Shotgun

Today I shot a double-barrelled shotgun. It was quite enjoyable, though the kick on it was kind of uncomfortable. I was so out of my element ... and that's not normal. I'm usually pretty good at adapting, ya know, coming from a military family and all. But seriously. Guns? Not really my thing. I suppose it was interesting. Of course, it really was interesting. Granted, I was having a horrible allergy flare up out there in the boonies with all the wild plants and animals. Speaking of wild animals, a vulture swooped down in front of the car on the way to the shooting range. Scared the living daylights out of me. It was huge and black and hideous (say that with an Esqueleto/Steven accent. What is that guy's name anyhow? Sometimes he's Steven, sometimes he's Esqueleto ... So confusing!). Well anyways it was a good time.

Nothing else really exciting happened today. Old Navy got a shipment of 4,000 flip flops. I got like 5 hours of sleep last night. I have looked like an albino rat or something since about 5:30 this evening because my allergies have been flaring up and making my eyes be bloodshot. Meanwhile I'm about the same color as white flour ...

The sad thing is that I'd rather compare myself to an albino rat than a bloodthirsty vampire. And just in case you were wondering, I stand by that decision without a doubt. I think I'd rather BE an albino rat ...

Anyways, like I said, huge allergy flare up. I've got a horrific sinus headache. The only problem I'm having is do I take Benadryl (which really should be my nickname or something because that stuff knocks me out cold and it's really a wonderful thing and I'm kind of in love with its peppy pink color. Also the very intense sleeping that happens when I'm under the influence)? Or do I suffer in silence in order to read and write and possibly watch a movie? Because I really cannot do both. I mean, I do so very much want to do both ... and if I could somehow find a non-drowsy anti-histimine in the medicine cabinet, I would totally take it. Even if it's children's meds. But the odds of finding anything in the meds cabinet is tragically low. I am quite certain I'm likely to bleed to death before I find a band-aid in there. Ever.

In Review

So I thought I'd keep up with these book review-y things ... not so much. I've finished Far From the Madding Crowd, and it was awesome. I kept reading, and it was weird because I totally remembered stuff because apparently I've seen the movie. I say apparently because as I kept on reading, I would remember stuff, but I didn't remember it well enough to remember the ending, which is kind of ridiculously awesome. I was very happy with it. After watching Return of the Native and reading Tess, I wasn't sure Thomas Hardy could write a happy ending. Oh, how wrong I was! How wonderfully, happily, entertainingly wrong! I think it's safe to say that a re-watching of that is going to be happening in the very near future! :)

Now onto Beginner's Greek. I do realize that I've not finished it yet, but I feel pretty qualified to make a call on this book. And that call is this: SO DISAPPOINTING. Okay so I was all psyched about the "Jane Austen fans will feel right at home." Lies. There's so much adultery alluded to in that book ... I mean, it's not enough for any guy to have just one mistress. Every guy who has a mistress has like 5 mistresses. And there are multiple guys who have many mistresses. And the girls NEVER find out about them. At least, so far they don't. I was thinking it was going to be all clean and stuff, ALSO wrong. People are always getting suggestive with each other and there are a couple of f-bombs towards the end. Apparently we don't have many words that make adequate substitutes in this grimy little culture we have.

I guess my main problem is that this book was really depressing. (Now I sound like Holden Caulfield. Isn't that just gorgeous? Blech.) I realize it's fiction. Very very fictive. But honestly I don't see how people can really relate to a story like this unless they are like the characters in the novel. And by "like the characters in the novel," I mean indiscriminate adulterers. So I guess what I'm saying is that the only way for this book to be successful is for the people reading it to be like the characters in the book, and the only way for them to be like the characters in the book is to be (or want to be) desultorily immoral and disgusting. And the book is successful. In fact, it's a national bestseller. What does that say about people in this country to you? I guess I'm just hypersensitive, having just gotten out of the bubble, but I find that very seriously depressing.

On the lighter side of life, I got a job at Old Navy last week. That's been fun ... I get to work on the truck team a lot, so I open up all of the boxes and distribute the goods throughout the store. Let me tell you, Old Navy needs to seriously reconsider the way that they distribute stuff. I opened one box and it was probably big enough to comfortably carry 15-20 shirts inside. Possibly even more. Anyways, this one box had one plastic bag inside of it with one shirt. There were TONS of boxes that could have carried that one shirt. Let's also point out how annoyed I am with the send only one of every size concept that they do with all of their really cute stuff. And the individually packaged shirt thing that happens way more than it should. All these things considered though, I'm going to have to say that I love, love, love, LOVE the employee discount. 50% off at Gap and Banana Republic? I vote yes. That's just super awesome. Guess who's going to have a ton of cute new clothes next fall? Yep. Me. That's right. :) Haha.

