Important Parts of Last Night

Let me tell you about last night.
Last night was Harry Potter (oh boy, don't tell me you didn't see this one coming).
And it was magnificent.
I mean, there were parts that made me shudder and wonder to myself what the heck were the directors thinking I don't understand why they couldn't stay true to the book here why are they jumping off a cliff good Lord why is Snape clutching a corpse this is bordering on disturbing why didn't they show Percy's big entrance that was one of my favorite parts oh my gosh Ginny please go away you make me sick sometimes.

Or something along those lines.

But I think over all, the movie, just like the book, had the ending that it needed and deserved.
That's really the most important thing, right?


There were other important parts of last night, though.

Like the feeling of complete panic that swept through the theater when the 3D glasses weren't working and everything was blurry. I was literally almost in cardiac arrest when The Man Behind the Curtain finally adjusted the projector correctly and the trailers came into focus.

Like when the Weasley family was mourning Fred and everything was quiet until I began to hear sniffing sounds coming from all around me. The entire theater was crying. The man next to me was crying. The ladywiththemostobnoxiousvoicei'veeverheard behind me was crying (loudly). And I suddenly felt like laughing. Until Harry began his walk towards the Forbidden Forest. Then I stopped laughing and started sniffing myself. I actually fogged up my own 3D glasses and had to wipe them. Not being a glasses-wearer, that was a new experience for me.

Like taking pictures in the lobby of people dressed up as Patronuses and Veela and Freds with bandaged ears and two twin boys with hair sprayed red.

Like when my friend and I had to visit the facilities before the movie. We waited in line for about 10 minutes before we finally got stalls. I was just trying to calculate what my odds of catching an STD from the toilet seat were when I heard my friend yell to me (from across the lavatory): "Holly! We flush ourselves in!" The entire bathroom erupted in echoing, nerdtastic giggles.

Like after the movie, when I decided not to wait for Bea (the GPS) to 'acquire satellite.' I thought I could manage to get home by myself. A sort of deluded Harriet Tubman, I convinced myself that I could find my way North. Apparently, I couldn't. I ended up goodnessknowswhere at 3 in the morning making illegal uturns in quiet neighborhoods and pleading with Bea to help me. She eventually did. Then the problem became keeping myself awake.

Like when I sang every Beatles song I know (which is, forgive me, an awful lot of Beatles songs) at the top of my lungs in order to keep myself awake. I was so tired that my voice was scratchy and pathetic but I made it home okay nonetheless. The dogs were happy to see me.

Yes, it's over. Yes, I'll never see another Harry Potter movie in a theater (unless I go to see this one again, which, let's face it, is highly likely). Yes, before the movie started, I was dreading it starting a little bit. Everyone was. Harry Potter began when we were all young. People have waited for Hogwarts letters, people have waited for the next book, the next movie.

But the waiting is over. It's all here.

I have a Harry Potter book on my lap right now. The Prisoner of Azkaban, because it's my favorite. And I'm thinking about how different it is every time I read these books. How there's always something new. Not because the books have changed, but because I have. And I will.

And as long as there's still that, I don't think anything has ended at all.

A Moral Dilemma and Something More Fun

Today has given me a lot to think about. I'm facing sort of a moral dilemma at work. I don't want to say much about it because this is private stuff, but I will say that it's nothing illegal.

It is bad enough, however, that I feel physically sick when I think about it.

And I wonder why in the world people feel entitled to treat other people like dirt.

And I think of that Dumbledore quote about it being harder to stand up to your friends than your enemies.

And I shake my head because I just hate the man sometimes for being so wise.

In other work-related news, the power went out today. And by "the power went out," I mean that as I was coming back from break, the lights flickered and went out. Then on again. Then off. Then on again. Then off. Then they stayed off. Luckily, we have a generator in our store that keeps enough lights on so one can see fairly well in most areas, keeps registers open so guests can still check out, and keeps the food cold and edible (although during outages guests aren't allowed to buy cold/frozen food).

Immediately after the power went out, I grinned. I grinned for an embarrassingly long time, actually. I love it when things like this happen at work. It makes my job so much more exciting.

I stopped grinning when I realized that I was about to start a cashier shift. That I wouldn't get to be in the middle of the action, dashing around the store with the sense of importance I treasure so much. I don't mind cashiering, but I hate that you don't get a walkie when you cashier, that you can't see or hear what's going on, that you're completely isolated and restricted to brushing bras and sunscreen and cat food across a laser with a repetitiveness that gradually becomes almost unbearable.

I like the people, though. I got a full six hours last night, so I was in top form today. Some people were kind of frustrated about the lack of light and the fact that they couldn't buy anything cold or frozen, but most people were willing to joke with me about the situation.

My favorite part about the outage? Walmart's power went out too, but instead of fighting through it and keeping things running like us, they shut down their store, locked the doors, and sat around in the parking lot for 2 hours.

(To their defense, I guess, they don't have a generator.)

(But why don't they have a generator???)

