That Time of Year

So I'm working on my best and worst of 2k6 list, as it is that time of year. But I can't remember this year, so please, if you can think of anything that should be on it, let me know. There should be a title, a description of it and when/where it was, and a key as to why it won that category. For example:

Best Kings Category: Dance Crazes with Seth and Caroline before the drive to Chicago/Wisconsin, August at the DDH.

Key: Watching Seth try to do the macarena

It's not too complicated. Helps capture the year. Categories can be whatever you want them to be (keep it PG-13).

--ALSO--

I think I may be the only person in the contiguous US that doesn't think U2 is all that good.

Three Creeks

There were three creeks behind my house growing up. The smallest ran just through the woods from the house, with a trail we would sprint down at terrifying speeds. My dad made us little one inch foam boats in different shapes and sizes and we'd race them and then complain that the winner cheated. One summer we decided that we could make a swimming hole if only we built a dam; after five hours of work we'd managed to create a five inch deep spot. Futile. After one bad winter storm a great oak fell across the creek and in the process crushed part of the barbed wire fence to our field . It was so big the cows couldn't get around the hole, so the tree was left where it fell. It was about 6-8 feet in diameter, and in the summer I liked to walk out on it and dangle my feet over the creek below.
The medium creek was down our gravel road a little ways; we'd go hide under the one-lane bridge and once convinced my mom to let us take our inflatable raft on it. It gets maybe ten inches deep and its flow is so still it doesn't appear to even move; the rafting adventure was a bust. Oftentimes we'd come home with buckets of crawdads or minnows as pets, with mud up past our ankles and a serious case of poison ivy brewing. The dog would walk in behind us, just as wet, just as muddy, and smiling just as widely. The middle creek was as much a part of our summer adventures as any of the kids.
The largest creek was saved only for the most special of occasions. It was the farthest away, through the woods and two fields, following the middle creek. The big creek had a swimming hole in it that was well over six feet deep. There was a rock one could jump off of into the deep part, a secret parents were never to hear. My neighbor was a fisherman, and he'd take his son Kevin and I down to the big creek to help him catch live bait for his trips. Mr. C would stand downstream and give us a signal, at which point Kevin and I would run at full speed toward him, scaring all the minnows into his net. Then we got to pull them off the net, which was kinda cool to a ten year old.

As I write this I'm struck with how idyllic it sounds. It has the air of 1950s Americana (or a John Mellencamp song), not 1980s Virginia. I guess I tell all this because today I'm thinking about how we aren't just a product of our experiences and our environment, we are a product of our memories; our stories.
We live our stories and then, sometimes, they live us.

(the above photo is actually of Goose Creek, located about 5 miles from my three creeks. The largest of my creeks is the North Fork of Goose)

Post holiday

Two things:
(1) I really quite enjoy being alone for a while. This weekend I had the place to myself, and I lavished it. Not because I dislike my roommates (hardly! It's quite the opposite) its just that the solo time was so refreshing. I think wherever I move next, I want my own place.

(2) Having had the place alone for several days, I find that I'm disinclined to be with people. They overwhelm me.

I Almost Won A Porsche from Y94 FM

This post is an homage to my dear (dare I say best) friend Lizzie K, who's currently on the wrong side of the pond. As it is a day in which to be thankful, I thought I'd say I'm thankful for her. And I keep missing her when she calls me, and I feel like a big dumb jerk (only sometimes) so I thought I'd post a lil' montage from the years:
Well first, we didn't like each other. Not good first impressions. She didn't like my BUSTY shirt and I just thought she was another yappy kid. And then...

We went mattress sliding down the steps in Loon while on Summer Staff at Saranac.
"Umm...my hand is stuck under your boob."
"Well, I guess we're friends."
"HOW OLD ARE YOU GUYS!?"

