Monday, January 08, 2007
Another Meal Commemoration
It's the day before classes start up again, so I've been (as I told Jackie B.) trying to be productive while simultaneously taking it easy. This lifestyle.
As part of that, I ate a great lunch, which as a nod to my youth spent reading Farmer Boy while lying hungrily in my bed, I will now record.
Hot pieces of peppered pastrami, with thin-sliced sourdough bread, and spicy, grainy mustard. Steamed caulifower, no salt, no butter. Pieces of cheese from last night's cheese-eating: provolone, black diamond white cheddar, french gruyere, sharp cheddar. Halved cherries in plain yogurt, the brand Karren says is the strong kind. Water (again, poured from a glass pitcher). And a small dessert of leftover pear gingerbread pudding and cold milk.
I'm feeling like I should open a restaurant. That's a seriously good meal. (But oddly old man-ish, I think. Are my tastebuds getting more masculine as I age?)
As part of that, I ate a great lunch, which as a nod to my youth spent reading Farmer Boy while lying hungrily in my bed, I will now record.
Hot pieces of peppered pastrami, with thin-sliced sourdough bread, and spicy, grainy mustard. Steamed caulifower, no salt, no butter. Pieces of cheese from last night's cheese-eating: provolone, black diamond white cheddar, french gruyere, sharp cheddar. Halved cherries in plain yogurt, the brand Karren says is the strong kind. Water (again, poured from a glass pitcher). And a small dessert of leftover pear gingerbread pudding and cold milk.
I'm feeling like I should open a restaurant. That's a seriously good meal. (But oddly old man-ish, I think. Are my tastebuds getting more masculine as I age?)
Sunday, January 07, 2007
The Feasts of Christmas at Melville
I wrote this for my own notes, and to relive the goodness of the food of today, but with such teasing tonight (and the reminder that this blog exists), I decided just to post it. Unless there are objections. It was such a good day--my roommates and I celebrated Christmas today (we live at a house we call the Melville House). Among other things, we ate so well. Dickensian well. And I'm feeling a particular need, of late, to sing the praises of the good things in my life.
For Christmas at Melville breakfast, we had cinnamon rolls made by David C (Karren’s dad), reheated until the creamcheese frosting was melting off the top. We each had a bowl of degreened strawberries and half of a banana, still in its peel. Next to each plate was a bright navel orange. I served crumpets, with clotted cream (brought by Nate in an ice-filled bag in his car from Georgia to South Carolina, then by Mom in our car from South Carolina to New York, then by me in my suitcase to California; this afternoon I found some at the Milk Pail), and two kinds of preserves—peach and strawberry. We had a glass—our small orange juice glasses—for water, which we poured out of my clear glass pitcher. And Karren served us Ghirardelli hot chocolate, with real whipped cream, and rainbow dot sprinkles on top, in little coffee cups and saucers she got as a Christmas present—in soft rainbow colors with multicolored polka dots. And when we drank the hot chocolate, the sprinkles stained the whipped cream. We talked for over two hours at the table, and ate everything but the oranges, which we each cupped or rolled or held until it was time to clean up, at 1, and begin the day.
For dinner tonight, on Christmas at Melville day, we invited Chris and Reed, who was in town, and Karren’s brothers, Gordon and Stu. We ate pepper-crusted pork loin with plum and ginger and mango curry sauces. Spring greens salad with craisins, walnuts, pears, and crumbled blue cheese. Red potato chunks baked with green peppers and red onions. And cheddar cheese and fresh dill scones, on which (at Karren’s suggestion) I put my good spicy mustard, which I’ve been craving. To drink, grape and apple Martinelli’s and water. Reed provided a post-dinner, pre-dessert snack—small, Halloween-sized packages of Toblerone and those good hazelnut chocolate balls, totally famous but the name of which I’ve forgotten right now. I served dessert—a warm mixed pear and gingerbread pudding (baked) and cold, new (newly bought) milk. The pears had been soaked in honey, and the molasses was full flavor, just like I'd hoped.
Pear Gingerbread Pudding
from canadianliving.com
For Christmas at Melville breakfast, we had cinnamon rolls made by David C (Karren’s dad), reheated until the creamcheese frosting was melting off the top. We each had a bowl of degreened strawberries and half of a banana, still in its peel. Next to each plate was a bright navel orange. I served crumpets, with clotted cream (brought by Nate in an ice-filled bag in his car from Georgia to South Carolina, then by Mom in our car from South Carolina to New York, then by me in my suitcase to California; this afternoon I found some at the Milk Pail), and two kinds of preserves—peach and strawberry. We had a glass—our small orange juice glasses—for water, which we poured out of my clear glass pitcher. And Karren served us Ghirardelli hot chocolate, with real whipped cream, and rainbow dot sprinkles on top, in little coffee cups and saucers she got as a Christmas present—in soft rainbow colors with multicolored polka dots. And when we drank the hot chocolate, the sprinkles stained the whipped cream. We talked for over two hours at the table, and ate everything but the oranges, which we each cupped or rolled or held until it was time to clean up, at 1, and begin the day.
For dinner tonight, on Christmas at Melville day, we invited Chris and Reed, who was in town, and Karren’s brothers, Gordon and Stu. We ate pepper-crusted pork loin with plum and ginger and mango curry sauces. Spring greens salad with craisins, walnuts, pears, and crumbled blue cheese. Red potato chunks baked with green peppers and red onions. And cheddar cheese and fresh dill scones, on which (at Karren’s suggestion) I put my good spicy mustard, which I’ve been craving. To drink, grape and apple Martinelli’s and water. Reed provided a post-dinner, pre-dessert snack—small, Halloween-sized packages of Toblerone and those good hazelnut chocolate balls, totally famous but the name of which I’ve forgotten right now. I served dessert—a warm mixed pear and gingerbread pudding (baked) and cold, new (newly bought) milk. The pears had been soaked in honey, and the molasses was full flavor, just like I'd hoped.
Pear Gingerbread Pudding
from canadianliving.com
| Ingredients | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Preparation | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Spread pears in greased 8-inch (2 L) glass baking dish; drizzle with honey. Set aside. Gingerbread Topping In large bowl, beat butter with sugar until fluffy; beat in molasses and egg until combined. in separate bowl, whisk together flour, ginger, cinnamon, baking soda, cloves and salt; stir into molasses mixture alternately with hot water, making 3 additions of dry ingredients and 2 of water. Pour over pears. Bake in centre of 350°F (180°C) oven until pudding is bubbling, but cake tester comes out clean. Serve warm. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Nutritional information | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Per serving: about 357 cal, 3 g pro, 17 g total fat (10 g sat. fat), 51 g carb, 2 g fibre, 79 mg chol, 271 mg sodium. % RDI: 5% calcium, 13% iron, 16% vit A, 3% vit C, 12% folate. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Wiki for R.A.C.
R.A.C.
From Wikipedia, the free* encyclopedia
R.A.C. (or Brother) (born 1981, Oakland, California) is/was a child prodigy and is soon-to-be newly graduated (with an MA, making his ma proud) from what is sometimes known as the Country Club School of Performing Arts .
R.A.C.'s family is in the United States, having not needed to flee the Soviet occupation of Hungary. R.A.C. wishes he, too, could visit the National Air and Space Museum during his lunchbreak, though he is glad that, at present, he doesn't have a job requiring him to take a lunch break. He can, he notes, eat lunch whenever he wants, which is often or, even sometimes, all the time. If he were to visit Sarah in DC, he would likely fly into Washington Dulles International Airport, where sometimes they house large aircraft. Also, Dulles has a new annex named the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center, named after who may or may not have been R.A.C.'s former home teachee's father.
[edit]
See also
List of best wedding cake makers
List of possible cross country road trip companions
[edit]
External links
Forbes.com: Forbes World's Good Lookingest People
Retrieved from "http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R.A.C.
*faux
From Wikipedia, the free* encyclopedia
R.A.C. (or Brother) (born 1981, Oakland, California) is/was a child prodigy and is soon-to-be newly graduated (with an MA, making his ma proud) from what is sometimes known as the Country Club School of Performing Arts .
R.A.C.'s family is in the United States, having not needed to flee the Soviet occupation of Hungary. R.A.C. wishes he, too, could visit the National Air and Space Museum during his lunchbreak, though he is glad that, at present, he doesn't have a job requiring him to take a lunch break. He can, he notes, eat lunch whenever he wants, which is often or, even sometimes, all the time. If he were to visit Sarah in DC, he would likely fly into Washington Dulles International Airport, where sometimes they house large aircraft. Also, Dulles has a new annex named the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center, named after who may or may not have been R.A.C.'s former home teachee's father.
[edit]
See also
List of best wedding cake makers
List of possible cross country road trip companions
[edit]
External links
Forbes.com: Forbes World's Good Lookingest People
Retrieved from "http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R.A.C.
*faux
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
The Penguin Game
Tonight I was introduced to the Penguin Game.
(All of this blank space is to indicate silence/a reverential lack of words to describe the experience/novelty.)
(All of this blank space is to indicate silence/a reverential lack of words to describe the experience/novelty.)
The Penguin Game
http://www.bigideafun.com/penguins/arcade/spaced_penguin/default.htm
That is a not a working link.
http://www.bigideafun.com/penguins/arcade/spaced_penguin/default.htm
That is a not a working link.
Play it. Love it. Let it change you.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Restaurants with Booths, An Expeditionary List
I'm still working on my Wet Jell-o Theory article, at some readers' requests (interestingly--mostly requests from married persons), but I wanted to say a thing for humanity about restaurants with booths.
I'm for them.
Today, I was going to have dinner with a beloved friend who's daily trying to do a specifically hard thing, and I decided that it would be nicest if we could eat in a restaurant with booths. Booths are, I think, sympathetic but cheerful. I don't think I've ever left a booth feeling sadder than I did when I sat down in it. The same cannot be said about regular restaurant tables or couches, even. (One of my undergrad houses, Eden, had a breakfast nook. That was booth-like in its appeal, form, and comforting properties. "The Interstice of the World," I called it.)
But as I eat out about every day and a half (and fairly often with this particular friend), I was looking for a place I/we do not readily think of. But close. Fast. Reasonably priced. With booths.
And so, for you someday, in your need:
Eateries with Booths Near Stanford, CA
This list is only as comprehensive as I am.
