Insta-Matic Memoirs

The Pressure! The Pressure!

2006-07-10T14:44:00.000-05:00

As of noon on June 30, 2006, my husband and I handed our souls over to a certain mortgage company in exchange for a teensy weensy house in the south part of the city with a leaky basement and no range hood, bathroom fan, or washing machine drainpipe. Or, at least the mortgage company THINKS they have our souls; the fact is that we gave them away to the College Foundation years ago. *Sigh*.

Last week my friends and I were mourning the impending doom of our 30th birthdays, and I thought about how we all still thought of ourselves as being closer in age to 20 than to 30. It's as though a rubber band or bungee cord had kept us all attached to age 20, but as we get farther away from that year, our rubber band stretches tauter. For most of us, when we do turn 30, that rubber band will finally break and pop us all right in our asses. For some people, that rubber band will stretch on well into their 30s.

In my case, I'm fairly certain that the added weight of an entire house to my rubber band has ensured its imminent demise.

Update and Advice.

2006-07-07T15:13:00.000-05:00

Update from my last post: Here They Come by Yannick Murphy is an excellent read. So go get it immediately. I've since moved on to Paul Park's A Princess of Roumania, which has proven to be loads of fun to read, especially since I enjoy:

Fantasy
History
Eastern Europe

In those 3 characteristics A Princess of Roumania is very similar to Orson Scott Card's Enchanted, but Princess' main conceit is a great deal more creative. But, then, Card's prose is better and his understanding of Ukrainian mythology is deeper. Who cares? They're both great fun.

Now for some advice to any man facing a midlife crisis. You're thinking to yourself: "It's okay for me to buy that convertible sports car. Lots of guys my age have them. I've embraced my baldness, so there's no risk of a toupee blowing off, and I'm careful about putting sunscreen on my scalp. Plus, lots of chicks dig older guys, lots of chicks think baldness is hot, and almost all chicks go crazy for sexy cars. How can I lose?"

Let me tell you how you can lose. By not checking out your earlobes when you test drive the car. Did you know that some men's earlobes will flap quite dramatically when they are driven in a convertible at high speeds? Well, they do. And it's hilarious, not hot.

This post is dedicated to the bald guy that passed me in the Mustang two nights ago.

Dilemma.

2006-06-28T13:39:00.000-05:00

If anyone actually reads this post, it will be a miracle. I've been away for a long time, and I'm not sure when I'll be back on a regular basis. I'm terribly sorry.

The fact is that, while house-buying hasn't quite driven me insane (which is what I've been doing instead of blogging), a new situation may very well push me over the edge. It's rather complicated:

Last Friday, I was reminded by a trivia book that Monkee Mike Nesmith's mother invented Liquid Paper, which I already knew but had forgotten. This caused me to reminisce a bit on how much I enjoyed the old Monkees TV series as a child. Then, on Saturday, I began reading a new novel by Yannick Murphy called Here They Come, which has been a lovely read so far. Unfortunately, the book's title sounds remarkably like the first line of the theme song to the Monkees TV show.

As a result, every time I pick up this book to read it, for the past 5 days, I've immediately gotten "Hey, Hey, We're the Monkees" stuck in my head. For hours.

The irritation caused by this coincidence has actually led me to think about returning the book to the library, and to never read it again, because now the book and the song are permanently linked in my warped little head. But it's such a good book! Aaaargh!

So I figure it's going to take me two more days to finish the novel. Until then, if you hear me humming, you can be confident that it's:

Here we come, walking down the street.
We get the funniest looks from everyone we meet.
Hey, hey, we're the Monkees!
And people say we monkey around.
But we're too busy singing to put anybody down...

Ave Bono Vox

2006-05-01T15:27:00.000-05:00

(I know that "Ave" probably needed to end in a different letter, for you Latin sticklers out there.)

Is it wrong that I want to worship U2 as the gods of rock-n-roll that they are? Is this considered idolatry?

Because what we're talking about here is the job position of "designated deity" for a specific genre of popular music. That doesn't even begin to compete with the status of Most High God, after all. Surely God wouldn't begrudge U2 such a tiny corner of the god market, would He?

