My holiday dearth of Optimistic. is over, and the only thing that rivals my happiness that he's back is my happiness that he's developed a new habit. Every night at about eleven p.m., Optimistic. puts assorted food items into a brown bag. He makes school lunches! I think it's fantastic.
The whole thing kind of makes me nostalgic. When I was younger, my parents made my lunches. (Go figure.) I'm sure my mom made them a bunch of times, but Dad would sometimes make school lunches his Project. My dad was a champion lunch-maker. Instead of PBJ's, Dad would make egg-salad sandwiches. Or, he would make BLT's. We didn't want the tomatoes to make our sandwiches soggy, so he would put them in a separate bag, to be added to the rest at time of consumption. They were awesome. Other times, he would make us cinnamon and sugar sandwiches. (In our family, we use brown sugar instead of white.)
The really cool thing about Dad making school lunches, though, was that he would personalize the bags for us. He knows how to draw pretty well, so he'd grab a Sharpie, and draw a funny cartoon on each of our bags, every day. People at school loved them.
Sadly, I had forgotten about all of this until Optimistic. began making his lunches.
I don't make lunches. I leave work at 12 or 1, so I usually plan on eating lunch at home, after work. I also usually get hungry by break time, at 10. Instead of pulling a snazzy brown bag out of the refrigerator here, I stare at the vending machines. Lately I've been eating Twix bars.
They're not the most nutritious, for sure, but yesterday I came up with a theory:
1. Drinking soda is bad because it dissolves (-) stuff. Like teeth. Let soda = "s". "s" = -x
2. Eating candy is bad because it adds (+) stuff. Let candy = "c". "c" = x
Therefore, eating candy and drinking soda together can be expressed as the equation:
c + s = ?
Let's solve!
We'll replace the variables.
(x) + (-x) = ?
x - x = 0.
What a pleasant discovery! By using a simple algebraic equation, we can prove that soda and candy cancel each other out.
Someday, I'll jump on the brown-bag-bandwagon again, too. For now, at least I can be content in knowing that I'm doing my body good.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
For the Love of Learning
I have a few connections to BYU Independent Study: 1) I saw a cool commercial for BYU-IS back home, on BYU-TV. It featured a girl sitting on some South American ruins, using her computer. It was supposed to show that you could be having all kinds of adventures and still study. As someone suffering from a severe case of wanderlust, the commercial made BYU-IS seem really cool. (Since of course, ads always offer accurate portrayals of real people, right?)
2) One of my family members has taken 2? classes through BYU-IS, semi-recently.
3) 1/4 of everyone that I know has, at one time, worked at the BYU-IS office.
And so, since I'm wanting to take classes, it seemed logical to try a BYU-IS class.
Except, I've had a scholarship transfered, to pay for the tuition & book fees. And it has been the biggest hassle of my life. Almost.
They must think that I'm actually isolated at some South American ruins, or something, because they have made it their office goal to have everyone become BFF with me.
Trying to register for my class, I talked to the IS office, who had me talk to the BYU Financial Aide office, who coordinated things with the IS office. They figured out what I should do, and I had stuff sent over. And then, everything got mixed up in Christmas mail and took awhile to arrive. Fair enough. So after it should have arrived, I talked to the IS office, and talked to them again, and, oh, sad, the person I needed was gone on vacation. So I waited. And then I talked to the IS office, and they had me talk to the IS receiving office? or something. And they transfered me to the guy I really needed to talk to. And he finally registered me for my class a week ago. (Hooray!)
And he promised that I would recieve my class stuff. I asked him if the Bookstore would know what to do with the check that they would receive. They would, he said.
So I waited some more. And I got my IS class stuff! (Hooray!) And I was so excited to start, exceeeeppppptt.....I still don't have my book. It's structured so that I can't do much of anything until I receive it. Blast.
So after patiently waiting for my book, I called back today. Apparently the Bookstore doesn't know that I exist. The IS office doesn't know what's happening. I talked to 3 more girls today. I'm getting to know all of them. And all of them have advice for me. (Advice that they should've given when I called back in October.) [Mind you, the average conversation length with each of these people is 30-60 minutes.] Sweet mercy, will this saga never end? I'm supposed to call my dear friend who registered me last week (he was in a meeting when I called earlier.)
Today I registered for a second class. It was so simple. I walked into my yarn store. I asked if I had missed their January mailing. (I hadn't; they're sending it tomorrow.) I asked about the spinning class. They told me about it. I paid for my class, and that's it--I'm enrolled. I'll show up in two weeks, with a notebook and pen. They will provide everything else. Fantastic.
I really miss being a full-time student, but in one of those you-can't-appreciate-mountains-unless-you've-experienced-valleys sort of ways, I'm so pleased to have my two classes.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Why Nobody Should Ever Reach for the Stars
I usually think about stars and planets about as often as I think about pop rocks or canned meat: I'm aware that they exist, and every so often I'll think about them briefly, but that's about it.
Back home, you really couldn't see too many stars; there were just too many lights from too many cities. I'm pretty sure we looked at stars during my seventh-grade Catalina island trip. I remember using a giant telescope to see Mars from an Ohio farm. In elementary school we made eclipse-viewers. Those are my main experiences that I've had with star-gazing.
(In middle school I considered joining the astronomy (ha! I started typing "astrology club") club. I went to the first meeting, even. The club advisor was a teacher who was widely known for 1) picking his nose and 2) being very boring, so I lost interest before the second club meeting.)
But anyway, it turns out that you can see a lot of stars here.
Stars must have seemed incredible to people who lived awhile back. Without "knowing" about stars being luminous balls of plasma, stars would have seemed distant, and mysterious. I know that some cultures had star stuff figured out even better than we do, and it was a big deal to them. It must have been hard to study something that you can't touch or even see really well, especially with old scientific instruments.
And just knowing that stars are no longer is a mystery is enough to make them less interesting to me. I couldn't care less about touching stars or understanding what they are.
I started thinking about 'reaching for the stars.' In light (ha!) of scientific discovery (which, incidentally, predates the notion of reaching for stars), it does not make sense at all.
Suppose you're the tallest person in the world. You're Robert Wadlow, which you're not, and you're 8 feet 11 inches tall. Suppose you jump the largest jump recorded, which the tallest person wouldn't. Javier Sotomayor jumped the highest ever recorded, a jump of 8 feet and 1/2 inches, unaided. His jump was basically 125% of his height. Since your height is about 9 feet, proportionally, you would jump 11 feet and 3 inches. It would never happen, but we'll suppose you're extra ambitious, and in your reaching for the stars, your reach is the highest jump ever jumped. Cool.
The closest star to the Earth is the Sun. We'll suppose that you're reaching for it, even though the phrase isn't "reach for the most proximate star." The Sun is a paltry 93,000,000 miles away from the Earth. The Sun's orbit is elliptical, so we'll suppose you're reaching for the star(s) on January 2nd, when it's only 91.4 million miles away. (This should be easy!)
You reached... 11.25 ft x (1 mile/5280 feet) = 0.00213068182 miles.
0.00213068182 miles / 91400000 miles = 2.33116173 × 10^-11
Reaching ambitiously only gets you one .0000000000233116173th of the way there. Sad.
Suppose you somehow did manage to reach it anyway. (Hooray! right?) The surface of the Sun has a temperature of 6000°C (11000°F). People are cremated between 870-980 °C.
Even if you try your very very very very very best, it doesn't matter or count for anything. And this is supposed to be motivational?
A Google search of "reach for the stars" renders 743,000 results. How did this happen?
To help us all feel a little better, I suggest a modification of the saying. Instead of "Reach for the stars!" I recommend "Reach for your toes!" I know many people who cannot reach their toes. And, with regular effort (yoga classes, perhaps) this feat (ha!) can be achieved.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Winter
My very first district leader was an elder from Kazakhstan. He was fluent in Italian (because his mom is Italian), but he told me that he was kind of surprised that he wasn't called to serve in Russia. (Living in Kazakhstan, he'd learned Russian.) Any time he met anyone who spoke Russian as their first language, he would teach them about the gospel, in Russian. The people were so happy to have someone to talk to in their own language that they would always have lengthy conversations.
One time I asked him how he could pick out the Russians. (I sure couldn't.) He told me that one of the ways he could tell was the way they walked. Since Russians are accustomed to cold weather, snow and ice don't affect their walking at all. They walk...confidently?
I'm not one of those people who claims California because my parents moved there a couple years ago. I am a bona fide, born-and-raised, genuine Californian. I think that this winter is going to make it obvious that I'm not from here. Instead of walking confidently like the Russians, I walk like someone ice skating for the very first time.