Antonio's Nut House
Shady bar/pool place/burrito restaurants (but with a surprisingly good piped music selection, including, while I was there, Paul Simon and someone else great). Where Kimball B. told me he was for overcommunicating. (Turns out I am, too.)
Brix
The coupons! The Unofficial Guide to Stanford has this section of coupons to local restaurants, and I've had a goal to use a coupon in the book at each restaurant that offers one. This was a coupon find, and it's surprisingly satisfying, despite being just a hole in the wall burger place. Furthermore, the booths are short but cute (and possibly sticky). And there are always old people eating there. It's reassuring somehow.
Buca di Beppo
Glad to say that here in CA, I've managed to visit this overpriced restaurant for only part of one birthday party, leaving before I drank anything but soda water. (But, if I recall, there was an oversized birthday party in a booth behind our more oversized birthday party at an yea extended table. The booth is the point.)
Celia's
First noticeably successful booth experience and site of one of my birthday celebrations this year. Great booths. Good food. Fine coupons. (Steaming fajita fixing on those metal, handled plates is always transfixing. How can one order something else?)
Cheesecake Factory
Oh my heavens. I've only eaten here twice in CA, but in Austin, my roommates and I made many, many excuses to eat salads at Cheesecake Factory (specifically the barbecue chicken salad--such a thing. Such a good, good thing). But there are booths, which can help to counteract its usually feeling loud, clangy, chattery. Heavens, such good salads.
Chili's
I was convinced to go to lunch at this chain restaurant with three male classmates one Friday a few months ago. I had this greatest peppercorn/pepperjack/peppersomething burger. The booth was little and not particularly welcoming, but the hamburger made up for what the booth may have been lacking. No coupon. Great, great burger.
The Empire Room*
I just read about this for the first time today, looking for a boothed restaurant for dinner. Looked too woowoo for a fast 45-minute dinner, but the booths are reportedly only exceeded by the fine American cuisine. (Okay, it's actually called the Empire Taproom and Grill, or something, but I'm getting braver at eating at places that explicitly sell alcohol. I actually had dinner with some classmates/friends at a full-on sports bar on Valentine's Day. I forgot that divorced men need a place to go on Valentine's Day, too. So, so sad. But mostly by inference.)
Olive Garden
It's standard. And the booths have treated me well. (Especially one particular booth, which I've sat in at least two times thus far.) I went with Reed Criddle (friend/brother-in-law's brother) and some friends for Reed's inaugural visit last Friday. Something about being with someone seeing Olive Garden anew was great. Maturing, almost, like something had come full circle. (Though I did decide, perhaps forever, that OG breadsticks are, sadly, only good when they are hot hot, butterbuttery, and garlic-salty. But that sausage/potato/kale soup. Holy kamoley. I think I'd dream of that if I were stranded on a deserted island. Especially if that island were super rainy and served salad family-style in those mottled clear plastic bowls with whole peppers and parmesan cheese.)
Peninsula Creamery
Booths. Good shakes.
Pizza My Heart
Coupons. (In fact, Pizza My Heart put a coupon in the book for a free slice of pizza. But all of the student guides I got--all eight of them--had this coupon cut out of them, though they arrived to me, by the grace of a friend, in otherwise pristine condition. But I've used the coupon for a free salad with a large pizza.) Note: I went to Pizza My Heart in the afternoon the other day. I don't know why. But with the light coming in that wall of full west windows, it was so, so beautiful. It was almost idyllic, in this dark-wood, wide booth, faded surfing memorabilia on the walls kind of way. Also note: Its pizza is controversially good. Some people hail it as the All-Palo-Altoan pizza. Others find the mention of it nauseating (due to its "sogginess"). I like it fine. Of course.
Taxi's
What's to be said? It's on University. It's why it stays in business, I would guess. (And booths.) (But it did have chili when what I wanted was chili.) (It's been raining a lot here.)
Thai Garden
Is a restaurant connected to a bowling alley on El Camino. Some law students in my dorm encouraged me and some friends to join them there for dinner, hailing it as their bread of life, and it was this funny old restaurant with cheap decorations and cheap Thai food. I laughed almost my whole way through the meal. But there were booths, I'm told, though we sat a table extended for the occasion.
The Treehouse
Turns out there is seating (including deep, college-eating-type booths) in the back past the pick-up window and condiments. This is new to me. There are no windows back there, but there is a TV and the wood is warmish. And it's the Treehouse. It's open at 1 am, which has only saved me once, but then, that drizzly, brief-writing night, it was so, so nice.
Zibbibo*
Ben P. says (a) this is nice, (b) it's expensive, but not too ($15-$20), (c) there are booths, and (d) it's so, so good.
The diner at the Stanford Shopping Center
Closes at 11 on the weekend. Surprising (except not, because for some reason Stanford/Palo Alto doesn't count as a college town and everything eateryish closes earlyish, even on the weekends. I've ended up trying to buy dinner at Safeway at midnight more often than I would ever, ever like.) But I sat post-adult-stake-conference in one of their chrome and shiny vinyl booths (was it blue? I remember it being something easy to forget, like blue) and drank a fat shake with DB and Eric B.
*I haven't eaten here, so I can't actually confirm the existence of the booths.
What's mildly appalling is that I've eaten at each of these establishments myself (except the asterisked ones), some of them more than once. (Six of them more than once. And some of those more than twice.)
And that's my story.
(Oh, for tonight, we went with Brix, for the good boothness and for the location/ease-in/-out. And yes, there were old people there, but some families and college-aged students, too. It worked (again) for me. And we couponed, which is consistently satisfying.)
I'm for them.
Today, I was going to have dinner with a beloved friend who's daily trying to do a specifically hard thing, and I decided that it would be nicest if we could eat in a restaurant with booths. Booths are, I think, sympathetic but cheerful. I don't think I've ever left a booth feeling sadder than I did when I sat down in it. The same cannot be said about regular restaurant tables or couches, even. (One of my undergrad houses, Eden, had a breakfast nook. That was booth-like in its appeal, form, and comforting properties. "The Interstice of the World," I called it.)
But as I eat out about every day and a half (and fairly often with this particular friend), I was looking for a place I/we do not readily think of. But close. Fast. Reasonably priced. With booths.
And so, for you someday, in your need:
Eateries with Booths Near Stanford, CA
This list is only as comprehensive as I am.
Antonio's Nut House
Shady bar/pool place/burrito restaurants (but with a surprisingly good piped music selection, including, while I was there, Paul Simon and someone else great). Where Kimball B. told me he was for overcommunicating. (Turns out I am, too.)
Brix
The coupons! The Unofficial Guide to Stanford has this section of coupons to local restaurants, and I've had a goal to use a coupon in the book at each restaurant that offers one. This was a coupon find, and it's surprisingly satisfying, despite being just a hole in the wall burger place. Furthermore, the booths are short but cute (and possibly sticky). And there are always old people eating there. It's reassuring somehow.
Buca di Beppo
Glad to say that here in CA, I've managed to visit this overpriced restaurant for only part of one birthday party, leaving before I drank anything but soda water. (But, if I recall, there was an oversized birthday party in a booth behind our more oversized birthday party at an yea extended table. The booth is the point.)
Celia's
First noticeably successful booth experience and site of one of my birthday celebrations this year. Great booths. Good food. Fine coupons. (Steaming fajita fixing on those metal, handled plates is always transfixing. How can one order something else?)
Cheesecake Factory
Oh my heavens. I've only eaten here twice in CA, but in Austin, my roommates and I made many, many excuses to eat salads at Cheesecake Factory (specifically the barbecue chicken salad--such a thing. Such a good, good thing). But there are booths, which can help to counteract its usually feeling loud, clangy, chattery. Heavens, such good salads.
Chili's
I was convinced to go to lunch at this chain restaurant with three male classmates one Friday a few months ago. I had this greatest peppercorn/pepperjack/peppersomething burger. The booth was little and not particularly welcoming, but the hamburger made up for what the booth may have been lacking. No coupon. Great, great burger.
The Empire Room*
I just read about this for the first time today, looking for a boothed restaurant for dinner. Looked too woowoo for a fast 45-minute dinner, but the booths are reportedly only exceeded by the fine American cuisine. (Okay, it's actually called the Empire Taproom and Grill, or something, but I'm getting braver at eating at places that explicitly sell alcohol. I actually had dinner with some classmates/friends at a full-on sports bar on Valentine's Day. I forgot that divorced men need a place to go on Valentine's Day, too. So, so sad. But mostly by inference.)
Olive Garden
It's standard. And the booths have treated me well. (Especially one particular booth, which I've sat in at least two times thus far.) I went with Reed Criddle (friend/brother-in-law's brother) and some friends for Reed's inaugural visit last Friday. Something about being with someone seeing Olive Garden anew was great. Maturing, almost, like something had come full circle. (Though I did decide, perhaps forever, that OG breadsticks are, sadly, only good when they are hot hot, butterbuttery, and garlic-salty. But that sausage/potato/kale soup. Holy kamoley. I think I'd dream of that if I were stranded on a deserted island. Especially if that island were super rainy and served salad family-style in those mottled clear plastic bowls with whole peppers and parmesan cheese.)
Peninsula Creamery
Booths. Good shakes.
Pizza My Heart
Coupons. (In fact, Pizza My Heart put a coupon in the book for a free slice of pizza. But all of the student guides I got--all eight of them--had this coupon cut out of them, though they arrived to me, by the grace of a friend, in otherwise pristine condition. But I've used the coupon for a free salad with a large pizza.) Note: I went to Pizza My Heart in the afternoon the other day. I don't know why. But with the light coming in that wall of full west windows, it was so, so beautiful. It was almost idyllic, in this dark-wood, wide booth, faded surfing memorabilia on the walls kind of way. Also note: Its pizza is controversially good. Some people hail it as the All-Palo-Altoan pizza. Others find the mention of it nauseating (due to its "sogginess"). I like it fine. Of course.
Taxi's
What's to be said? It's on University. It's why it stays in business, I would guess. (And booths.) (But it did have chili when what I wanted was chili.) (It's been raining a lot here.)
Thai Garden
Is a restaurant connected to a bowling alley on El Camino. Some law students in my dorm encouraged me and some friends to join them there for dinner, hailing it as their bread of life, and it was this funny old restaurant with cheap decorations and cheap Thai food. I laughed almost my whole way through the meal. But there were booths, I'm told, though we sat a table extended for the occasion.
