guest post: things i've learned since i left college

I got an email a few days ago from my friend and St. Olaf classmate Kyle, basically a quick check-in on post-grad life.  The meat of this message was the following list, which pretty much speaks for itself.  And now, without further ado...

Things I've learned since I left college:

• That nobody is going to be impressed by you bragging about how many hours/week you work. 
• That college stories seem significantly less funny when you try and tell them to post-college friends.
• That Sunday is suddenly the best day of the week.
• That a quick 10 word text from a distant friend means a lot.
• That you might still feel weird while bringing your 12-pack of beer from the car to your house.
• That you will realize that you were way more stressed out at St. Olaf than you realized at the time
• That there are plenty of attractive, smart, and fun people off the Hill, but they are much, much less concentrated.
• That everybody has a tough adjustment. 
• That if you come back for Homecoming or for Fest and ask old friends how they are doing, almost invariably they will answer, "I'm fine."
• That "fine" is not bad. 
• That St. Olaf was a much stranger place than you thought, when you compare it to the rest of the country.
• That sometimes you'll be walking across the street and a memory of some dumb thing you did in college will pop into your head, and you will laugh like a fool, and that this is a good thing. 
• That you're probably not going to stay in touch w/ Olaf friends as well as you want to.
• That infrequent communication in a long-distance friendship isn't a reflection on the importance or authenticity of that friendship
• That you will have absolutely no obligations much more frequently, and that this is a wonderful thing.
• That reading for pleasure is much, much more rewarding than reading for class. 
• That there may come a time when you have this perverse itch to write an eight page paper, footnotes and all. 
• That professors really do like it when you keep in touch with them.
• That your parents are actually fairly wise and cool.
• That having to make a plan for how to get home at the end of a night is a huge pain in the ass.
• That St. Olaf was way more homogeneous than you thought, no matter what Admissions says.
• That bars are way more intimidating when you don't know everybody's name.
• That the anonymity at these bars is quite nice sometimes.
• That the food in the Caf was really, really good.
• That online dating is rough.
• That spending time alone is not only permissible, but even healthy.
• That most musical ensembles are much less in tune that the St. Olaf ensembles.
• That, in all honesty, you're not sure if you would go back to Olaf, even if you could, wonderful as it was.
• That there is no dream so beautiful as the dream of living within 1/2 mile of your 40 closest friends again.
• That making new friends is easier once you realize most recent college graduates are looking for new friendships, just like you.
• That St. Olaf taught you to work hard, to listen, and to question, and to truly seek understanding
• That your boss may not appreciate the last two, but hey, s/he's the one who hired a Liberal Arts graduate.
• That the "glass half full/glass half empty" maxim is shockingly true and important to think about every day
• That some days are just going to suck.
• That some days aren't.
• That drinking on a Tuesday night, or a Wednesday, or a Monday, isn't as bad an idea as it was in college. 
• That drinking on a Sunday night is still a pretty bad idea.
• That there isn't chapel time, but you can (and should) make chapel time for yourself every day.
• That happy hour always sounds like a great idea, but then you're just groggy for the rest of the day
• That you don't need to be happy all the time to be doing well.*
• That you're really grateful to your professors for teaching you how to think/write/create/whatever.
• That having a little bit of money is actually pretty fun.
• That most jobs don't have an interim break.
• That there are people who went to lower-ranked schools who are way smarter than you. And vice-versa.*
• That, when thinking back to college, you tend to forget the crappy times and just remember the awesome times.
• That this selective memory, while pleasant, can be dangerous.
• That it's good to remind yourself on the days you hate your job that there were days you hated your college classes too. 
• That St. Olaf will mail you something every two weeks.
• That, if you give a gift to the college, they will send you a thank-you letter, including a pre-stamped envelope asking for more money
• That you'll get through whatever you're going through.*
• That having somebody else clean your bathroom was really nice.
• That not having to share a bathroom is really nice. 
• Finally, that "Fram Fram" isn't just the school song. It's the mission that got inside of you during your time on the hill. Forward, Forward. 

Kyle is a fellow band'o'lier (legacy from a haphazard sophomore year spring break trip to New Mexico, before which I really didn't know him) and St. Olaf Class of 2011 graduate.  He is currently doing a year of AmeriCorps service with Admissions Possible in Omaha, Nebraska.  For a quick glimpse into what he's been doing since May 29, 2011, check out the blog post that made my heart soar, with pride for my friend, hope for my classmates, and faith in community.

*Starred comments are the contribution of another 2011 Ole, affectionately known as "JoePa," who is currently studying at Princeton Theological Seminary in New Jersey.

food blog

I sat down to blog yesterday but got distracted (this may be an emerging trend... or an emerged one) first by online apartment hunting, and then by a text from one of my besties who happened to be free for a phone call at the same time as me!  For the first time in months.  I decided to get up from my screen to make lunch while I talked to him.  On the menu: grilled cheese on honey wheat bread, with beautifully sliced beautiful tomatoes I picked out at the farmers' market last weekend.  And reheated red pepper soup from the Lenten soup supper at church on Wednesday.  Somehow it turned into pretty much the most delicious lunch I have eaten in what seemed like eons, and Mike was totally jealous.  Even though we broke off our conversation so he could go out for Sushi Sunday.

And also because another friend called with a post-breakup tear-stained voice, so I called her back for a round of healing affirmation and a sweepingly great conversation that ended in her recommending that I invest in a Magic Bullet for breakfast smoothie purposes, and promising to send along recipes for great, energizing, unexpected smoothies.

Smoothies are a long-time love of mine, the kind of thing I can always get into, the kind of thing I crave, and apparently I have a "smoothie face" which sets J immediately to the task of whipping up The Perfect Smoothie as soon as I walk into Bishop's after work.  Chili, another of Bishop's specialties (see #5), has always been a good pick for Sunday lunch...  But lately I have been really into Sunday afternoon grilled cheese sandwiches.  And let me tell you, I make a wicked grilled cheese sandwich.

