The Liebster Award

The Liebster Award is given by bloggers to up and coming bloggers as a way to spread the word about smaller blogs who deserve a bigger audience. This award is an honor, but once nominated you must earn it:

• You must list 11 things about yourself
• Answer 11 questions put to you by the person who nominated you
• Choose up to 11 bloggers with less than 200 followers to nominate and post 11 questions for them to answer
• Visit your nominee's pages to inform them of their award 

So wait, is Liebster a play on LIE? The LIE award? I still don't see how it's an award. I mean, what kind of award do you have to earn AFTER you've been given it?

Just wondering.

Anyway. To not be a spoilsport, I'm going along with it. Here you go:

Questions from Andrea (who nominated me)

    1.    Why do you blog? I have a lot to say! Right? Before I blogged I wrote in my journal religiously. I was young and saw my life as extremely important. I mean, come on, it was fascinating, like a film. Right? Ha. That's what I thought then. I know now that the reality is more like what Thoreau said about us, that "we live lives of quiet desperation." Although for a ton of us, it's hardly quiet. And, I'm pretty loud and I'm teeming with opinions. I've tempered loads of them since I started my blog back in 2005, though that's most likely not obvious to the casual observer. I don't write as often as I could or should because I have less time. Anyway, my life isn't like a film at all and there is no soundtrack and if there was, it would probably be banjo music.

    2.    If you had a million (tax free) dollars to spend what would you use it for? I'd pay off student loans and some other debt I have. Debt is hell. And college is a racket. My advice, don't buy into it, or at least, if you're going to, don't go into debt for college. What a load of crap! And I LOVED college. Maybe I'd go back to college with the money. Ha! Anyway, after paying off debt, I'm sure I'd figure out a brilliant way to invest it. Maybe in gold bars. Or a really fast race horse. Or maybe a Bentley. Cars are an investment, aren't they?

    3.    If you were to go on any reality TV show which would it be? and why? I hate reality TV for the most part, but if I had a brilliant way to make money, I'd go on Shark Tank because I think that one is somewhat educational rather than puerile and contrived. I'm also into survival shows like Dual Survival, but I don't think I could just go on that. I wish I could. If only I were a star, because I think I could really win that new one, Stars Win Stripes. Ha ha. For reals.

    4.    If you could have dinner with any one person alive or dead who would it be? and why? Shiz. There are too many people I need to chat with. Please don't make me choose. It's sincerely imperative that I meet C.S. Lewis at some point, as well as Wallace Stegner (these guys are dead so they count as ghosts, which makes them a personage rather than a person, so I still get to pick a living person). The ghosts will clearly give me excellent advice about the afterlife and they even knew a lot when they were living. I love their bodies of work. Heh. So, that's why I must meet them. And as for the living, maybe David Tennant because he's great. I mean, honestly, I doubt any living person has any advice for me that's going to assist me in any real way. So I just need to chill with David Tennant because he's the best iteration of Dr. Who. He's got a wife and a kid, so they can come too because it's imperative that we hang out, at the lake or something.

    5.    If you could live anywhere in the world where would you live? Right here, in Utah. I lived in Phoenix and Nashville and discovered that most cities are the same when you get right down to it. If I could have multiple residencies, then I'd have them everywhere because the world is my oyster, right? ;) So maybe coastal cities are cool and foreign cities are exotic. But they're all cities. And I want to live everywhere, but mainly right here in this perfect desert climate, near the mountains and my family. Whoa. What was that? A mind-twister? I think so.

    6.    If you had a super power what would it be? and what would you use it for? I would be omnipotent and omnipresent and all-knowing. Sort of like God. My super power would allow me to pretty much rule the world and/or have every other super power because I'd have the knowledge to harness the secrets of the universe. Or is that cheating? I mean, if that's cheating then I'll just take the ability to fly while being invisible. I don't need the recognition, just the ability.

    7.    What is your favorite movie? I don't get into favorites as much these days because I've grown to realize that I change my mind a lot. But for the time being, I really enjoy British TV more than anything else. Dr. Who is big for me, and I know it's not a movie, but movies kind of suck lately. If you held me at gunpoint and demanded to know which movie I love otherwise I'll be chewing lead, I'd say Casablanca, just because it's pretty great and the classics never get dull.

    8.    Where is your favorite vacation spot? Vacation? What's that? Ha ha. Kidding. For the past six or seven years, the only vacations I took were back here, to Utah. So by default, I have to say Utah. Most of my life the best place on earth was my grandma's house, in central Utah. I'd love to say somewhere cool like Antigua. I'd love even more to say I go there all the time and I have summer residences in Portugal, France, Greece, and Turkey. But I'm a country yokel, I suppose, and the greatest spot on earth is still my grandma's house, even though she died two years ago.

    9.    What is your favorite book? Too many to choose just one. Rating pretty high are Crossing to Saftey, The Great Divorce, Ender's Game, We, and damn, just so many others. Books are some of my most important friends. I've lived a thousand lives because of books and I hope to live a thousand more.

  10.    If you could tell your 15-year-old self one thing what would it be? Don't change. Keep living and loving the way you do. Gregory Peck told me that. It was when I was a stupid fifteen-year-old, actually, and I wrote to him and told him how much I loved him as Atticus Finch and Father O'Flaherty in the Scarlet and the Black and he was sweet enough to send me a signed picture. It said, "Dear Nicole, don't change." I bet that's the advice he'd give his own fifteen-year-old self. He's right. I've made loads of stupid mistakes, but I couldn't have the lessons without them. So, anyway. I mean, I'm pretty sure it was truly Greg who signed the picture. I mean, he was what, eighty at the time? I bet it was great to get fanmail at that point. And then, guess what? Later that year, I freaking got a Christmas card from him and his wife, Veronique. That's a damn highlight, if you ask me.

  11.    What is your favorite band/artist? Right now it's Future Islands, Metric, and the Jezabels, but that's subject to change, and also, there are several others that I absolutely adore at the moment. I'm not good at being in love with just one thing, except of course Stoker. 


OK, I actually hate this kind of stuff, but I did it because I like Andrea. The thing is that I just can't answer simply. It's beyond my skill-set. And I suck at dealing with obligation. I still need to finish my interview questions for writer, Grady Hendrix, who has kindly agreed to do an interview for my blog. So, expect that as my next blog post. And Andrea, please know that you are wonderful, it's merely the fact that I suck at answering questionnaires that I hate them. But it's great that you'd nominate ME to participate. 

