I don't actually know. But that's why being part of a CSA is such fun--it forces you to try new and odd veggies. At our last CSA near Hygiene, I grew to love swiss chard and radishes.
Today our share was smaller, as the harvest still is early, but we got: spinach, cilantro, romaine lettuce, red leaf lettuce, butter lettuce, garlic scapes, radishes, celery, a vidalia onion, and rhubarb.
So I made rhubarb bread pudding using an old loaf of raisin bread. It was actually quite good--it wasn't too tart or too sweet and raisins seem to go well with rhubarb. Here's what I did:
Monday, June 16, 2008
New Christian Catch Phrase: Even if you're slowly eaten alive by lemurs, God is still with you.
Life is confusing and hard and unfair. We all know this. We don't want to know it, but we do. The current Christian catch phrase that is a catch all for comforting those on hard times is "God is in control." Having a hard time paying your bills? God is in control. Annoyed with your boyfriend? God is in control. Looking for a job? God is in control. But I'd like to propose a change of the guard.
I've experienced the catch phrasing a lot lately as Mike looks for a full-time job. And I know that people genuinely want to offer comfort which I deeply appreciate. We hear a lot, "God is in control," "it'll all happen in God's timing," "God has a plan for this." I certainly do believe God is in control--but not the way it's often meant. When people say "God is in control," generally they seem to mean "it'll all work out." You'll somehow be able to pay your bills. Your boyfriend and you will patch it up. You'll eventually find a job. But none of us can guarantee a one of those things, and God hasn't guaranteed them either.
By "God is in control," we seem to often mean, "Don't worry; God has a happy ending for you in this life." As Christians, we're so often raising the banner of Jeremiah 29:11: "For I know the plans I have for you...plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future," a very specific promise made to the Israelites living in Babylon that after 70 years, God would bring them out of Babylon to fulfill his plan for the Israelite nation. Now we fling this promise fairly carelessly around to mean something like, "God has mapped out each step of your life, and has great things at each step. He has planned where you'll go to college, who you'll marry, what you'll eat for dinner tonight, which job offer you'll receive, and what parking space at the grocery store you'll get."
Although God is very much in control, God does not seize control. He has the reins of the world, but as far I can tell, they're loose in his hands, not because he's inattendant, but because he has allowed free will in his world. And because of this, there are princes and rulers of this age that are not God: "The whole world is under the control of the evil one," 1 John 5:19.
Sometimes we make the illogical jump that because everything is "in God's control," everything that happens is part of God's plan. This is true in one sense, but very untrue in another sense. A woman is raped. God is in control? Yes. This was part of God's will (i.e. plan)?No. I don't think so. God doesn't will evil. God allows things to happen. He allows people to rape each other. He allows people to get cancer. He allows me to choose which line I'll check out in the grocery store. But I wouldn't say that any of those things is necessarily his "plan."
What does this have to do with lemurs slowly eating me alive? I'm getting there.
Each time a person tells me, "God has a plan for your lives, you'll find a job when it's the right time," I can't help but think of those people whose stories I read each day in other countries. Sorry, but a lot of the people around the world in need aren't going to get a solution in this life time. They aren't going to find a job that pays the bills. The unjust society they're in isn't going to change in their life time. Their babies aren't going to get the health care they need. They're going to die in bonded labor. There isn't a happy ending, as such. The happy ending that is so easy to fling around in words in our American lives, is like vapor to them. The words "It'll happen in God's timing" are simply meaningless. It probably won't.
Because the happy ending isn't that it will all work out. It's not that we'll get a job or whatever else it is that we want. God hasn't promised these things, and when he talks about his "plan" and "will" in the Bible, it's never that specific.
The happy ending and the solace is that God is with us. That God's grace is sufficient for us. That no matter what happens, if we die as a slave, if we live in abonimal conditions, or if lemurs slowly eat us alive, God still loves us, is with us, and offers us his saving grace.
In Job, the epistle of pain, after the friends spout platitudes about the omnipotence of God, God shows up. After rebuking them for their presumptuous platitudes, God gives quite a speech. He makes it clear that he is Almighty over this world. But the general feeling you're left with at the end of it isn't, "ah, God is in control, it'll all be alright, the world is rosy." Not at all. It's more like: God is huge and powerful and we can't understand, fathom, or question. We can only throw ourselves at his feet, saying "Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know."
