... because really, dying is what I felt like I was doing last night. And most of today, too. After a pickup game yesterday, I found myself doubled over coughing on the side of the field for a few minutes before I could make it to my car. I made it home fine though, and thought it would calm down. But it wound up getting worse throughout the night, and this morning I felt like an elephant was sitting on my head. My whole body was aching from hacking the whole night through.
Anyway, I went in to urgent care today to see if I had pneumonia, and it turns out I've developed asthma. My body seems to be rejecting living in LA.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Sunday, December 11, 2005
relative adulthood
Hmmm... for more on the recurring theme of "adulthood," start with Becky's post on Twixters (but don't forget to come back!). Emerging adulthood is actually a recently acknowledged stage of development (I had to answer a bunch of questions about it for a final last week). So it's been on my mind, and I actually hounded my prof about research into urban tribes for a while (there's not much).
One "official designation" is that emerging adulthood lasts from 18-25 (I disagree). The hallmarks of emerging from emerging adulthood are when one begins to make commitments. Maybe that means marriage or kids, maybe it just means picking one job and sticking with it for a while rather than trying something new every six months. It means being able to engage in intimate relationships (friendships or otherwise). It means entering a period of (relative) stability.
So do we count as emerged? What does it mean to make commitments in the current urban landscape, where even if I choose to stay, maybe no one else will? What if "starting a family" looks more like an urban tribe for an extended period of time? And why is just deciding to be present somewhere (instead of mentally being where we were in the past, or where we want to be in the future) so much harder than it sounds?
They say we're commitment-phobic, and perhaps in some senses we are -- but I don't think it's because we're always waiting for something better to come along. I think it's because we don't know how to say yes to anything. First, we have too many options, which should be a blessing, but winds up being a paralyzing curse when we fear squandering any of them. So one day we figure out that ultimate choice is not ultimate freedom, and we think about making some commitments. But we can't afford houses, or condos, or even monthly parking spaces, which precludes the physical aspect of attachment to places we're trying to call "home." Marrying someone no longer just means that we have to compromise on which movie to rent this weekend -- now it likely means we have to compromise on which state to live in. And TV news (which you should all stop watching, if you haven't already, unless you need to know the weather) has us convinced that if we have kids they're going die by some obscure petrifying household scenario, like suffocating on a teddy bear. So we put it off, we live in limbo for a while. That's our relative stability.
I think many of us are the model of the new"emerged" adult, where changing jobs every few years is part of a developed career path, and where intimate relationships are no less strong for lack of blood ties or civil sanctions. Or maybe I'm really full of crap, and I know nothing about commitments and we really don't have any.... But I don't know a single person who doesn't crave roots, depth, and commitment of sorts. We're wired that way. So I think what we're really afraid of is vulnerability, which is a necessary byproduct of hitching your wagon to something outside of yourself, like spouses and kids.
One "official designation" is that emerging adulthood lasts from 18-25 (I disagree). The hallmarks of emerging from emerging adulthood are when one begins to make commitments. Maybe that means marriage or kids, maybe it just means picking one job and sticking with it for a while rather than trying something new every six months. It means being able to engage in intimate relationships (friendships or otherwise). It means entering a period of (relative) stability.
So do we count as emerged? What does it mean to make commitments in the current urban landscape, where even if I choose to stay, maybe no one else will? What if "starting a family" looks more like an urban tribe for an extended period of time? And why is just deciding to be present somewhere (instead of mentally being where we were in the past, or where we want to be in the future) so much harder than it sounds?
They say we're commitment-phobic, and perhaps in some senses we are -- but I don't think it's because we're always waiting for something better to come along. I think it's because we don't know how to say yes to anything. First, we have too many options, which should be a blessing, but winds up being a paralyzing curse when we fear squandering any of them. So one day we figure out that ultimate choice is not ultimate freedom, and we think about making some commitments. But we can't afford houses, or condos, or even monthly parking spaces, which precludes the physical aspect of attachment to places we're trying to call "home." Marrying someone no longer just means that we have to compromise on which movie to rent this weekend -- now it likely means we have to compromise on which state to live in. And TV news (which you should all stop watching, if you haven't already, unless you need to know the weather) has us convinced that if we have kids they're going die by some obscure petrifying household scenario, like suffocating on a teddy bear. So we put it off, we live in limbo for a while. That's our relative stability.
I think many of us are the model of the new"emerged" adult, where changing jobs every few years is part of a developed career path, and where intimate relationships are no less strong for lack of blood ties or civil sanctions. Or maybe I'm really full of crap, and I know nothing about commitments and we really don't have any.... But I don't know a single person who doesn't crave roots, depth, and commitment of sorts. We're wired that way. So I think what we're really afraid of is vulnerability, which is a necessary byproduct of hitching your wagon to something outside of yourself, like spouses and kids.
Friday, December 09, 2005
I'm down with heresy, yeah you know me
Being that Fuller is a non-denominational evangelical school, there are a few key things everybody here agrees on and we have (mostly) healthy disagreement on just about everything else, from drinking and dancing to doctrines of atonement. Basically, everybody thinks that what somebody else thinks is heresy, but we do a pretty good job of dialoguing about our differences and hanging onto our commonality. Recently quoted in the Semi, the campus newspaper:
"I'm a heretic, you're a heretic, we're all heretics. Can't we all just love the baby Jesus?"
"I'm a heretic, you're a heretic, we're all heretics. Can't we all just love the baby Jesus?"
Thursday, December 08, 2005
question:
In department stores, why do they call it the "sportswear" section, when it's full of skirts and satiny things, and there's not actually anything there that you could play sports in?
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
It's a rough winter
Shoes
OK, I've gone and done it. Filled my brain full with details about the major theological themes in the book of Luke, and John's relationship to the Synoptic Gospels. So I'll talk about shoes.
I was invited to a Christmas party this weekend where lobster is on the menu. I do not think that I own any shoes nice enough to eat lobster in. I have "sensible shoes" useful for running around shooting weddings -- they're quiet (no squeaking) and low (no falling over), but they are also no fun. So I went shoe shopping.
Ladies with small feet, I do not ever want to hear you complaining about shoes. At least they make cute shoes in your size. When you wear an 11 1/2, you get stuck with men's shoes and the leftovers at Nordstrom Rack, usually mustard-yellow pumps. Every once in a while I find cute shoes in my size, but the problem is that they're not really cute in my size. I look like an oversized four-year-old playing dress-up. And in the rare case that a shoe exists that is cute, even in my size, nine times out of 10 it has a four-inch heel, and until I start dating a Laker the last thing I need is to be 6'2".
Can I hear a little sympathy, folks, for the tall women with big feet?
I was invited to a Christmas party this weekend where lobster is on the menu. I do not think that I own any shoes nice enough to eat lobster in. I have "sensible shoes" useful for running around shooting weddings -- they're quiet (no squeaking) and low (no falling over), but they are also no fun. So I went shoe shopping.
Ladies with small feet, I do not ever want to hear you complaining about shoes. At least they make cute shoes in your size. When you wear an 11 1/2, you get stuck with men's shoes and the leftovers at Nordstrom Rack, usually mustard-yellow pumps. Every once in a while I find cute shoes in my size, but the problem is that they're not really cute in my size. I look like an oversized four-year-old playing dress-up. And in the rare case that a shoe exists that is cute, even in my size, nine times out of 10 it has a four-inch heel, and until I start dating a Laker the last thing I need is to be 6'2".
Can I hear a little sympathy, folks, for the tall women with big feet?
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Signs of the apocalypse
Somewhere back in October, just two weeks into the quarter, my mother was visiting. I wandered into my room to find her making my bed one day, and joked that she shouldn't bother, it was going to get unmade in a few hours and probably never be made again. The funny thing is, in the two months since she left, I think I've made my bed every day.
I think probably this is just a feature of the changes in my life that have taken me from using my room for sleeping only, to being in my room, reading in the IKEA chair in the corner, using my bed as a bookshelf, every waking moment that I'm not in class. OK, so maybe this is a slight exaggeration, I do try to wander to the fridge a few times a day, and I have maintained a steadfast commitment to play ultimate, but other than that, I kind of feel like all I do is read and write. I don't really have a social life. The irony of sitting in my room alone, reading all about how our development only fully occurs in the context of relationship, is not lost on me. It's not that my intitiation energy is gone, it's just operating at about 49%, and usually gets trumped by the 51% of me that thinks it's easier to chip away at the reading list so I can be an informed therapist someday. And yes, the irony that I am holing myself away alone so that I can be better at helping people with their relationships is also not lost on me.
I need help convincing the 49% to riot.
