Unless I suddenly learn to speed-read...

A year ago I started keeping track of all the books I was reading. It was more an exercise in memory assistance than anything else; it seems impossible for me to remember exactly what I've read, particularly when people come up and ask me, "I'm looking for something to read. So, what have you read lately?" I find this lack of memory on my part highly reprehensible, mostly because I aim to be a librarian, and librarians are always supposed to have lists of books handy at a moment's notice. Aren't they?

Anyway.

So, I came up with this list so I could read back through it, say, "Oh, yes. I remember that book. The characters weren't fully developed, but the plot was intriguing." Or, "Dude--that one was full of lame dialogue," or "I have never encountered an author so playful in her use of language. That one was an absolute delight."

(These are, of course, phrases I keep handy in a little drawer in my room. Just in case anyone asks me to be a reviewer of books. You know. Someday. In the future.)

So, in case you all are curious about what I've been reading, and you haven't been keeping track on that handy little list off in my blog's sidebar, here's all the books I've read (or nearly read) since last July.

(I was really hoping to get to 100 in a year, but so far I've only got 90, and I think it unlikely that I'll read 10 more books in the next week.)

By the way, if you want my opinion on any of them, feel free to ask. Otherwise, just browse for yourself and enjoy the process of discovery.

************************************************************

1. The Gift, Peter Dickinson
2. Tears of the Salamander, Peter Dickinson
3. Time of the Ghost, Diana Wynne Jones
4. Aunt Maria, Diana Wynne Jones
5. Hero’s Song, Edith Pattou
6. The Lion Tamer’s Daughter and Other Stories, Peter Dickinson
7. Waifs and Strays, Charles de Lint
8. Fire Arrow, Edith Pattou
9. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, J. K. Rowling
10. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, J. K. Rowling
11. Austenland, Shannon Hale
12. The Blue Hawk, Peter Dickinson
13. The Golden Compass, Philip Pullman
14. The Subtle Knife, Philip Pullman
15. The Amber Spyglass, Philip Pullman
16. Nicholas Nickleby, Charles Dickens
17. The Name of the Wind, Patrick Rothfuss
18. Magic or Not?, Edward Eager
19. Reave the Just and Other Tales, Stephen R. Donaldson
20. Magic Kingdom for Sale – Sold!, Terry Brooks
21. Fire Watch, Connie Willis
22. Impossible Things, Connie Willis
23. Inside Job, Connie Willis
24. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Anne Brontë
25. Some Deaths Before Dying, Peter Dickinson
26. A Morbid Taste for Bones, Ellis Peters
27. The Birthday Room, Kevin Henkes
28. Fragile Things, Neil Gaiman
29. Green Boy, Susan Cooper (only read part)
30. Wizards, edited by Jack Dann & Gardner Dozois
31. American Gods, Neil Gaiman
32. Anansi Boys, Neil Gaiman
33. Stardust, Neil Gaiman
34. Queen’s Own Fool, Jane Yolen & Robert J. Harris
35. Dragon Slippers, Jessica Day George
36. Dragonhaven, Robin McKinley
37. The Dispossessed, Ursula K. Le Guin
38. Angels & Demons, Dan Brown
39. The Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula K. Le Guin
40. The Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown
41. Rocannon’s World, Ursula K. Le Guin
42. Planet of Exile, Ursula K. Le Guin
43. City of Illusions, Ursula K. Le Guin
44. The Word for World is Forest, Ursula K. Le Guin
45. The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation, Vol. 1: The Pox Party, M. T. Anderson
46. The Eye of the Heron, Ursula K. Le Guin
47. A Fisherman of the Inland Sea, Ursula K. Le Guin
48. Four Ways to Forgiveness, Ursula K. Le Guin
49. The Telling, Ursula K. Le Guin
50. Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen
51. Mansfield Park, Jane Austen
52. Lady Susan, Jane Austen
53. Phoenix and Ashes, Mercedes Lackey
54. Wizard of London, Mercedes Lackey
55. The Serpent’s Shadow, Mercedes Lackey
56. Seventeenth Summer, Maureen Daly
57. Forever, Judy Blume
58. Gates of Sleep, Mercedes Lackey
59. Fever 1793, Laurie Halse Anderson
60. A Great and Terrible Beauty, Libba Bray
61. The Arrival, Shaun Tan
62. Bronx Masquerade, Nikki Grimes
63. Just Listen, Sarah Dessen
64. Unexpected Magic: Collected Stories, Diana Wynne Jones
65. Endless Universe: Beyond the Big Bang, Paul J. Steinhardt & Neil Turok
66. Book of a Thousand Days, Shannon Hale
67. Rebel Angels, Libba Bray
68. The Sweet Far Thing, Libba Bray
69. Nick & Norah’s Infinite Playlist, Rachel Cohn & David Levithan
70. Born Confused, Tanuja Desai Hidier
71. Weetzie Bat, Francesca Lia Block
72. Boy Meets Boy, David Levithan
73. The Changeover, Margaret Mahy
74. A Hero Ain’t Nothin But a Sandwich, Alice Childress
75. The Ghosts of Now, Joan Lowery Nixon
76. King of the Mild Frontier: An Ill-Advised Autobiography, Chris Crutcher
77. Monster, Walter Dean Myers
78. How I Live Now, Meg Rosoff
79. Gossip Girl, Cecily von Ziegesar
80. A School for Sorcery, E. Rose Sabin
81. When Jeff Comes Home, Catherine Atkins
82. Magicians of Quality, Caroline Stevermer & Patricia C. Wrede
83. The Invention of Hugo Cabret, Brian Selznick
84. Uglies, Scott Westerfield
85. The Mislaid Magician or Ten Years Later, Caroline Stevermer & Patricia C. Wrede
86. Rules, Cynthia Lord
87. The Lightning Thief, Rick Riordan
88. The Audacity of Hope, Barack Obama
89. Scholarly Magics, Caroline Stevermer
90. The Eyre Affair, Jasper Fforde

Dissatisfaction

I was very foolish yesterday.

While reading the first few chapters of The Eyre Affair, (which, thus far, has been quite delightful), I decided to just shut my eyes for a few moments and 'rest.'

Many hours later (after dreaming of trying to get impossibly huge trucks out of a garage and driving around in neighborhoods that were completely flooded) I woke up. In the dark. And realized that I didn't think I'd be able to sleep at all that night.

Well, I was mostly right. I finally fell asleep at approximately 4:30am, just as the sky was turning from very dark blue to a medium dark (and vaguely luminescent) blue. Of course, I nearly didn't wake up in time for work (I just barely had time for a shower, thank goodness--the people on the T would have lynched me otherwise, I think) and now I feel mostly normal, oddly enough.

Mostly I'm just irritated with myself for taking a nap; I should know better. I do know better. I know that if I fall asleep and have no mechanism in place to wake myself, I will continue to sleep indefinitely until A) someone else wakes me, B) the shouting of my bladder overcomes my desire to find out where the aliens have hid the baby's shoe in my dream, or C) the apocalypse.

So, I'm a little dissatisfied with myself. But heck--oh, well. I'm sure I'll get over it.

Now, if I can just stay awake until 10 or so...

Random Remembering?

Okay, so this is totally 100% optional, and if you choose NOT to participate, I will not mind in the least, nor will I consider you any less of a friend/family member if you decline to post something.

But this is kind of a fun idea, and I've seen it a couple of different places now, so I thought I'd try it as well. So IF you feel like participating, please do. Otherwise, I'll just keep posting as usual.

Here you go:

"1. As a comment on my blog, leave one memory that you and I had together. It doesn't matter if you knew me a little or a lot, anything you remember!

2. Next, re-post these instructions on your blog and see how many people leave a memory about you. It's actually pretty funny to see the responses. If you leave a memory about me, I'll assume you're playing the game and I'll come to your blog and leave one about you."

Confessions of an FHE less-active

I feel terrible.

I was all set to go to FHE today, despite the fact that the activity was undisclosed and the location was way up at the church, which would have meant an entire hour of travel time both to FHE and back home.

FHE started at 7:30.

I remembered about it at 7:20. And groaned.

Also, I just found out that I have not one, but two more weeks of working much more than I thought I was going to this summer. Which is really, really, really ultra great for my ability to pay rent and go see the occasional movie and, like, pay for groceries and stuff, but not so great for my ability to run off and do crazy random things like visit Western Massachusetts and read lots of books and get that cross-stitch project finished and work on submitting short stories to magazines and sundry other projects and...

Good grief!

What has happened to my summer?!?

In other news, I have decided to join a nunnery. I saw a monk while wandering around in Boston the other day, and I just thought, "That's it. That's what my life should be." Hm. Except that instead of a cowl I'd wear a habit. Which is less cool.

Sigh. Maybe I'll stick with being just a regular ol' LDS single for now.

Um.

I guess that's it.

The End.

Now, er, Go To and stuff.

Seriously, folks.

Beautifully Breakable

Um, so I kind of can't stop watching this. So, if I can't get over the addiction, I might as well spread it around some, right?