The "That Isn't Art" guy responded to this photo, saying,

"Here’s the thing about the Sun: This isn’t the year 1200 BC, you don’t have to 'believe in' it anymore. We’ve been sure for thousands of years that it does indeed exist. When it’s not 'shining' as you call it, that means the sun is merely being obscured by fog, clouds or some other atmospheric event. Or, in the case of the evening hours, it’s because the Earth has rotated such that your position on the planet is facing away from the Sun. It’s not complicated, and the Sun definitely doesn’t require belief. It exists."

So I know he's being snarky and all that. He's obviously got a lot of attitude. But I couldn't help thinking of his statement from a religious standpoint. Maybe I'm just in an overly reflective mood, since I just watched the latest episode of Flashforward. (The second to last one. I'm so depressed about that.) But really. I think it's cool. From a religious perspective, that is earth-shaking faith. I love it. :)

A Week, in Summary

So it's been like a week since I last blogged ... woohoo. Nothing too exciting has happened except that I GOT A JOB. Yes ma'am (or sir, as the unlikely case may be), starting next week I will be working at Old Navy. Which, coincidentally, is located right next to Barnes & Noble. I feel like it will be dangerous to walk out of ON with a paycheck and not be tempted to drop all my monies on gorgeous, new books. Not that I have any issues with used books. New books are just really pretty and crisp and there's no danger of finding someone else's food particles in them.

You know, I don't mind seeing food particles in my copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone with it's broken binding and occasionally crinkled, spotted, or dripped-on pages. They're all just tokens of each of the times I've read that stinkin' book (which is a lot of times, in case you haven't guessed). I've read it in bed, in the bathtub, with a sandwich, outside, in a car ... and even though I don't remember where all of those imperfections specifically came from (though of course I do remember some), it's all still from me. Me and old Harry, hanging out alllllll the time. Mmmm ... good memories.

Anyways, I feel pretty proud of myself. I've finished two books since being back—The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger, and Tess of the d'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy. Here's a little bit on how I feel about these books. We might call them book reviews, I suppose.

The Catcher in the Rye
Mmmmk so this book is like 10+ swear words per page. Seriously. So that was really irritating. Basically the book's about this kid who has been in a million different private schools because he keeps getting kicked out of them because he refuses to apply himself. Being that I hate people who refuse to apply themselves, I found Holden Caulfield to be very annoying. That, in addition to his horrific mouth, meant I wasn't much of a fan of his.
So basically he is getting kicked out of this school and decides to just leave before the semester's out and spends most of the book wandering around New York City being depressed and calling things gorgeous and trying to decide whether he wants to call such-and-such girl and basically just being an idiot. He's SO annoying and the book was a pretty worthless read, if you ask me.
I don't really understand how anyone has found anything worth reading in that book, and it's my personal belief that J.D. Salinger was just sitting in his room one day thinking, "I bet I can write an American classic about a stupid kid, and everyone will read into it and think it's this great work, when really, it's just a mess of swear words, vulgarity, and things not befitting a respectable American teenager." The whole thing is classless.
I checked out Wikipedia to try to get some idea of what it is that makes this novel valuable in the eyes of psycho people (and by psycho I mean people who are into the whole rebellion thing, or who are just plain crazy enough to like this book), but I didn't find anything remotely interesting—at least on that subject. I did find something interesting on another subject, which I will bring up later in this post.
Anyways, what I'm saying is that if you're not into glorified rebellion, vulgarity, promiscuity, etc., The Catcher in the Rye is probably not going to interest you. If you ARE into glorified rebellion, vulgarity, promiscuity, etc., you should stop being a loser and a tactless burden to society.

