Those Promised Details

OR: In Which I Am Charged By A Buffalo And Live To Tell The Tale.


Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo.

So I'm assuming you all saw all saw my facebook status from Sunday.  And I know I should leave the big story for last or whatever, but I'm leaving it smack in the middle just like when it happened.  Strap in kids, this is going to take a couple of days to write and I'm betting you'll need an hour or more to read.

First, a few observations:

1) Camping is a lot more enjoyable when you have a tent you can stand up in.  And this is not just me remembering being a little kid going camping and standing up.  The big two-room tent we used is tall enough for Dad to stand up in.  So it's plenty tall.  Much easier for doing . . . well, everything.

2) On the other hand, it's a lot more pleasant sleeping on an air mattress than the ground.

3) Never go on a trip and let my dad drive.  He'll take turns way to sharply and tip fully loaded coolers over onto you and nearly give you a concussion with the frying pan that comes flying off the top of said cooler.  And it will be traumatic.  And painful.

4) I have a pretty decent body image for a girl, especially considering everything in the world would have us all believing we're supposed to think horribly of ourselves in order to be appropriately feminine.  That said, I hate the way I look in posed pictures.  I just always look . . . off, somehow.  I have no problem with candid pictures or deliberately silly poses, but the in more "formal" posed pictures I just look weird.

5) I had the worst/weirdest allergies of my life this weekend.  Like nothing I've ever had before.  Now that said, I've only had allergy issues a few times in my life - another one of those lucky genetic health things I'm growing into.  Seriously, between the two sides of my family I won the genetic jackpot . . . if by jackpot you actually mean crap-pot.  Anyway, I have no idea what was getting to me, and it was totally hit or miss if I would have issues at any place that we stopped, but about half the time I would get out of the car and within minutes my eyes would be stinging like I was chopping the world's largest, most potent onion ever and the tears would gush like I was a human version of Old Faithful.  Seriously, within minutes I looked something like a cross between this and this - except without the traumatized face because I was perfectly calm and even enjoying myself . . . except for the fact that instead of sweating off all the water I was drinking in a normal way, I was sweating it out through my eyeballs.

Long story short: 4 + 5 = there are only two words to describe how I look in the pictures from this trip.  Wretched, and ghastly.  I stayed mostly behind the camera.

So the drive up was mostly uneventful, except for the fact that Dad drove the car like he was thirty years younger and on a motorcycle . . . oh, and apparently he was successful in dumping a cooler on my mother back in the day so I guess old habits die hard.  Anyway.  Successes on this trip include introducing Luke to the awesomeness that is Howard Spring -

And the slightly belated rite of passage that is setting up a tent - 

And it was good. :-)



Friday morning our first major stop was a "hike" to Harlequin Lake, which is something we'd never done before.  While it is the most back country-ish sort of excursion I've ever had, it's only about a twenty minute walk (although the uphill part is a little steep) and I'm pretty sure you'd be able to see the lake (which is really more like a pond) from the road except for the trees because it's really close.

And can I just take a moment to say what is up with all the trees?  They totally ruin the view!  And I'm sorry, maybe it's just because I'm a child of the 90s when it comes to Yellowstone, but when I think of the park, the image I see in my head looks like this:

Or maybe this:

But absolutely not this:

Dude - that's my dad.  Those trees are freaking tall!  And in some places where you used to be able to see way off in the distance all you can see now is trees lining the side of the road, noticeably more massive than even just six years ago.  Not cool.

Anyway.  Harlequin Lake.  We decide to do it because my cooler-dumping dad read something on the internet about ranger-led walks to the lake at 10:00 am, so there we were at 9:50 am at the parking lot across the road wondering where the ranger and all the other people were, and at 10:05 we figured no one was showing so we went by ourselves.  But not before watching a buffalo wander his way from a safe distance to a few hundred yards away from the car.

(FORESHADOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)


Also - I'd just like to take this moment to say remind you that we were at Harlequin Lake on Friday.  Saturday Luke and I found an information board at our campsite telling everyone about the ranger-led walks to Harlequin Lake at 10:00 am . . . every Monday.  Not sure if it's a reading comprehension fail or a putting accurate information on the internet fail, but there is a big fat fail in there somewhere.