I thought someone had really helped us pedestrians out by clearing all of Provo's sidewalks. [Yes! No more choosing between soaked, cold, normal-length pants and artificial high-waters!] Instead, it was all just a cruel joke. Instead of making my pedest-ing more comfortable, it makes it much more difficult. The sidewalks are glazed with ice. The soles of my shoes are unable to grip the cement. I slide all over the place. It's dangerous, really. In order to safely walk anywhere, I'll need those mountain-climber shoes that have spikes on them. For now, I shuffle instead of walking.
Another problem with snow is, it seems like it's in the way. It's sort of like having tracking in real life. On videos, people really don't like it. It gets in their way and bothers them. They press buttons on remotes, fast-forward and rewind, and try to get rid of it. And eventually, hopefully, it goes away. With snow, it's the same to me. I feel like I need to move it out of the way so that I can see things. Too bad universal remotes aren't really universal.
And snow is cold. Very cold.
A final observation about snow: even when it's dark and grey outside, the snow reflects light and everything seems brighter. I do like that.
One time I asked him how he could pick out the Russians. (I sure couldn't.) He told me that one of the ways he could tell was the way they walked. Since Russians are accustomed to cold weather, snow and ice don't affect their walking at all. They walk...confidently?
I'm not one of those people who claims California because my parents moved there a couple years ago. I am a bona fide, born-and-raised, genuine Californian. I think that this winter is going to make it obvious that I'm not from here. Instead of walking confidently like the Russians, I walk like someone ice skating for the very first time.
I thought someone had really helped us pedestrians out by clearing all of Provo's sidewalks. [Yes! No more choosing between soaked, cold, normal-length pants and artificial high-waters!] Instead, it was all just a cruel joke. Instead of making my pedest-ing more comfortable, it makes it much more difficult. The sidewalks are glazed with ice. The soles of my shoes are unable to grip the cement. I slide all over the place. It's dangerous, really. In order to safely walk anywhere, I'll need those mountain-climber shoes that have spikes on them. For now, I shuffle instead of walking.
Another problem with snow is, it seems like it's in the way. It's sort of like having tracking in real life. On videos, people really don't like it. It gets in their way and bothers them. They press buttons on remotes, fast-forward and rewind, and try to get rid of it. And eventually, hopefully, it goes away. With snow, it's the same to me. I feel like I need to move it out of the way so that I can see things. Too bad universal remotes aren't really universal.
And snow is cold. Very cold.
A final observation about snow: even when it's dark and grey outside, the snow reflects light and everything seems brighter. I do like that.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Update, mostly about work.
As it turns out, I enjoy my new job. I have fun coworkers, and all that.
I've been reading a lot of our books from the "library" that we have in the break room. The Company will give us a free book of our choice if we read five from their list of new books. Us reading them makes it easier for us to sell them because we can recommend books that we've read to customers. The Company likes that.
It's been really funny, though, because I'm reading Church fiction books. Starting to read them has been kind of like starting to drink health shakes; you have to choke them down in the hopes that eventually you'll get used to the strange flavor.
Don't get me wrong; I love, love, love Church reference books. I'm just not used to the fiction ones. My little sister who attends BYUI reads Anita Stansfield (sp?) books. They're supposed to be romance novels. Church romance novels. And that, to me, seems like an oxymoron. It's a well-known fact that romance novels are smutty and plotless. They're full of lust and promiscuity. And those are things that would intentionally be omitted in any church related book. How can a Church romance novel exist? We teased my sister for reading them. She would start telling us how the plot (if you could call it a plot) was progressing, and I would interrupt her: "And they hold hands in the end?"
And now I'm reading the same sort of thing. The books are full of cheesy lines like: "I love you, Adam Price--but I should have known from your name that loving you would exact a big price from me" (p. 15). And the characters talk about their testimonies, and church things. And on the one hand, it's okay, because I talk about church things in real life, too. (So why shouldn't the characters?) And on the other hand, it's a bit like running into your professor at the grocery store or something. It seems really out of place.
There are also fiction series about Nephi and company, or other Book of Mormon characters. I think even if one of those books were placed on the list, I wouldn't read it. It's just too weird. Nephi chats it up with Sariah, and the authors take the liberty of naming characters that are unnamed in the scriptures. Who knew that this stuff existed?!
We also have some interesting customers, just like anywhere else.
A couple days ago I had a real gem. I knew that she was going to be interesting from the first time she opened her mouth. She said, "So I found out that I have a UTI and a bladder infection..." right from the start. Other highlights of our conversation included her looking for a book.
What was it called? She couldn't remember. What was it about? She couldn't remember that either. What type of book was it? She thought for a moment. It was a church book. It was definitely a church book.
I work at a Church bookstore.
She also wanted to find a particular CD. She pointed to one of the CDs that we had out. "It's shaped like this," she told me, to help me know which one she wanted. A CD that came in a CD case. Oh boy.
My break is over, so I'll post more later.
I've been reading a lot of our books from the "library" that we have in the break room. The Company will give us a free book of our choice if we read five from their list of new books. Us reading them makes it easier for us to sell them because we can recommend books that we've read to customers. The Company likes that.
It's been really funny, though, because I'm reading Church fiction books. Starting to read them has been kind of like starting to drink health shakes; you have to choke them down in the hopes that eventually you'll get used to the strange flavor.
Don't get me wrong; I love, love, love Church reference books. I'm just not used to the fiction ones. My little sister who attends BYUI reads Anita Stansfield (sp?) books. They're supposed to be romance novels. Church romance novels. And that, to me, seems like an oxymoron. It's a well-known fact that romance novels are smutty and plotless. They're full of lust and promiscuity. And those are things that would intentionally be omitted in any church related book. How can a Church romance novel exist? We teased my sister for reading them. She would start telling us how the plot (if you could call it a plot) was progressing, and I would interrupt her: "And they hold hands in the end?"
And now I'm reading the same sort of thing. The books are full of cheesy lines like: "I love you, Adam Price--but I should have known from your name that loving you would exact a big price from me" (p. 15). And the characters talk about their testimonies, and church things. And on the one hand, it's okay, because I talk about church things in real life, too. (So why shouldn't the characters?) And on the other hand, it's a bit like running into your professor at the grocery store or something. It seems really out of place.
There are also fiction series about Nephi and company, or other Book of Mormon characters. I think even if one of those books were placed on the list, I wouldn't read it. It's just too weird. Nephi chats it up with Sariah, and the authors take the liberty of naming characters that are unnamed in the scriptures. Who knew that this stuff existed?!
We also have some interesting customers, just like anywhere else.
A couple days ago I had a real gem. I knew that she was going to be interesting from the first time she opened her mouth. She said, "So I found out that I have a UTI and a bladder infection..." right from the start. Other highlights of our conversation included her looking for a book.
What was it called? She couldn't remember. What was it about? She couldn't remember that either. What type of book was it? She thought for a moment. It was a church book. It was definitely a church book.
I work at a Church bookstore.
She also wanted to find a particular CD. She pointed to one of the CDs that we had out. "It's shaped like this," she told me, to help me know which one she wanted. A CD that came in a CD case. Oh boy.
My break is over, so I'll post more later.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Recent Happenings.
Things that have happened recently:
- I attended the Joanna Newsom concert, which was amazing.
- Lavish and I dyed our hair this weekend, for an adventure
- I started work at a new job. So far, I enjoy it.
Also, the cat is getting bigger. She pounces on things.
Friday, November 03, 2006
The Trials of Darryl Hunt
Last night, I went with Brooklyn and Yellow to see a film that was part of the Sundance documentary series.
The Trials of Darryl Hunt was all about this guy who was convicted of a murder that he didn't commit. He spent 20 years in prison while his appeals were denied. Even after DNA testing showed that he wasn't responsible for the rape and murder of the lady wasn't enough to get him a new trial. Finally, they ended up finding the guy who had actually committed the crime, and they let Darryl out of prison.
It was a really interesting story. All along, nobody really had any evidence. People got so fired up because he was a black guy and she was a white woman that it became an emotional issue rather than a logical one.
The thing that really impressed me was that throughout it all, Darryl stayed really positive. When they asked him when he was first being tried if he was angry, he said that he wasn't. He said people make mistakes, and that was one of them. Pretty much all of the video clips of him showed him smiling and calm. He really made the best of his situation. He often talked about God watching out for him.
He's been out of prison for almost two years, now, and he isn't filing charges against anyone. He's moving on. He's serving other people.