The Treehouse
Turns out there is seating (including deep, college-eating-type booths) in the back past the pick-up window and condiments. This is new to me. There are no windows back there, but there is a TV and the wood is warmish. And it's the Treehouse. It's open at 1 am, which has only saved me once, but then, that drizzly, brief-writing night, it was so, so nice.
Zibbibo*
Ben P. says (a) this is nice, (b) it's expensive, but not too ($15-$20), (c) there are booths, and (d) it's so, so good.
The diner at the Stanford Shopping Center
Closes at 11 on the weekend. Surprising (except not, because for some reason Stanford/Palo Alto doesn't count as a college town and everything eateryish closes earlyish, even on the weekends. I've ended up trying to buy dinner at Safeway at midnight more often than I would ever, ever like.) But I sat post-adult-stake-conference in one of their chrome and shiny vinyl booths (was it blue? I remember it being something easy to forget, like blue) and drank a fat shake with DB and Eric B.
*I haven't eaten here, so I can't actually confirm the existence of the booths.
What's mildly appalling is that I've eaten at each of these establishments myself (except the asterisked ones), some of them more than once. (Six of them more than once. And some of those more than twice.)
And that's my story.
(Oh, for tonight, we went with Brix, for the good boothness and for the location/ease-in/-out. And yes, there were old people there, but some families and college-aged students, too. It worked (again) for me. And we couponed, which is consistently satisfying.)
Monday, February 27, 2006
Sidewalk Theorizing
The Stanford Daily was advertising for a graduate student to write an opinion column. I read the sign hanging in my dorm hallway everyday, but I didn't do anything about it until three days after the official deadline. Alas, the spot was filled. I'm okay.
Below: A description of my column idea and a list of column ideas. These are all theories I've created over the past few years, as many of you can attest. I didn't realize I was a theori(zer/st) until one day at a dinner party, a former roommate in Austin said, "Sarah, tell us one of your theories." And I realized, "Wait--I have theories." And la, here there are.
I have theories about things. Not eery, sci-fi, conspiracy theories. But theories about how we live, how we interact, and maybe how we should or could think about the world. I find them helpful, and I try to operationalize them. Each column would probably present a theory that I’ve developed over the past few years (and from, you know, last week), weaving these theories out of my experiences and into potentially helpful, illuminating, controversial, or entertaining expositions.
Sidewalk Theories
At some point, we each become sentient. It’s then that the work begins. (An introductory/explanatory column about the column theme as a whole and the value of sidewalk theorizing. Possibly, a short history of my brain and its tendencies to theorize about daily living. I probably wouldn’t have it be the first column, though.)
The Airport Parking Model of Happiness
There are at least three levels of human emotion: long-term parking, short-term parking, and departures and arrivals.
The Mickey Mouse Head Model of Two-person Relationships
Imagine a simplified, three-circle version of Mickey Mouse’s head: that’s one of your relationships. And it’s not going well.
The Theory of Reciprocal Communication
She could call you. She could text you. She could email you. She could, I suppose, write you a letter. Or she could wait until she casually runs into you at Tres Ex. The question is: how are you going to respond?
The Advisable Double Standard AKA The Tennis Ball Model of Happy Living
There’s a double standard that we should live. Turns out, it’s not in our favor.
The “Just Say That” Theory of Honest Communication
When people come to me, not knowing what to say to so-and-so-and-so, because “it’s complicated,” I usually have one piece of advice: just say that.
The Wet Jell-o Theory of Human Imperfection
Our parents will scar us. We will scar our children. The point is: do as little damage as you can. (This column will mention jell-o.)
The “Third Time’s the Charm” Test of True Friendship
If you won’t say a thing or make a noise three times in a row at a friend’s request, you’re not really friends. You two have issues.
The “Walt Disney and a Big Gun" Theory of Big Dreaming and Career Happiness
To find a career and a meaningful life goal, maybe all you need is Walt Disney and a gun. A theoretical gun.
Decision-making in Pairs: A Theory that Could Revolutionize Your Dinner Plans
Finally, a way to decide where to eat or whether or not to go see that movie. Caution: some math involved.
Sage Advice from Past Loves
“Loves” may be stretching the point. But I’ve dated some smart men. And they’ve said some sage things.
Other people’s theories
I assume that other people have theories, too. This would be a column to explore them.
And to incorporate a Limon style of blogging, I will ask: do you have theories? What are they? Post them below in no less than four lines. Be sure to include a name (for the theory) and a description. Happy theorizing! (Note/caution: I've begun to use exclamation points. I know, I know--I vowed I never would. But (a) I'm trying to avoid saying "I refuse to blank" in my head and (b) it's about societal norms. Exclamation points make people feel good: another theory.)
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Things I Googled This Week
And by "this week," I mean "since Sunday." (It very much feels like a late Thursday.)
I thought I would just list some of the things I've googled this week for the entertainment of the thing, but as I made the list, I realized that one could get a pretty good picture of my week just by seeing what I've been googling. And so, la la, my week in google search terms.
define discordant - Not an auspicious beginning to my week.
how make silk for clothes - Apparently, from a caterpillar, not an actual worm. (The vegetarian website I found that detailed the process noted that the caterpillars have to be killed before they emerge from their cocoons for the best silk.) Consider: the new shirt I bought is silk and rabbit hair.
J Reuben Clark student conference - In February. In DC. La, I'm going.
Lady Duff Gordon (aka Lady Duff-Gordon) - Was the defendant in a case we read in contracts. Also, a huge early 20th-century celebrity, fashion designer, businesswoman. And was on the first raft of people saved from the Titanic. (Her husband and her maid was saved, too.)
Elinor Glyn - First try
Elinor Glin - Sister to Lady Duff Gordon. Went from the English lower class to Hollywood elite by writing novels, especially trashy romance novels that scandalized the monarchy. Coined the term the "It-Girl."
GK Chesterton Quotes - Notably, "It is not bigotry to be certain we are right; but it is bigotry to be unable to imagine how we might possibly have gone wrong." AND "Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese."
apply to be an astronaut - Because a new Stanford friend is actually going to apply when she turns 26 next year. (I can't any longer--I've had LASIK. I'm working through it.)
claustraphobia - claustrophobia
epicurious - See next entry
gourmet stuffing recipe - Because I'm getting excited for Thanksgiving. (I'm on Stuffing Detail.)
moxie pictures - www.moxiepictures.com > Directors > Jared Hess > the picture of the two crouching boys. Brother Nate pointed me here, and I've been directing friends to it (and inexplicably forgetting the actual URL) all week.
chicken soup dickinson - I have this theory that Emily Dickinson has a poem about everything. And I wanted one about or involving chicken soup.
poem "chicken soup" - Because I realized I needed to broaden my search and modify my theory.
poem "chicken soup" -soul - Because I wanted a poem that wasn't meant to warm teeangers' hearts.
set alarm - I didn't believe I would be able to wake up to my cellphone alarm in order to do work before class on Monday, so I looked for an alarm clock I could set online. I think I found one, but it was too smart for me. So I went to bed and took my chances.
comedy warmups - To prep for Monday's on-campus FHE of improv comedy games. The goldmine: The Shootout (a game involving tragic deaths and cowboy firearms).
capitalize LASIK - For some law school-related reason I wanted to know if LASIK needed to be in all-caps or if just a first-letter magiscule was more appropriate. I don't know what's right, but I do know a lot of people are "capitalizing" on things related to LASIK.
utah state teaching license - I was trying to figure out the technical name of my teaching license to put on my resume. I couldn't. I didn't.
words with all vowels - Like "facetious" or "abstemious" (which have all the vowels in order). Assuming we exempt Y (or add an adverbial -ly ending). And W. (Not strictly a vowel. At least, most of my section agrees. But Daniel Elizondo, he will hold out.)
magiscule - I couldn't even post this blog without googling. I'm hooked. See LASIK above.
I thought I would just list some of the things I've googled this week for the entertainment of the thing, but as I made the list, I realized that one could get a pretty good picture of my week just by seeing what I've been googling. And so, la la, my week in google search terms.define discordant - Not an auspicious beginning to my week.
how make silk for clothes - Apparently, from a caterpillar, not an actual worm. (The vegetarian website I found that detailed the process noted that the caterpillars have to be killed before they emerge from their cocoons for the best silk.) Consider: the new shirt I bought is silk and rabbit hair.
J Reuben Clark student conference - In February. In DC. La, I'm going.
Lady Duff Gordon (aka Lady Duff-Gordon) - Was the defendant in a case we read in contracts. Also, a huge early 20th-century celebrity, fashion designer, businesswoman. And was on the first raft of people saved from the Titanic. (Her husband and her maid was saved, too.)
Elinor Glyn - First try
Elinor Glin - Sister to Lady Duff Gordon. Went from the English lower class to Hollywood elite by writing novels, especially trashy romance novels that scandalized the monarchy. Coined the term the "It-Girl."
GK Chesterton Quotes - Notably, "It is not bigotry to be certain we are right; but it is bigotry to be unable to imagine how we might possibly have gone wrong." AND "Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese."
apply to be an astronaut - Because a new Stanford friend is actually going to apply when she turns 26 next year. (I can't any longer--I've had LASIK. I'm working through it.)
claustraphobia - claustrophobia
epicurious - See next entry
gourmet stuffing recipe - Because I'm getting excited for Thanksgiving. (I'm on Stuffing Detail.)
moxie pictures - www.moxiepictures.com > Directors > Jared Hess > the picture of the two crouching boys. Brother Nate pointed me here, and I've been directing friends to it (and inexplicably forgetting the actual URL) all week.chicken soup dickinson - I have this theory that Emily Dickinson has a poem about everything. And I wanted one about or involving chicken soup.
poem "chicken soup" - Because I realized I needed to broaden my search and modify my theory.
poem "chicken soup" -soul - Because I wanted a poem that wasn't meant to warm teeangers' hearts.
set alarm - I didn't believe I would be able to wake up to my cellphone alarm in order to do work before class on Monday, so I looked for an alarm clock I could set online. I think I found one, but it was too smart for me. So I went to bed and took my chances.
comedy warmups - To prep for Monday's on-campus FHE of improv comedy games. The goldmine: The Shootout (a game involving tragic deaths and cowboy firearms).
capitalize LASIK - For some law school-related reason I wanted to know if LASIK needed to be in all-caps or if just a first-letter magiscule was more appropriate. I don't know what's right, but I do know a lot of people are "capitalizing" on things related to LASIK.
utah state teaching license - I was trying to figure out the technical name of my teaching license to put on my resume. I couldn't. I didn't.
words with all vowels - Like "facetious" or "abstemious" (which have all the vowels in order). Assuming we exempt Y (or add an adverbial -ly ending). And W. (Not strictly a vowel. At least, most of my section agrees. But Daniel Elizondo, he will hold out.)
magiscule - I couldn't even post this blog without googling. I'm hooked. See LASIK above.