And now, Tess of the d'Urbervilles
Okay. This book I LOVED. So good. You know a book is good when you still cry when the sad parts happen, even though you know they are coming because you've seen the movie. This book is so well written, it's disgusting. Thomas Hardy is amazing (which is why I'm currently reading Far From the Madding Crowd). It's SO romantic and so beautiful... goodness. I really just couldn't say enough good things about it, even though there are some seriously sad parts. Because I don't want to ruin it for you (because you have GOT to read it!), I will refrain from going into detail about the sad parts ... but it is so good. It's such a lush garden of raw, human emotion. (Sans vulgarity, promiscuity, teenage rebellion, etc.) And Tess is such like, a roll model to me with the way she deals with hardships. Like, some of the stuff that happens to her is so unfair, and then she deals with it and you're like, "Heck, I want to be this woman!" Granted, she's also very naive, and that's not always a helpful thing for her ... but she's still so admirable. This book is amazing. Definitely going on my list of favorites for LIFE.
On the topic of another character: I've basically come to the conclusion that I'll never be able to watch the Liam Neeson version of Les Miserables because the guy who plays Marius also happens to be the guy who plays Lord Coward on Sherlock Holmes ... and Alec d'Urberville in Tess. I probably could have blocked just Lord Coward from my mind, but Alec d'Urberville is the scum of the world and so creepy that I don't know if I could really watch it again without his creepier realm of acting infringing on my ability to perceive Marius as the pure, loving character that he is. So that's kind of a bummer. On the other hand, thinking of that actor while reading Tess made him super creepy. I mean, he was pretty creepy, but I think I might have forgotten how creepy he was because he was always being so pathetic in the way he spoke and stuff. Even though he wasn't actually being pathetic, but crafty and creepster-y. But anyways, that man shivers me timbers, and more or less creeps the living daylights out of me. Blehhhh. I shudder to think of him.



Okay. So now I get to tell you all about my wanderings in Barnes & Noble. LOVE that store. I already knew I was going to buy Far From the Madding Crowd, and even though these classic novels are SO good and so enlightening, they are a little heavy. Like, it takes a little more work to read them. I don't really get why, because they really shouldn't. They aren't difficult to read, everything they say makes sense, and there's really no apparent reason for why they are so intense ... they just are. So I decide I need to get another book. Something light, fluffy, happy, romantic, current. And I'm looking around and looking around and looking around, checking shelf after shelf, finding authors that I know and love, but not finding a plot summary that really fits what I'm looking for.

Let's go back to a minute ago when I was looking for stuff about The Catcher in the Rye. On Wikipedia, there's a section that states:

In 2009, Salinger successfully sued to stop the U.S. publication of a novel that presents Holden Caulfield as an old man. The novel's author, Fredrik Colting, commented, "call me an ignorant Swede, but the last thing I thought possible in the U.S. was that you banned books." The issue is complicated by the nature of Colting's book, 60 Years Later: Coming Through the Rye, which has been compared to fan fiction.Although commonly not authorized by writers, no legal action is usually taken against fan fiction since it is rarely published commercially and thus involves no profit. Colting, however, has published his book commercially. Unauthorized fan fiction on The Catcher in the Rye has existed on the Internet for years without any legal action taken by Salinger.

In case you didn't catch on, the bold part is the important part. "Fan fiction is rarely published commercially"?? Let me explain. There was a freaking Pride and Prejudice fan fiction novel on literally almost every shelf in the Fiction & Literature section of Barnes & Noble, I kid you not. It was disgusting. And, considering that, it's ridiculous to say that fan fiction is rarely published. Perhaps that is true, relative to how many people are actually writing fan fiction... but it's apparent that your potential to get published jumps dramatically if you're writing Pride and Prejudice fan fiction.

I don't mind people writing fan fiction and publishing it on fanfiction.net (or other websites ... are there other websites?). I really don't. I think it's a good way for people to practice plot, if that's the way they want to do it. I mean, it takes a lot of the work out of it, since you don't really have to establish the characters or anything. Theoretically, you could put all your focus onto developing plot, and it would really make that part easy I suppose. But here's the thing: it takes a lot of the work out of writing a story (or novel). Now, tell me, is it fair for someone to jack the characters off another person's story and write their own little plot, without having to develop these characters, and get paid for it??? NO. It's an affront to the whole concept of authorship, in my opinion. I mean, people out there work tirelessly trying to pull together a work that's all their own, and someone's getting published when they only did half the work. I am further disgusted that there's even a market for that. I mean, yes, Jane Austen is an amazing author. I love her to death. I have the complete set of her novels on my shelf, it's one of the few books I took with me to college, and I'm more or less obsessed with her stories. But not to the point that every book I read needs to have the same set of characters over and over again. That's ridiculous! There are so many other types of characters and people and settings and story lines to experience, and it is embarrassing to me that fellow human beings will continue to feed on just one story! It's like that freaky roommate my dad had in college that would only eat macaroni and cheese, captain crunch, and fruit cocktail. THERE'S SO MUCH MORE TO LIFE! People can be so disappointing sometimes.

