i wanna be a part of it...New York, New York

The above picture was taken at the art gallery in the Huntington library. "What are they playing with?" I believe these words were spoken as we approached.

The answer was in the title: "Boys playing with bladder." Who knew bladders could be so...luminescent? I kind of prefer both the image without the title and the title without the image.

But Siobhan, we don't care about the painting. How can you be so blase about your trip to the Huntington Library? How was it? Is it beautiful?

My answer: Go. Actually, get a membership. Every time I've visited, I've wanted to come back and sit in the greenery and read a book. And each time I return, I get too distracted by the artwork and exhibits to do so. Also, it closes at 4:30 which is obscene.

They have volunteer tourguides; ours was an old retired professor with accented English and detailed plant knowledge. He was, as Edmund put it, as entertaining as the tour itself. He was also very serious about the gardens: this, combined with a few language/cultural miscommunications, made for a few fun moments when I cracked some jokes about the gardens and he answered very seriously.

He occasionally answered a completely different question than the one I had asked. The one he wanted to hear, I suppose. Kind of like a political debate/interview. I think I'm going to start integrating that into my own life: "Siobhan, could you go pick up your sister for me?" "What, this shirt looks great on me? Thanks!"

**

Our guide told us that he knew people in San Marino who had never visited the library/gardens and that it was a shame that people who live in an area don't take advantage of its offerings. This is completely true. I've grown up living in tourist destinations, and often never visited the sites and historical offerings until guests visited and wanted to go around (or in the last few weeks amidst frantic packing). It's just one of those "take for granted" things. Like the Stewart pigfest that always occurred when we got out of our porkless Muslim countries for the summer – but when I moved to the States for college I rarely cooked pork for myself.

**

I'm currently in Wilton, Connecticut, a small town about 50 minutes from New York City. I've reacquainted myself with my brother and grandparents, which has been entertaining and familiar.

Wilton is peaceful, quiet, serenely green, and extremely friendly (considering East Coast snob stereotypes.) It's lovely to be at a place that has been one of two constants in my life (location-wise), and seniors are a great change of pace, content to sit, tell stories, pour over photographs, and break up the day with an occasional trip to the library or Staples.

**

My final week at Bright Child was filled with questions about why I was leaving, what my name was, and when I was coming back. I think I've answered the "why I'm leaving" question about 25 different ways, all of them true in one sense or another, which makes me feel pretty positive about my decision. I mean, even if the reasons are pathetic, quantity has to count for something. :P

Anyways, I had fun correcting the children's reading summaries:

"Jack and Annie went to the beach. They sawed seagulls."
If that doesn't make your day, I don't know what will. The funny thing is, it's perfectly logical to add "ed" to make something past tense. Oh irregular verbs.

And then there was a definition to word match that Evan (or Dylan) messed up.

"You might do this when you greet a friend." Wonder.
"You might do this when you want to know why something happened." Wave.

I really rather liked the switch – it works nicely for both definitions. It's funny what you stumble upon as a child, and it's sad that adults squish the natural brilliance and absurdity. Well maybe that's a bit silly.

**

My brother told me I reminded him of Dee from "It's always sunny" (which could be taken sooo many ways), but I decided to type in "Dee from it's always sunny in philadelphia" and share whatever clip popped up. This one doesn't actually have her in it, but it was pretty funny.

where do the children play?

I recently stumbled upon the 112 drafts in my gmail inbox. These included class notes, poetry, random thoughts, and, of course, actual drafts (that were never sent). They also included all of the quotes that have gone through my Facebook quote wall (which is a lot.) I've always been a little obsessed with quotes -- funny, serious, pithy, ridiculous, inspirational, etc., and on Facebook, I've always enjoyed sticking up my friends' quotes after stripping them of context.

But sometimes context is equally entertaining (if not enjoyable/satisfying), so I've grabbed some of the old ones in my drafts for your reading pleasure. Some will be contextualized.

A Midsummer's Night Dream:

ryan/bottom:"the lion has deflowered my dear"
john/quince:"deVOURED! devoured!"

"Asleep my love? What, dead my dove?"
-colton/thisbe

"You...acorn!"
-will/lysander

"Apparently Bobo broke his leg on those bouncy things at lunch."
"Stupid A.S."