(Silly Walmart. Come to Target instead.)

One Down On The Old Bucket List

Just went through the Culver's drive-thru with my darling sister.
On foot.
I've always wanted to do that.

Also, I was barefoot.
Also, it was 10 p.m.
Also, when we walked up to the window, the Culver's girl invited us inside to order. She said it was okay that I was barefoot.
Also, upon leaving Culver's, Am and I sprinted to the van with our custard and squealed out like we were making a getaway.

Also, a large minivan with a bike rack on top is not an ideal getaway car. For future reference.

A Pretty Great Jacket

Sorry for the double dose of C.S. Lewis as my Person of the Week. But he's my 50th person, and if there's anyone who deserves to be my 50th person, and who deserves to have two quotes instead of one and two weeks instead of one, it's C.S. Lewis.

Today was a shopping day.
I got, among other things, a Nike jacket. I was not looking for a Nike jacket, but boy, did I find one. It's purple with orange trim and white stripes down the sides. It makes me look a lot sportier than I actually am. It's a pretty great jacket.

I also read quite a bit of Hemingway, attempted the Friday crossword, attempted to absorb some sun, watched a large quantity of Brotherhood 2.0, and drank a large quantity of orange juice.

Tonight we go to see a production of The Music Man, which is my favorite musical of all time. It also happens to be many people's least favorite musical of all time. And while I understand why people dislike it, I love it nonetheless, and will quite probably be singing along tonight. (To the despair of all those sitting near me.)

Stay gold.

In Which I Do the Unprecedented

I made the Dean's List. I finally, finally made that darn Dean's List. It took 4 semesters.
But I don't talk about that.
The point is that I have a big, pompous, maroon and gold certificate, and that I'm going to hang it up somewhere like I used to do with spelling awards when I was little.

In other news, last night I got to attend a production of "Little Shop of Horrors." As a member of the Press. I went by myself, even though they had reserved two tickets for me; I wanted it to just be me the first time. To drink it all in and all (and all). Well, I ended up wishing I had brought someone, because I was probably the only person under 65 at the show. This was okay most of the time, except when the old man behind me would stage whisper things. Like "watch out!" and "would you look at how low her top is?" (at least he didn't yell Macbeth, although I bet he was thinking about it. He really didn't like that Seymour was murdering people: "Unethical young folks! Who do they think they are?"
I brought a notebook along to jot things down in, and most of my notes ended up being about the audience. Here are some direct quotes: (please note: I don't understand/remember what some of these mean. I wrote them last night. Should I be worried?)

-"Back in the meat locker!"
-Evidently the Errol Flynn mustache is coming back
-They brought blankets (Okay. This one's about the 65+ers.)

I'm going to be hard pressed to keep this review focused on the play.

In Which I Sleep Through a Royal Wedding

Yes, I watched.

Actually, if I'm going to be completely honest (and you know I'm going to be, or I wouldn't have said anything), I meant to watch William and Kate's wedding. I had my alarm set for 5; I was going to roll out of bed, grab my pillow and comforter, and head down a few floors to the TV Lounge (which contains an adequate-for-royal-wedding-viewing sized TV), where I would wait breathlessly for the ceremony to begin.

Here's what actually happened: I was up until 2:30 a.m. this morning studying for a German test I had this afternoon. Ergo, when my alarm went off at 5 (after only 2 and a half hours of sleep), I told myself "five more minutes, and then I'll go downstairs," rolled over, and fell back asleep. The next time I regained consciousness, it was 6:50. Luckily, I was able to make it out of bed that time and managed to catch the entire balcony scene. Kiss one AND kiss two. (This strikes me as a good sign; Diana and Charles only kissed once, and look where they ended up).

This brings me to my current position: I'm waiting for the taped wedding ceremony video to load on Mac. I'm a little disappointed that I missed seeing it live, but I'm sure my German grade will be better for it.

In other royal-related news, I had a long discussion at work today with a professor who seemed to think that Queen Elizabeth arranged for Diana's murder. The way she put it, Diana was dating someone who was not British, not Christian, and not aristocratic. She was an embarrassment to the royal family, and clearly, she had to go. My reaction? Polite, contained disbelief. Maybe it's true that the Queen did not like Diana. But I absolutely refuse to consider her a possible murderer! Maybe I'm too stubbornly stuck in my romantic ideals concerning monarchy, and maybe I put too much faith in the accuracy of the movie "The Queen," but I can't help it. Queen Elizabeth is above such nonsense. She is a sweet, compassionate woman who would never orchestrate something that could harm her grandsons in such a large way. The driver of Diana's car was drunk, and they were being pursued by the paparazzi. It was a tragic accident that will be remembered forever, but I am quickly becoming sick of all the conspiracy theories surrounding it. Why can't people ever just let the deceased be deceased? Why do they have to keep dragging them back for round 2 and 3 and 4 and etc.?

Well, anyway, I don't want to spoil this beautiful day with my morbid rantings. Here's hoping that Kate and William will have all the blessings wished upon them by both the living and the dead.

