Today is Father's Day. I get to that at the end.

I should definitely mention that I went to a SIFF documentary screening with Allen, who clearly knows what he's doing in terms of how to win my eternal loyalty. The topic of the doc: Kevin Clash, creator of Elmo from Sesame Street. And of course, we all know how I feel about that show, and puppets in general.

The documentary was remarkably similar in theme and scope to his recent-ish memoir, My Life as a Furry Red Monster (see my not-very-helpful review of that here). But there were some very cool video clips and a tour of the Muppet Studio that were amazing. Furthermore, Muppetry is such a visual medium that Kevin's life story ought to have been a documentary in the first place. I loved seeing him at the screening, and the movie was fun. I only cried a little bit.

I don't know what else to say about it, really. To be blunt, Clash seems like a bit of a workaholic--a well-meaning one, to be sure. On the other hand, is any genius NOT a workaholic, someone devoted to their creations at the expense of all else? Is that the price? And even if you don't think Elmo is that great a character, you have to admit that his status as a cultural phenomena is pretty incredible, and it didn't happen by accident. It was engineered in large part by Kevin Clash, and a lot of the projects related to puppeteering and development of Sesame Street in general can be attributed to Kevin. He's been at it for decades.

One of the more poignant moments was seeing Kevin Clash at his teenage daughter's birthday party. He was clearly giving everything he had to make her party incredibly memorable (a video of celebrities wishing her happy birthday, a cake that looked like it belonged at a Sesame Street-themed wedding) but I, at least (not sure if the viewer was meant to) could sense a detachment from father to child, greater than the usual distance between a teenage girl and her parents. Maybe I was reading too much into it.

On the other hand, if millions of children benefit at the expense of one visionary's family and friends, is that 100% horrible? Do we cluck our tongues at famous scientists who never see their families because they're too busy working on a cure for cancer? It's tricky, because some causes take an entire self, with nothing left.

I remember when my dad was working on a case that took him away from home whenever he wasn't at work. He would either be gone or in his office until 1 or 2 in the morning. The case never went anywhere, either, and it wasn't exactly noble--some sort of revenge on a former client that way way south. My point is, that was the last time I remember feeling somewhat sad that my dad wasn't around much (I was in high school). Ever since then, he's been around a lot, even if we don't want him to be. He hasn't always been the kind of dad you write blog posts about. But he has been around. I guess that's good?

I know this isn't a really platinum endorsement. Reminiscent of this Vonnegut quote, yes?

"If I die, and I hope I don't, I want my tombstone to read, "Someone. Sometime to sometime. He tried."

I going to go out on a limb and say it's better to have a dad who tried than none at all.

Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back.

Go ahead and listen to this song and replace Kotter with Koler:

Have you noticed I have not blogged in a long time? Maybe you have, maybe you haven't. I'm not going to apologize for not blogging, because I'M NOT SORRY. I am also not sorry that this quarter is over, because working fulltime and going to school fulltime is totally exhausting. IT IS THE WORST. Did not enjoy. For all those who did that for four plus years: I SALUTE YOU.

Over the past quarter, I have been so frequently pressed for time that I have become disgusting. Evidence:

1. One time I borrowed my employer's husband's deodorant when I needed to go straight from work to school. Fact: ladies should not smell like Old Spice.

2. Once, while eating dinner/studying in bed, I spilled yakisoba sauce on my sheets and rather than wash them, I just slept in them. Fact: I still haven't washed them yet. Probably this weekend.

3. I also washed my hair in the sink at work.

4. Another time, I dumped cornstarch in my hair at work because I needed to go to school and I had not showered. Fact: I am an Italian greaseball.*

5. Tonight, I ate M&Ms for dinner. Plain. Because they were part of the visual aid for my math class.

Don't worry, I have lots of great stuff in the works! Here's a preview:

1. Even more 2011 books.

2. Installment 1 of Book vs. Movie vs. Movie.

3. Installment 2 of 30 for 30: the "Should I get rid of this?" edition.

4. Installment 1 of I Really, Really Love TV.

5. In-depth reporting on Star Trek Con 2011 in Vancouver, BC. HELL YES I AM GOING TO THAT.

6. Kevin Clash.

Here's to a great summer!

*Also fact: I am not Italian.

Handwriting Activity

From Kayla, who clearly, I can't get enough of. The questions:

1. what's your name and blogger name?

2. what's your blog's URL?

3. Write, "The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog."

4. Favorite quote?

5. Favorite song?

6. Favorite band/singers?

7. Anything else you want to say?

I was in the mood for some origami today. (Click to enlarge!)

Proof that I'm a woman of my word.

Why Some People Think I am Eccentric

Because if enough people think something, it has to be true. Especially if it's on the Internet. Duh. Evidence annotated below.

Happy Solstice! The universe has conspired against me and made me menstrual and ill in conjunction with the full moon. I couldn't fall asleep last night and then woke up at 4 AM with back pain so severe it made me throw up, which was less than fun. Then I couldn't fall back (get it?) asleep. I went outside in my underwear and a fur coat (1) to see if the eclipse was still visible, but of course by then it was over, and anyway it was far too cloudy to see anything. When my alarm went off at 6 AM I hadn't slept at all and I was so disappointed I almost started crying (2).

The only good thing about last night is that Sego spooned with me and he is the best huge furry hot water bottle in the whole wide world.

Even when I was starting to feel sick yesterday afternoon, when my boss called while I was watching Fire in the Sky (3) I foolishly agreed to take a work assignment for tomorrow/today. I could really use the money. So far I don't really regret it because even though I am tired and in a lot of pain, it's better to be in pain and distracted by work than in pain at home with nothing to do. Although I still have some craft projects to finish for some Christmas gifts. In some ways, crafting is more of a chore for me than regular chores (4).