Besides, if God wanted to rule the rock-n-roll, He should have done better than this:

It's like He didn't even try.

Rant Update

2006-05-01T13:21:00.000-05:00

Just got out of a meeting with the seminary's dean of students, and I think it went pretty well. At no time did he accuse me of being an ingrate, nor did he pat me on the head at any point in the conversation. He even said he appreciated my input, and I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt and believe that he meant what he said.

And, believe me, my tone with him was much milder than it was in my last post. My presentation was completely profanity-free, and I only cried once.

So we'll see what happens, I guess--it feels good to have brought my concerns to someone who may actually have the authority, influence, & willingness to do something about them. It's too late for this year's crop of senior wives, but maybe some of my friends will get to experience a benefit. Who knows.

It's rantin' time!

2006-04-21T10:58:00.000-05:00

It's been super-long since my last post, so I apologize to anyone out there who's been hanging on breathlessly to my every word.

Today I find myself using my blog for its original, time-honored purpose: the rant.

For the past three years my primary role in this drama we call life has been the "seminary wife." To the director of this play (the entire seminary faculty & staff), the "seminary wife" is a bit part in the production, an extra who occasionally appears beside the "seminary student" as a silent supporter. Her motivation is to make the "seminary student" look good and perform his studently duties well, so that the director can take pride in what he sees as his creation: the "seminary graduate."

Sound bitter? Maybe just a wee tiny bit.

What makes me see the seminary experience this way? A number of issues, throughout our time here, have brought the aforementioned image to mind: for example, though the spouses are allowed to attend classes for free, the low academic quality of the seminary's night classes (which were my only option, since I was working to put my husband through school) kept me from using the spouse scholarship at all. The catalyst for this rant, though, was this year's Senior Wives Dinner (or rather, the lack thereof.)

As with every other function put on for the students' wives, this dinner was to be hosted by the wives of seminary faculty and staff. None of the men who teach our spouses were going to be present, even though this event was supposed to be a token of the seminary's appreciation for their students' spouses. For those of you who were invited to this dinner, you now know that the dinner itself has been cancelled and replaced with coffee & dessert. I admit that I just gave up when I found out it had been changed--it just didn't seem worth it to drive all the way out to the seminary for just coffee & dessert.

Sadly, I am having a hard time giving the seminary faculty the benefit of the doubt, and I hope that someone will be able to throw my words back in my face by providing a good example of the faculty's interest in their students' spouses. Because I don't want to leave my husband's graduation ceremony with a bad taste in my mouth.

Perhaps I should have just considered the past three years as an opportunity to practice true, Christian service, with no expectation of acknowledgment. I am willing to do that, but the thought that I have a lifetime of the same to look forward to fills me with dread. My negative response probably just proves that I am being selfish, childish, and arrogant in my desires here.

But the injustice of ignoring the contributions of my friends is what really kills me. Why should the seminary be so quick to acknowledge the gifts of financial donors, while being so slow to acknowledge the efforts of my friends who take care of their children single-handedly so that Dad can finish his paper? Not to mention the financial contributions that we working spouses make towards our husbands' tuitions? Perhaps I'm just showing my ignorance of the seminary's finances.

Feel free to dispute me, because I don't necessarily enjoy being angry at The Man.

DISCLAIMER: This rant has nothing to do with the quality of my husband's appreciation for me, which he has no trouble expressing freely and often. (Thanks, baby!)

More blog irony.

2006-04-04T16:57:00.000-05:00

How do you know you're crazy?

2006-03-20T13:54:00.000-06:00

Brain-function- & mood-altering conditions make self-assessment even more difficult than normal. Honest self-assessment is already difficult enough; but when your assessment tool is rendered utterly untrustworthy, how well can you know you?

This wouldn't be such a big deal if modern psychiatry and psychology weren't so dependent upon the patient's ability to communicate his or her condition to another person. I was 24 when I finally realized that the way I view the world is wrong enough to warrant a battery of assorted medications; and I came to this realization with the help of several other people over a period of some months. Beforehand, I could have told you that different people think differently; I didn't presume that the world saw itself as I did. But it took some time and effort to see that other people weren't as bent on destroying themselves as I was.

