Out where the fields are warm and dry

I have recently discovered letterboxing – a sort of orienteering game where someone hides a container/box in a public area and leaves clues for other letterboxers to find it. These clues can be found online or through word of mouth.

Inside the hidden letterbox is a notebook which the finder stamps with his own stamp. It also contains a stamp which the finder uses to make a mark in his own notebook.

The photo at the top isn't a letterbox; just a mailbox that I thought was funny.

Quote of the Day: "There is a curious paradox that no one can explain: who understands the secrets of the reaping of the grain? Who understands why spring is born out of winter's laboring pain, or why we all must die a bit before we grow again?"
–El Gallo, The Fantasticks

A moment with Chris

My world, she is crumbling. Since coming to Austin for the 2009/2010 holiday season I have been stripped of the primary tenets of my sacred routine. I am left adrift and undefined. Long the pioneer of romantic entanglement among my siblings, hacking through young love with a careless machete, I have suddenly been surpassed by not one but two siblings. Dear William has found himself a bright young thing in Morocco (which is, as they say, for lovers) who shares his sense of adventure and altruism. She is, he says, "The best thing since the White Album". Words of such magnitude are rarely heard from anyone not currently governing a country. Hannah as well drinks from the sweet nectar of twitterpation, though her venue of amour is that most treacherous gorge of college sweetheartship; a cruel mistress that beckons the stragglers of the pack- the weak, slow, hopelessly romantic, and those not yet properly scarred by high school affairs. I must add at this point that I myself fell prey to this brightly-plumaged beast my Freshman year, courting a native lass for nearly a full three years of university studentship. How my heart collapses like a horse who's run over a landmine to hear this. Dear, sweet, simple Hannah. Did I not teach you well enough the perils of this world?

Mind you, the lad seems like an upstanding sort- about par for the course in this generation; friendly (if somewhat aloof), well-raised, without sharp edge or acerbic tone; and either a truly good sport in terms of meeting a girl's family or just very, very desperate to get Hannah time. Either way, I commend his indefatigable efforts. To young Squire Karl I say this: Hannah comes encumbered, more than most, with a singularly trying family. Prepare for weirdness on a grand and savage scale; the likes of which are probably enough to turn your pretty little eyes to coal, curl your shampooed little hair, and give it some company on, say, your chest. Namely, son, strap in. We Stewarts are like a rare gem: half of the value is in the blood sweat and dear-mother-they're-crazy-what-have-I-gotten-into-she-said-they-were-weird-but-I-thought-she-was-utilizing-hyperbole tears spent in obtaining said gem, in this case, Hannah. What? You think of her as an object, some treasure to be won? Shame on you. Go beg mercy of whatever gods ye call your own.

I find myself unable to write my usual material here. Too happy. Too content, sober, fulfilled, well-adjusted, and overall healthy. I have had to move all of my screenwriting efforts to my one (thank goodness I had one) comedic project. I simply can't access my darker chambers without a cold, hellishly lonely room, a slew of academic and social woes, and a few warm drops to put a shiver back in my face and circles 'neath the old eyes. Without these things I am artistically inert. Comedy is not my forte, and I have been forced (though happily!) to outsource my shallow well of humor to dear sister Siobhan, who will henceforth be assisting me with "Illuminati!: The Musical", a co-written screenplay that will plunge the unmined depths of humor to be found in...Freemasonry. As well as, of course, journalism.

Alas, I am called to clean the house. More to come.

Punch in, punch out

My anti-terrorism plan. After reading about the latest aviatory terrorism attempt, I have come up with my own plan to prevent in-flight terrorism: Put everyone asleep for the whole flight. That's right, knock them out. If everybody is unconscious, nobody will be able to set off a detonator mid-flight.

Admittedly this idea was spurred from personal reasons -- after this summer's flight of doom, I developed a serious fear of flying. My mother blames my father for introducing me to websites like airdisaster.com, which has everything you want to know about plane crashes throughout history--including transcripts of black box conversations.

But even after airdistaster, I was a fine flier until I was on a plane this summer and saw (what I thought was) the engine exploding and was positive we were all going to die. Now I can't stand flying at all. Which is peachy, because I still fly waaaay more than any normal person should, and I don't intend to stop. Naturally, I decided that the only solution to this was to be anesthetized during the whole ordeal. And if I'm going under, why not everyone? Plane-rides can be a thing of the past; literally a pleasant dream.

Anyways, I'm hoping that my blog comes up on some sort of secret service scan because I used the word "terrorism" three times, and whoever reads it will pass on my plan. They could even have fun with it, and use little pills to knock passengers out. The pills can be blue or red for Matrix fans.

***

For the next post, my brother Christophe will be guest blogging.

