A little different

There's a scene in this episode of 30 rock, wherein Tina Fey's and Alec Baldwin's characters take a trip to Stone Mountain, Georgia in search of "real, middle-American talent." Tina Fey, skeptical about the existence of any kind of "real" American, expresses her worldview that all people are basically the same, having only the common desire to sit in peace and eat a sandwich. She sets this philosophy in action by ordering a carp sandwich "with extra chuckle" from a restaurant called Fatty Fat's Sandwich Ranch. Shortly after, at the hotel, Tina finds that the carp sandwich "is not agreeing with her worldview" and ends up toilet-side. Alec Baldwin enters to hand her a bottle of "Peppy Bismilk" sent up by the receptionist, at which an aggravated Tina Fey exclaims, "Why is everything a little different here?! I hate it!"

I think about this scene at least once a day, and it's not because I hate it here. It's just so true. For anyone who's spent any time in the American south, you know what's up. For those who haven't, let me just relate to you a few observations/incidents I've been witness to that have both delighted as well as given me pause:

• -Carl's Jr.? It's called Hardee's down here. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for this, but I was unprepared for it nonetheless.

• Everyone parks their vehicles on their lawns. Don't matter if your lawn is at an incline or 10ft x10 ft.

• People, especially big black mamas, aren't afraid to give you 'tude if you deserve it. My experience with old people prepared me for this a little bit.

• If you don't address a woman as ma'am, you're rude. I still haven't gotten the hang of this formality yet, which may be why I'm the recipient of so much 'tude.

• I actually heard someone say the phrase "Lawd Jesus" in exclamation the other day. For a middle-class suburban-raised white girl who's only known black vernacular in the form of young adult civil rights novels, it is exciting and actualizing to find that people actually talk like that.

• Everyone holds a yard sale every day. At least, I think that's what's going on...

• Why yes, I have seen someone riding their riding lawnmower down the sidewalk.

• The hottest hangout spot in town? It's called Cupcakes Y'all.

• There's always someone walking on the side of the road. Not hitchhiking - just walking, chillin' on the median, what have you, listening to their beatz and looking chillaxed. I debated throwing that last line in there cause it's maybe getting a little too racist, but it seemed essential to me in conveying to you just what I'm talking about.
  

• For anyone who thought maybe the so-called "Bible Belt" was a myth, I can tell you that there are a handful of well-to-do pastors down here who would have to disagree. I've never seen churches so big. Like Walmart Supercenters, I tell you.

• Guns. Ohhhhh, do people love their guns. I never thought I'd feel like such a black sheep for not owning one to keep in my purse at all times, but that day has come. And yet I can't shake the feeling that they're the weird ones, not me. Yes, I was officially raised in the Pacific Northwest.

• One Saturday night I was googling "things to do in Dothan, AL" (that ought to produce a chuckle right there) and came across a list that some poor, persevering soul had put together. The list consisted mainly of antique doll shops and golf courses, but there at the end, I found it: #25. Peanut Monument. Giant, gold peanut sculpture at Visitor Information Center helps to proclaim Dothan as Peanut Capital of the World." No offense, but we went to Cracker Barrel instead.

• I think I once heard somewhere that people in the south refer to all carbonated drinks as "Coke" (maybe that was a Utah thing? Getting my stereotypes mixed up). The point is, I believe it now.

Also, Exhibit B:


You get the gist. I love it down here, I really do. It turns out that Southern Hospitality is also a real thing, and I've been the recipient of it at every turn. I'm grateful for the cultural immersion I've experienced here and I look forward to many, many more culture shocks as I begin my new job in a somewhat ghetto part of town.*

Also, I feel like it's too late now to write some gushy post about being engaged and all that, but I will say that we're happy, in love, pretty scared, but also excited. Jdub is the source of everything good about me, and I feel so lucky that I get to be his Mdub soon and forever.





*Edit 3/7/12; Yep, I called it. Today on my first day of work, I not only got a rapper's business card (they're called The MiZfiTZ, and they wanna say thanks to all haters), but also made friends with an exotic dancer. The lady mentions that she's a dancer, and that she's buying this funky duct tape to tape her stilettos with. "Oh really, what kind of dance do you do?" I ask conversationally as I ring up her lime green lace panties. Did I mention I grew up white, middle-class, suburban and sheltered?

