Love calls us to the things of this world

September Books

2010-10-01T15:10:00.005-05:00

Yay for actually following through on a blog "project" for once.

I only read nine books this month, and only seven if you don't count the ones I read aloud to David (and I usually don't). I realize that me fretting about finishing only nine books is kind of ridiculous, but I have 370 on my book list, and it's growing every day. So, you know. Perspective.

Wild Swans: was an autobiography/biography Jung Chang wrote about herself, her mother, and her maternal grandmother's experiences in communist China. It took me a while to get through it, but it's written really well and definitely showed me a lot of new experiences (which is what I love about memoirs). However, a lot of the material is absolutely heartbreaking; towards the end of the book, the author describes murders and suicides with a nonchalance that shows better than any narrative description how commonplace these tragedies were. Would recommend.

Love You, Mean It: is about the friendship between four widows kindled by the deaths of their husbands on 9/11. I cried almost the whole way through it. It wasn't as political as I thought it would be. It mostly focused on the widows' acceptance and recovery instead of the anger/trauma they felt about the terrorist attacks.

The Poems of Richard Wilbur: is a collection I bought for an assignment when I took American Lit with Boone. I skimmed the book for a few poems that I felt I could write about and then ignored it until this month. It does contain one of my most favorite poems, the one about laundry day (which, coincidentally, was my inspiration for the title of this blog). I'm not really a poetry person, though, no matter how much I try. So I guess I fail at being literate in that respect.
Sidenote: Pablo Neruda is one of the few poets I love, and if you haven't, you should see the film Il Postino, which is about the bff-ness between Pablo Neruda and his postman. I don't really know if it's based on a true story or not...either way, it's worth it.

I Kissed Dating Goodbye: is one of the books David and I bought to read together and...erm...make fun of. (shame face) So if you're looking for a sincere opinion about this book, go look somewhere else. I think the concept of refraining from physical affection between Christian couples can be cute and sincere and lovely, but I never really bought into it myself, and I think a lot of the time it's steeped in hypocrisy and holier-than-thou-osity. Joshua Harris' writing leaves something to be desired (ha! Cos it's about resisting desire and temptation...anyway...), to put it nicely. Some of my favorite parts were when Harris'd say something like, "Don't come off as smug and superior," cos he TOTALLY came off like he thought he deserved first place in heaven. David and I liked it enough to look for the sequel about Harris courting his wife and I totally found it cos I am the best thrift store treasure-hunter ever so there's a review to look forward to or possibly ignore if you think I'm a jerk.

Wonder Boys: I picked up because I already own The Mysteries of Pittsburgh because it's about Pittsburgh!, but this one came first on my list. Chabon's writing kind of reminds me of a toned-down Palahniuk, which is definitely a good thing. It was funny and I finished it within a few days. Would recommend.

Dead as a Doornail: was weird, even for a Charlaine Harris novel. I mean, it was okay. But it's probably my least favorite of the series so far. More vampires, fewer naked old men (wolves?) fighting to the death, please. Also fewer Sookie tragedies. It's starting to make me wonder if she'll eventually lose a limb or something to propel the plot.

Vanity Fair's Tales of Hollywood: would have been a lot better had I known about more than three movies (of the twelve, maybe?) it discussed. It was like the movie trivia on IMDB except 300 pages long. If that's what you're into.

Olive Kitteredge: was amazing, though not very cheerful. It's about an older woman and her relationship with her husband, but also about several characters in their little New England town. I probably would have identified with it more had I been closer to the narrator's situation (children getting married, growing older, accepting it), but I would still recommend it.

Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion: Fascinating. It was what it sounds like: Dr. Cialdini explains why we're influenced the way we are and how we can ignore or overcome sales gimmicks to ensure we are consumers because we want to be, not because we got tricked. Would recommend.

Book reviews...sort of

2010-08-23T20:02:00.007-05:00

I find myself becoming increasingly jealous of people who can summarize books they've read a decade or so ago. I often can't remember the plot of that-one-book-I-read-in-April,-what-was-its-name-again?, and I'm taking steps to prevent this from happening. Or at least taking steps to have a document I can pull up and remember what I thought of the book at the time. Here are my August books (so far) and what I think of them.

Club Dead: This is kind of an awkward start to this project because this is the third book in Charlaine Harris' Sookie Stackhouse Southern vampire mystery series, better known as the inspiration for HBO's True Blood. David's aunt kindly gave us her collection of the series and we've been reading through them whenever we have a mo'. The characters/writing aren't great, but the plot is what you'd expect from a series that is about vampires and other supernatural creatures. The series is much better than Twilight, which is all I wanted (though not hard to achieve).

Sophie's Choice, William Styron: I confused this book with Sophie's World for a while, and I'm glad I can now differentiate the two. This details the (fictional) experiences of an Auschwitz survivor. It took me about a week to read, but I loved every second of it. There are literary allusions galore, dynamic characters, and believable events. It almost read like a memoir, especially since the narrator, Nathan, is an aspiring novelist. Would recommend.

The Little Prince/Le Petit Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupery: The cutest children's story ever. I've read both the French and English versions and can't decide which I like better. It's meant for children, but has sweet moments that adults can enjoy, too. And it has an illustrated snake that I actually find kind of precious. See?

Adorable.

The Bone People, Keri Hulme: I almost stopped reading this book in the middle, but that's similar to breaking the highest moral law to me, so I finished as quickly as possible. It's about the abusive, but at the same time loving, relationship between an adopted son, his father, and a woman they happen to latch onto. It takes place in New Zealand and the characters speak a mixture of Maori tribe dialect and English. The diction was very difficult for me to get into, so reading each sentence took a great deal of effort, and to be honest, it wasn't really worth it. I hoped it would be a postcolonial novel but didn't really get that sense.

The Ten Year Nap, Amy Wolitzer: Like a fictional version of The Feminine Mystique. Quite a few women who ended up being stay-at-home moms regret or reevaluate that decision. I loved the feminist aspects of this novel (there was a contingent of women in a consciousness-raising group who felt their daughters had betrayed their fight for women's equality), but it had virtually no plot to speak of, and the characters didn't grow much. I don't regret reading, but probably would not recommend unless the reader had lots of free time, and that description fits nobody I know.

Shattered Dreams, Irene Spencer: Absolutely fascinating memoir written by a woman who grew up in the Mormon church. She detailed her life from a starving child fighting for the affection of her father to a plucky woman starving for the affection of her husband (whom she shared with at least six other wives). Would recommend to anyone even slightly interested in the Mormon religion, even though it was heartbreaking at times.

Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, Rebecca Wells: I bought and read this book because I remember watching the movie with my mama. I liked it, for the most part, but I still liked the movie better, probably because I have happy memories associated with it.

The Polysyllabic Spree: "The hilarious and true account of one man's struggle with the monthly tide of the books he's bought and the books he's been meaning to read." This collection of columns by Nick Hornby is MY LIFE, you guys. Ironically, I bought the book at a time when I felt my book list was lagging (????), hoping for recommendations to add. Now I find myself passing over any promising books he writes about because my book list is totally out of control.

That's all for now. I probably should've saved this for the end of the month but school is starting soon and I felt I should do it while I still have the patience. S'later.