Dress it up or dress it down

Family Christmas has been unique this year. My 18-year-old sister has taken a lover, and the family has subsequently been divided between Marx supporters and suppressors, much like the U.S.S.R. in the 50's--including the suppression of free speech (but with more access to groceries.)

Marx is his nickname for the purposes of this blog, as apparently my sister doesn't want her situation broadcast over the internet. I would have ignored this request in the search for truth, but she's the only person who consistently reads my blog, and so I pander. Pander with a purpose.

Basically, my sister met Mr. Marx her college in Michigan, adhering to the age-old truth that all people fall in love once during freshman year. Of course, not all people have to constantly text and message and skype with said love during holiday family time.

The long and short of it is that she has ruined Christmas. Well, not really, but that's what we tell her -- it's a beautifully pointed insult. Basically, my father has flipped a lid at the idea of his little girl meeting a man, and the rest of us have been forced to talk about everything in hushed tones lest he hear and go into a rampage about how he can't trust anyone.

One of my brothers is here (the other is in Morocco), and he jumps between siding with my father in his belligerence, and being mildly curious. Mostly he tries to exploit the situation for his entertainment, which, all things considered, is really quite reasonable.

On the bright side, the whole situation has provided me with many memorable quotes to plaster on my blog. Plaster with no purpose. These include the following:

My brother to Mr. Marx: "Have you ever picked up your teeth with broken fingers?" (Best Skype conversation ever.)

mumsie: "My dad never treated you like this!"
father: "Your dad was just happy someone would take you!"

And so on.

So what say you? Does my sister deserve her chance at young love with her floppy haired swimmer/musician/looks like Jim from The Office bloke?

if that ain't love

The following is a family discussion sparked by Emma's Himalayan rice dish.

mumsie: "But the pain is worth it"

chris: "The pain is never worth it."

mumsie: "If the pain isn't worth it...then none of you would be here"

chris: "I thought you had all these painless childbirths and that's why your kids should have children."

mumsie:"No. You learn to control the pain."

chris: "Oh, like a Jedi?"

mumsie: "whatever."

Caveat: In my search for an appropriate Jedi picture to dress this post, I discovered Wookieepedia, the Star Wars Wikipedia. I think in my heart of hearts I had known that such a site existed, but it was still nice to discover it.

Shopping Blues (it was early)

well i went to the store one day
looking for twinkies or something else
but i didn't seem to find them
so i decided to just go to a different store
different aisle i mean (yeah that’s what I meant)
same store

and i don't wanna go don't wanna go (x2)
just wanna stay just wanna stay (x2)
i can't get enough of this store

so i decided to look down the aisle
looking for something to make me smile
but i can't seem to find it
so decided to make a house
out of what
out of what i saw
cornstarch and canned peas

cornstarch and canned peas

and i don't wanna go don't wanna go (x2)
just wanna stay just wanna stay (x2)

I can't get enough of this store

so now i couldn't buy the house so i decided to build a tent
why would there be houses in the store anyways i thought to myself....
so I thought about war, I thought about struggles I thought about WAR

and i don't wanna go don't wanna go (x2)
just wanna stay just wanna stay (x2)

we're still going...

enter slow part:

you can't end a song on war
and war is too sad to think about today
sometimes i just wanna crawl into a hole
but i'd rather crawl into your arms
into your arms, to your arms, into your arms
...

into your sweet sweet sugary arms
this song is not dedicated to ....

not dedicated to …

what's that ticking noise?

Yesterday I arrived home to find that my family had gone green in my absence. My family, which has always been paranoid of healthy food tasting badly. My family, which as a collective shudders away from anything "light" or "diet" as being inferior in taste. We'd rather have the calories.

These are the people who freaked out when we accidentally got 1 percent milk. These people include my parents, who, if not outright pooh-poohing global warming and shrinkage, certainly had great skepticism toward the topics.

This summer, Llama and I bought broccoli for a meal we were cooking. We inadvertently bought organic broccoli and freaked out when we got home, spending 10 minutes picking minuscule black bugs off the vegetables before giving up and boiling them. We served them to the rest of the oblivious family as we carefully avoided eating them ourselves.

So it was with some surprise that I opened our fridge to find organic milk and cream yesterday.
Apparently the surprise was not universal. I asked Emma, my 16 year old sister (hi!), who lives at home, what brought the change on.

"We were filling the hole you and Hannah left when you went to college," was her first reply. And then: "We didn't go organic. America went organic, so we jumped in..." This must have seemed to serious, and she got silly again.
"We came out of the closet, we were always organic deep inside." She then mentioned something about how we didn't have much access to organic food in Egypt.

Had I misjudged my family all this time? No. But maybe they had more green potential than I gave them credit for.

i can keep rhythm with no metronome

"Miss Stewart, Evan called me 'fatty'!"
"No, she called me 'fatty'!"
"Yeah, I heard her."
"Okay, you guys, it isn't nice to call each other names."