So, please, if you see me having a hard time, don't tell me that it'll all happen in God's timing. I won't believe you. You can tell me that whatever happens, God is still God and he is with me.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
- My favorite journalism movie
- My dream assignment
- My favorite blog
What? Journalism movie? What the heck is a "journalism movie"? Is this gonna be one of those places where we sit pretentiously around and talk about the great art of Citizen Kane? You know how I feel about that: http://cleverphrasehere.blogspot.com/2008/06/old-movies-stink.html
Luckily, I have a very serious favorite journalism movie: Newsies. It doesn't get much better than Christian Bale singing, "Open the gates and seize the day. Don't be afraid and don't delay. Nothing can break us, no one can make us give our rights away. Arise and seize the day," while doing relevés. (Somewhere out there a video exists of me and my best childhood friend, Susan, performing the entire dance routine in our pajamas.)
My dream assignment? The rest will probably say interviewing Ban Ki-moon or something smartsy like that. Mine? Easy. Finding the best donut in America or reviewing restaurants in Zanzibar. Not so smartsy (but honest).
But favorite blog? I'm sure I should say something serious and and thoughtful and Democrat. But I don't read any blogs. So would you believe I've been reading blogs for the past 3 days trying to find a favorite blog? How sad.
So my contest is this: Tell me your favorite blog.
If I steal yours and say it's my favorite blog to impress others, I'll give you a great prize. A poem about you, written by me. Don't you want that?
Why is this called the "Fingernails That Shine Like Justice Contest"? It's a little convoluted, but one of my great aspirations is to be the girl in the Cake song, "Short Skirt and Long Jacket": touring the facilities, picking up slack, with fingernails that shine like justice. And this contest is also about making me cool enough to hang out with some journalism snobs. So both are about my pretension.
And why the porcupine? He's just cute. We hung out with him at the Cheyenne Zoo on Saturday. Isn't that reason enough?
Saturday, June 14, 2008
But it seems to me like Japan is making a big mistake. Take one look at Metabo in that government poster above, with his sidekick fatty and puppy dog.
He's clearly a Super Hero.
"There's been a wave of crime on the streets of Amagasaki. Old ladies no longer feel safe walking alone at night. Children no longer play in the streets. Who can save us?"
"Metabo can!" In flies Metabo, buttons popping, with his faithful little sidekick, Chubbo, and overfed puppy, Porky.
Metabo and his gang take out the villians in a flash. A well aimed popped button at each eye has the villians on their knees. Chubbo and Metabo then make a running head start, bounce once on their bellies, launching them like fatty missiles that come bombing down on the scoundrels. They bounce right off, but the villians are flattened on impact. One, still breathing, tries to get up, but Porky puppy smothers him with his low-hanging belly.
Then Metabo, Chubbo, and Porky, all jump victoriously in the air, arms raised, and buttons popping. (That's clearly what the scene in the poster above is.)
This could be huge. Crime fighting will just be the beginning. This could be the key to Japanese world dominance. Instead of Wii Fit, Shigeru Miyamoto ought to create an (innocent seeming at first) Metabo Wii that trains the armies of rotunda among them into fatty superhero-dom.
Instead of corsetting its ample assets, Japan ought to look twice at the Fatty Promise within.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
You all know that I'm super into "the issues." Here's a video that takes a serious look at the serious issues facing us today. I suggest you watch.
(I'm new to this whole "video" thing. If that video doesn't pop up, here's the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TLEK0UZH4cs&feature=related)
I'm going to be on Fox's morning show in Co Sprgs tomorrow for Party Divas. So I've been cooking recipes from the book to present on the show, and now I have to go find something to wear.
And speaking of bilious vitriolics (a phrase he really did use as we took a walk to get the mail the other day), he says funny things. Like when he broached the topic of the two of us, he didn't say, "hey baby, you wanna?" He said, "I think you and I should form some sort of mutually benefically alliance." Yes, mutually beneficial alliance. Exact Words.
Our alliance has been beneficial, I reflect upon ending our fifth year of marriage. My shoulders are rubbed every night. I mean it. Every Night. Tonight he made me couscous with raisins and dates. He watches horrible reality TV to make me happy.