This was a changing room conversation -- Bobo, the sprightly fairy Puck, was supposed to run (flit) around stage doing flips and jumping onto blocks. Instead he injured himself right before opening night on bouncy castles A.S. had provided.

"I fear it, I promise you."
-rob/lion

My favorite line of the play. Extremely hard to explain without context.

Emma Cole. Was my roommate for a year. She worked late night shifts at Common Grounds, and I (having scheduled only afternoon classes) would wait up for her to come home. (She always brought divine bagels.) Bits of our late night conversations often ended up on Facebook.

"Stop throwing my objects."

"Because i like my objects"

"The thing is-we don't like people very much."
(This was in reference to herself.)

"Life sucks. you have take your make up off and put it on again."

I find this strangely profound.

"You're stuck in here, you can't get out, and there's asbestos in the ceiling"
-woman in emma cole's dream -- she always had the strangest, strangest, vividly plotted dreams.

"You touched my computer and now it's in the future."

"I don't like to be blatantly slutty. I like to make people look for my sluttyness"

"Two images. one: Freud slipping on something and falling. two: freud in a slip."
(her mind translates 'freudian slip')

"Sorry, I got distracted by John Travolta"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to touch you there."

"Where are you coming from ant bastards!"

"I'm going to sue the city or something. I'm going to tell them, 'You know what, it's fine for normal people if your trees have thorns on them, but if you are a)clumsy or b)have an abusive boyfriend' it's just a disaster waiting to happen."

**

Emma, judging from my last couple blog entries, I think I have a man crush on you. This is my public declaration.

there ought to be clowns

I discovered Hanford this weekend.

and rediscovered hammocks

and crepes

and monks

and Seinfeld

and hot, humid nights.

**

I discovered party time last night.

and rediscovered laser tag

and hats, masks, helium balloons, bubbles

and cake princesses

and friends

and about a million movies that I want to watch.

**

I watched Capote a couple weeks ago. It's a non-fictional account of journalist/writer Truman Capote, following his process of writing "In Cold Blood," his masterpiece; a groundbreaking hybrid of fiction/nonfiction. Basically it's the true story of the murder of an entire family in a small town in Kansas -- Capote was intrigued by the incident, and spent more than a year interviewing people who had known the family, and the two murderers.

Capote shows how Truman befriends one of the murderers to get his perspective of the events. He becomes emotionally involved in the story and the eventual execution of the two criminals; wanting them to die while feeling guilty over his manipulation and the criminals' high opinion of him.

I read the first half of In Cold Blood and found it atypically gripping for a murder plot. Reality makes a difference. He described the family in vivid detail; their interactions, their hopes and dreams, their personalities.

The daughter, Nancy, was this beautiful, bright, selfless 16-year-old who had daily written in her diary for three years. She was still discovering herself, traversing the identity confusion of teenage years with curiosity. She still hadn't decided on her handwriting style, and the handwriting in her diary entries was constantly changing as though she was trying to find out which was hers. Apparently she handwrote a school project and changed her lettering in each paragraph (switching the slant, etc.) and the teacher handed it back with a comment on the inconsistency, to which she responded that she wasn't old enough to have a signature handwriting.

In Cold Blood's exposition entirely consists of this sort of intimate detail, and it reads smoothly, drawing into the characters and their lives until the reader forgets it's a setup for a horrific murder scene -- one that actually happened.

That's why, when you read the few sentences about how Nancy was found lying in bed, head towards the wall, killed by a shotgun at short range after being tied up, you don't read it like a news story. It's not just another unfortunate victim. It's Nancy, who brushed her hair 100 strokes every morning and night. Nancy, who won prizes for her pies at the fair every summer. Nancy, a girl who was still deciding what angle she wanted her handwriting to slant.

While it doesn't read like a news story, it certainly doesn't read like fiction, for the simple fact that it is not invented. (And truly, what novelist would set up his characters so lucidly for half a story, only to destroy them.) Reality can be so much more powerful when thrown into creative formatting. Creativizing can be overly dramatic (see first section of this post) but also adds certain dimensions and knowledge.