In the discussion after the movie, the girl who made the film said that Darryl has started a program to help inmates succeed with the transition to life outside of prison. He has a 90 day? class that teaches people job skills, offers housing, etc, etc, and there have already been 35 or so people to complete it.
When someone asked her what we could do, she said that the best thing we could do would be to participate in prison literacy programs. I'm looking into those now.
I'm really glad that I went to see the movie; I think Darryl offered an amazing example of patience and optimism.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
A Quick Post
Today, the library smells like cotton candy. I have no idea why it does, but it's glorious.
I'm doing okay. I just got a call inviting me for a job interview, so this post will be shorter than I initially planned on.
The kitty is still cute. She's getting a little bit bigger. Lately she has two new things that she's doing. First, she's practicing pouncing. She'll sneak up to things, and pounce. (Including things like people.) Today I saw her flatten her ears before pouncing on a grocery bag. She loves playing with bags.
The second thing she's been doing lately is becoming curious whenever Lavish and I eat and drink. If we don't watch our glasses carefully, she comes up, sticks her head down into the cup, and drinks our water!
Today I'm making Halloween cookies. They're two layer ones, which is fun because I've never done them before. They should be really cute.
I'm working at the call center again tomorrow. I heard another funny answering machine message. The lady read a scripture from 1 Corinthians and then she said "I've left you a message, now you leave me one." BEEP.
The end.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Stories from work.
Yesterday I made it to work on time. Now I've heard the secrets from the first five minutes that disqualified me from working the first day. As a more informed worker, now I understand why it was just impossible for me to make up those five minutes.
We use computers. Most of them have dialers, which means that the computer dials the number and connects you to people, without you having to press the buttons. Mine didn't have one. That meant that my left hand was dialing a phone:
123
456
789
while my right hand was punching in answers to questions on the computer keypad:
789
456
123
(It reminded me of patting one's head while rubbing one's belly.)
Instead of being one large room like the other center, this call center is a maze. I don't think people are on "teams" like at the other center; at this one it seems like everyone works with everyone. People come and go all day long. Managers wander around. One of them came into our room yesterday and started telling jokes. I wrote them down:
What do you get if you cross a horse with a spider?
Well, I don't know either, but if it bit you, you could ride it to the doctor.
Why do seagulls live by the sea?
Because if they lived by the bay they'd be bagels.
Why do elephants paint their toenails red?
So they can hide in cherry trees.
You ever seen an elephant in a cherry tree?
See! It works.
Why is the football stadium at BYU covered in astro-turf?
To keep the cheerleaders from grazing at half-time.
Even better than the jokes, I heard my favorite answering machine, ever. It's hard to beat "Jesus loves you; leave a message!" (which I heard at the other call center) but my new favorite is:
[bored female voice] "Hi." (pause.) "Now you say something." BEEEEP.
Maybe one of my favorite things about working at this place is that at the end of the day I exit right across from the Provo library. When I was working at the job before, I'd finish and wish that I could go home. And I would have to patiently endure two hours of transit time before I was really finished for the day. Here, I finish and begin to dread another bus ride. And then I see the library, and my world is rosy because I know that my house is almost as close as the nearest bus stop.
Also good news: my morning job is starting another fitness competition. We get bonuses if we exercise regularly. Sweet. I just keep liking them better and better.
We use computers. Most of them have dialers, which means that the computer dials the number and connects you to people, without you having to press the buttons. Mine didn't have one. That meant that my left hand was dialing a phone:
123
456
789
while my right hand was punching in answers to questions on the computer keypad:
789
456
123
(It reminded me of patting one's head while rubbing one's belly.)
Instead of being one large room like the other center, this call center is a maze. I don't think people are on "teams" like at the other center; at this one it seems like everyone works with everyone. People come and go all day long. Managers wander around. One of them came into our room yesterday and started telling jokes. I wrote them down:
What do you get if you cross a horse with a spider?
Well, I don't know either, but if it bit you, you could ride it to the doctor.
Why do seagulls live by the sea?
Because if they lived by the bay they'd be bagels.
Why do elephants paint their toenails red?
So they can hide in cherry trees.
You ever seen an elephant in a cherry tree?
See! It works.
Why is the football stadium at BYU covered in astro-turf?
To keep the cheerleaders from grazing at half-time.
Even better than the jokes, I heard my favorite answering machine, ever. It's hard to beat "Jesus loves you; leave a message!" (which I heard at the other call center) but my new favorite is:
[bored female voice] "Hi." (pause.) "Now you say something." BEEEEP.
Maybe one of my favorite things about working at this place is that at the end of the day I exit right across from the Provo library. When I was working at the job before, I'd finish and wish that I could go home. And I would have to patiently endure two hours of transit time before I was really finished for the day. Here, I finish and begin to dread another bus ride. And then I see the library, and my world is rosy because I know that my house is almost as close as the nearest bus stop.
Also good news: my morning job is starting another fitness competition. We get bonuses if we exercise regularly. Sweet. I just keep liking them better and better.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Three (and a half) new things.
This morning I woke up sick. So I called into work, sick. And I stayed in bed. (Attempts to sleep in the afternoon have been futile.) It was nice.
[2.5 New Entertainment]
Except that my temp agency called to offer me work. Today(!) from 12-7. At a place that's 4-ish blocks from my house. I accepted, and got up.
[.5 - New Job]
I walked to the place, and arrived at about 12:02. I stood at the front desk for a couple minutes and then realized that nobody was stationed there. I dinged the bell. A man came out to the desk and invited me to follow him through a maze to a room that had about six people sitting and one woman standing. The woman looked at me, and looked at the clock.
Her: "It's 12:05. I don't usually let anyone start after 12:05."
Me: "Oh, I'm sorry."
Her: "No, it's fine. You'll just have to come back tomorrow. Are you scheduled for tomorrow? [I nod.] They only give me half an hour to do training, so I just can't let you stay."
The man escorted me out of the maze. I'm not exaggerating, people. I was supposed to be there for seven hours, and they asked me to leave because I was five minutes late. (They couldn't use five minutes of my break to catch me up? Eh well.)
So now I'm out of bed and ready for the day. Great.
Other things that have happened recently:
[1.5 New Food]
I discovered the wonder known as pumpkin chocolate chip cookies. As a child, I was raised in a cave, far from civilization. Since I had virtually no contact with the outside world, I was never introduced to pumpkin chocolate chip cookies.
A few days ago, at Williams Sonoma, I was offered a sample of pumpkin bread. The lady working there had taken the liberty of adding chocolate chips to it. It tasted wonderful. "These would make great cookies," I thought. As it turns out, they already exist! L'afro offered me her fail-proof recipe for delicious pumpkin chocolate chip cookies. I planned to make them, except that the grocery store didn't have one of the key ingredients. Instead, I made a different recipe for them---a recipe that yielded 10 dozen cookies.
I thought pumpkin and chocolate would go together about as well as Jello would with onions. Instead, the combination of pumpkin and chocolate tastes so natural and right that I just can't understand why pumpkins grow with seeds instead of chocolate chips in the middle.
[2.5 New Entertainment]On Thursday, I saw Divine Comedy for the first time.
I was really excited about it; I've been hearing about DC since I started reading archives of the Board in April.
I was kind of worried that: 1) Their humor wouldn't be funny to me since I wouldn't understand BYU jokes. 2) Since I'd heard so many good things about them, my expectations would be too high. (That's what happened with Harry Potter.)
Instead, I had a great time. They're awesome.
[3.5 New Pet]
This weekend, Lavish and I got a kitten. She's exactly the kind we wanted.
She's tiny. We got a bottle for her yesterday.
She is a good combination of playful and cuddly. She plays with everything-- her tail, her feet, the carpet, ribbons, bouncy balls, etc. And she's friendly. She doesn't hide when people come over.
The end.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
What's left of the rain runs down my roof...
Things that improved my afternoon:
1. Finding this.
2. Someone randomly sent Sudoku to my phone. What a delightful surprise!
1. Finding this.
2. Someone randomly sent Sudoku to my phone. What a delightful surprise!
"no news is no news"
I don't watch the news very often. Or even follow it, for that matter.
Periodically, I go through phases where I feel very interested in newspapers, and knowing what's going on...but usually, I don't. (Although I do become informed before I vote on things.)
I think that the news is generally depressing and speculative. It makes me worry about things that I can't do anything about. It takes time to follow. And of course, I know that this is a terribly pessimistic and isolating perspective.