I think probably this is just a feature of the changes in my life that have taken me from using my room for sleeping only, to being in my room, reading in the IKEA chair in the corner, using my bed as a bookshelf, every waking moment that I'm not in class. OK, so maybe this is a slight exaggeration, I do try to wander to the fridge a few times a day, and I have maintained a steadfast commitment to play ultimate, but other than that, I kind of feel like all I do is read and write. I don't really have a social life. The irony of sitting in my room alone, reading all about how our development only fully occurs in the context of relationship, is not lost on me. It's not that my intitiation energy is gone, it's just operating at about 49%, and usually gets trumped by the 51% of me that thinks it's easier to chip away at the reading list so I can be an informed therapist someday. And yes, the irony that I am holing myself away alone so that I can be better at helping people with their relationships is also not lost on me.
I need help convincing the 49% to riot.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
deconstruction
I am having one of those days when I think coming back to grad school is ruining me, making me unfit for human interaction. Learning all of this stuff about counseling is stamping out any feeling of ease or genuineness, now that I'm some twisted combination of hyper-observant, armed with new knowledge, and being a bit of a psychological hypochondriac, thinking that I suffer from every new dysfuntion I discover the name for.
It's probably the experience of a baseball player who, after a long stretch of feeling like a "natural," has a batting coach come in and deconstruct every minute detail, from his grip on the bat to the rise of his knee to the placement of his feet. While the intended result is that he become an athlete whose natural inclinations are refined to near perfection, the interim effect is that he can't find the sweet spot to save his life, and bats .050 for a while.
So the unintended consequence for me these days is that the combination of awkwardness and self-consciousness about my competence is making it a little hard both to make friends and to relate to old ones, and now that the novelty of living in LA is wearing off, I'm pretty lonely this week and I feel like I'm pretty far away from the figurative sweet spot in a number of ways. So for those of you who are getting strange bits and pieces of me now, thanks for your grace, and your encouragement to cut myself some slack, while I get my swing back.
It's probably the experience of a baseball player who, after a long stretch of feeling like a "natural," has a batting coach come in and deconstruct every minute detail, from his grip on the bat to the rise of his knee to the placement of his feet. While the intended result is that he become an athlete whose natural inclinations are refined to near perfection, the interim effect is that he can't find the sweet spot to save his life, and bats .050 for a while.
So the unintended consequence for me these days is that the combination of awkwardness and self-consciousness about my competence is making it a little hard both to make friends and to relate to old ones, and now that the novelty of living in LA is wearing off, I'm pretty lonely this week and I feel like I'm pretty far away from the figurative sweet spot in a number of ways. So for those of you who are getting strange bits and pieces of me now, thanks for your grace, and your encouragement to cut myself some slack, while I get my swing back.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
The United States of Wal*Mart
I haven't seen it yet to have much of a review, but for the store I love to hate and hate to love, find yourself a free local screening of the full-length documentary Wal*Mart: The High Cost of Low Price. It's cheap, it's easy, it's one-stop shopping for the budget-minded, from midwestern housewives to LA grad students. But it also drives wages down, stamps out local businesses, promotes homogenization and convenience over character and creativity, and lives on government subsidies, either directly or indirectly (see here for a by-the-numbers list of alleged infractions).
Truly, there is never just one side to any story. Of course there's another one here we won't see, and likely there are other businesses whose practices would be just as heinous on such a large scale. But I'm not sold on Walmart's party line either, the one where it claims to build community and provide good jobs and that whole load of crap.
Also recommended: The Corporation. An extremely biased, one-sided, doomsday-predicting documentary which aligns the modern corporation with the DSM IV definition of a sociopath. Absolutely ridiculous ending (in which it suggests that the world would be fine and dandy if everything were under public ownership instead) but entertaining (if a bit long), thought-provoking, and worth the price of admission just to see a ditzy ad exec gloat over how her company uses psychological research to get kids to nag their parents for new toys.
So what's a girl to do? I can, and will, boycott, but as one reviewer pointed out, the people who are promoting and watching this movie are probably the ones who can afford to boycott Walmart anyway. So getting enraged (and witholding the $8 I usually spend at Walmart annually) is only gonna go so far, when current economic realities have created a massive base of people who don't have the luxury of passing up the blue-vested hegemony.
Truth is, I don't know how to put my money where my mouth is much more than that. But I have to believe/hope/pray that when Jesus said he had been anointed to preach good news to the poor, to release the oppressed, and to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor, it didn't have anything to do with rolling back prices.
Truly, there is never just one side to any story. Of course there's another one here we won't see, and likely there are other businesses whose practices would be just as heinous on such a large scale. But I'm not sold on Walmart's party line either, the one where it claims to build community and provide good jobs and that whole load of crap.
Also recommended: The Corporation. An extremely biased, one-sided, doomsday-predicting documentary which aligns the modern corporation with the DSM IV definition of a sociopath. Absolutely ridiculous ending (in which it suggests that the world would be fine and dandy if everything were under public ownership instead) but entertaining (if a bit long), thought-provoking, and worth the price of admission just to see a ditzy ad exec gloat over how her company uses psychological research to get kids to nag their parents for new toys.
So what's a girl to do? I can, and will, boycott, but as one reviewer pointed out, the people who are promoting and watching this movie are probably the ones who can afford to boycott Walmart anyway. So getting enraged (and witholding the $8 I usually spend at Walmart annually) is only gonna go so far, when current economic realities have created a massive base of people who don't have the luxury of passing up the blue-vested hegemony.
Truth is, I don't know how to put my money where my mouth is much more than that. But I have to believe/hope/pray that when Jesus said he had been anointed to preach good news to the poor, to release the oppressed, and to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor, it didn't have anything to do with rolling back prices.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Little Old Ladies in Pasadena
It's so refreshing to hear a perspective on life from someone older than 35. We had a "senior panel" in my Development class tonight, with three rockin' old ladies between the ages of 63 and 82, and an 84-year-old man (who appeared to be past his truly rockin' days, but still had quite a bit of zip). But they were no ordinary senior citizens. The prof warned us ahead of time that they wouldn't be a representative sample, and one of the panel members even admitted she doesn't usually hang out with people her age, "because they bore me most of the time, to be quite honest."
Bob gets up at 5am every Friday morning and gets in his new Toyota Prius, goes to pick up Lydia, and they go to an activists group in LA that has met every week since 9/11. They've both been arrested. Helena grew up in the depression, has traveled to over 60 countries, and - having seen life from a less indulgent perspective - said that she often wants to follow the garbage trucks in a truck of her own, pulling out the things we waste that are still perfectly useful. Barbara started out teaching preschool, hated it, and worked her way up through nearly every grade until she finally found her niche teaching GED prep classes at adult school. They all, either explicitly or implicitly, reminded us that who we'll be at 85 is a continuation of who we are now.
Best quote of the evening? When someone asked if they had any regrets in life, Lydia grabbed the microphone from Bob and blurted, earnestly, "I could have gone to jail more often."
Most poignant moment of the evening? Bob reading a piece he wrote during the Korean war, predicting that at the end of the current conflict, the vacuum would be filled with further conflict. "I hope," he said, "that you won't be too hard on us for the way we left the world for you."
Bob gets up at 5am every Friday morning and gets in his new Toyota Prius, goes to pick up Lydia, and they go to an activists group in LA that has met every week since 9/11. They've both been arrested. Helena grew up in the depression, has traveled to over 60 countries, and - having seen life from a less indulgent perspective - said that she often wants to follow the garbage trucks in a truck of her own, pulling out the things we waste that are still perfectly useful. Barbara started out teaching preschool, hated it, and worked her way up through nearly every grade until she finally found her niche teaching GED prep classes at adult school. They all, either explicitly or implicitly, reminded us that who we'll be at 85 is a continuation of who we are now.
Best quote of the evening? When someone asked if they had any regrets in life, Lydia grabbed the microphone from Bob and blurted, earnestly, "I could have gone to jail more often."
Most poignant moment of the evening? Bob reading a piece he wrote during the Korean war, predicting that at the end of the current conflict, the vacuum would be filled with further conflict. "I hope," he said, "that you won't be too hard on us for the way we left the world for you."
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Top Ten Reasons You Know You're Not in Berkeley Anymore
Becky D posted her top 10 reasons here on the B-Did Blog, but she's in Boulder now and I can't say any of ours overlap. In contrast, here's the LA version (hint, this may not make much sense unless you read Becky's first):
10. It was 85 degrees today.
9. I regularly encounter a 12-lane freeway on my way to work/school.
8. Craigslist exists, but you're more likely to find a job as a personal assitant to a minor celebrity than you are to be cold-calling to save the environment.
7. I've stopped adding the possibility, "if there's traffic" to driving estimates.
6. I was almost run over by a herd of Hummers on a recent bike ride.
5. Ditto on the lack of oxygen, but for different reasons. It is disturbing to be unable to see mountains that are 5 miles away.