Friday, November 11, 2005
What's Funny Is Funny
Jane, friend and Stanford undergrad, recently has begun feeding me stories wherein international power meets human quirkiness. The most recent deserves its own blog. Jane saiden:
So the President of Turkmenistan renamed all of the months after family members/national heroes. The month of April was "Mother."
This was done in August 2002.
Picture of Turkmeni President Saparmurat Niyazov:
Robespierre (whom I call 'Robie') also renamed all the months, didn't he? They look alike, actually... (white hair, dark eyebrows, same 'smile,' similar suit, white shirt underneath, etc)
Robie:
Oh, power. "We have learned by sad experience that it is the nature and disposition of almost all men, as soon as they get a little authority..." what, to rename the months of the year? Of all the things to do with power, HONESTLY. Have a pancake fest, or SOMETHING!! Crazy world, blast it all.
So the President of Turkmenistan renamed all of the months after family members/national heroes. The month of April was "Mother."
This was done in August 2002.
Picture of Turkmeni President Saparmurat Niyazov:
Robespierre (whom I call 'Robie') also renamed all the months, didn't he? They look alike, actually... (white hair, dark eyebrows, same 'smile,' similar suit, white shirt underneath, etc)
Robie:
Oh, power. "We have learned by sad experience that it is the nature and disposition of almost all men, as soon as they get a little authority..." what, to rename the months of the year? Of all the things to do with power, HONESTLY. Have a pancake fest, or SOMETHING!! Crazy world, blast it all.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
I've always like the word "Moabitish."
My Favoritish Books
Victor Monreal, Austinite friend, collects lists of people's favorite books. Recently, he requested mine with attendant summaries. I'm opening myself to all kinds of liability listing these for all the world to see. They're perhaps too sentimental, too Western, and too juvenile for an English major to conscionably list as her favorite. You should know, I also haven't read Moby Dick.
In the order I thought of them to write them down:
The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje
Perhaps the most beautiful book I've ever read. As I read it, I kept thinking, "I can't believe someone wrote this. I can't believe some one wrote this." About four people in Italy in late WWII after the Italian fighting was largely over. Feels, however, very WWI.
The Living by Annie Dillard
About 19th-century pioneers in Bellingham, Washington. Called a novel, but every sentence reeks of human detail Annie could not have invented. It's about the living--felling trees, eating food, digging wells, and about the living--those left alive. Super beautiful.
For the Time Being by Annie Dillard
Technically and effectively my favorite book. It's a collection of short essays about sand, clouds, birth, China, Jews, humanity, etc., that deal with what it means to be one of a billion billion things in the eyes of God.
The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery
Short, childlike. Very nearly a perfect book about a little prince who falls from a comet to earth and meets a pilot in the desert. Translated from the French.
Sarah, Plain and Tall by Patricia MacLachlan
Perfe
ct. Slim, simple. About Caleb and Anna, two children growing up on the plains, who must welcome a Maine woman into their home when their quiet widower father advertises for a wife.
The Blue Castle by LM Montgomery
Invariably the cover of the book will be terrible, like a trashy teenage Harlequi This is the only adult novel written by the author of Anne of Green Gables, "adult" meaning it has (a) a swear word and (b) no children. About a 29-year-old old maid who, when diagnosed with a fatal heart condition, decides to say and do the things she's always wanted, to the horror of her prideful and prim early 20th-century family. I read it yearly, maybe more.
The Island by Gary Paulsen
About a teenage boy who decides to move to the island of a small nearby lake, to think and read and write and draw.
Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card
The classic sci-fi novel about a brilliant child (Ender) sent to Battle School to learn how to save the world from the Third Invasion. The crux--in order to destroy something, Ender needs to know it as well as it knows itself. And as soon as Ender knows it well, he loves it but must destroy it. I plan on reading it every year until I die.
Victor Monreal, Austinite friend, collects lists of people's favorite books. Recently, he requested mine with attendant summaries. I'm opening myself to all kinds of liability listing these for all the world to see. They're perhaps too sentimental, too Western, and too juvenile for an English major to conscionably list as her favorite. You should know, I also haven't read Moby Dick.
In the order I thought of them to write them down:
The English Patient by Michael OndaatjePerhaps the most beautiful book I've ever read. As I read it, I kept thinking, "I can't believe someone wrote this. I can't believe some one wrote this." About four people in Italy in late WWII after the Italian fighting was largely over. Feels, however, very WWI.
The Living by Annie Dillard
About 19th-century pioneers in Bellingham, Washington. Called a novel, but every sentence reeks of human detail Annie could not have invented. It's about the living--felling trees, eating food, digging wells, and about the living--those left alive. Super beautiful.
For the Time Being by Annie DillardTechnically and effectively my favorite book. It's a collection of short essays about sand, clouds, birth, China, Jews, humanity, etc., that deal with what it means to be one of a billion billion things in the eyes of God.
The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery
Short, childlike. Very nearly a perfect book about a little prince who falls from a comet to earth and meets a pilot in the desert. Translated from the French.
Sarah, Plain and Tall by Patricia MacLachlan
Perfe
ct. Slim, simple. About Caleb and Anna, two children growing up on the plains, who must welcome a Maine woman into their home when their quiet widower father advertises for a wife.The Blue Castle by LM Montgomery
Invariably the cover of the book will be terrible, like a trashy teenage Harlequi This is the only adult novel written by the author of Anne of Green Gables, "adult" meaning it has (a) a swear word and (b) no children. About a 29-year-old old maid who, when diagnosed with a fatal heart condition, decides to say and do the things she's always wanted, to the horror of her prideful and prim early 20th-century family. I read it yearly, maybe more.
The Island by Gary Paulsen
About a teenage boy who decides to move to the island of a small nearby lake, to think and read and write and draw.
Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card
The classic sci-fi novel about a brilliant child (Ender) sent to Battle School to learn how to save the world from the Third Invasion. The crux--in order to destroy something, Ender needs to know it as well as it knows itself. And as soon as Ender knows it well, he loves it but must destroy it. I plan on reading it every year until I die.
Monday, October 31, 2005
To McSweeney's, With Love
The following is from a Saturday email to a friend (who oft looks uncannily like Gilbert Blythe and others times--less oft but more recently--like a rebel beach bum without a cause), himself a master blogster: www.sweetlemon24.blogspot.com
(Note: I'm desiring enough to be a regular blogster that I'm going to steal from my own emails. Maybe just this once. Maybe again, too. I know--I never write, I never call, I never leave a message.)
Let's be honest. There's a good chance you've considered all of the following things. But I just had a moment, lying almost flat on my back in my bed in my room, with my head propped up on two pillows and chin resting on my chest, laptop on my lap, which was formed by my knees being propped and bent so-and-so (are you with me?), laughing. I laughed aloud, more than once, more than once.
So, consider.
http://www.ericdsnider.com/blog.php
(which I found from following your link to stupidramblings to his link to Eric Snider's blog)--the entry for Oct. 7 and its attendant link to
http://www.mcsweeneys.net/links/lists/30CraigRobertson.html .
Which is especially funny because today, when brainstorming with a friend for his Halloween costume, I came across the same website, different entry, and laughed and laughed. (Maybe I just laughed once.)
http://www.mcsweeneys.net/1999/10/31halloween.html
This entry I found because we typed in "halloween costume ideas" or something, and the first three or four pages were (a) silly and (b) the first three or four pages. (In other words, if he'd pulled a costume idea from these pages, and someone else in the ward had also googled for costume ideas and had seen his idea, then it would be a let-down, a disappointment, not a triumph.) So I picked a random high number in the page links (like 9 or something) and la la, McSweeney's.
Heavens, I'm sick. (Literally so.) Which is why I'm convalescing (and lying in bed) on a Saturday afternoon. Let's also ascribe said sickness to my lack of (a) coherence and (b) punch.
(Note: I'm desiring enough to be a regular blogster that I'm going to steal from my own emails. Maybe just this once. Maybe again, too. I know--I never write, I never call, I never leave a message.)
Let's be honest. There's a good chance you've considered all of the following things. But I just had a moment, lying almost flat on my back in my bed in my room, with my head propped up on two pillows and chin resting on my chest, laptop on my lap, which was formed by my knees being propped and bent so-and-so (are you with me?), laughing. I laughed aloud, more than once, more than once.
So, consider.
http://www.ericdsnider.com
(which I found from following your link to stupidramblings to his link to Eric Snider's blog)--the entry for Oct. 7 and its attendant link to
http://www.mcsweeneys.net
Which is especially funny because today, when brainstorming with a friend for his Halloween costume, I came across the same website, different entry, and laughed and laughed. (Maybe I just laughed once.)
http://www.mcsweeneys.net/1999
This entry I found because we typed in "halloween costume ideas" or something, and the first three or four pages were (a) silly and (b) the first three or four pages. (In other words, if he'd pulled a costume idea from these pages, and someone else in the ward had also googled for costume ideas and had seen his idea, then it would be a let-down, a disappointment, not a triumph.) So I picked a random high number in the page links (like 9 or something) and la la, McSweeney's.
Heavens, I'm sick. (Literally so.) Which is why I'm convalescing (and lying in bed) on a Saturday afternoon. Let's also ascribe said sickness to my lack of (a) coherence and (b) punch.
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Ergo
A short story about the word "ergo."
Ergo is a word I like. I began to use it some time ago but didn't seem to notice much of a response from listeners and would-be listeners. This was okay with me in a singing-to-myself sort of way. One evening last summer, two or three hours into an LSAT prep session at Meridian High, I sat stretched out on an old blue couch in the German classroom where we met, and I said to my teacher (Brent Dunn, family friend and acelsat himself) with an entire class of would-be LSAT-takers as would-be listeners, "Something something something, ergo..." And when I was finished with my comment, Jeff, my would-be friend and erstwhile ride, leaned over to me and whispered distinctly and with an advisorial air: "Don't use 'ergo.' It's antiquated." I almost laughlaughed right then. But I didn't because he'd leaned so close to me, I would have laughed in his face.