And so it began. Shortly thereafter I moved to the Roch, and Liz was only 30 minutes away, down at Geneseo. We liked to get together and play kings and drink beer and order pizza and not do whatever we were supposed to be doing. Or we'd be at Suzy and my apt, drinking G&Ts, eating Yancy's Fancy with green apples (or the giant tub of port wine cheese) and watching "Gilmore Girls".There was the unfortunate incident of one-on-one beer pong right before Christmas, the fun of BOOYAH BOWLING 2 with Dylan in fabulous Onieda, NY. "Hey...it's like we're the Mamas and the Papas! Except you're not Mama Cass...and that's not acid." Liz, wearing a poncho in the back of Dylan's old Bronco (no heat), with the souvenir pint glass and token American flag sticker from BOOYAH. Then there was a crazy new years, walking laps around the traffic circle in the snow, midnight Wendy's runs, spring break in VA ("Did you just reference 'Hatchet'"?), legwarmers, hiking with my sister and my mom, a night out with the neighbors, scary Fanny and Joel, and more. I moved back to VA and she went back to Syr for the summer. There was the 10th Annual Lake Ontario Party (here's to our glow in the dark "FIRST TIMER" visors) and a photo I know she hates:
And then...she was gone.
Off to London.
Too far for my tastes. I couldn't call her. I could write but it was always ancient as soon as the ink dried. We both had rough years, times of transition and trials. I didn't see her again until April, when I got to go to the UK to visit said Watkus. I stepped off the plane and we were wearing the same shoes. She handed me a coffee and said, "Welcome." Then she took me to eat and get some pints. We let Paul guide us so we could talk. And talk we did. For the next week we drove all over, rode all over, spent $$ all over, doing serious tourist things, like this:We almost ended up on a ferry to France, didn't even stop at all the cathedrals Paul told us to, drank pints in some fine establishments, almost got into a fight trying to navigate Bristol, looked like couple while at Stonehenge ("One of the largest henges in the world! Before Stonehenge there was Strawhenge and Woodhenge..."), just wanted to buy a $#!@ car stereo, smoked a pack of camels and half a pack of cloves, made friends at an Iron and Wine show, and, of course, giggled hysterically at Henry VIII's softball-sized codpiece:
One of my favorite photos with Liz is one we took back in the fall of 2004. We decided to go for a hike at Chimney Bluff's State Park, out on the shore of Lake Ontario. It was a great trip, just laughing and climbing hills and trails. We sat down on the beach there and snapped this photo:
We joked that it was our feet looking at Canada, somewhere out there. But I like to believe that it was us looking at the future too, in some cheesy way. It's vast, it's unclear what will come. But we're in it together. Miss you friend.

(Liz has an old, old t-shirt that says "I almost won a porsche from Y94FM" that she wore all the time. Hence the post's title.)

Cheer!

Monday night a big ol' group of friends went to the Grove Park Inn to see the National Gingerbread House Competetion (as seen on the Food Network). We were the motley crew that kept giggling about stuff totally unrelated to the houses. Anyway, some photos from the adventure as stolen from Shauna Wild.

The boys show holiday spirit on the Grove Park Sleigh. Hampton, Kyle (biting Hampton), Dave and Jed (flexing in a Ruldolph sweatshirt)

'Sanne and I check out the competetion. We were very serious judges, in that we looked at each house for about 3 seconds or so, unless it spun, was shiny, or had something mildly scandalous on it. What Dave is doing in the background I can only guess.

Ahh yes...Burt. He's the meaning in my life, he's my inspiration. Apparently he's also visited the Grove Park Inn before...maybe with Dinah Shore. She is next to him on the wall. That would be a scandal.

Anyway, HAPPY THANKSGIVING! Hope you all are well, wherever you are.

Carrharts and Slingbacks

Today marked the official rotation switch for the trifecta of funterns, which basically means we switched to our new job. I am now in kitchen and maintainance (cuz they are totally connected) and so this morning I sat down in a meeting with 6 of the 8 maintainance guys to learn what I was to do for the day. First off: glorified errand-running, also known as the "Town Runner." I since we basically are only open one more day this week, there was little for me to get. I was back at camp by 11ish, and on to maintain camp! Basically I took dirty air filters off the ceiling, cleaned the filter covers, cut new filter material, and then put it all back together. Most of the day on a ladder, with a power drill, in Carrharts. And a favorite JCrew sweater to top it all off, and the looooove mix on the iPod. Holla. My dad would be so proud.

