Reasoned Political Discourse

Segment of a conversation that took place in our department today.

Design Girl: Is my whole body stem cells? Like could I cut off my finger and donate it to stem cell research?

Writer Boy: And the Nobel Prize goes to Design Girl.

Me: I think the most useful stem cells come from embryos.

Design Girl: Embryos? Frozen babies?

Writer Boy: Well, not really babies—potential babies.

Design Girl: But what do these use stem cells for?

Me: Research. Possibly curing diseases like Alzheimers and Parkinson’s.

Design Girl: So then what’s the controversy?

Writer Boy: The thing you just said—the frozen babies. They could develop into humans.

Design Girl: So people dive in the trash looking for embryos to get stem cells?

Writer Boy: Yes. Just like you go dumpster diving, people go looking for frozen babies.

Design Girl: This is too complicated. I’m just going to put my headphones on and listen to music.

Oh, they tell me of an unclouded day

According to my earnest and sincere MINI salesman, my car is in transit (read: somewhere on a barge in the Atlantic) and will be arriving in the next few weeks. I've mixed feelings about this. A girl at work just got a brand new, navy blue Altima, and I love the look and the smell and the beauty of a new car. On the other hand, once my car gets here I've got to start paying the thing off, which will suck. And I've got to get rid of my current car, timing it so that I don't have to pay insurance and registration on TWO cars, but maybe I should keep the current car until I can drive the MINI without fear. And the current car is due for inspection in September. So what do I do about THAT?

Once you hit adulthood, is there anything in life that's just pure, unadulterated, hassle-less joy? I think, cynically, that the answer is no.

I'm going to Regina, Saskatchewan for my birthday (September 19. Mark your calendars.) I like the randomness of that location. I've chosen it only because my brother lives there, and mostly I just tell people I'm going to Canada. Saskatchewan results in odd looks, and Regina results in REALLY odd looks, because it's pronounced with a long "i" and is easily misheard as a female body part. There aren't many words in the English language that end with the "jyna" sound.

September promises to be a much more interesting month. Really, August has gone on long enough.

Just no hills, please

I may have neglected to mention in the new car entry that my car is a stick shift, manual, whatever you want to call it. Therefore, I have to learn to actually drive a stick shift in the next few weeks, having never touched one before.

Today I had my first lesson, and it went surprisingly well--for me, anyway. I'm not particularly coordinated or gifted with the machines--and I was a sucky driver for the first two or three years of my driving life. My poor little brother tried to find after-school activities so he would have an excuse NOT to ride home with me. But I only got in one (minor) accident, so maybe I was better than he thought.

Anyway, I practiced. Make sure it's in first, Clutch, brake, release the brake, release the clutch, foot hovering over the gas, wait for it--wait for it--now let the clutch out fully, give it gas, go, foot off the gas, press in the clutch, shift down into second, etc. I have to talk to myself like this as I do it.

There's much more I haven't practiced, for example, 1) actually driving on the road and 2) gears 3-5. But hey, first things first . . . or rather, first gears first.

What made us think that we were wise

Today on our way back from getting subs for lunch, my co-writer and I drove past the local college. Today was freshmen orientation, so we both commented on the cars and the people swarming over the campus. "Oh, man, they're all moving in," I said. And we started laughing.

Because for anyone who's ever done it, freshman moving in day is hilarious. At least after the fact. There's such a feeling that comes along with it--the parents, and the kid, and all the stuff. The bedclothes and the lamps, the last minute runs to Walmart to pick up the box of kleenex or the shower caddy that you didn't bring. There's the complete uncertainty, and the unknown, and the feeling that you're standing at the beginning of some kind of major life change, but of course you have no idea what it's going to entail.

And your parents are a little worried, but happy, and all of you know that you're just doing something that millions of other people have done, but that life is never going to really be the same.

So, looking back on all those emotions, plus the stress of moving stuff with your parents, plus the four years that are about to hit you with all their drama and Angst, and really there's nothing to do but laugh at it all.

My mom is stupider than yours.

Overheard at work . . .

Work Girl 1: My mom doesn’t even know how to get her pictures off her digital camera.

Work Girl 2: My mom doesn’t even know how to send an email.

Work Girl 3: My mom doesn’t even know how to copy and paste.

Work Girl 2: My mom doesn’t even know how to right-click.

Me: My mom can change a motherboard and replace a hard-drive, bitches.

(I didn't really say that, but it's true. My mom is awesome.)

Sunday, Rainy Sunday

In the last few days, I've been thinking about 10 years ago. Because I was living in the woods, climbing rocks and mountains, and going days without a shower--all in preparation to begin my freshman year of college.

My college had a outdoor program for freshmen. For about a week, we camped, hiked, did a ropes course, and climbed and rappelled down a rock face. This was meant to do something--I'm not sure what exactly--but I went on it because I wanted to meet people before school started, and being a not-particularly-out going person, I figured I needed all the help I could get. So I subjected myself to things I normally would avoid, all in the name of meeting people. I really got to know the group of eight people I was matched with, and I proved to myself that I could climb up a steep incline and spend the night alone in the woods, and live without knowing the time for seven or eight days. And I started college and found a bunch of other friends, unrelated to my group, and had a good time.