P.S. (Dress rave) It was absolutely gorgeous, wasn't it? I loved the lacy long-sleeved look. Very cathedral-appropriate, but not matronly or anything. (Funny story) I was just watching a video clip of Kate arriving at the Abbey, and as soon as she got out of the car, the video host started squealing nonstop about her dress. She literally shrieked quite a few times. I had to switch videos because my ear drums were starting to ache.

That Jazz

It's a rather nice day out. Windy as always, but otherwise warm. There are only a few patches of snow left around campus, namely the shrunken remains of an igloo on the Mall.

Jazz Fest has been going on since yesterday evening, so as I sit on my bed and type, I hear snatches of saxophone or trumpet or trombone shriek from the direction of the Student Center. I'll be volunteering at tonight's portion of Jazz Fest, and a bunch of us will be wearing "Thank you Bob and Susan" buttons in honor of U of MN president Bob Bruininks, who is also attending tonight. He's retiring this year after having served the University well for a long time.

I also found out today that I got reelected as a Campus Assembly Representative for UMM's student government.
What's really amazing, though, is that the team who won the presidential/vice presidential race only beat the other team by 4 VOTES. Can you believe it? 804 people voted (out of the 1700 students at UMM, which is actually a really high percentage), and it was that close. It's also funny to think that there's a random person walking around campus right now who didn't vote, but if he would have voted, would have voted for the team that ended up losing. That person is 1/4 of the reason why that team lost. Well, sort of. This is me trying to do statistic stuff. Please don't laugh.

I guess my point is that the next time I hear someone say "What's the point of voting? My vote doesn't make a difference!" I'll get right up in their face and laugh. And then I'll tell them the story I just told you.

In other news, I won the Read-a-Thon this year. I think I've explained it in the past, but basically one of my friends and I record all the books we read in one year, and then get together and see who read the most. We also have sub-categories: number of classics read (we debate this), pages read, average length of books read, books read that haven't been read previously, etc.
Here are my stats for April 1st 2010-April 1st 2011:
88 Books (which was exactly my goal)
27,183 pages
308.8 pages per book average
36 new books (I know-this could be higher. I love rereading my old favorites, though)
16 classics (Dracula, A Passage to India, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Fahrenheit 451, Jane Eyre, This Side of Paradise, Memoirs of a Sleep Walker, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, Utopia, Rip Van Winkle, Atonement, King Lear, The Hidden Hand, The House of Seven Gables, Franny and Zooey, The Bell Jar)

What's more is that I do so much reading every day for classes that doesn't get recorded anywhere; I'm constantly reading articles, short stories, poems, passages, essays, etc.

Well I think that's all I have. Sorry if this post has been a little sporadic, but it's been such a busy week that I didn't have the energy to do anything fancy or cohesive.

Tschüss!

A Prairie Home Companion

I bought my ticket to A Prairie Home Companion (recording live from University of Minnesota, Morris) months ago, practically the instant tickets were available. Despite this, when an email was sent out to all UMM students calling for volunteers to usher at the show, I jumped on that as well. Ushers got a free ticket, which made my previous purchase unnecessary, but I couldn't help but hope that as an usher who would be in the gym hours early, I would get a chance to meet Garrison Keillor himself.

So on Saturday I sold my ticket to my friend Aaron at half price, pulled on my dorky UMM polo, grabbed my camera, and marched over to the PE center.

Upon arriving, I was first of all surprised at how many ushers there were. There were roughly 30 people (faculty, staff, and students alike) congregated in the main lobby of the RFC. Right off the bat we were given flashlights to shake up (go green), lanyards with ID badges, and emergency briefings to read.

Then a man who was part of the PHC crew, came over to talk to us about expectations. Overall, I was impressed by how laid back the show was going to be. Obviously it's live, so babies couldn't be screaming and bleachers couldn't be squeaking during the quieter parts of the show, but other than that, it seemed like almost anything was okay. People could come and go as they pleased (except during aforementioned quiet parts), food and drink were perfectly fine, as were photography and recording (minus flash). As the man put it (although I admit I found this part to be kind of presumptuous): "The people who come to see the show think that Garrison is their friend, and that they've been invited tonight by him specifically. As such, his audience members need to be treated with respect and sensitivity."

After someone else gave us the lowdown on what to do in case of an emergency, Wendy (one of the organizers) began listing off different usher positions and asking for a certain number of people to cover each position. I held off for a long time before volunteering, wanting to be down on the floor (as close to the stage as possible). When Wendy came to the reserved handicapped section, and asked for two volunteers to accommodate people there, my hand shot up. That section just had to be up front, right?

Turns out it wasn't. It was on the floor instead of up on the bleachers, sure, but it was in the very back left corner of the floor seating. Fortunately, I forgot to be disappointed, because as soon as I walked out into the gym, I realized that Garrison and the rest of the actors and musicians were already there warming up.