Enjoy.

Hello, ma'am. Would you care for an atlas, perchance?

Two things:

First, I have officially moved into ma'am territory. I can't remember the first time I was called ma'am; it has slipped into the annals of history. However, I've begun to notice that whenever I forget to get my receipt from the clerk at the grocery store, or whenever I look lost while wandering among the towels, I am greeted not by "Hello, young and fresh-cheeked miss; would you care for any assistance?" but "You forgot your receipt, ma'am," or, "Ma'am, can I help you pick up that rack of towels you just knocked over?"

I guess it's appropriate. I'll be 30 in less than two months. And if you're not grown up at 30, then I don't know when you are.

But the truth is, I secretly don't feel like a grown-up. I never really have. I've always felt that there's something missing that I'm supposed to experience, some sort of test I need to take, or some sort of ID I'll get to carry around with me that says, "Lizardbreath McGee: Certifiable Adult."

I don't know. I wonder if I'll always feel this way, never quite feeling like I've reached adulthood because adulthood will never quite feel like I've anticipated. Maybe that's not such a bad thing, anyway.

Second thing: I really, really like atlases. When I took that trip to New York City, I jotted down the route we took (taking note of the major bridges we crossed and the interstates we went on) so I could look it up in my road atlas when I got home. Which I finally did today.

Sometimes I just love getting it out and tracing routes from place to place, following the massive road system that stretches out from city to city like so much webbing. I wish I could drive to all those places, just keep going and going until I've hit the opposite coast, then go further until I've gone to our southern border, then north, until I've seen every state, talked to the people there, tasted their food.

I don't know why I want to do this... Maybe it's the mystique that I still attach to the road trips my family took when I was a child, when we'd all pile into the car with our coloring books and listen to sing-along tapes and squabble with each other and marvel at the thunderstorms that swept over the desert in between California and Utah. I loved those times.

But for now, since I am 100% car-less, and since humankind has not yet invented a "Mr. Fusion Home Energy Reactor" (but apparently will in the future) and gas prices are frankly horrifying, I doubt I'll be able to take a lengthy road trip anytime in the near future.

So I'll just content myself with the atlas for now. And I'll try to get used to all that ma'am-ing.

Sightings

I saw a couple of wild turkeys while I was out walking this morning.

Just thought you should know.

Tying up loose ends

This is the post in which I am SO going to catch up.

Yes, that's right--I am going to fill you in on all the happenings of the last severalish weeks, those happenings which I failed to relate because I am just a lazy blob of goo.

Glurp.

(Uh. That's the noise that goo makes?)

In any case, lemme talk about New York City.

Okay--first of all, I had no idea that Boston was just a small town until I went to NYC. It's true! I got there and the buildings just went on and on and on forever. Seriously. There's no way that many buildings can be crammed onto Manhattan island. It defies the laws of space and time. And it's not just that buildings go on forever--the skyscrapers go on forever! It's like you're in this man-made system of canyons and mesas and...really tall steel hills and stuff. It's crazy! And BIG. And BUSY. And there are holy-hecka lots of people.

And I had a hard time with the humidity, but I think that was more just an adjustment from Utah weather (roughly 20% humidity on the wet days) to eastern weather (about 80% humidity on the dry and 'refreshing' days).

So, my roommate and I went down on the bus, which was actually fairly cheap. On the way down, I brought a couple of books to read and ended up spending most of my time just looking out the window. I do that on trips, whether it's by plane or car or train or stagecoach, and I'm not quite sure why. Maybe I just want to catch a glimpse of all those intervening places I've never been (and likely never will be). Also, I love seeing things I've never seen before. Like this morning, while my whites and darks were dutifully getting washed, I meandered up into the neighborhoods near my apartment. And even though I got rather wet when the rain decided to say, "To heck with all you Fourth of July Celebrateurs! I will be dastardly weather and foil all your plans! Haha!" I loved seeing the green of trees I'd never looked at before, loved the slightly misty unfamiliar landscape, spotted by blue and maroon and dark brown and bright yellow houses that were all tucked back behind bushes and stone fences.

But hey--I was talking about NYC, right?

Anyway--so we got to the bus stop and towed our luggage over to where you can get day-of discount Broadway tickets. Where we waited in line for awhile. And then we got tickets! To Gypsy! (And it was pretty fantastic, I tell ya what.)

We dumped our stuff of at our hotel, which was located about a block over from Rockefeller Center. And here's a view from our window (on the very topmost floor, thankyouverymuch):



Yah. It's like that. Everywhere.

Okay, and here's the huge gold dude that's in the middle of Rockefeller Center:


Yep. Don't know what else to say about him. Except that he really IS that gold-looking in real life! Pretty fancy stuff.

Okay, so that evening, we stopped off at the M&Ms World Store and indulged ourselves in purchasing bags of M&Ms in unusual colors. The mix in the picture below is called 'Whatever Colors Lizardbreath Happened to Find Interesting.' Also, I was reading my scriptures at the time? Tail end of Omni, looks like.


The next morning, my roommate and I tried to go see the Statue of Liberty all up close and personal. Unfortunately, I slept well into the morning, and so we didn't get to the ferry until rather later in the day, at which time the line to board was roughly the length of Manhattan Island. So, we opted to take pictures from the shore:


Aaand, I decided that this old couple was pretty fantastic. So, I snapped their picture in front of the Statue of Liberty. (I know--I'm just so generous.)


Because we were in that part of Manhattan, we decided to go see the World Trade Center site, and on the way we saw this fantastic old building that used to be the Old Customs House:


(I'm just so into juxtapositioning! Aren't you?)

Also en route, we saw Trinity Church (yes, of National Treasure fame):


And Wall Street (here's the sign for your viewing pleasure):


The World Trade Center Site is currently a very large pit under construction in the heart of the city.


I've always felt a little disconnected from the events of September 11th, mainly because I was on my mission at the time (basically a month before I came home), so everything I knew about it was second-hand, people we visited giving accounts of things they'd seen on TV in hushed voices with widened eyes. I saw a few still photos, but no TV coverage until a year after I'd been home. So, I don't know--seeing where all this happened made everything more tangible to me, and I feel like I moved a little closer to being, like all the other Americans, someone who was part of the events of that day.

Um.

So, on with the journey?

That night, my roommate and I went to see Curtains, starring David Hyde Pierce. And it was. Holy. Fantastic. Also fantastic was that the cast of the musical signed programs and whatnot on their way out of the theatre after the performance. So, we got to meet them all. Including DHP himself. Did I already say fantastic? Well. Double it.

And here I am (darkly) in Times Square, which we passed through numerous times during the weekend on our way to and from stuff. Yeah. About NYC being crowded? Pictoral proof, folks.


And here I am, attempting to be clever with the mirrors in the hotel room. Yeah. Good times.


On Sunday, we decided to expand our cultural horizons by attending Mass at Saint Patrick's Cathedral. Also, it was about a 2 minute walk from our hotel room. Then, later, we changed and went up to Central Park, where we relished numerous delicious skyscraper-and-parkland juxtapositions like this:


Gorgeous. And way fun.

And then we came home!

And now I am completely tuckered out from recounting all (er, well, 'most of') my NYC adventures, so I will cease and desist. At which you give great cries of thanks.

Oh, also, Happy Independence Day! I am even now deciding to stay home and watch the fireworks on TV. Mostly because I don't feel like braving the combination of heavy crowds and possible rainshowers. And I'm just so comfortable here with my computer. And.

And I'm a lazy bum. Bother.

To all the men of the church:

I just ate the most fantastic pear.

Wait! No, that's not what I wanted to tell you.

What I wanted to tell you was this: You're Fantastic.

I am saying this simply because I think we have a cultural difficulty in the church, and it's one that (interestingly enough) gives women the advantage. I'm talking about the coddling we get in Relief Society, as opposed to the numerous 'Repent Ye!'s the men seem to get in priesthood.

Now, don't get me wrong--I see nothing wrong with telling the women of the church that they're pretty awesome. I think that we really do tend to be a bit hard on ourselves, and it's important to recognize and remember the value that each of us has.

However...do men not feel this way too? And yet, while the Relief Society gets lessons on how to find joy in our lives (including the important reminder to stop and smell the roses), the men get long lists of things that they're not doing and are told to (essentially) shape up or ship out. (Well, maybe not the 'ship out' part, but the 'shaping up' is definitely in there.)

So, to all you men out there, the men who learned incredulously of the deluxe lounges available for use in the women's bathrooms at BYU, the men who get the chastising talk(s) at Priesthood Session at General Conference, the men who feel culturally obligated to joke about their own ineptitude even as they praise their wives' wisdom, virtue and beauty, to you men I say, WELL DONE.

You guys are pretty great.

You're great fathers and husbands, sons and uncles, nephews and brothers. You do your home teaching. You carry inhumanly heavy boxes and unnavigable furniture down (and up) numerous flights of stairs. You give blessings and advice and you put up with our PMS and scatterings of beauty products and enormous hair clogs in the drains. You serve faithfully, giving up your evenings and weekends to try to provide leadership for this church of ours, and you do it all while wearing suits and ties. Good grief. Frankly, I don't know how you do it.