But anyway. When my mom texted me last night about the New York plane crash, I hadn't even heard about it. Apparently it had been on the news all afternoon. She wrote in the text that it was one of our friend's flying students. They weren't sure if our friend had been in the plane or not.
And then, we found out that he was. They didn't announce his name in the news yesterday since his wife didn't know about it, but it's all over the news today. His family flew out to New York last night.
And the whole thing seems so weird to me. When big things happen on the news, it's usually about other people. It's about far-away people.
All day today, my stomach has been in knots. And I keep randomly having to wipe my tears away.
Tyler was a really good guy. His family has always been like an extension of my family; if my mom couldn't drive me somewhere, his mom did. As kids, Lavish and I spent nights at their house regularly. We were friends with his sisters. He and Lavish had the same birthday.
I feel so sorry for his family, and his wife and kids.
The whole thing seems surreal.
There are a bunch of articles about it now, but I like this one.
[Incidentally, my supervisor at work was also in an accident yesterday; he backed his car into a Ferrari. (Of all cars!) The paint on the bumper will just need to be touched up, but the owner of the car is a real jerk. It's going to be an expensive paint job. Poor guy.]
Stay safe, everyone.
Periodically, I go through phases where I feel very interested in newspapers, and knowing what's going on...but usually, I don't. (Although I do become informed before I vote on things.)
I think that the news is generally depressing and speculative. It makes me worry about things that I can't do anything about. It takes time to follow. And of course, I know that this is a terribly pessimistic and isolating perspective.
But anyway. When my mom texted me last night about the New York plane crash, I hadn't even heard about it. Apparently it had been on the news all afternoon. She wrote in the text that it was one of our friend's flying students. They weren't sure if our friend had been in the plane or not.
And then, we found out that he was. They didn't announce his name in the news yesterday since his wife didn't know about it, but it's all over the news today. His family flew out to New York last night.
And the whole thing seems so weird to me. When big things happen on the news, it's usually about other people. It's about far-away people.
All day today, my stomach has been in knots. And I keep randomly having to wipe my tears away.
Tyler was a really good guy. His family has always been like an extension of my family; if my mom couldn't drive me somewhere, his mom did. As kids, Lavish and I spent nights at their house regularly. We were friends with his sisters. He and Lavish had the same birthday.
I feel so sorry for his family, and his wife and kids.
The whole thing seems surreal.
There are a bunch of articles about it now, but I like this one.
[Incidentally, my supervisor at work was also in an accident yesterday; he backed his car into a Ferrari. (Of all cars!) The paint on the bumper will just need to be touched up, but the owner of the car is a real jerk. It's going to be an expensive paint job. Poor guy.]
Stay safe, everyone.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
I Couldn't Find It.
Today has been a day of remembering that I need a car.
I left for the new job an hour early. And I found out that the bus route that used to pass within, oh, 8-9 blocks of the place has changed. There's road construction that's been going on for months, and now my bus doesn't even go through the right city.
Plus, the bus takes for-e-ver to get to my faraway drop-off point because it goes down streets with a speed limit of 25 mph.
But I'm a trooper, and I like walking. So I went. By my estimation, my workplace was about 12-15 blocks from the improvised bus stop. At a brisk pace, I walked and walked. And walked. Just like the pioneer children. (I even sang along with my ipod music.)
And the blocks were not the same as in Provo; they were longer. And then, they were disappointing because blocks weren't numbered by 100s. Instead of going from 400 to 300 to 200, I went from 400 to 360 to 320 to 300, etc.
And after I walked across the entire city of Lindon (I'm pretty sure), I realized that the numbers had stopped matching up. I was lost. Oh, I knew where I was, but I had no idea where the job place was.
So I called my agency, and they told me that I wasn't even close. They said I should go home and see if I could work out my transportation issues.
And I missed driving.
Then I took a bus back to Provo and went to the grocery store. They're having a big cereal sale so I bought my eight boxes. Also, stuff to make a surprise dinner for Lavish tonight. And I half forgot that I would need to somehow take a cart-full of things to my house without the cart. By the time I finished walking 5 more blocks, I really missed driving.
I need a car. Or a mule.
I left for the new job an hour early. And I found out that the bus route that used to pass within, oh, 8-9 blocks of the place has changed. There's road construction that's been going on for months, and now my bus doesn't even go through the right city.
Plus, the bus takes for-e-ver to get to my faraway drop-off point because it goes down streets with a speed limit of 25 mph.
But I'm a trooper, and I like walking. So I went. By my estimation, my workplace was about 12-15 blocks from the improvised bus stop. At a brisk pace, I walked and walked. And walked. Just like the pioneer children. (I even sang along with my ipod music.)
And the blocks were not the same as in Provo; they were longer. And then, they were disappointing because blocks weren't numbered by 100s. Instead of going from 400 to 300 to 200, I went from 400 to 360 to 320 to 300, etc.
And after I walked across the entire city of Lindon (I'm pretty sure), I realized that the numbers had stopped matching up. I was lost. Oh, I knew where I was, but I had no idea where the job place was.
So I called my agency, and they told me that I wasn't even close. They said I should go home and see if I could work out my transportation issues.
And I missed driving.
Then I took a bus back to Provo and went to the grocery store. They're having a big cereal sale so I bought my eight boxes. Also, stuff to make a surprise dinner for Lavish tonight. And I half forgot that I would need to somehow take a cart-full of things to my house without the cart. By the time I finished walking 5 more blocks, I really missed driving.
I need a car. Or a mule.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Bliss.
I finally quit my job today.
I'll miss my friends from there, but really, it's a Very Good Thing.
Tomorrow I'm going to start work at some Halloween costume place. It pays more, and is slightly closer to Provo.
I'll probably post more about this later.
I'll miss my friends from there, but really, it's a Very Good Thing.
Tomorrow I'm going to start work at some Halloween costume place. It pays more, and is slightly closer to Provo.
I'll probably post more about this later.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Interviews with the Vampires
One of my earliest memories that I have is of going with my dad to the City of Hope, a cancer hospital, when he would donate blood. They'd let me sit on the bed with him while he donated, and then at the end they would wrap a colorful elastic bandage on my arm, and we ate Oreos and drank juice together.
Dad started donating blood in high school because they were offering free food to donors. And he's donated ever since then. Last year (?) the City of Hope honored my dad and had him speak at something because he's donated so much.
I'm not as regular as he is, but I've donated blood a bunch of times since I turned 17. One time they asked my mom and sisters and I if we would like to try donating platelets, and we decided to do it. Platelets are like...white blood cells. They need them for cancer patients because their white blood cells count has to be at a certain level before they can do more chemo. You can donate them once every two weeks, and it takes about 2 hours of being hooked up to a machine. They give you headphones and your own little tv, though, so it isn't bad. My sisters and mom and I went some Saturdays before my mission. Our family is just all about sharing bodily fluids like that. It seems like a nice thing to do.
When I moved up here, I wanted to keep donating platelets to help cancer patients. Apparently, though, you can only donate them in Salt Lake. Which is too far for me. Plasma seemed like a slightly less exciting substitution. They never paid us at the cancer hospital, so we were just doing a nice thing. Being paid for my plasma seems so...prostitutional. But my mom said that it was just like they were paying me for my time. And they make money on the stuff anyway. So I decided to try it.
(Oh, gosh. )
So yesterday, I decided that I would go donate in between jobs.
It was like completing an obstacle course. I'm so serious. I'm not used to so much red tape!
I went, and they sent me to Booth #1 to answer a dozen-ish yes/no questions. Someone would be right with me. So I filled out the form, and I sat. And waited. And started reading The Daily Universe that I had with me. And finished reading it. And I realized it had been nearly half an hour. Hm. And then a guy opened the door from the normal-people side. He was surprised and embarrassed to find me in there. He quickly closed the door. And then one of the girls on the plasma-center side opened the door, and she was surprised and embarrassed to find me in there too. They'd forgotten about me! Someone would be right with me, they said.
And they were. A girl came and asked me the questions I'd already answered. They were questions like "In the last 12 months, have you ever touched your elbow, or looked at someone who had touched their elbow in the last 12 months, to the best of your knowledge?" (okay, not really) and "Have you ever taken medication." (Um. Yes?)
They got really concerned about me having donated platelets within the past 4 months, and then decided that 2 months was sufficient. So I passed my pre-screening.
And then I had to pass my vein-check. (Vein check?!) A girl tied a rubber strip around my arm and looked for my vein. "Make a fist," she said. Um. Okay. I explained that my right arm has a good vein, and that my left arm's is hard to find. They always use my right arm. She wanted to look anyway, though, so she checked my left arm, too. And then she needed a second opinion.