Thanksgiving is coming like a summer storm with the deluge only moments away. I was going to go up to stay with my sister, et al for the holiday, but there wasn't really a place to sleep and just a bit too much stress putting it all together on my end that I have decided to simply stay here with the family up the hill. Judging by the families that will be there and the # of kids (it's close to the double digits) it won't be quiet, but it will be relaxing, restful. After dinner Thursday I've been told I am required to hang with the little boys and watch "Cars" at least once. Friday we're going on a trail ride with the horses. That's my kind of holiday.

On a whim, a few of us went to see "Happy Feet" on Sunday. Thank God I didn't pay for my ticket, because that movie sucked. Like crash and burn, almost "Gili" with cartoon penguins sucked. Also, slightly offensive with a very general ethnic portrayal of Hispanics.

Conditional Compassion

Ever have those conversations where, while in the midst of expressing an opinion, you end up realizing that you believe two contradictory points? No? Well you should. I call it an "Oh crap" moment.

I was convicted today about the rules and obligations I seem to doll out with my compassion, as if I was so arrogant to think that by giving grace I am entitled to power over the situation. The best example I've found this year has been in the case of my brother and his shitstorm (that is a technical, theological term). I came to believe that any help I gave him, whether it be monetary or otherwise, gave me the right to say what he should be doing with his life; that he was indebted to me. If he didn't do what I thought he should do, I would withhold my offering. And while I believe that there are times when people need to hit rock bottom before they will ever heal, and I believe that boundaries are difficult to define and retain, I think I was horribly wrong in thinking that my 'generosity' granted me say. If I gave I gave for the wrong reasons.

I realized this as I talked about one of the biggest problems of Christianity today, the idea of conditional compassion. That wicked and destructive notion that compassion and grace were things to be bought or bartered; things to grant power and subjugate the debtors. Conditional on lifestyle, sin, decisions, beliefs, cultures. Be more like me and then I'll help you.

If we give, we should give freely; that is, without expectation and without the thought of payback. Does that mean even though I know he's going to blow whatever I send his way on self-destructive habits, I should send it anyway? That's hard for me to say yes, because I don't know. Jesus said, “And if someone wants to sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. If someone forces you to one mile, go with him two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn from the one who wants to borrow from you.” (Matthew 5:40-42). I feel like that means give even though they abuse you, dismiss you, defame you (which, in my head, is contradictory to everything I'd like to do) and keep giving of time and love and compassion and grace and mercy and kindness, without the expectation that such giving will ever be acknowledged, recognized, or repaid.

I don't like learning that.

Rainman: I Get You. Call Me.

It's that time of year when the sinuses start to get plugged, the nose begins to run, causing the embarrassing snort, the throat gets scratchy and dry like you've been gargling with, say, pop rocks. Or maybe kitty litter. I have never been quite so attractive as I am right now. Good times.

New Observations Time (nuevo tiempo de las observaciones):

(1) I'm not allowed to drive after watching any sort of action movie. Learned this with Seth. Because after watching action movies, I want to drive recklessly and fast, and try to pull doughnuts with the e-brake. Seriously.

(2) I am very inconsistent in my organizational skills. Like CD book is alphabetized by artist and by album within that artist, yet I can't seem to manage to ever put sweaters away. Or remember to make my bed. But all the shirts in my closet must be hung the same way, and in a specific color order. Definitely, definitely Judge Wapner.

(3) Have had very serious insomnia for the past month or so, to the point where I've had to drug myself to try to sleep. Last night I tried that and so my body was subcomatose but my mind was going, "heyheyheyheyheyheyhey....hey! you need some CORN POPS!! you should learn how to play...banjo! badumdadumdadum dodododeeeedoooo!" For about two hours.

