The Bliss of Ms. Blossom

...Canada geese instead of rabbits.

Joel cannot say that phrase in Spanish, despite his claims to be "Spanish-speaking." Promotion at work turns mild-mannered tellers into braggarts.

The drive-through area is creepy, no way around it. Something about it seems like a desolate wasteland and staring out over it all feels like I'm looking at an alien landscape from behind protective glass. Today, (because of the game?) there were more people than usual wandering around the grounds (and driving the wrong way through our drive-through lanes) and they seemed lost and as if they should be wearing big astronaut suits.

The rabbits are by far the worst. Growing up in Lubbock, jackrabbits from a distance seem more normal to me than the sweet ones in pet stores. Long ears, brown, fast. Normal rabbit. But up close? Scary motherfuckers. They have wild eyes, sinewy limbs, and menacing teeth. Really disturbing. They make me grateful for the thick window that perpetually blinds me with sunglares and inwardly sigh for the people who are outside in their midst.

I took a shower last night, and, like any normal person, tried to turn off the water. I soon learned that the knob was broken, but I continued turning and turning, hoping it would catch. Anyway, I ran around the apartment (yes, still naked) trying to find some way to stop the fuckin' water. I found a clamp thing in my toolbox (one of those flowered decorative boxes that comes with lotion sets) and stood in the bathroom for awhile trying to figure out what to do. In the end, I completely took apart the knob and various levels of metal and plastic that were underneath it until I reached some long metal stick that I turned until the water stopped pounding straight from the faucet to the drain. Yes, it's true, I saved the aquifer. Unfortunately, maintanence never came today to fix it, so I guess I get to take another shower using a clamp.

At work today, someone told me the story of St. Christopher, the patron saint of travellers. He was a giant who wanted to serve the most powerful master, and wandered around looking for it. Apparently some versions have him fighting the devil and winning. So he also carries travellers over rivers since he's so huge and can just walk through them. One time, this small child carrying a ball in his hand needed to be carried across a river, so St. Christopher put him on his back and set off. St. Christopher starts having a harder and harder time, until the boy actually helps the giant across. It turns out that it was the Christ child and he was holding the globe in his hand. Find most powerful master: check. Travellers who see St. Christopher with his staff should beware, because he trying to warn them about an avalanche or something else horrible. I agree with the woman who told it to me (who was wearing a St. Christopher medallion that sparked the conversation) that it's a nice saint story compared to the guesome bloody ones where saints are martyred in horrific ways.

I finally got pots for my plants (plural!) so they will love me back. I was wandering around Wal-Mart like an insane woman because I couldn't find the fuckin' pots for way too long. I can never find anything there. St. Christopher should have sent me a sign.

Crystal thought I said I was going to buy pot at Wal-Mart. If only.

There, Stephanie.

(Except for this spring break, which I hopefully get off!)

At work someone wished me a Happy Malcolm X-Mas. She pumped her fist in the air as she said it. It was really great. This lady is always lots of fun. She has a million tattoos and a bird she sometimes brings in.

Someone else wished me a Happy Christmas, then stopped himself and said I looked Wiccan. He sort of pointed in the general direction of my head and mentioned that I wear a star charm around my neck.

On a side note that's not necessarily related to the holidays, I have also been referred to as Italian, Jewish, Greek, Mediterranean, "that Romanian exchange student," someone just generally foreign, and Spanish (that was only exciting because we were in Spain when people kept on saying that). One man many years ago when I was in the 4th grade-ish said I looked Asian. Yeah. That one I don't see at all.

Today has been a much more optimistic day. People aren't complaining and are instead talking about things for which they are grateful. It's really much nicer.

Winter Equinox. First day of winter, shortest day of the year. I don't have a problem with winter, but I definitely have a problem with not having as much sunlight. The sun and I are extremely good friends. I don't ever feel completely awake on a dark day. This could be a problem if I ever move away, and I will have to get one of those light boxes to stare into everyday in order to stay sane. Don't laugh, because I totally see it happening. I have a friend (Kelly Blikre!) who even braved the terrors of a tanning bed to try to combat seasonal affective disorder when she thought she might have it.

At work today, someone asked me if I was a TA, and seemed really surprised when I told her I was still working on my BA. She didn't seem surprised, however, when I told her I was an English major (she ignored Anthro, like most people because it is less familiar to them). Apparently I have a "face" like I'm "thinking all the time about books." I don't really know what that means. I like books, so it's a compliment... right? Or she's implying that I look like some loopy out-of-touch crazy lady. But she gave me a chocolate bar, so she's cool.

Speaking of books, there were a couple awkward times today when people asked what Lolita (the book I am reading) is about. One man was visibly taken aback when I said that the title character is only twelve years old. Then he kept asking follow-up questions and I felt like I was reciting the events of a soap opera. At least it's not as bad as when I was reading Flowers in the Attic, a book overflowing with incest and arson. That got me some weird looks.

While at work, I converse with folks I see everyday, as well as complete strangers. Chit-chat isn't hard (nor very original): weather, holidays, how busy everyone is, shopping... etc. And damn, lots of these conversations tend to be pessimistic. If I answer that I'm doing excellent, people are taken aback and want to know why. If I shrug and make a non-committal face, that is overlooked as a normal response. One lady said, "See you next year! Hope it's a good one. Can't get any worse." She never struck me as being someone who was battling many difficult obstacles. Obviously, I can't know this for sure, but it made me wonder why everyone downplays their lives all the time. Right now, it's how much Christmas shopping costs and how cold it is. In the spring, everyone just wants to get the year over with. Over the summer, people have been busy with activities and travelling (as if travelling was a bad thing). Next fall, folks will complain about hectic schedules. Well, I'm really happy right now. And I'm not the only one, either, I just don't feel like being self-deprecating at the moment.

suck

John Mayer and I are not especially close friends. I casually accepted him in high school and would listen to him on the radio driving to and from school. Those days of my affection for him are long-gone.