Oh shiz. I still haven't done the freaking list.

Damn. OK.

1. I love peanut butter. It's a sickness, actually. There needs to be a term to describe it as such.

2. My opinions exhaust me. Sometimes I get tired of hanging out with myself. Maybe I should split my personality so I can have a break. Ha! Psycho jokes are the best.

3. Sometimes I miss my old life. It was fun being carefree. But then, I wouldn't have Stoker or Corbet. So I think the trade off is worth it.

4. I don't have boatloads of friends and I like it that way because the friends I have get the most of me, which is very little these days. But when I make a friend, I try to do it for life. That makes the investment matter to me.

5. I like to know what makes people tick. I really do. I like to figure them out. But not in the Sylar from Heroes kind of way. Man that guy was a total freak-job. I hated him. But he was good as Spock. Too good. Creepily good. Brrrr. Did it just get cold in here?

6. I want to give the people I love the best of me, but often I feel like they get the worst. Poor things. I'll work harder at it.

7. I like making lists, mainly to-do lists, but these blogger/chain-letter kind of lists bug me.

8. Good books, songs, and movies make me want to die. In a good way.

9. I didn't see the Sound of Music all the way through until I was thirty or so. It made me want to die. I'm a total sap. So sue me.

10. I can't figure out why Stoker loves me. I was a total nut-job when we were dating. I love him. Maybe that's why?

11. One time I fell on someone's lawn and wouldn't move because he was going to California for a few days and I was going to miss him. I have no idea whose lawn it was. It was winter, dusk, and for some reason, he asked me to marry him when he came back from California even though I'd been aloof while he was gone. Guess he likes drama queens!


That's done. Now I guess I pick some people to do the same thing. I consider it torture to do these tasks, and mostly I seem to follow/read blogs that somehow have over two hundred followers (including Andrea and Aubry). I guess I like being part of big crowds. But there are three people I adore who don't blog enough, in my opinion. So I nominate them. I really question whether they'll do this, and that's fine. I still love their guts and I totally understand if they don't want to or have time. Here they are:

Jodiferous
She is completely hilarious. I long for the time when she blogged lots.

The Number Five
Em, who I have the good fortune of hanging out with in RL so it's cool that she doesn't blog enough because I get to be with her anyway.

Baughtronic
She's actually my heterosexual eternal companion, or at least, was, I'm not sure what our relationship status is these days. I guess we need to have a DTR or something.

These ladies don't blog much these days and that's understandable. If they want to do this thing, cool. If not, no biggie. Here are their questions from me:

1. Who was your first kiss? Providing you've kissed someone that's not related to you or something? And, I mean, how was it?
2. Is there something really quirky about yourself that you're willing to share?
3. What's the last film you saw and what the hell did you think about it?
4. How do you feel about Twilight, the book or the movie? Please be honest.
5. Do you believe there's life on other planets? If yes, are they monstrous or pretty nice?
6. Continuing the sci-fi theme, would you live on a space station, like a big one, i.e. Star Trek Deep Space Nine? (p.s. I wouldn't, FYI)
7. Back to the basics, what's your favorite color and why isn't it pink? Oh wait, it is pink?
8. Who's your favorite celebrity these days and why?
9. Do you know who David Tennant is?
10. Why isn't he your favorite celebrity?
11. Why have you been such a negligent blogger? ;) Do you foresee a time where you'll blog more?

P.S. I love you.

Nik

How to Not Make Friends and Influence People

I don't know how to make friends any more.

That's a true confession.

Ever since I left college and got married, it's like I have no interpersonal skills. When I was in college, it was relatively easy to connect with people and strike up a friendship. But now it's worse than what it was like to try to date or hook up with someone.

By hook-up I mean, maybe make-out at a party or something. Do they say make-out any more? When I was in junior high and high school, the word of choice was scam. It sounds so 90s now. And I think when kids today say hook-up, they mean, have sex. Right?

I don't keep up.

I'm too busy not knowing how to make friends. I obviously don't have time to follow what the cool kids say these days.

I'm fairly certain I'm not the only one who gets a big WTF? on her forehead when looking at the prospect of making friends. A friend of mine (old friend) works in a marketing agency. She started there recently and she was giving me the rundown on the office politics and her attempts to make friends with some of the girls there.

And another friend (also an old friend) went through the "it's like dating. Or worse..." thing recently when she started working at a restaurant in between her semesters in a doctorate program.

"I've got to play it cool," she'd say. "____ doesn't work on Friday, and someone wanted to switch shifts with me and I said yes because ____ was working that shift too. But I've got to play it cool, like nonchalant though or else I'll seem desperate."

And it's totally true. They're friends now, but it was one of those foggy starts where it could go either way.

I haven't made a friend that I've kept since leaving college. And I've been out now for eight years. I've had several jobs and almost become pretty good friends with some girls. But for one reason or another, they've never stuck with me.

Maybe it's me.

But now I'm here, back in Utah, and I'm looking around at some potential friend material and I'm dying to figure out a way to play it cool but also show my interest. I feel like a borderline stalker or like I'm trying to catch a man. It's completely ridiculous.

I mean, making friends with someone shouldn't be this hard. It's like all my insecurities have poked through the surface and I feel like a worthless piece of crap. Who would want to be friends with me? I've met several cool chicks in my area and I have no idea how to proceed from thinking, "She's cool. She should be my best friend," to actually fostering a friendship.

What does one do?

My sister offered me totally useless advice. She said, "I'm always the instigator of get-togethers with the girls. So you say to her, 'Hey, want to go to the park and let our kids play?' and then you guys go hang out at the park. Simple."

And one day I screwed up my courage and walked to this cool girl's house with my son in the jog-stroller (I don't have her phone number) and when I got there, I knocked real lightly on her door (my excuse was that her kids might be napping). No answer! I turned and hurried home, embarrassed that I even tried.

So that was my attempt. And now I think I'll just stay home during the day and work on my career. I have old friends. They're all I need, right? I mean, they're great! They're perfect! I adore them! They just have careers outside the home and now I don't (opted to stay home with kid and it's right for us). And they live far away. But hey! Who needs new friends? It's worse than dating!

So glad I don't have to date any more.