I also have 17 more books in the queue that I need to finish writing about before the end of the year. When did this become an actual goal instead of just something to do because I was no longer in school? I don't know. (5)

There is this boy at church whom I find fascinating for a number of reasons, but the biggest one is that he seems really, really content. As in, comfortable in his own skin, happy with the way his life is right now. I am jealous and also curious as to what he knows that I don't.

Lastly, when I was cleaning out some boxes of high school memorabilia I found--wait for it--an autographed poster from the band Jericho Road. I never liked or listened to their music, but all you need to know about them is that they were a Mormon Boy Band and that they were ridiculous. One time I was at the Deseret Book in Bellevue buying some scripture markers on my way home from the temple, and those guys were just there, all alone. They struck up a conversation and invited me to their show, but I was busy. They gave me an autograph anyway. Bless their hearts.

Any chance that would be worth money? Doubtful, I suppose. Might put it on the eBay anyway. (6) You never know.

Feminism is Not Ded

Temping is a suitable short-term career path for me because I have a very short attention span and like to dabble. If I had to perform some of the occasionally mindless tasks that I do as a temp day in and day out for months on end, my soul would probably die, but as it stands, with me doing something for a few hours or a few days at a time, I usually enjoy whatever it is I have to do, even if it is boring. Also, I feel like I get a nice miniature vision of many different fields and companies. It's like every day is Take Elisa to Work Day.

If I were to make a list of the things I have learned through temping, it would probably consist of all the different filing systems I have learned, how many phone lines I can manage, blah blah blah. I do not think I would list what I learned to do today, which is to assemble and transport 52 mannequins.

Today I worked at a mid-fashion clothing company that I have never heard of before, and for privacy's sake won't list here, but let's just say it's akin to those California-infused preppy clothing stores you see in the mall like PacSun, Aeropostale and such. I was told that I would be performing manual labor of some sort, so I dressed accordingly in jeans, and showed up at the corporate office at eight o'clock this morning.

My supervisor and both my co-workers were male, and here is where the feminism thing comes in. I noticed that I did not seem especially welcome at this position, which was unloading large boxes from a truck. My co-workers talked to each other but not to me, and my supervisor was polite but gave instructions as to exactly what we were doing while I wasn't, technically, there. This got me a little bit on edge, because I figured that they didn't want me around because they assumed, as a woman, I wouldn't be able to lift said boxes. This hurt my pride especially because I am pretty strong, even though I am short. Ever since I was nine or ten (and keep in mind at that age I more resembled a fifteen or sixteen year-old) my dad went to me when he needed help with lifting heavy objects or working on fix-it type stuff, because my brothers were too young. I won't pretend to be able to compete with, like, professional construction workers, but I can definitely hold my own with a couple of doughy office workers.

This turned out to be true.

After we unloaded the boxes I noticed that one of my co-worker's attitudes had changed. He smiled at me and acted friendly. Success! I had proved my worth, video-game style. But the other one still wouldn't even look me in the eye, which gave me a medium-sized chip on my shoulder. His attitude made me feel like I had something to prove, so as we started on out next task, I determined that I was going to be the BEST DAMN MANNEQUIN ASSEMBLER OF ALL TIME.

Here's the thing about being a working woman, at least in my experience. Most of the time, in more cerebral environments like school, blue collar offices and (more often than not) church, I feel like the general M.O. is pretty merit-based and doesn't have that much to do with gender. In my classes in college, for example, I usually felt like I was judged based on my abilities alone. But if I'm in an environment where it still feels like a male-dominated arena (i.e. factory work, manual labor, etc) I immediately assume that everybody there assumes I can't do whatever it is we're supposed to do simply because I am a woman. I start out with something to prove, which is maybe silly because probably a lot of the time no one is thinking anything bad about me in the first place. It's totally dumb.

Anyway, so we started taking the mannequins out of the box, putting them together and wheeling them over to the elevator to eventually be taken upstairs. I should mention that this was an amusingly awkward job because the mannequins were all male. It was impossible to put them together or move them around without grabbing embarrassing parts of their anatomy. The height adjustment valve was very poorly placed and required me to stand in what appeared to be a rather compromising position, with my hand in an embarrassing place. These mannequins were also packing like James Bond on a mission. Don't think I'm just a pervert or a ten year-old boy in a twenty-six year-old woman's body, because every single person who walked into the lobby where we were assembling the mannequins snickered like crazy. This was an Austin Powers level of obvious, entrendre-wise.

Anyway, so the second co-worker and I were able to joke around for a few minutes, then he went upstairs and left me with this other guy who obviously really didn't like me. I hadn't said anything to him at all, so I was left to assume that he had a problem with me because I was a woman. As we pulled out the headless torsos, which by the way smelled like hemp, I thought about the state of feminism in our country, and how in so many ways, we have so far to go.

Finally--FINALLY--this guy turned to me and asked me what "I like to do." I'm terrible at answering that question, by the way. I think I need to take up knitting again so I have an easy answer.

"Oh," I said. "I like, um, swimming, and ... sci-fi."

His pasty face lit up. "Really? Me too!"

And then we were friends and talked about nerdy things for the rest of the afternoon.

THE END

MORAL: Sometimes someone appears mean and scary but it turns out they are more afraid of you then you are of them (like bears, and not like that little girl from The Ring). For example, maybe you think someone doesn't like you because he doesn't like working with women, but it turns out he is actually just afraid of all women, except ones who are equally excited about Tron Legacy.