4. There are still homeless people, but instead of holding signs that say "Money for pot?", they've each claimed a cart from the 99-cent store one block over, and push them up and down the street collecting cans, so I bring my recycling out to them every week.
3. The Metro Gold Line is impossible to find and doesn't have a parking lot. I tried to take public transportation and they seem to be trying to keep me on the freeway!
2. White people are a minority.
1. OK, can't comment on the governor thing, so I'll just add that I may be the only person within 50 miles who still eats bread.
10. It was 85 degrees today.
9. I regularly encounter a 12-lane freeway on my way to work/school.
8. Craigslist exists, but you're more likely to find a job as a personal assitant to a minor celebrity than you are to be cold-calling to save the environment.
7. I've stopped adding the possibility, "if there's traffic" to driving estimates.
6. I was almost run over by a herd of Hummers on a recent bike ride.
5. Ditto on the lack of oxygen, but for different reasons. It is disturbing to be unable to see mountains that are 5 miles away.
4. There are still homeless people, but instead of holding signs that say "Money for pot?", they've each claimed a cart from the 99-cent store one block over, and push them up and down the street collecting cans, so I bring my recycling out to them every week.
3. The Metro Gold Line is impossible to find and doesn't have a parking lot. I tried to take public transportation and they seem to be trying to keep me on the freeway!
2. White people are a minority.
1. OK, can't comment on the governor thing, so I'll just add that I may be the only person within 50 miles who still eats bread.
Saturday, November 12, 2005
Spiritual Boob Jobs
Got your attention with the title, eh? You'll have to read the whole thing to figure out where it fits in :) .
Zoinks, I don't even know where to start. Ever have two very different themes running around in your head for weeks, or months or years even, and you can't make sense of either of them? Then one day, for better or for worse, they collide and begin to fuse in ways that give each the power to interpret and make sense of the other. I've had twin obsessions with grief and adulthood for a while, and somehow being here now has heightened my awareness of both. Studying human development, on the brink of turning 30, emerging from "emerging adulthood," feeling vulnerable and lonely in a new city, reading the news, reading the bible, trying to reconcile it all and make sense of any of it. And every once in a while, along the way, something punctuates the chaotic mess and illuminates, just for a moment, the point of collision. Today, it was an article on adolescence by Frederick Buechner, in which he writes:
I'm turning 30, in nine months. This fact does not bother me. In fact, I think I am the only person who actually rounds up already. I don't look 30. I don't feel 30. I don't act 30. Yet I find myself constantly trying to convince people that I am. You'd think I could just let it go and start being glad I don't look my age, since it will probably come in handy to finally look 30 when I'm 45. But for some reason I get hung up on wanting to assert that I've lived long enough to have lost my idealism (as if anyone could spend five minutes with me and not figure that out). Perhaps that is why I hang on to my cynicism, why it's hard to shake. It marks me as someone acquainted with grief.
I just finished reading last week's issue of the LA Weekly. The articles were diverse and typical: the Catholic church's obsession with virgins and whores; a profile of the activist father of the first Mexican soldier to die in Iraq; a review of a book of short stories by the author of Found Magazine, who writes about items found from lives left behind as he rummages through the wreckage of New Orleans. It is full of the reality of life. But surrounding the articles, the ads: Botox. Breast augmentation. Colon hydrotherapy. "Massage" with hot asian girls. Are we in denial about the reality of life, or are we so well-acquainted with grief and loneliness, and so ill-equipped to deal with our own - and others' - that we seek relief in places we'll never find it: fitting in, looking the part, intimacy-free sex, and, um, what exactly is colon hydrotherapy for? A quote from the book review struck me: "Rather, [the author's] worldview is distinctly old-fashioned. It recalls Fitzgerald and Kerouac, writers for whom sadness wasn't the product of historical accident, but simply a condition of American life." When did an understanding of sadness as inherent in the human condition become "old fashioned"? When did we get so far from our grief that we have only two options for dealing with it - to be shocked by it or to insist that it doesn't exist?
I recently trained as a hospice volunteer. During my interview, I was asked why I was interested in working with hospice patients and their families. I actually hadn't really thought through the answer before, so it mostly came out as a jumbled string of experiences and interests and training that led me to this point (the coordinator, in fact, mentioned it was the longest answer anyone had ever given to that question). In hindsight, I think I did it for the same reason I came back to school to be a therapist - to be there as people integrate their grief. There is reality in grief, and meaning. People are not defined by their grief and loss - there are still groceries to be bought, and work to do, and conversations to have, about love and politics and football teams - but it's part of us; a part we can't cover over with fake boobs and clean assholes. The funny thing seems to be that if there's nowhere to deal with grief, it does become us. It becomes the undercurrent, the pirate radio station in our head. I don't just mean "big grief" -- death and divorce, trauma and tragedy. There is plenty of that to go around in the world, but there is also the little grief, that's not so little: transition, loneliness, fear of hope, loss of idealism, and the realization that it doesn't go away when one "grows up."
I think that as Christians we're supposed to live lifestyles of integrated grief. I don't really know what that means but I want to think about it. Maybe grief is like a prosthesis: at first, it is painful and obvious, but slowly it becomes part of you and you learn to live as fully as possible in the world again. Some days you may be limping more than others, some day you may wake up and realize that even though it hasn't gone away, you stop noticing it every second of the day. Maybe if we're lucky we have days where we take it for granted, and we might discover there are even some things we can do with it that we couldn't do before, like roast marshmallows on our toes. But we can't get there by pretending we still have all our limbs... and I'm irritated today with the Christians who have spiritual boob jobs, saying, in essence, don't pay attention to those scars over there, take a look at these instead! Aren't they fabulous?
I recognize I'm probably being a little intense about all of this. It's just hard not to be right now. I tire easily of surface conversation, and when I am denied a chance to tune in to pirate radio as background noise, I usually find it stuck on volume 11. So that is why Grief and Growing Up (with capital letters) are a big part of what's on my mind these days when I write. I miss my church in Berkeley, which sometimes felt like a combat-zone war hospital, where those of us who were currently free of shrapnel did our best to help keep the recently wounded from losing too much blood. But then we'd go get beer and talk about other stuff. I'm looking forward to having a few friends here that I'm sharing life with, so that it's not a case of going from small talk (with new people) to cathartic release (with old friends who know me). I'm looking forward to having depth and whimsy overlap again, and feeling a little more balanced. In the meantime, I'm starting to figure out what I want to do with my degree and that's not all bad.
Zoinks, I don't even know where to start. Ever have two very different themes running around in your head for weeks, or months or years even, and you can't make sense of either of them? Then one day, for better or for worse, they collide and begin to fuse in ways that give each the power to interpret and make sense of the other. I've had twin obsessions with grief and adulthood for a while, and somehow being here now has heightened my awareness of both. Studying human development, on the brink of turning 30, emerging from "emerging adulthood," feeling vulnerable and lonely in a new city, reading the news, reading the bible, trying to reconcile it all and make sense of any of it. And every once in a while, along the way, something punctuates the chaotic mess and illuminates, just for a moment, the point of collision. Today, it was an article on adolescence by Frederick Buechner, in which he writes:
"... the word adolescent derives from the latin verb adolescere, which is made up of ad, meaning toward, and alescere, meaning to grow. The word designates humans who are in the process of growing up.... I am sixty-four years old. I have fathered children. I have written books. I have letters after my name... but to call me an adult or grownup is an oversimplification at best.... Let me put forth an alternate etymology.... Let me suggest with total innacuracy that the word adolescent is made up of ad, meaning toward, and dolor, meaning pain. Thus adolescent becomes a term which designates human beings... trying to come to terms with pain, to figure out how to deal with pain, not just how to survive pain but how to turn it to some human and creative use in their own encounters with it."This post is mostly just a purging beginning. There is nothing succinct about it. I want to start processing this stuff and in the absence of humans to do it with at this particular moment, I need to get it all out so I can start picking and choosing and finding the connections. So I'm throwing it all out there and I'd love to know what hits home, so that I can focus in on some of it.
I'm turning 30, in nine months. This fact does not bother me. In fact, I think I am the only person who actually rounds up already. I don't look 30. I don't feel 30. I don't act 30. Yet I find myself constantly trying to convince people that I am. You'd think I could just let it go and start being glad I don't look my age, since it will probably come in handy to finally look 30 when I'm 45. But for some reason I get hung up on wanting to assert that I've lived long enough to have lost my idealism (as if anyone could spend five minutes with me and not figure that out). Perhaps that is why I hang on to my cynicism, why it's hard to shake. It marks me as someone acquainted with grief.
