I remember a dream I had a several days ago. I was driving home from some undetermined location and feeling bored in the car, so I decided to whip out a Sudoku puzzle to pass the time. I tried holding the paper against the steering wheel while I was driving, but the pencil kept poking through the paper, and my arms felt cramped in the small space. In order to get more comfortable, I decided to recline my seat all the way back so that the drivers seat was flat. I then unbuckled and flipped onto my stomach so that I was laying with my head at the back of the car. I placed the Soduko puzzle on the back seat and went to town. In order to steer as I worked on the puzzle, I put my ankles through the steering wheel handles and maneuvered the car with my feet, and despite the fact that I was no longer working the gas pedal, the car continued at the same speed. I wasn't watching the road, but I wasn't worried about crashing because it was a fairly straight road and I knew it well enough that I could remember where there were slight turns.
Had I been attempting this stunt in real life, I would have been a nervous mess, but I wasn't anxious. It was an extremely peaceful dream. Driving like that was like flying. It was almost like the Sunday afternoon cat naps I used to take with the dog in the sunny spot at our front door except for the speed. I'm pretty sure it was a Sunday actually. I'm not sure why. It just felt like Sunday. Lazy and warm and a little depressing because of Monday's foreboding shadow. I could feel my body being whisked down the road as I traced the steering wheel with my toes and thought about absolutely nothing in a hazy-dazy state. In that way, it was more like a childhood car ride home from vacation. The hum of the motor and the buzz of the radio would lull me into a half sleep. When the engine was turned off and we were home again, I would keep my eyes closed even though I wasn't actually sleeping, so that my mom would coo over me and carry me inside to my bed. In my dream however, my eyes were open. Every once in awhile I would look over my shoulder to make sure that the car was still on the road. Each time I looked, it was perfectly in line behind a PT Cruiser trimmed with faux-wood paneling.
I finally finished the Sudoku I had been working on and turned back around to find that the car was still traveling perfectly along with the rest of traffic. I also happened at the same part of the road that I was at when I first turned around. I resumed the Responsible Driver position and continued on my way home. I saw a car some 200ft ahead of me waiting to turn left onto the road I was traveling. There was a gap between the PT and the preceding car, so the SUV to the right took the opportunity to pull out. He started coming at me head on in my lane. I suddenly realized, with a sinking feeling in my stomach, that I was driving in the left lane; the PT was no longer in front of me, but beside me. It felt like one of those "I got to school and realized I didn't have pants on" dreams. I tried to get over to the right lane, but the man driving that beaver-whack Cruiser wouldn't let me in. I was about 10ft from the SUV, still traveling at full speed, and then I was awake, eyes open, sheets tossed, staring at my ceiling.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Sharing with Myself
Today I cut a peach in half and gave it to Myself while I ate the other portion. Has sharing ever tasted so sweet?
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Pheeling Phony
Cell phones are a great invention. I remember the days when you had to call someone's house in order to talk to them. I'd wait with beads of sweat on my lip for one of my friend's parents to answer the phone, and when they finally did, I proceeded with my nervous phone call routine. I would state my name and the purpose of my call, trying not to choke on my spit. It was the same little speach every time, "Hi, this is Becca. I'm calling to talk to (insert friend's name)." Usually, after the successful delivery of my speach, the phone was handed over to the person I had called for, but sometimes, if I was really unlucky, the person that had answered the phone would try to carry on a little small talk before handing me over.
I can see now that anything I did or said back then was automatically excused simply because of my age. For example, taking the small talk scenario, sometimes other moms would ask me questions like, "So what's your mom up to?" and I would answer, "She's in the shower." only to realize that that was probably more information than they cared to hear and more than my mom cared for me to give out. I will say this, one positive feature of the phone is the distance that it puts between you and the person you're talking to so that if your face happens to burst into red hot flames, nobody is around to notice. If I had only known that the person on the other end of the line was laughing at how cute I was, there would have been no need for the red face and the quivering hands. Maybe I wouldn't have been nervous about talking on the phone at all. Unfortunately I only realized all this when the excuse was no longer valid. Now saying something like, "My dad isn't available right now he's pooping." means I'm immature rather than cute and funny.
I think I've come a long way as a "phoner" since elementary school, but I still get a funny feeling in my stomach when I have to call someone; luckily, that isn't very often. Since the rise of cell phones, texting has become my main form of secondary communication. No need for awkward phone calls anymore, just *clicky, tick, tick, tap* and I can make plans for the weekend, figure out a homework assignment, or share my feelings with a friend. It's great, especially for someone like me, but lately, I've been frustrated with how frequently everyone, including myself, uses their cell phones. Of course, if I text someone and it takes them several hours to respond, I'm equally frustrated about the way that they use their cell phone. It's somewhat of a Catch 22.