Some other good grilled cheese sandwiches can be found at Bittersweet on Division Street in Northfield, in the good ol' 55057 zip code--they put cream cheese on theirs, and we all know that there are very few times when I will turn down cream cheese, in almost any form.  And there is also a beer and grilled cheese special somewhere in Wilmington--World Café Live at The Queen, as a matter of fact--which I haven't checked out yet, only because I've always been reminded of it at the wrong moment.  But look for a review in the relatively near future.

A slight recipe mutation turns the classic grilled cheese into another big-time favorite: the beloved Tunamelt, which will never fail to send me reeling back to the Summer of Sunny V.  (Incidentally, I'm thinking I'm going to have to commission a cover of Bryan Adams' all-American classic Summer of '69.  Maybe Summer of Tunamelts would be a more representative title.)  I haven't flown solo on the tunamelt front, maybe ever, but at least in quite some time, and let me tell you, I missed my Bizz, who always seemed to keep the pans straight, and keep the tuna sauce from burning to the bottom of the pan, and managed to make everything come together right at the right moment.

That being said, my Single-Bizz Tunamelt was a pretty killer sandwich specimen.  Also, extra sharp cheddar cheese is the best cheese ever, and you can get huge blocks of it for super cheap at BJ's: the place to go for cheese, gas, and frozen pizza.

Also giant bulk packs of gum, and quick home microbrewing kits.  Which sounds really gross.

Food is an important thing to think about all the time, but lately the social aspects of eating have sent my diet into very weird relief.  Every Thursday, for example, Kristy and I go to either Spinning or Zumba at the Y and then hit up Applebee's for the appetizer sampler platter and drinks.  That's more about the eating experience than the actual food, even though we love mozz sticks and quesadillas and tequila and spin dip and even boneless wings.  (Not wings with bones, though.)  I've also written about nachos and wings every other week or so, and just in general the easiest thing to do as a group of young adults is to go out somewhere to eat, drink, and be merry.  This is not only easy, but gets expensive, and it also puts a little weight in the pit of my belly.

On Wednesdays in Lent my mom counts on soup suppers for our family to eat; but since I don't go to church on Wednesday nights I never have dinner plans.  On the other hand, Wednesday tends to be date night, so I usually get something with J when he gets out of work.  A few weeks ago we made some squash and pepper in a red wine reduction with caramelized onions, or something fancy like that.  (I would have said I threw a bunch of delicious veggies into a frying pan with some oil and wine and ate it with chopsticks over rice, but J is passionate about food so he knows all the lingo.  Don't quote me on it though.)  Last week I dropped Maria off at band practice and then met up with him on Main Street Newark.

The air was so warm and pleasantly heavy, and all the outdoor seating was up and bustling.  "My goal for tonight is to get some really good food and to really enjoy eating it," I said.  And that we did.

We sat on the patio at Rooney's, and ordered a warm goat cheese salad and New Orleans pasta with blackened chicken, which was very spicy.  The salad was one of the most delicious salads I've ever tasted, though, with apples, candied walnuts, goat cheese, and a really perfect viniagrette.  Even the warm bread and honey butter that came before the meal was divine.

I actually cleaned both plates after J quit, which we both got a kick out of, and then he bought me froyo, even though I was so full, because I come from a long line of people who can't say no to ice cream.

There is an important lesson in froyo for me, a lesson my chocolate-loving sister learned 14 years ago: Get what you want.  I always feel stupid going out for froyo, looking at the 10 different choices of froyo flavors and settling on plain old original tart.  But that's always what I want.  So I'm eating my dessert thinking, "Well, yeah, this is good, but I wish I had gotten the plain old."

The lesson: Get what you want.  Also, don't order half price nachos if you already feel your stomach rolling at the thought of eating a whole plate of nachos.  Don't order half price wings if you don't like wings.  It's that simple.

Order what you feel like eating, cook what you feel like eating, and then sit and enjoy every last bite.  And when you're full, stop eating.  Eat the rest for lunch tomorrow.  Mix unconventional leftovers (like black beans and mac-n-cheese) for an exciting day 2 experience.  Treat yourself sometimes, eat slowly, eat in the sun.  Eat food that reminds you of someone or someplace you love and miss.  Play games like "pick-out-the-flavors-in-this-delicious-concoction."  Spend some time around the family table, spend some time cooking and eating and digesting with good friends, spend some one-on-one time eating with somebody who makes you forget that you're not the only two people on the planet.

Notable eating experiences?  Reflections on food?  Favorite places to chow down in your area?  Please share!

making plays and kicking ass: a collective biography

Yep.  Seasonal affect order (SAO) is kicking in.  I'm gonna be totally honest here: I hate--hate hate hate!--that my mood is so heavily affected by the weather, but I think my life will be better if I just acknowledge that fact.  Now the key is to remember that next time it gets dark at 4:00pm.

Speaking of getting dark at 4:00pm, happy equinox!  And first day of spring!  (I appreciate the pagan holidays because it never makes sense that winter starts on December 21, and this is the first year that spring has actually beat the equinox to me.  So nail a pizza to a tree, or something, in honor of the equinox.)

OK.  Let's get down to business.  I am in a really good mood if you couldn't tell, in large part due to the awesome holiday weekend that just happened.  (Was St. Pat a pagan? I hope so.)  Here's why: I was house- and cat-sitting for my fam while they hit up Ohio and Indiana for some college visits, so instead of resigning myself to loneliness I decided to fill the house with good people.

My mom suggested I get a keg, but I chickened out.  Jameson tastes wayyy better anyway.

So.  I spent Friday on the edge of my seat waiting for the day to be done so I could meet up with my girls.  Ellen, one of my beloved Olaf Kansans, drove up from D.C.  She, Kristy, and I snagged Audrey off the bus around 8:00, and we headed over to Cosmo's Diner on Maryland Ave.