(4) One of my favorite ways to waste time: McSweeney's Lists. I mean seriously. Who comes up with these? For example: Things I Might be Convinced to Give My Left Arm For. Or how about Five Things Rick Astley is Never Gonna Do. I lose days on that website. Also love the letters to people or entities unlikely to respond.

That's it, sinuses are...well...gross. No new thoughts.

Happy birthday to my nephew Luke, who's 1 today! Because clearly, he can read. And will notice if I say nothing. I live in fear. Hold me.

Bundle

"When I get honest, I admit I am a bundle of paradoxes. I believe and I doubt, I hope and get discouraged, I love and I hate, I feel bad about not feeling good, I feel guilty about not feeling guilty. I am trusting and I am suspicious. I am honest and I still play games. Aristotle said I am a rational animal; I say I am an angel with an incredible capacity for beer."
-Brennan Manning
Ragamuffin Gospel

I am learning those bundles.

Foppishly Fried

Friday night was girls night for about 45 minutes (enough time for dinner) then off to catch one of the features in the Asheville Film Festival (special thanks to Caroline for the free ticket). The movie, called "The Clinton 12" details the desegregation of the first high school in the south after Brown v. Board of Education. The director took questions afterward, and the most compelling portion of the story was actually left out of the movie in the later suicides of two of the more prominent white characters. Been chewing on that whole story for a few days.

Saturday drove out to Durham to spend some time with Mr. (soon to be ordained) Dave Hunsicker, whom I haven't seen in over two years and who is even more delightful than memory served, and that's a compliment. He told me we'd be attending an "uber-pretentious party" (his words, not mine) so shortly after I arrived we went tottering through the shops of Chapel Hill to find pretentious accessories. He wanted a monocle (couldn't be found) but I succeeded in some ostentatious gold and pearl clip-on earrings, a very long string of fake pearls, and some elbow-length white gloves to go with my black polka dot wrap dress. Add ridiculous makeup and actual effort on the hair and I was the picture of snobbery. Dave had a bright paisley bowtie, BB blazer and oxford and pulled it off rather foppishly. Party was very fun, but those Divinity students are way too intellectual for me; I was waiting for some sort of boob joke just so I could know what was going on. I mean, I went to Syracuse, that's what we laughed at. After the party, Dave and I went back to his apartment, changed into our PJs and watched "Sportscenter". All in all it was close to perfect. Durham/Chap Hill: first impression was good!

Sunday was the Moldrup's going away dinner/cryfest, which was also an excuse to apparently fry anything within reach and serve it for dinner to 90-some people. Don't get me wrong; I don't think it's a coincidence that "fried" and "friend" are only one letter apart, but I've just never seen or tried a fried pickle, or imagined such a thing. Or even thought about having it on the same plate with fried okra, fried chicken, fried corndogs and some green bean casserole.

In one week I smelled real moonshine (out of a mason jar no less) for the first time and had my very first fried pickle. Oh Western NC, you fascinate me.

What You Own

Went out for some questionable Chinese food with my boss today (the thing about being an intern is that basically everyone is your boss), as we were the only two in our department who were working today, and she has a slight obsession with Chinese. On the way home we started to talk about the things we had or didn't have as kids. How creative we had to be for entertainment, how easy imagination is with minimal props.
Got me thinking once again about stuff, and how I accumulate it.
My great aunt Sweetpea has a large, stately (albeit slightly run-down) plantation in central VA and over 80 years worth of stuff in its walls and barns. Seems every time I go for a visit, she sends me home with something. She has too much stuff, and is trying her damnedest be freed from what she owns. Every piece of furniture or artifact in the house has a small piece of masking tape hidden on it, with the name of the relative claiming it scrawled in bumpy Bic. I bet for the first part of her life, Sweetpea accumulated stuff, then has spent the latter half trying to get rid of most of it. Are well all destined for that?
Why?
What's the point?