So, if I've never been "okay" in my mind, how am I supposed to recognize whether or not my current mental state is "okay" now? What ought to be my frame of reference?

You speak English, don't you!?!

2006-03-03T13:42:00.000-06:00

I am inspired to post a story of one of my favorite overseas adventures. For those of you readers who are actually characters in this story, forgive me if I get some of the parts mixed up. And try not to take any of this personally.

A month after I graduated from college, I moved to Eastern Europe to work with a Christian college ministry. My ministry team was made up of around 15 people. All of us were new to the long-term overseas mission scene, but we'd all done multiple short-term tours of duty and had gained something of a handle on the culture. Or so we thought.

One of our first "missions" as an entire team was to travel, by train, to Budapest, Hungary, for a week's stay. Though we'd only been living in our particular flats for about a week before this trip, we'd all traveled by train and used public transportation in a myriad of locations. In short, we saw ourselves as seasoned travelers.

From my flat, one could choose among a handful of buses and a tram in order to get to the railway station. The buses in question all followed roughly the same route and took about 10 minutes to make this particular trip. The tram took almost twice as long as the buses. However (and this is a critical detail), almost everyone in the city used the buses to get to work in the morning.

I shared a flat with two girls; and, as is usually the case with roommates, our personalities varied a little. This was especially the case when it came to travel preparation. The night before this particular trip, I packed very carefully. Though I didn't have the bus timetables memorized yet (not that I ever did get them memorized), I figured out how much time we'd need to make it to the station. Most importantly, I'd figured in a cushion of a few extra minutes, in case we had to wait for a less crowded bus; I had seen what the buses were like during morning rush, which was the time we would be headed for our train.

Please bear in mind that my roommates and I grew to be very close during our year together, and we parted as dear friends.

Nevertheless, on the morning of the trip in question, I could have strangled my two roommates. They were, in my mind, taking an abominably long time getting ready. I don't actually remember what they were doing; all I can recall of the morning's preparations is a fog of red mist, accompanied by the sound of my blood rushing in my head. They seemed to be completely disregarding all my careful planning! Fools! It's a good thing that God doesn't grant all our desires, or those girls would have been reduced to smoky little ash-piles.

Finally, finally, we walked out the front door of our apartment and dropped the trash that my roommate had insisted on removing from the trashcan (then re-bagging after the original bag broke during the removal process), with no time to spare. We had to leg it to the busstop in a hurry and pray for a fast bus. Of course, we were also transporting a week's worth of clothes and necessities on our backs, at the same time.

At the last possible moment, a railway station-bound bus hove into view, and our hearts were momentarily cheered. Of course, it was already filled to over-capacity with local residents, packed cheek-to-jowl. A few riders disembarked at our stop, and in the ensuing confusion, I somehow managed to shove my roommates onto the bus. As the doors closed on my hands, I yelled out the name of the bus stop closest to the railway station. "Jakobov Palac!" I cried. "Get off at Jacob's Palace!" Then the bus was gone.

According to the schedule, another bus wouldn't arrive until after our train was due to leave. The only other possibility I had was to hoof it over to the nearby tram stop and pray that 1.) the lone station-bound tram would simultaneously arrive, and 2.) the tram would miraculously have a jet engine strapped to its roof.

As I recall, the train's departure time came & passed before the correct tram arrived outside my flat. I got on the tram anyway; if anyone had found it in their hearts to wait for me, the lone straggler, they'd surely be waiting at the station. I believe I closed my eyes for the first minutes of the ride, as I thought up an alternate plan of action. After a couple of stops, I looked up and noticed that one of my male teammates had joined me on the tram. As I shot him a questioning glance, he muttered, "Yeah, it turns out the #9 tram goes to the opposite side of town as the train station."

For the rest of the ride to the station, I entertained myself with fantasies of my roommates missing their stop and riding the bus to the end of its line on the edge of the city, where Gypsies would surely kidnap them and force them to panhandle.

Imagine my surprise when we arrived at the station to find that 1.) not only had a pair of our team leaders waited for us, but 2.) my roommates had actually made it on the correct train in time.

Much later, after the 4 of us had taken a later, much (much) slower train, and after we had gotten mind-bogglingly lost in Budapest and walked around for something like 3 hours, my roommates told me of their own adventures.