I can neither describe nor explain how much I want to hold that sentence in my hands and show it to people. So sometimes I say it to myself as I lie down at night. I try to whisper it like Jeff did. "Don't use 'ergo.' It's antiquated."
Ergo is a word I like. I began to use it some time ago but didn't seem to notice much of a response from listeners and would-be listeners. This was okay with me in a singing-to-myself sort of way. One evening last summer, two or three hours into an LSAT prep session at Meridian High, I sat stretched out on an old blue couch in the German classroom where we met, and I said to my teacher (Brent Dunn, family friend and acelsat himself) with an entire class of would-be LSAT-takers as would-be listeners, "Something something something, ergo..." And when I was finished with my comment, Jeff, my would-be friend and erstwhile ride, leaned over to me and whispered distinctly and with an advisorial air: "Don't use 'ergo.' It's antiquated." I almost laughlaughed right then. But I didn't because he'd leaned so close to me, I would have laughed in his face.
I can neither describe nor explain how much I want to hold that sentence in my hands and show it to people. So sometimes I say it to myself as I lie down at night. I try to whisper it like Jeff did. "Don't use 'ergo.' It's antiquated."
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
The Pursuit for Professional: Part I: Luggage
There's a distinct possibility that, by week's end, I'll be the new owner of luggage, a suit, and leather heels.
I. Luggage
I bought luggage this morning. I got my first set of luggage (a forest green, $100 Costco set I loved) when I was 18. I felt like an adult having that luggage--matching, versatile, utile. But it died after twelve or so transcontinental Salt Lake-to-NY flights, and I've been pretending for the last three years that I can live without luggage. Can do without it. (See imaginarily attached diagram of garbage sack, canvas bag, Beth Hedengren-donated backpack, duct-taped boxed contraptions.) But I'm heading off to law school (tomorrow on a plane to see my best friend, Laura A. T. and co.) and to a new life. And I needed luggage.
I've traveled a lot this summer (see previous blog) and so have spent some moments--on beds, airplanes, trains, buses, ferries, and a moped; in beds, cars, taxis, subways; at baggage carousels and open trunks around the world--considering what my ideal set of luggage would be.
Four pieces: (1) giant suitcase, (2) normal large suitcase, (3) large duffel bag (similar size as normal large suitcase), and (4) roller-board carryon. All with pockets. All with wheels and straps and handles and zippers (strong, strong zippers). And red.
That's really all there is to my story, except the important part, which is to say I bought it this morning, with fake money I don't have but have budgeted for, on an impulse stop at Village Luggage (villageluggage.com, supposedly), which Mom and Peter and I passed on our way to donate blood. Apparently people do shop at those fairly easy-to-miss stores throughout Long Island. (Peter asked: "How do they ever make money?" And I said: "They've been open today for six minutes, and I just spent $300.") I did not, however, buy the roller-board carryon, which would have been an additional $80 plus tax. (Though I did get a compl(e/i)mentary tote.) And it's all monogrammed--SLO. S L O. Which will, I suppose, work better than my first plan, which was to identify my luggage by a faded blue and orange handkerchief (aka doo rag) from girls' camp of yore I was otherwise going to tie to the bags. Though, to be professional, I maybe could have convinced myself to purchase a new one. In silk.
I. Luggage
I bought luggage this morning. I got my first set of luggage (a forest green, $100 Costco set I loved) when I was 18. I felt like an adult having that luggage--matching, versatile, utile. But it died after twelve or so transcontinental Salt Lake-to-NY flights, and I've been pretending for the last three years that I can live without luggage. Can do without it. (See imaginarily attached diagram of garbage sack, canvas bag, Beth Hedengren-donated backpack, duct-taped boxed contraptions.) But I'm heading off to law school (tomorrow on a plane to see my best friend, Laura A. T. and co.) and to a new life. And I needed luggage.
I've traveled a lot this summer (see previous blog) and so have spent some moments--on beds, airplanes, trains, buses, ferries, and a moped; in beds, cars, taxis, subways; at baggage carousels and open trunks around the world--considering what my ideal set of luggage would be.
Four pieces: (1) giant suitcase, (2) normal large suitcase, (3) large duffel bag (similar size as normal large suitcase), and (4) roller-board carryon. All with pockets. All with wheels and straps and handles and zippers (strong, strong zippers). And red.
That's really all there is to my story, except the important part, which is to say I bought it this morning, with fake money I don't have but have budgeted for, on an impulse stop at Village Luggage (villageluggage.com, supposedly), which Mom and Peter and I passed on our way to donate blood. Apparently people do shop at those fairly easy-to-miss stores throughout Long Island. (Peter asked: "How do they ever make money?" And I said: "They've been open today for six minutes, and I just spent $300.") I did not, however, buy the roller-board carryon, which would have been an additional $80 plus tax. (Though I did get a compl(e/i)mentary tote.) And it's all monogrammed--SLO. S L O. Which will, I suppose, work better than my first plan, which was to identify my luggage by a faded blue and orange handkerchief (aka doo rag) from girls' camp of yore I was otherwise going to tie to the bags. Though, to be professional, I maybe could have convinced myself to purchase a new one. In silk.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
I should be heading out AKA The Official Sarah Update
I. Justification & Background
It's 12:46, and according to mapquest, it will take me 5 h 40 m to get to Geneva, NY, where I will be an EFY counselor beginning tonight, tomorrow, or Monday at 11 am (depending on your rounding practices). What I'm saying is, I need to go.
But I've received two requests recently for blog updates (Jackie, m'love, and Victor) and two is enough for me. At least for now.
I've had some thoughts about the unhelpfulness of blog writing recently, about its dash-and-go flavors, its implicit though subtle reinforcement of our society's move away from encouraging reflection, craftmanship, etc etc. I acknowledge that these thoughts may serve primarily to justify my lack of consistency and to excuse myself for feeling slightly nauseated every time I read one of my blog entries. But if you know what I mean, you know what I mean. I'm having faith in the blogging whatnot.
II. The Update AKA Sarah's Summer/Life Plans
May 2005 Sarah finished the master's thesis (el these), uncreatively titled "Metaphor and Inquiry." 83 pages, or something.
May-endish Sarah graduated with an MA in Curriculum & Instruction from UT-Austin, Pres. Hinckley came to TX for the San Antonio Temple Jubilee, and Olson parents and Anika were in Austin for all festivities.
May 31ish Sarah flew to NY and then to England for to see Stacey Snider, former roommate and BYU friend, who was studying at the University of Nottingham.
Early-Juneish Sarah and Stacey flew to Ireland for six of the most beautiful, most relaxing, most most days of lovely Irish mostness of all time and most. So beautiful.
Late-Juneish Sarah flew to Austin.
June-endish Sarah took Greyhound to Denton, TX, to be an EFY counselor. Then, a week later, she came home.
July 3 Sarah flew to Seattle to visit Stacey Snider (newly returned from the UK). Sarah and Stacey, the next day or the next, visited Friday Harbor and Bellingham and one of the great grocery stores of all time.
July 5thish Sarah and Stacey met up with Ryan Gee (boyfriend) and family in Seattle to poke in the Old Curiosity Shop and hand Sarah off.
July-middish Sarah and Ryan and Gees attended the Sis. Gee family (Arvidsen) family reunion in Oregon, in the forest, in the rain, in the mud, near the waterfalls.
July-middish Sarah's family arrives in Oregon, visits with the Gees and the Arvidsens for an hour or so, and Olsons and Sarah and Ryan head to Eugene to meet with up with the Sis. Olson family (Hoggards) for their family reunion. The Hoggards head to Florence, OR, to spend two days on the Oregon coast, playing the super cold water, wearing their "Hoggard's Yardbirds" polo shirts, and eating (eating) eating food.
July-midmiddish Sarah and the lesser immediate Olsons begin cross-country trek that will be its own blog, if not its own essay. They hit Boise, Salt Lake, the Four Corners, Albuquerque, Austin, Tyler, Birmingham, Atlanta, the entire midatlantic coastal states, and end up in NY. Almost 5,000 miles in 8 days, or something.
This morning, July 23 at 12:15 am The Olsons arrive home intact.
Today, July 23 Sarah is off to Geneva, NY, for one last week of EFY, which departure is being delayed by the writing of this blog.
But no more. Well, a little more.
Sarah will return to Valley Stream for the month of August (with a week to Austin for Martha and Abdul's wedding and such), before heading to California on August 29th to begin her (miracle, miracle) years at Stanford Law School. La la.
(P.S. Did you notice how I changed tenses and points-of-view in this blog? Blogging. Like writing on fast food napkins. Without the self-effacing charm.)
It's 12:46, and according to mapquest, it will take me 5 h 40 m to get to Geneva, NY, where I will be an EFY counselor beginning tonight, tomorrow, or Monday at 11 am (depending on your rounding practices). What I'm saying is, I need to go.
But I've received two requests recently for blog updates (Jackie, m'love, and Victor) and two is enough for me. At least for now.
I've had some thoughts about the unhelpfulness of blog writing recently, about its dash-and-go flavors, its implicit though subtle reinforcement of our society's move away from encouraging reflection, craftmanship, etc etc. I acknowledge that these thoughts may serve primarily to justify my lack of consistency and to excuse myself for feeling slightly nauseated every time I read one of my blog entries. But if you know what I mean, you know what I mean. I'm having faith in the blogging whatnot.
II. The Update AKA Sarah's Summer/Life Plans
May 2005 Sarah finished the master's thesis (el these), uncreatively titled "Metaphor and Inquiry." 83 pages, or something.
May-endish Sarah graduated with an MA in Curriculum & Instruction from UT-Austin, Pres. Hinckley came to TX for the San Antonio Temple Jubilee, and Olson parents and Anika were in Austin for all festivities.
May 31ish Sarah flew to NY and then to England for to see Stacey Snider, former roommate and BYU friend, who was studying at the University of Nottingham.
Early-Juneish Sarah and Stacey flew to Ireland for six of the most beautiful, most relaxing, most most days of lovely Irish mostness of all time and most. So beautiful.