The Incredibly Difficult Task of Naming a Book, Plus How to Deal with Rejection

I'm trying to come up with a title for my young adult novel. I wrote it a few years ago and had a bunch of cool people beta read it. Mostly the feedback was positive, but I had one friend really slam the protagonist.

Get this: he called her a b----! Can you believe that? I mean, really! Come on! A b----! Thanks JOE!

Oh yeah, his name was Joe. He was pretty cool even though he slammed my firstborn. I mean, that's basically what it was. Ha ha. His girlfriend/wife (I don't know what to call her except "seriously cool chick"!) also read my book and she was awesome. I think she also thought my protagonist was a bleep. Seriously.

So because they felt this way, I obviously had to rewrite the entire damn thing. What happened is, I believe I queried five agents and when I didn't hear back I considered myself a failure. That's how I am: hyper-sensitive. It's very hard to write query letters, if you don't know, and it really blows to sit down and compose five individual letters tailored to specific agents and to not hear from them.

And why are they individually tailored? Why do that? I mean, doesn't it take forever? Yeah, it does. But if you've looked into it at all, you've heard the scathing things agents have to say about writers who send out generic form letters. They WANT you to speak directly to them and if you don't, you're in the doghouse.

Which is why when you don't hear back, it's considered rejection and you feel that all your time was wasted. And then you think, "I know, I'll enter Writer's of the Future, win, and then get published because I'm so awesome." So then you focus on writing a million short stories and proceed to forget that you should be marketing your finished novel.

And then you don't win Writer's of the Future because the contest is crap, but in the meantime, you've become a million times better as a writer and you look back at your first completed novel and you think, man, this is awesome. I mean, some of it, and I can't just let this brilliant concept go to waste. 

So then you decide to just, you know, fix it up. A little. Fixing it up a little turns into an entire rewrite. You've changed the characters, your protagonist is suddenly way more immature yet empathetic, and you've shortened the plot drastically. Basically the only thing that stays the same is the skeleton. Well, one leg of the skeleton. The rest is totally new.

This is why you don't rewrite. Unless you're like me, and you're effing CONVINCED this is the most brilliant concept to have landed in a writer's brain since J.K. and Stephenie got coffee and outlined their books together while planning to take over the publishing industry for twenty years.

Ok, I'm not THAT convinced. Or that cocky. But I loved it and couldn't just let it die as a first novel. I needed to revive it.

And the first installment is done (now I need to rewrite the second book, which I finished a while ago). I just need a decent title. One that exudes awesomeness. All I can think of is "Hunger Games." Or "Twilight." Or "The Sorcerer's Stone and the Hungry New Moons."  "The Chamber of Secret Edwards and Bellas." None of those sound very good. They're missing something. Like sense.

I will keep plugging away at it. And then, I don't know, I will design the most frickin' cool cover ever to grace the pages of the Amazon Kindle store. Ha!

My carpal tunnel is acting up. I have to stop typing! Argh! Curse you, CTS!!!!!

Pregnant Women Are Smug and Single People Are the Smuggest of All

It's time I tackled the huge chasms between those who are single, married, pregnant, or with kids already.

I know. It's a monumental task, but I need to do it.

See, I just stumbled across this gem:




And it's funny. Quite. I laughed. I said, "Holy shiz, I said all that crap when I was pregnant." And I felt a little sheepish about that.

But let's just start right away. I was pregnant. I almost don't even care to go into it because it's so obvious, I mean it was _ _ _ _ ing hard. That's right. The only thing harder than BEING WITH CHILD for nine months was actually HAVING the child.

Have I told you yet? I had a birth-plan. I was going all natural and that went quite well until the moment I got to the hospital and everything went south. Not to say I hold a grudge (against the hospital or Murphy [who sabotaged my plan the minute I made the plan] or the midwives who suggested after hours and hours of not progressing and double-contractions, that I have a C-section). I don't. Everything worked out in the end.

Let me just say that the reason I said any of the cliche things was merely because I felt like a moron the majority of the time. For me, anyway, when it became apparent that I was pregnant, I felt foolish and silly. And even though it may seem smug to say, "I don't care, as long as it's healthy," well hell. That's really what you're thinking. The other option, saying something like, "A boy, dammit, and if it's not, I will seriously be pissed," you'd just sound like a spoiled child, especially in light of all the people you most likely know who are going through fertility treatments.

You're pregnant. You're grateful to be pregnant. But you're also scared to death that you're going to mess something up, either nutritionally or genetically, that will cause permanent damage to the baby. Smug or not. That's how it was, for me. 

So the song, it's funny. I laughed. And I agree with them when they say, "Like I don't even care, I was just asking to be nice," or whatever about the smug reply that they've picked a name, but they're not telling. Hilarious.

I did that. Partly because the name I wanted to use was so universally reviled by my mom and siblings that after they successfully browbeat me into not using it, I was simply tired of having to tell people and experience the odd insecurity and vulnerability of sharing the hopeful name of my future child. Weird, eh?

But after I experienced some people NOT telling me (people related to me, not mere strangers) the name of their future kid (while I was also picking a name out and sharing with said people), even though they'd picked it, I stopped holding back the information. I realized, holy crap, the ONLY reason anyone asks you what name you've picked out is to be kind and try to show them that you care. You don't do that because you're interested in crushing them with a snide comment about how "nice" the name is. Well, most people don't ask for that reason.

So, really, NOT telling someone the name you've picked out for your kid when they ask is kind of similar to slamming the door in a person's face when you've invited them over for dinner. Of course, there are probably people you'd like to shut out and slam the door in their face, and that's OK. I say do it. Also, don't tell the bastards the name you have picked out.

Right then. The little song. I like it. I'm just dissecting the issues presented in it because that's what I do. I over-analyze. And then my blood pressure sky-rockets. And then I feel better because I've internalized everything.
 
And is it possible to have a favorite commercial star? Because I love the chick with dark hair. I've seen her in some commercials and she's great. I also like the girl from the Toyota Venza commercial who says, "Whaaaaat? That's not a puppy. That's too small to be a puppy." And I love this classic line from the same commercial: "I read an article online–well, I read the majority of an article online." She's great.

ANYway. The song is fun. I have nothing against it.

But I decided to write about this subject before I saw it, when I'd just seen the title and it reminded me of Bridget Jones' Diary, the book, and how Bridget hates going to dinner with her married friends because they're all smug and she's just a singleton and Cosmo (Kosmo?) is so damn smug and says hurtful things to Bridget.