After I pushed my roommates (let's call them K & S) on the bus and yelled "Jacob's Palace!" at them, K & S were struck full-force by the uncertainty of their situation. They had never gotten off at the stop in question, and there was no way they'd be able to see the name of the stop from their wedged-in position. They immediately began a whispered conference to try and sort out a plan of action.

Now, buses in that part of the world are places where personal space is not really recognized. However, as though to make up for this, they are almost always deathly silent. Any talking is done in the lowest tone possible. And when one does hear someone talking during a bus ride, the voice in question is hardly ever speaking English. As if this were not enough to make K & S the center of attention on their bus, there was also the fact that I'd screamed the name of a city landmark at them as I'd pushed them on the bus. So all eyes were locked on K & S as they began to sweat.

One set of eyes, however, caught K's notice: a teenaged boy was staring at K & S, just like everyone else, but his eyes had a spark of understanding in them. K knew that this boy was following their conversation and understood every word. K locked eyes with him and hissed, "You understand English, don't you?!" At first, it seemed as though the boy would play dumb, in order to avoid admitting that he actually understood these flamboyant, uncouth individuals who'd shattered the peace of the morning commute. But then, slowly, he just nodded his head.

K & S made it safely off the bus at Jacob's Palace, thanks to their gangly, adolescent, bilingual savior.

Despite the fact that this was the last time any of us took public transportation to the railway station (pre-scheduled taxis are the way to go), K & S experienced a very similar adventure a few months later, which involved their leaving their passports at home, and ended in their leaping onto their train as it accelerated out of the station. That time, I was able to laugh.

Ever will it grow.

2006-02-23T16:37:00.000-06:00

McSweeney's proves, once again, that life could be much worse, and that Western culture could be much, much further down the road to hell than it actually is now:

SCENES FROM LORD OF THE RINGS THAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN USED AS SETUPS FOR BAD COMMERCIALS HAD THE FILMMAKERS NOT RESPECTED THE MATERIAL.
BY CODY JAMES

(A grief-stricken KING THEODEN surveys grassy mounds, peppered with white flowers, outside the walls of Edoras. GANDALF watches with great concern.)

THEODEN: Simbelmyne. Ever has it grown on the tombs of my forebears.

(GANDALF places a comforting hand on THEODEN's shoulder.)

GANDALF: And ever will it, thanks to the Miracle-Gro LiquaFeed system. (Hands him the product.)

THEODEN: (Heartened.) Really?

GANDALF: (Nodding.) With the new ready-to-use hose attachment, feeding is as easy as watering. When Theodred's spirit finds its way to the halls of your fathers, he shall look upon it with pride.

THEODEN: No parent should have to bury their child, but at least this hallowed ground will be beautiful, colorful, and lush, thanks to Miracle-Gro. (Cries bitterly.)

(Click on the link above to see the rest of the "scenes.")

Meme me. Part 2.

2006-02-21T15:22:00.000-06:00

As a further act of rebellion, I wish to add another category to the aforementioned meme.

4 Proofs That I Am Nowhere Near as Hip as I Think I Am:

1.) I watch CSI un-ironically. Just the original one. Watching the others un-ironically is physically impossible at this point.
(Sidebar: Is anyone else haunted by memories of the movie "Fear" whenever they see William Petersen? Whenever I see his face, all I can hear is Mark Wahlberg's voice saying, "Now I've popped both your cherries." That's what I get for letting my roommate talk me into watching dumb movies.)
(Sidebar: I also watch L&O un-ironically. Hence my use of the word "sidebar.")

2.) The only Aimee Mann song I know the words to is "Voices Carry." From when she was in Til Tuesday.
And, to make things worse, I grew up convinced that the words to the chorus were: "Hush, hush. Keep it down now. This is scary."

3.) I still cling to my 35mm camera, tho' the quality of digital cameras has been proven to surpass film-based ones at this point. Nevertheless, I catch myself muttering, "There's no way it's as good. No way." It's sheer, unadulterated suspicion of technology, and this is the first time I've experienced it.

4.) Movie previews still have an effect on me. No matter how many times I've been burned by them before, my heart rate still goes up a little whenever I hear that section of the Carmina Burana they always use.