Blessed are the peacemakers, right? Teachers have a lot to collect on.

I later tried to have small talk with two sisters, a six and eight-year-old who sit across from me.

"So did you have a good Thanksgiving?"
They both nodded, their big eyes serious, their dark bangs sitting perfectly adorable on their foreheads.
"We went to the spa," the eight-year-old, JiWon, explained.
"Well that's exciting."
"And my friend Ashley made a poop in the spa."
I made a face. This encouraged her and she went into details which I didn't pursue. I'm pretty sure this Ashley girl used the hot tub as her own personal toilet.

now or never

Quote of the Day: "What was obvious, however, was that this large, wet animal, making strange hissing noises and gnashing its teeth, was intent upon climbing into the Presidential boat."
--Colin Powell

Yes, I just discovered the Carter "killer rabbit" incident, whereupon Jimmy Carter's boat was attacked by a swamp rabbit while he was boating. His White House photographer captured the thing on film, but he was still made fun of by his staffers. This sounds like an episode from The West Wing that no-one would buy.

"The President confessed to having had limited experience with enraged rabbits." haha.

where in the world have you been hiding?

Today I threw socks on for my walk to work. I was wearing flats that tend to give me blisters, so I figured I'd take the socks off right before I got in.

Of course I forgot to remove them and ended up walking around with one yellow, one purple sock all day.

the continuing story of bungalow bill

The Beginning: The year is 2004. There is a tooth, the orthodontist informs me. An impacted tooth, swimming around in your bottom gum. We could take it out, but there is a 70-80% chance it will never bother you in your lifetime. Sounds good, we'll leave it in, my mother and I declare in unison, in much the same way characters in adventure novels speak in synchronization. We are, after all, the heroes of this story.

Five Years Later: There is a tooth, the new orthodontist informs me, except he is not informing me; I already have this knowledge. It is half a decade old. There is a tooth, the new orthodontist re-enlightens me. I would like to take it out. It might intend harm to your other teeth. I am alone, in a new land, without my mother to perfectly echo my words. But they are the same. I'll leave it in, thanks. His associate orthodontist does not like this answer. I would tell my own daughter to take it out, he adds a personal touch. No thanks, I insist. I'll take my chances.

Five Years and Three Months Later: Associate orthodontist waves a black and white image in front of my face. Do you see this? When the tooth is in this position it is 100% likely that there is already root damage we can't see on the x-ray. 100% likely? So there already is damage, I say. It's clearly malicious, he says. Its intents are not good. It will slowly destroy your other teeth like a deranged Don Juan. And your body will be old and unable to fight it off. It is the villain. As the hero, you must destroy it.

Five Years, Three Months and Two Weeks Later: I am brave. So brave. I decide to stay awake for the procedure. It's cheaper, and there are zero chances of death/grogginess from being put under. I set up the "Lord of the Rings" soundtrack on my ipod, because I don't have time to import my classical music onto it, but I want something wordless and soothing. As I settle into the chair and the dentist and his assistant loom over me, epic adventure LOTR music streams into my ears. This situation is much, much too surreal for me to handle, and I quickly take my ipod off the Lord of The Rings soundtrack and put it on shuffle. (Added bonus: now the soundtrack isn't ruined for me forever.)

37 minutes later: The ipod earphones have fallen out of my ears and I'm in too much of an apathetic, pain-induced delirium to fix this. I am greeted by an intense drilling noise, the noise of a powerful tool which, though I can't feel it, I know is inside of my gum, shattering my tooth.

The dentist starts making reassuring statements like, "This is more complicated than I thought," and "It looks like there's another tooth hiding back here. We didn't see that on the x-ray." He picks up an instrument. "Do we have this in a different size?" His helper tells him that, no, this is the smallest size.

I mumble something and they focus on me. "Are we almost done?" My words are unintelligible to my own ears, but these are professionals. "Yes, it's almost out." Liars.

My mental state is deteriorating. Psychologically, it doesn't help that there is no actual sharp pain; I'm still watching them stick nasty, loud instruments into my mouth. I'm still hearing the snapping of my tooth as it breaks into 20 pieces. And I'm feeling the pressure of the dentist grabbing my tooth (still attached to the bone) and trying to pull it out by force.

"It feels like you're breaking my jaw," the words are thick and cryptic.
"Your tooth?"
"No. My jaw. My jaw."
"Her jaw."
"Ohh." He laughs. "I won't."
But I'm serious. He is pulling so hard, and my jaw is killing me. I have a tiny little jaw. He can't possibly remember how small and weak it is. My thoughts become increasingly irrational.

"It says here that she has TMJ." I hear a faint voice in the background. Yes. Yes I do. And I'm starting to fear that my jaw will be permanently locked into the over-opened position it has been in for 37 minutes.