I love that book and the movie. And I was a singleton too, once. And then I got married. And then I had a kid. So I've pretty much been in all the situations where there's smugness.

Let me just say, as a person with a kid, people without kids seem smug to me now. And when I was married, almost ALL my single friends seemed smug.

What gives?

Alright, I'll tell you. I have this all figured out.

I think smugness is just a product of not being where someone else is in this crazy thing called life*. So, you're not married and you have friends who are? They'll seem smug to you, especially if you long to be married. You have five kids and have a married friend with no kids? The child-less friend will seem smug to you.

Maybe not. I don't know for sure. I do know that I have quite a few single friends who've drifted away from me, like almost immediately after I got married (and these were the only friends I invited to my wedding–we kept it small), and they all seem kind of smug to me now.

Like I'm the idiot who got married and left. And now I have a kid. Why even talk to me? I'm, like, lame, now. I don't care about going to shows and being right in the music scene and I don't dress cool any more. I can't hang out and chill and therefore, as a friend, I'm useless. Because, like, you can only have friends who are in the exact same situation as you are, otherwise, you can't even relate to them. Right?

I've no idea if they think this. It's what I think they might be thinking because it's how I feel.

So, am I the smug one? I don't feel smug. I feel like an idiot who decided to grow up because that's what I'm supposed to do (incidentally, I prefer it. I'm not saying I hate my life. Love it. LOVE). And now I'm a square. And the single friends are cool and they're always having a good time, with loads of friends surrounding them at all times, coming and going, with no one permanent to care about (spouse) or take care of (kid) but themselves and so they can drop everything at a moment's notice and fly to France or where-the-hell-ever.

If I want to go to France, I have to plan months in advance, save up, buy tickets for me and my husband, and either take my son with or try to coordinate with in-laws and siblings over who will watch him for us while we're gone. And my trip to France will cost three times as much because I can't just stay in a youth hostel, especially if I take my son.

Or couch surf or what-the-crap-ever they call it.

Does that sound smug? Crap no.

Anyway. My point is (one of them), is that it's dang funny to call married people and pregnant women smug because they're easy targets. They have something. You can always make people who have something the butt of your jokes because they're lucky and they possess something to protect them or hold onto when the crap hits the fan. You can't make fun of single people. They're single. It's just them against the world.

They're basically nude.

I was single once. It was hard. I felt nude. And vulnerable. And I wanted to be married, like badly. Because I'm a lover (even though I appear to be a fighter. It's a ruse). But I never really thought that married people were smug. Although I did get sick of hearing stuff about "when are you going to get married?" as though I was chasing suitors off right and left.

I was. Actually.

But.

My advice to everyone who thinks other people are smug is: don't think that. It's crippling. I miss my single friends pretty badly. Short of stalking them, I don't really know how to reignite the friendship. Can you do that?

I'm sure they don't miss me. The majority of them don't slow down long enough to notice. It's been hard to forge new friendships and foster them and all that because I have a husband and now a kid. So I rely on my old friends and I'm thankful for the ones who are single who still make time for me and haven't let the fact that I'm married stop them from asking me to carve out some time for them.

Hell yes, I'll carve out some time for them. I did when I was single and I will now. I love their freaking guts. And you know what else I love? Over-analyzing. At 11:20 at night. And cursing. Like a sailor. I love that too.





*Favorite stupid line of all time. I use it whenever I can.

More Reasons to Cancel Your Facebook Account

Perhaps the best part of Facebook is the fact that you can gawk at the apparent traffic accidents of your friends and family's lives as they crash and burn. And, not only that, they essentially televise it for the entertainment of all their connections in some kind of proud display of their total awesomeness . . . so, that's even more heartening to think about.

This only works, of course, if you have an opinion about what people ought to be doing and the choices they ought to be making. So the safest way to approach Facebook is sans opinion, and since I can't do that, the few moments I check in to Facebook, I often end up selecting "hide all posts by X."

I know. I'm such a jerk that I would want to shield myself from the torture of thinking, "Holy crap! What on EARTH are they thinking? WHY WHY WHY, FOR THE LOVE, WHY ARE THEY DOING THAT?"

Also, I'm such a judgmental toad to think that my values, ideas, and expectations are right and not totally unrealistic. These are, after all, just people being people. Right?

Sorry. But I take a different tack on that kind of stuff.

People aren't just people being people. There is good, bad, and evil (as I covered in my recent Charlie Sheen post), and when you sow good, you reap good, and so on. And no, this isn't just "the human condition" as I used to think while still in college. Yes, yes, believe me. I was one of those naive idiots who worshiped the notion that there's really something beautiful about human suffering, existence, and "the condition."

I went to movies at the art cinema in Logan, Utah and thought deep thoughts, spurred by the artistic statements being made by truly creative independent film makers. I'd go for walks late at night and stare at the glow of windows emanating from the houses lining the streets and weep to Wilco's "Sunken Treasure" (because, I mean, that's a great song. And I still think that. But I also think, "Buck up, man!" so, yes, I am probably an insensitive jerk if I can think that about such a gorgeous song) as I pondered my place in the universe*.

So, I've been there. Done that. I want you to know, because it's imperative to understand that I haven't just arrived at this location on my lifelong trajectory without having passed through my own valleys of shadow and whatnot. I've got SOME experience. I've made lots of insane choices and suffered lots of undesirable consequences.

But luckily, most of those choices were made before Facebook existed. So no one had to feel like they were right there with me, watching me being a complete moron. I mean, I'm sure my mom and dad saw some of that and it probably ripped their hearts out, and for that I'm sorry (for real). I wish I had always been such a stellar individual and had my head on straight one hundred percent of the time (or at least, seventy-five percent of the time). Heh heh.

Which is the big problem with Facebook. One of them, anyway. Right now I'm thinking about this one, where I get to log in and witness the final descent before someone's life explodes into burning wreckage. The key is that it's because of their choices, not happenstance. Happenstance is sad, but forgivable. It's not their fault.

But consequences for stupid decision-making . . . that's just frustrating. Irritating (they KNEW better, how could they do THAT?). How hard can it be to not make dumb choices? I find it devastating. Too difficult to watch. And with Facebook, if I don't defriend or cancel my account, I have to deal with it nonstop.

Isn't getting away from the destructive behavior of certain friends or family part of the relief of growing up and moving away from that person? Not that we intentionally run away, but unless we want to surround ourselves with constant pain, something's got to be done.