That being said, I will tell you one of the things that really drew me to the book I did buy, Beginner's Greek. It had many of the criteria I was looking for, and some other great qualities too: it's pretty thick, it's all about romance, it claims to make anyone believe in true love (awww), it is currently a national bestseller, and there are four full pages of stellar reviews for it. Plus there wasn't anything that said, "This sensuous story of steamy romance and sexual tension blah blah blah." You know there's gonna be dirty scenes in books like that. But there was nothing like that, which, while it does not guarantee a clean read at least indicates that it's not a huge part of the novel. But what really kind of hooked me was that one of the reviews, quoted on the cover, said "Jane Austen fans will feel right at home." Sigh. I will have to read it, of course, but if that's a valid claim, I feel like it would make a good transition novel for all those psychos that are obsessed with Pride and Prejudice fan fiction novels. We shall see. But I am really, really excited to read it. Hopefully it isn't disappointing, since I did buy it instead of renting it from the library. But whatever. I have a job now, so that makes it less of a splurge. Muahahaha.

Anyways, I've wasted enough time on the internet so far today, and I want to get back to reading Far From the Madding Crowd. Partly because I can't wait to start Beginner's Greek. :)

Showering

I've always struggled with taking short showers. Almost without exception, whilst lathering or rinsing my hair, I find myself daydreaming or spacing out or something. I'd say there's something in the water, but it happens everywhere I go, so I have no claim. Perhaps it's just the lull of routine, combined with the comfort of hot water that just puts me in a different place, pushes me out of the normal stream of consciousness.

Well, today I found the cure. I guarantee that nothing shortens shower time like realizing that you're quickly running out of hot water. This happened to me very (very very) recently, as I got in the shower and realized that, with eight people in the house, showering after all of them was not going to be pleasant. Although there was some warm water, I turned the dial far past the usual level that results in scalding temperatures, and found my shower getting not warmer, but progressively cooler. Panic immediately set in.

I have a pretty good system down. I shampoo twice, and condition once. After lathering up the first time, I give the shampoo a little time to sit on my hair while I shave my armpits. During the second shampooing's sit, I get on my loofa action. Finally, I condition, and while the conditioner is sitting, I shave my legs. Today, however, I was down to one shampoo, not letting the conditioner sit, shaving my armpits, and running a cursory handful of soap over my body, hoping that the water wouldn't suddenly turn ice cold while I was in there. I only barely made it.


In other news ... I think I'm going to try to write a novel this summer. Just for fun, of course. I'm not going to try to produce anything publishable, but I would like to produce something novel-length. I'm shooting for something between 50-60 thousand words. If nothing else, we can just call it practice for National Novel Writing Month in November when I actually will have a real deadline and real word count requirement. Gasp. I'm kind of excited about it. In a totally ''it's forbidden'' sort of way. Even though it's not forbidden. It's just so ... lame? Idk. The culture of NaNoWriMo participants (who call themselves "WriMos," a term which sounds strangely like rhinos) is not one that I'd normally choose to embrace. In fact, embrace is not exactly what I plan on doing. I'm hoping to be among the "WriMos," but not OF the "WriMos." Because writers are weird until they get published. That's just the way it is. Once you're getting money, you're a certified genius. Until then, you're a book worm and a hermit with a pen. Whatever. I scoff and scorn and gaze adoringly all at once. I guess I just have to accept it. I want to be a writer, and gosh dangit I'm going to be one. <-- Just saying that last sentence freaks me out. It's terrifying and thrilling, all at once.

Here's to trying not to fail at life while still pursuing your passions, and accepting the fact that you've chosen a profession that will inevitably mock your attempts at trying to generate income. Hooray. :P

On Being A Reader and a Traveler

I just got home. Awesome, right?

Then why am I crying buckets down in my basement bedroom?

Maybe it's because the car ride was more of an emotional roller coaster.
Maybe it's because I didn't really have dinner.
Maybe it's because I have no friends down here.
Maybe it's because I am really, really, really tired.
Maybe it's because I feel so hugely overwhelmed.
Maybe it's because the weather sucked all day and looked miserable.
Maybe it's because I don't want to deal with anything.

While I was sitting here, wallowing, and freaking out at my lonely room which has really bare, creepy walls, which has been used and abused, which looks nothing like the room I left... I had this thought. And I think it's pretty valid, so I'm going to have to write it down. Here it is.