Summer

2010-08-14T23:21:00.006-05:00

I am awful at updating blogs. My life makes me very happy, but I'm kind of a homebody who doesn't do much more than play cards, read, and watch TV shows with my husband, so it's not exactly like I have much to update on. However, it has been several months, so here's a brief list of OMG! stuff that's happened:

In April I got a job at Panera working in the bakery from 6 AM - 2 PM Monday through Friday. It started out being awesome having nights and weekends off from the easiest job ever. Then it became increasingly less so week after week of going to bed at 9 PM (or, shamefully, earlier...) and waking up at 5. Also my boss randomly shouted at me one day and it was awkward but we talked and he apologized but it was still awkward and I got sick, so I quit early (like, two weeks ago). The end. Also, asiago bagels are the. best. ever.
My grandpa, the sweetest man on earth, got really sick and I went to Nebraska to visit him. We had a few meaningful and emotional conversations that we probably wouldn't have had otherwise, which was wonderful. He had bypass (but really more than one. Bypasses? Byspass? Quadpass? This is silly) surgery and got better so I went home. Then I brought David back with me a month later and we hung out and became obsessed with croquet (seriously) and scored a free set (thanks, cousin's friend's mom!) and now it just sits sadly against the wall in our apartment, dwelling on the beautiful relationship we once had, probably. Also I met David's maternal side of the family in Missouri and hopefully made a favourable impression, except for the tried-to-wear-shorts-to-church thing. Oops. Also David's grandma requested a grandchild for her marriage toast to us, which is problematic cos we're not expecting one of those for oh, about five years.
I read (and bought) lots of books and David and I watched lots of shows. Finished: Flight of the Conchords, The Office. Almost finished: Gilmore girls, The West Wing, True Blood, Secret Diary of a Call Girl whatsit, House. Currently obsessed with: Dexter. We're saving Doctor Who for later. We also play Pinochle along with Nertz now. Eventually we'll move onto Bridge.

I'm planning on doing the nursing school thing at Pitt, but unfortunately English credits don't work toward a nursing degree, so I'm basically starting over as a freshman. Right now I'm hoping to work at some sort of women's clinic after graduation (in 2014, which SLAYS ME).
I don't hate roller coasters as much as I used to.
We watched Whip It and now David has all these aspirations of me becoming the next Babe Ruthless but I'm pathetic on roller skates so tough break, kid. Nevertheless, it's fun.
I still don't cook. Ever. Sorry, Mom. My cooking prowess will be delayed until David gets tired of being the chef or I run out of books to read aloud to him while he's in the kitchen.

I think that's it. See you in another three months.

Life Goals

2010-01-26T17:25:00.002-06:00

I was digging through my box of "Stuff to Keep" looking for 2009 pay stubs and I came across my life goal list from May of '06. I don't remember much of what I was doing then; it's weird how just a few years have passed, but I've got my summers all jumbled together. I can't remember if that was the summer of the Fantastic Four, or the summer I missed my best friend Jon terribly while starting to work at my first "real" job. Either way, this list is incredibly silly, and the only thing I can remember about typing it up is that I insisted on using a typewriter and it took me at least a week to get through all 180 items without any major typos.

Quite a few of them are puerile (my new favourite word), most of them were a 16-year-old's attempt at wisdom (example: "Don't forget the past and don't forget to learn from it"), some of them I've outgrown, but a few of them are still true today, and I found myself crossing quite a few off as I was re-reading the list. I have no plans to type out all of these goals, but I will share a few that made me smile.

- Have a fantastic book collection.
- Buy and wear a hat that is not obnoxious. (Several of these goals include owning or buying frivolous clothing or doing girly things, since I was considered something of a tomboy.)
- Buy and wear a hat that is obnoxious.
- Buy and eat all the fruits accessible at a supermarket. (Apparently I was a glutton, or had hopes to become one.)
- Take a culinary class so I can make home-cooked meals for my family. (This made me shudder, though I'm sure I meant well. David called me a "domestic little whatsit" when I read it aloud to him.)
- Attain a well-rounded, solid, and possibly even cute nickname.
- Realize what independence is without going Thoreau. (This is my favourite.)

This is reserved for goals that may hold true today, but still are unlikely to happen:
- At the bookstore, get the book I want and then leave right away.
- Finish all my food when treated to dinner.
- Go a year eating no junk food at all.
- Hold a snake.
- Stop biting my lips.

Hope you enjoyed a glimpse of 16-year-old Heather. Maybe I'll take a page from her book and update my life goals list. The least that can come of it is another slightly deprecating blog post.

Appendicitis Adventures

2010-01-19T12:52:00.006-06:00

<--- I don't have one of those anymore!

I've been home for quite a few hours, I've lost my playmate (David is sleeping), and I'd like to relate my adventures, so here we go. I actually started typing a very lengthy blog about my hospital stay but it was way too long so this will have to be more of a highlights blog.

Prologue: David and I ran errands all of Sunday afternoon, which led us to a Burger King to get the frozen Coke I'd been craving all week, a Wendy's for a delicious chicken sandwich, and finally home where I ate a PB&J and ordered a free mushroom pizza to eat while watching Swiss Family Robinson, a cute movie with lots of animals and the weakest female characters I've ever seen. My stomach started to hurt after the frozen Coke, but I thought it was just indigestion or hunger pains until about a half hour into the movie. My stomach hurt so much that I couldn't sit comfortably, it hurt incredibly every time I moved, and I didn't want David to touch me at all in case the pain increased. Worried, we looked up symptoms and decided it was food poisoning. I didn't quite buy into that diagnosis because David ate the same things I had and he felt fine. Still, we decided to see how things went overnight, since food poisoning typically goes away quickly. My pain diminished for a few hours before we went to sleep, so we rested assured that it was food poisoning and I would continue to feel fine in the morning when I woke up.

Wrong. The pain woke me up again about an hour after I'd fallen asleep, and then twice an hour after that. We had just seen Avatar Saturday afternoon and I remembered wishing/dreaming that we could go to the sacred place and transform my spirit into my avatar body, discarding this pain-ridden one. I woke up for good around 6:15 and tried to will myself to stay quiet so as to not disturb David, who had to write a five-page paper for law school Monday that was due today. Eventually that became impossible, so at about 7:00 I went downstairs and huddled under some blankets. Being the great husband that he is, David noticed and tried to get me to come back to bed, but I knew sleep was out of the question. He also got up and piddled about the house for a little, doing laundry and such, while I tried to be as quiet as possible and looked up more causes for abdominal pain on the web. It turns out that I matched all of the symptoms for appendicitis: abdominal pain different from any felt before that filled the entire abdomen before it localized just above the right hip, nausea, vomiting, loss of appetite, low-grade fever, chills, etc. We thought that since the pain had gone away for a few hours in the night, it might do the same that day, and decided to hold off on any hospital visits until the early afternoon if the pain was still around then. I couldn't make it past 9:30, so we packed a bag and took off for Shadyside Hospital.

Checking into the ER: I was checked in much faster than I ever have been before because appendicitis symptoms are a Big Deal. In a period of about three or four hours, I drank nasty medicine that made my insides glow, got a CT scan where they inject dye into the body (it feels like wetting your pants - not fun) to highlight internal trauma, and watched a terrible movie with Hillary and Haylie Duff. I couldn't have any pain medication at this time because doctors and nurses had to poke and prod to see where it hurt most to diagnose me, and I probably told David "It hurts" about fifty times. Finally my doctor came in and confirmed my suspicions: I had appendicitis, and I had to have surgery to cure it.