K-Fed and Rummy

Today was a good day.
Not just because the Dems have taken back both houses of Congress (though that in itself is a good enough reason!).
Not just because Charles Taylor and Heath Shuler ads will no longer be insipidly and ceaselessly playing on every available media outlet in W-NC.
And not just because my car insurance rate went down b/c I live outside the DC area.
And not just because I got to wear my silly little boy striped sweater today, which makes me feel like I should be singing songs from "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat".
And not just because today I wasn't bogged down by this recent cold.
Or because I actually took the effort to really shave my legs.
Or because RUMMY RESIGNED!!! CAN I GET AN A-FLIPPIN'-MEN? MIRACLE!!
And not cuz we finally might get to stop hearing about K-Fed.
Or because "Shoop" was the first song played while we worked (thanks for that, McGlade).
Or because its Moldy Family Dinner night.
Or because "Lost" is on tonight and it'll redeem itself for that stupid episode from last week.
Or that I got fun Wknd plans.

Ok, maybe it was some combo of all of those.
But it sure was a good day.
The Rummy resignation really did cap it all off though.

Retrospective

Today is the 4th birthday of my blog.
Yup, four years ago, in a small corner of a house called the Mopalopshop, on a street called Lancaster, in a drearyly grey town called Syracuse, in too proximal a space with the incomparable Jen Cash, this blog was started with absolutely no aspirations, which is good, because if I had expected anything I'd be sorely disappointed. Back when Jen and I were presidents; back when I drove a scary Ford Tempo and Jen drove a truck, back when anyone in the world knew where Kat V. was, and Romano still let me sleep on her futon or cook my frozen pizzas there because my house was "just too far,". Really a retrospective should be reserved for the 5th birthday, or the 10th or something monumental and divisible by 5, but my attention span says do it now, ergo, I do.
My opinion of the breakdown:

Best photo post: A Day at the Beach

Best post from a far-away town: I just realized I never seem to post while I'm away. Nothing from Cali, UK, FL, WI, OH, nothing. Just from some weird town called Canastota. Stupid. Must resolve.

Funniest story retold: A Real Mousekateer. (But I really don't tell funny stories. And I have a lot of them. Also must resolve.)

Funniest post in general: Democratic Individualism (I don't know why ya'll think this is the funniest one...I mean it's funny, but really?)

Best guest post: Morning Poo

# Times I have referenced Edna St. Vincent Millay or her poetry: 8

# Times I reference writing a singles ad: 3

# Times I've ever actually written a singles ad: 0
(Even though Liz and Carey once tried to sign me up for eharmony...jerks)

Favorite Post (tie): Crying of Frogs and Ser

Post even I have never reread: Tradition of Sedition

Most Political Post: By Grace My Sight Grows Stronger

Best list: Desk Job

Post I still think I'm learning: 50 Degrees of Losing It

Most honest post: Never Come Back (the hard part about this post was that doctor's appt I mention is the one where they told me they thought I had cancer, and that hope just blew up)

And now my attention span has waned, my roommate is snoring on the couch and "Survivor" by Destiny's Child just came on the iTunes shuffle, making me want to strut. Thanks for reading for part of these past four years, thank you for listening to me try to sort out the knotted yarn of thoughts, my ups and downs, my pensive and protrusive. If ya'll have a favorite (not like I expect you to) I'd be curious to know.
This post is dedicated to Jen Cash, who may be the only person who has been reading from the beginning. Miss ya, Casher.

Heights of Greatness & Nights Asunder

The other night I was listening to old episodes of "This American Life" online. I came across one from '98 by Sarah Vowell (a favorite) in which she and sister Amy travel a portion of the Trail of Tears (episode link here) . Vowell is something like 1/7 Cherokee and was born in Oklahoma, where the trail finally ended. I had read the story before in her collection of essays, Take the Cannoli, but listening to the piece brought new emotion. In an event where 1/4 of those traveling died, some 4,000 people, I was appalled about how little I really knew. Like, for example, what a bastard Andrew Jackson was. I mean I always had a hunch he was a bastard, but this really gave me something to get behind. Take him off the $20, I say! It was strange listening to it in a place that was once Cherokee land; this whole region of WNC, ETN, NGA and SC was where the tribe lived.