So she called in a good-looking guy to reevaluate my veins. He tied the rubber tighter. "This is going to sound weird," he said, "but grab my thumb." People! Invest in squeezing balls! I cooperated, and he decided that I would be okay. "I'm going to pass you off today. But you need to do exercises so that you can strengthen your veins. " Whaaaat....Exercises? To strengthen my veins? Who does vein exercises? I don't know. It just kind of seems like doing exercises to strengthen my spleen. Or the bridge of my nose. Who does that? "My wife did them and she was able to donate within a week," he added.
So I was ready to donate.
They pulled out the appointment book, to set an appointment. The hour and a half or whatever that I'd spent there was not part of my 2-3 hour "first" appointment. Before I could donate, I needed to do a bunch of paperwork and have a medical exam. When did I want to come in?
So I didn't donate. Instead, I set an appointment for today. I went and bought a stress-ball from Sports Authority, and started my special exercises. And I laughed on the inside about how I could blog about being forgotten and having to squeeze a guy's thumbs.
Boy, I had no idea what I was in for.
Today I showed up for my appointment and did more paperwork. In ten minutes they would call me for my interview, so I worked on a jigsaw puzzle, content to be nearly finished. I still wasn't, though!
I went for the interview, and then I had to pee in a cup.
Then I had to go to the front and formally sign in. ("You walk up here, stand on the scale, say your full name and the last four digits of your Social Security Number.") Then you move over, and they prick your finger to check your hematocrit (sp?). Then you move over and stick both hands under a black light. Nothing lit up, so they knew that I didn't donate somewhere else, and invisibly-inked my right pinkie finger. So that everyone would know that they were my plasma center.
And then I waited some more. For a physical! I seriously had to change into a hospital gown and have my abdomen poked at, etc.
And then I had to have my picture taken.
All to donate!
So I was finally ready, and they sent me back to the donation room. I got set up, and everything was going fine. Everyone was impressed that I had my own squeeze ball instead of squeezing a piece of pipe like they were doing. And by everyone, I mean a bunch of guys. There wasn't one other girl in the whole room!
Until partway through, I started to tingle. My fingers did, actually. And the machine returned my blood, and I felt fine again. And then it took more blood out again, and my fingers tingled again. And then my hand cramped and I couldn't squeeze my ball-thing anymore. And my arm started tingling and cramping. And then my other arm did. I told them, and they called the doctor. She stopped the machine and returned my blood slowly. I started blacking out, and couldn't hear things. I strained to keep my eyes open. They brought me a wet washcloth for my forehead and a trash can, since I told them that I was about to throw up. I did. A few times. And as my blood returned, I started feeling better.
So they started the machine again. And, whaddoyaknowit, it happened again. Faster, though. I seriously thought I was going to pass out. Instead, I just threw up some more. They decided that I was done.
I donated probably, oh, 3/4 of what they wanted.
It was a funny experience, though. I still smiled a lot, and was friendly, and unconcerned, even though everyone else was worried. ("Why did that happen?" a nurse asked, and I explained how the calcium works. City of Hope handed out calcium chews when you arrived, and then during donation if you started to tingle. And then the tingling went away.)
And when I finshed, my blood pressure stayed low, so they made me stay in bed for almost an hour, checking my blood pressure and pulse every 10 or 15 minutes.
I guess stuff like that only happens once every 6 months or so. Lucky me.
The end.
Dad started donating blood in high school because they were offering free food to donors. And he's donated ever since then. Last year (?) the City of Hope honored my dad and had him speak at something because he's donated so much.
I'm not as regular as he is, but I've donated blood a bunch of times since I turned 17. One time they asked my mom and sisters and I if we would like to try donating platelets, and we decided to do it. Platelets are like...white blood cells. They need them for cancer patients because their white blood cells count has to be at a certain level before they can do more chemo. You can donate them once every two weeks, and it takes about 2 hours of being hooked up to a machine. They give you headphones and your own little tv, though, so it isn't bad. My sisters and mom and I went some Saturdays before my mission. Our family is just all about sharing bodily fluids like that. It seems like a nice thing to do.
When I moved up here, I wanted to keep donating platelets to help cancer patients. Apparently, though, you can only donate them in Salt Lake. Which is too far for me. Plasma seemed like a slightly less exciting substitution. They never paid us at the cancer hospital, so we were just doing a nice thing. Being paid for my plasma seems so...prostitutional. But my mom said that it was just like they were paying me for my time. And they make money on the stuff anyway. So I decided to try it.
(Oh, gosh. )
So yesterday, I decided that I would go donate in between jobs.
It was like completing an obstacle course. I'm so serious. I'm not used to so much red tape!
I went, and they sent me to Booth #1 to answer a dozen-ish yes/no questions. Someone would be right with me. So I filled out the form, and I sat. And waited. And started reading The Daily Universe that I had with me. And finished reading it. And I realized it had been nearly half an hour. Hm. And then a guy opened the door from the normal-people side. He was surprised and embarrassed to find me in there. He quickly closed the door. And then one of the girls on the plasma-center side opened the door, and she was surprised and embarrassed to find me in there too. They'd forgotten about me! Someone would be right with me, they said.
And they were. A girl came and asked me the questions I'd already answered. They were questions like "In the last 12 months, have you ever touched your elbow, or looked at someone who had touched their elbow in the last 12 months, to the best of your knowledge?" (okay, not really) and "Have you ever taken medication." (Um. Yes?)
They got really concerned about me having donated platelets within the past 4 months, and then decided that 2 months was sufficient. So I passed my pre-screening.
And then I had to pass my vein-check. (Vein check?!) A girl tied a rubber strip around my arm and looked for my vein. "Make a fist," she said. Um. Okay. I explained that my right arm has a good vein, and that my left arm's is hard to find. They always use my right arm. She wanted to look anyway, though, so she checked my left arm, too. And then she needed a second opinion.
So she called in a good-looking guy to reevaluate my veins. He tied the rubber tighter. "This is going to sound weird," he said, "but grab my thumb." People! Invest in squeezing balls! I cooperated, and he decided that I would be okay. "I'm going to pass you off today. But you need to do exercises so that you can strengthen your veins. " Whaaaat....Exercises? To strengthen my veins? Who does vein exercises? I don't know. It just kind of seems like doing exercises to strengthen my spleen. Or the bridge of my nose. Who does that? "My wife did them and she was able to donate within a week," he added.
So I was ready to donate.
They pulled out the appointment book, to set an appointment. The hour and a half or whatever that I'd spent there was not part of my 2-3 hour "first" appointment. Before I could donate, I needed to do a bunch of paperwork and have a medical exam. When did I want to come in?
So I didn't donate. Instead, I set an appointment for today. I went and bought a stress-ball from Sports Authority, and started my special exercises. And I laughed on the inside about how I could blog about being forgotten and having to squeeze a guy's thumbs.
Boy, I had no idea what I was in for.
Today I showed up for my appointment and did more paperwork. In ten minutes they would call me for my interview, so I worked on a jigsaw puzzle, content to be nearly finished. I still wasn't, though!
I went for the interview, and then I had to pee in a cup.
Then I had to go to the front and formally sign in. ("You walk up here, stand on the scale, say your full name and the last four digits of your Social Security Number.") Then you move over, and they prick your finger to check your hematocrit (sp?). Then you move over and stick both hands under a black light. Nothing lit up, so they knew that I didn't donate somewhere else, and invisibly-inked my right pinkie finger. So that everyone would know that they were my plasma center.
And then I waited some more. For a physical! I seriously had to change into a hospital gown and have my abdomen poked at, etc.
And then I had to have my picture taken.
All to donate!
So I was finally ready, and they sent me back to the donation room. I got set up, and everything was going fine. Everyone was impressed that I had my own squeeze ball instead of squeezing a piece of pipe like they were doing. And by everyone, I mean a bunch of guys. There wasn't one other girl in the whole room!
Until partway through, I started to tingle. My fingers did, actually. And the machine returned my blood, and I felt fine again. And then it took more blood out again, and my fingers tingled again. And then my hand cramped and I couldn't squeeze my ball-thing anymore. And my arm started tingling and cramping. And then my other arm did. I told them, and they called the doctor. She stopped the machine and returned my blood slowly. I started blacking out, and couldn't hear things. I strained to keep my eyes open. They brought me a wet washcloth for my forehead and a trash can, since I told them that I was about to throw up. I did. A few times. And as my blood returned, I started feeling better.