I think he's a dick. I don't think he necessarily means to be one, but I really don't like his lyrics, and I find ideas that seem fundamentally opposed to my own in them. And not in the "wow, he's really opening my eyes" way, but in the "I will never be able to enjoy this song again" way.

Take for example, Daughters:

* * * * * * * * * *
I know a girl
She puts the color inside of my world
She's just like a maze
Where all of the walls all continually change
And I've done all I can
To stand on her steps with my heart in my hands
Now I'm starting to see
Maybe it's got nothing to do with me

Fathers be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers be good to your daughters too

Oh, you see that skin?
It's the same she's been standing in
Since the day she saw him walking away
Now she's left
Cleaning up the mess he made,

[chorus]

Boys, you can break
You'll find out how much they can take
Boys will be strong
And boys soldier on
But boys would be gone without warmth from
A woman's good, good heart
On behalf of every man
Looking out for every girl
You are the god and the weight of her world

[chorus]
* * * * * * * * * *

Ignoring the fact that this girl might just not like him (understandably) and this whole song is a rationalization of his rejection, there are still several problems. It paints women as fragile creatures depending on the men (and their mothers, to a lesser extent) in their lives for happiness. And boys? Well, "boys, you can break / you'll find out how much they can take / boys will be strong / and boys soldier on." And each boy will grow up to be the man who is "the god and the weight of her world." I mean, holy shit, wow. I hate you, John Mayer. And it's not because my father didn't love me, but because I refuse to be patronized by your sappy lyrics that play to a female's sense of insecurity and a male's machismo.

On to his newest release (well, at least the most recent song of his I've heard), Waiting on the World to Change. To give the entire lyrics here is, in this case, unnecessary. He basically just crones his "waiting on the world to change" mantra throughout the whole song. He claims that the young generation is misunderstood and portrayed as standing for nothing, and that the television lies to you. Media definitely warps information, and I agree that our world needs help. I'm not really sure what John is saying beyond that, though (I guess he is misunderstood). He says that one day "our generation is going to rule the population"... and then? Oh, right. "We keep waiting (waiting!) on the world to change." John acknowledges problems, then suggests that everyone wait until we grow up. Fantastic Fucking Idea, John. That fits the definition of standing for nothing, John. I'm so glad that you can cleverly disguise inaction as a form of social revolution, John.

Until you and I work through our issues, and you stop being an asshole, I will never buy your music, John Mayer. And I hope no one else does, and then your trendiness can die alongside your feeble ideas.

I have a paper due today about the way foreigners are portrayed in Willa Cather's My Antonia. Great author, great book, great times. Except that it's my birthday and I'm writing a paper. I was expressly raised to do only frivolous things on your birthday. Actually I'm not technically writing my paper right now so it doesn't matter.

I love birthdays, except 22 isn't really special. It makes me feel old. Not decrepit old, but grown-up old, a lot older than 21. I feel like I should already be formed as a person with clear paths. The thing is, I'm horribly irresponsible and irrational. I never eat properly, and have discovered that it's possibly to go for days on only a couple hours of sleep. I'm the worst adult ever. Except maybe for Stephanie (who's back for Hannukah break!). We are horrible together!

I was working on grad apps this morning. Went and got transcripts, dropped off some forms to my profs who are writing recommendations for me. Illegally parked in the English parking lot while I ran inside really quickly. Will be mailing three of them tomorrow (UMichigan, UT, Duke) if I can get my shit together on time. Which goes back to the responsible thing.

UT is the only anthro program I'm considering, and it's actually really neat. They have concentrations on the Mexican-US Border and the African Diaspora. My favorite is probably the Activist specialty. Lots of times there is a division between applied and academic approaches to anthro. This program, however, is showing how neither good academic fieldwork or political/moral implications have to be sacrificed for the sake of the other. Especially now when globalization is threatening the survival of so many traditional cultures (and languages) I think it is -- dare I say -- responsible for the discipline to step up to the plate and help navigate these issues. It sounds really exciting, and is the only thing I think I would give up a PhD in English for. (ahh! preposition!)

But why do I like stuff like that? Because both my parents have degrees in anthro? Yeah, probably. What if they were musicians or sailors. I've been told that I have piano hands. Maybe I should have been a pianist or something. And I actually think it would be incredibly thrilling to be a sailor. Not in the trendy pirate way (although, yes, pirating would be exciting) but in the explorer way. Go spend time with obscure tribes and such.

Hopefully next year I will either be reading books about modernism in a small shack in the middle of a snowy cornfield or reading books about international development projects and eating ramen. Oh, the choices.

But in all seriousness, they sound like good choices.

I like to name things. My plant is Enoch. My computer is Monica. My car is either Ellen or Helen depending on her mood.

Then I thought, by anthropomorphizing things that are non-human, am I degrading them? Am I saying that I only assign value to things if they are more human, like me? As if humanity was the pinnacle of existence and I was showing my appreciation by awarding favorite objects with human attributes? Maybe.

Or maybe that's not a bad thing. When my cat yells (Siamese cats don't meow) at me, I don't get mad at him for treating me like another cat. His behavior towards me suggests that we are peers, friends. It is a gesture of equality, and although he sounds like a bitter goat, I know I am one of the loves of his life.

His name is Zack, by the way.