Napping

I napped a lot from 2004-2006 when I had little direction, motivation, and intellectual curiosity. I's love to say that small-town living sapped those things from me, but let's face it, everyone has their stupid selfish years where little gets accomplished. Those were mine. I cooked, studied, watched Friends, and gained a lot of weight. Jake was with me in Thibodaux, and that made it much nicer. But we were both kind of wallowing in a very dangerous kind of ennui that I'm happy to be out of. Don't get me wrong; I don't consider those wasted years. I can now debone a chicken and make killer bread.

Now I'm back to where I was in high school: I do not understand napping. At all. I've pulled all-nighters and powered through the following day. Hell, I cooked and served at a benefit dinner after spending all night writing an essay and attending class all that day. It isn't easy, but it's easier then sleeping for one hour when you need 8 and trying to continue your day. I'd much rather drag on, accomplish what I need to accomplish, and get to bed at 9:30 like some old woman.

There seems to be a nap-based status message every day when I check facebook. And 7 times out of 10 that person is having trouble getting motivated after a nap. I thought they were supposed to refresh you. And what are 20-somethings doing taking naps in the middle of the day, anyway? What are we, 80?

Solidify

I just want to remember this great day, and there's no room left in my paper journal... where I usually put this sort of thing.

It started last night. After work, Jake met me at my apartment. We talked about our weeks--both not great. Just sitting together and letting everything else melt away is always good for stress. I sat on the couch, and he lay down with his head in my lap talking about the job that he sometimes hates/sometimes tolerates. Then we agree that we're both lucky to have jobs at all and enjoy a long night of just being close after days of chatting on stupid online programs. Then sleep.

He drives me to work. I'm five minutes late, because like a dummy, I just have to go and make myself fried eggs and toast instead of grabbing a cereal bar like normal people do when they're in a hurry. Anyway, work is quiet--which is always nice. It's basically time to read and chat online.

Then class. My teacher is a funny aging man with thick glasses, graying hair, and a wheelchair with blinking lights on the front. He talks in a thick accent that sounds like somewhere around Lafourche Parish. It's a good enough hour; most of it is a review of material learned in other classes. He has to leave early, which frees up more afternoon to check out an art show.

Jake and I walk to the art show after he picks me up. It was a mild, breezy morning, but now we're walking fast because it's all hot and wet. Clouds are coming in. We walk into the union gallery and are surprised by 3 lecturers. We sit in.

One woman talks about feminism and why female villains are known as villains because of their independence and focus on their own goals. I shrug internally and think that they're also called villains because--like male villains (independent or not)--they're not above harming others to achieve their goals. Then two men get up after her. One talks about Captain America and his place in our culture--what he's represented, etc etc. The next talks about the many faces of Batman--from silly and censored for the children's sake to dark, brooding, and gritty. After the lectures we enjoyed art from the Golden to the Modern age. It was interesting to see the transition they've gone through on a couple of walls.

Then I was hungry, and he bought me lunch. I got barbequed chicken, green beans, potatoes, and cornbread that was too saucy, too bitter, unsalted, and dry, respectively. But I'm just so happy to have an afternoon with him that it's the most delicious thing I've eaten all week. I hadn't had strawberry soda in about a year. I always forget how much I love it.

The rest of the afternoon was supposed to consist of coffee and conversation. There was still conversation, but it was in the comfort of my apartment, snuggled up close. A nice way to end the day-or-so we had. And I get to see him again tomorrow!

Faith, Part I

I wrote a short essay-type thing a while back about the time when I abandoned Catholicism, and shortly after, Christianity. They were not abhorrent to me; I didn't become an atheist or even anti-religion. Any religious organization has its good and bad, and they all have good people in them who work hard at their faith and put their beliefs into action. My leaving was mostly out of respect. Questions that couldn't be answers, nagging doubts, and refusal to compromise left me with no option but to leave the titles behind for now, until I can devote myself fully. Until then, I'm simply a theist who believes in treating others kindly and doing your best to learn every day.

The title was "Shopping for God," because that's what my brief foray into new-religion-hunting felt like. With every article or chapter or website I read, I pictured myself walking down a produce aisle squeezing fruit. "Too firm, not firm enough, rotten..."

It's inconvenient to be in college and have a crisis of faith at the same time. It's so cliche. I don't want to come off as a pseudo-intellectual whose eyes were suddenly opened by a bunch of elbow-patched bearded guys. The truth is that my doubts came early, but my confidence to face them came late. Catholic schools can be like that. You're swept up in it--all the singing and swaying and "me-toos" in Theology class.