He's one of the most servant-minded people I know. He's never unkind to me. He never raises his voice at me. He holds his tongue when I don't hold mine. He is an overflowing dam of patience. He is Christ to me.
(This despite the fact that he fully plans to one day gain world dominance in a self-led autocracy, in which case all males over 6 foot will be made a slave race. He's so complex.)
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Thank you for your warm welcome to this social networking virgin. I usually prefer to wait about 5 years after it's edgy to do something, which is why I'm cordially accepting your invitation now. But being the inexperienced girl I am, I'm a bit overwhelmed by all your invites and news feeds and "wall-to-walls." There is so much I'm unsure of.
So, please, Facebook, would you answer a few etiquette questions for me?
- Am I allowed to read other people's Wall-to-Walls? Seems a bit creepy, don't you think? But you just put it out there, like catnip for voyeurs. Should I feel guilty, or should I just bury my whiskers happily in the bowl?
- Isn't it rude to poke people? My mother always taught me to keep my fingers to myself. I even saw someone who had been licked. You didn't mention this licking thing when I agreed to start this relationship with you, Facebook.
- If someone asks me to be her friend, but we were never really that close to begin with, and honestly it was always really awkward anytime we talked and she had that weird thing she did with her fingers, do I have to say yes to this friendship?
- That reminds me of something else. I didn't quite know what I was doing when I first signed up, Facebook, and you asked me so quickly to give you all my contacts, and I, unwittingly, handed them over. Now I feel bad that I'm the girl with the weird habits that some long lost "friend" is now trying to determine how badly it'll hurt my feelings if they ignore me.
- And that new coworker, whom I asked to be my friend. I wish I could take that back. It's a bit early in the relationship, don't you think? We don't even know if we annoy each other yet and will need the privacy of the internet to vent about one another.
- Or am I just supposed to be collecting friends like soda tabs? I've only been with you four days, and I already have more friends than the sum total of people I talked to face-to-face last month. I saw one person with 1,109 friends. They must be exhausted from all the poking and licking.
- How often am I supposed to update my status? Honestly, Facebook, my life isn't that interesteing, but you keep asking me, and I keep answering like some silly over-eager puppy.
- And one more thing. What's with all the pictures of the bellies on the left-hand side of my screen? Does everyone get bellies? Is this a hint? You're making me paranoid.
Thank you, Facebook, for your consideration. I look forward to a long, fulfilling relationship.
P.S. This post is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between the characters mentioned in the post and friends living or dead is purely coincidental. (Really--I just wrote this because there are so many funny things about Facebook--not as a hint to you. :) )
On a side note, why didn't anyone tell me last Friday was International Donut Day? How could I have lived on this planet unaware of this momentous day for so long? As this place we call home offers no good donuts, we waited until Saturday, when we gobbled up several tasty old-fashioneds from the Donut Mill in Woodland Park in honor of The Donut.
Monday, June 9, 2008
When I was in Kenya, I got to room with the editor of Brio, Ashley (that's her in our safari tent--oh how I want to go back!). Brio is Focus on the Family's magazine for girls and young teens, and has a section Ashley writes called "Career-Minded" that helps girls find out what they want to be when they grow up by telling about what careers women have.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
THE INFINITE AND THE FINITE
THOU GREAT I AM
Fill our minds with elevation and grandeur at the thought of a Being with whom one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day,
A mighty God who, amidst the lapse of worlds, and the revolutions of empires, feels no variableness, but is glorious in immortality.
May we rejoice that, while men die, the Lord lives; that, while all creatures are broken reeds, empty cisterns, fading flowers, withering grass.
He is the rock of ages, the fountain of living waters. Turn our hearts from vanity, from dissatisfactions, from uncertainties of the present state, to an eternal interest in Christ.
Let us remember that life is short and unforeseen, and is only an opportunity for usefulness;
Give us a holy avarice to redeem the time,
to awake at every call to charity and piety,
so that we may feed the hungry, clothe the naked, instruct the ignorant, reclaim the vicious, forgive the offender, diffuse the gospel, show neighbourly love to all.
Let us live a life of self-distrust, dependence on thyself, mortification, crucifixion, prayer.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
I consider myself to be a feminist in all of the good ways (God is the creator of the feminine) and, hopefully, none of the bad.