We get so angered and appalled and shocked at events of genocide globally (as well we should) yet we disregard those instances of it in our own past. Calculated, governmentally supported instances. We are a young country with more dark than we acknowledge. By not acknowledging we stand to repeat it. Learning more about such an event makes hating aspects of this country so easy; it does not diminish my love for this place, it just forces me to be real about it.
Saturday night I stopped into Malaprops to do some book shopping on my way home from delectable desserts at Old Europe and I finally picked up Devil in the White City by Erik Larson (yes, I know, "I only read like one book a year and even I read that one" but I told you I'd get to it). So far it does much to encompass the contradiction that exists in me about the good and progress of America yet the devilish qualities that lurk as well.

All this to say, election day is only 48 hours away. My faith is not rattled by elections, as it is not based on elections, however the opinions I always seem to have are just waiting to burst forth.
Murphy sent me a text message on Friday, excitedly telling me that she'd organized a rally in DC and that Barack Obama was the keynote speaker and that she'd gotten to spend time with him. I was so excited that I too squealed for more details. I've never been excited about a politician like I am about Obama. He just brings hope that no one else carries.

*title taken from the lyrics of "White City" by Erin McKeown, song based on Larson's book.

Like Chedda

So I really like to make mixes. This is the most recent, and possibly the pre-emminent mix ever to exist, outside the realm of Crabfest. Ladies and Gentleman, I present to you, the Ultimate Mix o' Cheese (you might wanna wear goggles, cuz tha chez is flyin):
(1) I Just Called to Say I Love You--Stevie Wonder
(2) Glory of Love--Peter Cetera
(3) I'm All Out of Love--Air Supply
(4) Islands in the Stream--Kenny Rodgers and Dolly Parton
(5) Time After Time--Cyndi Lauper
(6) Don't Go Breakin' My Heart--Elton John and Kiki Dee
(7) Greatest Love of All--Whitney Houston
(8) Coming to America--Neil Diamond
(9) We Belong--Pat Benetar
(10) Up Where We Belong--Joe Cocker and Jennifer Warnes
(11) Every Rose Has Its Thorn--Poison
(12) Copacabana--Barry Manilow
(13) We've Only Just Begun--The Carpenters
(14) Karma Chameleon--Culture Club
(15) Lady--Styx
(16) You're the Inspiration--Chicago
(17) Never Gonna Give You Up--Rick Astley
(18) Knock Three Times--Tony Orlando and Dawn
(19) Lets Hear it for the Boy--Deniece Williams
(20) Open Arms--Journey

Well, that's at least the beta version. If you and your cheesy self have edits, additions or subtractions, comment or email them my way. "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" is on deck.
Remember kids: choose cheese.
I do.

Halloween: like whoa!

Once a year Halloween decends on poor ol' Weavervegas like the zombies from "Shaun of the Dead" with more tricker treaters than the entire population of the town. We figured Church St. was a safe place to hide from it all, and the partay was not to be missed! All photos blatantly stolen from Shauna's Facebook album.

Elena (the cat burgular) tries to sneak away with Margarita's (crazy cat lady) poor kitten



The funterns! Julie was a stop sign, 'Sanne was a gumdrop, I was a cinnamon roll (NOT Hurricane Katrina...thanks, SMARTASS). Combined we were Stop, Drop, and Roll!
Come on, made it for the price of the spraypaint. We thought it was funny.


Shauna (the green loofa) and Jed (the Energizer Bunny) show off their creativity. It pays to work at a place that owns its own prop closets (multiple)


Hampton (the cowboy), Chris (Jack from "Lost") and Paula (a candy corn, you just can't see her sweet yellow skirt that completed the ensamble). Ladies and gentlemen: my coworkers.