Not Being Naked: day 15

I put on clothes today, guys!! A dress, even.

black t-shirt + black leggings + short red dress + no shoes = 10/10 for comfort and bliss

Things I am Thankful for:

1. My badass family

2. My beautiful friends

3. Good music

4. Star Wars

5. Tofurkey

6. Jim Henson

7. Sego

8. Podcasts

9. Texting

10. Hot water

11. Cuddling

12. Jesus

13. Snow days

14. Being barefoot

15. Scrabble

16. Books

17. Missions

18. Persimmons

19. Lists

20. Everything

Brought to you by the letter B.

I have some of the coolest friends the world has ever known. But first, inside jokes!

Those of you who have been perusing my Facebook profile of late may have noticed the scads of boob jokes that have been taking over my page in the past few days. I mean, more than usual. Here is why. The letter B is heavily, inextricably involved.

It all started with blackberries. Not the cellular device, but these:

Attractive photo of my hand brought to you by Greg.

Over the summer, Greg and Wills drove up from the Utah to visit. While they were in town, we spent an afternoon picking blackberries and making jars and jars of delicious jam that I am still working my way through.

While we picked berries and got attacked by stinging nettles, we talked about everything. This was not long after I had discovered that I had been wearing the wrong bra size my entire life. Greg and Wills are those rare, awesome kind of guys that they don't get weirded out by anything I say, so I told them the story and how much better my back felt/hotter I looked when I wore a bra that fit me properly. I even showed them the photographic evidence (clothed). I also complained about how expensive odd-sized bras are, and how I probably won't be able to afford to re-stock my lingerie drawer for a while.

Fast forward to last Saturday. My birthday. I received a package from Provo, and what do you think was inside??

TWO gorgeous, perfectly-fitting bras!! My Provo family (Wills, Greg, Justin, Chandler, Colin, Lance, Austin, Sarah, Colleen, Vilja, Ashley, and Brooke) all chipped in and sent me not only two amazingly comfortable undergarments but also cards chock full of dirty jokes! Clearly, these people know what I like. It made me a little sad to think of them getting together and telling dirty jokes without me, but at the same time, it's definitely the best way to celebrate my life. I hope they tell lots of dirty jokes at my funeral.

The cards, plus the one I got from Judith.

Here is my favorite one reproduced for your pleasure:

Dear Elisa,

Words cannot express the tender feelings in my breast. You've been such a supportive friend for so many years that this is hardly tit-for-tat. Still, these large tokens of my esteem take a load of debt off my chest. I mean it's not like I've been racked with guilt about it, but you've poured out jugs of friendly service, and this is really the best I can do, my bosom friend. I miss you loads. I thought of you while eating melons from our garden. Hope Seattle is treating you well. Hang in there.

Chandler

In fact, all the people I like are way better than the people you like. This is proof.

Also fact: my shirts are fitting better than ever. I like to think they are being held up by love.

"As strong as our faith is, with all the mixed messages attacking it, it can also become very fragile."

--Bishop Richard C. Edgely.

On Saturday, I road-tripped down to Portland with the lovely Erin. We were there for less than a day but were able to squeeze in eating Lebanese food, buying terrible movies at Deseret Book and being with the equally lovely Cassie as she went through the Temple for the first time.* It was, of course, unspeakably lovely, albeit a trifle whirlwind. But that's how I like to roll.

Erin and I were discussing some of the frustrations of life in a singles ward during the loooooong drive back, seeing as it was so rainy one could not drive at an acceptable speed. Whilst we were talking, ELC said something that stuck with me.

She said, "Some people come to church for external reasons."

The conversation went on from there, but I kept thinking about that sentence the next day during Sacrament Meeting.

I am not sure if everyone goes through this process like I do, but I have to talk myself out of leaving the Church on a fairly regular basis. It almost became a joke between me and some of my friends at BYU. "Hey, Wills, what are you doing later? Well, after you have dinner at your grandma's, would you mind talking me out of leaving the Church? Thanks, I appreciate it. Bye."

I have written before about my many intellectual struggles with the Church, which have only been made worse by my serving a mission (hilarious). Conversely, the more I struggle, the more I realize that if I leave the Church, it would all be for nothing. Well, not for nothing, but if I really wanted to leave, I would have done it already, right?

The fact is, I don't want to. And hopefully, because I don't want to, I never will.

Here's where the external vs. internal binary helped me out so much.

So, lots of people my age go to church for social reasons, to make their family happy, to find people to date, to have local support system, to have someone to go to for help when you move, etc. I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing, but it does kind of miss the point of worshipping Jesus Christ and serving others and all that idealistic Bible business. Those would be external motivators to be involved with the Church. They aren't bad, just motivated by things other than your own thoughts and feelings.

Internal motivators, on the other hand, would be introspective things like a love of God, a desire to improve, etc. Obviously, hypocrisy plays a role here as well, because some people go to Church with the goal of seeming pious when in fact they do whatever they want when no one's watching. That's more obnoxious than the kids who come to Church looking for friendly times. Thus, it is possible to have a seemingly internal motivator actually be an external one. But generally, I hope you get what I'm saying.

Here's the thing. I have NO external motivation to go to Church. I'm not crazy about most of the people there, bless their hearts. I would have a perfectly viable (and less arbitrary) social circle if I hung out with people I actually had things in common with besides belonging to the same church. My family doesn't care one bit whether or not I'm Mormon, in fact many of them would probably be delighted if I cut loose with them once in a while instead of being a Mormon stick-in-the-mud.**

In fact, most of the reasons I have for wanting to leave the Church are external ones. Get it? It's not like I don't believe in God or struggle with the possibility that the Church isn't true. When I want to leave the Church, it's because I feel so fed-up with some embarrassing policy or some obnoxious people that I feel like saying I GIVE UP. Jesus shouldn't have to put up with this crap and neither should I.