Meme me.

2006-02-20T16:53:00.000-06:00

So I got tagged. Again. I'm scared now, so I'll comply with the meme's wishes:

Four Jobs I've Had:
1.) Administrative assistant to an interior designer
2.) Administrative assistant to the Hazard Mitigation Section Chief at a state-level Emergency Management Agency
3.) Administrative assistant to a set of insurance actuaries
4.) Volunteer missionary (Ha! Fooled you! You thought I was going to say "Administrative assistant to..." again. How could you think I'd be so predictable? That hurts me. Deeply.)

Four Movies I Could Watch Over & Over:
1.) The Godfather
2.) The Big Lebowski
3.) The Royal Tenenbaums
4.) Laura

Four Magazines I Enjoy:
1.) McSweeney's
2.) Zoetrope All-Story
3.) The New Yorker
4.) Southern Living

Four Places I've Lived:
1.) Raleigh, NC
2.) Henderson, NC
3.) Kosice, Slovakia
4.) St. Louis, MO

Four TV Shows I Watch Regularly:
1.) House, MD (Hugh Laurie is my HERO.)
2.) Medium
3.) Gilmore Girls
4.) CSI
(What can I say--we're too cheap for cable.)

Four Places I've Been on Vacation:
1.) Atlantic Beach, NC
2.) The Cinqueterre, Italy
3.) London, England
4.) Prague, the Czech Republic

Four Websites I Visit Daily:
(Just see the links panel.)

Four Books I Could Read Over & Over (& I Do):
1.) LOTR
2.) Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card
3.) Freddy & Fredericka by Mark Helprin
4.) Anything P.G. Wodehouse

Four Favorite Foods:
1.) Chocolate
2.) Almost any pastry or bread
3.) Yogurt
4.) Peaches

Four Places I'd Like to Be Right Now:
1.) The Cinqueterre, Italy
2.) London, England
3.) Prague, the Czech Republic
4.) Edinburgh, Scotland

There. I'm not tagging anyone else. I'm stubborn like that.

Fabrilicious

2006-02-16T08:51:00.000-06:00

Lots of people ask me where I get all my crazy fabrics from; and the fact of the matter is that I get them from all kinds of places. I just have a knack for finding funky things for little money. Well, a knack and a willingness to dig. And dig.

A quicker option would be to hit up Amy Butler Design. She both designs fabric and creates patterns for all kinds of funky accessories. You can view most of her stuff on her main website, then follow her links to online shops were you can purchase her fabric and patterns. Her main site also has some cute patterns you can download for free.

Another fun online spot is ReproDepot. They carry new fabric designs, but they've also reproduced some funky retro fabrics.

Finally, for those of you into that whole "shabby chic" thang, visit Junk Market for project ideas, complete with instructions.

Hometown Boys Make Good

2006-02-08T13:15:00.000-06:00

While I may be a bit biased because these guys are North Carolinian, I still think that they make some awesome music. Imagine my thrill when I saw that the A/V Club had reviewed the Avett Brothers' new album (which I previously was unaware of), called Four Thieves Gone: The Robbinsville Sessions.

My husband had randomly seen these guys perform at the Pour House in Raleigh, and he got a copy of their Carolina Jubilee, an album we have grown to love. They've been classified as alt-country or rockabilly, which I guess is pretty accurate. Their bluegrass sensibility is really strong, and their youthful exuberance seems to leap out of my speakers every time I listen to 'em.

And, talk about timing, they're playing Off Broadway on this Thursday night, February 9th! Sadly, tix are $20 a pop, so this is a show I'll probably have to miss. If you have the clams, though, this show would be a great one--it starts at 8, I believe.

Another reason for this blog is...

2006-01-30T16:45:00.000-06:00

...that it's about time that us seminary wives started representin'. I've spoken about this with a few of my fellow sisters-in-the-bookcase-lined-trenches, but the time to post on it has come. Not that there's anything particularly wrong with all our husbands' blogs; I try to keep up with all their posts on a regular basis.

But why should our guys be hoggin' the bandwidth? Hello?

Thank you, Jessie, for blazing the trail. I've enjoyed what you've posted so far, and I can't wait to see where you go with your blog.