So it irks me to no end when we women take the social freedom we've gained in the past hundred years and clobber men over the head with it.
Mao Zedung said that women "hold up half the sky," a turning point for women in China who finally were granted recognition for their societal contribution. Twice recently, I've read or heard this metaphor used: "In China, they say women hold up half of the sky. But in America [or enter your country of choice here], we hold up all of it." (Giddy cheers from the crowd.)
The cliche of the uber-competent, dynamic woman/wife and the oafish, blunderer of a man/husband is so accepted these days in our commercials and TV shows and email forwards. Where the women wink to each other about what fools their husbands are, knowing they're the real brains of the operations. Think King of Queens with that hot, smart wifey and her portly, goofy husband. Think of those life insurance commercials where the wife dishes to the camera about her idiot husband. But what if this was reversed once again, and it was the men winking at our stupidity? Them hogging the sky? We'd call them pigs.
Why do we rejoice in the delinquency of men? And, although many men wouldn't let us have any of the sky for so long, why are we now not allowing them even a corner of the sky, elbowing them in the face as we hog it all for ourselves? We're like the archetypal abused child who goes on to beat their own children.
There are many places where women do hold up the entire sky out of necessity, women whose husbands are sluggards and no-shows, but they would tell you it's not the ideal to have the entire sky sagging down on them and certainly not cause for celebration. Yes, many men are idiots. Many men are creeps. But this is true of many women too. We just can't reduce the world to "we're good"/"they're bad."
I understand why there's this tendency; it's a natural reaction to want to "get back" at those at whose hands we were made weak, to "get out" some of those feelings. When having been treated as inferior, to now reign as superior. It's a natural trend we've seen in history over and over. Conquered wants to become conquerors.
Let's be the ones mature and self-assured enough that, now that we've been finally given the respect we deserved so long, we don't yank it out from under men. Down with misandry! God created women marvelous and intelligent and wonderful. And the same can be said for men.
Friday, June 6, 2008
But sadly, the doors of comedic gold are closed to me, as my friend would scrub my elbows right off with a brillo pad if I exploited her eploits for laughs.
So, for example, I can't tell you about this spice can that was recently found in her cupboard. But if I could it would be really good. (Yes, that's the expiration date, Jan 79. No, that's not the oldest one I found.)
No, I'll have to bore you with less interesting matters. Like how my husband and I are planning to move to New Zealand soon, where we'll live under the hill called, "the summit where Tamatea, the man with the big knees, the climber of mountains, the land-swallower who travelled about, played his nose flute to his loved one," or Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateaturipukakapikimaungahoronukupokaiwhenuakitanatahu, as it's more commonly known. There, we'll train to become nose flute afficienados and grow fat knees from eating Kiwi donuts.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
As it turns out, the couple in the photo is on my sister-in-law's small group. What are the chances that the one couple from stock photos I choose to mock would be friends of my in-laws? Score 2 points with the Whitneys.
So I should have learned my lesson. But this Onion page is just too important and too funny to not pass on. I apologize if this sheep is actually one of your cousins.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Monday, June 2, 2008
Ah, procrastination. That semi-sweet, semi-bitter taste so familiar in college days. That sensation of guilt in the pit of my stomach as I watch Top Chef. I drew Moab as my line in the sand, over which once I crossed I must get working. Now I'm dragging my heels in the sand, with my fingers clutching at that line now fading into the past. So, for motivation (and procrastination)'s sake, I'll write out the top five reasons I need to kick it into gear.
1. I think my editor might read my blog occasionally, and she'll know if I'm being a bad girl.
2. Summer TV is wretched and will just leave me with drool running down my chin, mumbling nonsensically.
3. The reason I decided to write it in the first place: To give an outward-focused alternative to just one more small-group study that focuses on perfecting ourselves.
4. There is only one month in between June and August.
5. To silence that little nagging voice in my head.
Top Five Reasons to Keep Procrastinating
1. It reminds me of the flavor of sesame chicken from College Cafe eaten on the lawn of the oval in Ft. Collins.
2. I want to.
3. The sun is shining so brightly, and I want to go trip through the tulips.
4. I already worked all dadgum day.
5. Deadlines Schmeadlines. Mike is cute and I want to go eat ice cream with him.