I suppose I've been thinking about it because Joy is moving from Lancaster next weekend and is off to the Philly suburbs for at least two years. She and I were paired together as roommates freshman year, which was a lucky break, and we have essentially lived in the same town for the past ten years. Things have changed a lot since we first met, and even since graduation, and I will miss her, but I told her last night that I don't have the energy to get all sentimental about this, especially since she'll only be about an hour away, and she agreed. So we're not getting sentimental. But if there's anyone who's more a part of my 20s, I don't know who it is. I feel like we've grown up together.

And it's a cool, rainy Sunday, which is very nice, and I've spent the afternoon sleeping, which is nice and not-so-nice, as it means I'll be awake all night. But what else can you do on a rainy Sunday afternoon?

August is Boring

There is clearly nothing going on in my life right now--as evidenced by the fact that I posted pictures of my new passport last night. To me, it's exciting. So sue me.

And then, tonight, I thought about posting pictures of all my bruises. For our team-building time yesterday, we went boating, jet-skiing, and tubing on the Susquehanna River. Tubing is violent--I got smacked upside the head by water and went flying into the air. The whole day was tons o' fun, but we were all so sore today--especially one of my co-writers, who cracked two of his ribs. Broke them.

I'll refrain from posting the bruises, though. Even though they are numerous and will probably change interesting colors in the next few days.

That is all.

Renewing your Passport Quickly

If you have to renew your passport, I highly recommend doing it yourself, paying only the required fee, and NOT expediting anything.

I got my passport back in 2.5 weeks doing it that way. I also got my old passport back, with two holes punched in it and "cancelled" written in black sharpie across one page. But all my stamps are intact!

Some Stamps!


Cancelled.


Old vs. New

Martyrs' (cracked) Mirror

This week is bible school at church--basically two hours of kid-oriented games, crafts, songs, and general mayhem. Somehow we also managed to get the hottest week of the year--and there's no air conditioning in our church. So it's hot.

Tonight I conducted a game called Anabaptist Adventure, in which kids (the torch-wielding mob of villagers)chase other kids (the passive, innocent Anabaptists). The Anabaptists have to get to their secret worship spot before the villagers catch them. (this is set in Reformation times, obvs). If they're caught they get put into my homemade jail. In reality, we would have torture devices, and stakes for burning. Of course in reality the "villagers" were really the Catholics and the Reformed people, and I don't want to start pitting Mennonite children against other Christians in the Year of Our Lord 2007. We're all past that, right?

And I may have a wasting disease. Scurvy, maybe. Or consumption. The internet is such a bad place to research symptoms. I'm convinced on a daily basis that I could have any number of horrible illnesses. So I'll probably just make a doctors appointment; I need to go anyway.

Last night I went for a walk and was reminded of Florida, and how I used to RUN in weather like this--because in Florida it's like this from May-October. I was insane. But there was always the swimming pool waiting at the end of my run. Now I just come home to my window AC. But I have turned into a heat wimp.

Grumpy.

I don't like things right now.

I don't like August, with all its stupid heat and humidity. The humidity is a big smothering blanket, and the whole month stretches out with no excitement, no breaks, just one long blah.

I don't like work, where people are always asking me to DO shit, and deciding to change things for the sake of changing them, or changing things that have already been changed--all on some whim. And expecting me to do the changing, not having READ THEIR MINDS the first time.

I don't like my food choices. I can leave work and drive to any number of places to buy lunch, all of which I'm completely bored with. Or I could make something and take it from home, but that's just so much work. I just want to eat pizza and chocolate and ice cream and french fries and not worry about health.

I don't like my house, which is messy and crowded. I want to move, to redecorate, to go minimal. I want more room and less clutter. It doesn't help that I cleaned out my trunk this weekend and moved all that crap into my living room. And my dressers are overflowing, and my closet. I need more closets.

Complain, complain, complain. If I were one of the seven dwarfs, I'd be Bitchy.

She's a Good Girl

My friend Sarah is in a Masters program for Social Work, so on Friday night I went over to her house to help her with a fake counseling session. She was the counselor, and I was Melanie, the pot-smoking high schooler, depressed and ridiculed by her peers. We sat on the couch and chair, and her husband videotaped the session.

I got really into my role, partly because I wanted to, and partly because I have no trouble understanding how someone might feel socially awkward. So I played it really well--well enough that I could feel myself get brighter when I talked about my "poetry" and almost teary when we talked about the people that love me and think that I have a lot to offer. I seriously need to get more involved in drama--not because I'm that good, but because I love it. I love pretending to be someone else.

At work on Friday, I told some of my coworkers about my planned fake therapy. "Pot-smoking high schooler should be a stretch for you," said one of them, completely seriously.

Now that is true, but what IS it about me that makes it seem impossible that I could've smoked pot in high school? It doesn't bug me, really, but the good girl image is completely imprinted on me and I can't get rid of it.

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And now that it's after midnight, it's my brother's 26th birthday. Which is weird, because I clearly remember 26 and it doesn't seem like almost three years ago. Happy b-day, bro.

Always standing and walking

I've been Simpsonized.