I just finished reading last week's issue of the LA Weekly. The articles were diverse and typical: the Catholic church's obsession with virgins and whores; a profile of the activist father of the first Mexican soldier to die in Iraq; a review of a book of short stories by the author of Found Magazine, who writes about items found from lives left behind as he rummages through the wreckage of New Orleans. It is full of the reality of life. But surrounding the articles, the ads: Botox. Breast augmentation. Colon hydrotherapy. "Massage" with hot asian girls. Are we in denial about the reality of life, or are we so well-acquainted with grief and loneliness, and so ill-equipped to deal with our own - and others' - that we seek relief in places we'll never find it: fitting in, looking the part, intimacy-free sex, and, um, what exactly is colon hydrotherapy for? A quote from the book review struck me: "Rather, [the author's] worldview is distinctly old-fashioned. It recalls Fitzgerald and Kerouac, writers for whom sadness wasn't the product of historical accident, but simply a condition of American life." When did an understanding of sadness as inherent in the human condition become "old fashioned"? When did we get so far from our grief that we have only two options for dealing with it - to be shocked by it or to insist that it doesn't exist?
I recently trained as a hospice volunteer. During my interview, I was asked why I was interested in working with hospice patients and their families. I actually hadn't really thought through the answer before, so it mostly came out as a jumbled string of experiences and interests and training that led me to this point (the coordinator, in fact, mentioned it was the longest answer anyone had ever given to that question). In hindsight, I think I did it for the same reason I came back to school to be a therapist - to be there as people integrate their grief. There is reality in grief, and meaning. People are not defined by their grief and loss - there are still groceries to be bought, and work to do, and conversations to have, about love and politics and football teams - but it's part of us; a part we can't cover over with fake boobs and clean assholes. The funny thing seems to be that if there's nowhere to deal with grief, it does become us. It becomes the undercurrent, the pirate radio station in our head. I don't just mean "big grief" -- death and divorce, trauma and tragedy. There is plenty of that to go around in the world, but there is also the little grief, that's not so little: transition, loneliness, fear of hope, loss of idealism, and the realization that it doesn't go away when one "grows up."
I think that as Christians we're supposed to live lifestyles of integrated grief. I don't really know what that means but I want to think about it. Maybe grief is like a prosthesis: at first, it is painful and obvious, but slowly it becomes part of you and you learn to live as fully as possible in the world again. Some days you may be limping more than others, some day you may wake up and realize that even though it hasn't gone away, you stop noticing it every second of the day. Maybe if we're lucky we have days where we take it for granted, and we might discover there are even some things we can do with it that we couldn't do before, like roast marshmallows on our toes. But we can't get there by pretending we still have all our limbs... and I'm irritated today with the Christians who have spiritual boob jobs, saying, in essence, don't pay attention to those scars over there, take a look at these instead! Aren't they fabulous?
I recognize I'm probably being a little intense about all of this. It's just hard not to be right now. I tire easily of surface conversation, and when I am denied a chance to tune in to pirate radio as background noise, I usually find it stuck on volume 11. So that is why Grief and Growing Up (with capital letters) are a big part of what's on my mind these days when I write. I miss my church in Berkeley, which sometimes felt like a combat-zone war hospital, where those of us who were currently free of shrapnel did our best to help keep the recently wounded from losing too much blood. But then we'd go get beer and talk about other stuff. I'm looking forward to having a few friends here that I'm sharing life with, so that it's not a case of going from small talk (with new people) to cathartic release (with old friends who know me). I'm looking forward to having depth and whimsy overlap again, and feeling a little more balanced. In the meantime, I'm starting to figure out what I want to do with my degree and that's not all bad.
Talk Nerdy To Me
I had a sad 20 minutes this week. Not really a sad week, it was actually fine, it just had a sad part. And I happened to call Andrew during my 20-minute pity-fest, thinking it would help, but somehow it didn't. After a minute or two of talking about me, and realizing that was just going to make me cry, I insisted that we stop talking about me and talk about something else. So what did he pick? Economics and Sociology statistical research. After a few minutes, I really was crying. "You're making me lonelier," I said, "because there are no nerds in Los Angeles."
Time to infiltrate Cal Tech...
Time to infiltrate Cal Tech...
Friday, November 11, 2005
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Deja vu, again
Apparently my name means "youthful." I shoulda seen all of this coming...
Neighbor: "what do you mean you worked with college students, you're, like, 21!"
Me: "WHAT!?? We had this conversation already."
N: "You're turning red and the cords in your neck are popping out. Why are you upset?"
Me: "Because I'm not 21!!"
N: "You had students? Did they call you Julie Brown, like the VJ?"
Me: "I know who both of the Julie Browns are... the redheaded one with the obnoxious voice and Downtown Julie Brown! Does that prove it?"
N: "So what, are you.... ummm.... 26?"
Me: "I'm TWENTY-NINE!"
N: "Oh... I was even guessing up, too. I thought you were gonna say 24 so I gave you the benefit of the doubt."
Neighbor: "what do you mean you worked with college students, you're, like, 21!"
Me: "WHAT!?? We had this conversation already."
N: "You're turning red and the cords in your neck are popping out. Why are you upset?"
Me: "Because I'm not 21!!"
N: "You had students? Did they call you Julie Brown, like the VJ?"
Me: "I know who both of the Julie Browns are... the redheaded one with the obnoxious voice and Downtown Julie Brown! Does that prove it?"
N: "So what, are you.... ummm.... 26?"
Me: "I'm TWENTY-NINE!"
N: "Oh... I was even guessing up, too. I thought you were gonna say 24 so I gave you the benefit of the doubt."
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Saturday, November 05, 2005
Top Ten.... funniest quotes from Christian online dating sites
So, taking a break from thinking about the historical, theological, and psychological implications of the death of Judas for a few minutes (for a paper, of course... not like I sit around and think about such things for kicks -- except when Andrew and I get on a roll), I was surfing through the profiles on online dating sites, which is not nearly as entertaining without Natalie and Hannah around, but it was a nice brain-break.
Anyhow, tonight I happened to run across a Christian online dating site. However, while acknowledging that one of my most impervious bad habits is judgment-as-self-protection, I have to say it was a scary sight. I feel horrible that I seem to be selling out my peeps, and there were certainly a few exceptions, but mostly the men seemed to fall into two categories.
First, we have the idealistic, verbose, closet-poet-who-works-in-sales type. His photo shows him hugging a small child that he is quick to point out is his niece. He frequently mentions that his deepest desire is to be a doting husband/father to "the woman God is preparing" for him and the children who will be "vessels of God's love to the world." His response to the type of woman he hopes to find is seven paragraphs long and includes a frighteningly impossible plethora of yets: laid-back yet driven, tough yet tender, adventurous yet nurturing, playful yet serious, shares his interests yet has a mind/life of her own. His site name is something like "greatguy883" or "live4him".
The second type of guy doesn't spell, punctuate, or write in complete sentences (sorry, I'm a little hung up on grammar). His photo is either tilted at a funny angle from where he tried to cut out his ex-girlfriend, whose arms you can still see around his waist, or it's a head shot that looks like it could get him a job on General Hospital circa 1983. He uses all caps whenever he writes the word GOD, and his ideal woman, if he bothers to answer any of the questions, is some type of cross between Betty Crocker and Mother Teresa.
So, without further ado, I present 10 (OK... 11) direct quotes from a cursory search of our eligible bachelors.
10. "i think im funny when i dont try to be funny i am when i try to be funny im not."
9. Describing a perfect first date: "Anywhere That we could look into eachother's eyes....to witness the truth of our beings."
8. Describing hobbies, presumably attempting humor: "I like shooting beer cans with my beebee gun. Oh, and Ima trainin' the dawg to get beers from the frig"
7. Regarding prior relationships: "What you put into a relationship, you might as well kiss goodbye, you won't be getting it back. Have I learned anything?... Crap, I am not THAT stupid."
6. Also regarding prior relationships: "I was just such a pain."
5. Describing his faith: "In the words of Jerry Maguire - 'JC Completes me.'"
4. Regarding the ideal woman: "think Drew Barrymore meets Janice from the muppets"
3. Regarding the ideal woman: "im looking for a talented,witty beautiful lady that compliments me with her bieng there with me. Not a woman whos has my back from way back."
2. Regarding the paragraph he had just written about the ideal woman: "Wow, this is really boring."
1. "I would love to be a father and a husband, but just having a relationship with a woman would be a great start." (OK, so this guy seemed really sweet, I feel bad putting him in here)
0. "And yes, contrary to popular opinion, engineers are people too!"
Anyhow, tonight I happened to run across a Christian online dating site. However, while acknowledging that one of my most impervious bad habits is judgment-as-self-protection, I have to say it was a scary sight. I feel horrible that I seem to be selling out my peeps, and there were certainly a few exceptions, but mostly the men seemed to fall into two categories.