So women, just take a moment (even though Father's Day is totally over for another year) to celebrate the men in your life. Just. Heavens. Just tell them how amazing and wonderful they really are.

Like they tell us every week.

Would I sing if I were a bus driver?

So, I really need to get on that thing where I write about my New York trip. And maybe my Utah trip too. And I need to organize and upload pictures and generally just kind of fill everybody in on stuff...

But instead, I'm going to tell you about a singing bus driver.

First, let me paint the scene for you: I had gotten off work, had gone to get groceries (bow-tie pasta and bartlett pears, among other things) and then meandered down to get a perscription refill at a CVS Pharmacy down the street a ways. It had been humid all morning, and the clouds had finally gathered together and ripened to a dark blue-grey, lightning and thunder sending advance warning to those of us scurrying along the sidewalk. I got my refill, and glanced outside to see a wall of water coming down, making a little river out of the street.

Feeling some reluctance to do an impression of a grocery-carrying water nymph, I decided to wait out the fury of the storm by eating lunch. Luckily, I didn't have milk or any frozen things to worry about.

(Lunch was great, by the way.)

By the time I was done, the rain had eased considerably, although now all the stoplights along the street were out. (Which reminds me--does anyone here actually know how to blasted deal with non-functional stoplights? Because it seemed to me that mayhem reigned. (Mayhem is a tyrant, I tell ya.))

Because I am a lazy bum, and also because I didn't feel like walking through the still-persistent rain, I decided to wait for the bus to come and take me home. Because buses are actually kind of fun.

And this bus was extra and especially fun, due entirely to the driver. Because as he drove (navigating the unlit stoplights with remarkable aplomb), he sang.

He sang rather well, actually. Listening to it made me feel cheerful; it made me smile at the other passengers, it made me smile at the sodden landscape, it made me smile at my penchant for smiling.

And I had to wonder, if I were a bus driver, would I sing too?

I sing doing other things, like cleaning or...er...showering, but these are often solo activities (as it were). How would I feel with a bus full of passengers sitting behind me? Would I really be that carefree?

Maybe I'll prove myself in the future. Maybe I'll become the singing librarian, (a la Marian?) entertaining children (and their parents) with my renditions of old familiar favorites, like "The Bookworm Boogie" and "Once Upon a Treble Clef."

Or maybe I'll just stick to picture books and save my singing for the shower.

Out of the frying pan...

Well, I'm back in Boston again. It's odd--there's always this transition, or rather re-transitioning back to 'normal' life when you return to a place, things like which way you turn on the faucet in the shower, trying to recall where you keep your shoes, remembering just how dusty your room really is, being amazed at the ivy plant that survived three weeks without water.

It's kind of nice to be back again, though, even though it's kind of lame to be so far away from family again. I think I tend to get comfortable where I am, whether it's in Boston learning how to be a librarian or at home watching Star Trek with my mom and siblings--it's just the few days in between that tend to throw me off, days where I'm not quite sure where my foot is landing, days that I can't quite tell what I'm thinking or how to feel about it.

I like coming back, and I hate leaving--the problem is that they're all part of the same thing, and everything's all grouped together into one messy blob of tangled up emotions and I don't quite know what to do with it all.

So, it's probably a good thing that I'm leaving Boston again tomorrow morning to head off for a weekend trip to New York with my roommate. I've made an executive decision not to bring my laptop with me, mostly because it's just one more thing to pack (and it's kind of a heavy laptop), and it also means that I won't be using it to check my email every hour, which might allow me to actually enjoy my outing, rather than wandering about in a forlorn manner if I don't have any new messages from cool folks.

But, I will have my cell phone. So, those of you who need to call me (and report further on the absolute beauty and adorableness of my very brand newest wonderful nephew who was born today) should still be able to reach me.

I just may be inside the Statue of Liberty when I answer.

(Hah! So cool!)

Bippity Boppity Blog

So, I'm sitting at the gate in the Las Vegas airport, waiting for my flight to start boarding... (I have a layover here in between my departure from Salt Lake and my arrival at Boston Logan Airport tomorrow morning.)

And, naturally, (as young people's minds turn to love in the spring), my mind turned to blogging.

Also, I am terrible at using similies late at night. You may have noticed.

Anyway--I just wanted to report something I never knew: you cannot walk 10 feet in the Vegas airport without bumping into a slot machine. Seriously. You walk off the airplane, into the gate area, and whammo! Lights! Sounds! The scent of money running furiously into the pockets of casino owners! (It smells like fruitcake, liberally laced with doggy doo, in case you were wondering.)

Also, I saw a disposal container for used needles in the women's bathroom.

Ah, Las Vegas. How unique you are. It almost makes me feel affectionate about it.

Almost.

I'll add a picture (of the slot machines, of course) to the post when I get home tomorrow.

Edit: Here ya go!


Until then, happy...whatever. Happy living. And here's hoping I have a happy and sleep-filled flight.

Babies are even better than delicious breakfast sandwiches

I don't mean to imply with the title of my post that I enjoy consuming babies. (Unless, of course, you count those little nibbles you give them on their legs. And fingers. And neck. Oh, babies! They're so nibbleable!)

Really, what I'm talking about is this morning, when I woke up, and heard my 3.5-month-old niece (the same one whose cooing turns me into a viscous substance known to Science only as 'Auntie Goo') squawking indignantly, probably at the reprehensible neglect of the adults in the area who were refusing to let her eat and sleep, which is really mostly what she's interested in doing.

Being the non-lactating sort of female mammal, I was unable to help with the feeding bit. But, while my sister and brother-in-law and their other kids (plus assorted other family members) sat down to chow down on some delicious breakfast sandwiches (lovingly concocted by my culinarily talented sis), I got to hold the baby.

And she fell asleep in my arms.

And despite the numerous offers of Grammy (my mom), various sisters, and even my bro-in-law to hold her while I ate, I refused to give her up. Because the weight of her was just perfect, and the pleasure of watching her pacifier vibrate as she dreamed was too great. And because of those moments when you just get to sit and wonder at this extraordinarily wonderful tiny person, and even the moments when you hold them and stop breathing for a moment, just to be sure they still are.

I'm kind of in love with my niece at the moment. I'm apt to start composing odes.

But believe me, if she fell asleep in your arms, you would definitely feel the same way.

I'm just never going to get back to that story, am I

My brother-in-law keeps insisting that I mention him in my blog.

Because you know how my blog makes people famous. Also, I can use it to bend and shape reality. I could probably give people the ability to fly if I mentioned them here in this blogging land.

So there you go, Ben. Go and fly. Just make sure to give your kids rides, otherwise they'll be cranky for days.

Speaking of the marvelous kids of my sister and brother-in-law, have I mentioned yet that they're marvelous? And that they like to get rides from their flying dad?

Seriously, though--I have really enjoyed being around these kids for the past several days. I keep getting all amazed at how funny and how articulate and how gosh-darn-it adorable they are. Also, they apparently think I'm hilarious. Or possibly just weird and crazy. But, either way, I think my 'Favorite Auntie' status is almost in the bag. (Now, if I could just learn how to fly...)

Also, it is really, really, really ultra nice to see what great parents my sister & brother-in-law are. I think that a hefty chunk of the greatness of their children is due to the greatness of themselves. (Did that sentence make any sense?)

Also, the sound of my three-month-old neice cooing is just about enough to make me melt into a puddle of sticky auntie goo. (Goo! Gross!)

Um... And we leave for Utah in, like, two days! Hooray for seeing family! It's officially my favorite thing ever. Even flying couldn't be as good as this.

No, it's still not the fiction story. It's better.

Guys, I am amazed. I've been spending about the last hour just going over tonight again and again in my head and I'm just. I'm just amazed. About a lot of things.

Let me back up a bit.

Tonight, I needed to get my temple recommend renewed, because I had foolishly never gotten the new kind with the barcodes that are now necessary in at least the U.S. temples. And my mom really, really wanted for us to all do some work together while I'm home visiting the fam.

So tonight, I needed an interview with a member of the stake presidency, as I had previously been interviewed by a member of the bishopric. The only problem was that the chapel where the interviews take place is a little difficult to get to by using public transportation. So difficult, in fact, that I had never been there before. Although it is (nearly) right next to the Boston Temple, which I had visited a few times, although only once by using the MBTA.

Anyway.

So, because the interviews started at 7pm, and I wanted to be sure to get done early so I could get back and finish packing, I left my apartment about 6pm, thinking that it would take me about an hour (give or take 15 minutes or so) to get to the appropriate subway stop, take the bus, and walk the necessary distance to the chapel.

It took three hours.

First of all, the train ride into the center of town was rather unpleasantly wet. We had a thunderstorm system move through the area, and the train apparently was not fully protected against the wiles of nature; the roof dripped the whole way into downtown.