First off, I was very proud of myself for finding it with very little direction, aside from checking out the map on Kristy's phone before we left home.  Makes me feel like a local.

And speaking of locals, let me add to my list of reasons it rocks dating local boys.  Awhile back I was seriously craving baklava, so J took me to Ali Baba's for $1 baklava.  We also talked about someday trying to make it, which I've heard is quite a feat, and would therefore most likely involve me constantly refilling our wine glasses and him doing most of the work.  Anyway, I took the following picture of a sign on the table and sent it to him:

"Also look what i found!"

And he IMMEDIATELY responded: "COsmos!!!!"

Too great.

Anyway, Cosmo's was awesome.  The bread and the salad alone kicked some serious ass, and my spanakopita definitely did not disappoint (even though I still can't pronounce it).  While we were sitting there, not surprisingly being the most raucous booth in the whole place, the lights flickered on and off, and on and off again, and went out for a second before what we assumed was the generator kicked on.  Meanwhile, a series of dramatic flashes of electricity lit up the skyline outside, vaguely in the direction of my house.  It wasn't really in the direction of my house, but close enough that I set a world record in short-course heart racing.


But we all know I overreact.

After dinner we headed over to W. 4th Street to an 80s-themed arcade bar I saw in Out & About last month: 1984.  It seemed pretty legit, but since I wasn't around in 1984 I can't say for sure.  It seemed like everyone else in there was around in 1984, though.  Unclear in some cases whether they were going to bars in 1984, but still.  One guy watched us all open tabs with the bartender and leaned over to Ellen: "Remember when you had to pay in cash at bars?"

Actually none of  us remember that, because we've only been going to bars for a year or so.  We balanced our pride in being four of the last/best things to come out of the 80s by feeling a little out of place, but nobody made us feel unwelcome.  The bartenders were pretty cool, actually, gave us recommendations and helped us make tough decisions like what our next beer would be.  Among them: Abita Purple Haze, which was the best raspberry wheat I've had since hitting the 75th Street Brewery in Kansas; Evolution Lucky 7 Porter, which kinda stole my heart; Angry Orchard Apple Ginger hard cider, which was by far my favorite cider ever; and the ever-popular Old Dominion Oak Barrel Stout, touted enthusiastically by Audrey as her all-time most favorite beer ever that she can never find but it's here!

Love at first pour

Note that 1984 does not have a full bar, just a killer selection of hipster beers (I could say craft but they're pretty proud of their PBR so I'll widen the net for that) and the Mike's Hard/Twisted Tea varieties.  This threw an interesting wrench in Kristy's beer-weaning, which wasn't scheduled to start until laying-out weather.  She kind of had to jump out of the nest after two cheer beers, and discovered to my shock and awe that she likes hoppy beers, and hates wheat.  Huh.

I'm also fascinated by the fact that their Facebook page ranks way higher than the actual website, which I found on Yelp.  It just opened in early December, and it feels like real-people, on-the-ground management.  Everyone was friendly and familiar and there was a DJ who was spinning actual records, which is awesome.  And I think we secured our street cred from leading a rousing chorus of "TAKE ME HOME TONIGHT! I DON'T WANNA LET YOU GO 'TIL YOU SEE THE LIGHT!"

We stayed there as long as we could, waiting for Karin to report on the status of her late bus from New York.  She got in around 1:30 and since Wilmington is in a metropolitan no-man's land the only two places open at that time of night are IHOP (but only on Main Street Newark) and Denny's on 273.  So we went there, to eat ill-timed breakfast food with all the other drunk people in the state, and catch up a little before Ellen had to head back to D.C. at 6 in the morning.  Far shot from our New York nights of leaving the bar before everyone else at 3:30am...

Saturday, despite Ellen's absence, was an absolutely gorgeous day.  We picked up Anne from the train station at noon and the five of us headed out to Old New Castle to meet Jess.

The most beautiful women in Delaware. I'm sure of it.

As you may have noticed, Old New Castle is pretty much my favorite place ever.  It's that history-romance-cobblestone thing.  (Those are pretty much synonyms, by the way.)  Also the fact that the courthouse steeple is the center of the Delaware circle.

Turns out we were starving by the time we got there, so we stopped for lunch at Trader's Cove, a super cute cafe in an old colonial building with a gorgeous little beer & wine garden out back.  (We deduce it is a popular hangout for theater people, theater people in this case possibly being reenactors...?  Who knows.)  We got grown-up PBJ sandwiches and falafel sandwiches and I got a curry chicken sandwich.  All were very good, and come with adorably sliced fresh fruit, or homemade sweet potato chips.  Noms.

Actually, the colonial building is called Penn's Place--allegedly the place where William Penn slept his first night in New Castle.  (See what they did there? Eh? Eh?)  We think he was 22 at the time, and we postulate that he also ate grown-up PBJ's in his beer & wine garden.  Before he became a Quaker.

Mostly we spent the afternoon in the sun, chatting.  But Jess made us go inside this antique bookstore, a place called Between the Covers, where we all got lost for awhile.  We found some gems in there, like a British first edition Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, which was going for $250.  Other books were worth tens of thousands of dollars.  Nuts.  For the literary crowd we are.

Old Town shuts down right around 5:00, so after the bookstore closed we meandered back to the house for the night.  J and some of his friends eventually came over and I could not have been happier at how the night went down.  Good number of good people, good drinks, good food, good times.  Just so satisfied.  Also, I love my friends.

And Jameson.

On Sunday I got up and made this gorgeous brunch, with the help of my gorgeous friends.  I love, love, LOVE hostessing.  Seriously.  And we were about to linger over brunch for a half hour or so, since Karin's bus left at "noonish."

Ha.

We were going around the table, stating our goals for the day, and Karin said, "My goal for today is to get to my bus with 30 seconds to spare."  We all laughed, and I said, "I'd like to give you a little more time," and Anne said, "Wait, what time does your bus leave?"