First, we have the idealistic, verbose, closet-poet-who-works-in-sales type. His photo shows him hugging a small child that he is quick to point out is his niece. He frequently mentions that his deepest desire is to be a doting husband/father to "the woman God is preparing" for him and the children who will be "vessels of God's love to the world." His response to the type of woman he hopes to find is seven paragraphs long and includes a frighteningly impossible plethora of yets: laid-back yet driven, tough yet tender, adventurous yet nurturing, playful yet serious, shares his interests yet has a mind/life of her own. His site name is something like "greatguy883" or "live4him".
The second type of guy doesn't spell, punctuate, or write in complete sentences (sorry, I'm a little hung up on grammar). His photo is either tilted at a funny angle from where he tried to cut out his ex-girlfriend, whose arms you can still see around his waist, or it's a head shot that looks like it could get him a job on General Hospital circa 1983. He uses all caps whenever he writes the word GOD, and his ideal woman, if he bothers to answer any of the questions, is some type of cross between Betty Crocker and Mother Teresa.
So, without further ado, I present 10 (OK... 11) direct quotes from a cursory search of our eligible bachelors.
10. "i think im funny when i dont try to be funny i am when i try to be funny im not."
9. Describing a perfect first date: "Anywhere That we could look into eachother's eyes....to witness the truth of our beings."
8. Describing hobbies, presumably attempting humor: "I like shooting beer cans with my beebee gun. Oh, and Ima trainin' the dawg to get beers from the frig"
7. Regarding prior relationships: "What you put into a relationship, you might as well kiss goodbye, you won't be getting it back. Have I learned anything?... Crap, I am not THAT stupid."
6. Also regarding prior relationships: "I was just such a pain."
5. Describing his faith: "In the words of Jerry Maguire - 'JC Completes me.'"
4. Regarding the ideal woman: "think Drew Barrymore meets Janice from the muppets"
3. Regarding the ideal woman: "im looking for a talented,witty beautiful lady that compliments me with her bieng there with me. Not a woman whos has my back from way back."
2. Regarding the paragraph he had just written about the ideal woman: "Wow, this is really boring."
1. "I would love to be a father and a husband, but just having a relationship with a woman would be a great start." (OK, so this guy seemed really sweet, I feel bad putting him in here)
0. "And yes, contrary to popular opinion, engineers are people too!"
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
No time to be clever myself, I'll let someone else do it....
OK, so, falling under the "things I shouldn't be doing when I have a midterm tomorrow" heading... I was looking for something online and found this instead: a blog on why men shouldn't be ordained. Might only be funny to people who regularly hear these excuses about women in ministry...
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
I (heart) Red Tape
So, I read last night AND this morning and somehow I think that grants me a blogging break, despite the fact that I have nothing of note to say today.... so I will talk about parking.
Pasadena has this law, which they only have posted on one sign somewhere on the outskirts of town, probably behind a tree, that there is NO PARKING on any city streets between 2-6am, except by exceedingly-difficult-to-obtain permit. Hence, the ticket on the moving van on night #1. So, I go down to the city permit office to obtain a permit. This, however, requires some rather pesky obstacles. First, you must submit the auto registrations of every registered automobile at your residence. So, for me to get a permit, I had to make my roommate copy her registration and fill out a form too. Second, your registration must reflect the address at which you are applying for a permit. Well, funny now, but when you change an address with the DMV they don't send you an updated copy of your registration which reflects your new address. So I only have one with an Oakland address on it. When I call the city to bring the extreme difficulty of this procedure to their attention (because I am sure I was the first to notice, and do so), they tell me to get a second copy of my change of address form when I go to the DMV. I mention to them that I was a good citizen this time and submitted my address change before I moved, via the mail, and have no intention of returning to a DMV anytime soon to fill out a form I already submitted, just so they can stamp it. So, they decide they will accept my Oakland registration and a copy of my student ID (???).
In the meantime of all this, until I gathered all the requisite pieces for my permit application, I had to call a phone number every night and leave a recording describing my car and stating where it is parked and where I lived, so they wouldn't ticket it. Now, I have a temporary permit that is hanging in the window while I wait for them to decide whether or not I deserve a real permit. My temporary permit expires on Thursday, so I have to go back to the parking office by then to renew my temporary permit so I don't get ticketed while I'm waiting for my permanent permit, which will then expire on 12/31 and I will get to do this all over again for next year!
Pasadena has this law, which they only have posted on one sign somewhere on the outskirts of town, probably behind a tree, that there is NO PARKING on any city streets between 2-6am, except by exceedingly-difficult-to-obtain permit. Hence, the ticket on the moving van on night #1. So, I go down to the city permit office to obtain a permit. This, however, requires some rather pesky obstacles. First, you must submit the auto registrations of every registered automobile at your residence. So, for me to get a permit, I had to make my roommate copy her registration and fill out a form too. Second, your registration must reflect the address at which you are applying for a permit. Well, funny now, but when you change an address with the DMV they don't send you an updated copy of your registration which reflects your new address. So I only have one with an Oakland address on it. When I call the city to bring the extreme difficulty of this procedure to their attention (because I am sure I was the first to notice, and do so), they tell me to get a second copy of my change of address form when I go to the DMV. I mention to them that I was a good citizen this time and submitted my address change before I moved, via the mail, and have no intention of returning to a DMV anytime soon to fill out a form I already submitted, just so they can stamp it. So, they decide they will accept my Oakland registration and a copy of my student ID (???).
In the meantime of all this, until I gathered all the requisite pieces for my permit application, I had to call a phone number every night and leave a recording describing my car and stating where it is parked and where I lived, so they wouldn't ticket it. Now, I have a temporary permit that is hanging in the window while I wait for them to decide whether or not I deserve a real permit. My temporary permit expires on Thursday, so I have to go back to the parking office by then to renew my temporary permit so I don't get ticketed while I'm waiting for my permanent permit, which will then expire on 12/31 and I will get to do this all over again for next year!
Sunday, October 23, 2005
God: guaranteed to work, or your money back!
... soothing baroque music.... Prayer Power(tm) audio technology... that's right folks, get prayer results faster and with less effort than you ever dreamed possible! Golly, did you know that you have a right to be rich? Just click here to get started.
Maybe we can ship a few of these CDs to Somalia, so we can spend their aid dollars on X-boxes and Hummers instead.
Maybe we can ship a few of these CDs to Somalia, so we can spend their aid dollars on X-boxes and Hummers instead.
Friday, October 21, 2005
Attack of the killer pigeons
Last night, I grabbed dinner with a classmate before Family Development. It was a nice night... sunny and 70 degrees, perfect for enjoying a leisurely burrito out on the balcony at the Paseo. About three bites in, however, these pigeons started landing on the railing, one by one, and they were no ordinary pigeons. They looked kind of evil, and they had hairy (feathery?) feet, and they wouldn't disappear despite much shoo-ing and insulting of their mothers. "Hey, did you ever see 'The Birds'?" Karen asked, and no sooner did that question leave her lips than the ringleader pigeon dove onto her plate, landing with one foot in a taco and the other in a side of beans, and started thrashing. Three more pigeons joined in. Salsa and refried beans were flying everywhere. I think Alfred Hitchcock may have been onto something.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Eggs over-easy, scrambled me
So, I was thinking about donating my eggs.
It's quite lucrative, actually -- I'm worth $6,000 for being a tall, thin, white college graduate with high SAT scores and no family history of major hereditary disease. As I approach 30, it beats making $8.50 an hour at Starbucks, and it may be my last year of eligibility. Plus, I've rented my body to science before... and aside from the side effects of a week of nausea and a now-permanent craving for mexican food, it worked out pretty well.
On the down-side, it involves a process called harvesting. Ick.
But I'm getting hung up on some of the ethical part. Not the usual reasons that people think of, though. I'm not worried about the idea of having a real live actual biological child somewhere in the world. Unlike the author of this article , I think there's a heck of a lot more to being a mother than just growing a baby (don't get me started on the rest of the her ideas... let's just say that people like that are the reason I speak softly when I say I am a Christian). My ethical hang-ups have nothing to do with what defines a family. They actually have to do with the fact that, unlike that author, my faith makes me so pro-adoption that I have a hard time justifying being a source of new babies when there are so many already who need families.
That idea unsettles me, though, not because of its implications now, but because it causes too many unanswerable questions in too many other times and places. The logical outcome of that ethic is that down the road I'd adopt kids rather than having my own, even if I can. This is fine with me now, as I'm not currently particularly under the influence of my biological clock. Thus, it's easy to sit here and be a windbag about adopting, vs. having one's own baby the "usual" way, vs. spending thousands and thousands of dollars to have one's own baby with a little help from Craigslist, ordering a la carte characteristics in a donor like food off a menu.