Also, when we were about halfway to the stop where I had to change subway lines, the driver of the train announced that the station I needed was closed due to an emergency, and that we could get out either a stop before or a stop after to catch a shuttle bus service to the parts of the other line that were down.

So, not wanting to sit in my ever-increasing little pool of train-filtered rainwater any longer, I opted for the earlier stop, got off the train, walked up to street level, and walked over to where hordes of people were standing around, waiting for the shuttle buses. (Remember, this was right in the middle of evening rush hour, and this is one of the busiest stations in the system, I think.) So, I stood in the crowd for a long, long time, (I had forgotten my phone, and I had no watch, so I had no idea what time it was), a bus or two came by, which were immediately rushed by the crowd, and I got a little closer to the front of the mass of bodies. Then, buses for the other direction kept coming up and passing us. Over. And over. And over.

By this time, I was seriously starting to have doubts about whether or not I would make the interview. I thought about just giving it up as a bad job, but the thought of missing out on possibly getting the recommend, when I might get it if I perservered, was intolerable. I couldn't let myself give up.

So, I stood there for even more time. And more. While glistening in the humidity and rather warm air.

Finally a bus came that was going the right direction, so the crowd pressed onboard, and we were at last on our way.

Then, before we had even gotten to the next stop, the bus broke down.

Apparently, these buses are meant to hold about 50 people max, with 40 in the seats, and maybe about an additional 10 standing in the aisles. The bus driver estimated that there were about 110 people on board. The hydraulics system on the right-hand side of the bus broke down, so the bus started leaning right. Hard. And we couldn't go faster than about 10mph. Everybody tried to stand over to the left of the bus (which was where I had been, so I got a bit squished), but we eventually had to pull over.

A bunch of the passengers hopped on other buses, (also tightly packed), but there wasn't room for everyone. After a few minutes, the bus driver had the rest of us get back on the bus, but at that point, we were down to maybe 20 people. We all sat or stood on the left side of the bus, and made sort-of good time past the first stop, but unfortunately, the bus just couldn't keep going, and we all had to get off at the second stop.

So, we did. And waited while a lot of 'not knowing what was going on' happened.

And here I have to make a comment: one of the funny things about this whole experience (it was now probably not quite 8 o'clock, so most of us had been trying to get to our destinations for a couple of hours) was that it broke the silence that normally exists between public transportation users. It's as if this invisible (yet impenetrable) barrier exists around each person, and crossing that barrier by chatting with someone you don't know is a sort of serious social taboo. Sort of.

But that taboo just could not survive the wonderfully improbable and highly impossible situation in which we all found ourselves. We all started laughing at how crazy and horrible and frustrating and funny it all was. (One girl's laughter sounded a bit hysterical, but I think she made it through okay.) One of the funniest moments was when the bus driver, in frustration with having to take the bus out of service, and the complete lack of direction he was getting from his superiors, turned to the guy in the front seat and said, "This is what I have to put up with. Stay in school, man."

So, there we all were, outside of Kendall Square station, wondering how long it would take to get another bus to us so that we could finally get to Harvard Square station, where apparently the subway was up and running. Then, one of the T-employees in the know told us that Kendall Square was now open for northbound trains. Joyously, we began to frolick downstairs, and found out that we had to go in the other side of the station. So, with joy liberally mixed with trepedation, we made our way down the other side, where we were able to board a train. That was going the right direction. And it really did pull out of the station.

(And the cool thing is that everybody was still talking to each other.)

So, we finally got to Harvard, where I got off to figure out which bus to take to get up to the chapel. But, naturally, there were no schedules available for the bus that I thought I needed to take (the 78). So, I grabbed a different schedule instead (the 77) and went to go see which bus came first. It was the 78. (By the way, I later realized that the 78 route was printed on the 77 schedule as well.)

By this time, it was dark outside, (it was about 8:30, according to the clock on the bus), so when we pulled out of Harvard Square station, I realized that finding the right stop was going to be tricky. Then, as we went along and along and even more along, I began thinking, 'None of this looks familiar. I really, really do not know where we are right now. I bet I took the wrong bus.' Which was discouraging, as you may imagine, since I had just spent the past two and a half hours trying to make the interview. Again, I kind of wanted to give up, but I thought I'd just ride the bus to the end of the route and then back to Harvard station again if I hadn't seen the temple along the way. (Remember, the chapel was next to the temple, so I was going to use the temple as my guidepost. Because it was lit up. And thus easy to see.)

One by one, (well, occasionally in twos and threes), all the passengers got off the bus until it was just me. It was very dark outside. I couldn't see anything, and I really didn't quite know where we were on the route. Finally, I saw the temple up ahead, so I signalled the bus driver to stop. He made a turn under an overpass, and pulled up at a covered bus stop, where I got off.

It was completely deserted.

And did I mention it was dark?

And I was armed only with an umbrella?

So, I cursed myself for the biggest idiot the world has ever known, and walked briskly, weilding my umbrella like a club, as I walked under the overpass, convinced that lurking in the shadows were murderers and rapists and probably rabid dogs.

Guys, in all seriousness, I was actually really terrified. And I really did think that I had been an idiot to get off the bus. Because it was really dark. I cannot even tell you how dark it was under that overpass. It was one of those moments when you realize that something really bad really, really could happen to you, and probably will.

But, I made it through. And if there were rapists, murderers and rabid dogs lurking around, I didn't see them. Which is good, because I don't think my umbrella would have been quite enough. So, I started walking up the hill towards the temple, still not quite sure where exactly the chapel was located.

Also? It was past 9 o'clock now. I knew that once I found the chapel, it would be deserted, and I'd have to walk some more in the terrifying dark in order to find a bus stop where I would wait and continue to be terrified until maybe a bus came along before horrible things happened to me. And I would go home in disgrace.

Also, there was no sidewalk. So I kind of had to walk in the street a little.

By this time, I could have wept with frustration. I almost did. I felt like I had tried so hard, and it still wasn't going to be enough. I was still going to have to call my mom and tell her that I couldn't go with the family to the temple because I was a dope and didn't have the right recommend and then.

There was the sign for the chapel.

So, I turned down the street (lit with a few streetlamps) and saw a parking lot in the distance.

It had cars in it. Not very many, but there were cars.

I got up to the chapel door, convinced that it would be locked.

It wasn't.

I walked inside, convinced that I'd find someone cleaning the building, or people playing late-night basketball or something.

I saw a girl in a skirt sitting on a couch. Which was the most wonderful thing I could have seen just then. I tentatively asked if they were still doing interviews for temple recommends (I think it was about a quarter after 9pm by this time) and she said that she was waiting for her own recommend interview, and pointed out the person I needed to talk to in order to sign in.

So I signed in.

And I sat down.

And I tried really hard not to cry because I was just feeling this sense of being amazed and awed and stunned that after all the halting and mishaps and obstacles, I had made it. They were still there. I could still have a temple recommend.

When the stake president called me into his office, he talked with me for a moment, then asked if I'd be willing to share a bit of my testimony with him. I felt a rush of the spirit, and I bore my testimony with a more firm conviction than I've felt in a long time. And again, I struggled not to cry.

The interview went fine, a brother from the other singles ward gave me a ride to the nearest T stop so I wouldn't have to wait in the dark for a bus, and I got home a little after 10:30.

Guys, I think there is something really valuable about this experience. I think sometimes the things that are good and right for us to do come very easily; the way opens up for us suddenly, spectacularly, like the parting of the Red Sea, and we walk through on dry ground towards the Promised Land.

But this was not a Red Sea moment for me. For me, this was one of those times when the thing I was supposed to do was hard, a time when all these awful (and sometimes even ridiculous) obstacles kept getting thrown in my path. And I nearly gave up. And didn't. And now I have what I needed.

The Lord shows us all kinds of tender mercies. Tonight, mine came in the form of a busted subway system, a broken bus, and a rectangular piece of (barcoded) paper that's securely stashed in my purse.

Interlude

So, I wasn't going to post anything until I got my bit of fiction finished (which is one reason why I haven't posted in awhile, because I have been doing a lot of not writing it)...

But I have to tell you about this.

I just have to.

Because you will be utterly jealous, and I kind of really want you to be.

This evening, some friends and I went to see the Boston Pops, because John Williams was conducting, which, as you know, makes the experience extra awesome. Because John Williams rocks.

Anyway--so we had tickets for the orchestra (which is a large open area on the ground floor) which means that we got to order food during the performance. So, I got Boston Creme Pie. While watching the Boston Pops. (Also, root beer.) How. Blasted. Cool. Is. That.

The music was, of course, fantastic; the orchestra played bits from Far and Away, Dr. Zhivago, the theme from the Julia Ormond Sabrina, Lawrence of Arabia (one of my favorite films), and the bulk of the evening (the second half) was taken up entirely with music from the Harry Potter films. One of the best parts of the experience was that they had montages from some of the films while they played the music. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, it was awesome.