Not-so-fun fact: Harry Houdini died from appendicitis. It gets very serious very quickly, because when the appendix ruptures, it sprays Bad Things all over the vital organs and everything else in the abdomen. I caught onto the symptoms early enough that rupturing was extremely unlikely, but the smallest things can exacerbate it, like eating, drinking, and taking aspirin. I think that's why appendicitis comes with a loss of appetite - it's like the body is saying: "Hey, I'm sorry to be such a bother and get an inflamed appendix that hurts like crazy and could possibly kill you, but I'll make it up to you by taking away your hunger so you won't make it worse."

MIA: The anesthesiologist came in about a half hour after appendicitis was confirmed. I saw the blue scrubs and knew that meant my pain would decrease relatively soon (whether through pain medication or through surgery), so I sat up quickly and smiled. They looked at me like I was a Freak of Nature; apparently appendicitis patients aren't typically so "lively." My scrubbed hero told me he'd see me in the OR soon and explain how the procedure would go there, but I was wheeled away to my recovery room. I waited there for about an hour, chatting with my nurse and being poked and prodded by yet another doctor, who again confirmed that my appendix needed to come out, before someone realized the mistake and the OR people came to collect their patient. Just before surgery, the doctor who had re-diagnosed me gave me some pain medication, so I was extremely grateful to him. I might send him a thank you card.

The surgery: I was wheeled downstairs on a bed this time, which I was very excited about (being in a wheelchair makes me feel about 83), but I had to take my contacts out so most of the trip was literally a blur. I said goodbye to David, who had been a real trooper and stayed with me, listening to my groans and moans for several hours, and entered the pre-op room. Several of the OR people scolded me for being kidnapped, like I was supposed to have some clue about how hospital procedures went on, and complained about my nurse's failings (apparently I was supposed to sign some consent forms upon my diagnosis, which never happened). The anesthesiologist explained the procedure since the surgeon was already waiting for me and told me that my throat might be sore from being intubated. I remember having the mask pressed over my face and taking four deep breaths twice, but I don't remember falling asleep at all.

Staying overnight: I woke up either a little after or before 6:00 PM, very groggy and with doubleplus blurred vision from goo they put into eyes during the surgery to prevent scratched corneas. Some woman was moaning about wanting to go home and had to be physically restrained from taking out her oxygen, etc., either before or after open heart surgery, so all the people whirring around taking my vital signs were talking about how they liked me better because I wasn't difficult. I was shivering so violently upon waking that five cosy blankets were piled on top of me, and after removing my catheter and waiting twenty minutes to ensure I was awake, I got to go upstairs to my recovery room.

They told me my husband was MIA, but it turns out he was waiting in my hospital room because the OR waiting room was closed. I was glad to see him. I got awesome socks (which I am still wearing) and a fresh blanket, beef broth and orange ice for dinner (yuck), and a new awesome nurse named Janis who likes Ryan Reynolds movies and was really funny and nice. Leah, a junior in college, was in charge of taking my vital signs every four hours until I was released. She's about my age and we chatted and laughed with each other about her job, cranky patients, and how she's jealous that I look my age cos she still gets carded for buying R-rated movies. I got some pain medication about every 2-3 hours that made me extremely loopy and delayed my reactions, something that David teased me about later and made me break into giggles, which made me need more pain medication. He sat by me and took care of me for the rest of the night, helping me go to the bathroom (I had to tow along one of those IV coat rack things which was extremely difficult to manage), get adjusted in bed, and just taking really good care of me. We watched Flight of the Conchords and Just Friends before eventually falling asleep, with me waking him up occasionally in the night to help me and me waking up and buzzing Janis for more pain medication.

At home: We got back to the apartment at either 8:00 or 9:00 this morning and I went straight to sleep while my darling husband went to get my prescriptions filled and cleaned up downstairs. I've been awake now since about 11:30, just chilling in bed like I'll have to do the next couple of days. I'm still extremely sore in my belly. I have three inch-long incisions right below my belly button, above my left hip, and right above that place where older woman sometimes have baby bumps. It hurts to move, my throat is still sore and my voice hoarse from the intubation, my arm looks like a turtle shell from all the tape holding IV's, and it especially hurts to laugh because my organs feel sore, but I'm doing great. David is still sleeping peacefully beside me, but I wish he would wake up, but then I feel bad because he slept in a hospital chair last night while I got a cosy bed. Believe it or not, this post is much shorter than the one I originally wrote. If you made it all the way through, congratulations, and thanks for being a friend.

Married life & etc.

2010-01-13T14:57:00.003-06:00

I suppose before I give an update on how my life is post-marriage, I should write about the marriage itself, but my brain doesn't always work that way. Still, now that I've reminded myself that's probably the best thing to do, I suppose I'll do it.

Shortly before Christmas, David and I decided to move up our wedding from March 7th to January 9th (originally the 10th, but we changed when we realized our best man had a flight out to school that day at 7 AM). We did this for many reasons, but mostly because something my mom said made me reconsider why we had been planning a March 7th wedding in the first place.

David and I often lightly considered eloping, because it fit our personalities better - we're both spontaneous and typically anti-tradition, and I hate being the center of attention, an obligatory misfortune that comes with being a bride that is easily avoided in elopement. We figured, though, that with me being the only female grandchild on my mom's side of the family and with David being the eldest son in his, both our families would be incredibly disappointed if we didn't have a huge ceremony.

It turns out that wasn't the case, so we revamped the wedding to happen on a weekend when both my parents happened to be in Pittsburgh (originally for a bridal showcase), flew up my brother from his vacation in Orlando and my best friend from Nebraska three days before her semester started, and started planning and decision-making with a vengeance. Or to be more correct, our mothers started planning, and we vetoed or approved as necessary in between trips to David's apartment to move me in and organize my belongings. You never realize just how much stuff you have until you have to pack it, lift it, settle in into a minivan, drive 17 hours through the night with it, lift it, carry it, unpack it, and organize it all over again...

Back to the wedding. The ceremony was small, just our immediate families and Jana and the minister, and happened in David's parents' home. Flowers were sponsored by Costco, the cake was a mutual effort by our moms, and the decorations were provided by two of Debbi's friends from church, Debbie and Karen (who graciously offered her home as a venue for wedding pictures, taken by David's mom). David's brother Brian was our best man and Jana our best woman. John Vaught, a former preacher at Steve and Debbi's church of Christ, officiated the ceremony for us beautifully. Several people teared up (not me!), Mom bawled, and my face almost hurt from smiling so much. The ceremony only lasted about 15 minutes, but I could not have asked for anything more. Afterwards, we went up to the Georgetowne Inn on Mt. Washington, which provides excellent food and a scenic overlook of Pittsburgh, hurriedly took a few pictures (with coats this time!), and said goodbye to everyone.

Since then, I've been lounging around the house doing various housewife-y tasks. I'm in the process of applying to Pitt and am casually browsing for jobs. I suppose it's only a matter of time before my inner work ethic and feminist crack and I stop washing dishes manically and start reading voraciously, but until then, I'm enjoying the break.