More later. I'm just summing myself up for the moment: A noncommittal, analytical bullshitter who tries to be kind.

School Spirit

It's like modern-day totemism. We rabidly attach ourselves as an academic community to some ferocious animal (or other). Then we have miniature wars. There's even body paint present when you look at the most fervent fans. I always found a passionate love for one's school and school mascot a little strange. Thinking about this is when I learn a little about myself--that I believe not everything has a purpose. I truly believe that, when it comes to my school, i could have been born anywhere, and it would have been just as easy to fall into the fandom of another community. Then it becomes completely meaningless, and I go back to do my homework.

Middle Names

Uses:

1:Incorporating a saint's name into your child's title--useful for children who will one day be Confirmed.

2. Making it fun to be an angry parent (the middle name seems to make scolding more fun).

But why are they still around, really? Many times it's done in order to give a child their mother or father's name (usually the father's). But why does anyone bother to do that? Is that person going to go by the same name as the father? That's not always how it happens.

Case in point: My brother and cousin--both "thirds"--go by the nicknames Trey and Tripp. And after countless calls to university students in my job as an operator, I've learned that "Jr." or II" after a name often means that they go by the middle name or a variation of the first. For example, Edward Jay II would be more likely to be called Jay than Edward. With the sample of students I've been given, that's just so often the case. So this need to give our children names almost identical to our own serves little purpose other than to give them more to write when they're filling out a form. But then, they never even ask for your full middle name on a form, only the initial. I write it out anyway.

There's a possibility that, at least in the case of duplicate naming, a middle name offers some variety--a chance to shake up your image. It's a gamble. And if they choose to go by their middle name, the name that the parents chose first is lost.

Why give a name that will never really be used? Names like Mary Anne (not hyphenated, just used as one name) make sense. But Portia Elizabeth? Who's going to go to the trouble? Sure, the options are nice. She could go by Portia, Elizabeth, Beth, or Liz. Maybe parents aren't as controlling as I think, and middle names really are all about freedom of choice. But is it freedom of choice when having two "first" names imply that those are your options and nothing else? Who would go to the trouble of changing their name legally when they can settle for one of two and simply have to say, "I actually go by ___."

It's a waste. It's like buying someone two beautiful hats and saying they can only wear one for the rest of their lives. Sure, people might see the other hat and admire it, but it can never be enjoyed the way hats are meant to be enjoyed. I can't do anything with the "Anne" I'm saddled with. People don't seem to mind when I write it out on forms, because it's so short. It's not that I feel close to the name; it's the principle. It's there; I might as well use it somehow, some way.

Self

Where's the line that is drawn between bettering yourself and changing who you are/should be? What should you be? Is there something we're meant to be that shouldn't be changed, or is it okay to transform? Is it all right to keep and even treasure the flaws that might very well be neutral characteristics that just happen to offend some? If I stop trying to change what can never be changed--the fact that I'm imperfect--will I think of others more kindly? When my frustration with myself fades, will it fade for those around me, too? To what extent is that giving up, losing my values, and being afraid of having standards?

Whatever I am, I think I'm tired of trying to make it different--at least for now.

Wet behind the mouse

Newcomers to the internet. They send you crap you've seen before and/or have disproved through snopes.com and cross-referencing.

My father has turned into one of these people. There are ways I can punish him for this. I'm seriously considering doing them.

Rag-Eww,

Sometimes, when I'm cooking a big pot of week-long pasta, I feel guilty. Two years in culinary school, and I'm still pouring canned pasta sauce into a pot, putting a little water in the jar, shaking it, and then pouring the watery excess in. Pasta sauce is fairly easy, although it takes a little more time.

Then I think about how I'm going to be singing the national anthem next year and need to practice. Then I think about owning a quality ukulele soon and being able to practice more and get better. Then I think about how I've dreamed about being a published author much longer than I dreamed about having a cooking show.

Then I feel better.

And I eat my pasta with my canned sauce after adding a little more seasoning.

Decisions

"Going green" these days is a lot like eating pomegranates. If it wasn't trendy, a lot of people wouldn't bother, because it's a hassle. That is not to say that I discourage the going of green or the eating of pomegranates.

One of the hardest things to pinpoint is whether or not someone's humor tastes match up with another person's. A friend and I were discussing this. People get lumped into broad categories of humor styles, and assumptions are made. For example, I say something ironic once in a while, but my humor is in general some clever turns of phrase but mostly goofy, off-the-wall stuff. But I used to always be pegged as a person whose humor is basically sarcastic.

It's a hard thing to pin down.