But the trouble is, He does. The trouble is, it's still true.

My reasons for leaving are external, but the things that keep me from doing so are all internal. I believe in God. I love the Book of Mormon. I love the Temple. These people are crazy, but most of them mean well. Abandoning my internal motivations for external reasons is just as immoral as doing things for external reasons when no internal motivation exists.***

Additionally, the things that I love the most about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are some of the most internally focused. Take family history work. If the doctrine about eternal families isn't true, do I gain anything from doing it? Nope. Don't make any friends or meet any hotties at the Fam. Hist. Library, I can promise you that.

Ditto with the temple. If this is all a gigantic hoax, no one has been hurt by the things we've done in the Temple. But no one has really been helped, either. Either these things mean nothing, or they mean EVERYTHING. Those are the things that I feel the strongest attraction to.

Here's to doing things because they're right, and not because anybody cares except God, assuming He exists.

I feel that He does.

I'm not giving up yet.

*Erin was actually going through the temple with a separate friend at a different time. But saying it up there would have messed up the narrative.

**Except then who would be the Designated Driver?

***Which isn't ALWAYS immoral. But that's a post for another day.

A memo I missed and another I didn't.

I won't try to pretend that I was a tomboy when I was little. I did climb trees and collect bugs, but I also played with dolls until I was in fifth or sixth grade (but secretly). I never was much one for sports or roughhousing. However, I completely MISSED the whole Princess thing that most girls supposedly go through at some point. Do you think it's an exaggeration to say that most girls have a princess phase?

I never played with make-up or pretended to be a princess. I never had a Disney Princess costume or insisted on pink everything or screamed at my mother, "MY REAL MOM'S A PRINCESS!"

OK, I did once. But it was in jest.

I think the whole princess trend which is manifesting itself in very strange ways is finally starting to ebb. I hope so. It doesn't seem like the catalyst for healthy thought patterns in little girls. I'm glad I missed it.

However, lest you think it's an urban myth, I have several distinct memories of looking at my various Barbie dolls and feeling sad that I didn't look like them. How messed up is that?

In sum: American culture screws up little girls in a vast myriad of ways.

Check out the rest of this series here or the other work of Dina Goldstein here. Genius.

A rather macabre thought process.

Today I listened to a How Stuff Works podcast entitled "How Cremation Works." A bit of a morbid topic, especially for a girl at a desk so far from the windows, but fascinating nonetheless. Also, keep in mind that I am very weird and intensely curious about everything. So, there you go.

Here are some interesting things one can do with your ashes:

1. Put them in a fireworks display. Pros: pretty awesome, and Hunter S. Thompson did it, and he is awesome. Cons: I am terrified of fireworks, so it would be kind of pointless (or maybe just too ironic?).

2. Have them crushed into a synthetic diamond. Pros: Wearable, inheritable. Cons: Until the Resurrection.

3. Have them mixed with ink or paint and made into a comic book or painting. Pros: It has the word "comic book" in it. Cons: What if the painting sucks? And of course you wouldn't want it to be a painting of YOU. That's just obnoxious.

4. Have them sent into space. Pros: Maybe your ashes would travel to an alien planet and they would be able to learn about humans or even bring you back to life! Cons: What if you just got a satellite all dusty?

This one is my most favorite of all:

5. There was this guy, an adventuring kind of guy who was there when they discovered the Titanic, who, when he died, told his family members and friends to take a teaspoon of his ashes with them whenever they travelled and scatter it somewhere cool. Pros: that is pretty much amazing. It's symbolic of your love for travel and adventure. It's a way for your loved ones to stay connected to you in a way that isn't too creepy (I guess it's a little creepy, but I think the awesome factor outweighs the creep factor). PLUS, when you get resurrected, the ashes will gather from ALL OVER THE WORLD like a superhero from a comic book. I just really like this idea so much.

I think I need to write a will, just in case.

On weddings.

I used to dread my own wedding. I am not much one for "special days," if that makes any sense, mostly because of the added pressure for everything to be perfect that often leads to everyone freaking out instead of enjoying the special day, which was the purpose of the special day to begin with. I always assumed that weddings cannot be fun--at least not for the bride and groom. They are usually too tired and stressed and stretched to the limit to remember anything, let alone enjoy it.

However, last night I went to my cousin's wedding, and I remembered why special days are actually kind of nice. The bride and groom actually seemed to be enjoying themselves.

She looked beautiful. He was wearing a suit. Everybody in my family was there and dressed up and sitting together. Another cousin read a poem. Another made a drunken toast. We ate hummus and dolma and feta cheese and did a Turkish dance in a circle. Everybody got drunker and drunker and danced more and more stupidly (including me, though I was not drunk) and it was just a big, crazy party.

I know I have been writing a lot about how badass and gorgeous and fantastic my family is, but that is because it is true.

Also, I am TOTALLY playing this song on my wedding slideshow.

These are my 10 favorite movies.

Fact: I have been working on this list since March. I was going to add a critical analysis of each movie explaining why it is good but the truth is, I don't have to explain anything to you. These are my ten favorite movies, and that's that.

1. Drop Dead Fred

This child was me. High voice? Check. Vivid imagination that got me into trouble? Check. Issues? Check.

Fortunately or unfortunately, I have pretty much turned into the adult version of Elizabeth as well ... before her cool transformation. I suppose now would be as good a time as any to become hot and confident, though, right? What do you think?

