A Rant: Greeting People

I hate greeting people.

I didn't really realize this until this week because I have had an unusually high number of awkward passings-by since my return to Provo. I offer one quick example:


I was wandering down the sidewalk enjoying the evening air, not looking at any of the people coming towards me, when, as you might expect, an unexpected person saw me and decided to make their presence known. I hear my name said with a really odd interrogative tone—I say odd because the fact that the tone was interrogative suggested an uncertainty about whether or not I was the person he was addressing, and yet his volume was such that there was no way someone could have ignored it if they weren't actually me. Maybe I'm just the weird shy one here, but if I'm not sure that I'm addressing the person I think I'm addressing, I do not use the 300-yard shout within the cloistered 3 feet of usable space on the sidewalk.

So after being clobbered in close-quarters with this unsettling and brash uncertainty, I recognize the perpetrator—someone whom I quickly found to be socially-awkwardly-creepy about seven years ago and subsequently tried to avoid, I dunno, all the time. In resting my eyes upon this individual, I saw that the bizarre interrogative tone was accompanied by a strange interrogative posture. Kind of like this:

Okay, sans crazy eyes. But you get the idea. It was like he was trying to make up for the 300-yard shout with this super interrogative posture. Instead, it just made the run-in creepier because it was like he was shocked by my very presence, despite the fact that we had an awkward run-in during finals week. He knows I live here! Anyways, this is just super detailed background for how the actual conversation went. Which was like this:

Him: Kayla!????!!??!??!?!???!???!!!! (Click to see my post Pet Peeve: Guess What for a little on why I hate "?!" so much)Me: Oh! Hi! [Shocked and dismayed at seeing this person because of aforementioned socially-awkward-creepiness.]
Him: What's up? [Or some similar question posed to indicate interest in the other person's life without really expecting or desiring an answer to the question.]
Me: [So shocked, dismayed, and disoriented by the weirdness of the conversation that can't form words and compute what question was actually asked. Result: turned other way and had verbal vomit in form of mumbling something like...] Good .... ? [Note weird interrogative tone because recognized that "Good" might have been wrong answer to question.]

How embarrassing. Not that I care in the slightest about his opinion of me, but I do so hate to loose my composure like that. Who knew all my coolness could be derailed so easily? (Or maybe I'm not as cool as I think ... [entirely possible and extremely likely].)

This scenario brings up a few problems with the way we greet each other. As I see it, greeting people that you don't spend a lot of time with is a lot like holding the door open for someone, so I'm going to use the following illustration as a jump-off point for this whole greeting-people problem.

Let's say you see someone you know coming towards you. If they're far enough away that they're in the awkward zone, STOP. DO NOT BEGIN CONVERSATION. Why? Because of all the little people you're going to trap awkwardly in the air space between your conversation! It's not a fun place for them to be. (Believe me, I know this from personal experience.) Furthermore, you're going to run into another problem which I like to call "Too Much Space, Too Little Conversation" or, conversely, "Too Little Space, Too Much Conversation." It can really go either way, depending on how bold you are in continuing the conversation after the necessary pleasantries are completed.

If, on the one hand, you are very bold, you end up starting a conversation that you don't have time to finish without stopping. (And we're going to assume that you aren't able to stop, because if we didn't, I'd have too many possible scenarios bouncing around in my head.) On the other hand, if you aren't very bold, but you stop the conversation too early, you've got all this extra time where you both know you've got nothing more to say to each other. Awkie.

Once safely within the courtesy zone, we have to deal with this awful societal beast I call the Necessary Pleasantries. For some reason, we've got this idea that in order to be polite, we need to act interested in the other person's life. The best way to do this, as far as we've figured out, is to ask simple questions. "What's up? How's it going? How are you?"

Unfortunately for us, we picked simple questions that don't have simple answers. And apparently we weren't quick enough on the draw to stop this horrendous misstep in creating social conventions, and so we went with Plan B which was to make up basic, meaningless answers to each of these questions. "Not much. Good. Fine." Congrats, humanity. Now we have the psychological repercussions of feeling like we should feel good about interacting with each other while simultaneously recognizing that our interaction was completely meaningless, and therefore being unable to actually feel good about it. Well done. (snarksnarksnark). The good side of these answers is that a conversation made in passing can happen very quickly and easily. We can happily acknowledge each other, fake a little interest with meaningless prattle, and go on our merry way without disturbing our forward momentum.

This, apparently, was not good enough for us though. Over the course of time, we've tried to make these Necessary Pleasantries a little more interesting by shaking up our answers. "Great. Lovely. Doing wonderfully, thanks."