So hide their updates. Do it. It will set you free.

That's what I tell myself.

And really, all I want is for everyone to not be naive and realize that their choices and actions don't occur in a vacuum. We are all watching each other. We see and feel the suffering of our friends and family. We share their joys and disappointments. And sometimes it's absurdly obvious when someone is sowing manure (while thinking, I suppose, that they're planting corn). They're going to end up with a pile of crap and you know it. How can they not see it too?





*I don't mean to imply that the human condition isn't interesting and sometimes, in a way, beautiful. Because there are moments that are transforming and inspiring, and it's quite nice to see a film or read a book that catalogs this in a breathtaking way and makes you feel like the spirited individual can triumph over whatever obstacles they face. However, the dark side to the "human condition" stuff can be the notorious ripple effect. And Facebook magnifies this problem.

Dolly and Bette

Two videos for our friend Jason. His mom died last night and we're all pretty sad about it. She was a great woman and loved by many. When I was living at my parents' house near Salt Lake and dating Stoker, who lived an hour and a half away, Jason's parents let Stoker live in their basement so he could be closer to me right before we got married.

I don't know if Jason loves Beaches, but the song seems appropriate. Moms are our heroes, or at least I think they should be. My mom is my hero. Stoker's mom too. And Jason's mom. Dads are heroes too, but moms seem to really be wind beneath our wings in one of those quiet ways, you know, pushing you along, helping you to be your best, but loving you in a way no one else can or ever will.

Jason loves Dolly Parton and who can blame him? I love her too (and Stoker does also, probably, though he wouldn't admit it as readily). I am sure Jason doesn't have bittersweet memories about his mom, and I don't think she has a single bittersweet memory about Jason. Just sweet ones, because he's a great son, and I'm pretty sure his mom was one hundred percent proud of him.

I wish I could support him more, and all my family and friends, by living in Utah near them so that when moments like this occur, I might be there to share my love with them in hugs and support. The gall of bitterness really is in realizing your loved ones are suffering and you're far away. Though we can't stop the sorrow, it's something to just be there.

Summer Visitors and the Books

Sally and Terry will arrive on Friday night, adding to my list of illustrious visitors this year. Sally and Terry are my parents and if you’re lucky enough to know them, you know what an adventure they can be. I was just telling a co-worker that the difference between my family and Stoker’s family is like that between the Greek family in (yes) My Big Fat Greek Wedding and the family in The Queen (the one about the queen of England), without the cultural differences. My family’s not Greek and Stoker’s family isn’t British aristocracy, but my family is fiery, loud, and opinionated and Stoker’s family is opinionated but pretty calm and quiet. They talk but it never gets heated. In my family dishes will be thrown.

Just kidding. But they will be.

Joking.

Stoker’s parents came for a visit this summer. I have no pictures of any of these visits. I just can’t do it. I forget to take pictures, but when I remember to take them, they always turn out hideous. I don’t have the photographer’s eye. And I can’t suspend my disbelief long enough to take them or have them taken of me. I always feel awkward with a camera in my hand.

When Stoker’s parents came, as a parting gift I gave his mom* a copy of the Annie Dillard book An American Childhood. It’s an excellent book and I know that she’ll identify with the kid in it because his mom was once a pixie, I’m pretty sure. The kid in that book is a pixie, a real doll. Stoker’s mom has never stopped being a doll, if you ask me. She has this girlish quality about her that really catches a heart, and you can’t help but fall in love with her. She radiates energy. She sits on the floor if she wants, with her legs tucked under her like a little kid. And she engages with the world, like she still has so much to learn, like the curiosity in her has never died. I love that about her.

I gave Stoker’s dad this book called The Soul of the Night by Chet Raymo. At first the book sounds like it might be a Harlequin Romance, but then you read it and die. It’s perhaps one of the most poetic books I’ve ever read. (I read it in Chris Cokinos’ class and I only mention him as a kind of nod and thank-you for having introduced that book to me. He deserves the credit for the introduction [which is almost as important as having written it]). The book connects the bigness of the cosmos with the author’s small life on the earth. He quotes poetry and relates it to his perception of the night sky and the place of the earth in the universe. I don’t do it justice.

When I met Stoker and was falling in love with him, I gave him two books to read. The Soul of the Night, which he read quickly and enjoyed, and Crossing to Safety, which he also enjoyed. That sealed the deal.
You just know someone is for you when they can read Crossing to Safety and love it, and read Soul of the Night and get it.

I’m probably a jerk for giving people books. like I’m the dispenser of all good books and beauty (I am), but I can’t help it. If I respect someone and love them, on some level I relate to them by sharing the books I love.

Math Matt stopped by for three days on his way to Atlanta a week or two ago. I met Math Matt at some point during my time in college. He’s my intellectual friend and he’s stayed a friend all this time and now he’s Stoker’s friend. We had a great time with him. He can talk about anything with you. I say something that’s on my mind, like if I said, the movie The Departed was good, Matt has a response to that. Most people just say, “Oh,” and that’s it, unless they agree with you. But Matt’s opinion about The Departed was that it was crap and he’ll explain why. You have no idea how much I appreciate hearing other people’s opinions. I’m so surrounded by my own opinions that sometimes I want to scream I need a fresh view so bad. Stoker and I agree on lots of things, you see. Usually we both hate the same movies and love the same movies. Before Matt left, we gave him a copy of We by Eugeny Zamiatin. It’s a Russian book that Matt hadn’t read (surprisingly), and since I had just read it and loved it, I decided that Matt needs to read it ha ha.

My protégé and younger sister, Cassi, spent the 4th of July with us, and we spent an embarrassing sum of money on fireworks while she was here. At first Cassi was unimpressed because in Utah fireworks are sort of lame. Just fountains that whistle Dixie. In Tennessee you can buy Roman candles and other insane fireworks that shoot into the sky and flower. Once Cassi realized this, she secretly loved the fireworks. I didn’t give Cassi a book because the entire time she was here she played Portal on the Playstation, read Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman (again), and then read Interstellar Pig, half the time hiding out in the upstairs guest room. It was a real vacation for her. Before she came there had been lots of talk of all the cool bike rides we’d take and other explorations. None of that happened. It was hot out, I guess.

So, my parents will be here soon and I’m wondering what books I’ll give them.