Karin looked at her watch, cooly, and said, "8 minutes from now?"

All five of us exploded from the table.  I just grabbed my keys, even though I was still in my PJs, and Karin and I zoomed off to the bus station (which is at least 10 minutes away--that usually seems close, but not under the circumstances).  I actually made very good time, without making any highly unsafe traffic decisions.

And the bus was still parked in front of the station when we got there.  Sigh of relief.

Turns out, they had severely overbooked the bus, so I waited in the car while Karin rescheduled her ticket for 2 hours later.  None of us were complaining at all about the extra hours with our girl.  And we all voted to just sit around and chat.  So we really lingered over brunch.  And chatting.  And grilled cheese sandwiches.

The thesis and theme of the weekend is, as usual, love.  A weekend with any and all of these girls never fails to leave each of us refreshed, encouraged, invigorated.  Content.  And contentedness has not been a particularly common feeling in any of our adult lives.

These friendships are so important, and what I have come to appreciate this weekend is that they are developing adult friendships, relationships that have moved beyond the bounds of our student status, Cage raging and research projects.  We have continued to support and affirm each other in very real ways in a very real world, and I have no words to express how valuable these grownup friendships have been to me so far this year.  They have surprised me, pleasantly, and given me the strength I've needed to come as far as I have since graduation.

This is not unusual for us.

Anne also mentioned laughter.  We laughed this weekend.  We laughed reminiscing about laughing in Buntrock, at Cage tables, at inopportune moments, in our weird but contagious choir, echoing and magnifying in the huge atrium student center.  She told us about a mutual friend, Hannah, who has started doing smiling meditation, and all the awkward moments that have come from her smiling outwardly for 5 minutes straight, for no apparent reason.  It struck me that I spend most of my days pursing my lips, squinting at my computer screen, hunching over in my supposedly ergonomic office chair, my right hand stiffening in its grip on the mouse.  So I started smiling for five minutes on my drive home everyday.

It's distracting, but it's evidence of how powerful and important these connections and conversations are in our lives if we are to be happy and successful.  And they are like a yeast starter: They build on themselves and spread to other people.  It gets easier and easier to reconnect with these women every time we meet up and say goodbye again.  Also, these relationships brought a new light and depth to some of my important local relationships, and I am ecstatic to have been able to share all these incredible people with each other.

Not to mention, the house was cleaner when they left than when they showed up.

My next goal is to make everyone move to Wilmington...

stream of sunshine consciousness

A few things.

I've noticed the past few days, driving down my street at around 5:00pm, a middle-aged couple walking together in the blinding late afternoon sunshine.  Single file to let me and other cars pass.  I hope that, 30 or 40 years down the line, or 50 or 60, for that matter, I am doing this.

After I passed them I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw the man reach out and take the woman's hand.

I really hope I am doing this in my future.

Asha has gone out rollerblading.  I'm sitting on the back steps photosynthesizing the last warm rays of the day, basking in the alchemy of sunbeams into smiles beaming across my face.  I can't help it.  I almost definitely have some seasonal affect disorder (disorder? I think the disorder is that we trap ourselves inside all winter, live in cold climates, cover our skin) but now that the sun is out I can't stop grinning.

Today, though, I busted out the bug spray, because I have literally 10 bug bites from the other night.  Ha.

Unfortunately the wasps are starting to unfreeze and find themselves drawn to my room.  I am not particularly drawn there since it's colder inside than out these days, and downstairs than up.  But we run into each other from time to time, their lethargic presence eliciting obligatory shrieks and a thorough smashing on my end.

Fortunately it is almost beach-bikini-babe beer season.  I have never been so excited for summer to come.  At least it seems that way.  I am determined this summer to start Kristy drinking beer.  We'll start with my favorite classic, summer shandy.  First Leinie's, then the house version that I mix up by hand.  Pumped.

For today I am drinking this:
A "vanilla pale ale" with a slightly burnt caramel flavor.  (I didn't come up with that myself--it was on the bottle.  But when it comes to tea, I tend to like vanilla-caramel concoctions.  When it comes to anything, really, vanilla and caramel are pretty winning flavors.  Like flan, when it is almost burnt.

See the Peruvian Chicken House.)


Also I am excited about small skirts, dresses, and shorts.  And flashy shades.  And purple polka-dot bikinis, a la Jess at this weekend's Hilltop Superstars sports tourney.

It's supposed to hover in the 70s for the next few days.  I have been soaking up the sun via sunroof and parking lot lunch breaks so far this week.  My mood has skyrocketed from relative February levels.  All of these factors are key in the upcoming weekend shenans, when a few of my college girlfriends will be flocking to the illustrious city of Wilmington for St. Patty's Day.  That timing was mostly unplanned, but fortuitous nonetheless.

Gwen at the Y starts the Tuesday night yoga practice always with a drawn-out sun salutation, the core element of which is intention, focus, grounding.  She tells us to ground each of the four corners of our feet, first separately, then simultaneously, into our mat.  Feet hip-width apart, sink the inside of your heel into the mat, then the outside.  Dig in your big toe, then your little toe.  Hip-width apart.  Now all four corners at the same time.  It feels like roots shoot out of my soles at that point and hold me immovably to the shiny floor of the Western Room.  (Ironic, isn't it, that yoga is held in the Western Room.)

But now I'm shooting roots outside.  And I couldn't be more stoked about it.

she's only happy in the sun

guardian angels

I think I just got my first mosquito bite of 2012.

I'm sitting on the back patio on a fold-up chair from the dining room (since we don't have any outdoor furniture) and there is one lone 'skeeter lolling around my legs.  These DE mosquitoes BITE.  Like their probosces are made to be felt when they jab into your ankles.

Anyway, it is a beautiful day.  It's 6:30pm, mid-March, I'm in a T-shirt and shorts outside and I'm not even remotely cold.  We all know I've been needing it.  I don't think it's going to last very long, though; my vicious little friend has just been joined by a wingwoman... or two... or six...

