Overheard on a Sunday

Overheard in front of the Museum of Natural History . . .

Father: What do you want to see most in the museum.

Daughter (4 years old): I don't know [pause] . . . everything.

Father: We're probably going to have to wait in a line for a while.

Daughter: In a lion?

Father: [Laughs.] No, in a line.

The Greatest City in the World

I live in the most amazing city in the world. People from around the world travel to New York like it's Mecca. Fashion, culture, food, people - it's all here. Name a country, you can find someone from there. (It might be your cab driver, but, hey, he's living the dream.) Actors, actresses, singers, artists of all kinds - they come to make it big, to become a star. Broadway, films, galleries: they're on almost every corner. (Well, Broadway is on Broadway, but let's not get too specific.) Museums and sports, glam and rock, Wall Street and Harlem.

It's New York. Who can ask for anything more? Well, I jcan: where are the grits?

You can take the girl out of the South, but you can't take the South out of the girl.

3000

It's execution time at work this week. We're interviewing over 3000 people across the country. That's right, 3000. The crazy thing is there are 3 more interview periods this academic year and there will be even more people interviewed at each one.

Tweedling My Thumbs

It's Saturday afternoon, and I'm stuck at the office. I've been here since 9:00 this morning. I'm not complaining about working on a Saturday. It might seem like I'm complaining, but it's a differnt kind of complaint. The problem is not that I am at work on a Saturday. The problem is that I'm at work on a Saturday with nothing to do but wait and I have enough time to blog.

It's a beautiful day. Fall is here. The air is crisp, and I'm sitting in the office. Staring at a computer screen. I'm ready to be gone for the day.

What to Wear?

I don't know what to wear. I realize this is a problem most women think they have. They open their closets, pick through the thousands of dollars hanging inside, and debate what to put on. I admit I've done this. I still do this; however, my problem is more real now. Fall is upon us, winter is approaching, and I live some place where I can't wear flip flops year round for the first time in my life. I don't know what to do!

Ok, so I never lived in a place wear I could literally wear flip flops all year, but it was pretty close. SC - flip flops, NO - flip flops, MS - flip flops. NY - no flip flops. I need to buy some boots, and I think I have the pair picked out. We'll see.

As for clothes, I know I need to layer. I just don't want to look like a blob when I'm outside because of all the layers I wear. I suppose I'll have to pick the lesser of two evils, warmth or blob, depending on the situation. My biggest problem, other than footwear, is jackets and coats. I have the body type of thousands of other people in the world. Unfortunately, the fashion world hasn't caught on. Specifically - coats and jackets never fit me in the armpits. It might seem like an insignificant problem, but, trust me, it's horrendous in the winter. In order for something to fit in the armpits, not to mention over a sweater, I have to find something at least two sizes too big which then swallows the rest of me.

I will not let the cold temperatures beat me this winter, but I am a little worried. Don't get me wrong--It will be cold soon and I will freeze, but I will persevere (mostly by staying inside). Who knows? Maybe I'll love the cold weather. My guess is, however, that will not happen until hell freezes over.

Tourist Living in the City

Last weekend I moved into my first apartment outside of the South. To be more precise, I moved into an apartment in Astoria (Queens). I've lived in New York for a month now, and I'm not a single step closer to becoming a New Yorker. Don't worry, that's not my goal; I'm just very much a tourist who happens to live and work in New York. I hear you asking how that's possible. Trust me--it is. Let me elaborate . . .

On Tuesday morning I took got off the train and headed to work. My stop is 34th street. If you've been to New York, you know that there are usually multiple exits at each subway stop. The smaller ones might only have one, but often there's at least two. Signs point out whichever intersection you're exiting to and even which corner (e.g. Lexington Ave and 59th St. NW corner). Bigger subway stations have a multitude of options with exits on different streets and such. This particular Tuesday morning, I simply went out the nearest exit instead of walking underground to an exit closer to my office. As I got to the top of the stairs I noticed Macy's. "Nice," I thought, "I know where I am. There's Macy's, and I'm on 34th street." A light bulb went off in my head. "Wait a second, that's the Macy's on 34th street. Oh my God, Miracle on 34th Street." Yeah, I'm a nerd.

Thursday I left my karate class (oh yeah, I started taking a mixed martial arts class - I'm a white belt) and headed to the train to go home. I passed two Broadway shows and Times Square on my way to the train. It's so weird for that to be normal.

The hardest part of living in this city is passing beggars on the street. I don't like it. I want to help, but I don't know how. I know I'm supposed to donate to charities and not give cash to people, but it still sucks. It helps knowing that I work for an organization that's goal is to reduce educational inequity. It still doesn't make it easier passing people on the street though.

Other than that, life is good. I had lunch at Tiffany's today instead of breakfast. I'm learning the subways, sort of. (I will never understand the buses.) I have a very cute apartment (on par with my State Street one). I'm a fan of this place so far.

Dirt

I don't know how I blocked this from memory, but New York is dirty. More precisely, it makes me dirty. Literally. My hands are always dirty. I wash them obsessively. My nose is dirty too, and I'm not talking the outside. (I know that's gross but whatever. It's the truth.) Apparently, the feeling goes away and my body will adjust. In the meantime, I need to invest in some hand sanitizer.

The Update of Updates

On Thursday, July 31st, I picked up my 14 foot U-haul and packed all my stuff inside. Technically, Erich picked up the U-haul because I refused to drive a massive truck that would be towing my car and because Erich never gets to drive and so doesn't let me when he has access to a vehicle. I also want it on the record that I reserved a 10 foot U-haul which still would have been too big for all my stuff so 14 foot one was almost comical. Anyway, on August 1st I left Oxford, Mississippi never to live there again. Not never to visit necessarily, but I'm pretty sure I won't live there again. We drove all the way to my parents house in Columbia, a mere 518 miles, on Friday. The truck and the trailer with my car added two hours to our trip and hundreds of dollars more in gas, but whatcha gonna do? My parents had dinner ready for us when we got there - a feast of grilled salmon, asparagus, and orzo salad. It was delicious. Plus there were fresh peaches for dessert. My dad also shared the news that he accepted the position of priest-in-charge at our home church, so not only is he now employed, but also my parents don't have to move. Yay!

Day 2 - August 2 - Erich and I took our time leaving Columbia. I hung out with my parents as Kate slept on the couch. I said goodbye to my car as I left it in the care of my parents either to be sold or used by them. We headed off for the next leg of our journey in the early afternoon after my parents made sure we knew which gas station to go to for the cheapest gas. Like a good daughter, I indulged my parents and made sure to go to the cheapest gas station which was close, but not easily accessible (especially in a U-haul). We made a couple of minor stops - one for lunch at Groucho's (yum), one in Greensboro, NC to visit Erich's friend Julie, and then we headed on with our sights on New York (is that the right word or is it site or is it a different word entirely?). After an internal debate about whether to stop and spend the night in D.C. we saw the lights of NYC at 4am. It was then that my decision to move hit me. What the hell am I doing, I thought as I saw Manhattan from the BQE (that's the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway for those of you not in the know). At 5 am, we fell into bed after 737 miles on the road.

Day 3 - August 3 - You thought Day 2 ended it didn't you? Well, in typical Sarah and Erich fashion we incorporated the most retarded plans into my move. Instead of unloading my stuff into a storage facility in New York, we continued on to New Haven, Ct (home of Yale and Erich's mom who was gracious enough to let me store my stuff there until I find an apartment). We unloaded, spent the night in New Haven (or East Haven). It was an easy day - only 77 miles in the car.

Day 4 - August 4 - (Told you we make crazy plans.) What else could we possibly fit into a move to NYC? Why, a trip to Maine of course. We headed out in our rental car now that neither of us has a car and drove. And drove. And drove. And stopped in Freeport, Maine at the L.L.Bean store which is massive and advertises tons of free parking, but there's not nearly enough for all the people that go just for L.L.Bean. I got an xl canvas bag with my initials on it because I'm a nerd like that, Erich got some toys for his bike, and then we got back in the car. And drove. And drove. And drove until we got to Bar Harbor - 414 miles. Ugh.

Maine is beautiful, and everything I wanted it to be. We went on a whale watch, a lobster and seal watch, and to Acadia National Forest. By the way, you don't watch lobsters - everyone asks - we watched them pull up traps and then saw the lobsters. Did you know every resident of Maine is entitled to 5 lobster traps for their personal use? After 5 relaxing days, we headed back to New York. Last Monday, I started my job as the Operations Logistics Associate. The easiest way to explain my job is to say that I reserve all the sites for the TFA interviews across the country. That's 4 times a year x ~3 days each time x hundreds of cities.

I'm settling into life in New York which is to say that I'm not settled at all. I don't have an apartment and finding one is pretty much a pain in the ass. Fortunately, I amazing friends who let me stay with them. (Thank you, thank you, thank you.) It's a huge change, I'm out of my comfort zone a bit, and I'm not sure what the future holds, but I'm excited. It's an adventure.

Putting Southern Studies to Good Use

Today I was offered a job. Hell yeah! I did it all on my own too. Uh, huh. More details to come as I learn them.

Oh yeah, it's in New York. I'm putting my southern studies degree to good use.

Catch 22

If I get the job, I don't go on vacation. I drive to Columbia, drop off my car, see my family for a brief amount of time, and move to the big city.