*Also, I was a horrible daughter/daughter-in-law this year and didn't get anyone Father's Day or Mother's Day presents.

Julius Caesar: Impostor or Emperor-Incarnate?

So, recently some divers in France found this, the oldest known bust of Julius Caesar at the bottom of the River Rhone in southern France. But what really happened was, my friend Mike posed for someone during his brief stint in the art program at Utah State, and the student—in a fit of rage because he couldn't get the nose right— flew to France and . . . . dropped it . . . . in the river. Is anyone buying this?

That's really what happened.

Records, Compost, and Rain Barrels

Two weeks later and here I am. My blog looks better on a Mac, with two big flat panel screens, if you know what I mean. Last week was rough, the kind of rough where you think you might not make it out alive, and when you do you wonder how the heck you ever doubted yourself. That happens to me all the time, perhaps because I'm just a negative S.O.B., right?

But it looks like I made it, baby.

Totally unrelated, I bought the most perfect gift for Christy Baugh. It's a record. She's going to love it. I found it sitting right out there in front of everyone at Phonoluxe in Nashville. I can't believe no one else picked up this sweet gem before I got to it. That's all I can tell you about it, but I wish, I really wish I could divulge more info about it. I might snap a picture of it and post it up here, but who knows. I'm usually all talk when it comes to taking and posting pictures. I'd tell you I'm more of a Polaroid girl because that sounds interesting and borderline artistic, but it would be a lie. The truth about me is that I'm lazy and unartistic. Before I married Stoker, two and half years ago, I started working on this present for him that involved some creative effort. It was going to be a wedding present.

I'm still working on it.

I have some good news. I found a place to buy a compost bin for $40. I've looked into them and have wanted to start my own little home compost pile, but I've only found the bins online and the cheapest the good ones run is about $100. Plus shipping and all that. So when I found out that my city, the Metro Nashville Public Works people, offers them for $40, I almost had a stroke. I was that thrilled. It means no shipping and no waiting for UPS. I also found a local place that sells rain barrels for relatively cheap (Gardens of Babylon), especially when compared to the stuff online and shipping costs. Anyway, that's where I'm at. Looking for rain barrels and compost bins and maybe some backyard chickens.

Now I just need to build a small chicken coop. I've been doing my homework. If I get some chickens, I'll definitely post about it, maybe put up some pictures. Again, that could be a lie. I like to keep you guessing. Honestly though, I might get a beehive and buy a colony of bees. And for sure I'll plant a garden this spring. I'm all over it.

Random Email to Dani: Epiphany #132 -- Happiness*

Today I had the same epiphany I've been having over and over again all my life, only this time I wasn't smoking weed. Just kidding, I never have ever never smoked weed.

I realized that for some reason, I'm waiting for something to make me happy. To arrive at some point, to finally have no problems, to be comfortable in my own skin. Then I slapped myself. Because violence is my way. Just kidding.

But why do I do that to myself? Be unhappy, I mean. It's not that I'm necessarily UNhappy, it's just that I'm not happy. And by that I mean, I'm not content with what I have. I'm still waiting to be satisfied with the house we bought, like, to feel like it's good enough as it is, that I don't have to keep making improvements. And the house is a metaphor for my own mental/emotional condition, or rather, my life.

Of course, the epiphany seems more profound when it strikes and now it just sounds like the same old crap everyone is always saying, like in books like All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten, by the beloved Robert Fulghum (I had this teacher who loved to say his name and quote that book and so it's an inside joke with myself to say his name in relation to beloved). And it's one of those things that doesn't mean a dang thing unless you figure it out for yourself. I'm lucky because I keep realizing it. Over and over, at different times in my life because I forget it really quick, like the proverbial goldfish.

See, what happened is Christy Baugh said she saw a movie called Juno and said I need to see it and said that M____ saw it and told Christy that the girl in it reminded M____ of me (Nicole). Christy said she agreed, and said she thought it was a great compliment. Then I was thinking to myself later on, after I'd read the synopsis of the movie ("A whip-smart high school girl finds out she's pregnant and deals with it blah blah blah" -- I presume the whip-smart aspect is what reminds them of me -- which, who can blame them?) that it's sad, really. I remember being a young whip-smart girl, in junior high and high school and even in college, a girl who unintentionally offended people by saying what was on her mind, who was probably a bit spunky and all that, but who now can't get away with baring that part of personality because she's older and hyperaware of how she offends others, and is hypersensitive herself and thus would NEVER intentionally make someone feel bad.

It's gauche for me to be like that, but not adorable like it is on a young girl (like it used to be on me. Am I delusional? :)). So then I realized that I've been walking around feeling like I'm crippled by my personality, afraid to be that whip-smart girl because I'm not in high school anymore. "This isn't high school, Nikki." Is that a quote from a movie? If it's not, it should be. It would be too funny.

That's when it hit me that I'm waiting for something to happen to make me feel like I've arrived at happiness. But see, happiness isn't a destination. We're the happiness. We're the destination. Happiness should be inside us.

Hmmm. I had such high hopes for that. I thought it could be turned into a proverb or something. It fell kind of flat.


*A slightly edited version of this post appeared in an email to the author's sister, Dani.

More Excuses Not to Climb. But Wanting to Climb....Sort of.

Last night I painted the ceiling in one of the upstairs rooms. It has slanty walls because it used to be the attic, so it wasn't very difficult because the ceiling is only like four feet wide. The hardest part was tilting my head back to look up. I've been putting this project off for almost a month now. I bought all the paint in November and I had originally planned to get it done before Stoker's parents came out for Thanksgiving.

So my back hurt like crazy last night. Stoker slapped some Icy Hot on it, bless his heart, and I think that helped. I also took about fifty ibuprofen before I went to bed. Then, when I was laying in bed not sleeping because of the muscle pain, I realized the knot causing all the pain is my climbing knot! Old friend, I said to it, I haven't seen or heard from you in so long! We embraced and there were tears on my cheeks, and tears on the knot's cheeks. It was a Kleenex commercial.

I've already written about the climbing gym in Nashville so there's no need for me to explain why I don't go there. And because I don't climb at the gym, it's also unnecessary for me to expound on the reasons why I don't have any climbing friends in Nashville. Mike D. (climbing friend in Salt Lake) seems to think that if I just hang out at the gym long enough, I'd make a few friends.