In Cold Blood is clever, well-written, exploitative (at least in how it was created), and disturbing on a Schindler's List, Hotel Rwanda, The Last King of Scotland, how can humans treat each other like this sort of level.

This has turned into a pseudo review, which is possibly unfortunate. I don't know whether to recommend the book to my readers, but you probably know.

I didn't finish it.

**

Undeleted Texts:

I love you! And just wanted to tell you I have decided to try to start dating the tattoo guy to maybe get a discount! It seems logical.

That was from 2007. She was half serious about it.

The inventor of LSD died today. I'm listening to psychedelic music in protest.

Still makes me smile. And now I want to hire people to protest my death. Maybe picket my funeral. Yesss.

**

Small Talk Question:

What's scarier: Being unsure if a dream was reality or being unsure if reality was a dream?

**

Fainting goats...they literally get so excited they fall over. Their knees simply lock and down they go. I think humans should have more interesting physical reactions when they're excited. Maybe turn a different color or start levitating. Imagine sports arenas after a big game – everybody levitating with happiness over winning or anger over losing. Ooh and if you take your girlfriend and she doesn't levitate it means she was lying about being into the Lakers. Definitely dump her. Or feel flattered. Or do both.

Although I suppose if you wanted to fake it you could just start thinking of something that actually enthused you (ie. girlfriend at Lakers game might start thinking about getting her nails done and she levitates and it looks like it's over the game but it's not). That could introduce a whole new element of manipulation.

they went an' built a skyscraper seven stories high

Today I was sitting on the steps of a library, eating a muffin. A fellow came and joined me, asking if the muffin was my breakfast. I said yes, and he asked if I had made it. "I like girls who cook," he added with a sheepish smile. I bluntly informed him that Vons had made it. I resisted the urge to make a sexist comment, because I figured he'd take it as a compliment. (Actually I just couldn't think of something clever.)

Apparently I'm a big hit in Whittier, because another guy told me that I was cuter than a cat's meow. Actually, he asked if anyone had ever told me that. They have now. Although this guy was rebounding -- he had just used the same line on my roommate 5 minutes earlier. Spring for a new pickup line, doctor.


Facebook Find: Theme: MIT

Two statuses:

Emma handing me a letter "Hannah, MIT wants you!""MIT wants me?!""Just kidding, Karl wants you.... MIT wants ME."

MIT sent me stick-on tattoos. I guess I should mail them some nice bookmarks.

Am I getting redundant with the Emma theme? I could switch to a different Emma. COLE. Emma Cole once took a test and put "Emma Cluster" as her name...completely by accident. The professor, after handing all the tests back, told her that hers wasn't in the pile, but she did have one by an "Emma Cluster." After hearing this story, our relationship changed. It's hard to take someone seriously when they accidentally sign their name Cluster.

**

So....Stockholm Syndrome. People are weird.

Quite by chance she danced right next to me

Mother has always been into natural remedies. Sick? Lie down. Drink some green tea. Don't let your mind overwork.

Father has always held to more of a "pop some pills" methodology. The more the merrier. Science is here to help, don't sit in your pain.

These approaches applied across a spectrum of decisions. Go to store with mom, come back with – shudder – wheat bread. Go to the store with dad, come back with potato chips, processed food, and possibly lard. Buy clothes with mom, and you'll get 100% natural fibers in the seasonal shade appropriate to your coloring. Buy clothes with dad and you'll get "whatever you want. It all looks good on you. Here, check out this royal blue." Royal blue, apparently, turns every woman into Helen of Troy.

Given mother's proclivity for all things natural, it's not surprising that, 17 years ago, at 28, she decided to have her fourth child druglessly delivered by a midwife at a cottage in Ireland. I don't remember much about the experience. I was five, almost six, and accustomed to having little playmates join the family every two years.

I faintly recall constant greenery, daily rain showers amidst a perpetual sunshine. Hiking up to old castles, laughing and running around. The accuracy of these images is an impressionist water color – memories swirling together with other Ireland summer trips, watered down over time, the paints running together into the vague concept of existence through the eyes of a five-year-old, occasionally solidified by photographs and the stories of the older; more substantial, less my own.