Love, Heather (Manes)

Book Review: Daughter of Fortune, Isabel Allende

2009-12-26T15:12:00.003-06:00

This novel was a thorough and interesting read. It follows the story of a half-Chilean girl, Eliza Sommers, as she grows up in her adopted British family's home and later travels to California during the Gold Rush of the 1840's. Allende's narrative had several interesting and well-rounded characters, events, and settings, and I liked it because although it did have an overlying theme, it also included several side stories and in-depth background investigations of characters. Several themes emerge, including the ambiguity of gender roles, the cruelty of blind racism, and what truly defines love. It's a little on the lengthy side (about 400 pages), but well worth it if you're looking for a laid-back but enticing read.

It was also on Oprah's book list for February 2000, for what it's worth, though I only discovered that upon my completion of the novel while searching for literary acclaim.

Book Review: Harvesting the Heart, Jodi Picoult - & life, etc.

2009-12-23T22:47:00.005-06:00

This book was, at the same time, one of my most and least favourite Picoults. The plot took a good 200 pages to arrive, and even when she did start building it, I found myself hating the male protagonist so much that I could barely read his sections. Perhaps Picoult intended for that to happen; after all, the point of view in her books changes constantly, and this one used a first person narrator for the mother, Paige, but a limited omniscient narrator for her husband, Nicholas. After the plot got going, though, I found myself really loving the book; if I were judging the book by its last 150 pages or so, it would probably be my favourite Picoult so far.

Eventually, I found myself rooting for Nicholas and Paige in turn and got really caught up in how the story would end. That's why I read so many Picoults: she draws me into her stories so much that it doesn't feel like I'm reading a novel, it feels like I'm experiencing that particular situation firsthand, so I have to finish it as soon as possible to ensure all the characters turn out all right. I also like her novels because they almost always have some sort of a happy ending. Maybe one or two of the characters settle; maybe a main character dies (okay, that's not quite the happiest ending, but still); maybe everything doesn't happen how I hoped it would. But there's still a string of hope to hold onto when everything else in her novels turns out disappointingly realistic.

I have four books on my shelf from the Bellevue library, which means I have about two more weeks to read them. They are The Road by Cormac McCarthy, Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe, Daughter of Fortune by Isabel Allende, and another Picoult, Second Glance. Whenever I check out library books I have such a difficult time deciding which book I want to read next. I first intended to read the longest novel, Daughter of Fortune, after this first Picoult, but it took me about half a week to read Harvesting the Heart, which was much slower than I intended. I may try to read the other three and give up the Allende for another time; then again, there's not going to be much of a better time than now. I'm on break, but I honestly think I'm busier than I was during the semester. But really, I'm just happy to realize how blessed I am to have so many good novels to choose from in the first place.

It's been a busy (and stressful) half week. So far I've had a bridal shower, written all my thank you's for that (but haven't mailed them yet...), bought my wedding dress, veil, and shoes, planned several other pertinent parts of the wedding (found a minister, venue, finalized the guest list, found a woman who can alter and press my dress before we leave for Pittsburgh, trying to get flights for those attending knocked out right now), purchased the remainder of my Christmas presents, and helped my mom remove various heavy pieces of furniture from our house to be donated to Goodwill. Mom and Dad just got done remodeling the kitchen/living room; it looks great, but it's a been a lot of work so far as cleaning and rearranging the house goes. I know I'm stressed because I have four very painful sores in my mouth, and those only surface when I'm under a lot of pressure. The emergence of four at one time only goes to show just how deep the stress goes.

Tomorrow we're opening presents, then it's Christmas day, and then David (finally) comes. I doubt I'll update until after that, so for now, love to all who may read this and, only because I like the sound of it better than "happy holidays," Merry Christmas!

Parting is such sweet sorrow...

2009-12-17T14:35:00.002-06:00

...NOT.

Here are some of my thoughts on Harding University on my last day here.

First, I did come here expecting to like attending Harding, despite the fact that I am so not a church of Christ kinda girl. (No offense to those of you who may be - my entire family is church of Christ, as are most of my friends. I don't have a problem with them wanting to worship that way, so long as I don't have to.) I figured it would be much like my previous school but with different friends - chapel would be kind of annoying, and I would prefer to take a nice literature course instead of Bible, but all in all, it would be worth it. And it was, in many respects.

I met great people whom I love to death. I had several awesome professors who broadened my world view and expanded my knowledge on their class material and many other things. I met my fiance, David, the best person I've ever known. I got what I came for - an education - despite all the other things I'm glad to be getting away from. I'd like to admit that I knew what I was getting into, but I think that's untrue in many, many ways.

I didn't know I was getting into an environment that rewarded students for tattling on their friends and roommates. I didn't know that (some of) the faculty would be more concerned with enforcing spiritual regulations than psychological health. I didn't know there would be many times I would hear the message that it's okay to judge others and bring them down so low they feel worthless, so long as you quote a few Bible verses at them in the process. I didn't know it was more important to continue receiving donation money from alumni than pleasing the current students and tending to their needs and requests. I didn't know I was supposed to try to "fix" all my gay friends. I didn't know saying anything derogatory about the church of Christ or administration was on par with debating the divinity of Jesus, which only some awful, ignorant, stupid ~~hell-bound~~ ~~scum of the earth~~ atheist would or could ever do. ...Wait... (I love you, David.)

(Side note: That article lead to one of my favourite quotes of all time.
Jerk: But if there is no eternal [divine] foundation [for morality] why should I care about the rights and dignity of others?
Awesome person: So you wouldn't be an asshole.)

Most of the things I love about this school are connected with people who are good, moral, free-thinking people despite Harding University, not because of it. Most of these people are pretty vocal about disagreeing with some core beliefs of the University, and I think when you have people who are dedicated to looking for the positive aspects rather than the negative and they are still extremely unsatisfied, there's a major problem.

I don't regret coming here - I chose to, although I didn't have many other options, and portions of it have been very good for me - but I am certainly glad I'm getting out.

It's the Saturday before finals. What am I doing?

2009-12-12T20:48:00.002-06:00

...Just about anything but studying, and most especially pining over David because he's abandoned me (for the birthday party of his now 13-year-old brother. I know, I know - he can be so selfish).

How Well Do You Know Your Significant Other?

1. He's sitting in front of the TV, what is on the screen?
Probably something that I've begged him to watch for about three months. Don't worry, he's not watching. He's too busy teasing me for liking it.

2. You're out to eat; what kind of dressing does he get on his salad?
One that smells funny and tastes worse. I have no idea what we're going to do when we prepare salads for dinner; I am a Ranch girl, but I think he'd get tired of that.

3. What's one food he doesn't like?
Fruit (except for clementines). Weirdest kid ever. Fruit is clearly the most awesome food group.

4. You go out to eat and have a drink. What does he order?
Usually nothing, but wine if we're eating at a high-class establishment. We are bursting with class.

5. Where did he go to high school?
Seneca Valley.

6. What size shoe does he wear?
13? Shoes make his feet look monstrously intimidating.

7. If he was to collect anything, what would it be?
Intellectual books. I try to reverse this trend by buying silly ones and ostentatiously displaying them.

8. What is his favourite type of sandwich?
Chipped turkey with tomatoes and cheese and Miracle Whip. I hear about them at least once a week.

9. What would this person eat every day if he could?
Chipped turkey sandwiches with tomatoes and cheese and Miracle Whip. He probably does eat them every day.