So.  I just read the most beautiful letter from Mary in Kansas City, written in the most beautiful handwriting on the most beautiful paper--heavy, pulpy cardstock from India, classically printed.  She also slipped a little "pocket angel" into the envelope.  I love it for itself, and for the fact that it bears a kiss from Kansas City on its face, but what really struck me was that Ann sent me the same pocket angel, but gold-colored, a few months ago.

This cannot be a coincidence.  Someone is watching me.

I do believe in guardian angels, particularly since my Grammy died back in 2002.  I don't remember if she told me this, or if it materialized as part of my 12-year-old mourning process, but I firmly believed--and still kind of do--that she's got an eye out for me.  Although now I'm a bit more convinced that she is the center of the celestial social scene, frequenting all the same parties as Jesus and other prominent biblical figures.  Not that she can't still think about me and the rest of her family down here on Earth at the same time; she's always been good at not making anybody feel forgotten.

These days, though, I'm less convinced that she is my one and only Guardian Angel.

I think I just snatched the wings off one of the mosquitoes.

"Most people don't know that there are angels whose only job is to make sure
you don't get too comfortable and fall asleep and miss your life." - Brian Andreas

I have never been into current events.  Whenever we had to "do current events" for a social studies class in high school my tactic was usually to dig the past week's newspapers out of the recycling bin and skim headlines for buzzwords and topics I could stretch to fit the given parameters.  I completely missed the start of the Great Recession in 2008, and only found out about it because Tom Williamson brought it up in Anthro Theory one time.  Actually, most of the current events I knew about in college were news stories Tom Williamson shared in my various Anthropology courses.  I've spent years mumbling excuses for not watching or reading the news in any of the various available mediums: online, on TV, or in print media.  And yes, I'm a little defensive about it.

These days, though, I'm pretty up-to-speed.  I listen to NPR in the mornings because I miss having Granpa in the house and it makes it easier to pretend that he just left the radio running while he went to fix my car or something, filling the time before his porridge cools down enough to eat.  I am obsessed with blogs--even other people's blogs, believe it or not, and some of those people write about what's going on in the world.  Current events come up in the office, as everybody has their niche for hot topics: we've got our tech, sports, international atrocities, commercial development, and pop culture people.  Not to mention all the stories that show up in my social media news feeds or get featured on HuffPost's Twitter feed.  And yes, those trending stories and viral content.  If you read Mashable or anything like that you already know that traditional news outlets are allegedly being crowded out by social media, and I Am The Reason Why.

If you've visited Facebook at all in the past week, or listened to NPR this morning, you also know about Invisible Children and their Kony2012 campaign.  (Watch the focal video here.  It's about a half hour long.)  For me it was fascinating to watch the progression of this topic: In the morning, according to Facebook, "12 of my friends had posted this video" with captions like, "SHARE THIS WITH AS MANY PEOPLE AS POSSIBLE!  THIS MAN MUST BE STOPPED!"

I watched it, finally, and from the point the filmographer mentioned his "African friend" I was on edge.  The way the story was presented raised all my little ethnographic red flags, the ones signaling "paternalism," "manipulated information," "colonial residue," so on and so forth.  But the story also hit me in the empathy, which simultaneously made me more skeptical and also got me thinking about alternative solutions.  Mostly I felt like the people telling me the story didn't really have a full grasp of it themselves.

At around 7 minutes, I saw a Facebook post alerting me to "another side of the story," and I'm suddenly riled up: "OK, you're seriously going to take Kony's side on this?!"  But it was actually just questioning the premise of the film.  And suddenly the whole issue gets veiled in greys.

And by the afternoon, people were revoking their posts, posting counterarguments, some very vehement.  By the next morning, the authors of those counterarguments were backing off in response to aggressive backlash against their articles.  And by the third day, the middle-of-the-road, pros-and-cons, positive/negative takes were spreading around the social networks.

My condensed reading list on Kony:

• This one really speaks to my concerns about paternalism, "progress," charity and advocacy:  "Bad development work is based on the idea that poor people have nothing.  Something is better than nothing, right?"  Uhh... well...
• A pretty well-balanced article from a blog I tend to ideologically align with, more or less: A Partial Defense of Invisible Children's Kony2012 Campaign

Invisible Children's Kony2012 video is still in the top 10 trending videos on YouTube, but the sensational reaction has toned down somewhat.  The initial explosion of gut reactions, the desired result of the video, has died down and dialogue is rising from the ashes.  Some of it still gets heated, but it's talk.  It's a little more level.  And while the conversation is far from over, other things leak in to shock us anew for another day or two.

And the thing that is intensely disturbing to me now is the gathering tide of what I'll call dishonorable incidents in Afghanistan.  My friend Alex put it very poignantly on Facebook today:

Can anyone doubt that the "good fight" has ended? That the lines of victim and perpetrator have blurred beyond recognition? That we have at stake something far more important than "justice" "democracy" or "strategic concerns"--that in this fight we are losing our very humanity? In short, can anyone now doubt that the war is lost?

Like I said, I don't normally get into politics, and those of you who know me know this.  We don't really talk about politics or macro-level news items.  But there are some things going on in the world lately that fall into the realm of "political discussion" that I can't, in good conscience, ignore.  I find myself saddened and discouraged by the political weight that falls haphazardly all over what seem to me, simply and irrevocably, human issues.

The angels who keep us from getting too comfortable seem to be doing their job all too well, but I don't believe that I am the only one with a guardian angel.  There is no way I'm the only one shadowed by someone, or something, who cares what happens to me.  Someone who wants my endings to be happy.  Someone who wants my middles and beginnings to be happy.  Someone who wants me to survive another day, another night, another adventure.

Isn't that what a guardian angel does?