If I don't get the job, I go to Maine for a week. I drive from a state on the bottom of the country to the one on the top, see some friends along the way, and fake move to the big city.

I want the job. I want to go to Maine.

Catch 22.

The Cheesiest Post I've Written

My life consists of work right now with a few outside activities. This is not a bad thing. In fact, I'm enjoying it quite a lot. I do my jobs, and for the most part, I do them well. I am happy and content, which is saying a lot considering I don't think if you asked most people they would say the same. I do question things in my life and wonder where I am going at times, but at the moment I am not worried. A couple of weeks ago, I was. Waking up night after night at three and four in the morning, restless and fearing the future. It is hard for someone like myself, a person with control issues, to let go and let what will happen happen.

I know for a fact the next few months will bring uncertainty, upheaval, and change into my life. I will move to someplace new - I haven't yet decided where. My parents will move to a new place - they haven't yet found out where. In effect, I will be homeless for a while, and that is terrifying, but I know that I am strong enough to handle it. I have the resources and people in my life that will anchor and support me. They will not, however, pave the path for me, but they will encourage and push me in the direction of my choosing. I just hope that I will be strong enough to decide which path is the best for me at the moment, because life is simply a series of moments. (This post is getting cheesier and cheesier.)

A couple of weeks ago someone told me that I need to grow up. I don't think that's entirely true. I don't think that a person can ever truly grow up, because if he does then he stops learning. The best thing is to continue to grow so that you continue to learn. I hope that I continue to grow into the best person I can be.

And now for some updates from the weekend.

• Taught a group of kids and their parents to make a tornado in a jar.
• Saw "Much Ado about Nothing" at the Oxford Shakespeare Festival.
• Went to dinner with a group of friends.

Like I said, I'm pretty content at the moment.

Excitement from the Weekend

Weekend Activity List

1. Worked - not exciting, but lucrative
2. Roasted a pig - well, I didn't roast it, but I did host it.
3. Wedding reception - not mine. The bride wore a below the knee dress with sandals and the groom wore a pinstripe suit with tennis shoes. The wedding was at Faulkner's house and the reception followed at Barnard Observatory. (I didn't go to the wedding, but I wish I'd seen it.)
4. Girls Night - Sex and the City movie followed by dinner at Yocona. All, surprisingly, paid for my boss.
   

In case you're wondering

So in case you're wondering, I did it. I completed my master's degree. I am a graduate of graduate school. What they don't tell you about graduate school is that it's easier than undergrad. Seriously. Don't get me wrong, I wrote tons and read even more, but it still seemed easier than undergrad. I wish I felt smarter than I did before grad school. Oh well.

So now I'm done, and I'm searching for a "real" job. It's not fun. The economy has gone to shit. Jobs keep disappearing. I kept reading about it happening and then it hit home. Literally. My mom lost her job. Try accepting money from your parents that they want to give you for your birthday and graduation when all you want to do is take care of them instead--it sucks. All I do right now is work. Day in, day out. My internship turned into a job for the summer, so that's nice. Not that it's a lot of money, but still, money is money. I'm still working at the restaurant too. I had probably my worst shift ever on Friday night. It wasn't bad financially; it just wasn't my night. I was not on top of my game, and I hate feeling that way. Not to mention the fact that I'm not one of those people that can hide their emotions well. In fact, I wear them completely on my face. Friday night, my face said, "I hate you people, and I hope you all die." Apparently it came across, because one customer took it upon himself to go the restaurant the next morning before we opened and complain to the owner about me. And I know the manager from the night before left her note about my performance as well. I don't know what it said, but I know it couldn't be good. Like I said, it was a bad night. Not to mention the fact that I'd already worked at the restaurant earlier in the day. Whatever - it was just one night - I have to keep telling myself that.

So yeah, I'm a little tired and overwhelmed right now. I work at the museum from about 9 until noon pretty much Monday through Friday. I do some job searching/applying/eating lunch/running errands from noon until about 4. Oh yeah, then I go to the restaurant from about 4:30 until 10 or 11. Then I pass out. There's some variation in the schedule, but it's pretty much six days a week of work. Doesn't it sound glamorous? I have Sunday and Monday off - two whole days in a row. I'm retardedly excited.

I didn't expect this post to be quite so whiny. In fact, there was other stuff to write about. I guess it'll just have to wait.

I'm Rich!

Woohoo for being a student and therefore being poor thus getting all my taxes refunded to me. Woohoo for getting $600 in Bush's economic stimulus plan - I'm not sure how the government just gives everyone $600 but whatever. Maybe they should cut federal spending on, oh I don't know, the war in Iraq, but this is not that blog.

So, let's see with my refund and stimulus money I can now pay my car payment for the next 4.5 months, or pay my rent for the next 3 months, or save it to repay part of my student loans in the next 6 months.

Then again, I could just go on vacation and pretend I'm made of money like my friend who's rich. His name even says he is.

Birthday Blog

I turned 25 on Monday - woohoo? Val made me these for my birthday. They're cupcakes in ice cream cones. Pretty cool, huh? I thought it was a pretty novel idea. All in all it was a lackluster birthday. I jogged, I ran errands, I worked. Some friends came to the restaurant while I worked. Truthfully, I wasn't very excited about this birthday. I mean, I guess 25 is a "big" one. Maybe that's why I'm not excited - who knows. I need to buy myself a present. I'm sure that'll help. I think I want this or this. Or a job.

Ellen Gilchrist, MLK, and Victoria's Secret

This past weekend, the Center for the Study of Southern Culture helped host the Oxford Conference for the Book. I must admit that I did not participate in the conference, neither as a presenter nor a participant. I did, however, volunteer with registration and monitoring a panel discussion one afternoon. Someone bribed me to take one of the authors, Ellen Gilchrist, to the airport in Memphis today. Now I know the name Ellen Gilchrist, but for the life of me I have no idea why. Last night after I got home from work, I googled her but to no avail. I still know her name, but I don't recognize any of her work. Oh well. In googling her I discovered that Ms. Gilchrist writes both novels and short stories, and she was born in Mississippi in 1935. Let me just tell you, I'm not a literature person. I also do not interact with people over the age of 40 on a regular basis except when working and then it's only to serve them gyros. I was a little worried about the drive to Memphis. Afterall, it's an hour away and I didn't know what we would talk about. Fortunately that was not a problem. Ms. Gilchrist traveled in my car without a hitch. She was easy to talk to and quite a character. (Anal sex came up in conversation, and I was not the one who brought it up.)

The adventures didn't end with Ms. Gilchrist. I accidentally happened upon the Civil Rights Museum during commemoration festivities for the 40th anniversary of MLK's assassination. I should have stopped, but I didn't. I did however go to Victoria's Secret where the sales associate gave me the number to her personal bra specialist because alas my boobs are enormous. Not as large as the sales associate's mind you, but still too large for the average bra store. Oh yeah, one more random tidbit for the day - I was promoted at work. I'm now the newest manager at a restaurant in the middle of nowhere. Woohoo.

Jogging

I don't like to run, or so I thought until last spring. Right around a year ago I started going to Lake Patsy. The nice thing about going there is that the path is marked off in quarter mile increments so I could figure out distances. I started by walking a quarter mile and jogging a quarter mile, and when I say jog I mean pick up my feet differently than when I walk, not faster than when I walk. There were definitely people who could walk faster than I could jog, but I was out there huffing and puffing. It is really is harder to jog than it is to walk even if you go the same speed. I'm not entirely sure why. Anyways, I worked my way up to jogging a mile and then two miles. Let me tell you, for someone who never ran except when chased before, jogging a mile was a milestone (yeah, I just said that). Jogging two miles was even more amazing. Soon, I started to miss the days when I didn't jog. Summer came and I moved to New Orleans for a couple of months. I still worked out and did cardio, but I didn't do much jogging. I went on the treadmill every once in a while, but I kind of fell out of the habit. When I got back to Oxford I virtually stopped. I claimed I could run a mile, but I don't know if I actually could.

Flash forward to March 2008, I rediscovered running. Jogging, whatever. It's something I really enjoy. My biggest mistake comes when I start my jog too quickly. I get tired and want to stop almost immediately. I then remember to slow down and move into my stride. Jogging I've discovered is a competition with myself. I'm sure runners know this, but I never said I was runner. Anyways, I see how far I can push myself. Jog to that next stop sign. Until the end of this song. After I reach my goal, I walk for a song or so and start again to see how far I can go. It really is therapeutic.

A Slip and a Fall

It iced in Oxford Friday night. When I was at work, a bunch of firemen came in around six to get some food and told us all the bridges iced over already. I told everyone I saw to be careful. After work I drove apprehensively to Nelson's, over a bridge, for his birthday cake and ice cream festivities. I never had any problems driving. (I did leave after only a short time before the temperature dropped even more in case there was more ice on the bridge.) I made it out to meet McCann even though I was tired from work and it was already late when I left Nelson's. Everything was fine until I walked outside of McCann's house. Splat! I fell forward on her concrete steps and caught myself not on my hands mind you, but on my shins. It hurt. It still hurts. My big toe is swollen because somehow I jammed it, and I have huge bruises on both shins and one of my knees.

I talked to (Dr.) Kate last night and she said icing my shins would help, but wrapping an ace bandage around ice packs on my legs would be even better.

I don't have an ice maker. So, as I write this, I have a bag of frozen edamame wrapped around each leg. I am so cool.