He starts digging around again, and suddenly I faintly feel the tool.
"Ow."
"You feel that?"
"Yes."
He grabs a shot, and shoots more nov into my gum.

"Do you want to be put to sleep?" he asks as I grimace.
I nod. Please.
"Okay, well there's just one more little, piece. Let me try and get it. And if I can't, we'll put you to sleep."
"Just leave it in."
"What?"
"Leave it in."
"But if I leave it in, you'll have to come back and get it out."
"I don't care."
He shares a laugh with his assistant over this.

And then it's out.
"We're done!" he announces proudly. This is good news. I've been ready for this.
And then he brings out a metal with a bit of string. Sutures time.


After it's all over, he says.
"You know that took a lot more time than I had thought. If I had known it would be this complicated, I would have put you to sleep." Thanks.

So, it turns out. I am not the hero. I am not an angel. I am just a man.

breathe in the air

Scrawny
Definition: very very thin
Example: I hear a scrawny noise.

I can't get over these kids and their interpretations of words. Not that I'm so clever. A girl came to me today and asked if I knew Spanish. I told her I didn't but that I would try and help her. She was looking for a 4th way to say goodbye (she had three already). I cleverly responded with "Hasta La Vista," which I was almost positive was Spanish. She didn't look too certain and I explained to her that Schwarzenegger had said it in Terminator. (Which aged myself I suppose.) She told me that her teacher didn't want her to use it. I thought for a minute and suggested "Ciao." She mildly pointed out that this was Italian. "Are you sure?" Yes, she was. I blame my friend Fiona who spoke Spanish and Italian and obviously muddled me up.

Today's Funky Word: Fungible. It means replaceable. I thought it was kind of cool.

Quote of the day:"Guilt is a luxury only foreigners can afford. Like saying whatever pops into your head."
--President Obama's stepfather; Dreams From My Father. A book which I'm thoroughly enjoying.

of your galaxies dancing and laughing again

"Alex and John playe with hippys.
Hippys sit on John. John dosn't liek Hippys."

This was an essay I had to correct yesterday. Above it was an unintelligible picture of various human/animal formations with lots of smudged erasing. I asked a co-worker for input and he said that the writer meant "hippoes," not "hippys."

All that to say, I'm working with children again, but this time for money. And they are adorable and fabulous and crazy, and I cannot help empathize with them – they sit through school until 2:30 and then come to "Bright Child Learning Center" until 7:00. That's almost a 12 hour work day; something I cannot sustain as a young adult, let alone have managed as a 4th grader.

As I scanned through previously corrected workbooks to get an idea of the grading system, I came across a section of vocabulary words. When the children read a book, they write down a list of words they don't understand and look them up, writing the definition underneath.

One child's entry from a few weeks ago was "Barely: Naked. Someone without clothes." This was circled and red ink declared "Wrong Definition!" That cracked me up.

So, yes, I'm employed again. Half as many hours for slightly more pay – sounded like a good deal to me.

Walking home last night, I was offered a ride by a shady looking 20 something. I politely declined – he didn't even have candy.

here i stand, heart in hands

I realized I haven't been doing my quote of the day recently and to make up for it I've found a crazy long quote to share. Well, not really, it's just a poem. But it's a favorite and I'm going to memorize it and start throwing into conversations to improve my social skills.

IF

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

– Rudyard Kipling


I know he meant it toward females, but man and son fit better in the rhyme scheme. So pass it on.

I recently got a comment on my Youtube channel from someone who appreciated my videos. I checked out his site and found video blogging that reminded me of this other kid who had all these awkward videos that people thought he was faking. Maybe he was, because I can't seem to find him anymore.

Smashing Story: Apparently Cookie monster got more veggie-friendly a few years ago and started calling cookies a "sometimes food." Hahaha...

Today's Life Lesson: Don't watch Youtube videos with piranhas in them. My roommate Jess
and I watched them devour a frog and a mouse last night and it was a tad traumatizing.

And to make doubly sure you don't fancy a night swim this week (yes, I know it's November), check this photo below.


It's a Giant Squid!

just remember darling, til you're home again

Today's Smashing Story: In an innovative attempt to save money, United Airlines has decided to do away with seats and just start stacking people in the cabin Okay, so this story might have come from a news parody site – it's essence is fairly accurate.

I've recently realized that I'm thoroughly enjoying round two of unemployment. There's nothing like an underpaid full time job that makes you appreciate sleeping in and participating in activities you actually care about. I'm giving this point to enjoyment. Current Tally: Unemployment:1 Enjoyment: 2
The gift of time is a beautiful thing.