But we live in the world, and the world is full of unhappy and unfortunate and painful things.  Guardian angels have a tough job.  Maybe some are more attentive than others; maybe some just had an easier setup from the get-go.

I think my guardian angel gives me, more than protection: encouragement.  My angel--angels--keep me from losing my momentum.  They keep me believing in myself, and believing in good things, and believing in happy endings.  They remind me to enjoy those happy moments instead of dwelling on the Unhappy-Moments-That-Could-Be.  They remind me that not all is lost just because everyone has known since Day 1 that Ben was going to choose Courtney.  They remind me to mourn loss of humanity over political loss.  I'm not at a point right now where I can take action, but I mourn still.

My angels love me in spite of my flaws.  In fact, they love that I am imperfect, and they love the imperfections in our relationships.  They love that I cry at dumb stuff, and at not-dumb stuff.  Angels mourn with us, and angels ache to help us and I don't think they always can.  But they are with us always and sometimes, that is enough.

check-in

Maybe things just get hard at this point in the winter.  The cold gets old.  Maybe I've been here for just the right amount of time to get bored, or comfortable--I can never tell the difference.  Maybe it's hormones.  Maybe I'm in a rut.  Maybe I'm not sleeping enough, or eating right, or exercising properly.  Maybe I'm just stressed out.

Whatever it is, I've been feeling weird lately, a little bit delicate, volatile.  Always tired.  On edge.  And, alternatively, flatline, like things I should be really happy about just show as a little blip on the radar, and I don't get sad about things very often.  I haven't been reacting, really, until suddenly in the past few days, which is maybe why I noticed it.

This is just what I feel like doing right now.

No.  To be honest, I noticed it a few weeks ago, right before I had a lunch-break-phone-date with a friend who, like me, monitors for signs of depression.  She said she needed to talk and said she's been worried about the fatigue, weird cravings, lack of motivation, and failure to be impressed or riled up by anything.  All the things that tend to send us both into a red-flag frenzy.  What we have both learned to do is broadcast, and we have learned where to broadcast, to judge whether these red flags are reasonable responses to the current situation, or whether we are overreacting to the point of not connecting with our mainstays.  Most of the time, we both go through dips at around the same time, so we are easy reference points for each other.  And a few weeks ago, we both dipped.  Must be the winter, we thought.  We need some sun, a change of pace, some vitamin D.

I think my mom might have noticed it, too, because she checks in with me in a different way when I am being distant.  It's really cute, how she seems to approach me delicately, as if I am a hungry predator and she is about to throw me a bone.  The bone, in this case, is usually a kiss on the head or a shoulder pat, and an "Are you OK?"  Her voice gets softer, too, and less matter-of-fact.  She is great at being a mom.

I think she noticed also because she said something the other night that has been sticking with me like the honey  water on my E-brake.  (Don't ask...)  I think I was talking to my parents about intellectual exercise, in the context of colleges, or something like that.  About how choosing a certain college both reflects and shapes who you are as a person.  And about how refreshing it is, once you've left that, to go back to it and have the opportunity to talk the talk again.

So my mom says, "Well your learning curve, with your job and everything, is really steep right now."

WHOA.  I somehow managed to think that this learning curve had plateaued, that I am totally in the groove right now.  PLEASE.  Remember how long it took me to get into the groove at St. Olaf?  In Amsterdam?  Granted, the curve gets a little smoother the more curves I climb, but it's still steep, and I'm still climbing.

And thinking that a curve has plateaued when it really hasn't is the key ingredient in the recipe for feeling inadequate, exhausted, depressed, anxious, stressed, whatever.  Feeling like you should be in control when really, you would be a little superhuman if you had it all figured out by now, is the first step into the pit of disaster.

Yes, OK, I'm being a little dramatic here.  But this is my check-in.  This is where I officially hold myself accountable.  I got some sun today, and I hereby vow not to start expecting unrealistic things from myself, like having everything on lockdown.  The transition isn't over.  I'm letting you off the hook, self.  And I'm letting YOU off the hook too, readers.  Give yourself a little break for a second.  Or a minute, or a day.  Whatever.  But REALLY, take a break.  Don't just fake it.  I am the QUEEN of giving myself fake breaks.

Here's what pulls me up: After my post the other day where I was cranky and commiserating, I just got FLOODED with comments, private messages, text messages, emails, phone calls, telepathic sympathy cards, whatever.  I am stunned once again at the capacity of human beings to love and care for each other, our capacity to give time and energy and empathy to another person in need.  I don't care WHY we do this, whether we are selfishly motivated or whatever, because the point is that it HELPS.  It helps us to connect with other people.  When we commiserate, the mutual sharing of pain and sorrow often helps to soothe us; and when we share our struggles with someone who is not quite struggling as much as we are, they often reach out a hand to pull us out of the well.  And even if we ignore it at first, we know that it's there.

This is something that amazes me about people, about human society, and about community.  Continually amazes me.  That we have the ability to care.

taking time

When I was growing up, my parents used to not let me go out on Sunday afternoons because they said we needed to set aside time to "just be."

"Be what?" I used to ask, or more likely whine.  "Be-ing is boooring!"

Since moving back home I've brought this up with both of my parents, laughing as I reminded them how frustrated I used to get about it.  My dad said he remembered me giving almost as much input into the "Formula for a Balanced Life," like asking my 'rents to tell me I couldn't go out if I was feeling too swamped or just didn't feel like doing something with my friends.  And my mom and I came to the conclusion that one of the most irritating parts of this institution was that we never distinguished between "family-time" and "me-time."

To this day I struggle to separate "me-time" from "doing-things-I-want-to-do" time.  I'm sure I'm not the only one who spends a lot of my life doing things I have to do, ticking things off my to-do list, things that need to get done.  Whether I want to do them or not.  So when I have a spare moment to recalibrate, do I spend it checking in with myself or doing something solely because I want to do it?  Tough choices.  And usually the things I want to do involve spending time with people I love, including people I live with, people I go out with, people I visit occasionally, and people I can really only communicate with by phone.