I don't want to complain about other people here, so I'll just complain about myself and make it clear that anything annoying that I do is equally annoying when performed by other people. The first thing that I do, and I'm not proud of this, is I text while I'm at work. It makes me look like an indifferent or even lazy employee, but I'm so addicted to the excitement I get out of hearing that little *bzzz bzzz*, that I continue to bring my phone to work. Another irritating phone habit of mine is texting in a group environment. Texting while I'm with even just one other person makes me feel rude and distracted, but when I'm with several people at once, I'm extremely aware of it. The reason that I find it extremely rude to text while with a group, as opposed to being only moderately rude answering a text message when I'm with one other person, is that it's easy to remove myself from the group for a few seconds in order to answer a text if indeed it is important. With one other person, you can't just walk away and leave them in order to send a text message, so saying, "Excuse me, I need to respond to this." is alright in my book. But there's no excuse in a group. If you have a text message that's so important you can't wait two minutes to respond to it, you probably shouldn't be out with a group. High tail it to whatever hospital your dying family member is admitted into. For those of you who are guilty of group texting and aren't aware of the impression you're giving off, allow me to inform you. When you have your phone out at a party or a group get together you're really saying. I'm bored; I have better people I would rather be talking to; I have more important things to do than socialize with you. This is not a good way to make friends.
There are days like today when I wish I could take a sludge hammer to every cell phone I see, but then we'd be back to the days of trembling hands, rehearsed phone etiquette, and forced small talk. I guess the bottom line is that phone communication is a phony form of face to face communication. Living life to the soundtrack of a buzzing cell phone can create the illusion that you're extremely importance, and we all need to feel needed and significant. But I think that a truly fulfilling life is set to the soundtrack of silence.
I can see now that anything I did or said back then was automatically excused simply because of my age. For example, taking the small talk scenario, sometimes other moms would ask me questions like, "So what's your mom up to?" and I would answer, "She's in the shower." only to realize that that was probably more information than they cared to hear and more than my mom cared for me to give out. I will say this, one positive feature of the phone is the distance that it puts between you and the person you're talking to so that if your face happens to burst into red hot flames, nobody is around to notice. If I had only known that the person on the other end of the line was laughing at how cute I was, there would have been no need for the red face and the quivering hands. Maybe I wouldn't have been nervous about talking on the phone at all. Unfortunately I only realized all this when the excuse was no longer valid. Now saying something like, "My dad isn't available right now he's pooping." means I'm immature rather than cute and funny.
I think I've come a long way as a "phoner" since elementary school, but I still get a funny feeling in my stomach when I have to call someone; luckily, that isn't very often. Since the rise of cell phones, texting has become my main form of secondary communication. No need for awkward phone calls anymore, just *clicky, tick, tick, tap* and I can make plans for the weekend, figure out a homework assignment, or share my feelings with a friend. It's great, especially for someone like me, but lately, I've been frustrated with how frequently everyone, including myself, uses their cell phones. Of course, if I text someone and it takes them several hours to respond, I'm equally frustrated about the way that they use their cell phone. It's somewhat of a Catch 22.
I don't want to complain about other people here, so I'll just complain about myself and make it clear that anything annoying that I do is equally annoying when performed by other people. The first thing that I do, and I'm not proud of this, is I text while I'm at work. It makes me look like an indifferent or even lazy employee, but I'm so addicted to the excitement I get out of hearing that little *bzzz bzzz*, that I continue to bring my phone to work. Another irritating phone habit of mine is texting in a group environment. Texting while I'm with even just one other person makes me feel rude and distracted, but when I'm with several people at once, I'm extremely aware of it. The reason that I find it extremely rude to text while with a group, as opposed to being only moderately rude answering a text message when I'm with one other person, is that it's easy to remove myself from the group for a few seconds in order to answer a text if indeed it is important. With one other person, you can't just walk away and leave them in order to send a text message, so saying, "Excuse me, I need to respond to this." is alright in my book. But there's no excuse in a group. If you have a text message that's so important you can't wait two minutes to respond to it, you probably shouldn't be out with a group. High tail it to whatever hospital your dying family member is admitted into. For those of you who are guilty of group texting and aren't aware of the impression you're giving off, allow me to inform you. When you have your phone out at a party or a group get together you're really saying. I'm bored; I have better people I would rather be talking to; I have more important things to do than socialize with you. This is not a good way to make friends.
There are days like today when I wish I could take a sludge hammer to every cell phone I see, but then we'd be back to the days of trembling hands, rehearsed phone etiquette, and forced small talk. I guess the bottom line is that phone communication is a phony form of face to face communication. Living life to the soundtrack of a buzzing cell phone can create the illusion that you're extremely importance, and we all need to feel needed and significant. But I think that a truly fulfilling life is set to the soundtrack of silence.