Life Lesson: Today's Life Lesson comes in list form.
People it never hurts to flirt with:
--your local mechanic
--the meat guy at the grocery store (they can give you free marinades)
--Godiva and Sees salesmen
--your professors (that's for my sister)
--Hugh Dancy (hey, if you get a chance to meet him, why not? no time for hard to get )

just a picture in a pothole, a puddle in the middle of the street

Today's Smashing Story is for Emma Cole. A 22-year-old was caught smuggling snakes
into Norway by taping them to his body. Underneath his clothes he had 10 pythons taped to his stomach, and 14 geckos taped to his legs (well, why not?).

And our Funky Word is: fugacious. It means momentary; fleeting; ephemeral. Peder got a fugacious thrill as he taped the snakes to his body, which later completely disappeared as he was strip searched.

homeward bound

All my thoughts come back to me in shades of mediocrity.


I should have realized when he asked, repeatedly, if I was smart – if I could pick things up quickly.
"Are you a fast learner?" he pressed.
"I have no patience for slow learners," he added. Or something to that effect.

I assured him that I was the brightest, sharpest crayon in the box. I was a month and a half into an extremely dry job hunt, and I was far beyond my natural reticent reaction to questions of this sort.

"Well, I have a stack of resumes, many of them have law office experience," he glanced at his computer. "But I'm going to stick with you."

And I was hired. None of the usual, "We'll get back to you in a few weeks after interviewing other prospects," crap. No stalling, no hesitance. He took me at my word.

Turns out he forgot to ask if I was magic. Turns out the answer to that question would have been "no." Because, no, I couldn't read the unfinished questions in his mind. And, no, I couldn't memorize the entire filing cabinet after one glance. And, no, I can't locate the unlisted phone number of a person with only a name.

I'm reluctant to compare myself to the girl in "Devil wears Prada" because you'd have to read the book to really understand what I mean, and the comparison is a stretch. But that's the analogy that clung to my thoughts throughout my work at the law office.

To be fair, I wasn't only expected to do magical tasks. Some of his requests were perfectly mundane, facile, and only slightly brain dead. Heating up his lunch, filling his water bottle fetching cokes and coffees, constantly dialing phone numbers and sending them through. The list goes on.

The previous were examples of why I didn't enjoy working there, and had a huge factor in my decision to leave. As I told a co-worker, "This isn't fun-time for Siobhan." Let's be clear. I'm not overly idealistic: I know that no job is perfect, and I'll probably have problems with every craft I put my hand to. BUT, I also know that I've worked for people who I have respected and admired. I studied for four years so that I would options available to me; options in fields that are important to me.

So even though I have no money, and decidedly dubious prospects, I'm glad I quit. It was a negative environment and I didn't want to get caught up in questionable activities in a climate of disrespect.

All that to say I'm unemployed again, and I'll have loads of time to look up useless information for this blog.

Quote of the Day: "Most people want security in this world, not liberty"
~H.L. Mencken, Minority Report, 1956

Not me. I wanted my freedom. :) But the idea that most people prefer security is really scary. So many people work solely for a paycheck, because money = stability and normalcy. But your job consumes the majority of your time and cannot help but shape you...there's so much more to it than a paycheck.

Hey (hey) You (you) Get into my car!

Today's Smashing Story: An immigrants rights group is upset about one of Target's Halloween costumes. I really love the green card--it kind of pulls the whole outfit together.

here we go again

I heard the news today ohhh

Yes...It's been a while. Turns out I'm not great at daily blogging, but it doesn't really matter because I GOT A JOB! So, no more unemployed musings on here. From now on it will be the thoughts of a savvy, impressive, employed office manager.

I'll be working in the office of Rafik Kamell, a local lawyer who liked me enough to hire me right after the interview.

Shout out to Natalie, my Thai biff:)

That is all for now.

inta batifham?

Turns out I missed the Orange County Arab-American Festival. I had no idea that Orange County had such a festival and I feel cheated.

To compensate for my missed cultural experience, I'm listening to Pimsleur's Guide to Egyptian Arabic as I write this. Next time there's a festival, not only will I be there, I will be there with curiously strong Arabic skills. (Hopefully all Arabs in the OC are Egyptian.)

On a strange note, I was researching children's books for Laurel Elementary School and I kept getting distracted by the bizarre books available. One was titled "Little Toby and the Big Hair," which was awesome because my ex-roomie (Emma!) is dating a guy named Toby. Another intriguing title was "A Pig Named Perrier."

The Amazon description for "A Pig Named Perrier" goes like this:

For a potbellied pig, Perrier seems to have it all: "a rhinestone-studded harness, a jaunty sports cap, and special piglet-sized dark glasses." And with his movie-star owner Marabella, he even gets to live in a luxurious nursery in a luxurious mansion, "a place as posh as it was plush, and spic as it was span." But Perrier still can't get over the gnawing feeling that something's missing from his squeaky-clean life, "an emptiness in the pit of his little potbelly."