Have You Been There?

"Who are you," I ask him. He gives me a puzzled look.

"I'm Lee," he replies, telling me his name again.

"Yeah, thanks. I got that part, but that doesn't tell me anything."

"Well," he starts, "I'm a huge Democrat."

"That's not a bad thing," I interrupt.

"And I'm finishing my last year in law school after spending the last two years in Iraq with the Army."

There are thousands of young men and women fighting a war in Iraq right now. It's rare, at least for me, to put a face with the label "soldier." Looking at Lee I never would have guessed that he spent 18 months in Iraq. Later in the night he asks, "Have you ever seen Batman or James Bond? That's what I did." I'm not entirely sure if he was serious or not, but I did hear about some of his experiences. As the result of close exposure to a few bombs, Lee suffers from migraines. He's also scared to shower with the shower curtain closed all the way because he was trained to always be on alert even though living in the middle of nowhere Mississippi doesn't exactly scream crime and terror. (At least not this year in this town in the middle of nowhere.)

Lee does not think that Americans should be fighting in Iraq. I agree with him, but his reasoning resonates more. "I hate all the conservatives who say we should be over there," he says. "My response to them is 'Have you been there? No, then shut up.'"

In Other News

In Other News . . .

I deactivated my facebook account because I realized I care too much about the lives of people I don't care about and do it all via facebook. No one tells you this, but when you deactivate your account they ask you why you're deactivating. After picking a reason out of a list, facebook suggests alternatives to deactivating the account such as limiting your "friends" or unsubscribing from e-mails. You even have to opt out of receiving e-mails about events people may still invite you to or photos they tag of you. It's a vicious ploy to keep you, but I persevered.

Let's see other news of the day, hmm. Powerpoint crashed every time I tried to look up some clip art. Grrrr.

What else, what else. I hate that I make time for people who don't make time for me. It drives me up the wall.

I'm supposed to read 100 pages in Playing the Race Card, but that's gonna have to happen tomorrow.

I found a new blog that I find entertaining. It's one guys adventures, or lack thereof, waiting tables in Manhattan. You should check it out, especially if you 're in the hospitality industry. (Waiter Rant)

The Plan Ends Here

During the last week, I started to worry. Worry about school (only a little). Worry about jobs (more so than school). Worry about where I will be in six months (a lot). In case you don't know already, I worry about the future, the unknown. Next week starts my last semester of school. At this point in my life, it's the last, last semester that I planned. As of right now, there's now PhD in my future. I'm not ruling it out, but it's not part of my plan at the moment. In fact, my plan since high school effectively ends in May of this year.

Graduate High School - Check
Graduate College - Check
Go to Grad School within two years of graduating college - Check
Graduate from Grad School - Check

There's never been a plan for after grad school. Sure part of it is get a job. Duh. But where will I go, what will I do? Ok, so part of this is somewhat thought out. I want to be a Museum Educator and work in a U.S. history museum, preferably one with an emphasis on the South. Does that exist, you ask. Good question. The only place I know of is the New South Museum in Charlotte. I could move to Charlotte, but I'm not really sure I want to. In fact, I'm not sure where I want to go. A wise man once told me that you can either pick the place you want to live or you can pick your job, but you can't usually pick both. (Ok, that wise man is my dad, but he's still wise and it's still good advice.) I used to think Charleston was the place for me. It's old and historic, southern, on the water, beautiful, etc. However, after talking to an old friend over Christmas, he pointed out that I've lived in South Carolina. Maybe I should try something else. Now, I'm thinking I just might want to try someplace else.

But where, what? Older people keep telling me this should be the most exciting time of my life, and you know what, I can see that. I understand that outlook. But at the same time, it's terrifying. Starting new in a brand new place is scary. I definitely need a brand new place too. Living in Oxford is an experience, but I'm glad it's almost over. The pros just don't outweigh the cons. They might for some people but not for me. (I swear I don't hate Oxford. I just don't like it very much.)

The next 5 months will be treacherous, full of stomach turning stress, but I will make it out the other side. I always do. Maybe not without restless nights and frantic phone calls to friends and family, but I'll make it.

So anyone that wants to give me a job, feel free to contact me. If it's in a fun city, even better. I have no shame in asking. You'll never know if you don't ask.

How to be a Good Syrian Daughter (Part 1)

Roll Grape Leaves

Step 1 - Mix ground lamb (raw) with rice (uncooked) and spices.
Step 2 - Rinse and gently unpack grape leaves.
Step 3 - Lay out a single leaf on kitchen table.
Step 4 - Take a small amount of lamb and rice mixture-about 1/2 tsp-and push it out to a long thin piece (think playdough snake).


Step 5 - Place lamb and rice at base of leaf.
Step 6 - Roll leaf once from bottom.
Step 7 - Fold in sides of leaves.
Step 8 - Continue rolling leaf tightly. (End product should be the size of a woman's pinky or ring finger.)
Step 9 - Repeat steps 3-8 until all leaves are rolled. Pack rolled grape leaves in a pressure cooker.
Step 10 - Cook for approximately 7 minutes with water and lemon juice.
Step 11 - Eat most wonderful food on earth.

Christmas Traditions

Can I just say . . .

Brunswick Stew on Christmas Eve - mmmmmmmm.
Ham and pecan pie on Christmas - mmmmmmm.
Pork tenderloin on Boxing Day - mmmmmmm. (Ok, Boxing Day is really tomorrow, but I'm anticipating the goodness.)

I'm glad there are twelve days of Christmas, because we get to keep on celebrating.

I didn't get a partridge in a pear tree today, but maybe tomorrow I'll get two turtledoves.

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.

Done for the Semester!

Done for the semester - woohoo!

Headed home on December 20. Christmas in Columbia. I fear no Boxing Day for the second year in a row. Jacksonville post-Christmas, pre-New Years for Situ's 80th birthday/family portrait extravaganza where we will all look fat in khakis and white shirts. New Years in ???? Hopefully hanging out with friends somewhere on January 5.

Those are the plans. I'll keep you updated.

It's Christmas time in Oxford

It's Christmas time in Oxford. Actually, it's been Christmas time for some time now. The city decorated the main street in town (Lamar) before Thanksgiving and a full week before Thanksgiving at that.

It's Christmas time in Oxford, not any other holiday. No Hannukah (there's not even a synagogue in town). No Kwanzaa, season's greetings, or happy holidays. It's Christmas. After working for Tulane where there were little to no decorations during the holiday season, it's weird to be in a place Christmas celebrations are so obvious and blatant. Don't get me wrong, I like Christmas decorations. They're pretty and they make me think it's more wintery than the 70 degree weather suggests. I just wonder what the Christmas decorations do to the people who don't celebrate the holiday. What do the people in Oxford who aren't Christian (what there are people who aren't Christians in Oxford? amazing, I know) or (gasp) are atheist think of the Christmas tree found on every other corner?

What does the prevalence of Christianity in the South mean to a town like Oxford? It means that come hell or high water there will be Christmas decorations on the square and the University of Mississippi will unapologetically decorate for the holiday without a second thought. Really, I'm not against the decorations. I just wish that a place so concerned with its image of exclusion might want to rethink its practice of blatantly doing so.

Dixie Continued

Wasn't I surprised when I got a copy of the Daily Mississippian and found an article about my blog. Well maybe, it's more about Dixie but whatever.

Dixie

Can I tell you how nice it is to go to a college football game where there a) is a mascot and b) its allowed on the field? I don't care what school it is, if there's a mascot, it's great.

On Saturday, I went to the Carolina-Clemson Game in Columbia with my mom. We had a mini picnic at Kate's apartment which is about as far away from the stadium as the width of the stadium.

Let me stop right here and discuss something: Williams-Brice Stadium is a little odd in comparison to other SEC stadiums. I don't mean the shape or capacity or anything like that. I mean its location. As far as I know, all other SEC football stadiums are on campus. Williams-Brice is not, which leads to unique tailgating. Every school brags about its tailgating and traditions; I am not doing that here. The placement of Williams-Brice caused numerous open areas to transform into massive parking lots, and not just any parking lots, but premiere parking lots. A sign across the street proclaims "Condos available. Gameday parking beginning at $20,000." $20,000 for a parking space!!! That a concrete rectangle is for sale for a minimum of $20,000 baffles me, and those aren't even the most expensive ones. There are fenced in parking lots with a pavilion or stage where bands play before the game. The crazy thing is (besides the fact that people pay 7 figures for a parking spot) that the owner also has to pay a property tax on the concrete rectangle. I do understand that at other SEC schools people pay high sums to park on campus next to the stadium as well, but here is the difference: on a college campus there is only so much space designated to parking and only so much space a school is willing to give up for parking. Because the stadium isn't on USC's campus, there's no limit to how many parking lots and game condos can be built. They just keep moving further and further out. Anways, I just needed to declare my bafflement with the idea. (I must admit that the Cockabooses are pretty awesome though.)