Conversation

is not my strong point. We all know this. Let's just get it out on the table right now that anything interesting you've ever heard from me came out on this blog. Also, most likely if you ever tried to discuss said interesting thing with me at a later time, in person, I probably didn't have much to say about it anymore. Maybe the Mish you know in person is not the one who writes on here?

But actually it turns out I'm just really slow. Slow to figure out what I'm thinking. Slow to translate those thoughts into intelligible conversation. By the time I figure out what I want to say and how best to say it, the moment has usually passed. So I usually smile and agree, and that is that.

Obviously all this means is that introversion has reared its ugly head once more. But instead of my usual session of Introvert Apologetics, this time I think I ought to just apologize.

Because I am so slow to speak, I find that I miss a lot of opportunities to do good. I have suppressed many generous thoughts in my day. I have let slip many opportunities to comfort and encourage. Maybe part is because I don't find the words in time. But I know a lot is because I'm scared. Scared of what, not sure.

I guess I just want you all to know that I agree - this is a totally lame way to live. Tina Fey shared this point, sort of, via clever improv analogy.

The first rule of improvisation is AGREE. Always agree and SAY YES. When you’re improvising, this means you are required to agree with whatever your partner has created. So if we’re improvising and I say, “Freeze, I have a gun,” and you say, “That’s not a gun. It’s your finger. You’re pointing your finger at me,” our improvised scene has ground to a halt. But if I say, “Freeze, I have a gun!” and you say, “The gun I gave you for Christmas! You scumbag!” then we have started a scene because we have AGREED that my finger is in fact a Christmas gun.

Now, obviously in real life you’re not always going to agree with everything everyone says. But the Rule of Agreement reminds you to “respect what your partner has created” and to at least start from an open-minded place. Start with a YES and see where that takes you.

As an improviser, I always find it jarring when I meet someone in real life whose first answer is no. “No, we can’t do that.” “No, that’s not in the budget.” “No, I will not hold your hand for a dollar.” What kind of way is that to live?

The second rule of improvisation is not only to say yes, but YES, AND. You are supposed to agree and then add something of your own. If I start a scene with “I can’t believe it’s so hot in here,” and you just say, “Yeah…” we’re kind of at a standstill. But if I say, “I can’t believe it’s so hot in here,” and you say, “What did you expect? We’re in hell.” Or if I say, “I can’t believe it’s so hot in here,” and you say, “Yes, this can’t be good for the wax figures.” Or if I say, “I can’t believe it’s so hot in here,” and you say, “I told you we shouldn’t have crawled into this dog’s mouth,” now we’re getting somewhere.

To me YES, AND means don’t be afraid to contribute. It’s your responsibility to contribute. Always make sure you’re adding something to the discussion. Your initiations are worthwhile.

So I'm working on it. YES, AND is not a natural way for me. Or at least, out loud it isn't. But I'm tired of letting my generous thoughts slip by. Plus, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna be held accountable for all those missed opportunities, someday.



P.S. If you ever bring up this post in person, I will obviously have nothing further to say on the matter.

Elderly Men, Bee $ Bling, and Flenna

Friday was my last day at the assisted living facility. You'll remember my glowing evaluation at the beginning of the semester of all things stooped and wrinkly. I'm happy to report that I was not disillusioned. Sure, you've got your crotcheties, your gossips, not to mention your eternally-smelling-of-uric-acid's, but all these things aside, I'm still convinced that they are the most wonderful brand of people you will ever meet. I'm certainly going to miss them. Anyhow, I went around and said personal goodbyes to some of my favorites - thus the myspace-like photos below. Oh, and I may have tweaked them a tad on picnik?



Blind, snarky, loveable Dean. This guy never failed to give me a hard time for trying to recruit him for activities. He also never failed to seek me out afterwards to inform me that he went to them. He's my favorite.



Sweet, sweet Ben who earned a silver star in the Korean War, writes books on LDS divorce prevention, and makes me feel like a hundred bucks. This goodbye was especially hard. We even kissed on the lips, but I don't want to talk about that any further. The point is, he's my favorite.