1. Harold and Maude

When I become old, my goal is to be EXACTLY like Maude.

Also, this movie has the best and most subtle comic timing in the history of comic timing.

1. Little Miss Sunshine

I like movies about families.

1. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

I like movies about people falling in love. That are not cheesy.

Also, you know that scene where Jim Carrey tells Kate Winslet that she's not ugly? That scene is my favorite scene in movie history. I tried to find it but alas, I could not. Go watch it.

1. Love Actually

I like movies where people's lives overlap in interesting ways. Especially British people.

1. New York Doll

I like movies that touch on the subject of religion without slipping into cliches.

Fact: this is the best Mormon movie ever made.

1. X-men

OMG I LOVE COMIC BOOKS. And Hugh Jackman. And Patrick Stewart.

1. When Harry Met Sally

I really like movies about friends who fall in love. Unfortunately.

1. Star Trek

I want to marry this movie. I just love Sci-Fi so, so much.

1. Return to Me

On the other hand, though, sometimes I just want to watch a girly movie with babies and romance and nuns and old people.

1. Beauty and the Beast

All nerdy girls love this movie. Belle is OUR Disney princess.

If you disagree with me about these movies, know that I am extremely on edge this week and may scream at you. That is all.

A Continuation of 2010 Books

The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier

Part of my "banned books" series. I am surprised that I had never heard of this book before, considering how famous and controversial it was in the 1970s (it was even made into a reportedly mediocre movie). This was a really great read, but I could also see why some parents would get their panties in a twist over their teenagers reading it. It's got violence, corruption, bullying, masturbation, loss of innocence, all that bad stuff you think your high school-aged children know nothing about, but actually do. The ending is a Cormac McCarthy level of downer. Highly recommended for misanthropic mood days.

Dreamland by Sarah Dessen

So I read The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen not too long ago, and thoroughly enjoyed it. This was before I learned that every Sarah Dessen book appears to be the same. Read one, and you've read them all. I kept getting distracted throughout this book (which is about a girl's addiction to drugs and her abusive boyfriend ... serious stuff) by deja vu. Upper-middle-class, gorgeous girl who is successful to the point of obsession? Check. Elusive sibling? Check. Dark, dangerous love interest? Overbearing, irritating suburban mom? Masculine, idealized father figure? Quirky, free-spirited best friend? All check. Seriously? Why bother to write another book? You know how annoying it is in movies like Orange County when someone gets touted as a great writer but really he's just fictionalized all the quirky folks in his life and not created anything original? Yeah. That. I think I have a pretty decent handle on Ms. Dessen's life.

The thing that really upset me about Dreamland is that the subject of domestic violence is really important to me and I want there to be lots of believable, empowering literature on the subject for women and teenage girls. But this one fell so short that it mostly just pissed me off. Also, how often do real people actually brush their hair out of their faces? According to Dessen everybody does it like every three seconds.

If I'm way off and her other books are really good and super original, please let me know.

Peter and Wendy (AKA Peter Pan) by J.M. Barrie

To balance out how disappointed I was by the previous book, this book was everything I hoped it would be and more. I deeply identify with confused, motherly Wendy. I was just like that as a little girl. I am still like her, actually. And I love how dark and dangerous and totally-not-for-kids the storyline is. It feels exactly like how I imagined the world as as child--dangerous in a way that no adults truly understood. Read this book.

Escape from "Special" by Miss Lasko-Gross

Speaking of suburban teenagers, this was much more likable than Dreamland. Melissa "Miss" Lasko-Gross wrote this autobiographical graphic novel (isn't it cool how those two words echo each other?) about growing up as a misunderstood kid that everyone perceived as "different." Of course, many of us different kids grow up to be writers. She also chronicles the loss of her faith and her relationship with her parents, who seem pretty cool. If you haven't read a non-fantastical graphic novel before, this would be a great introduction to the genre.

Eclipse by Stephanie Meyer

Yeah, yeah. I decided I wanted to read this after I saw the (hilarious) movie. Mostly because I wanted to see if the kissing-Jacob scene was any good. Why do I keep doing this to myself? Her writing makes me cringe in a way that only Ms. Meyer and Sarah Palin can (stay tuned for me review of Going Rogue ... I am clearly a glutton for punishment).

Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder

There are a couple of defining childhood books that I missed out on when I was actually a child. Since I am out of school and planning to be a teacher (of children) I figured now is as good a time as any to catch up on some of those aforementioned books. Also, NPR did an interesting podcast on Laura Ingalls Wilder a while back that piqued my interest.

This book was OK. I am definitely not going to read the nine or so other books in the series. I can see why they would have appealed to me as a kid, reading about the mundane happenings in the life of a happy little girl. She lives in the woods and churns her own butter and loves her parents. Anytime you think anything exciting is going to happen (a bear in the front yard!) nothing ever does. Everybody just ends up safe and snug in their little house eating maple syrup. Again, I can see how that would have been sort of comforting to a young child (I think a second grader could easily plow through one of these books in a week or so) but at this point in my life I don't find it very enthralling.

V for Vendetta by Alan Moore & David Lloyd et al.

This and books like it are probably the reason why I didn't find Little House in the Big Woods very exciting. I am having a moral crisis trying to figure out if I like this book better than Watchmen, which is also a work of staggering genius, and now I think I love them both equally but for different reasons, as if they were my children. V for Vendetta gets into your head a little more, I think. But it's just as fascinating and surprising and character-driven as Watchmen and holy cow, I loved this book. I doubt I will see the movie, though. Especially after Watchmen broke my heart like it did. The fifteen minutes of awesome didn't make up for all that other stuff they did.