Late-Juneish Sarah flew to Austin.
June-endish Sarah took Greyhound to Denton, TX, to be an EFY counselor. Then, a week later, she came home.
July 3 Sarah flew to Seattle to visit Stacey Snider (newly returned from the UK). Sarah and Stacey, the next day or the next, visited Friday Harbor and Bellingham and one of the great grocery stores of all time.
July 5thish Sarah and Stacey met up with Ryan Gee (boyfriend) and family in Seattle to poke in the Old Curiosity Shop and hand Sarah off.
July-middish Sarah and Ryan and Gees attended the Sis. Gee family (Arvidsen) family reunion in Oregon, in the forest, in the rain, in the mud, near the waterfalls.
July-middish Sarah's family arrives in Oregon, visits with the Gees and the Arvidsens for an hour or so, and Olsons and Sarah and Ryan head to Eugene to meet with up with the Sis. Olson family (Hoggards) for their family reunion. The Hoggards head to Florence, OR, to spend two days on the Oregon coast, playing the super cold water, wearing their "Hoggard's Yardbirds" polo shirts, and eating (eating) eating food.
July-midmiddish Sarah and the lesser immediate Olsons begin cross-country trek that will be its own blog, if not its own essay. They hit Boise, Salt Lake, the Four Corners, Albuquerque, Austin, Tyler, Birmingham, Atlanta, the entire midatlantic coastal states, and end up in NY. Almost 5,000 miles in 8 days, or something.
This morning, July 23 at 12:15 am The Olsons arrive home intact.
Today, July 23 Sarah is off to Geneva, NY, for one last week of EFY, which departure is being delayed by the writing of this blog.
But no more. Well, a little more.
Sarah will return to Valley Stream for the month of August (with a week to Austin for Martha and Abdul's wedding and such), before heading to California on August 29th to begin her (miracle, miracle) years at Stanford Law School. La la.
(P.S. Did you notice how I changed tenses and points-of-view in this blog? Blogging. Like writing on fast food napkins. Without the self-effacing charm.)
Friday, September 17, 2004
From Inside Sarah's School Head
After a phenomenal dryspell (and more cross-country driving than an episode of the Partridge family), I am using my blog for two ends:
(1) to remind myself that I can post things and live a virtual and actual life simultaneously
and
(2) to regroup before I meet with my master's thesis advisor at 2. In 18 minutes.
So, to cut to the chase:
I have a master's thesis advisor named Dr. Colleen Fairbanks. We don't know each other at all on a personal (or professional level, really), but we met two weeks ago to get started on the year (I'm taking a 3-credit thesis writing independent stuffstuff course) and to get me working towards actually completing this project in time for May graduation.
She asked a few questions, and we talkedtalked. She suggested books, and I wrote stuff down. And we parted.
And this is what I did in the middle--I read most of Children's Inquiry by Judith Lindfors (who turns out to be a UT professor--or was) and read a few chapters from Curriculum as Conversation by Arthur Applebee (who, as it turns out, is married to another eminent English teaching scholar/academic, Judith Langer. Exactly.). Additionally, I did hours (brief hours, but hours nonetheless) of research to find articles about both student questioning and metaphors/education, primarily for an annotated bibliography assignment I had to complete for one my classes. But from all of this stuff, I learned the following:
1. I don't think I'm interested in students' asking questions, at least as far as my thesis goes. I really am more interested in the use of metaphors pedagogically, or, at least, in the classroom. And not as part of a lesson on figurative language. But as part of how we make sense of the world around us.
2. I think I'm interested more in explicit metaphors than in implicit ones (as made famous by Lakoff and Johnson's Metaphors We Live By, which exposed, apparently, that most of our language and consequently, our conceptions of the world, are (in)formed by metaphors and metaphorical thinking).
3. I am interested in explicit metaphors but, more specifically, the creation of them as acts of inquiry, as tentative explorations of things we almost know but don't quite.
In short, I think that I want to begin to think about my thesis in terms of metaphors and acts of inquiry. I don't know if this is legitimate, but maybe I can take the research (Lindfors' especially; her book was very much something I would like to write, but a little technicaler than I want to be) that discusses inquiry--defines, categorizes, and encourages it in classroom use--and discuss how metaphor, and not just questions and not just authentic interests and not just problem-based learning, can be (is! is!) an act of inquiry. And, consequently, is something we should help students learn how to craft. Or, at least, it is something we need to inspect more closely.
Something like that?
The thesis will be theory. This excites me. But I may, too, need some texts (of students and teachers discussing/using metaphors) to analyze. Will I have to collect them myself? Will I have to get human subjects approval? Does that change my timeline?
It's 1:53 pm. These are things I'm thinking about. These things and, as always, fajitas.
(1) to remind myself that I can post things and live a virtual and actual life simultaneously
and
(2) to regroup before I meet with my master's thesis advisor at 2. In 18 minutes.
So, to cut to the chase:
I have a master's thesis advisor named Dr. Colleen Fairbanks. We don't know each other at all on a personal (or professional level, really), but we met two weeks ago to get started on the year (I'm taking a 3-credit thesis writing independent stuffstuff course) and to get me working towards actually completing this project in time for May graduation.
She asked a few questions, and we talkedtalked. She suggested books, and I wrote stuff down. And we parted.
And this is what I did in the middle--I read most of Children's Inquiry by Judith Lindfors (who turns out to be a UT professor--or was) and read a few chapters from Curriculum as Conversation by Arthur Applebee (who, as it turns out, is married to another eminent English teaching scholar/academic, Judith Langer. Exactly.). Additionally, I did hours (brief hours, but hours nonetheless) of research to find articles about both student questioning and metaphors/education, primarily for an annotated bibliography assignment I had to complete for one my classes. But from all of this stuff, I learned the following:
1. I don't think I'm interested in students' asking questions, at least as far as my thesis goes. I really am more interested in the use of metaphors pedagogically, or, at least, in the classroom. And not as part of a lesson on figurative language. But as part of how we make sense of the world around us.
2. I think I'm interested more in explicit metaphors than in implicit ones (as made famous by Lakoff and Johnson's Metaphors We Live By, which exposed, apparently, that most of our language and consequently, our conceptions of the world, are (in)formed by metaphors and metaphorical thinking).
3. I am interested in explicit metaphors but, more specifically, the creation of them as acts of inquiry, as tentative explorations of things we almost know but don't quite.
In short, I think that I want to begin to think about my thesis in terms of metaphors and acts of inquiry. I don't know if this is legitimate, but maybe I can take the research (Lindfors' especially; her book was very much something I would like to write, but a little technicaler than I want to be) that discusses inquiry--defines, categorizes, and encourages it in classroom use--and discuss how metaphor, and not just questions and not just authentic interests and not just problem-based learning, can be (is! is!) an act of inquiry. And, consequently, is something we should help students learn how to craft. Or, at least, it is something we need to inspect more closely.
Something like that?
The thesis will be theory. This excites me. But I may, too, need some texts (of students and teachers discussing/using metaphors) to analyze. Will I have to collect them myself? Will I have to get human subjects approval? Does that change my timeline?
It's 1:53 pm. These are things I'm thinking about. These things and, as always, fajitas.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Last Dance OR "Who Ran Four Miles? I Did!"
Part I
I was in middle school when I first personally encountered the concept of the Last Dance. I wasn't aware that it was a Thing (so unaware, that the first time I heard the song "Last Dance," I thought, "Cool."). But it was, all by itself, dramatic. The drama of the evening, the delay of seeking out the one boy, the back and forth and trips to the water fountain, etc., were all intentionally part of the intentional procrastinating of the evening's climax. And then, wham, it would strike us/me that we/I were coming up soon to the last dance, the Last Dance, and that all our hopes and dreams and fears would either realize themselves (or not), and this dance would either be a dance among men (or not).
And then, at my first middle school dance, they actually played "The Last Dance," the crime against music that is essentially a practical joke. The first thirty seconds are, you remember, slow. Slow, for just long enough for you to seek out (if you're brave) the boy you want to dance with and to begin working through those awkward first dancing moments, arms on his shoulders, hands around her waist (or on her hips). Slow for just long enough until the beat picks up, and it's a fast dance.
Cruel.
(Though, to be honest with you, I was never actually caught in it. I just watched the devastated uncomfortability it wreaked.)
All of that was a really inappropriate buildup for this: it is my last day at work in Provo.
Part II
Grandma and Grandpa take me out for lunch this afternoon, I come back to work, do my last run, do my last errands, have my last Cafe Rio, and then tomorrow, midday, Dave Hedengren (my to-Kansas driving partner) and I drive off into the proverbial sunset.
And it's worth noting--in fact, it's the reason I wrote this--that while this summer, I spent a lot of time not seeking people out (for which I apologize), and while I didn't get as much sleep as I should have (Stacey...Marisa...The West Wing...), I did read my scriptures, I did go to LSAT prep--every time I was supposed to, I did go to the temple weekly, and I did--are you ready?--reach my running goals.
I ran four miles--four miles--twice. Two days in a row. Me, Monday, four miles, no stopping. Me, Tuesday, four miles, no stopping.
And I have to tell you, it's like proverbial icing on the cake.
The Sum Up
In short, I haven't danced with a boy this summer and that doesn't worry or sadden me. So, my whole Last Dance intro was really a red herring. But I have run, and run and run and run, and finally, in the end, I ran just as long as I have wanted to. Four miles, non-stop, twice. And that's my story. And my summer.
I was in middle school when I first personally encountered the concept of the Last Dance. I wasn't aware that it was a Thing (so unaware, that the first time I heard the song "Last Dance," I thought, "Cool."). But it was, all by itself, dramatic. The drama of the evening, the delay of seeking out the one boy, the back and forth and trips to the water fountain, etc., were all intentionally part of the intentional procrastinating of the evening's climax. And then, wham, it would strike us/me that we/I were coming up soon to the last dance, the Last Dance, and that all our hopes and dreams and fears would either realize themselves (or not), and this dance would either be a dance among men (or not).
And then, at my first middle school dance, they actually played "The Last Dance," the crime against music that is essentially a practical joke. The first thirty seconds are, you remember, slow. Slow, for just long enough for you to seek out (if you're brave) the boy you want to dance with and to begin working through those awkward first dancing moments, arms on his shoulders, hands around her waist (or on her hips). Slow for just long enough until the beat picks up, and it's a fast dance.