One memory is clear. I owned a lifelike baby doll which I carried around everywhere. I'm not sure it had been given to me to increase excitement over the new acquisition into our family, or if my excitement over a new sister had prompted a new interest everything baby. Either way, I was slipping into my gender role naturally and enthusiastically. The doll had perfect little features, wonderful tiny fingers, smooth, happy feet. I wondered how similar the new baby would be – I remember asking the midwife to weigh the doll for me on the mini scale that would weigh the new baby.

Truthfully, though I was equally, if not more, enthused about my doll than my prospective sibling. The doll belonged to me; the child would belong to my parents, who would probably be angry if I held it or rolled it or poked it.

**

Life is funny. You grow up and realize that you are the smartest, most unique person in the world. Then you realize you were a fool to think so, and now you are truly wise because you understand that you aren't. Then you realize that your "non wisdom" was a form of arrogance that you misinterpreted from Descartes or the Bible and you accept the fact that you will be selfish and pretentious no matter what. Then you realize that this was overly cynical and rather self absorbed. Then you feel smart and unique again. Then you realize you've been projecting all this onto blog readers who might have had very different experiences. And the cycle continues. At some point you laugh at the meaninglessness of it all. Then you realize you have to live your life with meaning and purpose. And you're left with God, yourself, your family, and friends.

Emma Catherine, born 17 years ago in a cottage in Ireland, falls into two of these categories. (10 points for guessing both:)) She's my rooftop tanning buddy, my fellow LOST addict, my avid blog reader, my elfen performer, my co-scampi/tiramisu devourerer, my personal chef (well, I wish), and my wonky texting pal. Oh yeah, and my sister.

Happy Birthday Emmadaeus. Smack Lex and Llam on the head for me.

**

Undeleted Texts: In keeping with my blog theme, I'm using some Emma texts:


"We're on the highway to hell. In Ohio."
"It's okay. Donuts keep our spirits high."

These were both sent from a crowded car as my family trekked across America.

"being with you probably drove him to eat compulsively."
"You can't spell. I refuse to love you anymore."

Yes. She's abusive. But I just can't leave her - I know I can fix her. :)

**

Today's Articles: Are related to each other. The first one is about "good" parents who produce problem children. Grain of salt.

The second is about a Baby Einstein videos recall. Basically Disney sold these "Baby Einstein" videos to parents, and years later sent out an announcement that you can get a refund if you bought one. I wonder if your kid has to get under a certain SAT score to qualify? I found the whole concept really funny.


I adore Hugh Laurie.

have you quit doing time for me?

Today's Smashing Story: Is actually mainly a series of vivid photographs from "failed" states. Does labeling over 60 countries as 'failed' "remove the legitimacy of the label" or is it simply the truth?

If everyone is weird, is there a need differentiate between "weird" and "normal"? Everything is made of matter and we still define it. Do these three examples relate?

**

Undeleted Texts: Today's theme is foodish.

"Sandi just laughed so hard she literally threw up."

This one was three years old, and, if I remember correctly, sent out of the blue. (Ie. I didn't send some terribly witty text that made her laugh.:))

"Never eating your clam sauce again."

This one was from my darling brother who has, in my opinion, a weak constitution, as evidenced by the fact that my clam sauce wreaked havoc on nobody else's stomach.

**

Facebook Find: A status with a few comments.

Just saw a blind man with loads of tattoo's, why would you get them if you can't see them? I thought they hurt... I'm very perplexed lol

1) How do you know he's 100% blind? And maybe he got them before he went blind?? HMMM HMMM? Lol how far away are you? x

2).............and maybe his dog appreciates art ??

6) why cant a bloke who fits blinds to windows have tattoos it seems perfectly alright to me ??

So...tattoos...If you would get one now, would you still get it if you were blind?

If you wouldn't get one now, what circumstance would have to change before you would? What's your price? If someone paid you a million dollars to tattoo a picture of something ridiculous on your forehead, would you? On your arm? back? 2 million? 3? What about a sentence containing a life philosophy you disagree with?

once there was a way to get back homeward

One of the Bright Child summer teachers is on a motorcycling trip in Chicago, and I have been asked to cover his classes for a week. Yes, I'd rather have gone on his trip and let him cover his classes. No, that wasn't an option available to me.