So they started the machine again. And, whaddoyaknowit, it happened again. Faster, though. I seriously thought I was going to pass out. Instead, I just threw up some more. They decided that I was done.
I donated probably, oh, 3/4 of what they wanted.
It was a funny experience, though. I still smiled a lot, and was friendly, and unconcerned, even though everyone else was worried. ("Why did that happen?" a nurse asked, and I explained how the calcium works. City of Hope handed out calcium chews when you arrived, and then during donation if you started to tingle. And then the tingling went away.)
And when I finshed, my blood pressure stayed low, so they made me stay in bed for almost an hour, checking my blood pressure and pulse every 10 or 15 minutes.
I guess stuff like that only happens once every 6 months or so. Lucky me.
The end.
Monday, October 02, 2006
My Busy Weekend
I have had such an exciting weekend.
The whole time, I've been participating in an ongoing battle. I keep halfway starting to get sick. This is mostly Lavish's fault, I'm sure, but my diligent coworkers who bring their germs to work don't help much either. So I've been taking vitamins every day (and sometimes more than once a day, since they taste good). I've been using ZICAM, which is basically amazing. I've been sleeping. And I alternate between feeling fine and feeling less fine.
But it doesn't stop there, folks--my weekend was much better than that.
Thursday, I went to go see Band of Horses in Salt Lake City with Optimistic and Alyssa. The concert was amazing, and Optimistic wrote an excellent review so I'll let you read that if you want to. Also, we got there early, so I finally bought my first pair of shoes. (In California I only wore flip-flops.) (And by first, I don't really mean first first. I mean first in...well...years.)
Friday, my little sister (attending BYUI) came to visit. That night, Lavish, my sister and her roommate, and I all attended...the Circus! My favorite part was either the part with the elephants or the part with the trapeze artists.
Saturday we watched General Conference on Lavish's computer. We completed the "Conference Challenge" that our little sister in California wanted to do with us. I really enjoyed this conference, actually.
Also Saturday, I had the best idea ever. Lavish and I had decided that we wanted to have people over, but we didn't know what we wanted to do. During the first session of conference, I had the idea that we should throw a birthday party for a few of the apostles.
I made invitations that read "You're invited to celebrate our birthday..." and had a nice little birthday picture on the front. (It was meant to confuse people. Or surprise them. Lavish's birthday is in April. Mine is in August. It would make no sense to celebrate our birthdays in October.) And then, on the inside, it had the pictures of President Packer, Elder Ballard, and Elder Nelson--all wearing birthday hats. It was awesome. Then there were the details of the party and FOOD! GAMES! PRIZES! etc written around it. The party featured "Pin the tie on the Prophet" and other birthday party games. We had everyone decorate cupcakes, and we put together fun goodie-bags. There may possibly be pictures from this in the future. We'll see. Of course I couldn't
Also Saturday, I finished my application for BYU. I should know the results of that within a couple of weeks. If I get accepted, great. If not, I'll either a) do night school, b) become a flight attendant, c) become a substitute teacher, or d) none of the above. I guess we'll see what happens. Those are the ideas so far.
The End.
The whole time, I've been participating in an ongoing battle. I keep halfway starting to get sick. This is mostly Lavish's fault, I'm sure, but my diligent coworkers who bring their germs to work don't help much either. So I've been taking vitamins every day (and sometimes more than once a day, since they taste good). I've been using ZICAM, which is basically amazing. I've been sleeping. And I alternate between feeling fine and feeling less fine.
But it doesn't stop there, folks--my weekend was much better than that.
Thursday, I went to go see Band of Horses in Salt Lake City with Optimistic and Alyssa. The concert was amazing, and Optimistic wrote an excellent review so I'll let you read that if you want to. Also, we got there early, so I finally bought my first pair of shoes. (In California I only wore flip-flops.) (And by first, I don't really mean first first. I mean first in...well...years.)
Friday, my little sister (attending BYUI) came to visit. That night, Lavish, my sister and her roommate, and I all attended...the Circus! My favorite part was either the part with the elephants or the part with the trapeze artists.
Saturday we watched General Conference on Lavish's computer. We completed the "Conference Challenge" that our little sister in California wanted to do with us. I really enjoyed this conference, actually.
Also Saturday, I had the best idea ever. Lavish and I had decided that we wanted to have people over, but we didn't know what we wanted to do. During the first session of conference, I had the idea that we should throw a birthday party for a few of the apostles.
I made invitations that read "You're invited to celebrate our birthday..." and had a nice little birthday picture on the front. (It was meant to confuse people. Or surprise them. Lavish's birthday is in April. Mine is in August. It would make no sense to celebrate our birthdays in October.) And then, on the inside, it had the pictures of President Packer, Elder Ballard, and Elder Nelson--all wearing birthday hats. It was awesome. Then there were the details of the party and FOOD! GAMES! PRIZES! etc written around it. The party featured "Pin the tie on the Prophet" and other birthday party games. We had everyone decorate cupcakes, and we put together fun goodie-bags. There may possibly be pictures from this in the future. We'll see. Of course I couldn't
Also Saturday, I finished my application for BYU. I should know the results of that within a couple of weeks. If I get accepted, great. If not, I'll either a) do night school, b) become a flight attendant, c) become a substitute teacher, or d) none of the above. I guess we'll see what happens. Those are the ideas so far.
The End.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Spiders, part IV
I'm pleased to announce that I've experienced a paradigm shift.
After my initial post about spiders, someone explained a theory he had about bees and spiders, etc. I don't completely remember the conversation, but I walked away considering the idea that spiders and bees maybe, possibly, are not very emotional creatures. Whoever it was told me that he didn't really think that they had feelings. It was something I had never really thought about. At the time of the conversation, I'll admit that I was less than convinced of his viewpoint.
All along, I've been feeling like spiders and bees were part of some sort of conspiracy. And as I continue to reflect on the conversation that I had with whichever friend it was, I realize more and more that my thoughts were completely irrational and, really, impossible. Insects and arachnids simply do not hold conferences to discuss attacking humans. They don't have squashing drills where they practice dodging shoes or jumping around wads of tissue. Big spiders don't tell baby spiders about the thrill of scaring a poor girls into abandoning perfectly good blankets or rooms. They just don't. It's all just very disturbing anthropomorphism, and it probably stems from books like Charlotte's Web and James and the Giant Peach.
Since then, I've realized that my friend is right. And suddenly, spiders seem much less dangerous that they did before.
I have exciting evidence that attests to my change: I have (personally) killed four spiders in the last three days. And two other insects. And I smashed all of them with my bare hands! Okay, not really. I actually used tissue for three of them. And a shoe for a really big and juicy one. I'm so proud of myself, though, because I really couldn't kill spiders before. It's still progress, though. The best I could do was spray excessive amounts of smelly spider-killer on them, and even then I was afraid to pick up the bodies for fear that they would come back to life.
You still won't see me on Fear Factor anytime soon, but I would like to thank whoever it was that I chatted with.
After my initial post about spiders, someone explained a theory he had about bees and spiders, etc. I don't completely remember the conversation, but I walked away considering the idea that spiders and bees maybe, possibly, are not very emotional creatures. Whoever it was told me that he didn't really think that they had feelings. It was something I had never really thought about. At the time of the conversation, I'll admit that I was less than convinced of his viewpoint.
All along, I've been feeling like spiders and bees were part of some sort of conspiracy. And as I continue to reflect on the conversation that I had with whichever friend it was, I realize more and more that my thoughts were completely irrational and, really, impossible. Insects and arachnids simply do not hold conferences to discuss attacking humans. They don't have squashing drills where they practice dodging shoes or jumping around wads of tissue. Big spiders don't tell baby spiders about the thrill of scaring a poor girls into abandoning perfectly good blankets or rooms. They just don't. It's all just very disturbing anthropomorphism, and it probably stems from books like Charlotte's Web and James and the Giant Peach.
Since then, I've realized that my friend is right. And suddenly, spiders seem much less dangerous that they did before.
I have exciting evidence that attests to my change: I have (personally) killed four spiders in the last three days. And two other insects. And I smashed all of them with my bare hands! Okay, not really. I actually used tissue for three of them. And a shoe for a really big and juicy one. I'm so proud of myself, though, because I really couldn't kill spiders before. It's still progress, though. The best I could do was spray excessive amounts of smelly spider-killer on them, and even then I was afraid to pick up the bodies for fear that they would come back to life.
You still won't see me on Fear Factor anytime soon, but I would like to thank whoever it was that I chatted with.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Did you hear about Hugo and Kim?
Almost every day, funny things happen at the call center.