This one looks like an engagement photo, and that's kind of awkward, but I still love this guy too. Casey has the most raucous laugh you've ever heard, wears sunglasses at all times, and brings himself to tears every time he plays the piano in the lobby. Several disturbing lip-kisses at this goodbye too, but I REALLY don't want to talk about that, because this is going to be remembered as a sweet event, ok? Not an icky one. Cause he's my favorite.


Oh, so then I shot the breeze with Bee Money and we said our goodbyes. Frankly, the Bee $ issue troubles me. How do you solve a problem like Bee Money? Eh, I've been trying to formulate in words exactly what I mean, but it's not working , so I'll just insert some key words for now: responsibility, community, mental deficits, caretaking. Just so you know, he's as pure and good as they come.




Oh, and then there was that time Carol, Michael and myself performed that embarrassing photoshoot at the Salt Flats (embarrassing because we performed a photoshoot - the pictures themselves were fine). (That's a lie, the pictures were embarrassing, too).








Oh right, Flenna. Flenna: that thing where you're happily flossing when you notice that your floss seems to be an unnatural yellowish color, and then you follow your discolored string to the source, only to find that you have been unwittingly dragging it through the not-quite-dried henna paint on your hand, which means, of course, that you have been flossing with henna. Flenna.

Thoughts for Thursday

Ok. First. Take a gander at them nails. As T, Kj and I discovered, it actually works! THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING. Go here for directions. Better yet, just git yerself on over to my pinterest page, cause you should really be checking that out anyway. Pinterest is love.





Second. All I ever want to do these days is sit on my bed and watch 30 Rock. I'm sorry to say my Tina Fey girl-crush continues to escalate to unhealthy proportions.



Third, you know that thing where you're responsibly waiting at a crosswalk for the white stick man to show up, and all of the sudden some bold character shuffles past you and starts crossing the street, and for a brief second you're all confused and thinking Wait! He's not here yet! And next you're feeling all lame and prudeish for being so law-abiding. You know, that thing? Yeah.

Fourth, a very warm welcome to my scrumptious new niece, Amelia. If birth stories are your thing, perhaps go read my sister's blog post about Amelia's birth, cause it's hilarious. Except what am I saying? You all know this! Cause she's your sister too.

Also, totally jazzed to be approaching graduationdom. Larsens, winter the way it was meant to be lived (eat it, Utah), and also T. has agreed to perform an intervention in my out-of-control carb addiction. I predict many convulsions and gnashings of teeth during those first few weeks of detox, but maybe after that my body will be able to accept roughage again. And maybe these next few weeks I'll be unconsciously filling up on Hostess fruit pies to make up for the upcoming famine, or maybe not so unconsciouslywhat? I don't wanna talk about it. Apple's my favorite.

Life is Good, But This is Always True.

A Tale of Three Churches

Over the past few months, I've picked up something of a bad habit. Or, maybe it's a good habit. But before I get into that, I would ask that you refer to this article so you can have a bit of context on the matter at hand.

There now. Pretty good stuff, huh? I think it was B-man that posted the article to his facebook page a couple years ago. Like any self-justifying member of a misunderstood minority, I ate that thing up when I read it. And along with Card, I have found myself not a few times since then reflecting longingly on the idea of a mini-Mormon monastery.

But alas, the structure of faithful church membership remains as it is, three hours, once a week in a designated meetinghouse. And I suppose there must be divine wisdom in that. Still, I have discovered an alternative that I allow myself to take, only every now and then, when my student ward becomes too much to handle.


























Family wards. I go to family wards. It started out innocently enough. Oops! By some freak accident I overslept my alarm and missed my ward today, oh well, guess I'll have to go to the family ward instead. After all, it's just right down the street. This evolved into, Geez, my ward meets so early, I'm just gonna catch up on some sleep and hit up the family ward tomorrow instead. This soon became, I only ever go to the family ward because student wards blow. It was a problem.

But you have to understand! First of all, do you know how refreshing family wards are for someone who has only known church in the form of exalted high school for the past five years? It's like stepping out of an artificially-created world into the real deal. To me, family wards represent what real life is like. It's not quite so neatly manicured as a student ward. It's not quite so Stepford Wivesy. And I like that.