Then, when the performance was all finished, the audience was reeeeeeaaally enthusiastic. Like, they wouldn't stop clapping. So, we got an encore performance of, GET THIS, a piece of music from the new Indiana Jones movie. Mwahahaha!

Then, because the audience was seriously clap-happy, we got a SECOND encore, this time the major Indy theme.

And THEN, we got a THIRD encore, which was the E.T. theme.

After that, John Williams had to pantomime going to sleep before the audience would finally sit down and stop clapping. Seriously, folks. These performers just might want to go home.

Anyway. Now that you've all turned a wholly satisfying bright shade of green, I will leave off for this evening.

You can thank me later.

P.S. For pics, check out my roommate Pinto's blog.

In which the author continues to tell the most appalling lies.

Chapter 2

Beth paused at the bottom of her apartment building to readjust her grip on the bag of pastries and the marmot-filled cage. The hand that had held the cage had a red line across the palm where the metal had dug into it. Beth glared at the line in some disgust and asked herself for the fifteenth time just what exactly she thought she was doing.

"Why, rescuing us, of course," said a squeaky voice emanating from the general direction of the caged animals.

Beth jumped back, glad she had already set the cage down; she was sure she would have dropped it otherwise. The bag of pastries, of course, fell from her suddenly paralyzed fingers, and a single éclair fell out, landing with a gentle squelching noise right outside the marmots' cage.

"Unghrgh," Beth said, which, under the circumstances, she felt was quite a reasonable statement to make.

"Oh, don't be coy," said the voice, now unmistakably coming from one of the marmots. The one who had spoken curled its tiny paws around the wiring of the cage and pressed its nose through a small opening. The other marmot sidled over to the éclair, and began picking at it, pulling pieces into the cage and stuffing them into its mouth.

Beth sat down hard on one of the carpeted stairs.

"I'm so sorry," she said, even though she wasn't. "I always feel frustrated with characters in books who just can't seem to get over it when an animal starts talking to them, but really, it is just so astonishing when it happens in real life."

The speaking marmot shrugged, (or at least Beth thought it was a shrug; it looked so different on a marmot), then turned its head towards its companion and reached out one paw, palm up. The éclair-eating marmot paused and swallowed, then obligingly passed over a sizable chunk of pastry. The first marmot stuffed it in its mouth, then licked both its paws thoroughly.

"Ah," it said at last. "That baker does an extraordinary job. He'd be quite a fine human if he weren't so insufferable."

Beth said, "Hmm," as noncommittally as possible, then leaned forward over her knees to peer at the cage more closely.

"Wait," she said. "Isn't there some part where you're supposed to explain just how exactly you learned how to talk, or why you're talking now, or did I miss that bit?"

The marmot looked at Beth scornfully. She didn't know how it managed it.

"Do you think we go around asking humans how they learned how to talk? Or cows? Or dung beetles? Of course not. Really," it huffed, "you people are so species-centric."

Beth blinked a couple of times, then leaned forward to rest her forehead on her knees as she sighed heavily.

"Fine," she said, her voice muffled by her speaking into her jeans. She lifted her head and looked at the marmots again. "But I don't really have time to deal with talking marmots right now, you know, even if you were to tell me how you did it. It's almost the end of the semester, for crying out loud! How about I rent a car and take you guys out to Walden Pond, eh? Would that do? I'll even give you the rest of the éclairs."

The éclair-eating marmot nudged the other with a furry elbow and stage-whispered, "Isn't there a lovely bakery out there in Concord? Sally Ann's, wasn't it?"

The other marmot put one paw on its companion's shoulder, and said, "Patience, Jean-Marc." Then, turning to Beth, it said, "We gladly accept your offer. In any case, it beats being drowned in the Charles River."

********************************************
Several hours later, Beth pulled her Zipcar up onto the side of the road, in a woodsy area bordering Walden Pond. (She didn't feel it would be the best idea to release the marmots too close to Concord and its enticing bakeries.) She pulled the cage out of the backseat, rested it gently on the ground and undid the clasp, then stood back to allow the marmots ample room to burst forth into the wilds of Massachusetts.

They ambled out of the cage, and one of them came up and looked up at her expectantly. (She was pretty sure it was the one who had first spoken to her; its fur was a little darker than the other's.) The marmot cleared its throat. Beth looked down at it blankly.

The marmot raised itself on its hind legs and rolled its eyes. "The éclairs?" it said, putting both paws on its rodent hips.

"Oh!" said Beth, embarrassed, and dove into the passenger-side to retrieve the bag of pastries. "Here," she said, handing the bag over to the importunate marmot.

The marmot sniffed and said, "That's better," then started off, dragging the bag behind it.

Beth watched for a little while, and then shook her head, laughed a little to herself, and turned back to the Zipcar.

"You realize what this means, of course," she heard just as she was about to shut the front door.

"What?" she said, leaning and looking back at the retreating marmots.

The one with the bag had raised itself on its hind legs again, and cupped its paws around its mouth. "You'll get three wishes, I mean!" it shouted.

"Wha... For saving you?" Beth said.

The marmot shook its head and called out, "You read too many fairy tales! No, it's for the éclairs!" and it turned back and shuffled along through the leaves until it and the other marmot were completely out of sight.

(To be continued...)

In which the author tells the most appalling lies.

Prologue

She pressed one finger into the small tense spot between her two eyebrows and regarded the computer screen with frank incredulity.

There was so much space to fill!

And so much to tell.

She supposed that she ought to just start, but she worried that no one would believe her. No one could possibly believe her, not even the bit about the estate in England, let alone the unicorns.

But she knew that the only thing she could do was to record it all, record it for posterity, record it for the little urchins on the street who looked to her to write down her own life in the most inept fashion possible. She owed it to them all.

So she decided she would tell the very, very exciting story of the past several weeks, and she would tell it in the third person, because she knew it would help her to look at everything wholly objectively.

"Right," she muttered to herself (causing her rommate to glance over at her in alarm). "I'll do it."
And so she began:

***************************************************
Chapter 1

It all began with the marmots... No...earlier than that. It all began the morning she decided to have a bagel for breakfast instead of an egg.

Beth had been eating eggs for breakfast steadily for roughly the past year of her life. And while she admired the efficient packaging, not to mention the cheerfully bright yellow of the yolk, she found that morning that she had simply had enough. She had had enough eggs.

Unfortunately, despite her desire to eat a bagel, she was unable to find one anywhere in the apartment. (She even checked the 'secret shelf' where one of her roommates stashed particularly divine eatables.) So, to appease her craving, she dashed down the stairs of her apartment building, and down the street to a fine little French bakery. Which did not sell bagels. Alas.

However, while there, she noticed that there was a large cage set up behind the counter of the bakery. Intrigued even more than she was hungry, Beth inquired about the two animals that circled the interior, occasionally snapping at passing customers.

"Oh, zoze [those]?" said the man behind the counter, in an obviously fake French accent. "Why, zey are ze marmottes."

"Marmottes?" murmered Beth musingly.

"Oui, mademoiselle," replied the fake French bakery man.

Beth cocked her head in a manner which was meant to imply charming confusion (for even with a fake French accent, the man was not bad looking) and said, "But why marmots?"

"Ze marmottes, mademoiselle, zey haf been pilfering ze pastries!" cried the man.

Beth gasped in shock, for it is not every day that one meets rodentia who share one's tastes so completely.

"Thieving marmots," she said, shaking her head gently to express just the right degree of sympathy. "Shocking indeed. So, what do you plan to do with them?"

"Ah," the not-French man said, looking away from Beth and rubbing his upper arm with one hand, "Zat is perhaps not a sing [thing] I should be saying to ze young lady."

Beth hurridely glanced around for the young lady he spoke of and saw a woman with a parasol just exiting the building.

Once the woman had left, Beth turned back to the man and said, "Now that she's gone, won't you tell me?"

The man's face flushed, and a vein throbbed in his left temple. He pounded his two fists on the counter, causing the eclairs in the display case to jump up and turn upside-down. "I will drown zem all!" he shouted, causing the elderly gentleman in the corner to glance up nervously and fold his newspaper with some speed.

As the bell over the door marked the exit of the elderly gentleman, Beth turned her mind to the problem at hand. While she could not, in her heart of hearts, advocate pastry theft, she found she could advocate the drowning of the marmots even less.

Glancing over at the marmot-filled cage, and leaning forward to emphasize her earnestness, Beth said, "I'll take them."

The man of dubious nationality rubbed one hand through his hair, causing most of it to stand entirely on end (which, incidentally, made him just a little bit less becoming), and said, "Mademoiselle, you know not zese marmottes. Zey are full of ze tricks. Zey will make you meezerable, I believe."

Beth drew breath to argue: she did not care how miserable the marmots made her; she would not let them be drowned. But the baker spoke again before she could reply.

"But, I have not ze time to go to ze river today. I have ze orders up to here," he said, pointing to his left eyebrow. "You can have ze marmottes. But know zat I have given you ze warning, mademoiselle."

He looked grimly at Beth.

Beth looked grimly back.