Of course, I explain that because I'm not married, single people have no reason to strike up friendships. There's nothing in it for them, and really, not much in it for me. Even if these potential friends are all female. Single people like to travel in groups and a married person is a real downer in single people groups. I'm not saying this is gospel, I'm just saying that's what I've observed having been both single and married.

Raise your hand if you have NOT been to a party where there are both single people and married people. Probably a lot of you raised your hands. I went to a party like this once when I was single (not a cocktail party, those weren't the kind of circles I ran in back in the day). It was at sweet ol' Jason Campbell's house. His married friends all sat around the dining table and talked and pretty much ignored the single people, who were all gathered around the kitchen counter and the humongous TV, ignoring the married people (they made us uncomfortable). It was a very interesting atmosphere.

In any case, all I'm whining about is that for me it has been more difficult to make friends as a married person. I've never been one to rush into friendships. And since my climbing skills have been out of use, I'm sure to suck. So that makes it even more uncomfortable to be at the climbing gym. I told Mike D. that I want to build a small climbing wall in the garage. Stoker is down with that and if you saw our garage, you would note that it's perfect for a bouldering wall. The knot in my back even thinks so. But Mike D. says all I need is a hang board. Then I slapped Mike D. and said hang board a bear's ass.

The problem is, how will a hang board help me if I have no strength to hang? It's not fun to just hang there. I wouldn't hang enough to build any strength, so the proposed hang board is a terrible idea. It would be a waste. The bouldering wall is probably a terrible idea too. I probably wouldn't even use it.

What you're saying and thinking to me right now, I can feel it (the knot doubles as a brain wave receptor), is that I'm just making excuses for myself. You're thinking that IF I really wanted to boulder/climb, IF it was REALLY that important to me, I wouldn't be making EXCUSES, I would just do it. What you're really saying is that I'm lazy. Jerk.

Honestly. The hang board might be an okay idea. I just did a quick search and found that Metolius makes a more elaborate hang board than I'm used to seeing. Back in the day, son, these hang boards were just a piece of wood, a 2 x 4 screwed to the wall. On the other hand, Metolius's description makes it sound like EVERYONE is climbing at home. I hate being part of a trend. I'm a trend bucker. Buck that bucking trend (the second buck is a substitute for a word that rhymes with buck. That's right. Clever). Screw climbing. I'm going to start balancing on the edges of skyscrapers to get my thrills. No protection. Just me and the gargoyles. Oh damn. Both Batman and Spiderman have already done that. Crap.

Indie Film Burnout or Old Age?

Is it a mark of my evolving cynicism, or is it old age revealing itself in my fervent derision of the indie film stereotypes? Or could it be both? Am I just world-weary?

Yesterday I watched two “indie” films. I employ the quotation marks around indie for the sarcasm. That’s right, it’s not an accident. I mean, indie, like, yeah right. How can you call that indie? Remember when an indie film meant that there weren’t big names involved or big money? Ok, maybe there was never a time like that, my memory of indie films only goes back to my final years as an undergraduate. Before that I only knew big studio releases. My first exposure to indie films involved your typical Kevin Smith fare, Clerks and the crappy Mallrats. After that I sought other indie films and when possible, watched them at the only art-house cinema in Logan, Utah.

So, perhaps when I say indie, I mean small budget films that don’t feature award-winning actors and actresses who know their talent rules and all that.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this. My cynicism, you see. And maybe old age. It’s setting in, I can feel it. In a recent conversation with a friend, Math Matt, who’s over the thirty hump, I learned that the late twenties are the worst. He’s less bitter now and I’m more bitter, if you can believe it. Math Matt used to be universally described as bitter and surly. And I was the youthful, positive one chasing her dreams, hell-bent on accomplishing anything she damn well pleased. Where has that girl gone?

For some reason—some crazy reason—I’ve been under the impression that the older I get, the less valuable I become—as goods on the market (ha ha—I’m off the market. I just think it’s funny to describe myself as goods because I abhor that mentality). All the cultural notions about youth and value and beauty and value that I thought hadn’t touched me, are slowly rising to the surface and secretly turning me into this bitter, surly monster of a girl. Eureka, I’ve discovered it. I thought I was just sick of the stereotypical indie films, but really, I’m just scared of getting old—and getting older hasn’t been much of an issue. You can ignore it pretty damn easy until you’re about twenty-six. Once you hit twenty-seven, though, watch out.

I’m just thankful for other friends, like Jason, and Stoker’s sister, who turn twenty-nine before me. It’s nice to compare myself to one or two people and come up chronologically younger than they are. Lord knows it gets discouraging to always and forever be perfectly four and a half years older than Stoker. Though I keep him around for his youthful beauty and nothing else (ha! kidding), he gets a kick out of cruelly rubbing in the age difference, in the sweetest way possible.

As for the films Little Miss Sunshine (B) and Broken Flowers (C-), I think my criticism comes from experience, which comes from growing up, and also from being tired of the same thing—world-weariness. I look to entertainment as a reprieve from the drudgery of ordinary life. Not that I don’t enjoy an ordinary life. I do. But don’t audiences want to feel transformed when they watch a movie? How can I feel transformed when I’m thinking, oh yeah, that’s perfect, every character is having a life-altering experience on this road trip. That’s believable.

Crazy? Yes, please.

Owing to my dramatic personality, I broke up with one of my friends. That's the deal; I basically sent her a long goodbye in the form of an email. Who does that kind of thing? Often, I can hardly stand myself.

I thought my days of sending emails in the heat of the moment -- usually at night -- were over, because now I'm married and I generally sent those kinds of emails to boyfriends who were either breaking up with me or had already broken up with me, or who I was in the process of breaking up with. I'm a stayer, so they were usually breaking up with me, something I'm very grateful for because otherwise I might be with one of them still. And I'd rather be with Stoker, who, as expected, is still perfect for me.

But just because I'm married does not mean that I don't need friends. I may not need them every day and may not call them as often as I did when I was single. But I love them, still. And in some ways I wish I could call them as often as I did when I was single. But that would be pathetic. Part of the problem with that is also scheduling. When I have time to call them, they are busy. When they call me, I'm either working or having a rare moment with Stoker (who works between 60 - 70 hours a week; another reason I need my friends: I get lonely) and he comes first, naturally. And were my friends married, I'd expect their spouses to come first.