Stuart Little by E.B. White

I can't believe I never got around to reading this, especially since Charlotte's Web is one of my favorite books of all time (animals! vegetarians! baby spiders!). It was a nice little read. I liked how they put this very absurd character (an anthropomorphic mouse born to human parents) into this very idealized version of New York City and no one ever reacts like anything weird is going on. It's like Magic Realism for Kiddies. One of my favorite scenes is his failed date with an inexplicably tiny girl. How many of us have ruined a potentially perfect relationship because we were being narrow jerks? You so have, too.

Oddly, I felt like the end of the book was setting it up for a sequel, but there isn't one, is there?

Webslinger: Unauthorized Essays on Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-man by Gerry Conway (ed.)

This is proof positive that I am a huge nerd. Particularly the fact that after a while, I wasn't even embarrassed to be seen reading this book in public. Also, because this book is really, really fascinating. It consists of essays written by a bunch of gifted pop culture writers about various topics as they relate to spider-man: psychology, religion, philosophy, various literary themes. It's a veritable feast of comic-book-obsession-hood. If you like that sort of thing, read it.

Matched by Ally Condie

Thank you thank you thank you Kayla for this book! It arrived in the mail only a few days ago and it was one of the most exciting packages I have gotten in a long time. Kayla and I were talking one day about how we like getting mail, and how we both like books, and she was like, "Hey! Why don't I send you a book in the mail! Then you can send a different one back to me! It will be fun!"

It totally is fun. Not only is this an advance copy of a book by an author I have never heard of (she lives in Salt Lake City so she may or may not be Mormon? she makes no mention of it in this book either way) but it was a really fun, pleasurable YA read. I read it in one day while I was doing front desk reception at a really slow office (today, actually). Matched is a dystopian romance along the same lines as The Hunger Games (which I love), but even though the plot is a little tread, Condie is a good enough writer that I was totally engrossed. It's not predictable, either. I was genuinely concerned about the characters and how/if things were going to work out. I'm not positive if Condie is planning on a sequel, but I hope she is. If she is Mormon, the book turns into a very interesting commentary on our ideas of destiny vs. agency. But either way, it's a great book.

Fam Damily.

Do you like MC Frontalot? I do. I especially like this song. It amuses me that I am sharing it here.

Great, yes? Nerdcore fills my soul.

So there are various genres of bad blogs, if you will, but one of my least favorites is the "album"-style blog, which consists exclusively of photos from personally significant events (usually vacations or some such) with minimal commentary, and no word-based posts to break the monotony of facefacefacebuildingbuildingSILLYfaceOMGSOBORING. Some people should just start a Flickr account, know what I'm saying?

If you think I am talking about you, I am not.

Anyway, I went on vacation last week and I regret to inform you that I am going to post some pictures now. Don't worry, though, I will also post some stories to keep things interesting.

The stories and the picture are not going to match most of the time. What, you think I need to post a photo of me white-water rafting if I am already GOING TO TELL YOU ABOUT IT IN VIVID DETAIL WITH MY WORDS? I don't have to prove anything to you through photographic evidence. I'm not a freakin' journalist.

Ahem. Last week we had a family reunion at the Skalitude Retreat in Methow Valley, WA. It's in Carlton if you know where that is. You don't? Well, Carlton is kinda near Winthrop? Still no? Well, it's like three hours northeast-ish of Seattle. It has trees, but rattlesnakes, so it's like this weird mix of Western Washington and Eastern Washington. The retreat center had cabins with showers and electricity, but solar power and composting toilets, so it was also this weird mix of living large like swanky vacationers and being green. It used to be a commune. Also, lots of us slept in tents, so it was kind of like camping.

I should preface this by saying that my extended family is quite close, and we actually enjoy spending time together, and so a family reunion for us is something to be looked forward to rather than dreaded. I have anecdotal evidence that this is somewhat unusual.

We were there from Saturday to Friday. It was very pleasant.

David and I drove there all by ourselves like big kids.

David is driving here.

We brought Sego along with us, too. Here is a photo series about Sego's attitude on long car trips.

I get to go on a car ride? I promise to be very very good.

Seriously, we're not there yet?

We're never going to get there, are we? Not ever ever.

Luckily, Sego can't talk, so he can't complain. This is a rare instance where Kids = 0, Dogs = +1.

Volleyball

One of the main pastimes of Koler Family Reunions is the playing of volleyball. Nobody in my family is all that good at volleyball, and yet because we are as a general rule pretty competitive people, most of the volleyball tournament players are out for blood. Even myself, even though I suck at volleyball (having two eyes would up my advantages some). I like winning, and I would say the team I played on won about 50% of the time, which isn't bad. My trash talk, however, was awesome 100% of the time.

We played boys versus girls, shirts (or bras) versus skins, and random selection games. I got noticeably better at setting after an errant hit knocked over someone's beer and pandemonium ensued. Many of my family members gave me some HOT TIPS and explained some of the rules that I had never really understood, so overall the daily volleyball playing was a success. Also, there were millions of flies that landed on our bare skin and made us feel like barnyard animals while we played. They didn't bite, they were just annoying.

Fact: I am good at serving.

Here are some photos of the meadow where we played volleyball and where I walked Sego on a regular basis until I heard a rattlesnake one day and got a little paranoid about him being bitten. He basically had the best vacation ever. No leashes, three other dogs to play with, and lots of attention from kids and adults alike.

Remember that one week in August when I lived on a commune with my family and went for a walk every day in a gorgeous meadow? Yeah, me too. Also, I have since cleaned my camera lens.