Can I draw a line? and where? and how do I feel about drawing it in pencil? I don't particularly like the idea of changing my ethics when it suits me, but I have to leave room for the idea that someday, my clock might start ticking and I may understand the issue differently.
I guess the real questions are ethical ones in general:
a) are we willing to follow our ethics to their logical conclusions no matter where they lead,
b) is that the point of having ethics? (having something to help determine our actions when culture, emotion, and gray area abound), and
b) is adjusting our ethics in the face of new information caving in, or is it just humility?
I suppose those all have debatable answers (I'm a sucker for a good debate). Regardless, don't worry, I'm not going to be hauling my eggs off to market anytime soon. And if any of you have room in your lives for an AIDS orphan from Haiti, I can hook you up.
It's quite lucrative, actually -- I'm worth $6,000 for being a tall, thin, white college graduate with high SAT scores and no family history of major hereditary disease. As I approach 30, it beats making $8.50 an hour at Starbucks, and it may be my last year of eligibility. Plus, I've rented my body to science before... and aside from the side effects of a week of nausea and a now-permanent craving for mexican food, it worked out pretty well.
On the down-side, it involves a process called harvesting. Ick.
But I'm getting hung up on some of the ethical part. Not the usual reasons that people think of, though. I'm not worried about the idea of having a real live actual biological child somewhere in the world. Unlike the author of this article , I think there's a heck of a lot more to being a mother than just growing a baby (don't get me started on the rest of the her ideas... let's just say that people like that are the reason I speak softly when I say I am a Christian). My ethical hang-ups have nothing to do with what defines a family. They actually have to do with the fact that, unlike that author, my faith makes me so pro-adoption that I have a hard time justifying being a source of new babies when there are so many already who need families.
That idea unsettles me, though, not because of its implications now, but because it causes too many unanswerable questions in too many other times and places. The logical outcome of that ethic is that down the road I'd adopt kids rather than having my own, even if I can. This is fine with me now, as I'm not currently particularly under the influence of my biological clock. Thus, it's easy to sit here and be a windbag about adopting, vs. having one's own baby the "usual" way, vs. spending thousands and thousands of dollars to have one's own baby with a little help from Craigslist, ordering a la carte characteristics in a donor like food off a menu.
Can I draw a line? and where? and how do I feel about drawing it in pencil? I don't particularly like the idea of changing my ethics when it suits me, but I have to leave room for the idea that someday, my clock might start ticking and I may understand the issue differently.
I guess the real questions are ethical ones in general:
a) are we willing to follow our ethics to their logical conclusions no matter where they lead,
b) is that the point of having ethics? (having something to help determine our actions when culture, emotion, and gray area abound), and
b) is adjusting our ethics in the face of new information caving in, or is it just humility?
I suppose those all have debatable answers (I'm a sucker for a good debate). Regardless, don't worry, I'm not going to be hauling my eggs off to market anytime soon. And if any of you have room in your lives for an AIDS orphan from Haiti, I can hook you up.
Randomata
Ooh! Oooh! It's my favorite thing EVER.... (here's a hint)! For most of you, summer probably ended a while ago, but we still had the air conditioning on all of last week. Yesterday, though, it rained. Lots. Nickel-sized hail, even. Booming thunder. Torrential downpour. The palm trees on Los Robles bent over in the wind like old men, straining to hear the sloshy "ping!" of rain bouncing off of manhole covers and see the newly-minted marshes sprung up in front yards everywhere.
All in all, it was really splended timing for me to take up crocheting Saturday night at Sarah and Sarah's apartment. So last night, I made my first hat in my Gospels class, in between copying down lecture comments from my professor like "let's finish up Mark real fast, and then we'll talk about demons."
All in all, it was really splended timing for me to take up crocheting Saturday night at Sarah and Sarah's apartment. So last night, I made my first hat in my Gospels class, in between copying down lecture comments from my professor like "let's finish up Mark real fast, and then we'll talk about demons."
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Awkward Email of the Week
Do you ever just get an email that makes you go, what the @*$#&??
Yesterday I was contacted by someone claiming to be the long-term girlfriend of the guide who trekked with us through Peru four months ago. Recently, after reading all of his email and talking to his friends, she has come to believe that he cheated on her with one of us, and wants us to confirm or deny these rumors so that she knows whether or not to move out and go back to Australia. Today, she emailed three more times. Huh?? What am I to do with these emails? Do I have an obligation to write back to someone I've never met, whose presence and story come out of nowhere, or do I ignore her, knowing that I have information that, if I were her, I might want to know? I mean, it's not like the guy was an angel, but he was my friend (and a darn good salsa dancer), and I don't know her from Adam.
Thoughts?
Yesterday I was contacted by someone claiming to be the long-term girlfriend of the guide who trekked with us through Peru four months ago. Recently, after reading all of his email and talking to his friends, she has come to believe that he cheated on her with one of us, and wants us to confirm or deny these rumors so that she knows whether or not to move out and go back to Australia. Today, she emailed three more times. Huh?? What am I to do with these emails? Do I have an obligation to write back to someone I've never met, whose presence and story come out of nowhere, or do I ignore her, knowing that I have information that, if I were her, I might want to know? I mean, it's not like the guy was an angel, but he was my friend (and a darn good salsa dancer), and I don't know her from Adam.
Thoughts?
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Random Adventure of the Week
Last Friday, I went to a trivia competition in Little Tokyo with my friend Phillip... it was a benefit to fund scholarships through the Asian American Journalism Association, and was populated mostly with journalists and lawyers and other assorted folk who read the paper a lot more often than I do. My trivial knowledge is apparently mostly of the trivial sort, while theirs seems to relate more to useful trivial about literature and current events and the like.
Out of five 20-question rounds (which, if my brain is still worth anything, amounts to 100 questions), I maybe knew the answer to five or so, mostly in the arts and entertainment round. Plus, there were a few I was really close on (unfortunately no partial credit), like "who were the four original Ramones?" (I got three of them, apparently Dee Dee joined later). I also knew that Persephone was a goddess of the underworld, and that Elvis died on August 16, 1977. I did not, however, know the name of some big rock in British Columbia, the exact date of the London tube bombings, or who wrote Remains of the Day. Feel free to write in and scold me if you think those were easy.
Mostly I just sat around in bewilderment, enjoying the free food. And at least we beat the high schoolers, even if they were the state smarty-pants decathlon champs.
Out of five 20-question rounds (which, if my brain is still worth anything, amounts to 100 questions), I maybe knew the answer to five or so, mostly in the arts and entertainment round. Plus, there were a few I was really close on (unfortunately no partial credit), like "who were the four original Ramones?" (I got three of them, apparently Dee Dee joined later). I also knew that Persephone was a goddess of the underworld, and that Elvis died on August 16, 1977. I did not, however, know the name of some big rock in British Columbia, the exact date of the London tube bombings, or who wrote Remains of the Day. Feel free to write in and scold me if you think those were easy.
Mostly I just sat around in bewilderment, enjoying the free food. And at least we beat the high schoolers, even if they were the state smarty-pants decathlon champs.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Top Ten, give or take
Top Six Reasons for my Love/Hate Relationship with Family Dynamics Class:
(Make that five reasons... it's almost time for Sex & the City...)
5. it's a bit too intense to put a name to every quasi-dysfunctional thing that you, your family, and your friends do.
4. in a word (that I can't remember the meaning of): "schismogenesis."
3. referring to families using"the cybernetic metaphor."
2. it always makes me cry, but when I do I'm surround by 53 other wannabe therapists who, for the most part, know how to respond appropriately.
1. they tell us not to go home and practice therapy on our friends, since we have no technique yet, but it's kind of like giving a kid a bb gun and hoping that telling him "this might hurt someone" will stop him from testing it on his sister (no, Kevin, I won't let that one go. It's only been 17 years). It's just so darn shiny and new, I have to pull the trigger.
(Make that five reasons... it's almost time for Sex & the City...)
5. it's a bit too intense to put a name to every quasi-dysfunctional thing that you, your family, and your friends do.
4. in a word (that I can't remember the meaning of): "schismogenesis."
3. referring to families using"the cybernetic metaphor."
2. it always makes me cry, but when I do I'm surround by 53 other wannabe therapists who, for the most part, know how to respond appropriately.
1. they tell us not to go home and practice therapy on our friends, since we have no technique yet, but it's kind of like giving a kid a bb gun and hoping that telling him "this might hurt someone" will stop him from testing it on his sister (no, Kevin, I won't let that one go. It's only been 17 years). It's just so darn shiny and new, I have to pull the trigger.