Cruel.
(Though, to be honest with you, I was never actually caught in it. I just watched the devastated uncomfortability it wreaked.)
All of that was a really inappropriate buildup for this: it is my last day at work in Provo.
Part II
Grandma and Grandpa take me out for lunch this afternoon, I come back to work, do my last run, do my last errands, have my last Cafe Rio, and then tomorrow, midday, Dave Hedengren (my to-Kansas driving partner) and I drive off into the proverbial sunset.
And it's worth noting--in fact, it's the reason I wrote this--that while this summer, I spent a lot of time not seeking people out (for which I apologize), and while I didn't get as much sleep as I should have (Stacey...Marisa...The West Wing...), I did read my scriptures, I did go to LSAT prep--every time I was supposed to, I did go to the temple weekly, and I did--are you ready?--reach my running goals.
I ran four miles--four miles--twice. Two days in a row. Me, Monday, four miles, no stopping. Me, Tuesday, four miles, no stopping.
And I have to tell you, it's like proverbial icing on the cake.
The Sum Up
In short, I haven't danced with a boy this summer and that doesn't worry or sadden me. So, my whole Last Dance intro was really a red herring. But I have run, and run and run and run, and finally, in the end, I ran just as long as I have wanted to. Four miles, non-stop, twice. And that's my story. And my summer.
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
My Own Private Mecca, or How to Get to a Natural Water Playground
My friends and I ran away a weekend or so ago and found ourselves at our target destination, which, to my delight, turned out to be my dream-come-true of a nature spot.
It's a natural waterslide and rivery system, up in the foothills of the Alpine Mountains. You can go, for free, and 20, 30, 40 minutes later, you're sliding down a natural waterslide, that doesn't hurt, that lets you go fast, that drops you off into an almost clear pool of mountain water on sandy, pebbly bottom.
And you can climb all you want, up the rocks, over the rocks, through the water, under the waterfalls. And you can explore and sit and think and feel like a country music album cover.
It's just such a great time that I'm hesitant to talk about it (despite my recent proselyting) because I haven't yet found the right words to explain it.
Everyone should go. And I'm including the directions below. (Note: They don't seem straightforward, but I went only once, and I've since been able to find it again myself and explain, on the phone, to someone else how to get there. It's not a difficult path; it's just without significant markers.)
Directions
1. Travel on I-15. (This is in Utah.)
2. Take the American Fork 500 East exit.
3. Go R on 500 East.
4. Turn L at the first major intersection (not the one by Carl's Jr.).
5. Go R on 100 East.
6. 100 East will turn into Hwy 74, Main Street in Alpine, and Alpine Highway. Stay on this road until you're done. On 100 East, you'll pass the Alpine School District office, the American Fork cemetary on your left, some developments and goats on your right, Lone Peak High School on your left, and eventually you'll come into some stop sign streetness. Keep going straight.
7. The road will eventually hit a roundabout. At the roundabout, do a 180, and head towards the chiropractor's office building (it should have a big sign on it). Keep heading on Alpine Highway.Eventually this road will start curving to your left. It will curve around, become windy, become narrow.
8. At some point, you'll see a really large gray house to your left. It has a big lawn. You might say to yourself, "Wow, that's a big lawn." Right after that, there will be a random farm-looking gate on the left side of the road. This is the entrance.
9. You can either park outside this gate on the side of the road and hike up (which is what I've done thus far), or you can do what all the cars that passed us while we were hiking did--you can unchain the gate (it shouldn't be locked) and drive into the field (there's a little dirt road).Rechain the gate. The field will have horses in it. Don't run into them.
10. The dirt road will curve to your right, and you'll hit a green gate. Undo this one, turn left onto the road, and redo the gate.
11. Drive up this road, going towards the mountains. Everytime you hit a fork, turn right. (This should be about twice.) The road will turn into a dirt road, then back into a paved road. You will trees and bushes growing up through the pavement. Keep going (remember to turn right at major forks).
12. Eventually (not too long--about a 20 minute walk), the paved road will end at a little parking lot looking thing. Park here.
13. You'll be able to hear the water from here. There is a major dirt road looking trail that's heading east (I think). I've seen people walk on this, but I don't know where it goes. The way I get to the waterfall is a little trail/clearing through the bush that is just to the left of this major dirt trail. It's just a clearing through trees and things that is result of a lot of people walking that way. Follow this for just a few minutes, and you should come out onto a rocky plateauish thing at the foot of a hill. There, in front of you, will be the waterslide.
14. It will be a great time.
15. To get to the top of the waterslide (if no one's there, already playing, to show you), you can climb a little rock wall to your right, and then walk along the top of that to the top of the waterslide. The waterslide has two seats--a middle one and a left one. The left one, apparently, gives you more air. Neither hurts. Feel free to go down on your stomach (though I haven't, yet).
Suggestions
1. Wear shoes that you can wear in the water. Not flip flops.
2. Wear shorts over your bathing suit.
3. Bring water (you will be thirsty and the river will mock that thirst).
4. After you've gone down the waterslide a little while, climb back up the river. You can walk alongside the river or climb through the water and across the rocks (I prefer a combination of both). You'll run into some lovely little pools and waterfalls. And if you go far enough, you'll hit a three-tiered waterfall system the size of a house, with a rope hanging down for you to grab and pull against as you climb a slick, mossy rock-face. Good and scary times. Explore. There's virtually no fauna.
5. Spend some time sitting in every body of water you see and under every rush of moving water.
6. Go when the sun is out--really out.
7. Bring a towel.
8. Tell someone else about it.
If you go and don't love it, I suggest two things:
(1) Try again. Maybe it was a cold day. Maybe you were with people you didn't like particularly. Maybe your bathing suit was uncomfortable. Maybe there were Utah Valley teens there, cramping your style. Just try again.
(2) Forgive me. I'm a moving-water kind of girl, and I have always dreamt of easy-access nature, solitude, and dizzying speeds. There will be water in my heaven. Water, rock, and light.
It's a natural waterslide and rivery system, up in the foothills of the Alpine Mountains. You can go, for free, and 20, 30, 40 minutes later, you're sliding down a natural waterslide, that doesn't hurt, that lets you go fast, that drops you off into an almost clear pool of mountain water on sandy, pebbly bottom.
And you can climb all you want, up the rocks, over the rocks, through the water, under the waterfalls. And you can explore and sit and think and feel like a country music album cover.
It's just such a great time that I'm hesitant to talk about it (despite my recent proselyting) because I haven't yet found the right words to explain it.
Everyone should go. And I'm including the directions below. (Note: They don't seem straightforward, but I went only once, and I've since been able to find it again myself and explain, on the phone, to someone else how to get there. It's not a difficult path; it's just without significant markers.)
Directions
1. Travel on I-15. (This is in Utah.)
2. Take the American Fork 500 East exit.
3. Go R on 500 East.
4. Turn L at the first major intersection (not the one by Carl's Jr.).
5. Go R on 100 East.
6. 100 East will turn into Hwy 74, Main Street in Alpine, and Alpine Highway. Stay on this road until you're done. On 100 East, you'll pass the Alpine School District office, the American Fork cemetary on your left, some developments and goats on your right, Lone Peak High School on your left, and eventually you'll come into some stop sign streetness. Keep going straight.
7. The road will eventually hit a roundabout. At the roundabout, do a 180, and head towards the chiropractor's office building (it should have a big sign on it). Keep heading on Alpine Highway.Eventually this road will start curving to your left. It will curve around, become windy, become narrow.
8. At some point, you'll see a really large gray house to your left. It has a big lawn. You might say to yourself, "Wow, that's a big lawn." Right after that, there will be a random farm-looking gate on the left side of the road. This is the entrance.
9. You can either park outside this gate on the side of the road and hike up (which is what I've done thus far), or you can do what all the cars that passed us while we were hiking did--you can unchain the gate (it shouldn't be locked) and drive into the field (there's a little dirt road).Rechain the gate. The field will have horses in it. Don't run into them.
10. The dirt road will curve to your right, and you'll hit a green gate. Undo this one, turn left onto the road, and redo the gate.
11. Drive up this road, going towards the mountains. Everytime you hit a fork, turn right. (This should be about twice.) The road will turn into a dirt road, then back into a paved road. You will trees and bushes growing up through the pavement. Keep going (remember to turn right at major forks).
12. Eventually (not too long--about a 20 minute walk), the paved road will end at a little parking lot looking thing. Park here.
13. You'll be able to hear the water from here. There is a major dirt road looking trail that's heading east (I think). I've seen people walk on this, but I don't know where it goes. The way I get to the waterfall is a little trail/clearing through the bush that is just to the left of this major dirt trail. It's just a clearing through trees and things that is result of a lot of people walking that way. Follow this for just a few minutes, and you should come out onto a rocky plateauish thing at the foot of a hill. There, in front of you, will be the waterslide.
14. It will be a great time.
15. To get to the top of the waterslide (if no one's there, already playing, to show you), you can climb a little rock wall to your right, and then walk along the top of that to the top of the waterslide. The waterslide has two seats--a middle one and a left one. The left one, apparently, gives you more air. Neither hurts. Feel free to go down on your stomach (though I haven't, yet).
Suggestions
1. Wear shoes that you can wear in the water. Not flip flops.
2. Wear shorts over your bathing suit.
3. Bring water (you will be thirsty and the river will mock that thirst).
4. After you've gone down the waterslide a little while, climb back up the river. You can walk alongside the river or climb through the water and across the rocks (I prefer a combination of both). You'll run into some lovely little pools and waterfalls. And if you go far enough, you'll hit a three-tiered waterfall system the size of a house, with a rope hanging down for you to grab and pull against as you climb a slick, mossy rock-face. Good and scary times. Explore. There's virtually no fauna.
5. Spend some time sitting in every body of water you see and under every rush of moving water.
6. Go when the sun is out--really out.
7. Bring a towel.
8. Tell someone else about it.
If you go and don't love it, I suggest two things:
(1) Try again. Maybe it was a cold day. Maybe you were with people you didn't like particularly. Maybe your bathing suit was uncomfortable. Maybe there were Utah Valley teens there, cramping your style. Just try again.
(2) Forgive me. I'm a moving-water kind of girl, and I have always dreamt of easy-access nature, solitude, and dizzying speeds. There will be water in my heaven. Water, rock, and light.
