A Pie Person

I tell my students that, if they want to become better writers, they have to practice. This advice is pretty hypocritical on my part since I hardly ever write any of my ideas down. I guess the thinking is that, if they're still floating around in my head, they're perfect ideas. Once I put them down on the page, however, they're ready for JUDGMENT.

Well, there's no better time to get serious about writing than right now. I just heard this female writer speak at Cal State Fullerton's creative writing night. She was pretty amazing; she read a post from her blog that made me tear up a little (http://lizapalmer.com/be-prepared/). Here's the bit she read that I found particularly moving, although maybe it's cheesy if you haven't heard her lead up to it:

"That’s the thing with dreams – and I’d know, I ran from mine for decades – the most dangerous thing you can do is actually admit how important they are to you.  How much you CARE.  That it’s not silly and or some weird hobby – that it’s actually where you’re most yourself, so much so that it scares you a little. (maybe a lot)"

Admitting you have a dream (gosh, it sounds so corny that I want to say "goal" instead) is scary. In our postmodern (or post-postmodern?) age of cynicism, it's so easy to scoff at bold optimism. I know--I'm guilty of doing it all the time. It's much easier to sit on the sidelines and smirk than to admit we want something, try for it, and possibly fail.

On creative writing night, I also heard a male writer read a couple of his short stories. The stories were so good that I bought his book (http://www.benloory.com/stories_for_nighttime). This man had read his stories for This American Life, and if you know me, you know that I looove NPR. My fiance and I are those nerdy types that listen during the day and discuss what we heard while we're making dinner. "Did you hear that story on Marketplace about first-borns?" "Did you hear the one about the sriracha plant?" We even sometimes play a super nerdy game that we call "Name that Foreign Correspondent."

Anyway, after hearing that man read, I decided that my dream is to one day read one of my stories on NPR. It doesn't even have to be on This American Life. I'd settle for Snap Judgment. My friend Caitlin, who may well be my only reader (but that's okay since this is preparation), has a dream to one day give a Ted Talk. I think that's an amazing goal, and we might be pie-in-the-sky sort of people...but who cares? A pie is a great target to aim for!

Why I Want to Send My Kids to Catholic School

Driving home from the Amendolas' party tonight, I just kept thinking...what was this whole Catholic school thing? It's hard to put it into words. My first idea was a family since we were so close, but you don't have secret crushes on your family members that you divulge later under the influence of whiskey while sitting on a vomit-soaked trampoline.

But it definitely felt like a family in some ways--the rivalries, the grudges, the traumatic and embarrassing moments...but most of all, our shared memories of teachers, Mass, field trips, and retreats. The other day, I was reminded of all that we shared when a picture of Sister Anne flashed on the projector screen during Mass. I saw the picture, and then I saw Tom Pohlen sitting in the next bank of pews. It occurred to me that he and I had both had Sister Anne in first grade along with countless other Saint-Angela students, but Tom's and my experience had been the same. The thirty-something of us were thrown together for eight of our most formative years, and that time is something that we'll never be able to erase--no matter how much whiskey.

I find myself questioning the Church so much of the time--its stance on female priests, contraception, homosexuality--and that's just the tip of the iceberg. Yet, right after we watched our parents dancing in a lip sync dressed as psychedelic nuns, we were so hyped that we yelled that we should have "kids in three!" so that we can put them in school together and be just like our crazy, habit-garbed parents. Why all the enthusiasm to indoctrinate our future children with beliefs that some of us find fault with?

For me, I guess it has to be about the community. We were these warped versions of siblings to each other, and we'll always have that siblinghood. I hope my future kids will have as carefree a childhood as I had--during which the worst thing that ever happened was crying like a baby about a dead lizard and having everyone remember it--and they will be even luckier if they get to spend that time with the same thirty kids. Because, while it does have some disadvantages (i.e. people remembering the person you were from first through eighth grade), it is still an amazing thing to have held hands during Mass together...to have eaten ice-cream sandwiches together...to have gone to Astro Camp together...to have played basketball with nuns together...to have loved the Carnival together...to have grown up together.