So I'm really good at adapting. When I have to move, or leave people behind, or go through a major change in my life, I can totally handle it. What I can't handle is coming back to places and realizing that they're totally different from when I left, realizing life has gone by without me. That's probably why I like Missouri so much. Nothing ever changes here, at least, nothing that has ever been important to me has ever changed here. My grandparents' house has pretty much stayed the same, their town has stayed the same, their ward is just like it was when I was eight, everything on the lake has stayed the same, and if it's changed, it's been unquestionably for the better, or it's been something that I've got no attachment to. That's not so much the case here at home, which is probably why, for the second time around, I've come home and been overwhelmed to the point of tears. Because I definitely cried when I got home in December. Big time. I mean, the way I feel right now, I would probably rather drive around forever and never come home.

Granted, all those maybe's up there probably have a lot to do with why I'm feeling this way, why I am such a ball of tears and frustration right now, because dealing with the future really freaks me out sometimes. Especially when I am tired. But anyways, back to the theory, and on to the title of this blog post: the reason I want to spend the rest of my life travelling and reading.

If you keep on travelling, you can't ever be attached to anything. So when you come back to a place and it's radically different from what it was like before, it can't phase you because hey, you don't really care, honestly and truly. As for reading, well, those worlds are always the same, no matter what. You might perceive them differently, but they're always going to be the same words, they're always going to create the same images that you initially created in your mind the first time you read, the characters are always going to be the same and they will never disappoint you because you always know what to expect.

This is why, while I'm so upset, I have grabbed Fablehaven off of my shelf. Hooray Fablehaven. Thanks for being consistent for me.

I'll probably read that until my eyes want to shut because I don't really want to lay awake in this freaky basement room all by myself before I fall asleep.

I hate being morose like this. It's not fun to think about, it's not fun to feel, and it's not fun for anybody else involved. Like, I don't even want to see people because I don't want to explain to them why I feel like such a ball of crap. I wish I had some freaking control over my stupid emotions. This isn't fun. Bleh.

This post is probably going to seem really dramatic and stupid in a couple of days, most likely. At least, I hope it's only a couple of days, because I can't handle much more of this. Bleh. I hate myself when I'm like this. And now I'm being a complainer. Gosh. I think I'll just go put on a diaper and suck a bottle of milk or something. This sucks. But I will admit I feel a little better now than I did when I started writing this. Hallelujah for the therapeutic nature of writing for pleasure.

Seriously. Hallelujah.

Dr. Cardon

Sometimes your roommate gets on Skype, and you don't feel like doing homework or looking at lame pictures on the internet ... and since you're simultaneously very hungry, and in possession of some pizza ... well, things get interesting. (Yes, Rachel. This all happened while you were sitting 5 feet away from me, talking to Ginger.)



Answers to Potential Questions:

- Are those your tweezers? Why, yes, those are my tweezers. Which I use to pluck my eyebrows when my good ones get misplaced.
- Are they clean? Better question: If they aren't, is it really that big of a deal? No.
- Where did you get that surgical mask? I got it from my R.A. when I had swine flu.
- Did you touch that surgical mask when you had swine flu? Yes. Yes I did. Here in room 3208, we frequently like to try to cheat death. I'm still breathing, all is well.
- Does your pinky always look freaky like that? Yep.
- Do you do that on purpose? No. It's probably some sort of latent, pinky-stick-out-ing gene that got handed down to me from some super proper ancestors. It could be a sign that I'm a descendant of royalty. No big deal.
- Why are you such a picky eater? Mushrooms and artichokes have freaky textures. Notice that I left the spinach and tomatoes and red onions and freaky cheese on the pizza. Let's focus on my good qualities and not my sucky ones, mmk, hater?
- Does your mouth taste super weird right now? You betcha. "I already ate that!" Thank goodness I haven't yet experienced that frequent post-meal joy.
- Why are you such a freak? Good question. I was hiding in Fezzik's backpack when he was pulling Buttercup, Inigo Montoya, and the guy who is the voice of Rex in Toy Story up the Cliffs of Insanity. Alas, I fell from the backpack, into the sea, and down, down, down until I reached an underwater cave. As I traveled through the underwater cave, I came to an ancient, natural tubeslide. I picked up a tube from the dilapidated hut'o'tubes at the advent of the slide, and since then, have been floating down that slide, which is, coincidentally, being a natural tubeslide, much like a river. The river is, in fact, called The River of Insanity, being hidden beneath the cliffs of insanity. (Catchy, ain't it?) Hasn't the ride ended? you ask. No. Which is probably why this little natural tubeslide business was highly unsuccessful... the few tourists who could make it to the slide never came back, and so instead of reusing their tubes, the owners had to replace them. Also, the tourists never made it home, which probably wasn't so good for business either. I guess the point I'm trying to get at is ... Don't put artichokes on pizza. It makes people weird.