EEEEEEEEEKKKKKKK. Time to put on the brakes everyone! This is a BAD IDEA. Why? Well, there are a couple of reasons:

1. The more you shake things up, the more likely you are to overrun your allotted time for passing conversation, which then leads to this whole problem of trying to finish the conversation and having to twist your neck to maintain the eye contact, turn around and start walking backwards (super dangerous), or feel super weird answering the question while you're no longer facing the person. Way too many problems happening here to even be dealt with. 
2. If you start throwing in a bunch of other possible answers to these usual questions, it can get really confusing for people who are trying to answer your question...

... like when you run into them unexpectedly and throw off their groove so that they, in their victimized state of disorientation, find it completely impossible to narrow down the list of possible answers to ones which are question-appropriate, and ultimately pick the wrong one causing loads of undue stress and embarrassment. 

Thanks a lot, society. 

snarksnarksnarksnarksnark.

Hello 2012

I feel like a complete nincompoop for staying up late enough to write this, but I just have a lot of feelings right now and I feel like I should be typing this up and posting it, or I'll never actually say it. And I feel like it maybe has the potential to be something worth saying. We'll just have to wait and see.

2011 was a life-changing year for me. I experienced very real miracles. I learned so much about so many things, including myself. In so many ways, I became a better version of myself. My life truly did change, and it changed for the better. That being said, 2011 was not easy. I struggled with so many frustrations and fears. I was stretched in ways that I had never been stretched before, which was, not surprisingly, uncomfortable. I made so many ridiculous and stupid mistakes; I learned almost as much about how to do things wrong as I did about how to do things right.

If there's anything I've learned from 2011, it's that taking action is the only way to make life worth living. I've found that there's absolutely no pleasure to be found in being stagnant, in meandering across life's plateaus. Sure, sometimes when we climb, we fall. But we have to climb. We learn something every time we fall, if we're paying attention, and there are some things in life that you can't learn by observation—you have to be in there getting your hands and feet and face dirty, getting your knees banged up, scratched and bruised. Standing still isn't an option. It's kind of like my good buddy Garth Brooks says: "Life is not tried, it is merely survived if you're standing outside the fire." (Look it up on YouTube. That song is amazing.)

I'm just sick of letting things happen to me instead of making them happen for me. I don't want to miss anything because I'm too scared or too lazy or too worried about what other people might prefer that I do.

This is part of the reason that (dun-dun-dunDUN!) ...







OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT:
I'm going to be spending the summer in London. 



Yes, my dear darling friends. If you haven't already heard, I'm going to be living across the pond from May to August. (And yes, that means I will be in London for the Summer Olympics. Bow-chicka-wow-wow.) I will be doing a field study, pursuing a research project of my own creation (currently moving in the direction of Renaissance cosmology and religion, and involving lots of churches, artwork, hymns, libraries, galleries, museums, etc.). Am I excited out of my mind? Yes. Am I slightly terrified that the plane will go down and that my body will lie with all those nasty fish that I don't want to eat in the bitter blackness of the very bottom of the Atlantic? Also yes, but somewhat less than the first yes.

London is only one of the Action Items (there's some MO DSS [Missouri Department of Social Services] jargon sneaking into my vernacular) that I'm including in the upcoming year. In fact, some of them have already been accomplished, and with (pardon the toot-toot of my horn here) rather magnificent success.

And so, with that little announcement out in the open....

Hello 2012! 
I'll be taking charge of my own life from here on out, mmmk?

---

This is just a random side note, but I thought you guys should become acquainted with a small fact about what blogging is like for me. It's a lot like the following picture:

So .... that's why there are about a million parenthetical comments laced through these things. 

And read this Tumblr*. It's a riot, and where the nice photo/diagram came from.

*Please be aware that the website has rather a significant collection of profane words that it likes to share with readers**. 

**So don't look if you're going to be offended by that. Which, of course, you will be, since the nature of profanity is its offensiveness. But blahblahblah we all know this ia a don't-you-ever-say-I-didn't-warn-you blurb. In short: YOU'VE BEEN WARNED, so don't get your panties in a twist after clicking on that link.

A Study Break Discussion of Mac&Cheese

Since I am taking a study break to make food and I'm also waiting for some water to boil for my Mac & Cheese, I find it appropriate to address the following photo: 

I saw this a few months ago on Pinterest, and found it to be both true and hilarious. The infamous "To open push here" tab has been victimizing thumbnails and willpowers for just about as long as I can remember. While I have labeled it simply as a deceit (see word and arrow in photo above) and a punisher of young, hungry victims, I have another item of business to discuss:

This darn thumb tab is completely and totally useless. 