Emerging Adulthood: So this is where I am in life

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/22/magazine/22Adulthood-t.html?_r=1&hp

This article was eye-opening for me. It provided me with validation for my current phase of life--a little phase I like to call: "I have no idea what I'm doing." So thank you to Katie Powers for sending this link to me months ago. I'm so glad I finally buckled down and read it. Here's my favorite quote; it sums up my twenty-something feelings pretty well:

"Ask them if they agree with the statement 'I am very sure that someday I will get to where I want to be in life,' and 96 percent of them will say yes. But despite elements that are exciting, even exhilarating, about being this age, there is a downside, too: dread, frustration, uncertainty, a sense of not quite understanding the rules of the game. More than positive or negative feelings, what Arnett heard most often was ambivalence — beginning with his finding that 60 percent of his subjects told him they felt like both grown-ups and not-quite-grown-ups."

My favorite Britishisms so far...

I'm ranking them in order of preference, with my most favorite one at the end.

3) Torch. Here in the UK, this means flashlight. This one is my least favorite because, while it amuses me, it often disappoints me as well. Whenever someone asks someone else if he/she has a torch, I expect someone will whip out a giant flame, and I'm disappointed when that person is only holding a tiny flashlight.

2) Bap. To be honest, this one is only a favorite because, at the West Dean gardens restaurant, it is usually preceded by the word "bacon." A bacon bap is a very simple thing--a soft, white roll filled with British bacon, which is like Canadian bacon. I could probably eat a bacon bap every few days...with dangerous results.

1) Wellies! Everywhere I go in my galoshes, older ladies tell me, "Oh, I love your wellies." I love hearing this Britishism the most because, aside from the word being so much cuter than "galoshes," it makes me think of the fab four! Thank you, fab four, for the cutest wellies ever!

This has nothing to do with England...

Just reading someone's old blog post made me think about self-esteem. In first grade, I had self-esteem classes with Harmony the Bear. I don't remember what Harmony said to us, not just because I have a poor memory, but also because I was chock-full of self-esteem back then. When did I love myself most? Probably right around that time.

At Gateway Montessori School, right before St. Angela's, if I wanted to chase a boy to get him to kiss me, I did it. We sang songs, and I tried to sing over everyone else. Outside of school, when my extended family would ask me to dance for them, I'd get on top of the nearest table and dance, not worrying about looking like a stripper. My aunt used to tell me I was the smartest girl in the world, and I believed her because that sort of praise isn't unbelievable when you have no idea how many people are really in the world. Sure, I thought...of course I am.

It's only now that we're older that it's hard to love ourselves as unconditionally as we did before. Most people can't even send flirtatious text messages without immediately thinking--well, that sounded idiotic. Now that I'm an adult, I could use some sessions with Harmony the Bear. If he told me his message now, I hope that I'd listen and believe him.

First Impressions of Great Britain

If you catch the literary reference in the title of this post, I officially love you. Chances are, if you're reading this, you are one of my loved ones, but if you get the reference, it's official.

Reason #1 why Britain is Great: the West Dean manor, pictured below.

I freaking love this house. It's been preserved, so it has rooms that look like how they probably did during the Regency era (I'm no expert on historic decor, so this is just the amateur opinion of an Austen-fan). There's a beautiful, red-carpeted staircase that I walk up and down several times a day, while thinking of Emily Blunt in The Young Victoria. It also has a rickety-looking servant staircase, which has a lot of character. Sometimes, I wander around the house and turn up somewhere I've never been, facing stuffed, dead animals that are quite scary when you're not expecting them.

This is the Oak Hall, which I think looks a lot like the Gryffindor Common Room. I like to sit in it and pretend it's the Gryffindor Common Room.