Ok, now that I got that out of my head . . . As my mom and I left Kate's apartment, we noticed a plane with banner flying around the stadium. It took me about a minute to figure out what was on the banner: a Confederate flag and the words "LET THE BAND PLAY DIXIE." My mom and I stopped in our tracks. Let me get one thing clear--I go to a school where the band plays Dixie in the stadium (technically is From Dixie with Love which combines Dixie with the Battle Hymn of the Republic). I understand the importance of tradition, which is why I tolerate it when I go to games at Ole Miss; I know the University of Georgia plays it, and I'm sure other schools as well. However, I don't think that a school that has no tradition of playing the song really ought to play it especially in connection with the Confederate flag as the person who sponsored the banner thought it should be. Let's face it, Dixie (the song) and the Confederate flag brig up connotations of the Civil War. And what does the Civil War bring up? That's right, slavery. You can argue all you want about states rights and what have you, but it boils down to slaves as property and southern whites wanting to take their "property" wherever they wanted. Anyways, in my humble and unasked opinion it is in poor taste for the University of South Carolina band to play Dixie in the stadium. There's no precedent - why start now and tarnish the school's image?

Two things, completely unrelated, just real quick.

1) I've realized over the last few years that I hate large crowds of people. Inside, outside, wherever: I am not a fan. I've been on Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras twice in my life. The second time, I cried. Standing on a balcony yelling at the people below was fine, but when I actually had to go down to the street it wasn't nearly as exciting. Not that I thought it would be. Pushing my way through screaming fans to be at the front row of a concert is not my idea of fun, and there is no way in hell you will find me at Times Square on New Year's Eve ever. EVER. I don't have social anxiety. In fact, I love going out. I just despise being crammed with belligerent people somewhere. Ok, enough on that subject.

2) I am a proponent of talking things out with someone no matter what the circumstances. Things might not go according to your plan, or the outcome might not be what you expect, but it's always the best course of action. It's also the adult thing to do. Uncomfortable situations do not just become comfortable without discussion. Granted, I do not always follow my own advice, but I try. I also suggest it to others - the sooner the better. Is there ever a good time to tell a loved something that will hurt? Of course not, but the sooner he or she knows the sooner he or she can make steps to move forward. Then again, maybe it's something good. Do you really want to wait until it's too late to tell someone you love them? Doubtful. Does it hurt when the reaction you receive isn't what you wanted? Sure, but you'll get over it sooner or later and at least you'll know. Whatever it is. You'll know.

Geaux Gamecocks?

So blah, blah, blah lots has happened since I left New Orleans at the end of the summer, but this is not a recap. Wedding (not mine), move (mine), new job, classes - yada, yada, yada - if you want to know more call me, now onto the topic at hand.

The 2007 football season began last weekend for college and Thursday night for NFL. Be forewarned, I am not a football fanatic. I do not know NFL or college trivia. I cannot tell you who won the championship game five years ago or even who won all the games in a single week. I do, however, follow two particular teams: the South Carolina Gamecocks and the New Orleans Saints. In the grand scheme of things these two particular teams are awfully difficult to support, but alas, I do.

Growing up in Columbia, I was inundated with everything Carolina - just not by my family mind you. I was in high school when the the gamecocks were 0-11. That's right, zero wins. I really cared little about what went on, but then I moved away. Not only that, but then they actually won a few games. Anyways, I am now a Carolina fan. Don't hate me; it's not like I jumped on the other USC's bandwagon. I still do not know trivia about the team, but I do my best to follow them from week to week. It helps that my sister is a student athletic trainer, diligently working day in and day out with the team. (I get to the hear the random little stories about which player did that and who said what - you know, the funny stuff.) From what I am told, this season looks to be an exciting one for the Gamecocks. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. We're 2-0 at the moment, and today's win is pretty exciting. I must admit that I was really looking forward to today's game. I worked all day until 5 and so missed any chance of groving (that's Ole Miss speak for tailgating). I wasn't really in the mood for a massive crowd anyway, so I went to a bar to watch the game since I don't have tv (I know it's sad, but that's another story). I searched my phone for people who might be watching the game somewhere, but no such luck. Instead, I watched the game with the bartenders and the five other people that happened to be at City Grocery at the time. Amazingly, I was content at the bar with only myself and football. I'm not sure if today's adventure proves that I'm a Gamecock fan or that I have a drinking problem, but I'm hoping it's the former. Besides, I only had four beers and walked away with a $9 tab so that's not bad. Oh, did I mention I made friends with the newest bartender there? Thanks, Peyton. Back to football. So congratulations Carolina - you boys made me watch through my fingers for the last five minutes of the game, but I'm glad you won. I was hoping this year was the year of the Rooster in the Chinese calendar, but no such luck. Y'all are going to have to pull off a winning season without Chinese astrology. I have faith.

Speaking of faith . . . oh, those New Orleans Saints. They really do drag their fans through the mud. Again, I'm not a lifelong Saints fan. I don't know who played on the 1982 team, but I do know that Drew Brees is hot. Just kidding (sort of). Last season was amazing. Really, it was. This season has started off not so hot. In fact, it was pretty brutal. I suppose losing to the previous season's Superbowl champs is ok, but it could have been at least more of a fight. It was still fun to go and watch it. I watched the Saints game at a bar too, but at least I was with other people for that one. In two weeks I'll be in the Superdome, cheering the Saints on to victory. I'm excited, and I have faith. That'll be fantastic football frenzy weekend - Ole Miss/Florida game here in Oxford then down to New Orleans for the Saints/Titans game. I'm super excited. Good games, good people, good times.

Here's to hoping USC will keep the momentum they have and keep moving in the right direction and the Saints will find their stride again this season. Do I see a Sugar Bowl and Superbowl win for these teams? Eh, let's not get too ahead of ourselves.

A bit of perspective

Riding back from Tennessee in a charter bus, I noticed something outside my window. Help. It was on the roof of an apartment building next to I-10 in New Orleans East. Help. Tears fell.

Some of you already know this, but sometimes I fear that I talk about Katrina too much. For a while I was afraid I would end up like a war veteran who does nothing but talk about his experience while everyone else calmly placates him. Maybe I still will some day, but for now I'm ok with it, because I figured out why. Everyone in New Orleans has a storm story. Everyone still deals with it daily. "We just got our Road Home money," a friend excitedly told me the other day at work. In New Orleans, it is impossible not to talk about Katrina daily. We even have different names for it - Hurricane Katrina, the Hurricane, the Storm, Katrina. It's also a reference in time, pre- and post-Katrina. "Dammit, why is Blockbuster closed? It's only 10 o'clock." It's because of the Storm.

There's still a lot of damage in this city that I haven't even seen. The only time I tried to go to the 9th Ward I made Erich go with me. I'm not sure we ever got there, but honestly it's probably better that way. I don't think I could handle it. Adam and Becca wanted to see the 9th Ward a couple of weekends ago, and I wanted to show them, but I couldn't. I still don't want to see. I showed them Lakeview instead. At least there's progress in Lakeview.

I know now that I don't talk about it any more than any other person living in the city. It's just that when I leave go to wherever, no one else talks about it. I am the lone voice. But I hope that my experience helps others understand and gives them a bit of perspective.

You Gotta Have Faith

You Gotta Have Faith" - at least that's what New Orleans Saints fans say. The problem is, I'm not sure I have any, and I'm not talking about faith in the Saints. I would venture to say most people question their faith and belief in God at some point in their lives. Even if it's to ultimately decide that they don't believe in God. And you know what? That's fine. You have to find what works for you. I have a different sort of connundrum.

I am what some call a cradle Episcopalian, baptized at the ripe old age of "not even able to walk yet." Growing up, I went to church every Sunday with my family, attended Sunday school, sang in the choir, acolyted, joined youth group, and even did the Wednesday night church service thing, not to mention went to an Episcopal school with chapel once a week. Looking back, I was very involved with church, however, I never had a strong faith in God. In fact, I'm not sure I even believed the words I learned and said at the services. I simply went through the motions. My guess is that a lot of people go through the motions at church, but here's the difference - My dad's going to be a priest.

During my freshman year of college, my dad told me he was thing about it. I knew he was unhappy at work, but I thought a change in career would be software sales to business consulting or even teaching. Becoming a priest was not in my realm of thought. Before Thanksgiving my senior year in college, my dad left his job where he made more money than I will ever make. (I'm not dissing my abilities, I'm just not going into a money maiking field - I'm southern studies, remember?) When I started working, my dad started school. In May 2007, he graduated with a Master of Divinity from General Theological Seminary in New York. A week later, he was ordained a deacon (think priest intern). After he works at a church for six months to a year, he will be ordained a priest.

That's all fine and dandy for my dad, and I really am happy and excited for him, but it leaves me in a weird spot. All of a sudden, more eyes are on me. During the ordination, my dad was charged with being an "example" and making his family an "example" too. I realize that being an adult changes things for me than if I was younger, but it's still different now. And uh, hate to break to to everyone but I'm not a very good example. I'm not even very sure of the status of my faith and beliefs. I believe there is a GOd, but I'm not sure of much beyond that. I know what I'm supposed to believe but that just makes things harder. Basically, I'm just very confused, and I don't know.

Discombobulated Thoughts

Be forewarned: there's a religion blog coming soon. Don't worry. It's not this one, but it's coming. My thoughts just aren't in order yet.

After flying around for a few weeks, I finally landed in New Orleans where I will be working for the next two months. The internship I wanted for the summer fell through (bleh). I suppose it's not the end of the world, but I'm definitely going with my gut when it comes to ominous feelings at least for the next little bit. I'm three for three in 2007 - maybe even four.