But anyway.  We walked/hiked to the lake, and it was lovely, and you can see all the pictures on facebook because I'll be putting them up right after I finally get this finished and posted.

Anyway.  Both going in and coming back we kind of separated a little bit because Mom and Luke hike slow and Dad and I hike fast (comparatively, at least).  And coming back I decided to take a few pictures of the way-bigger-than-they-should-be trees so I stopped and Dad kept going, so we were all sorts of slightly spread out at the end of the trail coming back to the road.

So I get out of the tree line, which is seriously a pretty much perfectly straight line of trees about ten or fifteen feet off the road.  Right by the road is a sign that marks the trail's head, and I had the genius idea to take pictures of all the signs so I could remember which place was which when we got back (and also be a little lazy when it comes to captioning them on facebook.  I took over 300 pictures, and there would be more except I forgot to bring an extra memory card so I had to delete some to make room for others).  So I'm right by the road taking a picture, and Luke and mom are just coming out of the trees, and dad's already across the road when suddenly he's (quietly) yelling "Hey!" at us and it registers that it's a quiet yell, but it makes no sense because why would he be being quiet unless there's an animal around and then I turn around and look up and HOLY CRAP THAT BUFFALO IS GALLOPING AND COMING RIGHT AT ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  THAT BUFFALO IS CHARGING ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now.  I know what to do to avoid a bear attack.  And I know what to do on the off chance that a bear does attack.  And I know all the stupid things stupid people do to get themselves charged by a buffalo.  And I do not do them.  And since I do not do them I have never felt the need to know what to do when charged by a buffalo because I am not one of those stupid people who feel the need to try and get a picture of their kid petting a WILD animal that weighs 20,000 times what the two of them do combined.  So in one of those insta-seconds-that-feel-like-it-lasts-three-lifetimes I'm trying to think - obviously running away is out, he runs tons faster than me . . . but could I sprint off in another direction at the last second, like the stupid characters in Prometheus should have instead of trying to outrun a rolling space donut?  (seriously, that part of the movie bugs the crap out of me.  seen it twice and both times I just wanted to scream at them to run ANY other direction!)  Apparently the right answer was back into the trees because he wouldn't have come crashing through them - but while that was a matter of merely backing up a few steps for some people, for me it was a question of can I run fifteen feet between me and the trees faster than he can run the hundred yards or so between me and him?  And while that might be a fascinating question for a philosophy student who just discovered Zeno's Paradox when it's an actual real-life situation . . . not so much.

The good news is that the buffalo must have just gotten some major bug bite or something that he had to take care of, because in less than a tenth of the time it's taken you to read the last couple of paragraphs he stops his directly-at-me-for-no-reason charge (I swear we made eye contact) and drops into a buffalo wallow in the grass between the road and the pull-out and rolls around like he's some sort of freaking puppy or something.  Our hearts all start beating again and we cross the road to hear that Dad saw him come through right between our car and the tree we parked it under.

So.  Just for a little perspective I drew you all a totally-not-anywhere-near-scale diagram of more or less what happened, and where we were.  The red line is (kind of) how the buffalo ran.

It was crazy, y'all.  And that space between the tree and the car?  That part is to scale.

See?  Hard to believe that mirror is still attached to the car, isn't it?

And as with any animal sighting (especially so close to the road) there was an almost immediate traffic jam with people slowing down or pulling in to where we were to take pictures.  Since by this point I could breathe again I took a few too. (and now that I'm safely sitting on my couch I wish I had thought to take a few right after he plopped down in the wallow because they would have been awesome.)

That's no trick of forced perspective there, kids.  Luke's at the car, about a hundred yards away the buffalo is just chilling and no more than fifty yards past that is the road we just crossed and it's full of cars stopping for a moment to take a picture of the buffalo WHO NEARLY KILLED ME.



I think I have every right to be melodramatic.  It may have only actually lasted about three seconds, but they were three traumatizing seconds.


Anyway, here's another close up view.

Totally doesn't even care that he just took, like, five years off my life.  Jerk.

So we all caught our breath and went on with our day and hit a few trails and about died of heat stroke because it was something like a thousand degrees hotter than is normal for up there.  And then we hit Mammoth Hot Springs and that was just depressing because there are only, like four hot springs left and the rest have dried up and it mostly just looks dead.  Because it mostly just is.  Dead, I mean.  If you really want to see something sad I'll post the pictures I took on facebook, but for my blog, behold its former creamsicle-colored glory.