Management specifically tells us not to try to convince people to be interested in online college classes: either they are interested, or they are not, and either answer is okay. We just want to know.
People don't realize that, though. They think that we're going to pressure them to spend money or sign up for something, so they get really defensive. They just wanted their FREE! Dinner for two at Chili's! or FREE! Pair of jeans! Or to WIN! A laptop!!! and so they clicked some button saying that they were interested in college classes.
Occasionally, people will admit that they just wanted the free thing, and that they're not really interested. I commend their honesty. More often, people will say they "made a mistake," and that's okay too. (I've made a huge mistake!) Or they'll say that they don't remember filling the form out. Fine. [My personal favorite response is "Oh, I changed my mind. I'm not interested anymore." In that one, they're taking responsibility for having expressed the interest (however fleeting and related to incentive), and still communicating their disinterest politely.]
Other times, interesting things happen. Sometimes people (other than the ones that we're calling for) start interrogating us (sometime I'll have to post about the time that I actually was interrogated...). When it happens, it usually turns out to be:
1) A jealous spouse. (Sad. My husband and I will not have trust issues when telemarketers call.)
woman's voice: "Hello?"
me: "Hi, is John there?"
her: "Who is this?"
me: "It's [me] with the [Company], is he there?"
her: "Why are you calling?"
me: "He had expressed an interest in some college classes. Can I talk to him?"
her: "College classes?!"
me: "Yes..."
her: "And you're from where?"
me: [sigh.]
2) A concerned parent. Since people are kind of greedy, they sometimes try to maximize their share of FREE!* (*but not really) stuff by signing up their children for free stuff too.
"Hi, is Madison there?"
"Madison? What's the last name?"
"Yeah. Jones. Is she there?"
"Um. Well, this is the Jones', but...Madison? What does this regard?"
"Oh, I'm calling her back about some college classes she had expressed an interest in. Can I talk to her?"
"Who is this?!"
"It's [me]. She'd filled out a form saying she was interested--"
"College classes!! Madison is two months old!"
"Oh! I guess that's a little early to be starting college."
"Yeah, I don't know how that happened!"
(I do.)
In another variation of this, a kid actually does sign up, but they're too young and don't have their parents' permission. This is especially concerning to parents when my male coworkers call for their middle-school aged daughters.
3) A confused relative. This is actually a variation of #2.
"Henry?"
"Yeah, is he there?"
"Um. Henry? What is this about?"
"Oh, I'm calling him back about some college classes she had expressed an interest in. Can I talk to him?"
"Who is this?!"
"It's [me]. He'd filled out a form saying she was interested--"
"No! College classes!! Henry is 293847239 years old!"
"Oh!."
"Yeah, he's not interested in classes. I don't know how -that- happened!"
(I do.)
4) Something completely random.
We tell people that we're calling from the "Career Institute" and sometimes people misunderstand what we're saying. One time a guy got really mad that my coworker Joe was calling.
"Who IS this?"
"It's Joe."
"From WHERE?"
"The Career Institute."
"[much calmer] Oh! You had me worried there for a minute. I thought you said you were calling from the "Queer Institute."
Or another time, as an attempt to embarrass my coworkers, a guy pretended to be really friendly on the phone, but kept giving pornographic...instructions? to someone that was in the background. Really disgusting stuff. The high school kids who called him loved it. The called back again, and put the guy on speaker phone, and he did it again. I was already tired of their immaturity and lack of professionalism, and after that, I had them moved.
Yesterday, I heard a lady frantically tell someone on her side of the phone that there were police all around the house. She returned to our call and asked me if I could please hold for two minutes. I could, I told her. It took more than two minutes, but when she came back, she was really interested in online college classes. She wanted to take criminal justice classes. Didn't matter which degree, she said. I found that amusing.
Also yesterday, I called a nun. She wasn't there, but that left me with some questions. Can nuns take college classes? Do they use the Internet? Do they apply for FREE!* dinners and jeans and to become mystery shoppers? Do their relatives do that on their behalf? I just really didn't expect that from them.
Last week I kept calling a Mary Katherine. We keep the same papers, so I call each person up to four times (until I talk to them) and then the morning people will try four more times if I don't get ahold of them. WELL. I remembered M.K. because she had it set up so that it plays music while you wait for her to answer. We draw music notes next to the people that have those. Usually they're ghetto songs, but hers was lovely classical music that I enjoyed listening to. I had already listened to it three times when I called her on Friday. After the music it goes to her answering machine where she tells you in her southern accent that you've reached Mary Katherine and she isn't available, blah blah blah. On Friday, though, she answered.
"Hello?"
"Hi, this is [me] with the [Company], how are you?"
"Ahblow espainyol." [WHAT? I was shocked. She had just told me in a thick American accent that she spoke spanish. I knew full well that she spoke English, but I thought I'd humor her...]
"Hablamos espanol!" [I told her that we spoke her language.] She hung up on me.
Yesterday I was rude to someone on the phone for the first time. And I think that's commendable, since I've been working there for a month. A lady kept asking me who I was. Over and over again. And I told her that I'm [me] and I was calling for Uzo. And she kept not understanding, and I kept asking if Uzo was there, and if it was the right number. And the lady was really rude. She said, "If you don't know who you're calling, just get off the phone." And she hung up on me! And I was annoyed. Because I did know who I was calling. So I called her back and said, "Listen! You don't have to be rude. If it's the wrong number, just say so!" And I hung up on her. And everyone around me stared, because I never raise my voice on the phone.
The end.
Management specifically tells us not to try to convince people to be interested in online college classes: either they are interested, or they are not, and either answer is okay. We just want to know.
People don't realize that, though. They think that we're going to pressure them to spend money or sign up for something, so they get really defensive. They just wanted their FREE! Dinner for two at Chili's! or FREE! Pair of jeans! Or to WIN! A laptop!!! and so they clicked some button saying that they were interested in college classes.
Occasionally, people will admit that they just wanted the free thing, and that they're not really interested. I commend their honesty. More often, people will say they "made a mistake," and that's okay too. (I've made a huge mistake!) Or they'll say that they don't remember filling the form out. Fine. [My personal favorite response is "Oh, I changed my mind. I'm not interested anymore." In that one, they're taking responsibility for having expressed the interest (however fleeting and related to incentive), and still communicating their disinterest politely.]
Other times, interesting things happen. Sometimes people (other than the ones that we're calling for) start interrogating us (sometime I'll have to post about the time that I actually was interrogated...). When it happens, it usually turns out to be:
1) A jealous spouse. (Sad. My husband and I will not have trust issues when telemarketers call.)
woman's voice: "Hello?"
me: "Hi, is John there?"
her: "Who is this?"
me: "It's [me] with the [Company], is he there?"
her: "Why are you calling?"
me: "He had expressed an interest in some college classes. Can I talk to him?"
her: "College classes?!"
me: "Yes..."
her: "And you're from where?"
me: [sigh.]
2) A concerned parent. Since people are kind of greedy, they sometimes try to maximize their share of FREE!* (*but not really) stuff by signing up their children for free stuff too.
"Hi, is Madison there?"
"Madison? What's the last name?"
"Yeah. Jones. Is she there?"
"Um. Well, this is the Jones', but...Madison? What does this regard?"
"Oh, I'm calling her back about some college classes she had expressed an interest in. Can I talk to her?"
"Who is this?!"
"It's [me]. She'd filled out a form saying she was interested--"
"College classes!! Madison is two months old!"
"Oh! I guess that's a little early to be starting college."
"Yeah, I don't know how that happened!"
(I do.)
In another variation of this, a kid actually does sign up, but they're too young and don't have their parents' permission. This is especially concerning to parents when my male coworkers call for their middle-school aged daughters.
3) A confused relative. This is actually a variation of #2.
"Henry?"
"Yeah, is he there?"
"Um. Henry? What is this about?"
"Oh, I'm calling him back about some college classes she had expressed an interest in. Can I talk to him?"
"Who is this?!"
"It's [me]. He'd filled out a form saying she was interested--"
"No! College classes!! Henry is 293847239 years old!"
"Oh!."
"Yeah, he's not interested in classes. I don't know how -that- happened!"
(I do.)
4) Something completely random.
We tell people that we're calling from the "Career Institute" and sometimes people misunderstand what we're saying. One time a guy got really mad that my coworker Joe was calling.
"Who IS this?"
"It's Joe."
"From WHERE?"
"The Career Institute."
"[much calmer] Oh! You had me worried there for a minute. I thought you said you were calling from the "Queer Institute."