Anyways, I suppose not having an internship works better financially because now I will be working five days a week instead of four. (Yay for money!) I'm back at Reily for the summer (I know, I know - don't say it). Notice I said Reily, not Ripples. Even though I was explicitly told I would only do camp while I am here, and even though my coworkers were told I would only do camp while I am here, I think we all knew that wouldn't be the case. (Like I said, I just need to follow my instincts.) It took 2 1/2 days, which is more than I though it would, before my first Reily, i.e. non-camp, assignment came across my desk. Whatever. I knew it would happen. It only took ten minutes anyway. The assignment itself, however, was the interesting part. Well, insightful part.

So it's hurricane season - duh. My boss wanted me to incorporate part of our departmental Hurricane Plan into the Student Affairs spreadsheet - you don't care about this part, I know. Just bear with me for a second. The departmental plan outlines who is supposed to a) check-in students boarding buses for evacuation, b) prepare Reily for the impending storm - put stuff inside, take down windscreens, etc., and c) return first after the storm passes to get everything back to normal. Most full time staff members are either B or C with some doing A and B. Guess whose name is on the top of the list. Yup, that's right. Mine! What the Hell?! I'm just supposed to do camp this summer. My hurricane plan was to run like the wind, not check in students and prep Reily (yeah, I got A and B). I'm not working full time anymore either. Sure, I'm working a full time work week, but I'm still a part time employee. Bleh.

In other news of Thursday (it was a long day - I was there 12 hours) . . . I saw an old friend that will be working Ripples again this summer. When I say old friend with regard to this person, I mean old as in used to be but no longer my friend. Long story short, we were good friends, very good friends a few years ago. There was a disagreement, and then I was not talked to again. Not even looked at. Completely ignored for 2 1/2 months. Finally we talked, but we never recovered. My senior year in college I asked, "Will you still be my friend when I'm poor and working at Reily?" The original answer of yes eventually defaulted to no. It doesn't hurt anymore, but it did. Now we only talk when we see each other during camp about camp. It's sad. FYI - the easiest way to hurt me is to not talk to me. I don't mean fall out of touch, because that happens. I mean not talk.

Anyways, I'm staying with Ardyn this summer, so that will be fun. A few friends are coming to town later in June - one who used to live here and others who I get to tour around. I'm excited. I'm forming a list of where I should take them. Suggestions are welcome.

Good job if you stuck around to the end. I just need to get some discombobulated thoughts out of my head.

One down, one to go

A little over a week ago I finished my first year of grad school - yay, go me! It's really not all that impressive, but it means I've continued with my life plan. By the way, my life plan ends in May of 2008. I don't mean my life will end in May 2008, just what's planned out thus far. May 2008 will be a smack in the face of reality for the most part. We'll see how that goes. Anyways, back to me (hehehe, it is my blog after all) and my first year of grad school.

Well, I survived living in the middle of nowhere. When I finally got adjusted, it was time to leave again. I'm working in New Orleans for the summer. I've already received tons of flack for going back, so please don't comment on it. Just know it's definitely a good thing. I need to get away for a bit, and for the summer, New Orleans is away. Yeah, I'll be underappreciated and underpaid, but at least I'll be somewhere instead of an hour from somewhere being underappreciated and underpaid. Don't worry, I'll be back in the middle of nowhere soon enough and up to the same antics. I just really need a Target (mall, Whole Foods, etc) within 10 minutes for a couple months. Ooh, and bars that don't close at midnight and gas stations that sell cold beer and liquor. (I promise I'm not an alcoholic.)

Back to grad school again. (I don't have to worry about papers right now, so I'm writing without focus.) I ended the year with a solid 3.5. The first semester was a little rocky after being out of the game for two years. During the second semester, I had the worst professor in my entire academic career. Seriously. I learned a lot. I talked a lot. I listened a lot. I grew a lot. I'd like to say I changed a lot, but I don't think I did. I have become more self-aware though which I think is the beginning of change. I definitely need to change a few things about myself. I'm working on them, but it's not easy and I am not a patient person - Maybe that's something I should work on ;-)

I don't think I've really written anything here today. Whatever. My dad graduated from General Theological Seminary on Wednesday and will be ordained a deacon in Columbia next Saturday. More on that later - there's all kinds of discussions there.

And then . . .

And then to add to the excitement of the week . . .

Storm season began early.

Andrea

Experiences i n the Middle of Nowhere

Over the past several months, I have tried to embrace my surroundings. Sometimes I am not successful and succumb to the boredom of life in a small town. I am still transitioning to life in small town Mississippi but having found a great group of friends has definitely helped. Anyways, back to embracing my surroundings . . .I have been trying to find things in and around the middle of nowhere that I have never had the opportunity to experience. A few months ago I attended the Miss Ole Miss Pageant. (Technically, it's called Miss University, but I like Miss Ole Miss better.) Never having been to a pageant, it was definitely an experience. The place was packed, and Miss Mississippi who had just finished in the top 5 at Miss America was there to help crown Miss Ole Miss. It was definitely an experience I had not had the pleasure of knowing prior to living in the middle of nowhere.This past weekend was another one of those experiences. I traveled with some friends to the Mississippi Delta. For those who don't know much about the Delta, let me give you an idea: flat farmland, extremely rural, generally poor, and historically racially segregated (think Emmet Till for all you who know your civil rights history). Pretty much, when the average person thinks Mississippi, they probably are thinking of the Delta. It is beautiful and sad place all at the same time.

This trip to the Delta did have a specific purpose and destination in mind: Belzoni - the catfish capitol of the world and self proclaimed "Heart of the Delta." You're probably asking yourself why a group of grad students would travel to the Delta, and you'd be partially be right if you guessed it was to see where all the history we'd been reading about actually took place. However, this particular weekend it was also to enjoy the Catfish Festival. It was definitely a good time. We got to eat some catfish, see the crowning of Miss Catfish 2007 (Miss Catfish 2006 was prettier though), and get our picture taken with Captain Catfish. Unlike the Ponchatoula Strawberry Festival which is one of my all time favorite festivals, there was not any catfish (or strawberry) beer or jam, but I did get boiled peanuts. Delicious. After we'd gotten our fill of the Catfish Festival, our trek continued on into the Delta.

From Belzoni, Cleveland was the next stop: home to Delta State University and the Fighting Okra. I really wanted a Fighting Okra t-shirt, but alas the bookstore was closed. While I could find an Ole Miss t-shirt at the local sporting good store, I could not find a Fighting Okra shirt there nor at Wal-Mart. Damn.Next stop on the whirlwind tour of the Delta: Clarksdale. Although the Juke Joint Festival was going on, we decided to save that for next year and just get some of President Clinton's favorite tamales. Little known fact - the Delta is known for it's tamales. I know I never knew that before moving to Mississippi. There's even a Tamale Trail. Crazy, I know.

And so ended my Mississippi Delta day, but not the adventures for the weekend. The Student Programming Board sponsored a step contest, wing-eating contest, and a performance by Nappy Roots on Sunday night. Does anyone else see the irony in all that? While I didn't stay for the wing-eating contest or the concert, the stepping was pretty fun to watch. It was probably the whitest step show ever considering it had Ole Miss sororities doing choreographed booty dances, but the fraternities and sororities that actually knew what they were doing were awesome.

And thus ended my weekend. Did I mention it was my birthday? Pretty good birthday weekend, dontcha think? Check out picasa for pictures.

Extreme Square Dancing

Summer 2005 - I went to family reunion for the Bishop side of the family a beautiful resort in New York (not the city) called Mohonk. Apparently one of my mom's uncle's has some money and he footed the bill for about 50 people - rooms, food, you name it. The place is absolutely beautiful and reminds me of one of those resorts they have in movies like Dirty Dancing (don't mock my choice of comparisons, please). There's a lake, hiking, horseback riding, etc. There was not a television nor a clock in any of the rooms, so it was definitely a remote few days, but well worth it.

Different nights resulted in different entertainment. One night there was a card tournament, one night a showing of "Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Events," and one night square dancing. I hadn't had the "pleasure" of square dancing since 9th grade on a school trip to Eagle's Nest. Every trip from 5th grade through 9th grade included square dancing. Camp Greenville, the Barrier Island trip, Earthshine, Camp Chosatonga, and Brassville - all of them included a night of square dancing. I suppose I appreciated square dancing more this particular time, but it still wasn't high on my priority list of things to do. That being said, my dad insisted I square dance. I was the partner my dad swung and do-si-doed. I must admit it was fun, until we had to sashay . . .

The caller told us to form two lines: men on one side, women on the other. As I stood across from my dad, the first couple sashayed down the aisle. Down and up and around to the end. Next couple. Couple after couple sashay, finally my dad and I reach the front of the line. We sashay down aisle no problem. We begin our dance back up when my dad screams in agony. He starts yelling that someone kicked him in the back of the leg and hobbling on one foot. The dancing stops. People gather around. The doctor is called. Kate, not a doctor but close enough as far as my family is concerned, quietly assesses the situation. My dad has not, in fact, been kicked in the leg. He has torn his Achilles tendon. Needless to say, that ends the night. My dad is in extreme pain and nothing can be done. We are further in the middle of nowhere than I am in Mississippi. There's also two days left of our vacation. After being asked multiple times what has happened to his foot, my dad decides that the best response is extreme square dancing and explains that I threw him down the aisle. The day after my parents get back to Columbia, my dad has surgery.