Second, do you know how awesome it is for an introvert to be able to sit through all three meetings completely undisturbed? And why is that? Cause no one knows you! Forget the stomach-churning, mind-numbing, soul-deadening chit-chat that is common to halls and foyers, you don't got nobody to talk to! Sure, you might have to endure a few well-meaning souls who want to know if you're new here or visiting, but in the end it's still worth it cause you're never going to see this person again. Off come the chains of social responsibility, you are free! Free to worship as you please, which is privately, in the back row, and only until the last prayer is said, after which you better believe you are outta there quicker than you can say Visiting Teacher. Basically, it's wonderful. The only revitalizing Sundays I ever have anymore are the ones in which I allow myself this indulgence.

Today was one of those days. I woke up, made pancakes, got ready for church, and drove down to the 'ol meetinghouse where I knew a family ward was guaranteed to be meeting. Unfortunately for me, I was barely seated when I happened to make eye contact with my old roommate and her newly-married husband, who are apparently in this ward now. By the time I realized my error, it was too late, and I became obligated to come and sit with them. So much for my hour of private worship.

Unwilling to ride out the rest of the church block with my acquaintances, who would surely feel obligated to invite me to continue on with them to Sunday School, I respectfully bid goodbye to my married friends and headed out in search of another meetinghouse. A short way down the road, I chanced upon the very first ward I ever attended after moving to Utah. I decided to give it a shot. Unfortunately for me, former young women leader who happens to be a psychiatrist who once gave me free counseling is still in that ward, and may have recognized me. I waited out the second hour, but you better believe the closing prayer had me outta there faster than you can say Bad Memories.

The third hour of church finds me parked at one of those fancy new meetinghouses that all look the same. What is wrong with me? I think. Why do I find it so impossibly difficult to attend more than three hours of the same ward, much less my assigned ward? Aw, who cares, I think. All that matters is that I'm attending my meetings and being edified. And then I think, Man, I sure am lucky to be living through this phase in a state where I can find a different ward every quarter-mile. And then I think, Hey, what should I eat when I get home from church? And then I go inside.





And find that no one in that church building currently speaks anything but Mandarin.



You can't say I didn't try.


The last half hour of church finds me at Grant's nursing home. Unfortunately, he is asleep and I am not one to wake people from afternoon naps.


The fourth hour of church finds me at my favorite cemetery overlooking the valley. Hunsaker and Hall are kind enough to let me share their plot while I sort out the complexities of the living world. And it's just nice.


I don't mean to come off as one of those weirdy, God-is-everywhere types. I don't mean to imply that sitting in nature has the same effect as engaging in meaningful study and discussion of gospel principles with people who believe the same thing you do. Obviously the latter activity cannot be replaced, and is important enough that we are asked to participate in it every week. As an introverted Latter-Day Saint, this is something I'm just going to have to learn to reconcile.

But sometimes...






Sometimes, you just gotta monk it up. Putting that on a t-shirt.

Discovery

You know that thing where you go around seeing the world a certain way, and everything is accurate and makes sense and it only rarely occurs to you that maybe things are different than how you perceive them? And then something happens to shake you out of your paradigm and you're all whoa, I've been totally oblivious. And suddenly your world is slightly different. It's a new world. It has sandy beaches and looks like Asia, probably.

For example, the other day I was dutifully applying concealer to the unders of my eyes, when I remembered I had recently heard somewhere that dark circles are caused by delicate blood vessels that break and bleed and pool there under your eyes (yum). I realized then that I had never actually checked to see if my eye skin was dark.

(!!)

And then, the thought came to me that maybe the problem is not that I have delicate eye vessels, but that my eyes actually jut out so much that they cast a shadow. Inspecting further, I found significant support for this theory. But just to be sure, I had Carol perform an exam.


It maybe looked something like this. Except with more emphasis on me pulling my undereye skin out so she could inspect its pallor.



Sure enough, she confirmed my undereye skin to be peachy-fleshy-toned, not blood-pooly-black.


Now, about here you're maybe wondering what difference any of this makes. Don't I still have to apply concealer?


Yes. Yes I do. The point is, my world is expanded. One day I was walking around thinking something was a certain way, and suddenly it wasn't true. And maybe I never would have even made that discovery, if my thoughts hadn't gone that particular route. What if I had gone my whole life thinking I had delicate undereye blood vessels?! Can you imagine how many delusions you're operating under right now, this very minute?





>another Columbus joke to tie in the title of this post<