So over the past few days I've been clung to, hugged, offered chocolate, and been asked if I'm moving to Switzerland. I've also gotten into quite a few debates, mostly with Brian.

"Miss Stewart...where's Mr. F?"
"In Chicago on a motorcycling trip."
"What's Chicago?"
"It's a city. In Illinois."
"What's Illinois?"
"It's a state."
"No it's not!"
"Yes it is."
"No!"
"Brian, you can't argue this. It is a state."

I then realized there were several U.S. maps on the wall, and walked over and pointed at Illinois.
"See."
"That's like Philidelphia or something."

I was glad he had heard of Philidelphia. So yes, I am Illinois' biggest advocate.

**

And then there was the Clara Barton story in writing class. In a snippet of Barton's memoirs, she describes pretending to be the sister of a delusional, dying man who is calling out for her. Brian, of course, chuckled during parts of the story, and afterward I asked what he thought.

"I don't care, because I'm not dying."
"Yes you are."
"No I'm not."
"Yes. We all are."
"No!"
"Yes, we're all going slowly towards our deaths."
"No. We're just getting older."
"And then we die," Jaein pointed out.
"Well I'm not dying like that."

So yes, I'm teaching a big picture perspective in history. Not all of our conversations are this productive. For example, I agreed to a "bet" with Brian that if he made it to the major leagues, I would attend every single game, even in different states. Apparently Miss Garcia had agreed to, and I didn't want to be one upped.

**

Authority. Most adults have experienced working under a range of bosses – visionaries, incompetents, gracious, short-sighted, smart, detail-oriented, spacey, reliable, kind, etc. I wonder how the percentage of people who would prefer working under a great boss compares to the percentage of people who would prefer being their own boss in any situation. What about the percentage of people who would want to be their own boss, but not the boss of anyone else?

Is it – for lack of a better word – wrong to crave power/authority in itself? Is it only acceptable to want power because of a desire to fix a wrong or take control of a mismanaged situation? Ie. if there is a perfect/omniscient boss out there, would it be alright to want to take control? Would most people want that responsibility? Somebody go take a survey for me.

**

Emma Cole: A brief volley back at your Personal Mishap and Injury log.

My personal laugh injury and mishap log:

6/26: Laughed so hard my foot involuntarily kicked forward into a cup of water which proceeded to spill all over the nearest laptop.

7/6: Laughed so spastically that my head jerked forward and bashed into a box on my shopping cart. Yes. My head.

I realize this doesn't seem very extensive, but neither the computer nor head were pleased for the next few days. Also, looking back generally at the objects I've tripped into, run over, smacked, walked into, etc., when engaged in laughter, there definitely appears to be a pattern emerging.

**

I wonder what percentage of depression is indulgent, avoidable, harmful, wise, sharpening, inevitable, biological, mental. Numbers on all of those would be nice.

People get addicted to physical pain. And emotional pain. Are all addictions indulgent? Isn't pain usually a result of damage? And shouldn't damage be avoided? Or accepted like a waranteeless piece of electronics?

**

And now a new section for old undeleted texts that live in my phone. Pretty self-explanatory. Please stay friends with me if I put yours up. :)

Undeleted Texts:

"No. I just stared and made several drawings of him. I left them where I was sitting under a rock so he can appreciate them."

I really wish I remembered the full context of this conversation. I know it's a reference to a creepy French movie. That is all.

And then there were these two in a row:

"Youre dumping me over text?" "What the hell Jackie??!!"

Again, don't remember the context. I almost prefer it that way.

**

I was also thinking of starting a Bad Poetry section for some of my old stuff, but I think that would eventually hurt my soul. (And yours.) But for kicks, I thought I'd share a line of a song I wrote in high school:

"Come stand with me under the AC. It's so cold, but you're so hot."

In my defense, I was being silly. I'm starting to become worried that I will one day have to defend something serious with that argument. Like inflicting psychological damage on my family and friends.