I thought it sounded amazing and started reading it. I then got self-conscious over being distracted, once again, by a book aimed at 7-year-olds. On the whole, it was an enlightening experience and I'm giving the point to Enjoyment.

Current tally: Unemployment:1 Enjoyment:1.


Today's Funky Word: Yella. This is a really common Arabic word that means "come on" or "hurry up!"

In lieu of a story and life lesson, I'm going to stick a small sneak peek of "Baby, it's Cold Outside," performed by me, Hannah, Steve and Eydie. (Yes, I'm the man. Yes, I look like a creeper.)

all the music of the spheres and still it's your voice I hear

Maira: "5th grade math is so hard. I hate it."
me: "Wait 'til you get to 9th grade."
Maira: (rolls eyes) "What grade are you in?"
me: "What grade do you think?"
Maira: "9th?"

This was one of many beautiful conversations I undertook with dozens of seven to 12 year-olds today. Guess I'm not old meatloaf yet, because – yes – I look like a 14-year-old. I know I put the thought in her head, but still.

I'm starting a running tally of enjoyment vs. unemployment, and giving a point to unemployment for this conversation. Current score: Enjoyment 0, Unemployment 1.

Life Lesson: Sarcasm is lost on children. Lost or purposefully ignored. Either way, it's not the best behavioral correction method.

Adolpho (throwing green slimy thing at window): "Can I break the window?"
me: "Yes, Adolpho, I'll give you permission to break the window."
Adolpho: "Sweeet!"
me: (walk away and leave real teachers to deal with him)

Smashing Story: There are "Hitler is still alive" conspiracy theorists out there. Kind of like the Elvis hopefuls but more cynical. My favorite line in this article is: "(This is) the point when Hitler conspiracy theories lose touch with reality altogether." This was referring to a theory that Hitler escaped to a secret Nazi base on the moon using hidden rocket technology. I'm all for a good conspiracy theory, but it needs to be plausible enough to really annoy someone in an argument.

Funky Word: Calumny. It means slander (and so does traducement, apparently.) This word is a pain to say, but interesting to write.

______________________________________________

Something that is fun to do with children is play Taboo. I'll never forget playing countless Taboo games with my cousins and Aunt in Boerne, Texas.

Auntie B: (frantically trying to get my cousin Bridey to guess the right word). Okay, when mommy goes on road trips, she gets really unhappy unless she has...?"
Bridey: Cymbalta!
Auntie B: (faintly horrified) No!

Oh yes, that was priceless.

screwed up eyes and screwed down hairdo

This was not the picture I envisioned accompanying this blog entry. I was looking through my photos for a picture of kids getting up to mischief, and this one made me laugh so I chose it instead. (It took us a looong time to get her up. Ah, coordination.)

Life Lesson: If you haven't been around kids for a while, you forget what they're like.

They aren't human. They're going through a very carefully structured, society-friendly program to teach them how to become human. But until then, they are visitors, newbies, aliens, who are intrigued by the world around them and often don't pick up on social cues. When you meet a rude/bizarre adult, he/she obviously didn't have the rigorous training necessary for entering the world of humans.

To illustrate the importance of child training, I was going to retell the story of a couple who only taught their baby klingon and had it taken away by Social Services (which I sympathize with, as this frequently happened to me on SIMS). I couldn't find the story online, apparently it was some sort of prevarication/myth. (If it's not on GoogleNews, it didn't happen, right?) So I've linked it to a different, equally bizarre, klingon occurence.

Funky Word: Perfidious. It means "treacherous/disloyal," according to Barron's GRE book. Snape's diabolical action was perfidious in every sense of the word. (Go read book 6 and 7 to check veracity).

Smashing Story: A carrier pigeon is faster than internet in South Africa. Basically they tied a data card to a pigeon's leg and sent it to another city, where the information on the card was downloaded. The entire pigeon process took a couple hours (including an hour of flight). Telkom, the internet carrier, had only downloaded 4 percent of the information in this timespan. (This story is a couple weeks old...but so entertaining.)

Quote of the Day:
Joon: He can really cook, can't he?
Benny: Uh, yeah. Although for grilled cheese, I mighta used a wool setting.
Joon: That's what I told him.
Benny: Really? What-what did he use?
Joon: Rayon.
Benny: Mm.
Joon: Silk would have been too soggy. Cotton would have...
Benny: Would have burned it.
Joon: Right. Fortunately, he consulted me before giving it steam. I was four square against it.

–Benny and Joon

This was after a scene where Sam, a quirky Johnny Depp character, makes grilled cheese sandwiches with an iron. It's a terrific movie.


I just realized I never completed my thoughts on children. Basically, two of my roommates are elementary ed majors doing their student hours, I've been volunteering with kids at a local school, and we've all been coming home with "guess what" stories.