Most people are not aware of this, because, as stated above, it's mostly just a horrific item intended to make us suffer. But suppose, just imagine with me for a moment, that it did, in fact, work as it purports to work. What would be the result?

You would, indeed, be able to pour the macaroni out of the box and into the pot of boiling water through the nice little opening that the tab would theoretically provide. This, if it were possible, would be true.

But what of the cheese?

I speak here of the cheese packet, the cheese that is the "Cheese" in "Macaroni & Cheese." One might even refer to it as "The Big Cheese." (Though there may be some argument as to whether "The Big Cheese" should refer to the largest cheese, or what Kraft claims its Macaroni & Cheese to be--that is, "The Cheesiest." As yet, consider the question in question to be still under debate.) 

Back to this cheese packet and the tabbed opening of the Macaroni & Cheese box. Let's say you have, by some feat of human strength, agility, and unbeforeseen prowess, managed to get this tab open, thereby creating the opening that permits the macaroni to exit the box in an orderly fashion. Now you want to get the cheese packet out of the box. You tip the box, but alas! The cheese packet is, shockingly, too large to fit through the tiny opening that the tab provides. What do you do now?

You open the darn box the way that boxes are meant to be opened, and fetch out yo' cheese. 

So tell me, world: why in the heck would I use the danged tab opening when I have to open the box the old fashioned way anyways to get the crappin' cheese out when I am fully and completely capable of opening said box the old fashioned way, fetchin' out ma' cheese and settin' it on the counter, and then pouring the noodles into the pot of boiling water, thereby avoiding the thumbnail abuse and ego-damage that this box entails to any person fool enough to try to use the stinkin' tab?

You know, I think that the tab just exists as an insult to humanity. Because we're not smart enough not to pour the cheese packet into the pot of boiling water with the noodles. 

Then again, we're not smart enough to figure out the motherfatherin' tab, so I guess I really don't know who is really in the wrong here. 

Huh.

Anyways ... time to get back to the books!

Hair

I almost wrote you a little musing about the current state of my hair. Because when I look in the reflection of my broken laptop screen, what I see gives me a very distinct impression. But when I started writing this musing, it became rather unintentionally offensive.

On a completely unrelated topic*, have I told you about my favorite 30 Rock quote?

"Kenneth! Your haircut is disrespectful to lesbians!"

- Tracy Morgan

*wink wink, nod nod ... 

Procrastination and Motivation

I no longer believe in trying to do homework when I'm not in the mood.

Why? Because I languished on my bed in weird, contorted positions that resulted in significant discomfort for a good half of the day, and spent the rest having terrible posture at my desk and making my back hurt. And what did I achieve in the midst of all this pain and suffering?

ABSOLUTELY NOTHING REMOTELY RESEMBLING PRODUCTIVITY.

I might as well have been breaking scads of dishes on the kitchen counter with a face of complete despair and disgust, because believe me, I was/am DISGUSTED with myself, and despairing at the horrific waste of a day that today truly was. And it's not just because I completely failed in regards to getting my paper written earlier, but that I knew that I couldn't do it. Every time I pulled the documents up on my screen, I stared at them miserably for a few seconds, tried to read a few pages, but just collapsed from sheer paper-loathing every single time. But because of fear of the possibility of never reaching that point of motivation and inspiration that always inevitably strikes at a reasonable time, I just sat in front of the freaking computer achieving nothing and feeling gross for hours on end. HOURS. HOURS. I KNEW THAT I COULD DO NOTHING TO MAKE MY PAPER HAPPEN AND SO I JUST SAT HERE AND WATCHED IT NOT HAPPEN WHEN I COULD HAVE GONE OUT AND DONE SOMETHING AWESOME WITH MY DAY. Idk what I possibly would have done, but it would have been AMAZING. Or maybe, ya know, I just would have gone to Wal-Mart or something. Anything would have been better than what I did.

Wow. In my angsty pit of regret, I completely forgot the awesome part of this story.

At approximately 8:45ish, I was laying on the floor of the living room with Chelsea and Paul, staring at the ceiling, when suddenly I knew it was time to get up and write.

And I churned out more (and at a higher quality) in a single hour than I did in the previous who-even-knows-how-many hours (but if we were gonna guess, somewhere in the realm of 12-15).


Suffice it to say that I am never, EVER doing homework when I don't feel inspired ever again for as long as I live. In other words, goodbye guilt, and hello FUN THINGS :)

Loveables: Pond's Dry Skin Cream

So I know that a lot of people keep a list on their blog or whatever of products they love. In the past, I haven't had much of a fondness for any particular products ... I've just been randomly trying things here and there, and if I like it a lot, I'll buy it a couple of times. But this past Saturday, I struck gold x 3, and believe me,  you're going to hear about each and every one of these items, and hopefully more come along (because who doesn't want to love the things they use, right?) So, without further ado, I present you with Loveable #1: Pond's Dry Skin Cream.