Then the man who was not French shrugged, and shoved the cage forward with his foot. Beth smiled at him and reached for her purse.

"Now how much are those eclairs?" she asked.

(To be continued...)

So this is what it's like when the world is alive.

Just an observation, before I get down to the nitty gritty of creating an awesome fictional account of what exciting things have been going on in my life for the past several months (hint: I believe it involves finding out that I'm the heiress to a vast estate in England, and that's only the boring part):

Despite my occasional (or, more or less constant) self-image issues, I've discovered something very important. It's impossible to feel anything less than beautiful while walking beneath a long line of trees that are raining white petals down on you.

Seriously. It's like frolicking through the fields in a white dress, or facing the sunset while the wind whips your hair behind you.

It's just one of those things.

And I love, love, LOVE that the world is coming alive again. I always forget over winter just how beautiful it all is, how vibrant everything is. It amazes me every time I step outside. And it makes me feel vibrant and alive as well.

That is all.

Now I must continue working on my fictional account.

(What do you think about unicorns?)

Now, before you languish and die...

In case any of you have been wondering why I have been so woefully neglectful of you all, please know that I am now in the second-to-last week of the semester, the week when everything is due.

So, I'm busy, you see.

Really, truly.

And I'm not just saying that because I'm trying to avoid you.

It's just that I have to assign classification numbers to a whole buncha stuff. Also, prepare a booktalk set. And.

Huh. I think pretty much everything else is done. But I will refrain from celebrating until after next Tuesday, when my last assignment is due.

But OH, be prepared for a fab blog post after that. You won't be disappointed. Because I will make a bunch of stuff up to make my life sound really, really exciting. Hurrah for fiction!

And now I must retreat back into my hole.

Tagorium: Or, What I've Been Reading Lately

Okay. So, as you may have noticed if you've ever tagged me, it takes me forever to get to said tags on my own blog.

For that, I apologize profusely.

So, in an effort to alter my ways, I'm responding to Becca's tag. (Thanks, Becca!)

1. Pick up the nearest book (at least 123 pages)
2. Turn to page 123
3. Find the 5th sentence
4. Post the 5th sentence on your blog
5. Tag 5 people

The nearest book is, I kid you not, Introduction to Cataloging and Classification (10th ed.), by Arlene G. Taylor. Which is a shame, because I've been reading all these juicy YA books lately.

The 5th sentence on the 123rd page reads: "Playing times are given, as in the rule for sound recordings." Uh. That's pretty boring. Basically, it's talking about what kind of information you need to include when you're creating a catalog record for different types of items, in this case a DVD (aka in the library world as 'videodisc'). So, you'd include information about playing time when you create your catalog record.

Yearp.

Now, I tag (if you have time, but ONLY if you have time): Kim, Nerd Goddess, Pat, Becky, and Mom.

Two things:

First, have you noticed how the way people write and the way people talk don't always coincide? I mean, I think of myself and see the way I put words together while speaking to someone face to face, and I so often stumble and backtrack and hesitate. While, for some reason, when I sit down to write something, I'm usually able to at least approximate how I feel. I wonder why it's so different. I wonder how I can have these two different voices that are both somehow mine; it makes me wonder which is my real voice.

The second thing is this: it doesn't matter how often you're reminded that wishing for something doesn't change reality; there's always something convincing about the power of longing when it comes over you, as though it should bend the world around you until it's shaped to the form you wish it. You become convinced that there's something to it, that all that power must change some corner of the world and surpise you with goodness.

Once, when I was very young, I drew a picture of a fantastical animal. I named it, and wrote the name beneath the drawing. I became convinced within myself that if I just remembered to put the picture into our mailbox on my birthday, that animal would become real, and would come to me and be my own forever and ever. Of course, when my birthday came, I forgot about the drawing amidst all the festivities of the day. And afterwards I always wondered what would have happened if I had left the drawing in the mailbox.

Longing is like that; it convinces you that reality must somehow conform itself to the shape of your hope. And then it doesn't. And you remember that you really are just one solitary human being, whose feelings, though powerful and real to you, are confined wholly within your own frame, that others cannot sense them, and that the world must function according to its own rules, and cannot change itself for one individual.

What a selfish thing it is to have these feelings. What a selfish and foolish and vain and wonderful thing.

And I still can't help hoping that I'll walk around the corner someday and see that strange and beautiful and completely make-believe animal waiting just for me. I know I never will, but it doesn't change the longing. Not even a little.

What guilt will drive you to:

Did you know that feeling guilty will drive you to do all sorts of things?

Like, for instance, typing something into a post when you have absolutely nothing to say?

Nothing except, perhaps, that I think I try to talk like I'm more wise than I really am. Because I get all philosophical (not real-philosophical; only Lizardbreath-style, which usually ends up being as philosophical as toast, which, while delicious, does not necessarily help you understand the world any better) and write things, thinking I'm saying something meaningful and insightful and really I'm just stuck here trying to figure things out and mostly changing my mind while still wanting to talk about whatever and wherever my opinion is at the moment.

I'm like a mixed-up bundle of me-ness, which often just doesn't feel like it's quite good enough.

But.

Daffodils are wonderfully yellow.

And library school is awesome.

Especially when I'm only three weeks away from summer break.

It's all such a mix, isn't it?

So, I could use a swear-word to describe yesterday, but since the readership of my blog consists of people who would probably not want to read the word, I will refrain.

But oh, was it ever that word.

I talked to my boss in the morning and realized that I had holy-hecka messed up at work the previous evening, (BAD), so of course I felt horrible about that, and then later that evening I spent from about 7 or 8pm until 3am this morning working on an assignment that was due at 8am. My neck ached, I nearly fell asleep at the computer, and I think I hallucinated something about spiders that turned into library patrons (not really).

Yesterday was also FABULOUS.

Before talking to my boss at work, I had a chance to participate in a national book drop for teens in hospitals (and medical clinics) sponsored by YALSA. One of my professors asked for volunteers, so the five of us (four students and the professor) went down to a local adolescent clinic to drop off several boxes, bags, and a cart full of books. It was, to be frank, quite awesome. (Even though I did have to be in some pictures. Urgh.) Also, the guy-who-was-once-bearded came and he was very nice, but then I was all sad because he's not LDS and thus It Can Never Be.

The best part of all this, though, was that as we walked back to campus (the clinic was only about a 15-minute walk away), I had the chance to talk with my professor, who has this vast amount of experience working directly in the field, teaching in the field, and just generally being this amazing advocate in the field of services to youth. She's pretty much my hero, now. Later that day, when I was at school listening to a faculty candidate give a lecture, that professor came and sat next to me. I felt so priviliged! (Haha! I feel like I have a teacher crush, except it's not really a crush, just a 'I really like this teacher' feeling.) Yeah. I'm kind of a nerd.

Um. And then there was another reason why the day was fabulous, which took place after I finished the assignment at 3am, but I won't go into that.

So, then, this morning, I walked to class, feeling at one with the world, with the pains of the day before safely buffered by 5 1/2 hours of sleep, loving the breeze, drinking in deep draughts of the blossom-laden world. Then I got to class.

And I remembered that I was supposed to bring snacks to class today.

And that the nearest grocery store was a good 10-minute brisk walk away. And that class was going to start in 15 minutes.

So, I briskly made my way to the store and briskly made my way back with a bag of Sun Chips mashed into my backpack, and made it to my seat just in time to catch most of The Dewey Rap.

And I realized that life is just all mixed up.

I don't mean to say that life is crazy confusing (although it can be); what I'm saying is that it's a hodgepodge, a jumble, a clothing rack at a discount store, where you'll find the designer jeans next to a mumu your grandmother would scorn.

So maybe being happy really does mean learning to pick the little pieces of life that are enjoyable, and choosing to learn from the bad parts, while still not letting them make us unhappy. Or maybe even just choosing to be happy, whether life throws you librarians rapping about classification systems, or yet another broken fingernail.

So, do you sudoku?

Oh, the wiles of the internet. How it creates these things that suck us into its little black holey pit of wasted time. (Actually, my roommate and I talked about the internet and how time seems to go faster when one is on it, so we determined that the internet is really a black hole, and as you accelerate towards it, outside time (the rest of the world) seems to go faster and faster. (Apologies to Einstein for a really, really bad (and silly) interpretation of his ideas.))

Anyway.

My point is that I just discovered a new way to waste time: Sudoku online.

Don't follow that link! DON'T--

Ack. Too late.

I'm so sorry.

(But you do feel a little smarter when you get a puzzle all put together, so it's kind of a good thing, right?)

Don't you love having jokes with yourself?

I do it all the time. I'll be walking along, and then I'll think something, and then joke about it to myself, and then laugh, all internally.

I really am my own best friend!

Like today:

Ever since reading it at the elementary school library where I volunteer weekly, I've wanted to add The Shrinking of Treehorn to my Amazon wishlist, but kept forgetting. Like, every single blasted week. I'd come across it while shelving and think, "BLAST! There's The Shrinking of Treehorn. I still haven't added it to my wishlist." Then today, oh joy of joys, I remembered it, simply because I was looking up pictures by Edward Gorey (he was the illustrator for The Shrinking of Treehorn) to add to a presentation on the mystery genre.