Guess what Adolpho did yesterday? He told Ricardo that his (Ricardo's) mom "jiggles." Some sort of "your mom" joke variation? These 4th graders make comments like this and I always want to laugh. I told Adolpho, as sternly as I could, that his joke was inappropriate.

I just need a stick.

you smile like a saint

Smashing Story: Apparently a man sued Bank of America for 1,784 billion, trillion dollars. That's a lot of money--once it gets past a billion it's almost too abstract to fully understand. So I love that he's so specific. I would have been happy with 1 billion trillion dollars, but hey--it's the principle of the matter.

Today's Funky Word: Crapulous. It means "given to or characterized by gross excess in eating or drinking." What a great word. It rhymes with fabulous and completely fits its definition.

Today's Quote: "We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light." --Plato

I feel dishonorable because I pulled this quotation off a site and therefore have no context to explain it. Undoubtedly he's talking about mankind's dissuasion toward philosophy (he harps on about that a lot), but I like it in terms of faith, truth and understanding.

I've been thinking about writing a story that has a tree house as a significant part in it, and I did a little prelim research and found this site.

Aren't those the coolest ever?

Yesterday was the first diamond in my mining for jobs. Alright, so that was a dodgy analogy--they have to start unused before they can spread like H1N1. (yeah, that one might never catch on).

Basically, I actually got an interview, which is the third one I've had in my three weeks of hunting. And at the interview, something even more amazing happened: they liked me! It was only for a small tutoring job, but I'm a terrible interviewee (see top picture), so this was huge progress.

some dance to forget

Apparently biff is the new bff. How does this make me feel? Old. Yes. But that's how high school girls refer to their best friends now. I wonder if Ugg boots are out too.

I don't need to dance to forget (see title) because I'm pretty sure I'm entering a stage of life that'll fade my memories like unscrapbooked flower petals. My roommate Jess and I have an ongoing joke about the last year of beauty. There has to be a last one, and we're nervous that it might be 22.

Me: "22 could be the last year of beauty. What hot 23 year-olds can you think of?"
Jess: "..."

What a marvelous illustration that was. But seriously, in the past week I was called elderly (by a professor talking to freshmen), I overheard a conversation about 23 year-olds being too old
and I listened as my sister Hannah (hi!) freaked out when she suddenly realize I wasn't 20. (And really, the math on that one isn't hard. I've always been four years older). It doesn't help that I work with a bunch of elementary school kids who have no gauge for age and probably think I'm in my 40's.

This all has to do with unemployment because there's nothing like an overload of free time to give perspective on how fast life goes. I know that sounds paradoxical, but it's true. When you're really busy and working hard, you don't realize life is passing you by until it's gone.

When you're sitting at home all day, you have hours to reflect on the nature of time. (Time wasted? You tell me).

On my last post I got a request by Hannah (hi!) to do a rant on "silly Disney girls" or some such similar epithet. She wants me to complain about how they make scads of dough off of minimal talent when thousands of people are unemployed. As much as I want to please and appease my readers (all 3 of you:)), I cannot do this rant because I disagree with the principle.

I'm not going to complain if Disney has tapped into a way to sell their stars like products. On the other hand, I am bothered that Americans have chosen to idolize these semi-talented starlets in lieu of really genuine talent. Honestly though, if nothing else, those kids have charisma. I would rather rant about Bernie Madoff (actually I wouldn't, but you get the point).

Today's Funky Word: Potentate. It means monarch or sovereign. (thanks Barron's GRE book!) I think I would be quite the impressive potentate. Maybe I'll pull a Grace Kelly. Although I think it's already been tried (but his looks were too sad).

Today's Life Lesson: According to Wikipedia, the phrase "Stone broke" refers to a "craftsman's stone bench being broken if he failed to pay his debts. (Robert L. Shook, The Book of Why, 1983)" It sounds made up, but if it's on Wikipedia it must be true. (wiki and oprah = infallible.)

Today's Quote: "It is better to have a permanent income than to be fascinating."
--Oscar Wilde, The Model Millionaire.

And Wilde quote number two:

"All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his."

Wilde is simply too clever. I was actually looking for a quote of his from "The Picture of Dorian Gray" that I loved, but I couldn't find it. It was on the tragedy of old age. I think I'll have to go re-read the book.

My Unemployment Video. Hire me.

FUNemployment from Siobhan Stewart on Vimeo.

And they were all yellow

I've realized, somewhat belatedly, that titling my blog url "the unemployed college grad" could turn into a horrid self-fulfilling prophecy and I might never ever get a job.

On the other hand, if I do get a job, then this blog will be a lie and I will have to discontinue it or write a disclaimer at the bottom of every post. Life gets surprisingly complicated for the unemployed...

If you've read my other blog, you'll know that I'm really big on lists. Today I made a list of things you don't realize are painfully overpriced until you're unemployed.