We're In, We're Out. I'm In, I'm Out.
I am about to embark on weeks of driving and larking adventures. I thought I would officially post the plans, for all who are wondering just how this Utah-New York-Canada-New York-Utah-Texas trip is going to go. (And if we all remember that I came to Utah from Texas, we can all appreciate the long-term chiasmus of my summer. Very religious.)
The Plans
1. Thursday, August 12--I pick up my friend Dave, after his final, connect with Nate and Brittyn and kidlettos, and we head out in my Brittyn's sister and husband's Passat to Kansas.
2. We drive like maniacs.
3. We arrive in Kansas sometime on Friday.
4. Friday night--we attend Matt Gee's (Ryan's brother) wedding reception.
5. Saturday morning--I drive away alone in the Passat (Dave is getting a ride back to UT with someone else), comforted only by my books on tape and Tiptronic technology (see http://www.modracer.com/tiptronic.asp for a lil more information on Tiptronicity).
6. I drive like a maniac to NY. At some point, I sleep.
7. I arrive in NY as soon sometime on Sunday.
8. I play with the family.
9. Monday--the family (those who are in NY) drive away up to Boston, to Sharon VT, to Canada, to play and to see my brother Joseph, whom we take home from his mission to Montreal on Thursday.
This is where it gets iffy.
Plan A
10. Sunday afternoon--we drive away (after Joseph's celebrations, etc.), across country in our van.
11. Wednesday--we arrive in Utah.
12. Wednesday afternoon--I fly to Texas.
13. Wednesday night--all concerned individuals (at least Elizabeth) rescue me from the airport and whisk me away to our happy new home.
And I'm back in Texas.
Plan B
(Pending job interviews and hiring and such--this is the less-nice but possibly possible option)
10. Sunday afternoon--my family drives away (after Joseph's celebrations, etc.), while I get in a plane and fly to Texas.
11. Sunday night--all concerned inviduals, la dee dah, and we go from the airport to Bent Oaks.
12. Monday and such--I interview/begin work.
13. Thursday evening--I begin class.
On the record: I've had a lovely, lovely summer here in Provo. It's been a small world of a summer, and I've loved going to and from work, to and from the track, to and from the church (or temple), to and from LSAT, and finally, to and from my house, and almost nowhere else. The people who surrounded me were/are phenomenally easy to love, and I felt protected, watched over, and tended to by greater, heavenly powers. It was a good time, a lovely, lovely time.
And yet, I'msoexcitedtoreturnto Austin. Soexcited.
(Good living this, it's.)
The Plans
1. Thursday, August 12--I pick up my friend Dave, after his final, connect with Nate and Brittyn and kidlettos, and we head out in my Brittyn's sister and husband's Passat to Kansas.
2. We drive like maniacs.
3. We arrive in Kansas sometime on Friday.
4. Friday night--we attend Matt Gee's (Ryan's brother) wedding reception.
5. Saturday morning--I drive away alone in the Passat (Dave is getting a ride back to UT with someone else), comforted only by my books on tape and Tiptronic technology (see http://www.modracer.com/tiptronic.asp for a lil more information on Tiptronicity).
6. I drive like a maniac to NY. At some point, I sleep.
7. I arrive in NY as soon sometime on Sunday.
8. I play with the family.
9. Monday--the family (those who are in NY) drive away up to Boston, to Sharon VT, to Canada, to play and to see my brother Joseph, whom we take home from his mission to Montreal on Thursday.
This is where it gets iffy.
Plan A
10. Sunday afternoon--we drive away (after Joseph's celebrations, etc.), across country in our van.
11. Wednesday--we arrive in Utah.
12. Wednesday afternoon--I fly to Texas.
13. Wednesday night--all concerned individuals (at least Elizabeth) rescue me from the airport and whisk me away to our happy new home.
And I'm back in Texas.
Plan B
(Pending job interviews and hiring and such--this is the less-nice but possibly possible option)
10. Sunday afternoon--my family drives away (after Joseph's celebrations, etc.), while I get in a plane and fly to Texas.
11. Sunday night--all concerned inviduals, la dee dah, and we go from the airport to Bent Oaks.
12. Monday and such--I interview/begin work.
13. Thursday evening--I begin class.
On the record: I've had a lovely, lovely summer here in Provo. It's been a small world of a summer, and I've loved going to and from work, to and from the track, to and from the church (or temple), to and from LSAT, and finally, to and from my house, and almost nowhere else. The people who surrounded me were/are phenomenally easy to love, and I felt protected, watched over, and tended to by greater, heavenly powers. It was a good time, a lovely, lovely time.
And yet, I'msoexcitedtoreturnto Austin. Soexcited.
(Good living this, it's.)
Thursday, August 05, 2004
A Midday Thursday Update
There's not much to say, really. I tried to pretend that I didn't have to make a lunch for myself today, that I wouldn't get hungry or that food would show up or that suddenly, ta dah!, I would have enough money to buy myself a chicken salad sandwich on an onion or poppyseed bun from the BYU vending machines (let's be honest--they're a secret BYU addiction).
But right before I left the house this morning, I put a nectarine, my last banana, and a thing of microwave popcorn in my typical lunch pail (a blue plastic Wal-Mart shopping bag). I also already had a thing of yogurt at work from yesterday. All this fell under what I hopefully entiteld Lunch Plan B. (I'm still pushing for a surprise free lunch at Thai Ruby. "Dr. Hatch, you're going to use department funds to send me to lunch at Thai Ruby? That's nice. Can it be on the clock?")
12:26 pm. I've eaten the banana. I've eaten the yogurt. I'm a little afraid to fill my stomach with buttery vacuity that is microwave popcorn, so I'm heading to the nectarine next. I am still working my way through the GIANT Costco bag of pretzels left over from our faculty seminar (in May). This brings up a story, that is also a tangent, that also might turn out to be the surprise purpose for this blogpost.
1. It was 2001, and I was a new employee in 118 HGB, the Writing Fellow office, we had a similar huge-o bag o' Costcoian pretzels. Someone kept leaving the top of the bag unzipped. And I would get kind of disgruntled and say, sometimes silently and sometimes audibly, "We need to shut this." I was envisioning the 24-lbs of Low Fat Cholesterol Free! pretzels soggy, pasty, white, and limp. Gone. Wasted. No good for the office eating. But two weeks, three weeks, four weeks--the bag was continually left open and the pretzels remained sharp, crisp, and edible. And then it hit me--
2. I'm from NY. In New York we would have needed to close the pretzel bag. In New York, the humidity is a predator and pretzels are unsuspecting, short-lived victims. In New York, you can say things like, "Waste not, want not." (But you wouldn't.) But in Utah, with Utahn co-workers, you can leave the pretzel bags open all you want, and still, months later, have happy, salty, crunch pretzeljoy (that's one word).
It's a lesson for us all. As John would say, "Let's apply it to our lives."
Thus ends my pretzel story. I'm heading to the microwave.
(This blog is dedicated to Laura, wherever I may find her.)
But right before I left the house this morning, I put a nectarine, my last banana, and a thing of microwave popcorn in my typical lunch pail (a blue plastic Wal-Mart shopping bag). I also already had a thing of yogurt at work from yesterday. All this fell under what I hopefully entiteld Lunch Plan B. (I'm still pushing for a surprise free lunch at Thai Ruby. "Dr. Hatch, you're going to use department funds to send me to lunch at Thai Ruby? That's nice. Can it be on the clock?")
12:26 pm. I've eaten the banana. I've eaten the yogurt. I'm a little afraid to fill my stomach with buttery vacuity that is microwave popcorn, so I'm heading to the nectarine next. I am still working my way through the GIANT Costco bag of pretzels left over from our faculty seminar (in May). This brings up a story, that is also a tangent, that also might turn out to be the surprise purpose for this blogpost.
1. It was 2001, and I was a new employee in 118 HGB, the Writing Fellow office, we had a similar huge-o bag o' Costcoian pretzels. Someone kept leaving the top of the bag unzipped. And I would get kind of disgruntled and say, sometimes silently and sometimes audibly, "We need to shut this." I was envisioning the 24-lbs of Low Fat Cholesterol Free! pretzels soggy, pasty, white, and limp. Gone. Wasted. No good for the office eating. But two weeks, three weeks, four weeks--the bag was continually left open and the pretzels remained sharp, crisp, and edible. And then it hit me--
2. I'm from NY. In New York we would have needed to close the pretzel bag. In New York, the humidity is a predator and pretzels are unsuspecting, short-lived victims. In New York, you can say things like, "Waste not, want not." (But you wouldn't.) But in Utah, with Utahn co-workers, you can leave the pretzel bags open all you want, and still, months later, have happy, salty, crunch pretzeljoy (that's one word).
It's a lesson for us all. As John would say, "Let's apply it to our lives."
Thus ends my pretzel story. I'm heading to the microwave.
(This blog is dedicated to Laura, wherever I may find her.)
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Pork Loin
Broil fat side up for 20 minutes at 450 F. (This sears the meat so that it does not get too dry.)
Adjust oven temperature to 325 F. Continue baking until internal temperature is 180 F (use meat thermometer to monitor).
Remove from oven and let it sit for about 15 minutes to finish cooking.
The sauces are by American Spoon and can be purchased at Williams-Sonoma.
Cheddar-Dill Scones
2 large eggs
1/3 cup plus 1 tablespoon buttermilk
1/3 cup minced fresh dill
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 cup unbleached all purpose flour
1 cup yellow cornmeal
2 tablespoons sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon pepper
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons (1 1/4 sticks) chilled unsalted butter, cut into pieces
1 3/4 cups grated sharp cheddar cheese (about 6 ounces)
Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Lightly butter two 9-inch pie pans.
Beat eggs, buttermilk and minced fresh dill in medium bowl to blend. Combine flours, cornmeal, sugar, baking powder, pepper and salt in large bowl. Add butter to flour mixture and cut in until mixture and grated cheddar cheese. Stir to mix well. (Dough will be stiff and crumbly.) Knead gentrly until dough just holds together.
Divide dough in half. Pat each half into prepared pans to 1-inch thickness. Using long knife or pizza wheel, score each round into 6 wedges. Bake until toothpick inserted into each center comes out clean, about 30 minutes. Transfer pans to rack and cool scones slightly. Cut into wedges.