Monday, July 12, 2010
A Tidbit
There is a City in Florida named Kissimmee. Wouldn't it be funny if you were from there? People would ask "Where are you from?" and you would say, "Kissimmee." And they would look at you like, "We hardly know each other!" or "Really? Okay, you asked for it." Maybe the next time someone asks where I'm from, I'll lie and say "Kissimmee!" just to see what happens.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Kentucky Fried Chicken and a Pizza Hut
In the days of backyard water-fights and one o'clock breakfasts, before summer meant work, I used to attend camp. At camp we were always singing. There were a variety of meaningless camp songs that we would chant as we trekked from place to place. I remember one song that didn't even have any verbs in it. It just listed a multitude of fast food restaurants. It went something like this:
A Pizza Hut a Pizza Hut
Kentucky Fried Chicken and a Pizza Hut
A Wendy's a Wendy's
Kentucky Fried Chicken and a Pizza Hut
A Pizza Hut a Pizza Hut
Long John Silvers and a Pizza Hut
McDonald's, McDonald's
Long John Silvers and a Pizza Hut
This song was never a particular favorite of mine, and I had largely forgotten about it until recently when I took a trip down south to Kentucky. I traveled with a group, squished inside a fifteen passenger seat van. On both the car ride down and back, we stopped at fast food restaurants for meals. You would think that in the spirit of experiencing Kentucky, we would stop for Kentucky Fried Chicken at least once, but instead we devoted ourselves to the McDonald's menu. What an intestinal roller coaster that was. I remember I could practically feel the Egg McMuffin I had eatten for breakfast finding its way to my love handles, and the McDouble I had eatten for lunch creating a pool of oil in my stomach that seeped into my bloodstream and clogged my arteries. I could feel my life shortening as I chewed. It was a dramatic experience to say the least.
Finally, we found a Wendy's to eat at. Wendy's has new salads on their menu, in case you avoid fast food like I do and were not informed, and since my stomach had been screaming for real food since we entered Virginia, I decided to get the Baja salad. Despite the fact that it was made in a fast food restaurant, it was an enjoyable meal; that in and of itself was a surprise, but what really made my eyes pop was the size of the salad. It looked like it was big enough for four people instead of one, but I ate it ALL! I didn't even want to share it when my sister asked me for a bite. What an American.
It seems our culture is obsessed with quantity. When you got out to eat you want to make sure that you're getting your money's worth, and in America that means seeing the money you spend on your plate. I wonder, why not have a quarter of the serving with four times the quality? This mentality isn't limited to restaurants. I've seen the 'Quantity Fever' in other ways. Yesterday was the forth of July. The Forth of July brings fireworks, and I participated in the annual celebration of my country's independence by watching the familiar display of fiery color. The show went on for almost an hour. I couldn't believe it. It must have cost an arm and a leg to have a constant stream of fire for an hour like that. I would have enjoyed it just as much if the show had lasted ten minutes. They could have extended the finale and cut out the first fifty minutes, but that's not the way it's done here. I'm just happy I don't live in Texas. What would fireworks and Wendy's salads be like there?
A Pizza Hut a Pizza Hut
Kentucky Fried Chicken and a Pizza Hut
A Wendy's a Wendy's
Kentucky Fried Chicken and a Pizza Hut
A Pizza Hut a Pizza Hut
Long John Silvers and a Pizza Hut
McDonald's, McDonald's
Long John Silvers and a Pizza Hut
This song was never a particular favorite of mine, and I had largely forgotten about it until recently when I took a trip down south to Kentucky. I traveled with a group, squished inside a fifteen passenger seat van. On both the car ride down and back, we stopped at fast food restaurants for meals. You would think that in the spirit of experiencing Kentucky, we would stop for Kentucky Fried Chicken at least once, but instead we devoted ourselves to the McDonald's menu. What an intestinal roller coaster that was. I remember I could practically feel the Egg McMuffin I had eatten for breakfast finding its way to my love handles, and the McDouble I had eatten for lunch creating a pool of oil in my stomach that seeped into my bloodstream and clogged my arteries. I could feel my life shortening as I chewed. It was a dramatic experience to say the least.
Finally, we found a Wendy's to eat at. Wendy's has new salads on their menu, in case you avoid fast food like I do and were not informed, and since my stomach had been screaming for real food since we entered Virginia, I decided to get the Baja salad. Despite the fact that it was made in a fast food restaurant, it was an enjoyable meal; that in and of itself was a surprise, but what really made my eyes pop was the size of the salad. It looked like it was big enough for four people instead of one, but I ate it ALL! I didn't even want to share it when my sister asked me for a bite. What an American.
It seems our culture is obsessed with quantity. When you got out to eat you want to make sure that you're getting your money's worth, and in America that means seeing the money you spend on your plate. I wonder, why not have a quarter of the serving with four times the quality? This mentality isn't limited to restaurants. I've seen the 'Quantity Fever' in other ways. Yesterday was the forth of July. The Forth of July brings fireworks, and I participated in the annual celebration of my country's independence by watching the familiar display of fiery color. The show went on for almost an hour. I couldn't believe it. It must have cost an arm and a leg to have a constant stream of fire for an hour like that. I would have enjoyed it just as much if the show had lasted ten minutes. They could have extended the finale and cut out the first fifty minutes, but that's not the way it's done here. I'm just happy I don't live in Texas. What would fireworks and Wendy's salads be like there?
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