Imagine walking into a gym and hearing Garrison Keillor's voice and realizing that you're not listening to a radio someone had left on, that instead, the man himself is on the stage in jeans and bright red tennis shoes, and that the rest of the voices you've grown up hearing on long car rides back from the cabin are standing there beside him.

Once I got over being starstruck (it took me a few minutes, admittedly), I began marveling at the stage itself. It was set up in front of the other set of bleachers, and evidently the PHC people travelled with a semi truck, because they had brought with them 4 huge bars laden with stage lights, the stage itself, frames hung with black velvet curtains that served as "the wings," a huge piece of scenery made to look like a house (with awning and porch light and windows and everything), plus of course all the equipment, instruments, etc.

Since the volunteers had been asked to show up a good 2 hours before the general public was let in, we got to stand around and listen to the actors and musicians (and our UMM Concert Choir, which was featured on the show) warm up. I tried not to listen too hard, because I wanted to be interested enough to watch the real show later.

When 3:30 rolled around and the doors opened, people began to flood in. My job was to: a) point them to general admission seating b) point them to VIP seating c) point them to handicapped seating d) gently tell them that having a child in the choir does not guarantee front row seating e) point them to the restrooms f) point them to concessions g) reassure them that they would be able to get back in after using the restrooms or buying concessions h) give them extra programs.

Then at 5 the live show actually began and I got to sit down and enjoy it. I won't describe the entire synopsis, I'll only say that it was fantastic, and that I was pleasantly surprised by how much the PHC people emphasized Morris in the show. They had the choir perform (as I've said), they set many of the skits in Morris, they interviewed Matt (a Morris student on MCSA with me) about the campus, and they even sang a few songs about the town.

Here are some pictures from the show. I know they're slightly horrible, but as I've said, I've been struggling to figure out my new camera. Besides, it was dark and flashes weren't allowed.





Did I get to meet Garrison and the Gang after all that? Nope. They had to hurry out of town after the show in order to beat the snow (rhyme not intended).

"We're Bonding, Aren't We?"

Last night, my roommate and I, under orders from certain New Years Resolutions, headed to the Regional Fitness Center to run around a bit. We decided to play badminton, which is great because you run around enough to get a work out, but you have enough fun that it doesn't feel like work.

Well, we were batting the birdie back and forth with more humor than skill, when a group of five boys, two of whom were international students, walked up and asked us if they could join. We said sure, assuming that two of them would assemble and oppose the two of us. To our surprise, all five of them clustered together on the other side of the net and proceeded to take us on.

Let me tell you, it was a lot of fun.
The birdie was smashed back and forth, often twirling in midair as rackets swished by, missing by entire feet.
Boys collided with boys on the other side, boys fell, laughing.
Serves were delivered out of order and overhand, often with fluorishes and mighty leaps.
No one, it seemed, could understand what any other person said, but it didn't seem to matter.
We were just seven college students having fun.

To be completely honest, it was the first time that I've really interacted with international students.
Not because I have anything against them, but because I'm always worried that I'll do something or say something they won't understand, or vice versa.
Badminton, even in rude form, I have learned, is easily translated into any language.

In fact, and you're probably going to groan at this next part, our entire time in the RFC reminded me of that moment in Father of the Bride 2, when Steve Martin and Martin Short are in the hospital running back and forth between Steve's wife and Steve's daughter, who are both in labor at the same time. Suddenly, Martin Short, in his funny Franck voice, grabs Steve Martin by the shoulders and says, "George...we're bonding, aren't we?" And Steve Martin smiles a slow smile of recognition and says "Yes, Franck. I think we are."

Hospital, badminton court. Same thing, really.

High Spots

I think I wrote part of a story tonight.
I say I think because I'm not quite sure what it is yet. I'm not sure if it's just an overflow of spontaneous thought, or if it's an overflow of spontaneous thought that could possibly mean something to someone else.
I'm so tired, though, that I'm going to leave the overflow saved on Mic Word for tomorrow morning.

I also worked my second to last day at Target today (well, second to last day of work until May).
When oh when are they going to learn not to put me back in electronics, even to cover someone's break?
If you give me a new camera, I will read the directions and figure out how to use it.
If you give me a laptop, I will navigate fairly well.
If you give me a broken TV, I may figure out that it just needs to be plugged in.
But if you give me aisles of merchandise without instructions, if you expect me to think on my feet, if you expect me to pretend I know what I'm talking about to people toting small children and looking into my face anxiously, then I think you have the wrong girl.
There were a few high spots, however, even amidst my confusions and overall awkwardness.
For example, there was a man wearing a black wool coat who wanted a Wii game unlocked from the case.
I did so, and while I was ringing it up, he looked over at a sign by the cell phone plan stuff. It said "offering unbiased opinions."
He asked me about it, and I said that that sign was only for the cell phone plan people, and that all of my opinions were completely biased.
Then he looked at me and said, "Okay, what's your biased opinion?"
Without thinking, I blurted "I think that Obama should be reelected."
The man in the black wool laughed for about five minutes before saying "Me too. Have a nice day."