Anyway, I guess the thing with this friend (who I essentially broke up with) is that I had deluded myself into believing that she put as much importance on our friendship as I had. We all know that relationships are give and take. When one person feels like they're giving more than the other, something's wrong. And the both of you better address it. This kind of thing works better when it's an intimate relationship because it's weird to have two friends discussing a relationship. That's the beauty of friendship. You don't have to do things like that because you both obviously feel like things are going well. You don't have to have a DTR. Or a state-of-the-union. If a friendship isn't working, you both just fade out of each other's lives without much being said. It just happens.

That's why everyone who knows anything thinks friendship is a beautiful thing. It is the relationship that is chosen and not held together by marriage or biology. It exists purely for itself. It is completely voluntary and when it goes sour it is such a sad thing. But for all these reasons, that it is voluntary, that it is not held together by anything except pure will, it is the relationship that is not so much discussed. You don't go to counseling if it's not working. You don't usually say to your friend, "This isn't working for me," or "You don't call me enough," or "I want out," or "I feel jealous about your other friends," because if you did, you'd seem somewhat cuckoo.

Which, I guess is what I must be. Because basically I said many of those above sentiments to the friend I broke up with. But I'm a jealous person. I get jealous over the stupidest things. I suppose that's because I inhabit the world of ideas. I think about things. And my moon is in Scorpio, a very jealous sign. I didn't say to her you don't call me enough. Or I want out . . . at least not in those terms. I said I'm leaving. And I said this isn't working. And something about feeling jealous.

I know I look like a very small person. And I feel like one. And I feel sad, like I've lost my best friend. But she was probably only my best friend in my head and not in her own perception of the relationship. Because a best friend would have behaved like one. A best friend would have been aware of me, and so often she wasn't. And maybe I'm blind or simply ignorantly patting myself on the back, but I thought I was aware of her.

I'm full of shit, aren't I. You'll notice that's not a question. The thing is, I have many friends that I keep in touch with. None of them ever made me feel like I'm not quite as important as their other friends. But in this friendship, I nearly always felt that way. And perhaps that's just my perception. But that's the only one I have.

I'm going to go now and have my pity party by myself. I've been very depressed lately. Depressed and stressed. My job is ending soon and I don't have another lined up and to top it all off, this sick Egyptian I work with asked me to be his assistant and that just depresses me more. He's always borderline sexually harassing me, I'd have to be insane to consider taking his offer of being his assistant. Yeah right. But that's the only lead I have on a job. And then in my great, dramatic way, I go and end a friendship. Who the hell does that?

On My Mind

a) I miss my hetero-soulmate, Christy Baugh. For any of you who know her, you’ll know why I miss her. She’s fun, easy-going, hilarious and uniquely adorable. So. . . all things opposite of me. Because I’m not easy-going, fun, or hilarious. Definitely not, by any means. Anyway, CBG (as I sometimes call her) lives in Logan. I miss Logan too. If you don’t know, Logan is in northern Utah in the valley of the cache. Cache Valley. Going north, the towns come at you like this: Logan, Smithfield, Richmond, the border, Franklin ID, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, Preston ID. With smaller towns (populations of 100 and stuff, so not even worth mentioning) in between. Lewiston might be in between Richmond and Idaho. And Cove. Not sure about that and I’m not going to look it up. The point I was trying to make is that it’s the area where the great Napoleon Dynamite was filmed. And watching Napoleon Dynamite makes me yearn for Cache Valley. I watched Napoleon Dynamite on Sunday night. I miss Christy Baugh and Logan. I lived in Logan for 8 years because that’s how long it took me to finish my undergraduate and master’s degrees. I could be a doctor. But I’m not. I’m nothing. No, I’m something. But I’m not rich.

I’ve known Christy Baugh for four years. She’s great. Really. She’s got style. And no, I’m not a lesbian.

b) I’ve been looking at the Eels’ website*. There’s a link on it to something called Amber’s Guesthouse. It’s funny. Supposedly Amber is E’s mistress. She answers his fan mail. I don’t know if anyone who visits or writes to her believes it. But I don’t. I think E is actually answering it and has created this whole Amber thing as a joke. Have you heard of E and the Eels**? You know what they say, “no press is bad press.” Or “bad press is good press.” Anyway, visit the link to E disguised as Amber (this is my hunch and not in fact, a fact. Don’t go telling E, Nicole said there is no Amber. I don’t want him mad at me). Also, if you’re not an Eels fan, check them out. Their new album came out today and as soon as I blow this joint, I’m going to purchase it.

c) Guilty pleasure: Maroon 5. How can I help it? And how can I not be annoyed with the term “guilty pleasure?” I used it anyway, but honestly I think it’s one of those over-used expressions and I have just contributed to its overuse. More accurately, Maroon 5 is a hidden shame. Don’t tell a soul I like some of their songs. I do. I appreciate the funk/soul beats and rhythms and chords they use. In a way, we should all be grateful for their influence. I think listeners have been turned on to some of the funk/soul music such as old Stevie Wonder and Shuggie Otis—stuff that has slipped through the cracks. Another cliché expression.

d) Have you heard Kalai? He’s a real hit among some locals. But that doesn’t do him justice. His second album, Six Strings and the Rainy Day Man is phenomenal. Pure phenomenal. His bass player is an ex-studio musician who played with bands like Fleetwood Mac (that’s all I know, there could be and probably is, more). I’m listening to him and coincidentally, Maroon 5. Here’s a link to Kalai's site if you haven’t heard him yet.

e) Stoker bought a digital recorder. Did I tell you this? He’s been playing on it, recording stuff. And he’s amazing. That boy never ceases to amaze me. In July we’re moving to Tempe, AZ so he can go to a school for recording engineering. I'm 100% sure he’ll be the next Brian Eno. I always tell him (because I’m so damn positive), “Shoot for the moon, if you don’t make it, you’ll be among the stars.” Aside from its completely inaccurate portrayal of our solar system and the rest of the universe, it’s quite the pep-talkie expression. He finds it completely uninspiring. But he finds me completely inspiring.

*Stoker and I have actually argued over whether it’s wrong to say ‘the Eels’ because the band is just Eels. I say it’s sort of an English grammatical rule to use an article before their name and he says no.
**Never name your band something like that without an article in it already. It’s too annoying. People will insert their own article so you might as well just include it in the title. It’s not like a store will alphabetize it under “the” because who does that? Yes, Music Match does that. But they’re fools.