Also: the Mammoth elk herd is still around.  I can't remember a single visit to Yellowstone that there were not elk just chillaxin' in this very spot.

*Not zoomed in.  How awesome is that?


In other news, the rest of trip was rather boring, comparatively speaking.  When you start your vacation with a near-death experience it can really only go downhill from there, but it was a highly enjoyable ride down.  We finally got up to the Teddy Roosevelt Arch at the north entrance, which we'd never done before.

And when we were heading back in to the park from the arch we actually got to see sheep which, like, never happens. (pics on facebook)

And we picked up a fun little book in which Lacey discovered that there's actually kind of a lot of things we never did when we were making our (practically) weekly trips when I was a kid.  The book really needs maps though, because we went searching for this one haunted grave, but the directions were just vague enough that we couldn't find it . . . and then we get home and I googled it yesterday only to find out that we were tantalizingly close when we went off in another direction.  Blargh.

Luke found his own buffalo wallow.  And used it.  :-)

We crossed the Divide a half dozen times or so.

And I looked ghastly and wretched and allergy-ish.


And there were plenty of animals and herds of animals to be seen.  And of course, along with them plenty of stupid people and herds of stupid people to roll your eyes at and briefly consider sticking around to see if this will be the day that the elk with the massive rack decides to use said rack.


And of course, no one is allowed to leave the park on their first visit without stopping at Artist Point.  It is seriously the most amazing spot I've ever seen anywhere.  It is impossible to take a bad picture of this view.

See?  Doesn't it just look like a bunch of movie extras wandering around on set or something?  This spot is BEAUTIFUL.  There's a reason it's the most photographed spot in the park.  There's a reason people spend all day there, sunup to sundown, just planting their camera on a tripod and taking pictures every twenty minutes or so.  And there are just. no. words. None at all, to describe that reason.

Sure, you think it looks good in pictures.  But until you see it in person, I promise -  you don't Get It.  I mean, seriously.  I took that picture.  On my cheap little point-and-shoot that I bought five years ago.  It looks like it was taken by a professional with some fancy pants camera and intended to be a postcard shot, right?  A-MA-ZING.

(also - one thing you're sure to notice whilst going through all the pictures is that I have a major thing for waterfalls.  And for playing with the zoom on my camera.)


Anyway.  We hit up that other Yellowstone staple and only had to wait about 45 minutes for Old Faithful to erupt (video on facebook) but mom had a major migraine so we cut things short a day, which meant no Riverside or Grotto Geysers or Morning Glory Pool - sad!  Because I seriously would have plopped myself down and waited the full six hours for a Riverside eruption.  Honestly, a lot of other geysers have better eruptions than Old Faithful, they're just either not as frequent or impossible to predict and you just have to get lucky and be in the right place at the right time.  And there are plenty of trails around the Old Faithful area to check out while waiting for Riverside's predicted next eruption.  Of course, a trip to Morning Glory would probably have been just as depressing as the hike down Mammoth. (and I shall take this moment to point out the fact that I am not even going to mention Roaring Mountain.  Except, you know, to mention that I'm not mentioning it.)

Onward and downward.  We did hit Midway Basin, which is one of my favorites because of the hot waterfalls into the river, where Luke really liked Grand Prismatic Spring, and there were plenty of waterfalls (although there's never enough for me), and Dunraven Pass left us a little light headed, and we apparently just missed seeing a mama bear and her cubs because we turned around at the petrified tree.  And then we came home through Grand Teton NP, and they were majestic and beautiful, but by that time I had the worst sunburn I've had in ten years and had discovered that mom's allergy pills don't work for me so I was slightly miserable and my camera's memory card was practically full and then the brand new battery went and died, so after leaving Old Faithful and starting for home the trip took a turn for the more "un" than "pleasant," at least for me.  But we got home with a couple of new books (always a good thing!) and a still half full bag of GINORMOUS marshmallows that I shall roast over the stove when I'm craving something sweet.  And Theodore.