The dilemma I constantly face these days is this: I don't have time to love everybody I love in life.  (This dilemma also means I have been known to eat 2-3 dinners in a single evening, sometimes several times throughout a week.  And then I have to find time for an extra-long workout to keep my girlish figure.)

Since I don't have a solution to that problem, here are a few examples of me finding myself stuffed threefold.

So.  Friday.  J's college roommate came up from D.C. to celebrate his birthday, first with a very late dinner at Sushi Sumo.  Most of the sushi was delicious, except the uni (better known in English as sea urchin).  It just had this slimy consistency of too-chewed gum.  Like when it gets to the point of dissolving in your mouth.  Anyway, I'll try anything once.

...But don't quote me on that.

My favorite thing we got was the Dynamite Roll, which came served atop a flashing blue faux ice cube in a kinky-stemmed martini glass.  I forget what was in it, but it was wrapped in soy paper and it was delish.  I also got to try sake for the first time, warm, at the sushi bar where one of the chefs whipped us up a free special sample while we waited for the rest of the party.  Turns out I like sake quite a lot, though it did kick my simmering desire to go to La Ronda for canelazo into second or third gear.  Worth it, definitely.

Calle La Ronda at night (2009)

(Also, hilariously, the adorable hostess asked to see my ID but not Jason's.  He got a kick out of this because he is always complaining that he only gets ID'd when he goes out with me.  As for me, I have mostly resigned myself to being ID'd until I am 55 years old and finally look more than 17.  Optimistic?  Welcome to my life.)

After dinner we hit up Moodswing, quite possibly the only dance club in the state of Delaware, and located approximately 4 minutes from my house.  Convenient.  I felt very underdressed all night--except at iHop in the wee hours of the morning--but especially when the bouncer told me they normally don't let people wear weatherproof boots inside the club.  I still feel a little sheepish about this, but in my defense I really didn't think there was a single nightclub in Wilmington.  But they let me in "just this once," and I pretty much danced the night away.  The photographer from Spark magazine said it was usually packed, but maybe the rain kept everybody in their weatherproof boots and out of the club, because I could probably have singlehandedly counted the people there on Friday.

I slept through Zumba on Saturday morning but, according to tradition, Asha and I hit up the Y anyway.  She definitely holds me accountable.  We're good for each other.

She had made this elaborate plan for all of us to have people over on Saturday night to play Cranium, since Thom had just got home and really needs to meet some people in this state.  Unfortunately none of my friends could make it, but it's always fun chilling with my sibs anyway.  We got a huge box full of Chinese food and read our fortunes "in bed" style, staged rousing Moulin Rouge singalongs and played the penis game.  Seriously, we are just the coolest people ever.

After the game we watched Mulan and I fell asleep about half an hour into it.  Fail.

And then I slept through church on Sunday (I'm sensing a trend here) and in gratitude for everyone who didn't wake me up for church I decided to clean the whole kitchen.  Plus, staying home on Sunday morning usually has good repercussions of the Sunny V Sunday variety, namely delicious french toast, smoothies, good tunes blasting, etc.

The Original Sunny V Sunday <3 

I also watched Legends of the Fall on Sunday, and while I admit it was a pretty excellent specimen of film, I will also admit that I cried throughout most of the second half.  Maybe because I am a certified sap, but maybe because it hit all the right heartstrings, or wrenched them, maybe, in the family/starcrossed love department.  I have been needing a good cry, though, so it's all good.

About 4 minutes after the movie was over J came to pick me up and was a little taken aback that the movie he left for me to see over a month ago left me choking on tears...  But no hard feelings.  We wanted to check out the Newport Restaurant but it was closed so we took a loop around the Newark Reservoir.  It was cold up there, and windy...  But the sunset was to die for.  J tried to take a picture but his phone died right at the key moment.  Oh well.  This is why we have mental imaging capabilities.  And also why I used to sneak my dad's oil pastels out of his desk drawer to do posters of Caribbean sunsets when I was little.

I have been weirdly nostalgic for Quito lately--note the canelazo cravings, and the reservoir reminded me of the reservoir behind my Aunt Lori's house, where Natalia and I used to go running sometimes.  In a flash of brilliance, J remembered this Peruvian restaurant called The Chicken House, which reminded me (of course) of this Peruvian grill a few blocks from the hotel in Quito...  Instead of sending me over the edge into a deluge of homesick tears, though, this place just made me the most happy girl in history.  I ordered the chuleta a lo pobre, basically a pile of porkchop-topped comfort food like rice, fried egg, french fries, and maduros (sweet bananas).  Oh, and a maracuyá pisco sour, and flan for dessert.  Mmmmmmmmm...

I got home after this feast to find the house dark and a single place setting on the dining room table.  SO SAD!  I had meant to leave time to hang with the fam after spending the afternoon with J, but in line with my social dilemma that did not happen.  (And are we really surprised?)  So I tiptoed up to my parents' room to see if they were still awake, because I like to chat with them.  They're cool people.

Long story short, I ended up squashed in my parents' bed with all three of my siblings and both of my parents--a really adorable family puzzle which fit together a lot better when more of us were under four feet tall and 100 pounds.  OK, when any of us were so pint-sized.

But, this is why my family is the bomb-dot-com.  Seriously.  It is always some raucous good times with us.

So what is the difference between me-time and love-time?  I pretty much consider blogging me-time, but I'm doing it in Maria's room under the guise of "helping her with physics."  (This is our code for "sitting together while each doing our own thing"--an activity I love more than almost anything in the world.  Is "sitting together while each doing our own thing" me-time?  Or love-time?  ...Or both?)