Fast forward to March 2007 - I go to my cousin Jinny's wedding. My family is there. After my parents danced to a few songs (they can really cut a rug) my dad grabs me to dance. It's our first dance since the night of extreme square dancing. We dance, we twirl, and we sashay just for fun. My dad and I laugh at our little scene; my mom is not as amused. She shakes her finger at us to make us stop.

This is one of a lifetime of memories that I hold dear.

5 seconds before I threw him down the aisle.

Lent

Yesterday was Mardi Gras - woohoo! (It's the first time I haven't been to a Mardi Gras parade in seven years, but that's another blog.) For those heathens out there that read my blog on occasion, let me give you a little insight. Mardi Gras, a.k.a. Shrove Tuesday, is an important day in the Christian church. To make a long story short, it's the day that all Christians are supposed to get the fat out of their houses, hence Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday). The reason we get all the fat out of our homes and party it up like fools during Carnival and parades is because the day after Mardi Gras is Ash Wednesday. Without getting too churchy, just know that Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent (the 40 days and nights before Easter EXCLUDING Sundays). Yada, yada yada. Ok so, during Lent it is common practice to give something up that is a part of your regular life or to take something on that's not usually part of your regular life. While there is some dispute, I am of the group who say that you can give up your Lenten discipline on Sundays - it saves me.

In past years, I've given up meat. One year it was diet coke, which was extremely difficult as I am addicted to diet coke - thank God for Sundays. When I was younger, my parents attempted to make me and my sister give up television - that did not work, because they didn't want to give it up either. Anyways, now we're onto 2007. So for Lent this year, this kid is giving up alcohol. That's right, alcohol. No liquor, beer, malt beverages, or what-have-you, until Easter (except for Sundays and since I'm living with Blue laws again that'll be difficult to find).

So support this kid, i.e. me, on her endeavor. I'll need it.

Peanut Butter

Grrr . . . I had to throw out my peanut butter because mine was one of the jars recalled. Not that I eat lots of peanut butter, but now I really really want to. Kind of like when I couldn't eat spinach because of e. coli.

Man, I really want a peanut butter and honey sandwich. Mmm, peanut butter and banana too.

I'm switching to Jiff just to be safe.

Cell Phone Etiquette

Some of you may not remember this, but in the not so distant past there was no such thing as a cellular telephone. Amazing, I know, but true. Less than twenty years ago, cell phones as we know them today did not even exist. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, phones permanently installed in cars began cropping up. These new fangled gadgets, however, were few and far between and mostly used by the rich business class. As the technology advanced, car phones were replaced by cell phones and the price dropped dramatically. Today, it is hard to find someone without a cell phone. It is not "cool" to have a cell phone. One's cell phone status is now seen in the phone he or she owns and features employed, not simply the owning and using a cell phone. But I digress.

With the privilege of using a cell phone (note I did call it a privilege) comes the required use of cell phone etiquette. Most of it is common sense, but that does not mean that the majority of people actually follow it. Here are a few rules that you should learn to live by.

1. Cell phones are not clunky pieces of equipment anymore. Most are highly sophisticated miniature computers. That being said, you don't need to yell in them to have a conversation. You don't even need to talk loudly unless standing by a heard of elephants. I am sure your partner doesn't want me to know the intimate details of your sex life nor do you want me to know the test results from your latest doctor's visit, so please don't advertise them to me. I will judge you and tell all of your friends and mine.

2. While with a group of people, be they friends or foes, it is inappropriate to hold a conversation with another person via talking or texting. For example, when out to dinner with friends, do not text other friends. It shows that a) I waisted my time trying to be social with you, b) you obviously do not want to spend time with me, and c) you are rude. If you there is an emergency and you must answer your phone, please excuse yourself and return promptly or leave. If you do have a conversation with another while with me, I will call you out on it.

3. At public performances, cell phones are not to be used. Public performances include but are not limited to movies, concerts, theatrical performances, and even beauty pageants. Turn it off or to silent and leave it. If you stay away from someone for two or three hours, do not come and ruin my experience. It is inexcusable for one to answer a phone during a performance - do not do it or I will beat you. Texting even when your phone is silent is not allowed either. Most performances occur with the audience sitting in the dark. You will blind me as well as distract me if you open your phone to look at a text or send one. Even if you are an owl who can see in the dark and your cell phone doesn't light up some how, I will still hear the clicking of you punching buttons. If you sit near me, I will politely tell you to stop. If you do not stop, I will tell the usher or management. Do not ruin my experience, even if that experience is watching pageant girls with big hair strut across a stage.

4. Cell phone use is not allowed in the classroom. If I am running the class, I will take it away from you and give you a 0 for the day. If I am sitting next to you I will glare at you and loudly ask you to stop so that the instructor will hear. This also includes yoga and pilates classes where you are supposed to be calm. If your phone does ring, attend to it immediately.

5. Do not text while driving, and please limit your talking while driving. On a relatively recent episode of Mythbusters, they discovered that talking on a cell phone while driving is equivalent to driving while drunk. If you don't watch Mythbusters, you should.

6. Be wary of obnoxious ringtones. I am probably guilty of this with my ring, but I still am aware that I should answer it quickly and do not keep the ringer on in inappropriate situations except by accident (like when my sister called during orientation and the specific ring for her was "Girls Just Want to Have Fun").

I am sure there are millions of other tips, suggestions, and rules, but since I do not have the time nor the desire to discuss all things in my blog the aforementioned tips will suffice. Really, they're just common sense and manners like removing one's hat when in a building. Please be sure to follow them when around me or prepare for my wrath.

Underwhat?

Underwear - we all wear it. Well, most of us do. Even the lack of it is a choice. There's all different kinds - men's, women's, granny panties, tighty whities, thongs, and boxers. In 1992, a teenager even asked then presidential hopeful Bill Clinton if he preferred boxers or briefs. (He said he usually wears briefs.) A few years ago, Michael Jordan made boxer briefs a household item after his Hanes ad campaign. Britney Spears' lack of underwear made headlines a few months ago and her bare, er, bottom, spread across the internet.

While there are many, many choices of undergarment out there these days, many people are still guilty of walking around with a visible panty line. According to wikipedia, the first pop culture reference to the visible panty line (VPL) was in Woody Allen's film "Annie Hall." (And apparently the problem is very prominent in Asia.) People, that movie was made 30 years ago. It's time to get with the program and address the problem. You've got options.

While mostly a problem for women, it does affect some men too. To these men I say, go buy yourself a pair of boxers or boxer briefs.

For women, I suggest one of the following tactics:

First, opt to go sans underwear. Granted, if you're still guilty of walking around with a panty line, you're probably not going to opt to stop wearing underwear all together. I'm not saying it's the best solution, after all you might get caught like Britney, but it is the cheapest.

Second, those that find themselves guilty of sharing their panty line with the rest of us can also opt for boy shorts. There's more coverage, some guys think they're cute, and you're less likely to have a rigid line under paints or a skirt.

Finally, the thong. You know that article of clothing that Sisqo sang about back in the day. (I'm not advocating showing, by the way.) Thongs are the oldest form of underwear - just ask the primitive peoples of yore. They're the fastest selling form of women's underwear in the United States. Some people complain that they're uncomfortable - get over yourself. You must be trying on the most god awful underwear if you think that. Sure if it's the wrong size you're gonna be picking material out of your butt all day, but if you're old enough to know what a thong is you should be old enough to pick out the right size. There are even companies such as Hanky Panky that claim to have the most comfortable thongs ever made and have the celebrity clientèle to back them up.

So the next time you see a friend that looks as if she (or he) is going to cut off her butt circulation because of her underwear, let her know there is a solution. Throw out the bad underwear!

I turn to Chris Rose

Because I can't write it as eloquently or as well as he can, I turn to Chris Rose to give a sense of how I've been feeling lately. All of his columns can be found here on nola.com. When you have some free time, I really suggest reading some of the columns he wrote in the days and months immediately following Hurricane Katrina. You can still read them at nola.com, but they've even been compiled in a book called 1 Dead in Attic. Just make sure you have some tissues handy. By the way, I read this article on Friday and saw We are Marshall Saturday afternoon before the I watched the Saints game. That may or may not have something to do with why I cried all throughout the movie, and defiitely has some reason behind my excitement leading up to the game Saturday night. Anyways, I give you Chris Rose and really do urge you to go read his columns. And someone please buy me 1 Dead in Attic because I don't know if I can bring myself to actually buy it.

"Rage and Sympath in the city of Brotherly Love" (01/12/2007 about the Saints v. Eagles playoff game)

That said, the Katrina factor is definitely a part of the vibe of discussion in the buildup to the contest. In a story that stretched across the top of the front page of The Philadelphia Inquirer on Wednesday, sports columnist Phil Sheridan wrote:

"The happy, sappy tale of feisty Jeff Garcia leading the Eagles to the playoffs can't compete with the epic, back-from-catastrophe story of the New Orleans Saints. . . . The happy, sappy tale of the feisty Saints giving their devastated city something to believe in is irresistible for the national media. This is worth saying because the Eagles, through no fault of their own, find themselves in the role of villain in this fairy tale." . . .

I don't know who's got the better team. I don't even know who's got the better fans or better city; all in all (if you don't count the sports-talk callers) Philly was pretty nice, especially if you like cheese steaks, and I do.