Rafting and Trauma

I had never been white water rafting before, but David and my dad had been a few times (boy scouts). Two of my cousins are actually licensed river guides, so we got to go rafting for cheap and I got to be yelled at for my bad paddling form by a relative instead of a stranger. Paddling a raft is really counter-intuitive, I feel. Maybe I have just spent too much time in a canoe. I think I need to go a few more times before paddling will make sense to me kinesthetically.

Despite my lack of paddling prowess, rafting was extremely fun until the last fifteen minutes of the trip. Until then we were all enjoying the sun on our skin and watching the kids pull the adults into the water and float around in their life jackets. Then suddenly we approached some rapids that we weren't expecting and all but seven of us were out of the boats. There wasn't any time to reach the people who were in the water, so they had to just float through. Watching my eleven year-old cousin's head go underwater in a rapid two or three times scared the SHIT out of me. Luckily he was fine except for some bruises. He was actually the least panicked of all of us.

A couple of the adults who weren't as buoyant as the kids got banged up a little more. My uncle who is a doctor got the worst of it. I don't think he'll be going white water rafting again anytime soon.

Aside from the fifteen minutes of sheer terror and thinking that my uncle was dead when we pulled him into the boat and he had his eyes closed, it was a successful trip? Is it sick that I really do want to go again?

This is not the river we went rafting in, but it is a river.

We Have Angered the River Gods

So after that kinda scary day of rafting, we thought we would recover the next day by doing something quiet and relaxing in the river. Apparently, the river sprites do not like my family.

We planned to drive a couple miles up the river, park our cars, and then float down the river in rafts and inner tubes until we reached the swimming hole where the little kids and less adventurous adults would be hanging out. The only problem is, we couldn't find a place alongside the river to park, so we ended up driving a little further than we planned.

My cousin from Sweden and I were in a raft together, and while we floated along we had a great chat about pretty much everything you can think of. We had a pretty nice raft so we ended up getting ahead of everyone else (who were in inner tubes and a sucky raft, respectively). At one point, we realized that we had been in the water much longer than the two hours that we had planned, and my aunt mentioned that she and I ought to paddle ahead and send someone with a car to pick everyone else up.

Pretty soon she and I were floating in the raft alone, with no end in sight, with no food or water or other people. I don't remember what else happened because we were both delirious with the heat.

Eventually we arrived at our destination after over four hours. We were both really sick, but luckily another cousin gave us the clothes off his back (literally) and someone else brought us hummus and beer (because beer will hydrate you! wait ... ).

I do not think I will do another activity involving boating in rivers for a few months.

Aftermath

If you know me, you know that I hardly ever complain of being hot. I am almost always cold. So when I woke up at midnight the night after River Fiasco the Second because I was too hot to sleep, I knew something was really wrong. I went to the kitchen and drank a glass of tonic water, a glass of juice and ate slice of watermelon. My cousin who is an EMT came in, felt my forehead and determined that I pretty much needed to poison myself with water to make my fever go away.

We went outside and watched the meteor shower and drank insane amounts of water and talked. He pulled out a joint after a couple of hours, which made the conversation even more entertaining. At about four in the morning, we determined that my fever was gone and I could go back to sleep.

I love that there are so many people who take care of me.

That pretty much sums it all up.

An Inventory.

Tonight I did an inventory of my life. I do this when I start to feel bored or annoyed with my goals and accomplishments, which honestly, isn't super often. I don't share the whole list with anyone because it's too personal and even (especially?) those of you who love me the most would judge me for it. But, allow me to present a numerical break-down.

Years I have lived: 25

Years I will live according to this website: 105 (Word of Wisdom, biatches!)

Years I have left: 80

Goals I have:

Total: 82

Accomplished: 12

Goals that require me to be married or close to it: 5

Goals that require me to have children: 2

Goals that I can do whenever the hell I want: 63

So you know, there's that.

If I start talking a lot about Scrabble tournaments and hot air balloon rides and travelling to the East China Sea,* you'll now know where it's coming from.

*These are all actual life goals.

“The hardest of all is learning to be a well of affection, and not a fountain; to show them we love them not when we feel like it, but when they do.”

--Nan Fairbrother

Image courtesy of http://garfieldminusgarfield.net

According to the Google Analytics, my readership has gone down 33% in the past few weeks. That's because I have not written anything of substance for several weeks, and the few entries I have published have been met with scornful, bitter, vitriolic disbelief (I'm looking at you, Christina).

Here's the really weird thing, though. I didn't blog not* because I was too busy being sick or working or having WAY TOO MUCH fun, and I didn't not blog because I was trying to spare the sanity of the people who had been following my blog when I had been writing every day (although maybe some of you appreciated that, yes?). I didn't blog because I ran out of things to say.

For some reason I spent a fortnight not wanting to write. Or rather, not feeling like I had anything to write about.

Dry spell is over, kids. Welcome back to my head. And if by some chance some of that 33% never returns, like maybe I broke their hearts, good riddance. Those of you who are reading now, now I know who my real friends are.

I was being histrionic for humor's sake. Did it work?

Anyway, today I spent a romantic evening at the beach with my dog. And I'm not being sarcastic, either. I have forgotten what pleasant company I am (Sego's not bad either). It's been a while since I have done something nice on my own. Riding the bus to work doesn't count.

In fact, I had planned to go to a showing of Shakespeare in the Park, but I went to Richmond Beach SALTWATER park instead of Richmond Beach COMMUNITY Park, which until today I didn't know existed. They really ought to consider re-naming one or the other. By the time I figured out my mistake, the play was halfway over, so I stayed at the beach, read an amazing book and watched the sun set. It was perfect.