And I KNOW that some of you other ladies have thoughts and ideas that need to be spelled out, thought through, and posted on the internet for, well, anyone and everyone to see (not necessarily my favorite part.) Sure, you could just speak these ideas, but don't you get frustrated with the clumsiness of your lips sometimes? And you could be keeping a private journal, but then I miss out on reading about your experiences and learning about your point of view.

Sure, blogging is impersonal on the macro scale, but maybe it could help you become more personally involved with the people around you. Maybe.

When a democracy AND a republic are just too much...

2006-01-25T16:33:00.000-06:00

... consider a fascist dictatorship! Headed by Tim!

THINGS HAGRID THE HALF-GIANT WOULD SAY IF HE SERVED JESUS INSTEAD OF HARRY POTTER.

2006-01-25T16:14:00.000-06:00

BY Hart Seeley
(A McSweeney's post)

"Blimey, jeez, it's be gettin' ter lunchtime, an' I could eat meself the back end of a Phil'stine. How 'bout doublin' up a quick pile o' loaves?"

"Budge up, yeh money-changin' lumps! This 'ere boy weren't meant ter be a blinkin' Muggle! Fer gawd sake, he's King o' the Jews!"

"Codswallop! All 'm sayin'‚ boy, is tha' yeh gots ta be eyeballin' tha' Judas bloke. When a disciple goes o'er to the dark side, they's nothin' tha' matters to 'em anymore!"

"Speakin' of cups runnethin' over, laddie, mine's be gettin' a mite dry. How 'bout changin' this 'ere water into somethin' a bit more, well, frisky?"

"Lilies o' the field? What lilies? The way yeh jabber on, yeh all mus' be pullin' straight A's in Professor Dumbledore's Exposit'ry Metaphors and Parables class!"

"Why, if a fellow wanted ta get away clean, Peter-me-lad, all they'd have ter do would be ta deny they ever even knowed Jesus. Uh-oh. I shouldn't eh told yeh that."

"Ah, go boil yer spleen, Pilate! Yeh stink-handed prune! Yeh've done me savior wrong, an' now yeh've gots ter pay!"

Gillian Anderson!

2006-01-20T09:25:00.000-06:00

Everyone out there mourning the loss of the X-Files: get yer Gillian Anderson fix every Sunday night for the next six weeks on your public television station! Masterpiece Theatre is showing a new, Andrew-Davies-penned production of Charles Dickens' Bleak House, with Agent Scully as Lady Dedlock.

Follow the links!

2006-01-19T08:47:00.000-06:00

If you didn't realize that the first sentence of yesterday's post was a link to this article, you were probably pretty confused. I apologize and will try to make the links more obvious in the future!

RIP Edmund Burke + Steven Wright

2006-01-18T15:58:00.000-06:00

Western civilization is almost dead.

But what really worries me is the future of standup comedy. Last night I was struck by the number of "class clowns" snatching their moment of fame during the American Idol tryouts. Since standup comedy has long relied upon the more rambunctious members of the student population for its employment pool, what's going to happen to it now that so many of these kids are auditioning for reality TV shows? Who will be left to tell jokes in smoky clubs? And what will happen to Comedy Central? "Last Comic Standing": evolutionary adaptation or macabre mockery?

Then again, if the genre could survive Robin Williams' becoming a dramatic film star, perhaps it can survive this.

Who cares what happens to Western civilization if there's no standup comedy left?

All aboard!

2006-01-17T16:04:00.000-06:00

Since actually voicing my opinions is often too intimidating for me, perhaps this will become a viable outlet for the oddities that roll around in my skull like so many marbles. Or maybe it will be a cop-out to actually gathering the nerve to speak.

Too many moves in my life are calculated to death before they are actually taken, including this one. However, this is the first one in a long, long time that I have calculated against and still have done anyway. Thus, I consider this blog to be an act of sticking it to the Man, or at least to the entity in my head that determines what is acceptable behavior and dictates my actions accordingly. Since a previous rebellion of mine resulted in the shaving of all my hair from my head, this rebellion may prove to be similarly grotesque and entertaining. This may be a bandwagon-jump worth watching. Maybe.