Endless Summer
I just checked the weather page. It is supposed to be NINETY DEGREES here on Thursday. For the love of all that is holy, it is MID-OCTOBER!! I cannot go pick out a pumpkin in shorts.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Hope, part one: baby steps
My poor friend Phil has borne the brunt of a few of my cynical ramblings these days. I think he gets most of it because not only is he a fellow cynic too... but at heart he carries a deep, abiding hope - and that is like a lighthouse in a storm for me. So, after spewing on him last week, I tried to write him back today to share my little baby-step of hope... here's how it came out:
So I prayed, expectantly, yesterday morning. Or at least hopefully. Or are those two really the same? Anyhow, I don't do that very often. Regardless of what I try to convince myself I believe, in practice I don't usually expect God to show up on a micro level... I secretly figure he's too busy worrying about the starving children in China to worry about me, since I'm already so priviledged in most senses of the word. But I prayed a teeny prayer of expectation. Nothing big - just a little one. I prayed for the grace to cut myself some slack, I prayed for the strength to not have to lean into my cynicism to make it through the day. And I prayed that I'd be interrupted, and be open to it, if God's agenda for my day was a little different than mine.
Long story short, I got all of those things. I opened up for two seconds when I turned back to say hello to someone I didn't honestly have much of a reason to stop and talk to, and found myself in a conversation that I believe was on God's agenda for the day, even though I hadn't even thought of it as a possibility. I think God used both me and a classmate to be Christ to each other, when we really needed it, when I was really just about to walk right by and miss it. The prayer was small, the answer was small. My cynical side would like to write it off as coincidence. Maybe it was. But I needed to know I made the right decision to be here, and that if I fail, God will still be with me (even if I have to spend the rest of my life looking for work on Craigslist). And even though we spoke of none of those things in conversation, for me, the nature and quality of the interruption spoke to all of them.
Anyhow, praying expectantly and feeling that God has heard - and answered - always brings up questions, and I start wondering: does this mean I'm going to start seeing God as some kind of holy vending machine? Ask for something, pull the lever, and wham, God will overnight it to me? Then I went to my Gospels class tonight, and that's exactly what the professor talked about -- given that Jesus is here, and the Kingdom of God is in effect, but we ain't out of the woods yet (temporally speaking), how does the "already but not yet" affect our expectations of God? And how are we to pray in the midst of that tension?
So I figure if a New Testament scholar doesn't know the answer to that question, it's OK if I don't have a clue either.....
So I prayed, expectantly, yesterday morning. Or at least hopefully. Or are those two really the same? Anyhow, I don't do that very often. Regardless of what I try to convince myself I believe, in practice I don't usually expect God to show up on a micro level... I secretly figure he's too busy worrying about the starving children in China to worry about me, since I'm already so priviledged in most senses of the word. But I prayed a teeny prayer of expectation. Nothing big - just a little one. I prayed for the grace to cut myself some slack, I prayed for the strength to not have to lean into my cynicism to make it through the day. And I prayed that I'd be interrupted, and be open to it, if God's agenda for my day was a little different than mine.
Long story short, I got all of those things. I opened up for two seconds when I turned back to say hello to someone I didn't honestly have much of a reason to stop and talk to, and found myself in a conversation that I believe was on God's agenda for the day, even though I hadn't even thought of it as a possibility. I think God used both me and a classmate to be Christ to each other, when we really needed it, when I was really just about to walk right by and miss it. The prayer was small, the answer was small. My cynical side would like to write it off as coincidence. Maybe it was. But I needed to know I made the right decision to be here, and that if I fail, God will still be with me (even if I have to spend the rest of my life looking for work on Craigslist). And even though we spoke of none of those things in conversation, for me, the nature and quality of the interruption spoke to all of them.
Anyhow, praying expectantly and feeling that God has heard - and answered - always brings up questions, and I start wondering: does this mean I'm going to start seeing God as some kind of holy vending machine? Ask for something, pull the lever, and wham, God will overnight it to me? Then I went to my Gospels class tonight, and that's exactly what the professor talked about -- given that Jesus is here, and the Kingdom of God is in effect, but we ain't out of the woods yet (temporally speaking), how does the "already but not yet" affect our expectations of God? And how are we to pray in the midst of that tension?
So I figure if a New Testament scholar doesn't know the answer to that question, it's OK if I don't have a clue either.....
Sunday, October 02, 2005
I (heart) teachers
I just want to thank all the teachers in my past (except for Mr. Baltz, from third grade, because even though I don't remember you, my mother still tells me stories of how I cried every morning before she dropped me off at school because you were so mean). I am sorry my gratitude is so late in coming, but just now, finally, after attempting to teach geometry to 26 14-year-olds for three hours, I get it. And I want to thank you all for making it through every day without without impaling one of us with the dull pencil that we got up to sharpen seventy-two times.
Things I Wish People Would Stop Saying, Part I
"Oh, you totally look older than 22. I mean, I wouldn't have been surprised if you were 22, but you could definitely pass for older than that. Just not older than 24."
Thursday, September 29, 2005
List - o - randomness
OK, here is what I am thinking today. It's mostly neurotic, which is what happens when I spend too much time alone.
* I love my classes. I love studying something that I am actually going to use someday, instead of just filling my brain with esoteric ideas that are fun to talk about but don't really ever translate into real life.
* I am afraid of studying something useful, because it means that I will actually have to use it, which involves being evaluated (I can handle taking tests, but videotaping myself practicing therapy makes me want to pee my pants, which I do not really want on tape). It's one thing to be found incompetent in something I don't care about (like filing, or decorating Pete's office). It is an entirely different thing to risk being found incompetent at something I actually care about doing well. I spent the last two years gleefully churning through jobs, because those "failures" (which they were not) didn't mean anything. If I fail here, if I'm a royal bomb of suckage in the therapy arena, then I will have failed at something I actually wanted, which is an entirely different scenario, of which I am petrified. It's been so long since I felt competent at anything that I'm afraid to get my hopes up.
* When exactly did I become a person who assumes I am going to fail at anything that matters?
* I really like hummus.
* Anne Lamott says she mainly only prays two prayers: "Help me help me help me" and "Thank you thank you thank you." I am using them heavily this week, with the occasional addition of, "and ten degrees cooler would be nice."
* I think there are many Christians who could stand to have their definition of "worship" expanded beyond "singing in church."
* Thank you thank you thank you God for surprise conversations with neighbors who turn out to be really cool, just when you really need a good conversation to pull your day out of the trash.
* I will be less cynical tomorrow
* I love my classes. I love studying something that I am actually going to use someday, instead of just filling my brain with esoteric ideas that are fun to talk about but don't really ever translate into real life.
* I am afraid of studying something useful, because it means that I will actually have to use it, which involves being evaluated (I can handle taking tests, but videotaping myself practicing therapy makes me want to pee my pants, which I do not really want on tape). It's one thing to be found incompetent in something I don't care about (like filing, or decorating Pete's office). It is an entirely different thing to risk being found incompetent at something I actually care about doing well. I spent the last two years gleefully churning through jobs, because those "failures" (which they were not) didn't mean anything. If I fail here, if I'm a royal bomb of suckage in the therapy arena, then I will have failed at something I actually wanted, which is an entirely different scenario, of which I am petrified. It's been so long since I felt competent at anything that I'm afraid to get my hopes up.
* When exactly did I become a person who assumes I am going to fail at anything that matters?
* I really like hummus.
* Anne Lamott says she mainly only prays two prayers: "Help me help me help me" and "Thank you thank you thank you." I am using them heavily this week, with the occasional addition of, "and ten degrees cooler would be nice."
* I think there are many Christians who could stand to have their definition of "worship" expanded beyond "singing in church."
* Thank you thank you thank you God for surprise conversations with neighbors who turn out to be really cool, just when you really need a good conversation to pull your day out of the trash.
* I will be less cynical tomorrow
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
I hate it when that happens.
So, last week, there's a guy in my apartment building who intrigues me. Tall, from Seattle, likes backpacking... I mean, I don't have a "list" when it comes down to it, but he had a few things that register on my radar. I hadn't run into him, though, and of course was too chicken to find an excuse to knock on their door. On Tuesday, I was walking home with Nate and Carrie, and Nate disappeared into the bookstore to see if a friend he wanted to introduce me to was there. Sans Nate, I mentioned this boy to Carrie, while lamenting that all the guys at Fuller are either married or dating small blond girls who wear cute shoes (did I come to BYU by mistake or something?). I turn around as Nate comes out, and lo and behold guess who he's trailing behind him? The apt. #6 hottie.
I, of course, manage to lose half my brain cells and eke out a conversation that includes the occasional two-syllable word. We're talking about hiking! His trip to Seattle last week! His cool shoes! We're connecting!