Or another time, as an attempt to embarrass my coworkers, a guy pretended to be really friendly on the phone, but kept giving pornographic...instructions? to someone that was in the background. Really disgusting stuff. The high school kids who called him loved it. The called back again, and put the guy on speaker phone, and he did it again. I was already tired of their immaturity and lack of professionalism, and after that, I had them moved.
Yesterday, I heard a lady frantically tell someone on her side of the phone that there were police all around the house. She returned to our call and asked me if I could please hold for two minutes. I could, I told her. It took more than two minutes, but when she came back, she was really interested in online college classes. She wanted to take criminal justice classes. Didn't matter which degree, she said. I found that amusing.
Also yesterday, I called a nun. She wasn't there, but that left me with some questions. Can nuns take college classes? Do they use the Internet? Do they apply for FREE!* dinners and jeans and to become mystery shoppers? Do their relatives do that on their behalf? I just really didn't expect that from them.
Last week I kept calling a Mary Katherine. We keep the same papers, so I call each person up to four times (until I talk to them) and then the morning people will try four more times if I don't get ahold of them. WELL. I remembered M.K. because she had it set up so that it plays music while you wait for her to answer. We draw music notes next to the people that have those. Usually they're ghetto songs, but hers was lovely classical music that I enjoyed listening to. I had already listened to it three times when I called her on Friday. After the music it goes to her answering machine where she tells you in her southern accent that you've reached Mary Katherine and she isn't available, blah blah blah. On Friday, though, she answered.
"Hello?"
"Hi, this is [me] with the [Company], how are you?"
"Ahblow espainyol." [WHAT? I was shocked. She had just told me in a thick American accent that she spoke spanish. I knew full well that she spoke English, but I thought I'd humor her...]
"Hablamos espanol!" [I told her that we spoke her language.] She hung up on me.
Yesterday I was rude to someone on the phone for the first time. And I think that's commendable, since I've been working there for a month. A lady kept asking me who I was. Over and over again. And I told her that I'm [me] and I was calling for Uzo. And she kept not understanding, and I kept asking if Uzo was there, and if it was the right number. And the lady was really rude. She said, "If you don't know who you're calling, just get off the phone." And she hung up on me! And I was annoyed. Because I did know who I was calling. So I called her back and said, "Listen! You don't have to be rude. If it's the wrong number, just say so!" And I hung up on her. And everyone around me stared, because I never raise my voice on the phone.
The end.
Monday, September 25, 2006
...and men are that they might have joy...
Life is good.
I don't have much to report other than that I'm happy. I can't remember ever being happier, actually.
One of the big things that I learned on my mission was that my happiness does not (and should not!) depend on external things. And I'm sure that's helped... but I feel like everything is finally falling into place.
I'm working. And one of my jobs is a job that I really love. The other job...isn't. But I have made friends there, and they offer me a lot of hours and throw cheesy parties.
I'm doing pretty well spiritually. I'm happy with my new calling. I got home-taught twice! yesterday.
My apartment is nearly finished being painted, and that is a Very Good Thing. I enjoy living with my sister.
I have amazing friends.
I'm going to a concert this week. It's 'Band of Horses' and I'm really looking forward to it.
I'm falling out of like with the guy that I've been interested in. And that will be okay. [Also, I'm discovering that I need to set some different criteria for guys that I want to be interested in. Previously, the qualifications were: 1) intelligence 2) spirituality 3) personality. The problem is, now, 1) to get into BYU in the first place, guys have to be relatively intelligent; 2) They also tend to be members of the Church, although their spirituality does range; 3) Since my mission, I get along with pretty much everyone. So I'm pretty much impressed with basically half of Provo. (Okay, not really. But you get the idea.)] I think I'm finally completely over The Boyfriend, too, which is another Very Good Thing.
I have my phone, so I never feel too stranded or lost. Also, I'm remembering where things are in the Provo/Orem area. And that's always nice.
I'm exercising regularly. (Hm. Maybe that's why I'm happy. Endorphins.) One of my coworkers wants us to start exercising together after work every day, and the idea sounds wonderful to me. Despite my lack of coordination, good workouts are one of my Favorite Things. And I take vitamins again, which makes me feel healthy.
Problems are being worked out. I thought that I was going to have to fly to California a couple weeks ago to keep resolving something, and instead, some deep thought and an extremely productive phone call resulted in a favorable outcome. Which is to say, I didn't have to fly to California and won't in the future, either.
Those are the things that come to mind right now. Life is still very busy, and sometimes very stressful, but overall, I am happy.
I don't have much to report other than that I'm happy. I can't remember ever being happier, actually.
One of the big things that I learned on my mission was that my happiness does not (and should not!) depend on external things. And I'm sure that's helped... but I feel like everything is finally falling into place.
I'm working. And one of my jobs is a job that I really love. The other job...isn't. But I have made friends there, and they offer me a lot of hours and throw cheesy parties.
I'm doing pretty well spiritually. I'm happy with my new calling. I got home-taught twice! yesterday.
My apartment is nearly finished being painted, and that is a Very Good Thing. I enjoy living with my sister.
I have amazing friends.
I'm going to a concert this week. It's 'Band of Horses' and I'm really looking forward to it.
I'm falling out of like with the guy that I've been interested in. And that will be okay. [Also, I'm discovering that I need to set some different criteria for guys that I want to be interested in. Previously, the qualifications were: 1) intelligence 2) spirituality 3) personality. The problem is, now, 1) to get into BYU in the first place, guys have to be relatively intelligent; 2) They also tend to be members of the Church, although their spirituality does range; 3) Since my mission, I get along with pretty much everyone. So I'm pretty much impressed with basically half of Provo. (Okay, not really. But you get the idea.)] I think I'm finally completely over The Boyfriend, too, which is another Very Good Thing.
I have my phone, so I never feel too stranded or lost. Also, I'm remembering where things are in the Provo/Orem area. And that's always nice.
I'm exercising regularly. (Hm. Maybe that's why I'm happy. Endorphins.) One of my coworkers wants us to start exercising together after work every day, and the idea sounds wonderful to me. Despite my lack of coordination, good workouts are one of my Favorite Things. And I take vitamins again, which makes me feel healthy.
Problems are being worked out. I thought that I was going to have to fly to California a couple weeks ago to keep resolving something, and instead, some deep thought and an extremely productive phone call resulted in a favorable outcome. Which is to say, I didn't have to fly to California and won't in the future, either.
Those are the things that come to mind right now. Life is still very busy, and sometimes very stressful, but overall, I am happy.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
The End.
My dear readers, I regret to inform you that I won't be around to write for you much longer.
You see, I'll die a miserable death this winter: I'll most certainly freeze to death.
I remember suffering from a severe case of layer-fatigue during my winters in Italy. I hoped that nearly eradicating skirts and dresses from my wardrobe would ameliorate that problem. Avoiding skirts can only do so much good, though-- we're still in September (September!) and I alternate between feeling smothered and feeling freezing cold.
My poor Southern Californian blood is simply not accustomed to these extreme temperatures. As it is, I'll have to buy shoes this weekend. I only own flip-flop sandals, but I fear that I'll lose my toes if I don't bury them in shoes. I'll also buy socks. Who knows if I'll end up buying boots, too.
I'm already drinking hot cocoa every day. Sometimes twice a day. What will I do in December? Or January?
If I am not buried in snow (while, say, waiting for a bus), please do have a nice funeral service for me. Might I suggest hyacinth or hellebore as flowers? They thrive in winter climates, and that might suggest to the people who attend that although I was unable to withstand the cold, there is still hope for them.
You see, I'll die a miserable death this winter: I'll most certainly freeze to death.
I remember suffering from a severe case of layer-fatigue during my winters in Italy. I hoped that nearly eradicating skirts and dresses from my wardrobe would ameliorate that problem. Avoiding skirts can only do so much good, though-- we're still in September (September!) and I alternate between feeling smothered and feeling freezing cold.
My poor Southern Californian blood is simply not accustomed to these extreme temperatures. As it is, I'll have to buy shoes this weekend. I only own flip-flop sandals, but I fear that I'll lose my toes if I don't bury them in shoes. I'll also buy socks. Who knows if I'll end up buying boots, too.
I'm already drinking hot cocoa every day. Sometimes twice a day. What will I do in December? Or January?
If I am not buried in snow (while, say, waiting for a bus), please do have a nice funeral service for me. Might I suggest hyacinth or hellebore as flowers? They thrive in winter climates, and that might suggest to the people who attend that although I was unable to withstand the cold, there is still hope for them.
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