I had planned to go to the play with a friend, but she was sick and needed to rest. I texted a couple of people at the last minute and asked if they wanted to go, but no one was available. In the end, though, I'm really glad I went alone. Had I gone to the wrong park with someone else I would have felt obligated to make it right. But me and Sego can enjoy ourselves pretty much anywhere ... especially any beach. I love the beach.

It's funny, the older I get, the more I relish being independent and alone. I always assume that as I grew up and continued to be unmarried, that I would become more and more desperate for companionship of any sort and less inclined towards being alone. Quite the opposite. The older I get, the more I enjoy only having myself to answer to when it comes to how I spend my time. You know what I feel like doing today? Going to the beach and reading a comic book. What did you do today?

I doubt I will ever learn to love my independence so much that I would choose to be alone rather than get married. However, sometimes I worry that I will be hurt so many times that I will stop acting on my feelings and lose all chances at happiness. Sorry, that was edging towards the dramatic again.

There was some connection I was making while I was sitting there on that bench overlooking the ocean, some connection between my love of being alone and experiencing beautiful moments by myself, and the inability I have to keep someone around me long enough to want to stay, but now that it's dark and I'm at home I think I just sound like a crazy person.

I was thinking about the quote listed above, I believe, and how I have always felt like it was written for me. I love everything in the universe and everyone who enriches my life so much, sometimes I worry about running out of steam. Or, I worry that my love is poison and drives people away, because so many people I have deeply loved have screwed** me over in the end. However, I have convinced myself that it's really just a numbers game. If you love everybody you meet, eventually some of the bad ones are going to get in there. Maybe it's even more likely. Whatever.

One thing I do know for sure is that although some people may think it's sort of overwhelming, the amount of affection I throw at people like Mardi Gras beads (for less than what they cost there, even), I doubt that it's ever going to change even though I sometimes wish it would. I have never regretted anything I have done, only the things I was too scared to do.

Know what I really think? I think the moment that I am really really happy with where I am and have resigned myself to happy hermitic spinsterhood, if that's what God likes for me, that's when some jerk is going to rumble in on a vintage motorcycle and mess things up.

I hope this post was more entertaining than a series of photographs.

*Or, "I didn't not blog?" Which makes more sense? Oh gosh. I'm rusty.

**This was originally a different word, but so far my blog has been F-word-free, and if I do break that streak I want it to be for something really really good.

My Favorite People, Day 3: Cori Anne

We took this photo in honor of Martin Luther King Day.

Today's subject is Cori Anne Marie Devard. She has lots of names.

She likes typography. And water.

Whenever you hear me start a story with "My best friend ..." this is who I am talking about. She and I have been friends so long it is totally pointless to explain how we met. That would be like explaining to a grain of sand the geological history of the Planet Earth.

Things Cori and I have done together:

1. Travelled to Japan.

2. Transported a goat in the back of a van.

3. Written and starred in an award-winning skit.

4. Studied belly-dance.

5. Driven my car backwards in a parking lot for over a mile to see if my odometer would reverse one mile (it did not).

6. Tied for second in a sushi-eating contest.

7. Stolen an entire pizza from the teachers' lounge.

8. Attended a VIP party at Nintendo headquarters.

9. Dug a huge 2003 into the hill next to our high school (before someone called the cops).

10. Seen Bob Dylan live.

11. Gone to Disneyland.

12. Gone to Tokyo Disneyland.

13. Skipped school to see the first three Harry Potter movies on their opening day.

14. Taken black-and-white photos of each other on the beach.

15. Snuck into a hotel to use the pool and eat the waffle breakfast.

16. Gotten locked inside the Husky Stadium after hours and escaped by climbing a fence (thus ripping holes in the crotches of our respective jeans).

17. Organized and starred in an award-winning dance performance.

18. Gone to a midnight showing of Lord of the Rings.

19. Bought baby clothes when neither of us were pregnant or even close to becoming pregnant.

20. Held spontaneous dance parties in our condo parking lot.

21. Invented a game called "green ball."

22. Attended a rained-out production of the Manti Temple Pageant (Neither of us knows how it ends, to this very day).

23. Nair-ed our legs, to less than spectacular results.

24. Walked like one million miles (literally) on the Burke-Gilman trail.

25. Always had fun no matter what we did.

Awwwwwwwwwww.

Dear Donovan and Dallin,

I know you probably can't picture your sweet-eyed Mormon mama doing some of the things I just listed above, but rest assured that she really is that cool. How lucky are you?

xoxoxoxoxo

Auntie Elisa

Guess how old we are in this picture? 17. Wait. I was 17, Cori was 16.

CAN YOU BELIEVE WE WERE EVER THAT YOUNG WHAT THE HECK

I Can't Believe I Haven't Blogged About X, Day 7: My Butt

Perhaps the fact that I have yet to blog about this until today is not so shocking? Oh, well.

When I die, assuming I do not outlive my good friend Ashley, she plans to eulogize me as follows:

"Elisa had a gigantic rack, and no butt."

Then she will sit down and people will wonder if they are being punk'd. I love the idea of my last concrete influence on earth being a surreal experience. I like to make life a little bit surreal every day as it is. Which is why I gave this eulogy the green light when Ashley and I were serving as missionaries together in Pécs.

She's right, unfortunately. I am overall a curvaceous person, but my butt is embarrassingly flat. This breaks my heart a little bit every day. This is also the reason why I don't wear pants very often.

Sadly, the only way to obtain a more voluptuous backside involves gaining weight, and I certainly don't want to do that.

I am resigned to a life of never fully enjoying the following songs (NSFW):

This one is by far the best video.

Luckily, I can still enjoy this because it makes no reference to size. Good thing, because this one of the best movies of all time.