But I do know that our storyline is better; there's never been a sports story quite like it.

And I pray to God there never is one again, anywhere.

Sleeping

Yesterday I wrote an entire blog about my parents and then myspace ate it! Grrrr . . . . Seeing as how there is no way I will be able to remember it or write it as well as yesterday, I'm throwing out that topic and moving on to this one: sleeping.

I'm not talking about just any kind of sleeping. For this blog, I mean a guy and a girl. Hanky panky does not apply to this topic - just sleeping. Ok, now that I've made that clear, here's my issue, my question, my conundrum - whatever you want to call it . . .

Do all guys take a class on how to sleep with a girl? Really, it's a question. Well, maybe not the taking a class part, but how is it that all guys sleep in the same position when there's a girl asleep next to them. If you think I'm crazy, I'll explain.

Somehow guys have the ability to lay on their backs with one arm stretched out basically to hold a girl's head (whether it be in the nook of his shoulder or further out, I don't really care). I learned from a friend that this position was designed so that girls can sleep and guys can still flip through the channels on the tv. I'm assuming it evolved from caveman needing to hold a club during the night to protect his loved ones.

Here's the thing - this position is not comfortable for us girls. A guy's arm does not compare to our favorite pillow. Not only that, but we worry that our heads are too heavy on your arm too - not in the "I'm feeling fat" way we worry, but in the "Did you know the human head weighs eight pounds" way.

Now I realize that everyone sleeps differently and that every couple sleeps differently together, but I really want to learn how all guys know how to sleep this way. While it may seem there's not much of a difference, and I know that my sleeping habits are odd compared to most, I want my arm under my head. Not only that, but I sleep with a stuffed dog every night held tight under my arm (don't judge me). Where does that leave me if there may be someone else there? Very fidgety.

Anyways - At least I have one reason as to why guys sleep that way: to still have the use of one hand for whatever he may want. Oh, and I also learned the reason guys wear hats: to check out cleavage without being noticed. Note to guys: we know we have cleavage and we know you're checking it out with or without a hat - just make eye contact every once in a while.

And then it was 2007

I haven't written a blog in a while, and I feel like it's time. Let me start by saying, I'm not entirely sure where this one is going so get ready for some rambling.

I finished my first semester of grad school in December. I wish I could say that I am older and wiser for taking two years off after I graduated from college and that I improved my study habits, but that would just be a lie. I procrastinate just as much now as I ever did. Fortunately I have not had five papers due in six days nor have I started any the night before they were due, but I did write seventy pages in one week. (I did write reading responses two hours before they were due, but those don't count.) Anyways - enough about 2006.

I went to Taylor Grocery and Graceland Too on Friday night. It was definitely an experience. Taylor Grocery is a litte hole in the wall place even further in the middle of nowhere than my current residence. Not only that, but it's in a dry county. Silly Mississippi. Don't you people know by now that having a dry county will not stop your residents from drinking. It won't even stop people from drinking in the county. Craziness. Anyways, I had catfish for the first time in my life. That might not be entirely true, but it's the first time I remember it. It was good and the company was even better. I still prefer sushi (over fried catfish, not my friends). After dinner, we headed to Holly Springs - still the middle of nowhere but closer to Memphis - to go to Graceland Too. I am one third of the way to becoming a life time member at Graceland Too. There are not words to describe Paul's (the owner) fanaticism. Let's just say he's a little crazy. He had a business proposition for Adam to make me or Becca marry his son and then get half of all his money. Yup folks, I may become a Mississippi bride afterall. The night ended at City Grocery back in the middle of nowhere followed by Chicken-on-a-Stick. I'd just like to point out that I have taken two people's Chicken-on-a-Stick virginity in the last week. That's right, both Becca and Adam have lived in the middle of nowhere for six months and neither had Chicken-on-a-Stick til last week.

Plans for 2007 - I've got two weddings planned thus far. Both brides have the same name just spelled differently. I do get to be a bridesmaid in one, and I'm just gonna tell you right now that I make one hot bridesmaid. I've seen the dress I get to wear, and I'll be irresistable. That being said, I've still started a wedding workout. I've treadmilled (yes, I did just make that word a verb) twice in the last three days. Go me. Pilates will start back up when I have money. 2007 will the year I go from hot to hottt. That's right, hottt. I've also realized that since moving to the middle of nowhere I have become very sedentary. Not only does this habit make me really bored, but it also is very unhealthy. I know it's cliche to say that I'm going to get healthy and lose weight so close to the new year, but this is more of a lifestyle change than a new year's resolution. You can give up a resolution, but you can't give up a lifestyle.

I'm also going to start reading the books I'm supposed to for class. That may seem like a given considering I'm in grad school, but procrastination often gets the best of me. The worst part is that it's procrastination doing nothing.

Hmm - enough rambling for now.

wait, what . . . a second time

For the past forever in the United States there have been whites and blacks. (I'm excluding native Americans here because they're always forgotten about in history, so really, why must they be included in my blog?) Almost as long as the past forever, there has been a mixing of the races in the country. Some relationships occurred on their own, because, well, a person is a person. Other relationships were the result of pressure and not because it was what both parties wanted. Anyways, my point with this little rant is that when people think of mixed race, it's black and white. They do this because our country has a history of doing so. (Back to those pesky Indians - nobody really cares that John Smith and Pocahontas got together.)

Fast forward to 2006. We've still got blacks and whites. We've also got some other races and ethnicities mixed in as well. Here's what I didn't know until recently: if you're Arab or of Arab descent, you're not white. Now this may come as a shock to some, so I'll pause for just a second to let people sit down . . . . . . ok, pause is done, Apparently I'm not white. Crazy, I know. Apparently, proximity to Caucasus (you know, where the word Caucasian comes from) does not matter. Even the people who live in the part of Iran that is included in the Caucasus and are therefore Caucasian are not white.

Now here's a little Sarah family history. My mom's family is about as WASPy as they come. I've got relatives who were here before the Revolutionary War. Anyways, this little white girl fell in love with my dad. My dad's side of the family is from Syria. Well, technically they immigrated to the US before Syria was even a country. (Syria was not a country until the British and French decided to divide some land in the Middle East after World War 1 making Syria, Iraq, Lebanon, and Palestine - learn your history people.) Anyways, my dad is 100% of Arab descent minus the Crusader blood that I'm sure got mixed in their at some point. So if you put my mom and dad together, you get me and my sister who would then be a mix of European mutt and Arab ethnicities. This is not news to me. I just never knew that if you're Arab, you're not white. We always joke that my mom is a white girl, but it was just a joke. Who knew it was true? Apparently, everyone except me. I feel like Dave Chappelle when he was a blind black KKK member. Anyways, for all of you white supremists out there who want to be my friend, beware. I'm a mixed race southerner and proud of it.

Peter and Isa - my heart

I interviewed a man today about the Katrina Relief Center that he ran in Oxford. He showed me some pictures of an old Walmart that was used as the base, and there were many pictures of kids. It reminded me of a story I'd forgotten of Peter and Isabella and made me cry. I hope the guy didn't notice. The story follows.

The Audubon Zoo was not open when I first returned to New Orleans. While not part of my daily life any more, there was a point when I worked at the zoo and then later when I took Peter and Isabella frequently. Now, because I couldn't, I wanted to take Peter and Isabella more than ever.

The zoo finally reopened around Thanksgiving, and I took Peter and Isa one Saturday at the beginning of December. Just past the ticket counter was a table with Americorps volunteers. On the tables were backpacks with toys, books, pens, etc. for all of the children at the zoo that day. School children from Wisconsin (or some state in that area) had collected things for the children of New Orleans. Peter and Isabella were each given a bag. When I handed Peter his bag, he said, "What's this for?"

"Some kids in Wisconsin collected toys for the children of New Orleans because of the hurricane," I replied.

"But I didn't get any damage. There were just some broken windows. Nothing happened to me," he said.

"Well, they wanted all the kids affected by Hurricane Katrina to have something," I tried to explain.

"We need to give this to the kids that lost their houses, the ones that got damage. I should give it to them."

It broke my heart to hear Peter, six years old at the time, tell me this. I finally told him that I would hold onto the bag, so he could have it later if he wanted.

In November 2005, Isabella and I were on the swings at the park. On the side of the street there were some tree limbs and other debris that had been cleared from someone's yard. "That's damage," she told me. Isabella had turned four the week before.
Isabella and Peter - my heart.

A Year Ago Today

A year ago today I went back. Less than a year later I moved away. I shouldn't, but I feel guilty, like I should still be there. I know that had it not happened I would not be there now. I would have moved away guilt free. But, alas, this is not the case.

I had quasi plans to be there this weekend too which might be part of the reason I really wish I could be back. Not that I expected the plan to come to fruition, but I still hoped. It would have been fun: the Grove with a person I have fun with, a drive to the city, me partying it up for Halloween and him indulging my fun, a football game, a drive back to the middle of nowhere. I realize now that it was my 2nd homecoming of sorts: going back one year later, seeing the progress, noticing the people.

I still remember the day I first saw a homeless person in the city again. I know that sounds terrible, but it was a sign of sorts.

Now I'm in the world of cocktail dresses with uggs. Not that I've seen any, but it wouldn't surprise me.