Yep. That was a high spot.

Another high spot will be happening very soon, when I lower my heavy head onto my pillow and say to myself: "best part of the day."
I've been saying that to myself every night of Winter Break, because that's what my roommate always says when she gets into bed at night.
And I always glare at her because I know I'll be up for hours studying because I'm a chronic procrastinator.
But for now, it's just me.
And I'm going to bed.

Anatomy of a Novel

I think there's a novel in me somewhere. I'm not sure how it got there exactly. I mean, both of my parents are science-y, math-y people. Even my sister mostly dislikes English, although she is a far more dedicated journaler than I.

Maybe the novel nestled up against my rib cage, crushing my left lung a tad, is just buildup. You know, a bunch of leftovers mashed together into a convenient manuscript shape. A bit of This Side of Paradise here, some Harry Potter over there...and I think I can also feel pieces from some of the books I was forced to read: Nathaniel Hawthorne and Ralph Ellison are represented in that part.

Unfortunately, however, this inner Nobel winner of mine is not easily accessible. Sometimes when I'm in the shower or driving or sleeping or staring dumbly out of a window I get flashes of it, but they're never much. A conversation, maybe, or a glimpse of some character's face. They never seem to fit together, these flashes of mine. Most of the time I don't even write them down. I just continue to carry them with me, hoping for more.

Someday, I hope, my slowly emerging novel will be solid and promising on the table in front of me. I will be able to open the cover and smile at the dedication (because arrogant and sappy as I am, I already know who's name will be there). One day I will be at a Barnes and Noble, trying my best not to dash over to the fiction section and browse, and I will be signing copies of my book, handing them shyly back to people I have never met in my life. I will live in New York City (although I'll secretly miss Minnesota terribly), and I will dance (badly, because that's the only way I know how to dance) on Youtube with Libba Bray and John Green and Scott Westerfeld. And someday, when I'm old, and have written many many books, all of them precious to me, I will look a young, ambitious reporter full in the face, and answer a question. "My first novel was my most precious. Because I carried it around next to my heart*** for twenty years."

For now, though, I'll continue to blog. I'll continue to labor into the wee hours over papers whose topics I don't especially care about. I'll devour other people's stories in hopes that they will stick and become part of my own.

Someday, though (and it'll probably take a nasty case of hiccups), I will pour this entire novel onto paper (because it's so very uneloquent to say 'word document'). And I'll dance on Youtube with Libba Bray to celebrate.

Believe it.


***Don't worry, I Googled it: the heart is actually between the lungs. And the left lung, actually, is on the left side of your body if you look down at yourself. There! I did get a partial science gene after all!

Life is Beautiful

Did anyone ever tell you that life is beautiful?
It's beautiful when it snows
when you meet someone new
and it's as if
you've known them forever
and you walk home
through the flakes
smiling.

Three Cups of Tea

It's finally finally finally snowing in Morris. Not those small pellets that sting when they bounce off your nose and cheeks, but huge delicate flakes that float down gracefully and coat even the smallest branches of the smallest trees.

It wasn't snowing when I tramped into the HFA this evening, but it was snowing when I came out.

I was in the HFA to attend a presentation by David Oliver Relin, co-author of Three Cups of Tea. Don't misunderstand me, I have not read the book myself. I've merely heard about it. In fact, the first time I remember hearing about it was a few summers ago, at the funeral of one of my Dad's best friends. It was a sad day, obviously, but somehow (I don't remember how), the book came up. I thought to myself then "I just have to read that book."

I'm thinking to myself now "I just have to read that book."

David Oliver Relin was absolutely wonderful. He was a great speaker: funny, animated, sensitive, profound. But even better were the stories he told about the places he'd seen and the people he'd met on his travels. Relin is a foreign correspondant journalist.

You know what, everyone? I want to be a foreign correspondant journalist.
I want to travel, I want to meet people, to immerse myself in different cultures.
And then I want to write about these people and places and cultures so that teenagers back in America can come back from a Gen Ed class they may or may not hate and read about some faraway place and be inspired to see their own world through new eyes.

First of all, though, I want to read Three Cups of Tea.

A Walk in the Woods

I'm sitting in the basement of the library beside the wall of windows that is so distracting but so wonderfully sunlit and warm.
For an American Literature paper, I have to imagine that Edgar Allen Poe and Ralph Waldo Emerson go for a walk in the woods. I have to imagine what they would talk about.
I think, being in the woods, they would talk about nature.
Ralph would look at the beauty and the perfection and the light drifting among the tops of the trees. He would say something along the lines of: "I went into the woods and I felt, you know, sort of religious."
Edgar would see the trees as ominous and looming. He would comment on the mystery of the forest, a darkness that he couldn't quite explain.