10. What is his favorite cereal?
He's recently developed an intolerance to lactose and refuses to try soy milk, even though it is delicious and good for you, so he doesn't eat cereal anymore. This makes the four huge bags of Cap'n Crunch stacked against the wall at his apartment look even more pathetic.

11. What would he never wear?
Skinny jeans (not that I would ever encourage him to...men who wear them look ridiculous).

12. What is his favourite sports team?
Steelers! I wish I knew some catchy Steelers slogan to insert here, but I'm too recent a fan to know any. Consider my terrible towel waved, though.

13. Who did he vote for?
McCain, obviously.

......just kidding.

You don't need to know David well to realize this. You only need to talk to him for about five minutes.

14. Who is his best friend?
Me. Duh.
He really does say I'm his best friend, but I refer to Steve, Brian, and Mike as his bffs.

15. What is something you do that he wishes you wouldn't do?
Start losing at Nertz once he is my partner.

16. What is his heritage?
He doesn't know that himself, so I would basically be a super genius if I did. (Don't be fooled - I actually am a super genius. I just don't know his heritage.)

17. You bake him a cake for his birthday; what kind would he like?
He was a pretty big fan of the Butterfinger one Debbi made him for his last birthday.

18. Did he play sports in high school?
Starter for the B-string football team. That's my boy.

19. What could he spend hours doing?
Debating; he quite frequently does.

20. What is one unique talent he has?
Whenever he has to do something he doesn't want to, he has the amazing ability of transforming himself into a four-year-old throwing a tantrum. "Aaaah, AAAAAAAH!" It's hilarious, especially when needles are mentioned.

Wedding Update

2009-12-04T10:44:00.003-06:00

I technically made this blog for wedding updates, so I guess I should update.

David and I have been hesitant to do much wedding planning while I am still down here in Arkansas. It would require too much running around on his part and not enough participation on mine. So we planned to secure quite a few things over the break for our wedding and me moving up there in general, namely a venue, our rings, getting my engagement ring re-sized (it's about a half size too large so the diamond rotates on my finger constantly), our honeymoon, finding me a job, teaching me how to drive a stick, visiting my prospective university, and registering.

Apparently we both forgot that our visits typically include a lot of cuddling in front of the TV, playing Nertz (which for some odd reason transformed into playing Halo this break; I blame David's almost-13-year-old brother, Jeff), and talking with his family. We did pick out wedding rings, obtain a somewhat-secured venue (his parents' church of Christ - not our favourite location, but it's free and convenient), and register (at Target and Bed, Bath, and Beyond), but the large-scale planning is mostly going on in my mom's and Debbi's brains, I think. Debbi sat down and tried to help me select bridesmaid gowns, but I told my girls they could pick their own as long as they were green, and now I've amended that to any colour they want so long as it is bright and happy.

I've never been one of those girls who planned out her wedding throughout childhood, adolescence, or early adulthood. I figured once I was getting married, I would be so ecstatic that everything would just fall into place. I AM ecstatic, unbelievably so, but not about venues or catering or ceremony or dresses. I just want to be married to David. I don't care if that happens in a pricey venue or his backyard or on a boat (everybody look at me, cos I'm sailing on a boat!) or a courthouse, so long as by the end of March 7th, that marriage certificate is valid.

There's still a lot of planning to do, but I honestly think it'll be a lot easier when I'm permanently up there in Pittsburgh instead of stealing minutes away from our break time. Expect another update sometime in December when we've mailed out invitations. Until then, have a great end of semester.

For the Bible Tells Me So

2009-11-06T18:59:00.002-06:00

This documentary was so gorgeous. It brought me to tears, many times.

It chronicles the struggles of several families who were or are fundamentalist Christians with gay or lesbian children, including Chrissy Gephardt and Gene Robinson. It goes into the context of the Bible and explains things culturally and most of all stresses that the message of the Bible is love and acceptance, not judgment and ostracism. What most spoke to me was the message that it does no good to be prejudiced against the prejudiced. I often find myself looking down or being upset with Christians who either refuse to tolerate or blatantly hate LGBT people. This does no good at all and speaks against the message of the LBGT movement itself: that all people, no matter what gender, race, religion, societal position, or orientation, are equal and should be treated as such.

Shame on me for holding prejudice in my heart against the prejudiced. People say "love the sinner, hate the sin," but I don't believe in that. I try to refrain from hating at all. Hatred causes lines to blur and intentions to get fuzzy. After this documentary, I know what my intentions are - to love everyone I meet, no matter who or how they are. What are yours?

Laundry Days are the Best Days.

2009-11-05T22:43:00.005-06:00

Love Calls Us to the Things of This World

The eyes open to a cry of pulleys,
And spirited from sleep, the astounded soul
Hangs for a moment bodiless and simple
as false dawn.
Outside the open window
The morning air is all awash with angels.

Some are in bed-sheets, some are in blouses,
Some are in smocks: but truly there they are.
Now they are rising together in calm swells
Of halcyon feeling, filling whatever they wear
With the deep joy of their impersonal breathing;

Now they are flying in place, conveying
The terrible speed of their omnipresence, moving
And staying like white water; and now of a sudden
They swoon down into so rapt a quiet
That nobody seems to be there.
The soul shrinks

From all that it is about to remember,
From the punctual rape of every blessed day,
And cries,
"Oh, let there be nothing on earth but laundry,
Nothing but rosy hands in the rising steam
And clear dances done in the sight of heaven."

Yet, as the sun acknowledges
With a warm look the world's hunks and colo[u]rs,
The soul descends once more in bitter love
To accept the waking body, saying now
In a changed voice as the man yawns and rises,

"Bring them down from their ruddy gallows;
Let there be clean linen for the backs of thieves;
Let lovers go fresh and sweet to be undone,
And the heaviest nuns walk in a pure floating
Of dark habits,
keeping their difficult balance."

This poem by Richard Wilbur is the first one I ever loved. I've always thought poetry should be there as something to be read in passing, something to lift the spirits and cleanse the word-lover's palate. This poem gives me that feeling. It feels like cosy fires and sunlight and sunflowers and dipping my feet in pools and kisses.

Now I'm off to enjoy a nice sleep, drunk with the scent of detergent and the hug of warm bedclothes.

For Jillian Michaels

2009-11-05T17:43:00.003-06:00

You said it wouldn't
be easy. My thighs agree.
Ow ow ow, ow ow.

All things are ready, if our minds be so.

2009-11-02T19:52:00.002-06:00

Still having problems with my papers. Brit Lit's might turn into a huge feminist ~~literary~~ ~~thought-provoking~~ rant, Am Lit's compares Poe and Hawthorne (really. I couldn't think of anything better to do), and PC Lit's is slow going, making me really dislike a topic I loved at first.

I'm hoping this week will be a chance to buck up and just get things done, but this semester isn't readily doling out motivation. I have a severe case of ennui. I just hope it doesn't end up affecting my GPA in a serious way.

Sometime...

2009-11-02T00:35:00.000-06:00

I want to quit school so I can just think.