This is the view from my window. As you can see, it's quite cheery. Actually, I love my view because I think that it's really authentic to see a little church and cemetery out the window in England.










Reason #2 why Britain is Great: the West Dean grounds.


Here are the sheep that you can see as soon as you exit the front door of the house. At some point, I want to get a picture of me right up close to a sheep, but I'm a little afraid of frightening them and causing them to stampede. Do sheep stampede?











Hagrid's Hut!!














This is the stream that runs right by my friend Sharon's cottage. It might be the same one that I pass on my way to the village post office. One frosty morning, when I was walking to the post office to mail a Valentine's Day card to my special person, it was so cold and clear that I could see mist or steam rising up from the creek. I'd never seen that happen before...it was kind of eerie, but very beautiful. Despite the cold (or perhaps because of it? not sure if air or water is colder), the ducks were still diving in. I was pretty impressed.





Anyway, I've never been one for reading long blog-posts (my attention usually goes after the third paragraph), so I'll spare you all and promise to write more on my favorite britishisms, tea breaks, and Dame Maggie Smith very soon.

Boomeranger

This morning, at Sunday brunch with the girlfriends, one of them laid out old pictures of us, some of them dating back to high school. This evening, I hung out at her apartment that she will soon share with her husband, once they're married. Though we sat around drinking beers and watermelon-infused vodka, most of us with significant others that we're pretty serious about, we were playing Catchphrase, and I thought, aside from the alcohol and long-term relationships, we could still be those same high-school kids who hung out in Cait's garage on warm summer nights. Or I could anyway.

Is this what twenty-two feels like? Like time has passed since high school, but you don't feel much different inside? Perhaps it's because I moved back home, but I don't feel a whole lot wiser, worldlier, or more accomplished. I knew that I liked to read and liked books in high school; now, after getting my degree in English lit, I'm still stuck at the same place--what can I do with myself that involves books but will actually be a stable career?

I started hanging out with some of my best girlfriends the summer before my senior year. I realized tonight that that was SIX years ago. It sure doesn't feel that long ago. I wonder if most adults feel as if high school wasn't that long ago, as if they're not much different now than they were then.

Inside the Box

I've been wondering lately where my college experience went. I didn't study abroad. I don't have any crazy drug or hookup stories. I was pretty much on a mission to do well in school and get a job after, and now I have a job...but now what? I guess I should feel lucky to be employed at all, but lately I've been feeling like I wish I had stayed the full four years in school.

I wish I hadn't been afraid of seeming whitewashed and had tried going to an event put on by the Filipino clubs or Nikkei Student Union. I wish I hadn't been such a relationship-oriented person, and had had the gumption to live in a different country without family, friends, or boyfriend. I wish I had more outrageous stories--like going to a protest or streaking in the library.

Sometimes I get the feeling that I am a non-risk-taking, complacent, boring person. I don't currently work in a cubicle, but I will soon. My section of the company is leaving our building in the beginning of June. Then I will just be one of many, sitting in a soft-walled, gray box.

Back to Blogging

I realized that I miss blogging. Even though something about the hobby still smacks of tween angst in my mind, for this blog I am hoping to write posts that are suited to the life and musings of a cool, young professional, like one of the characters in How I Met Your Mother. (Especially Barney. No one is cooler than Barney.) First, though, I need to overcome the tween that is still in my system.

Being the youngest person at my work, in addition to being new and needing to ask countless questions of my more experienced co-workers, has made me feel and act like an embarrassed middle-school student. I shuffle my feet and apologize profusely when I have to ask the senior Editorial Assistant for tips on Microsoft Outlook. I know this will change over time, as I become more familiar with my everyday tasks--navigating the databases, getting the copiers to cooperate, and working the fax machine (I haven't done this one yet...eep!). I just hope that familiarity comes soon, and that it translates into the confidence of a successful, working woman. This middle-school routine is old news.