**

This sketch reminds me of the arguments I have with my kids. It's like they channeled my future classroom. Uncanny.

i'm lovin' having you arouuuund

I am nothing if not resourceful. Alright, so maybe that isn't the word I would fill that blank with at one of those mingling games. And yes, this type of stuff does come up in life beyond camp – the other week I was at a barbeque where someone asked what the one thing you would want someone to know about you is. (Yes, the barbeques I attend are more sophisticated than yours.)

One fellow said the one thing he'd want others to know about him is that he is fun to have at parties. Most people shirked the question (with humor and – "Oh what's that on the ceiling?!!" diversions. "A diversion!" (Oh Orlando.)) Why would they avoid? (aside from awkward social implications)

1) It's a difficult question and they didn't know the answer. (Though easier than trying to fit yourself into one adjective. Think about the nuances of language: "I am nothing, if not -----" "The one thing I would want someone to know about me is ------" "If I were summed up in one adjective, it would be-----" Personally, I would probably end up with different answers for all of those. Man I love English. Seriously. )

2) It's a standard. If you declare yourself as something, an instant expectation is attached. Is he/she actually fun to have at parties? It's your reputation (self deluded? astute?), and it's your word (liar?).

3) The truth might be scary.

Yeah, okay, I just wanted to fill out three points. I know this isn't a Powerpoint presentation, but I still desire balance.

Here's my small talk question of the blog: If you know what the one thing you want people to know about you is, are your actions at all aligned with that message? Because you are constantly sending messages out. I promise. I've been reading them. Cackle cackle cackle. Cake. Chocolate. mmm

**

Laziness is the mother of invention. I really hope someone quotes me on that one day. (When I'm famous and have taken a PC comb to this blog before I attach my real name to it).

My original sentence possibly should have read "I am nothing if not easily distracted," because I meant to discuss my newfound resourcefulness. Ah well, this section shall do the job nicely.

Basically, my laziness, genius, and resourcefulness all converged tonight and saved me a 20 minute walk to Corner Bakery for internet. (In my day, I walked 20 minutes to get internet.) Though Dlink had fled our household, there was still another unsecured network – 2WIRE267 – which wavered between zero and two bars depending on location.

And now my genius: the bars were strongest in Becky's room (but they still wouldn't support any browser), so I decided to walk around the room to figure out where it was coming from. I finally lifted the shutters and shoved my computer against the window screen, where, BAM, it hovered/hovers between two and four bars.

Yes, it's uncomfortable, hunching under the shutters and straining to balance the computer on the tiny sill, but it's a good feeling. I can now instantly access recipes, directions, and tabs. And I'm less bitter about my Peace Corpsing brother (hmm that got strange fast) telling me that, no he doesn't have AC/heating/any American products, but of course he has internet because "everyone has internet. it's everywhere." Not true. But now kind of true.

**

Anyways, the whole shoving my piece of technology against a screen has, understandably, brought back unwelcome memories of my sophomore year in Hope dorm. T-Mobile didn't get service in Hope, unless you stuck your phone (and head) against the immovable screen. This meant many uncomfortable face-pressed-to-screen conversations, and a whole lot of walking around campus glued to my phone. (Shout out to Llama. ("What are you doing?" "Walking..."))

**

When trademarks become fully integrated into common speech, the company loses their exclusive right to the brand name. Because Kleenex was constantly used by everyone to mean all tissues instead of the Kleenex brand, Kleenex lost rights, and all tissues can now call themselves Kleenex.

That's why Google doesn't want people to keep verbing google as a synonym for "searched online."

**

In other news, I am possibly confirming any suspicions of my unAmericanness by being the only American to not celebrate the 4th of July this year. My roommates have all gone to their non-orphaning families for the weekend, and I remain.

How do I justify this? I know someone who's been hit in the stomach by a wayward firecracker. They're dangerous. Also, someone literally just set some off in my complex, so I got my fireworks fill. And I'm pretty sure our family set some off during a dry spell in Texas and started a fire. (Help, Auntie B?)

If firecrackers aren't the true meaning of the 4th, I don't know what is. Maybe I'll go memorize that song. But that's how they weeded out German spies in WWII – they made all suspicious men sing the National Anthem and whoever knew all the verses were the spies, because they had been over trained. (And most Americans barely know the first verse.)

Okay, the spy story isn't entirely accurate. But it is mentioned on Wikipedia.