Attention People of Oxford

Attention People of Oxford:

If you see me standing on the side of the road, patiently waiting for you to drive by, please do not stop for me to cross the street. I understand that I have the right of way, and I do appreciate your southern manners, but stop being polite.

If I walk out in front of you, then by all means, pause, hit your breaks, and yell at me through your window. If at this point, you hit me, I'll sue you. Don't doubt that I won't do it too.

Just please don't stop for me when I'm standing there not ready to cross the street. There could be many reasons I don't want to cross yet. Fear of you actually not stopping and hitting me instead. Need to readjust clothing and don't want you to see. Want to flash someone, and it's not you. It could be anything.

So people of Oxford, or Oxonians if you prefer, don't wait for me if I'm standing on the side of the street. This girl from Cola and Nola walked the streets without people stopping to let her cross and obviously survived to tell about it. I'll cross when I'm ready. Keep driving. Mostly because, I won't stop for you.

And yes, for those not living in the middle of nowhere, people from Oxford are called Oxonians.

Social Liberal

You are a Social Liberal (73% permissive) and an... Economic Liberal (15% permissive) You are best described as a: Socialist Link: The Politics Test on OkCupid Free Online Dating Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test

A Tangled Web

So this past weekend was the second time in my life I visited New Orleans. The first time was when I went to Tulane Days - yes, I was one of those. I then lived in New Orleans for six years, a quarter of my life. This past weekend was my first time back after moving away.

I like to torture myself, to hold on too long, to play the "what if" game in my head.

Driving back in to the city calmed me. I was home. Yes, I said it, home. For people who know me well, you know that my last year in New Orleans was anything but easy. By the end of it, I was definitely ready to leave. And while it was the right decision to go, now I just wish I was back.

I am wondering this though, does the city still look like a terrible mess? I honestly can't say. I'm not talking about the flattened areas of town, but on just a normal drive through the city - does the city look normal to visitors or can you see lots of damage? (Sidenote - I hate that there are national guardsmen in hummers patrolling the city again. There's a differece between a heavily armed guard in say NY and one in NOLA. In New York they're protecting the city from terrorism. In New Orleans, they're protecting the city from itself.)

On a lighter note. . . I saw Tulane play football. They lost worse than I hoped but as bad as I expected. I saw friends that I haven't seen in months and friends that I feel like I haven't seen in months. I saw my kids whom I love. I ate gumbo, which I hadn't eaten nearly recently enough. I did not see the Saints, but I did see the Superdome with all its cool lights. (I watched the game, and it was awesome, and now I really want to see them in person.) I learned that I will die of the plague or get exposed to it and then tell someone I love them - or not.

Um, I think that's it.

A Day in the Grove

- Girls in dresses and three inch heels.

- Guys in red and blue checked pants and red polos.

- Pop up tents with chandeliers and fine china.

- The band playing "Dixie" and students cheering "the South will rise again!"

- Shouts of "Go Rebels!" in the stadium.

- Colonel Reb watching the game in the student section.

- God saying it's only ok to buy alcohol on Sunday if it's an Ole Miss football gameday.

It was lots of fun, definitely a new experience. Seriously though, I feel like I stepped into some parallel universe. Anyways - here's to having fun, meeting new people, and embracing traditions I never expected.

The Open Road

And then I went . . .

No one in front of me; no one behind me. Just the road, the open road. My mind empty for the first time in days. Windows down, wind blowing on my face, cd player blasting, and I went. Through twists, turns, curves, and straightaways. I went until I was almost lost but not quite. And then I turned around.

And then I went . . .

I found a new road and did the same thing. I went until I was almost lost but not quite. Still, my mind empty, the windows were down, the wind was blowing in my face, and the cd player was blasting. And I was almost cold but not quite. And my phone rang.

And then I went . . .

I met up with friends at a local bar. I listened to the band. I got a few drinks. I looked around wondering who all these new people were, knowing they're all the same. Even the people who think they're not the same as everyone else are the same. And I know I am too, but I need to find some character, someone to make me break away, someone who will show me who I really am. I started thinking. About everything. About nothing. About how no one understands, about how others understand, about guilt. Then it was time to go.

And I left. No one in front of me; no one behind me. Just me and the open road.

New Orleans Crime and the National Media

Ok, so I've been meaning to vent about this for a while now. I cannot stand how New Orleans is portrayed in the national media. Television, newspaper, what have you. Every time there is a murder in the city it is reported it is nationwide news.

This is the problem. New Orleans has always been a violent city. It has always been poor. There have always been murders. Do your research people - New Orleans was one of the national leaders in homicide before Hurricane Katrina. Instead of the local news showing a map with car wrecks, there is a map with murders.

While I don't condone these murders, it is something I came to accept while living in New Orleans. It's just the way it is. Homicide in New Orleans was never national newsworthy prior to Hurricane Katrina, so why is it now. Get over it people. New Orleans will remain corrupt. It will remain poor. It will remain homicide ridden. There was a slight hope that the city would change after the hurricane, but I must admit that I was slightly excited when I saw a homeless person the first time after I got back. Granted, it wasn't until December, and I got back to NOLA at Halloween. But it proved to me the city was coming back.

So - if you've never lived in New Orleans, stop freaking out about the crime in the city. If you've lived in New Orleans, you know what I'm talking about.

Missin' Nola like whoa

It's official; I'm living in Oxford. Notice I did not say Mississippi. Just like when I lived in New Orleans, I did not say I lived in Louisiana.

It's definitely weird moving to a brand new place. I still feel like I'm visiting. Very slowly I am unpacking. It's as if I don't unpack I can still leave. If I unpack, then I am here to stay. Don't get me wrong - I am excited to start school back. I am excited to meet new people. I am excited to start new things, but I am scared as well. Scared that I'm making the wrong decision. Scared that I came to the wrong place. Scared that I'm doing the wrong thing. Scared that I won't meet new people.

I know that's all impossible. I know that it was time to leave New Orleans. I know that I've only been here for three days and that obviously it will take longer to feel more comfortable. I know it all. It doesn't mean that I don't have irrational fears though.

I miss home. I miss normalcy. I miss my job where I did everything was underappreciated and underpaid. Whine, whine, whine. Ok, enough of that. I'm done whining - at least online. I do want a hug though.

Mississippi

What do Louisiana and Missippi have in common? Mississippi makes Louisiana look good. What do Arkansas and Mississippi have in common? Mississippi makes Arkansas look good. I'm moving to Mississippi!!!!!! What's up with that?!

I'm nervous. I'm second guessing things. That's about it - I'll write something about m cross country trek soon.

Wuuaa

There's something that lives outside my house now that goes wuuaaah wuuuaah wuuaah. I don't know what it is, but it's annoyingly loud and my house is annoyingly uninsulated. If only I knew what it was - then i could go outside and smack it.

Three Quick Things

When did it became fashionable to show off a beer belly? I don't understand. Beautiful girls are wearing clothes that accentuate the beer belly - it's beyond me. I'm not criticizing having a beer belly. I'm not saying your fat. I'm just wondering why you're wearing your beer belly like a necklace. Explain it too me please.

Next - I want a new crush. Not that the old one is bad, I just want a new one. Kind of like I want a new shirt. Don't really need one, it's just fun. Maybe a nice Jewish boy. Then again, I don't really care. I'll most likely want someone I can't have, which is the way it always works. I want what I can't have.

Next - I wish I could let things go. I don't usually hold grudges - well, maybe I do - but it's more stupid stuff that gets to me. When things don't go my way I get tense. Guess that's just the stubborness in me.

Next - I'm a little bit scared. Ok, a lotta bit scared about moving to the middle of nowhere. I'm hoping everyone has their teeth and babies wear shoes.

Splash

Sometimes I can't decide between writing a creative blog or just writing as if this were a journal or writing to the audience that is anyone with a myspace account.
I'm still not sure today what's going to come out.

The rain came down in buckets Saturday, drenching every crack and crevice the water could find. Always the type to enjoy a rainstorm, the sound of a thunderstorm outside was a welcome distraction and soon soothed me to sleep. Soothed me until it dripped. And continued to drip. And then splashed, waking me from a now forgotten dream. This was not just any ; it was a "bitch, i hate you" drip (yes, that was my roof talking to me) that decided to leak onto my bed. After frantically pulling my mattress off the box springs and standing it against the tv, I quickly found buckets to put on the floor and the remainder of what was my comfortable bed. Since I don't have a permanent guest room in my house, my sleeping option was my chair and a half (I promise that's what it's called: bigger than a chair, smaller than a love seat - it's a chair and a half) in the living room. A short freak out and call to my landlord at 3:30 am later, which he didn't answer of course, and I was asleep in the living room. Until 5:30.

Rain, rain go away . . . it didn't. And then the water leaked onto me while asleep on the chair and a half. So what do I do - the same thing any other 23 year old girl who's fed up does. I cried. Ok, I moved everything, called my landlord again - just to make sure his night was as bad as mine, which it couldn't have been - and then cried on the floor of my living room. Not sure what to do, I moved the mattress I had propped up earlier, which had survived getting wet due to my awesome but now damp mattress pad, into the office and throwing it on the floor. Exhausted, I slept for about four hours.

So the rest of the weekend, was really very good. My cousin Michael was in town with some of his friends looking at Tulane Law. I got to play tour guide, which I like to do. I just wish I'd gotten sleep on Saturday. 3 more months, 3 more months, I love you, New Orleans, but 3 more months.