And I, a mere observer on this extraordinary hike, would wonder how the woods came to be. I would wonder who had meandered through them for the first time, and why. I would check over my shoulder for bears, and occasionally trip over protruding roots. I would see the beauty in the branches outlined in navy blue. Finally, I would grow nervous as the sun set and the night gently dropped herself down over everything.

And then, leaving Edgar and Ralph to their discussion, I would hurry back home, pour myself a glass of orange juice, and blog about the woods I'm imagining in the library.

Referablog

I haven't blogged for a week. I'm sorry, but I just haven't had anything I've wanted to write about.
It's a lull, I guess. I go through them every once in a while, and they're painful for me, but what can I do?

To make up for my lack of blogging sparkle, I'm giving you the link to a great blog I follow. It belongs to Libba Bray, the author of the Great and Terrible Beauty series, and of Going Bovine (she's written more, but those are the titles I've read). While she doesn't post too often, when she does Libba is always incredible witty and insightful.
I think I've learned the most about what it's really really like to be an author from her blog. That's certainly not all she talks about though...well, you'll see:

http://libba-bray.livejournal.com/

Wednesday Night Apple Crisp

Current Location: Briggs Library Writing Room

Just Ate: Apple crisp; they had three huge pans of it downstairs for some reason. The librarians were wandering up and down the floors encouraging people to go down and eat some, so I did! It was certainly delicious, that random, Wednesday-night apple crisp.

Just talked to: Some random lady on the phone. She called the library asking for writing advice, and then the librarian came up to the writing room to get me so I could speak to her (they didn't know the number to transfer her up). I picked up the receiver, and all of the sudden the woman is throwing sentences at me, asking me to help her identify the subject and the predicate. Subject and predicate (I exclaimed to myself)! I haven't learned about those since elementary school! I remembered somehow, however, and was able to help her out.

She wasn't done yet, though; as a child screamed in the background, the woman began to complain about how schools give assignments and just expect children to be able to do them without help. She berated teachers for not wanting to be contacted with questions after hours, and for telling kids not to bring their textbooks home (which makes it hard for parents to assist their children).

I understood her points, and she really wasn't nasty about any of it; it just amused me that she was talking to me of all people about such things. I'm simply a student worker who's job it is to help other students improve their papers for class! I work in a tiny room on the 3rd floor, I'm not a mother, and it's 9:30 p.m. What a random call to receive!

In retrospect, I think that the woman simply needed someone to vent to, and that I was the first person who seemed willing to listen. Fine with me. It's interesting experiences like this that make my life interesting, truthfully.

F. Scott Fitzgerald: Will have to settle for a shorter spiel than I originally intended to give. This Side of Paradise was amazing. It is now officially my favorite new book, mainly because it gave me so much to think about, both in terms of the ideas introduced in the novel, and in terms of how the novel itself was crafted.

Although Amory Blaine (the main character) is not necessarily a character to be admired, I found that I could relate to him in various ways, especially where his college experiences were concerned. He discovers so much about himself, and about the world in college, and yet these discoveries leave him reeling, and wondering what the true meaning of everything is.

And at the absoulte pinnacle of the book, Amory finds himself back before the spires of his Alma Mater. He leans his head back into the night and screams, "I know myself, but that is all-."

And that is exactly how I feel.

As good of an ending as the above is, I want to briefly add that F. Scott Fitzgerald was an absolutely marvelous writer. It's actually difficult to describe it, but the thing that strikes me the most is how observant he was as an author. Fitzgerald had a gift for character development; he effortlessly pieced people together until they were so complex that they were entirely real to readers.
Again, I don't think I'm explaining this very well. I think you should just read something of his for yourself. Start with The Great Gatsby, and then go from there. You'll like him, I promise.

That'll Do, Pig. That'll Do.

Maddie, King and I were walking across the Mall today. We were talking about our favorite childhood movies, and from there we got on the topic of the movie Babe.
We then realized that there was a catch phrase of sorts in that movie that the old farmer says to Babe after Babe successfully herds the sheep.
We walked to dinner trying to figure it out.
We talked about it at dinner.
When we got back to the dorm, Maddie and I decided to go downstairs to talk to Tim.
On our way to Tim's room, we walked past Brochman's room. Brochman came out to chat, his fingers holding his place in Arabian Nights.
I asked him about the book, saying that I had never read it and had always wanted to.

Brochman: Arabian nights is basically a story within a story within a story. It starts with a princess who's going to have her head cut off. She starts to tell her captor a story to prolong her life. In her story, there's a genie who pops out of a lamp and begins to tell a story, and in the genie's story someone else is telling a story, and it just keeps going on.*

Maddie: Have you ever seen the movie Babe?

Brochman: Well that was random. Yeah I think I have. Why?

Holly: Because we've been trying to figure out what the old farmer says to Babe after he herds the sheep. It's like 'atta pig' or 'good pig' or something like that. It's a catch phrase of sorts.

Brochman: I have no idea.

-random boy walks in-

Brochman: Do you know what the old farmer guy says to Babe after he herds the sheep?

Boy 1: No idea.