Now, if you know me, you know I'm not a dry person. In fact, I'm a very (though I hate to say it) moist person, for the most part. I can probably count on one hand the number of times that I've absolutely HAD to put lotion on my hands because they were dry, and I'm pretty sure the number drops by more than half when we cut out the times that the dryness came from over-washing my hands with hot water. That all being said, I've started to notice a little bit of dry skin on my forehead, and around places where I picked the living daylights out of blemishes. Dry spots make make-up look like make-up instead of like nice face, so I figured it was time to get a moisturizer. I had heard about Pond's Cold Cream before, but (1) I never use make-up remover anyways, and (2) it's December in Utah--like I'm going to put something cold on my face on purpose! But right next to the cold cream was the dry skin cream, and, as they say, the price was right-- around $5 for 6.5 sweet ounces. 

Can we just call this one love at first rub? 

Seriously though. On Sunday night when my face just felt tired and my skin felt abused (because, ya know, it's cold and lousy outside), I rubbed some of this sweet nectar on my face and it was incroyable. Yeah, that's right. I just Frenched on you. You know it's serious when I French on you. This stuff is like giving your skin a drink of heaven. Okay, maybe I'm going way overboard here, but I'm a huge fan of this stuff. And totally regretting not getting the 10.1 oz. container.... 

Snobbery

I'm going to have to throw out the possibility that some majors may in fact be smarter than others. And I don't just mean the biochemical engineers. Maybe this is all coming about because I'm something of a logophile, and an English major, and therefore am frequently surrounded by those who have a similar love of words, phraseology, orature, and hearing the sound of our own voices saying those words. (Hence... this blog. Obviously.)

I've taken the opportunity this semester to delve a little bit into another area of study that caught my interest last fall, and signed up for a sociology of gender class. It was pretty okay, but definitely felt like a battle against my own weak-sauce conservativism (I say weak-sauce simply because I consider myself predominantly politically illiterate and completely unable to argue my own opinions, as I don't spend a lot of time thinking about them). Anyways, I'm getting so far off the track that it's boring me to death, and we all know that I get more pleasure out of writing these things that any of you get from reading them, so if I'm bored, you must be gouging your eyes out, or no longer reading this post (congrats if you are). Back to sociology of gender!

The first day of class, we took the time to have everyone introduce themselves, their major, hometown, etc. This, I believe, is moderately unusual in a class of 40-50 students, but we did it anyways because the syllabus (and the class) was painfully simple and took about .2 seconds to discuss. The breakdown of this monotonous introduction hour came to about this: the majority of the class were either sociology or psychology minors, but there were a few variants here and there, some business majors, a theater major, ... and myself, the single, solitary English major in the whole place. Now, I don't mean to be judgmental (*ahem* who are we kidding? I'm being hugely judgmental, and you better believe I mean it) but I've come to the conclusion that I think I'm smarter than at least a few of these people. 

Don't get me wrong. They're still valuable human beings who are capable of doing many good things, and somewhere in my heart of hearts, I probably have some kind of love for them. 

But I cannot hold back the stink eye when I catch someone saying the word "like" 30 times in a 45-second comment. (See my post A Rant: "Like" for more on this subject.) And even though that may be a worst-case-scenario, over the past few days of listening to presentations on research papers, I've been subjected to some of the most horrifically slang-peppered verbosity of my life. Or maybe it's just never bothered me this bad.... in which case, I can only blame my sociology of gender class. And who ever heard of a sociology class making someone more intolerant? And, in my case, I probably got a little more sexist because the girls are far more likely to make idiotic comments that are watered down with "like"s and "ya knows" and "so"s and "just"s and "just-like"s and "doesthatmakesense"s that if you cut them out, they're probably only saying somewhere in the ballpark of twelve significant words that contribute to a coherent message for every 50 that come out of their mouths .... Not that I'm suggesting that my professor is, in any way, shape or form, responsible for my decreased tolerance and increased sexism. It's my classmates! 

I suppose it isn't fair of me to feel like I am smarter than these individuals, because they probably know a lot more about sociology than I do. And yet, I cannot stop myself from believing that a vital part of being smart is being able to communicate in a way that doesn't make you sound like an insipid thirteen year old in a Justin Bieber t-shirt. (Okay, so maybe the t-shirt has nothing to do with anything.) But seriously guys. I don't want your message from concentrate. I want the concentrate when I'm at school. Don't make me listen to all your other stupid words, please. You're wasting them, and you're wasting my time.