List of things you don't realize are painfully overpriced until you're unemployed
--batteries
--meat
--nuts
--starbucks
--disneyland food
--laundry
--deodorant
--cheese
--milk
--girlscout cookies
--jeans
--gas
--pastries
--pianos
--cars
--nuclear powerplants

(Feel free to suggest additions to my list)

Life Lesson for Today: Rubios Taco Tuesdays! Seriously, I have no affiliation whatsoever with Rubios, but I will forever sing the praises of their fish tacos. And on Tuesdays, their fish tacos are half off. At only 1.25 a taco, you're getting quality that surpasses all other fast food, at a price that is incredibly user-friendly to an incomeless college grad. Or anyone.

Today's Funky Word: Ambrosial. It means "extremely pleasing to the senses; divine; delicious," according to a site I found. I love this word because it actually sounds tasty to me and I love it when words agree with their meanings. (There must be a word for that--any help?) Also, I used to read a book series about Merlin which were amazing, and there was a wonderful sounding bread named ambrosia that Merlin came across. It was one of those fictional entities that you come across and are devastated when you realize it only exists on paper/in your head. (like Jude Law) (That was for my sister Hannah.)


Today's Quote: "Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and cannot remain silent."
–Victor Hugo (author of Les Miserables)

I thought that was a beautiful quote. I've been feeling musically starved lately (as far as creating/ listening to live music goes) and I will gladly accept any piano donations. (This photo is musical to me)

Shout out to Courtonio – "I hope you dance" comes on the radio here all the time and I think of your mom. I know that's kind of like a shout out to your mom, but your mom makes me think of you:)

Shout out to Marthalemieu – I miss you and your foreign candies.

No one ever said it would be this hard

It happens: You stand up slowly, savoring the moment. There is a line of people before and behind you, a multitude of caps and gowns surrounding you, but somehow it seems like it's all about you. This is your moment. The culmination of years of studying, griping, laughing, working--it was all for this: a three minute walk to center stage, a handshake, a photo, and a piece of paper.

That day and the days following it, people slap you on the back, hand you money, tell you you're a star and that you can reach the stars. Nobody mentions the recession. Nobody brings up the exponential increase in newspaper deaths across the nation. And no one, no one tells you what unemployment is like.



Alright, I'm good. I like to get dramatic sometimes, and now it's out of my system. I've actually talked to people who really enjoyed their time of unemployment. Note: these are people who are currently employed and looking back with the rosy lenses of nostalgia. 2nd Note: These are also people who are rich.

I recently shot a video of the "Five Stages of Unemployment" which I'll post on here after it's edited. It goes through the different stages of unemployment, from blind optimism to lying, apathy and despair.

No, but it's not all bad. I know I'll be dedicating a lot of posts to what I like about the mobility and excitement of being jobless. The La Times even did an article about the funemployed--unemployed 20's somethings who looove the stress free lifestyle. These people are having a grand old time.

One girl says: "I feel like I've been given a gift of time and clarity," and many of them spend their days at the beach.

So yes, it's not terrible and I really am enjoying myself most of the time. BUT: California's unemployment rate is the fourth highest in the country and is at its highest in 70 years.

The only plus side? I argued endlessly with my little sister, trying to get her to come to college in California. She chose Michigan. Well, guess which state has the highest unemployment rate in our union? That's right, Michigan. Yes. Yes, that's right. And they all feel like Miss Dustbowl on the left here.

Oh, and you know what else? The unemployed in Michigan aren't funemployed. Because it's too cold to go to the beaches there.

A very good place to start

The dealio: I'm a recent college grad with scads of free time because I'm very, very unemployed. I've created this blog to chronicle my (non)adventures as I job hunt and find untelevised ways to focus my time.

My topics will range from random, to reader-inspired, to job/careery.

Life Lesson for today: How to pronounce the name Siobhan. How do you pronounce Siobhan? Simple, it's "Shi vaun." Most of the time I tell people it's pronounced like the material chiffon, except with a "v" sound instead of an "f." Turns out folks are less tailor friendly than you'd think--many haven't heard of chiffon, so I have an image here:


It's a sheer fabric that can be made from lots of different types of materials.
check:

The Fashion Blog

Anyways, the name Siobhan is Irish Gaelic, and I'm biding the time until I can move to Ireland for a couple of years just so I don't have to deal (people have moved for worse reasons) with blank stares, requests to spell it, and, my favorite: "But that's a black person's name."

Today's funky word: Sybarite. Sybarite means "lover of luxury," according to my Barron's GRE book. Kind of similar to an epicurean, except a little more hedonistic. Sorry, I know that's a lot of Greek:)

Today's quote: "Haikus are easy
But sometimes they don't make sense
Refrigerator."

Niiiice, right?