-another random boy walks in-

Boy 1: You know in the movie Babe, when Babe herds the sheep? What does the old farmer say to him?

Boy 2: Gosh, I don't know. I haven't seen that movie in a really long time.

Boy 1: I'll look it up.

-Boy 1 goes in room and shuts door-

-Boy 2 goes in room and shuts door-

-Maddie, Holly, and Brochman continue chatting-

-Boy 1 opens door of room, and steps into hallway-

Boy 1: That'll do, pig. That'll do.

-Boy 1 goes back into room and shuts door-

-Boy 2 comes out of room-

Boy 2: That'll do, pig. That'll do.

-Boy 2 goes back into room and closes door-


Pretty sure we accidently semi experienced the chain reaction of Arabian Nights in real life.

College is epic.

*Note: I paraphrased Brochman's summary of Arabian Nights (as did he, probably, when he summarized it). May not be completely accurate.

Platypus to Chimpanzee

You know, maybe dreaming about platypuses (I looked it up: it's platypuses, not platypii like I thought), and about chimpanzees who are really orangutans is an omen of some sort. I'm going to believe so, at least. Because about an hour after I had that dream, and a half hour after I posted about it, one of the worst mornings of my life began. And after that? One of the best afternoons of my life began.

You see, when I posted this morning, I hadn't yet looked in the mirror. When I did, I got a huge surprise. Bed head. Major major bed head in the worst form possible. Not sexy "oh my goodness I look a bit rumpled this fine morning" bed head, but "holy man there is no way I can successfully flatten this mess out before I have to leave for work" bed head.
Well, I did eventually succeed at taming a particularly cheeky lock that felt the need to sproing out despite numerous brushings, straightenings, curlings, and gelings. A pint of hair spray finally did the trick (note to self: try the hairspray first).

But that's just the superficial part of my morning. The emotional part was when I dashed out to the garage, already slightly late for work, to find that the Oldsmobile was gone. Oh. Okay. Well I'll just take the van, then.
Grab key from drawer in kitchen, jump over dog, fling open door to other garage.
Van's gone too.
Ready? Here comes the emotional part. My family had evidently forgotten that I worked at 10 a.m., and had gone off to play volleyball and go for a run respectively. That's right; vehicles are needed to go running now. It's the new thing.

(Sorry if I'm sounding bitter here. In all honesty, it was probably my fault; maybe I wasn't clear when I said what time I worked. I'm simply trying to convey this morning's state of mind.)

Pure panic. Dialing numbers, pacing back and forth between windows, muttering, wailing, crying...
I called work as soon as I realized my predicament, and when I spoke to the LOD she sounded kind of annoyed, which freaked me out even more. Was this going to be the straw to break the camel's back? I was getting fired. Shoot.

It all turned out okay in the end, don't worry. Mom got home fairly quickly, and I managed to be only five minutes or so late for work. Also, I apologized in person to the LOD and she was totally cool about it. Said that it happens to everyone, and that she's not worried about me and knows that it won't happen again.

That was the platypus part of my day.
Here comes the chimpanzee:

This afternoon was one of the best working days I've ever had. After the initial carless drama was over, I truly began to enjoy myself. A lot of help was needed cashiering, so I was constantly running up there to back up. I like cashiering, too. I like being face-to-face with guests in that way, and I like being able to stand still for a few minutes, and I like seeing all the strange things people buy. I also like that time flies when I'm cashiering.

Besides cashiering, the other duty that took up most of my work afternoon was covering Kyle's breaks back in electronics. I think we were both kind of surprised that I was the one covering; I have very limited experience in electronics, and don't know anything besides the basic "sure I can unlock that game case for you, sir."
Despite said lack of experience, I actually came to enjoy working back there. Electronics is its own little world in a way. If I really wanted to be metaphorical, I might say that the prow of the boat pushes against, but doesn't quite puncture, the bubble of the rest of the store. Waves break over cameras and high definition TVs, and dolphins leap across the surface at the flashing of lights from the Wii display. -end metaphor-

Anyway, what really made my afternoon over in electronics was this elderly man who came over wanting some help finding the correct ink cartridges for his printer. He flagged me down (I was over by the DVDs) by actually getting up out of his power chair and walking over: "Miss? Can I get some help over here?"
He handed me a splattered plastic baggie. Inside were the two cartridges he wanted replaced. Unfortunately, one of them was so covered in splotches of blue ink that I couldn't' read the number on it.
Well, I did the best I could, and managed, through some clumsy deduction, to find the correct package of ink for his printer. Kyle arrived at just the right moment (I think I might have actually let slip a "thank goodness") to confirm that I was right about the numbers.
And do you know what that old man did then? He stuck out his hand, shook mine (I saw Kyle grin from off to the side), and told me that he was one of the original Target employees; he had worked at the very first Target (in Roseville) back in the 1960's. He said that he had hired a lot of people in his time, and that I was one of the good ones.

That, my friends, is what turned my day from a flesh-eating platypus into a best friend chimpanzee/orangutan.