Generally speaking I'm the type to pick up a cute stuffed animal and exclaim over how cute it is and put it back down and forget all about it.  But in the gift shop at Mammoth on our first day I saw a four-foot-tall version of little T.R. Bear hear and totally fell in love, so when they had the little version at the Old Faithful gift shop on Sunday . . . well, he was coming home with me, no buts about it.  There's just something about the history combined with the cuteness that's irresistible.  I mean, there's the whole teddy bears were named after Teddy Roosevelt thing . . . and the name tag that says T.R. Bear thing . . . and the "Junior Rough Rider" label on the hat thing (on the part that's tilted up on the right) . . . and the fact that teddy bears are just cute as it is thing . . . and the teddy bear in a ranger suit is freaking adorable thing . . . but honestly I think it's the little Roosevelt spectacles that put me over the top.  Cute bear in a ranger suit?  It's definitely got the "awwwwww!" factor, but I would just tell mom she should get it for the creature I've been referring to as the niece-phew before today and let it go. (side note: the whole niece-phew thing has been weirding me out for a month and there shall be a whole post about that upcoming.)  But those totally spot-on spectacles?  Pushed him over the boundary into must-have territory.  If my mother can keep a stuffed ewok on her bed for twenty years than this little guy is definitely sitting on our shelf for at least that many.

And that was our lovely, long-awaited vacation.  Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to go recover from it.

(seriously, how does it happen that one always needs a vacation to recover from one's vacation?!)



P. ost  S. cript
This one's actually one from the trip.  I'll post it - and a few more - on facebook, but the cool kids who read my blog get a sneak peek! :-)

Saturday Morning Memories: Injury Edition

Yep.



So we're going to Yellowstone next week.  And I'm pretty freakin' excited.  Luke's never been, and the last time I was there was 2006.  And there is the tiny little thing of this is the first vacation we've had since forever.  Yay!!

Since IF is only, like, 2.2 hours away from Yellowstone we went all the time when I was growing up.  Six or seven times a year, every year.

(full disclosure: it's not that close . . . but pretty close.  And we didn't go that often . . . but pretty often.  More than once a year, generally.)

We did a lot of things in IF that stopped abruptly when we moved to TremonTon.  Camping . . . hiking . . . fishing . . . chopping our own Christmas trees.  Mostly a lot of outdoors-y stuff.  It all kind of disappeared and instead of enjoying nature I spent my high school years being attacked by evil demon-possessed roosters (true story . . . I'll have to tell it sometime . . . ).

But I guess the summer after I graduated from college and before I left for Florida (obviously, lol) I think it suddenly occurred to my parents that, hey, we haven't done any of the cool things we used to do all the time in, like, forever, and this is, like, the last chance to do them, like, ever.

(side note: can't you totally hear my dad saying that?  using exactly those words? HA!!)

Anyway.  So we hit both Yellowstone and Dinosaur parks that summer.  Sans Ashli, who was nanny-ing in . . . one of those middle states that starts with "I" . . . so there were only three of us crammed into the back seat of the pickup and no one complaining about how dirty dirt is.

This is the part of the story where I mention that bugs - especially mosquitoes -  have always found me particularly tasty, no matter how much bug spray I put on.  Was that plot point as painfully obvious as high school emo poetry? Great.  Moving on.

It was a lovely trip, going from something like the 30th of June to the 3rd of July.  I am painfully aware of those (semi)precise dates on multiple levels.  The morning that we left I noticed that I had multiple bug bites on/around my right ankle.  We did a little bit of geyser trail walking, nothing much on our way out and it was a little uncomfortable, but no big deal.  Then we drove home . . . and it's a little bit longer than 2.2 hours when home is TremonTon and not IF.  So when we finally got home and I got out of the car . . . I nearly collapsed.  After limp-hopping into the house and almost crawling to the couch to get my shoe off I discovered that my ankle was as big as my knee . . . and possibly bigger.  I counted at one point, and there were 16 bug bites in my ankular area for sure . . . and at least half a dozen more that I couldn't tell if they were additional bites or just general puffiness in reaction to what was there for sure.  If they had West Nile in Yellowstone, I'm pretty sure I would have died on the drive home.