There's Blood in My Mouth, Cos I've Been Biting My Tongue All Week

2009-10-26T01:19:00.005-05:00

My found poem. :)

Friday night such a beautiful night
Here's a story of a girl who grew up lost and lonely
In the evening, in the evening
It's getting better all the time

I've been living to see you
Something filled up my heart with nothing
And when you give me your clothes
The seven deadly virtues, those ghastly little chaps
Wait around, if the fire's there, then put it out

Try not to get worried, try not to turn onto problems that upset you

I'm feeling mighty lonesome, haven't slept a wink
Every time our eyes meet
Reluctantly crouched at the starting line

My friends they wash the windows
There's a city draped in net
I've been so many places in my life and time
No I'm not colourblind

Leave on your phone just to find out you're not home
I'm moved when I see it

"Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around"

Book Review: The Time Traveler's Wife, Audrey Niffenegger

2009-10-25T01:42:00.004-05:00

Beautiful. Just beautiful.

Niffenegger crafts a love story so intimate and true that it's difficult to displace from reality. Henry starts spontaneously time traveling when he's 8. He describes it as being similar to epilepsy - there are tell-tale signs when he's about to vanish, but he cannot stop it and cannot wish himself back or forward in time. At 36 he travels to a meadow where he meets a 6-year-old Clare who both is and will be his wife. Niffenegger documents their relationship and their lives together in and out and through time. It was interesting and enchanting, the way Henry knew and didn't know things. His past or future selves would leave clues or guide him through tough times. Though the novel is titled The Time Traveler's Wife, it is mostly about Henry and the effect his genetic disease has on Clare, the way she is forced to pick up the pieces and carry on without him, constantly waiting and worrying and wondering when he'll return to her. I like the title in that sense. It shows that even if the reader wanted to make Clare the main character instead of Henry, his presence is so deep within her that it's impossible to view them as separate beings. I think everyone hopes for a love like that. Their love is timeless and ephemeral simultaneously.

I feel as if Clare and Henry are still out there, somewhere in time, madly and desperately in love in a situation that forces them to rely wholly on each other. This novel was easy to read and filled with vibrant characters and gorgeous emotions. Do you know what I mean by that, saying a book has emotion? Like you can just open up the cover and be overwhelmed by it. In case you don't know what I mean, I've decided to include the letter Henry writes Clare in the event of his death -

December 10, 2006

Dearest Clare,
As I write this, I am sitting at my desk in the back bedroom looking out at your studio across the backyard full of blue evening snow, everything is slick and crusty with ice, and it is very still. It's one of those winter evenings when the coldness of every single thing seems to slow down time, like the narrow center or an hourglass which time itself flows through, but slowly, slowly. I have the feeling, very familiar to me when I am out of time but almost never otherwise, of being buoyed up by time, floating effortlessly on its surface like a fat lady swimmer. I had a sudden urge, tonight, here in the house by myself (you are at Alicia's recital at St. Lucy's) to write you a letter. I suddenly wanted to leave something, for after. I think that time is short, now. I feel as though all my reserves, of energy, of pleasure, of duration, are thin, small. I don't feel capable of continuing very much longer. I know you know.

If you are reading this, I am probably dead. (I say probably because you never know what circumstances may arise; it seems foolish and self-important to just declare one's own death as an out-and-out fact.) About this death of mine - I hope it was simple and clean and unambiguous. I hope it didn't create too much fuss. I'm sorry. (This reads like a suicide note. Strange.) But you know: you know that if I could have stayed, if I could have gone on, that I would have clutched every second: whatever it was, this death, you know that it came and took me, like a child carried away by goblins.

Clare, I want to tell you, again, I love you. Our love has been the thread through the labyrinth, the net under the high-wire walker, the only real thing in this strange life of mine that I could ever trust. Tonight I feel that my love for you has more density in this world than I do, myself: as though it could linger on after me and surround you, keep you, hold you.

I hate to think of you waiting. I know that you have been waiting for me all your life, always uncertain of how long this patch of waiting would be. Ten minutes, ten days. A month. What an uncertain husband I have been, Clare, like a sailor, Odysseus alone and buffeted by tall waves, sometime wily and sometimes just a plaything of the gods. Please, Clare. When I am dead. Stop waiting and be free. Of me - put me deep inside you and then go out in the world and live. Love the world and yourself in it, move through it as though it offers no resistance, as though the world is your natural element. I have given you a life of suspended animation. I don't mean to say that you have done nothing. You have created beauty, and meaning, in your art, and Alba, who is so amazing, and for me: for me you have been everything.

After my mom died she ate up my father completely. She would have hated it. Every minute of his life since then has been marked by her absence, every action has lacked dimension because she is not there to measure against. And when I was young I didn't understand, but now, I know, how absence can be present, like a damaged nerve, like a dark bird. If I had to live on without you I know I could not do it. But I hope, I have this vision of you walking unencumbered, with your shining hair in the sun. I have not seen this with my eyes, but only with my imagination, that makes pictures, that always wanted to paint you, shining; but I hope that this vision will be true, anyway.

Clare, there is one last thing, and I have hesitated to tell you, because I'm superstitiously afraid that telling might cause it to not happen (I know: silly) and also because I have just been going on about not waiting and this might cause you to wait longer than you have ever waited before. But I will tell you in case you need something, after.
Last summer, I was sitting in Kendrick's waiting room when I suddenly found myself in a dark hallway in a house I don't know. I was sort of tangled up in a bunch of galoshes, and it smelled like rain. At the end of the hall I could see a rim of light around a door, and so I went very slowly and very quietly to the door and looked in. The room was white, and intensely lit with morning sun. At the window, with her back to me, sat a woman, wearing a coral-colored [sic] cardigan sweater, with long white hair all down her back. She had a cup of tea beside her, on a table. I must have made some little noise, or she sensed me behind her . . . she turned and saw me, and I saw her, and it was you, Clare, this was you as an old woman, in the future. It was sweet, Clare, it was sweet beyond telling, to come as though from death to hold you, and to see all the years present in your face. I won't tell you any more, so you can imagine it, so you can have it unrehearsed when the time comes, as it will, as it does come. We will see each other again, Clare. Until then, live, fully, present in the world, which is so beautiful.

It's dark, now, and I am very tired. I love you, always. Time is nothing.

Henry

Does it count as procrastination...

2009-10-24T12:25:00.003-05:00

...if I am putting off writing one paper to do research for my other two?

I think not.

I hope not.

I really am having trouble with writing it, which is terrible, because (so far) it's my favourite topic of all of them...

Curses curses curses. Why is November only a week away already?

Well, look who's behind on her own times.

2009-10-17T01:02:00.009-05:00

I think I've delayed posting for so long for several reasons. 1), my news should have been shared the weekend it happened, but I was...preoccupied...; 2), it was midterms week at school and I had five tests; 3), sometimes I miss David so much it's difficult to talk about him without getting choked up, and that's especially the case after we've had to say goodbye another time.

Fortunately, this is the second-to-last time we'll ever have to say goodbye. David proposed to me during my fall break visit. It was more perfect that I ever could have imagined, and I think that's because he took me completely by surprise. We both love being outside and going for walks (in fact, he asked me out after we had walked the entire bike trail here in Searcy), so we decided to go backpacking on the Laurel Ridge trail for 12 miles when I came up last weekend. After we had reached the half-point on our first day of hiking (which was almost completely uphill - I am not exaggerating), he set up the camera to take a few pictures of us. His hands were shaking really badly as he preset the camera, and I remember thinking That's odd...he hasn't had any caffeine today.... I saw him racing around behind me to get in the picture, and when I looked to my left, he was kneeling instead of standing. I totally didn't get it. I thought he had fallen and was slightly surprised that he had missed out on the picture. When he asked me to marry him, I immediately said "Yes," assuming he was Jim Halpert-ing me (informally proposing). I realized he was serious and amazingly did not cry (much). We took more pictures (which I would include, but it's late, and I'm lazy. They're on facebook) and the rest of the hike went swimmingly (hikingly?).