Here it is, I really think so: me-time is Sunday morning, and love-time is Sunday afternoon.  Family time is Sunday night all crammed into a queen-sized bed, or any time a few of us spend around the dining room table.  And all of it is important.  And home is where -time happens, where my heart is the clock.

my life be like

Whirlwind as usual.  There are some interesting progressions going on these days, as my lifestyle continues to be shaped and to shape itself like wet sand, or something like that, something that has a mind of its own.

Let me follow up on my promises from last time.


Wanderlust was hilarious.  One, because I love Paul Rudd, and his awkward super-deadpan.  Also because the wild hippie parties remind me of certain parts of my life, or of a mishmash of different parts of my life.  Like a combination of our family Christmases in the Canadian wilderness when I was little and my sophomore year of college, which involved a lot of pink lights and guitars and spinning and people suddenly becoming vegetarian.  (The vegan thing didn't really pick up steam 'til junior year.)  I also can't knock the whole "enjoy your life, roll with the punches, and don't take the people you love for granted" overtones.

My friend Carly (the first person my age I met in Delaware) regularly uses the hashtag #iworkinanoffice, which I love for the same reason I love meeting Kristy after our 9-5 jobs to do grown-up evening things like working up a sweat at the Y, checking out a new happy hour, or looking at home decor and beachwear at Burlington Coat Factory.  (Foreshadowing!)  It makes me feel capable, independent, successful, and mainstream--satisfying my thinly-veiled inner meta-hipster.

ANYWAY.  One thing that I kept forgetting to use the #iworkinanoffice hashtag on this week was our new office percolator!  We used to use one of those single-cup pod coffeemakers but recently decided to backtrack out of the space age in favor of a more economical, if retro, coffeepot, and this week it has been the hub of activity and excitement in the office.  So here I am, once again coerced into a minor coffee addiction for social reasons.  My mom tells me the proverbial water cooler plays more of a social role in the life of an organization than a hydrating role.  Ours has a stimulant infusion, sometimes pushing OD-levels of caffeine sludge, and I'm told this is bringing me more officially into the World of PR.

All of the numerous "you-know-you're-in-PR-when" lists feature some version of the "caffeine-alcohol-repeat" mantra (it's #20 on this list), so in the spirit of fully experiencing my career path I also experienced my first-ever happy hour this week.  The only reason I planned to go out on Monday (usually my designated Night In) was because it was Jess' birthday and she told me on Friday she wasn't doing anything to celebrate.  Naturally I couldn't let this happen so I invited her and Kristy out to happy hour at Shellhammer's, where J. goes a lot with the guys he works with.  As it turns out, Jess had a date with her boyfriend, but Kristy and I decided it couldn't hurt to go anyway and check out the venue.

Note that the specials board I linked to boasts $3 Captain Morgan drinks, but they're now $4.  No big deal, really, but we went for Absolut, bartender's choice, since like good girls we usually go for the fruity stuff when we go out together.  This will change come summer, when I wean Kristy onto beer, but for now she is encouraging me to ask bartenders for recommendations and suggestions.  Next step is asking them what exactly they've made us, because we had to play a guessing game this time, which I won with the peach Absolut in grapefruit juice combo.  Surprisingly delicious, and light.

Definitely not light, but still delicious, are Tuesday night nachos.  Klondike Kate's on Main Street has half-price nachos every Tuesday, so every other week the That's-What-She-Saiders get together there, thanks to Craig, O Great Organizer.  The in-between weeks are yoga nights.  I'll bet you can guess which kind of Tuesday makes me feel less like I need to go to detox.  I might have to go for a salad next time, even though the BBQ-Ranch pile of chips and whatnot is delicious.  Plus, even the small takes care of my lunch the next day.

I eat out all the time these days.  It's getting out of hand.  After eating leftover nachos for lunch on Wednesday, I dropped Maria off at band practice and met up with J. at the co-op, which featured half-price organic chocolate bars through the month of February--and Wednesday was the last day in Februrary.  As if by divine intervention.

Unfortunately they had run out of the kind I wanted so instead we got all-vegan sandwiches from the cooler for supper.  Only because there weren't any non-vegan options.  Jason got a falafel wrap which I think he quite enjoyed, and I got an avocado "chickn" wrap.  The quotes were included on the label, fyi.  There was no chicken in the wrap.

I know I'm supposed to be a hippie, and I will pretty much inhale several giant vegan chocolate chip cookies, but I straight-up distrust things that claim to be something other than they are.  At least the wrap was up-front about lying about its identity, but still.  Why couldn't it just say, right out, "avocado soy product wrap?"  By all means.

After reluctantly enjoying our well-balanced, earth-friendly sandwiches (OK, OK, after I reluctantly enjoyed mine; J. wasn't that reluctant about it) we headed out to Maryland to State Line Liquors, which is the most giant and heavenly place I have ever been.  It's kind of like my beloved Firehouse in Northfield, but bigger and with a warehouse-level selection of wines and beers.  Plus it's family-owned, which is cool, and everybody there knows their shit.  I found my fave, Old Dominion Oak Barrel Stout, and found that it has the COOLEST caps: they look like Harry's Patronus.  They will make some baller earrings.  Jason also helped me pick out a few good options for Kristy's beer-weaning.  More to come on that.

Also, it's weird how close we are to Maryland.  And Philly, and Jersey.  Small state.

Takeaway messages from this week:

• It's good to have good girlfriends.
• Also good to have traditions, like Zumba & Applebee's Thursday nights, 1/2 price nacho Tuesdays, and watching ABC on Monday nights with the fam.
• I do pretty much everything for social reasons: I drink coffee when it suits me socially.  I like drinking certain drinks because they remind me of someone.  I think of the Sunny V Summer every time I get BBQ-Ranch nachos because Ann and I ate ranch dressing on EVERYTHING.  It's easier to work out with a buddy.  Easier, and more pleasant, to do almost everything with somebody else.
• BUT I really need to remind myself that I desperately need to take time for myself.  DO THIS CLARA.  GO.

Pumped now to go out tonight, and when I get back my brother will be home for the week!  Look for more fun to come.