So, I sent myself the following email:

To: LizardbreathMcGee@loveslibrarystuff.com
From: LizardbreathMcGee@loveslibrarystuff.com
Subject: Treehorn!

The Shrinking of Treehorn!

I REMEMBERED! I REMEMBERED!

This is, of course, a reference to the classic Sesame Street segment, "A loaf of bread." Which you can watch here, because I'm generous like that.



Yeah. So, the jokeness of this doesn't seem so funny now that I've written it all down. But at least you'll understand me if I sometimes murmur to myself, "A loaf of bread, a container of milk, and a stick of butter." That thing will be in my head for always. (Also, I love that you can find almost anything on YouTube.)

Comment panic

So, I have this thing I do in class sometimes.

The professor is standing up there, talking about something important (like video games in libraries--it's a serious subject, people!) and then she asks a question of the class.

And the class just kind of sits there. Squirming.

And then I get this panicky feeling, like all the air is going out of the room and the only way to get air back into the room is to say something, so I do and...

I say something really dumb.

I, in fact, make a dumb comment. Or ask a stupid question (and no matter what your teachers tell you, they really do exist).

The worst part is that once you've started saying a dumb comment and you recognize it, you can't really stop; you just feel like you have to keep on going, as if you just keep talking somehow the words will twist themselves about and form the structure of a good comment, a smart comment, a wow, she's such a great library student comment.

And you end up in even more of a train wreck than where you started.

Ach, the agonies of studenthood.

(But really, I'm loving it.)

It's funny...

You never really hear things at General Conference that you haven't heard before.

And yet, you still feel rather more enlightened than not when you come away from any given session, a little wiser, a little improved.

However this whole thing works, I think it's wonderful.

Is it okay to just give up?

Lately I've read a lot of excellent blog posts about the whole LDS singlehood dating situation. Along with attendant comments, these posts offer a lot of insight into the problems, pains, hopes and frustrations all tied up in LDS dating life.

And let me tell you: it ain't pretty.

The other night, my roommate and I had a member of our ward over and the three of us talked together for hours about the things that are wrong (like really, deeply wrong) with LDS dating culture. I realized during the discussion just how much pain young single adults feel about this. I mean, I know I've felt pain about this before, and I'm sure I'll feel pained again, but this talk made me realize that pretty much all of us are really dealing with some really wrenching feelings, here. There's a lot, a LOT, of deep-rooted unhappiness. Or rather... It's not really unhappiness, just... Just pain. That's the only word that really fits well.

And, I don't know; I keep reading these posts and comments about trying hard and pursuing happiness and working on life plans while still at the same time retaining hope that your someone is still out there, that somehow with all the things that are messed up about the whole dating culture, you'll find each other, get to know each other well enough to have a friendship and fall in love and you'll get married and at last move out of the single state (into the, in some ways, way more complicated and difficult (but also wonderful) marriage state). These people who are writing really haven't given up hope that it will still happen for them.

Sometimes, I feel so old. Not old like a senior citizen; not by any means. I'm turning 30 this year, but it doesn't mean I'm getting into retirement age. But honestly, the thought of starting a marriage and family at this time in my life, with me being who I am: shy and reluctant to talk to people and awkward and too too flawed and really not remarkably attractive, I just...

Guys, I just don't see it happening.

I just don't.

And the thing is, I don't feel too sad or bitter about it or anything, so I don't want you to think I'm typing this while at the same time sobbing into my keyboard.

The way I'm approaching it now is this: It's just easier now to not hope for a marriage in this life. It means that I don't have to deal with the pain of fiercely expecting something that hasn't happened yet and doesn't show a real strong likelihood of happening at all. I think that's where a lot of the pain comes in: when your expectations of how life should be and how life really is are really disparate.

I actually feel pretty calm about this, like I'm taking a step forward. And I want to feel that it's okay to feel this way, that I don't have to keep up the pretense of hoping just so I can feel like I'm being a righteous person.

I love what I'm doing; I love it with an unanticipated strength. I feel that I've found my calling in life, or at least a calling. And if I never do get to have children of my own, at least I can help encourage the ones I meet to feel a love for learning about the world around them, to help them want to explore unfamiliar worlds, to get behind the eyes of people who live in books, to reach out and become part of a community of individuals who are interested in making the world better for everyone in it.

And I want that to be okay. And I want that to be enough. And I want to be able to say, "If these blessings come, I will gladly accept them. But if not, I will still trust in the Lord."

I'm not saying that every young single adult should give up any hope of marriage--that they'll be happier that way. I still hope that the majority of them will go on to marry and have children and experience those unique joys.

But not everyone gets the chance to marry.

And for those of us who never do, I want to be able to say that our lives are still okay. And it's still okay for us to be perfectly happy with them.

*********************************************************
P.S. Please, please, please don't be sad if you read this post. I'm not. Really and truly. And that's why I wanted to write it.

A Dream o' Babies

I dreamed about babies last night.

Of course, last night I dreamed about a lot of things because I fell asleep somewhere around 9-ish over my textbook and didn't get up until oh... 8-ish this morning.

(Good GRIEF.)

But still--babies were in there at some point during the night.

And I dreamed about this pair of twin infants (one boy, one girl) I was taking care of for a friend. The baby girl had some serious health issues and had to be handled with rubber gloves. And even though she was an infant, she kept talking to me about how I didn't have to worry about her too much; you know--those kind of reassuring things people say when they don't want to be really fussed over. But I fussed, and I accidentally poked her little hands as I tried to fasten her cloth diaper with a safety pin and it was pretty darn distressing because then she looked at me with these big hurt eyes and just didn't say anything and I could tell she was hurt and kind of offended and...

Why on EARTH did I have a distress dream about babies? Which then evolved into these same infants being all grown up and dancing it up as young adults?

I have only one answer: my subconscious is a strange, strange landscape, that even I cannot comprehend.

Oooo.

Such a disappointment.

You know the beard thing I've been doing lately? I mean--not growing one, of course, but really liking the men who do? Or at least the men who have really nice close-trimmed beards?

Yeah.

I'm not sure if it's a result or a cause of this, but I've totally been crushing on a guy who happens to be in two of my classes. He's pretty tall, a little stocky, and has this dark hair that's just got tints of red, which for some reason looks really, erm, delicious. And he was bearded.

I say 'was,' because when I showed up for class this evening, I noticed that his beard, alas, was gone.

What a loss! I can no longer find him truly attractive.

So, I guess shallowness of affection comes in all sorts of flavors. For me, it's the beard-y flavor.

You know you're all grown up

I think tax season is the only time people wish they earned less than they actually did.

We're such a crazy society.

Also, April 15th stinks.

Bleaargh.

How did I get so darn lucky?

You. You people. You people are the coolest people ever.

And one of you in particular (although you ALL are cool, really) is particularly cool right now.

To that person, I heartily say, "Well, blow me timbers! Thar be The Good Ship Bookend in the flesh! Er, wood. In the wood. On me shelf! Arr. It be good to see her there."

Also, "Thankee."

Also, "Good grief! That's holy amazing that you found that thing and WOW!" But, I don't know how to put that into pirate speak. Maybe it would be something close to "Yaargh!" I'm not really sure.

Also (to all you readers) I'm so sorry I haven't been posting much. I've just been hecka busy with school (even now I'm thinking, "I'm sure there's something I should be doing. There's always something. What the heck is it?!?) and assorted mundanities, which both leaves me less time for blogging, and a mind that is less occupied with thinking up blog topics and more occupied with trying to figure out which books I should toss out (theoretically, of course) for my collection development assignment and what I can say for a booktalk and when I can squeeze in the readings for cataloging that I've been neglecting lately.

But, I must tell you, I saw this charming thing on the T this evening. I was riding up to Harvard Square to meet a classmate to finish up a group project. On the seats just in front of me sat a young man (twentysomething) and a woman who looked to be in her late forties or early fifties who was, I'm guessing, his mom. I noticed the young man, of course, because he was excessively good looking. But I also noticed that they seemed to be having this really charming conversation where they'd laugh, and he'd kind of lean in and intentionally bump shoulders (his right, her left) with her a couple of times. I love that whole bumping shoulders business. It's a way of showing affection without getting too out of control--of a desire for contact, brief and rather humorous. I like it a lot.

And I wish all of you were here right now so I could talk and laugh with you and bump shoulders. Just a little bit.

Why love is like reading seriously condensed versions of classic novels:

Oh, Book-a-Minute, how do I love thee?

For instance, do I love thee enough to stay up until after 4am reading thy hilarious entries?

Why, yes.

Yes I do.

Sigh.

Oh, well.

At least I have nice hair.

Endless Universes

So, I've been reading the book Endless Universe: Beyond the Big Bang over the past few days (and yes, I am trying to impress you all by letting on that I'm reading cosmology theory (in NOVA-type very diluted form)) and (although I have this unfortunate tendency to fall asleep while reading it, which partially contributed to my missing 1/3 of church this morning) I have to admit, I find it rather wonderful.