We've decided on a Pittsburgh wedding on March 7, 2010. That's about as far as we've got so far. I was never one of those girls who immaculately planned out her wedding, so it's rather ironic that I'm the first of any of my friends to be engaged. Now I'm all caught up in figuring out the budget and deciding whether or not to do this or that for the wedding and I'm still completely aware that this is the most blessed I've ever felt in my entire life, as well as completely taken aback that it happened to me at all. It's surreal and entirely real at the same time.

There's my version. You can read David's here, and pictures are here and here.

Update:
That's partially the reason why I started this blog. David and I knew within the month that we started dating that we wanted to get married someday. This has been a (relatively) long time coming. I wanted to start the blog to give updates on wedding plans, moving plans, honeymoon plans, etc., and also as a means to keep in touch with friends at Harding after I've moved to Pittsburgh.

Don't think of it as losing quantity. Think of it as gaining probability.

2009-10-04T13:52:00.008-05:00

I have lived in three states throughout my entire life (accepting that going away to college places your residency, albeit temporarily, in another state): Nebraska, Oklahoma, and Arkansas. Surprisingly, I've turned out relatively normal; even more surprisingly, I've managed to escape being confronted with a (poisonous) snake. Living in a populous area like Oklahoma City doesn't put you up against the likes of five different rattlesnakes, copperheads, and cottonmouths very often. Some sort of spiritual immunity hovering over the boundaries of Searcy, AR has prevented me from ever glimpsing Arkansas' three poisonous rattlesnakes, water moccasins, coral snakes, and copperheads. I've never stepped into the cornfields or onto the western sand dunes of Nebraska, thus avoiding the prairie and timber rattlesnakes, western massasuagas, and (yet again) copperheads. In fact, the only time I've ever glimpsed poisonous snakes was as the family van ran over them in Texas or my (ex)friends dragged me and forced me up against the glass cages at the Henry Doorly Zoo. I've lived a charmed existence so far, never being confronted face-to-fangs, and I hoped I would reap more blessings as I moved north. Surely snakes only live in mild or warmer climates, right? They couldn't survive the hypothermia-inducing winters of the Northeast.
Wrong.

As I tossed and turned in my bed last night, I found myself thinking of the backpacking trip David and I will take in Pennsylvania this Thursday and Friday. We're hiking six miles, camping during the night, and hiking back the next morning. This will probably be fairly commonplace when I move up there, since we both love nature, climbing rocks, and buying cute new hiking accessories (okay, the last one is only me). A passing thought suddenly gripped me with fear: placing myself out in the midst of nature would only make it easier for the snakes to hunt me down and fang me in my sleep. Heart racing, I googled "poisonous snakes of Pennsylvania," hoping for the best. I was blown away by the results.

It turns out that snakes aren't warded away by colder climates. The same three creepers keep slithering back into my life: the timber rattlesnake, the northern copperhead, and this time, the eastern massasuaga rattlesnake. I know there are fewer poisonous varieties than in any other state I've lived in, but that's not all - I'm basically inviting them to strike at me now by adventuring off into the woods instead of staying safe and cosy in my dorm room. And what's worse, you're not allowed to kill the rattlesnakes (those that most frequent the trails), because they're either endangered or well on their way to becoming so.

Using this piece of information, you might twist it and say "Well, if they're endangered, it's not very likely that you'll see one, right?" Wrong. They can smell the fear.

I would post a picture of the sneaky snake that is most likely to bring about my demise, but then I would be too petrified to view my own blog. Instead, I will post this nice picture of the luck dragon from Neverending Story. I'm going to need all the luck I can get.

I am already tired of this blog.

2009-10-03T02:14:00.008-05:00

This happens sometimes with me and blogs. I will be bored out of my mind one day and think "Wouldn't it be awesome if I had a blog? Then people could read my awesome thoughts and think about how awesome I am and we could become bff and fill the world with our awesomeness." And then I start one and realize I have nothing to talk about and people are probably judging me for how un-awesome I am and then I realize that surprise (but really not because I've known it all along), there are like three people reading and they are only doing it because they love me and understand that sometimes I need comments to feel important. Except usually I don't return the favour (sorry, David).

Anyway, I'm still awake, as is usual on Friday and Saturday nights (and sometimes random Wednesdays). I had planned to read Dead Until Dark by Charlaine Harris all in one go tonight, but then Jo, Adria, Delaney and I all watched the Mothman Prophecies (weird) and went to Sonic and David and I watched Hotel Rwanda and he wouldn't let me adopt Rwandan babies. I'm still awake because I still want to read a good portion of Charlaine Harris tonight, but I have been distracted with movies and reading blogs and other strange and random things.

I was thinking about a conversation (argument/epic challenge) that Becca, Adria, and I had earlier. Becca and I wanted pizza (mmmm!) after class, and she had a pepperoni one in the freezer, but when I took it out all the pepperoni were lined up in the middle of the pizza with just a few outliers on the edges. I don't know what kind of crazy person is okay with that, so I took off all the pepperoni and fixed them so they were more evenly spaced (though not perfectly even, as Becca would tell you). Becca thought I was being so ridiculous that she took a picture and memorialized how creepy my hands can look for eternity, but not really because I doubt it will be uploaded to anywhere. Then Adria came home and I made her (/asked politely if she would) tell Becca that rearranging uneven pizza toppings is perfectly rational and normal. Then Becca said we were BOTH crazy and all three of us changed our facebook statuses to get as many opinions as possible (Adria and I won. By...a lot). Sometime in the middle of this I grabbed my phone to text David, because I do that sometimes when I do things that people think are ridiculous. I always ask "Is it weird to do _____?" and because I am the one asking he knows I am the one doing it so he almost always says "You are a strange girl. But I still love you" and I kind of chuckle to myself because let's face it, I am a strange girl. Anyway, this time he agreed with me, which made me wonder...when did David become my pillar of rationality? He is not the most rational person. In fact, he thinks Republicans should be isolated from the rest of the world. I don't really have a point, except that sometimes, I am ~~the most rational person in the world~~ ~~the most rational non-Republican person in the world~~ more rational than David. So chew on that. And also maybe in the future, ignore any posts I make after midnight.

xoxo Heather

Book Review: The Virgin Suicides, Jeffrey Eugenides

2009-10-01T17:10:00.005-05:00

I was encouraged to read The Virigin Suicides by my roommate, Adria. I purchased the movie version for her as a birthday present last year. We watched it one night close to finals week when we were supposed to be doing important scholastic things, so I already knew how the story ended, even if the novel included more background and further plot developments. I guess it doesn't take much to figure the basic concept out; it's right there in the title. Regardless, I think knowing the ending ruined the novel for me.

The story centers around five Lisbon girls, aged from 13 to 17: Cecilia, Lux, Bonnie, Mary, and Therese. Their parents are extremely devout Catholics who don't allow the girls to socialize properly. The youngest attempts to commit suicide, but fails; she is successful a few weeks later, and this provides the context for most of the novel. Told from a first person plural perspective by the Lisbon-obsessed boys of the neighbourhood, The Virgin Suicides explores how Cecilia's death affects her sisters and the rest of the neighbourhood.