**

The plus side to my non-festivitiesness is that I'm king of the apartment until Monday, which has allowed me to engage in all sorts of activities that are normally forbidden to me via social pressure, etc.

These activities include:

1) Sitting on Becky's bed, with my computer bulging against her screen.
2) Eating a meal consisting of only carbs. (okay, mostly.)
3) Watching High School Musical
4) Not showering (notice the picture at the top is "artsy". tends to distract from my unshowered/unmakeupedness. That should be a life lesson right there.)
5) piercing my own eyebrow (again, see photo)

and...a couple of my roommates stumble onto this now and then, so I'll leave the rest up to imagination.

**

Today's Life Lesson: Extroverts should live alone. People are so so so so so distracting. And they always, always, seem more important than the task at hand. (It's so easy to justify – relationships last forever, blah blah). Last week, my pastor Eric was talking about the balance between task and relationship, which isn't a pair of words I would have related.

I read part of a chapter of a book called "Boundaries" last week wherein this woman was constantly being emotionally dumped on by family and friends. I didn't actually get to the end of the chapter and how she solved her problems, but it was pretty clear that she wasn't actually helping these people by giving them everything they demanded. It seems like it can be really easy (for Christians...and people pleasers) to think that the right thing is putting others before yourself and therefore you should do whatever someone asks of you. But putting someone before yourself might be telling them no.

It's a bit like the U.S. lending money to other countries. A little bit initially might help them get on their feet and start creating their own income (and will help the U.S. in trade, power, etc.). But, critics argue, constantly shoveling money into 3rd world countries creates a dependency, destroys initiative, and ultimately harms rather than aids the American economy. That's why I think the Heiffer International organization sounds awesome.

I'd like to take this space to say that none of my roommates dump on me like that – for which I am eternally grateful. Buuuut they do distract me. Just by existing. They're like these giant dolls that have souls and minds and will respond to stimulus and if I talk to them they might respond in a way that I had no way of predicting, but they will probably respond in some sort of variation of a pattern that I am slowly building of them, and how can I let them just sit there when I can create a more intricate and confusing and wonderful pattern and then integrate it into my world pattern and make a giant tapestry.

**

So yes, I'm ready to live alone and literally compartmentalize my life. Waffles, not spaghetti.

But Siobhan, what about an eventual marriage and contribution to society through children and a model of a happy family unit?

No problem. The man can live in the barn. Boarding school for the kids. In Switzerland. With all my relationships at a safe distance, I'll only have contact during special occasions/visits, where everyone will be so excited to see each other they'll forget to be petulant and lazy and obnoxious. Also, at a safe distance I can nicely idealize my husband (think men at war) which should make us both happy. The key is maintaining a plausible facade and a respectable distance. Because really, things only start going downhill with constant togetherness – someone says something, gives a look, leaves a hair in your toothbrush, runs over your foot, tells you they wish you were more like Jennifer Garner, etc.

(Upon further reflection, nobody has ever intimated that I contribute a happy family model to society. This is very upsetting.)


**

I'd also like to take this moment to say that I do not quantify my friendships with numbers. I organize them by location and eye color.

**

Quote of the Day:

Chad: Look, you're a hoops dude. Not a musical singer person. Have you ever seen Michael Crawford on a cereal box?
Troy Bolton: Who's Michael Crawford?
Chad: Exactly my point. He was the "Phantom of the Opera" on Broadway. Now my mom, she's seen that musical 27 times and she put Michael Crawford's picture in our refrigerator. Not on it. IN it. So my point is, if you play basketball, you'll end up on the cereal box. If you sing in musicals, you'll end up in my mom's refrigerator.
Troy Bolton: Why would she put his picture in your refrigerator?
Chad: I don't know, one of her crazy diet ideas. Look, I don't attempt to understand the female mind, Troy.


Facebook Find:
A friend's status: I think I got accidentally scratched by a tranny on the dance floor last night. Success.


I like this one:



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I was trying to paste a link to my blog, but accidentally pasted a wikipedia link and then I thought: Wouldn't it be cool if Wikipedia was my blog???

I mean, history teachers frown on it as a source anyways...donc...

Just a thought.