Basically, the book takes a look at both the commonly taught model of the universe (the inflationary model) critiques it, and also introduces a new model (the cyclic model of the universe) that fits with the same astronomical observations and yet has (they claim) fewer problems than the inflationary model.

While I am certainly no cosmologist (I have trouble really visualizing some of the more intense theoretical stuff, like Higgs fields (which apparently make it possible for elementary particles to differentiate into the types we know today)), still the idea of the cyclic universe appeals to me much more than the inflationary model, simply from (oddly enough) an aesthetic and theological perspective.

The inflationary model claims, essentially, that time and space began at the Big Bang, that the universe rapidly expanded, then slowed, and now is undergoing a period of increasing expansion because of dark energy (all of which was explained in the book in a way that made me pretty much understand what dark energy is supposed to be, thank goodness). This increasing expansion will continue forever, until the universe is basically dead: all burnable fuel used up, all matter so widely distributed that space has become a virtual vacuum. And this state lasts forever.

While the cyclic model incorporates the same idea of the current universe as the inflationary model (that of rapid expansion after the Big Bang, gradual slowing and cooling, and a relatively recent period of increasing expansion due to dark energy), it differs from the other model in essential points. Instead of the universe being created at the Big Bang, the model claims that the event was only one in a series of cyclical events or periods that are endlessly repeating. Basically, the model makes the assumption (and I haven't yet discovered how the theorists provide a good reason for supposing this assumption is valid, but I'm only halfway through the book) that dark energy eventually decays when the universe is fairly homogenous (vacuum-like) in nature, and that then the universe gradually contracts until it reaches another Big Bang event, matter and energy are once again concentrated and distributed throughout the universe, and another period of creation begins.

So.

Here is why I prefer the cyclic model: firstly, it's just plain more hopeful. Thinking about the universe cooling and dying and expanding forever and ever and ever with no end is just plain depressing. It means that the majority of the creation of galaxies and other major astronomical structures is pretty much over and entropy wins in the end. That's a pretty bleak view. Whereas the cyclic model provides for an endless repetition of periods of creation. That's an inherently hopeful view, one I find fits more with my idea of how the universe should be. It's efficient (as opposed to the seemingly wasteful inflationary model) with no loss of matter/energy as the universe undergoes these cycles. That's the aesthetic appeal.

I also find that the cyclic model fits very comfortably indeed with my theological views. In the LDS scriptures, the phrase "one eternal round" comes up frequently and is always related to God, and always related to his course. I find it wonderful that there's an idea of the universe that plays into this idea of endless creation. Endless. Which means that God's work is wonderfully, beautifully, joyously, never finished. Which fits so much better into the cyclic model than the inflationary one. While I suppose the inflationary model could work with this idea of God (He'd just move on to another universe when this one was burned up, I guess), still, again, it feels inefficient and just wasteful. Using the same universe over and over again for works of creation seems to be wonderfully simple and beautiful.

So what does all this mean?

Nothing much.

I doubt I'll be able to tell after reading this book which, if either model, is more reliable, fits more with the astronomical evidence, or is more mathematically viable.

But I know which one I like, which one I'm rooting for. And whichever model is true (if either) the universe is more grand and strange and gorgeous and complex and simple than I can comprehend. And that's kind of wonderful in itself.

Tagalicious

Wow. I've just been tagged.

I feel... I feel pretty sweet about that, actually. Mostly because it gives me a chance to share some random stuff about myself with you.

Just for the record, here's what Pat says about the tag in her tagging post: "*Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.* Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.* Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog."

So, I guess my first random thing would be,

1. After quoting from Pat's blog, I felt a strong need to use APA citation. I think grad school is starting to get to me.
(Just for the record, I think it would be something like:
Pat. (2008, March 6). Granny's house. Retrieved March 7, 2008, from http://grannytsbungalow.blogspot.com/.)

2. I once made a movie with some friends that starred a small, terrycloth-covered, bean animal named Chobee. And I was the female lead.

3. I also once ate (as part of an initiation ceremony) an Oreo dipped in salsa. The weird thing is that, as gross as it sounds, the actual experience wasn't all that bad. I guess Oreos win out over all.

4. My biggest dream currently is to become a youth services librarian who writes books on the side. So far, I'm getting pretty far in the librarian business. The book writing thing? Not so much.

5. Okay. This one may be TMI, but I kind of enjoy plucking my face. I love that little tug you get right before a hair pops out. Um. Yeah. I'm sick.

6. Speaking of sick, and speaking of facial hair, I have this growing fetish for beards on men. We're not talking Lorenzo Snow type beards, here. C'mon, people. But I must confess: I really, really love that well-trimmed, full beard look (none of your goatees for me). Kind of like Commander Riker during his be-bearded days, but a little further up the cheek. Nice.

7. Which brings me to this one: I am a closet Trekkie. (It is true. In addition to being an APA citing, Chobee-loving, salsa & oreo-eating, author-wanna-be-librarianing, hair plucking, beard fetishing girl, I am also a nerd.)

And that's all you need to know about me.

So, to pass on the goodness, I think I'll tag:

Kim
Jekka
Nerd Goddess
Lindsay
Joseph
Christian
Joellen
Ethenielle

Which pretty much sums up my blogging acquaintances. (Although I would have tagged Pinto if she hadn't cursed given up blogging for Lent.)

*******************************************************
Edit: Aha. Hum. So, I tagged 8 people instead. I am not so good with numbers.

Soured

Do you really love those faces kids make when they eat something sour? (You sadist, you?)

If so, enjoy:

One more.

Sometimes I feel so hungry for something, I feel I could eat the whole world.

And yet I'm still hungry.

And the world still remains.

Is that not strange?

Are you not grateful?

I wonder.

Emotions fly across my surface like the shadows of wind-driven clouds.

Which leads me to wonder:

In my dumb simile, what am I?

The patterns of light and dark?

Or the shape of the earth beneath,

Soil and rock and fire?

Why love is like reading something from BYU Studies:

Are you...

Are you allowed to fall in love with an article? If so, I think I just have.

With this one, in fact.

And maybe it's just the way I've been feeling today: a little bit mind-weary, a little bit inclined to be a little heartsick, but this talk was pretty much exactly what I needed to read at this moment.

Experiencing it was like the best parts of being in love: joyful self-discovery and intense affirmation.

I feel better about myself than I have in a long time. And that's a pretty darn good thing indeed.

I love three-year-olds.

Here's one reason why:



My favorite thing? When she says, "The siney guy always worries."

In Other News

I really, really wish men with beards would just stop being in my classes. Or on the T. Or walking around on the sidewalk.

Because they're just way too distracting.

Mmm.

Phew!

In other news...

I heard from Cathy that a fellow far too young to have a beard has just joined their family, which means that she and her husband are now outnumbered by their children.

And also that there is one more small, wonderful person to love in the world.

Welcome, Theo.

(Here are some pictures, for those of you who are visually minded.)

Sage Advice

If, on a whim, you decide to brush your teeth while completely naked,

Be forewarned:

It's not as exciting as it sounds.

On Settling

I found this article both strangely compelling and rather disturbing. My roommate Pinto and I had a long discussion about it and came to the conclusion that there's settling and then there's Settling. (Obviously, the capitalized, italicized version is the one not to be done.)

The lower-case (non-italicized) settling is basically just another word for humility, for realizing that we are just as flawed as the people we're evaluating in our dating relationships. This kind of settling allows us to be realistic enough to accept the flaws of an individual, and humble enough to realize we have plenty of flaws on our own. It may also, my roommate mentioned, involve getting away from the BYU mentality of dating (in which it's easy to give up on any given relationship (sometimes for really tiny reasons) because there are just so many young, single, and dateable people out there).

Now Settling is different: it's when a person begins to compromise on things that are really important, when settling is not just saying, "It's okay that he isn't as witty and romantic as I'd like," but, "It's okay that he occasionally puts me down in front of my friends," or, "I can accept that he ignores my kids."

So. I'm curious. To you, what are things that indicate settling and Settling? In what ways do you thing you settled? (Lowercase! I hope none of you Settled.) And do you think it was a wise move or not?

Some things I love:

I love the feeling you get right after you've washed the last dish after doing some intense cooking. It's the satisfaction of completion, of finishing, of being able to sit on your bed and put your feet up for a while.

I love long intellectual conversations with my roommate, about theology and love lives and why being kind to people just makes good sense.

I love a book I just checked out from the library: The Arrival. I'd been curious about it for some time, but hadn't yet had an opportunity to look at a copy. It's an immigrant story, done entirely by pictures, so it's more of a graphic novel than anything. It's beautiful and strangely moving. I also love what the author Shaun Tan has to say about it.

I love finding out that I'm an aunt all over again, and seeing pictures of this very small person who, although I've never met her, is already so dear to me.

There are, indeed, so many things to love.