I measure whether a novel is good or not by the feeling I get upon its completion. That's why I have such issues with beginning a book and then laying it aside - I feel I can't judge it properly unless I've read it all the way through. The only thing I'm overcome with is disappointment. The concept of five beautiful virgin teenage girls (well, four - Lux is a bit of a temptress) is alluring enough to pique curiosity, even if that's the only context. However, the context the Eugenides provides makes their deaths seem inconsequential, since everyone in the neighbourhood (and therefore his readers) expects it to happen. Maybe there's something in his boldness with such a tender subject that I'm missing; maybe that lack of surprise is what Eugenides felt would "make" his novel. If that's the case, I just don't see it.

Here's what I do see: an interesting concept explained by a great voice (having the boys of the neighbourhood narrate was genius, the best thing about Virgin Suicides, in my opinion) that has been lost in a molasses-slow plot and inconsistency. All signs point to the parents as the causation of the Lisbon girls' suicides, but they never do anything actively terrible. Also, two of the girls successfully kill themselves with sleeping pills. I've only done a modicum of research about suicide for a school project back in seventh grade for my health class, but even I know that taking sleeping pills is one of the least effective ways to commit suicide. The body automatically rejects the amount of toxicity by causing the consumer to vomit the pills back out. This wasn't a minute detail, it was one of the defining points of the novel. It seemed like Eugenides hadn't done much research, and that made me less inclined to appreciate his writing.

This whole novel made me reconsider what I deem to be good writing. Does a great idea make a good novel? A great plot? Characters? Themes? I don't think a novel can be considered truly great unless it has several of these characteristics, and that is why The Virgin Suicides does not meet my standards of a good work of fiction. I have tagged it an an "airplane book" because that's what I consider it to be: it doesn't matter if you get distracted, because it's not a novel that requires concentration and active thinking. This novel is good for whiling away the hours, but not for sparking intellectual curiosity. I wouldn't recommend not reading it, but I wouldn't recommend reading it, either.

My suitemates are crazy

2009-10-01T01:42:00.001-05:00

...but I love them.

Book Review: Handle with Care, Jodi Picoult

2009-09-27T13:15:00.031-05:00

Let me preface my post with this: I love Jodi Picoult. She is one of my favourite authors. I love that her plots are a combination of medical dilemmas, ethics, and lawsuits; I love that each novel has chapters from multiple points of view; I love the interactions within her plots. All of those elements were present in this novel - and they were good - but somehow, they did not blow me away this time, like they usually do. I don't think a novel is great until it surprises me in some way. This novel didn't do that, or at least not at the end, which is the best time to be surprised.

Picoult's formula is a good one, but for some reason, Handle with Care came across as too formulaic. It felt like Picoult took the exact same plot for My Sister's Keeper, exchanged the medical problems and attorneys, subtracted one kid, plugged in new careers for the parents, and shipped it off to her editor.

In this novel, the mom, Charlotte, files a lawsuit against her obstetrician for wrongful birth. Her daughter, Willow, has Type III osteogenesis imperfecta, which means her brittle bones will break at the slightest jostling for the rest of her life. Her obstetrician could have caught this earlier in the pregnancy, giving Charlotte the option to terminate and try again for a healthy child. Charlotte's logic determines that it doesn't matter "wrongful birth" implies she wishes her daughter had never been born. She thinks she can convince her 6-year-old otherwise, by day-to-day living and loving. She feels this lawsuit is all for Willow, since the money will improve her lifestyle.

I think the main reason why I wasn't sold on this book is because, as I said before, it's predictable. It's predictable that Charlotte would file the lawsuit, so sure her daughter would believe that she loved her and was doing the best for her all along, and then question it later on. It's predictable that Sean, Charlotte's husband, would disagree with the lawsuit eventually, and that it would cause problems within their marriage. It's predictable that both parents would favour the ailing younger sister, completely ignoring 12-year-old Amelia (and I think everyone knows that 12-year-olds should not be ignored and left to their own devices). It's predictable that Marin, Charlotte's lawyer, would disagree with her client, since she was given up for adoption at birth. It's predictable that the lawsuit would break up Charlotte's relationship with her obstetrician.

Despite all this, Handle with Care is written beautifully, strategically planned to make readers explore the morality of wrongful birth lawsuits. Is it okay to terminate a pregnancy if going through with it guarantees a lifetime of pain for your child? Is it okay to blame someone else for the inadequacy you have as a parent to provide insurance and health care for your family? Is it okay to say one incredibly hurtful thing to loved ones - I wish you had never been born - if it ultimately improves their lifestyle?

For this reason, Jodi Picoult's novels will always spark my interest. Reading them is not so much a matter of identifying with the characters as it is making me think about my worldview and opinions. If you like thinking, if you enjoy good writing, if diverse characters and situations catch your interest, and if you don't mind some small factors of poor plot (predictable, recycled, or conventional - for this author, anyway), I encourage you to pick up a Picoult. You won't be sorry.

Impulses, Pt. 1

2009-09-24T21:37:00.000-05:00

I just bought five Jodi Picoult books on amazon when I was looking for a present for David.
I did get him the present. And it's friggin awesome. But still.

Ridiculous Ramblings and Run-On Sentences, pt. 1

2009-09-21T21:36:00.000-05:00

I chose to write in Lucinda Grande because it sounded grande. Turns out, it's not so great.

I took three Benadryl last night because I was itchy and wanted to commemorate my first Monday of sleeping in. Before today, I had to rise and shine and give God the glory at 6. 6 AM. I am not a 6 AM kind of girl. I am a 9 AM kind of girl. So this was a momentous occasion. Very momentous, as it turns out, because instead of waking up at 8:15 I woke up at 9:17 because the three Benadryl (not me!) heard my alarm go off at 6 and shut it off and then made me collapse back into my warm bed where I tried to will myself to set another alarm but let's face it, the Benadryl had taken over my body and it was the point of no return. So instead of reading Cry, the Beloved Country in chapel I spent fifteen minutes trying to decide what to wear (very uncharacteristic) and marched off to class.

Let me tell you something about my Mondays. They are torturous. That has climbed the charts from the outright anguish that I experienced before I dropped my (second, all-freshman) bible class, and especially since (as you already know!) some precious girl switched my Monday work hours for her Friday hours. Now, I have one class at 10, a break (goodbye bible!), three classes from 12-3, and another class from 4:30-6. Not too shabby. Life is looking up lately.

Oh, I suppose this post should have been something introductory. Let's face it: if you've made it this far, you know what I'm like. I'm impulsive, quite silly, very amused with myself, and excessively garrulous. If you couldn't tell by that last word, I read ravenously, and when I so please my vocabulary can be quite extensive. Don't worry, I don't so please very often. I really started this post because I was craving waffles. That went away sometime in the process. That happens, too.

I don't want to give you the wrong impression, though. I can be quite intelligent, and I'll probably write blogs on morality, spirituality, and literature, because I love all those things. I'm an English major, so sometimes I just like to write. Basically, this blog is for whatever literary expression I need at the time, whether it be ranting, rambling, rhetorically inclined, or romancing. Enjoy the ride.