Post Work Injury Log

I got a bit beaten down by work today (quite literally). All of the beatings did not, contrary to popular opinion, stem from me provoking certain abusive members of the Target team. No, they stemmed purely from a lack of sleep and the resulting clumsiness.

I figure it this way: when I'm tired, I get cranky. When I'm absolutely exhausted, not only is my already existing awkwardness amped up by about one million points, but my clumsiness is as well. I need to start counting sheep or something, because I do not need to get bumped around again like I did today.

Here are the injuries:

1. While putting up signs in the infant aisles, I was having trouble jamming a particularly stubborn metal bar into its slot. I was up on a step stool, I was sweating a bit because the store wasn't open yet so the air conditioning wasn't on, and I was really having trouble with this bar. I think I was actually talking to it. Don't laugh, but it was something like, "you and I both know that you need to just work with me here. If you don't snap into this slot right now I'm going to throw you in the trash. How would you like that? Huh?" Needless to say, the bar responded quickly to my threat and locked into place.
Unfortunately, it took its revenge on me in the process. The skin on my thumb somehow got pinched in between the fixture and the peg board, and a blood blister the size of a tick rapidly formed.
This was the point in the day when all of the tiredness almost crashed down around my head, and I almost sank down onto the floor of the infant aisle and sobbed. The blood blister was gross, it hurt a lot as well, I wanted to go to bed, I was hot, and break wasn't for a whole thirty minutes. It would have been a good aisle to cry in, I'll admit, but nevertheless I managed to man up (so to speak) and keep plugging away.

2. Injury number two was a little bit less dramatic. I was stepping down off the step stool and I bumped my knee on the way down. It actually wasn't a hard bump or anything; it was just a bump in a painful spot. It swelled up, and I'm fairly sure that I'll have a nice bruise to show off for tomorrow.

You know, this has been a whiney post, hasn't it? I really do love my job, so here are some positives:

Good Things That Happened to Me at Work Today:
1. Someone gave me a high five.
2. A customer in electronics needed some help that I wasn't able to give (I know about some technology, but I don't know much about TVs, unfortunately), so while we waited for the real electronics guru to come, we had a really great chat. I'm not one of those people who will just strike up conversations with random strangers (although many members of my family do indeed have that gift), but I do like talking to people.
3. I had a definite bonding moment with a team member that I've judged rather harshly in the past.
4. I got to check out the new market area that's finally been unveiled. It looks great, and it's wonderful to be able to see the product of the remodel team's hard work.
5. I overheard some adults swear rather graphically. I think maybe I looked startled, because they apologized profusely, but afterwards I went into the back room and laughed.
6. I remembered to turn off my car headlights! Yes!

That's all for now. I bought the movie Creation (newer film about Charles Darwin and his wife, starring Paul Bettany (one of my very favorite people) and Jennifer Connelly (his actual real-life wife, which I think is awesome)) after work today. I felt sort of bad spending my school money on something like a movie, but I knew that I would have to buy it eventually anyway. I'm a sucker for period dramas.
Anyway, I think I'm going to put away Jane Eyre for a bit (on page 350!) and get my natural selection on (wow not literally).

A Good Thing That Happened to Me Today

It was around midday, after my first break, but still hours before my shift ended, and I was pushing a huge, heavy flat full of backstock into one of the storage rooms. This particular room had a door with a keypad, so naturally it wouldn't stay open on its own, and you were forced to tug the cart through using your back to prop the door. Unfortunately, my flat was so big and so cumbersome that I could only steer it in by pushing it, and thus could not keep the door open. As I struggled to overcome this obstacle, I spotted someone in the room across the way. I think his name is Aaron. He's roughly my age, I would guess, although my month at Target has taught me that people are often a completely different age than they appear. People I take to be in high school are married with three kids. It's scary, really.

Anyway, I called out to Aaron, asking him if he could do me a favor and hold the door open for me. He was really nice and obliging about it, and hurried over to help. As he leaned back against the door (no doubt praying that with all my swerving I would somehow manage to avoid crushing his feet with the flat), he joked about how difficult the flats are to handle. When I finally got the cart and myself fully inside the room, I thanked Aaron profusely, and he grinned and headed back to finish his work.

After I had dumped the flat and put all of the product away and was walking by the room where Aaron had been, I saw that he had the door (identical to the one he had held for me) propped open with a fire extinguisher. I immediately felt like kind of a bonehead; here I was calling for help like some silly damsel in distress when I had been perfectly capable of propping the door open and passing through all on my own.

I know this may not seem like much now, but at the time it struck me as very kind that Aaron hadn't merely yelled back in reply to my request that I could just prop the door. I don't know about you all, but I certainly appreciate people like that who don't feel the need to point out things that might make other people feel stupid or embarassed. And although I did feel like that later when I figured everything out for myself, it still made me smile to remember that instead of a dull fire extinguisher for a door prop, I got a living, breathing person who made my afternoon.