Then he mentions that his trip to Seattle was to help his fiancee move down to LA. Sigh. My brain returns, I finish out the conversation (without asking about his girlfriend's size and haircolor, to confirm my suspicions), and I observe Carrie over my shoulder, trying to stifle a giggle while offering me a sypmathy glance as she puts two and two together and realizes this is who I was talking about.
I figure, if nothing else, dating while getting my MFT should at least keep all my commitment/fear of rejection issues close to the surface as good fodder for my own therapy....
I, of course, manage to lose half my brain cells and eke out a conversation that includes the occasional two-syllable word. We're talking about hiking! His trip to Seattle last week! His cool shoes! We're connecting!
Then he mentions that his trip to Seattle was to help his fiancee move down to LA. Sigh. My brain returns, I finish out the conversation (without asking about his girlfriend's size and haircolor, to confirm my suspicions), and I observe Carrie over my shoulder, trying to stifle a giggle while offering me a sypmathy glance as she puts two and two together and realizes this is who I was talking about.
I figure, if nothing else, dating while getting my MFT should at least keep all my commitment/fear of rejection issues close to the surface as good fodder for my own therapy....
Monday, September 26, 2005
Super Grover
So here are a couple shots of my climbing buddy Grover. It's a little hard to tell in the Barney Lake shot, but he's about 5 inches tall and I made him a swiss seat out of a red shoelace, just like mine (only not the shoelace part). Just add one of those little keychain 'biners, and voila! Grover was ready for a little mountain action. He did the whole Inoculum route through Hoover and Yosemite with us, climbed a 5.7, and summited Tower Peak (12K feet). What can I say, the little guy gets around... I was quite surprised to see him in Hollywood a couple weeks later, a little furrier, a little taller, and demanding money from me to have his photo taken. 
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Welcome to LA
So here I am in LA. Eleven years after I was dying to go to UCLA (but wasn't willing to pay out-of-state tuition), I finally arrive in SoCal, at Fuller (only to pay private school tuition, go figure). I keep wondering what I would have been like now if I'd come here at the tender age of 18, rather than the slightly-less-tender-and-more-jaded age of 29. Which parts of personality are latent, like paint-by-numbers artwork that's just waiting for the brush to apply water and reveal what's been there all the time? Or is it more like watercolor, an original artwork formed bit-by-bit, unknown before it exists? Would I have been shaped differently, having been here over the last defining decade? For example, would I actually enjoy spending time at the beach? Would I wear cuter shoes and more makeup? Would I think honking my horn was a reasonable action to take toward another human being? Would I recycle less?
I'm surprised at how often, during orientation week, we allowed the answer to the question "where are you from?" to define us and pave the way for our future friendships. If I only had 30 seconds to make a first impression, I quickly put forth my Seattle/Berkeley roots to speak for me, for the things I couldn't elaborate on in the not-unlike-speed-dating environment: interests, political leanings, climate preference, driving habits, outdoor proclivities, theological stance, music preferences, beer selection.... Some people are racist, but I am discovering how much of a self-righteous geographist I am. I made a mental note of the northwesterners (call these people soon), SoCal natives (dismiss the cute, perky ones), the midwesterners (Illinois and Michigan make the cut, Iowa not so much) and the nebulous Philadelphians (could go either way... not enough geographical baggage to pin down just yet).
Anyhow, here I am. Still in awe of the palm trees lining my street, the fact that it occasionally gets above 75 degrees and I should buy a second pair of shorts, and the ads for liposuction constantly droning on both English and Spanish radio stations. I've hunted down local Ultimate games and the nearest REI. I found the entrance to the secret parking lot at Trader Joe's. I now own a coffee grinder.
Bring it on.
I'm surprised at how often, during orientation week, we allowed the answer to the question "where are you from?" to define us and pave the way for our future friendships. If I only had 30 seconds to make a first impression, I quickly put forth my Seattle/Berkeley roots to speak for me, for the things I couldn't elaborate on in the not-unlike-speed-dating environment: interests, political leanings, climate preference, driving habits, outdoor proclivities, theological stance, music preferences, beer selection.... Some people are racist, but I am discovering how much of a self-righteous geographist I am. I made a mental note of the northwesterners (call these people soon), SoCal natives (dismiss the cute, perky ones), the midwesterners (Illinois and Michigan make the cut, Iowa not so much) and the nebulous Philadelphians (could go either way... not enough geographical baggage to pin down just yet).
Anyhow, here I am. Still in awe of the palm trees lining my street, the fact that it occasionally gets above 75 degrees and I should buy a second pair of shorts, and the ads for liposuction constantly droning on both English and Spanish radio stations. I've hunted down local Ultimate games and the nearest REI. I found the entrance to the secret parking lot at Trader Joe's. I now own a coffee grinder.
Bring it on.
Now THAT'S Weird.
You Are 10% Weird |
 |
Harumph, I do not agree... they asked stupid questions. I like to think I'm way weirder than that.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Mea Culpa
I'm un-giving up venting for lent. Venting is hereby welcome in my life again. I have a new lenten discipline... something I'm consciously giving up, something I rely on, something that it will sharpen my character considerably to do without.
For the rest of the 40 days, I'm giving up making excuses. And it sucks.
Yesterday I actually caught myself thinking up ways to get out of paying a parking ticket that I clearly deserved. I was parked in a two-hour zone for two hours and twenty minutes. Now, in the grand scheme of life it was not a brazen crime, jeopardizing small children or threatening the elderly. I did nothing that would cause the country to go on Orange Alert. But I still broke the law. And even when I recognized that, I continued to come up with 49 excuses (OK, so they were all LIES) that I could have submitted with my ticket instead of paying forty bucks that I would rather spend on something else, like a car that actually starts more than half the time and always breaks down on Friday evenings as soon as all the mechanics close.
But the fact is, once again, that I broke the law. And not only is it a law that I happen to agree with (otherwise I would never be able to find a parking spot within 5 miles of work), but I also happen to appreciate that there are police in Oakland and that the revenue from my parking ticket may go to support other things they do for me, like keep me (relatively) safe from drive-by shootings and, well.... more drive-by shootings.
So for the rest of this 40-day period, until the day we celebrate that Jesus rose from the dead to offer us grace in the face of our excuses, I'm admitting that it's always my fault I'm late - not the washing machine, or my car, or the guy in front of me on 14th. It's my fault that I got an "F" at Laney Community College for forgetting to drop a class that I stopped going to. It's my fault I'm stressed out and snapping at people lately. It's my fault that years' worth of birthday and wedding presents are still sitting on my bedroom floor waiting to be mailed (I ran out of excuses on that one looooooong ago). And I'm embarrassed to say it but this will be the first time I've paid a parking ticket, admitting it's MY FAULT that I parked where I wasn't supposed to (and not tried to blame it on the sign, the cop, the meter, etc).
That's 40 bucks to the city of Oakland, which works out to one dollar for each day of my lenten discipline of Mea Culpa.
For the rest of the 40 days, I'm giving up making excuses. And it sucks.
Yesterday I actually caught myself thinking up ways to get out of paying a parking ticket that I clearly deserved. I was parked in a two-hour zone for two hours and twenty minutes. Now, in the grand scheme of life it was not a brazen crime, jeopardizing small children or threatening the elderly. I did nothing that would cause the country to go on Orange Alert. But I still broke the law. And even when I recognized that, I continued to come up with 49 excuses (OK, so they were all LIES) that I could have submitted with my ticket instead of paying forty bucks that I would rather spend on something else, like a car that actually starts more than half the time and always breaks down on Friday evenings as soon as all the mechanics close.
But the fact is, once again, that I broke the law. And not only is it a law that I happen to agree with (otherwise I would never be able to find a parking spot within 5 miles of work), but I also happen to appreciate that there are police in Oakland and that the revenue from my parking ticket may go to support other things they do for me, like keep me (relatively) safe from drive-by shootings and, well.... more drive-by shootings.
So for the rest of this 40-day period, until the day we celebrate that Jesus rose from the dead to offer us grace in the face of our excuses, I'm admitting that it's always my fault I'm late - not the washing machine, or my car, or the guy in front of me on 14th. It's my fault that I got an "F" at Laney Community College for forgetting to drop a class that I stopped going to. It's my fault I'm stressed out and snapping at people lately. It's my fault that years' worth of birthday and wedding presents are still sitting on my bedroom floor waiting to be mailed (I ran out of excuses on that one looooooong ago). And I'm embarrassed to say it but this will be the first time I've paid a parking ticket, admitting it's MY FAULT that I parked where I wasn't supposed to (and not tried to blame it on the sign, the cop, the meter, etc).
That's 40 bucks to the city of Oakland, which works out to one dollar for each day of my lenten discipline of Mea Culpa.
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