So out of this little story comes a crazy thing and a tragic thing.  The crazy thing is I actually had very few bites anywhere else, especially compared to what I usually get camping . . . or even just being outside at dusk.  It's like they all zeroed in on that one spot - but the even crazier thing is that it was, like, the most covered spot of all.  I haven't worn shorts since I was 14 so I had your typically heavy denim jeans on, and tall, tolerably thick funky socks on under that.  But did those stupid parasites go for the easy access bare skin on my arms?  Nope - they went for the ankles.  Mostly the right ankle.  Almost every last one of them.  Gah!

And now the tragic thing.  Remember how I said we came home on the 3rd of July?  That was because Shayla and I had a concert.  You see, the Lincoln Youth Symphony goes on hiatus for the summer so the Lake Bonneville Community Symphony does the fourth of July concert in Brigham City.  Of course, the LBCS is mostly made up of LYS alumni who are still around/home for the summer . . . or at least they were half a decade ago (man, it is so wrong to be able to say that!).  So as usual, Shay and I were playing and we had to be home for the fourth.

But then, after propping my foot up for a few hours and drinking a couple of gallons of benedryl I tried to go to bed . . . and I could. Not. Walk.  At all.  My dad had to literally carry me from the family room to my bedroom because I just could not put any weight on my foot.  Not exactly conducive to cello playing.  It's not impossible . . . but it also wouldn't be pleasant.  So I missed my last concert.  And there have few things more disappointing in my life.  For one thing, I'd finally had the genius idea to copy the sheet music onto heavy card stock (it's an outdoor concert) and the only card stock we had in the house was Easter-y pastel colors, which I found kind of awesome.  And it was some pretty sweet music too . . . Star Wars and Pirates and Lord of the Rings - the Fourth concert is all about the crowd pleasers rahter than the "serious" music.  And of course the patriotic stuff - pretty sure I could play Sousa's S&SF from memory to this day.  And then it was tradition to play the most epically awesome arranged-for-full-symphony-and-I-can't-find-a-version-on-youtube-for-the-life-of-me-and-it-makes-me-want-to-cry version of Lord of the Dance known to man.  Seriously, this arrangement was clearly done by a cellist.  It's one of the few times you can get away with playing forti-ssissi-ssissi-ssissi-ssissi-ssissi-ssissi-ssissimo and the conductor can't say anything because you're SUPPOSED to be pretty much drowning everyone else out.  It is awesome to the trillionth power.  And it was my last time performing it, and I knew that . . . and I missed it.  It was tragic.  It still is.

Luke's pretty certain we're all going to be eaten by bears or trampled by buffalo in our sleep.  Me, I'm just worried about the mosquitoes.   I'm pretty sure that means it's the chipmunks who'll actually do us in.  Or maybe the bunnies.



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Stumbled across this . . . and my year has been made.

Mostly Americans

I don't remember the last time I spent the fourth of July in a way that the average person would call "celebrating."  I worked it every year I was in Florida, and Luke has worked it every year since, so it's very much just another day for us.  Of course, so are Thanksgiving and Christmas and pretty much every other holiday . . . we're both very used to celebrating whenever we can/want regardless of what the calender says or what other people are doing.  As, I imagine, are a lot of people.  I mean, think about it.  The news is on today - that's a very large group of people who didn't get the day off.  Same for all the people selling you couches and cars at Special Independence Day Prices.  And the people who buttered your popcorn when you went to chill out in the air conditioning watching Abraham Lincoln try to make it in Scotland as a vampire stripper (ten points!).

You know, now that I think about it . . . it seems like more people are probably working today than are off.  Maybe a shorter shift, but that's not the same as a day off.  So for a lot of people my Florida "celebration" is probably pretty close - spend an extra-long day having people yell at you for having the audacity to let people other than their group into the park on a holiday, make a quick stop to watch Sam Eagle mostly salute America, and go home and watch reruns on tv because the crowds make the special fireworks show not worth it - unless you get lucky and get to work crowd control, which means more hours/money . . . and more time talking at people who refuse to acknowledge that it's your country and your holiday too, but you're working.

Even before that the fourth wasn't just a party day.  All through high school and college I had at least one obligation, and sometimes two - and even though they were things I chose to do and truly enjoyed, anyone who tries to say it wasn't work has clearly never marched in a parade before (not ridden - marched).  Or tried to turn sheet music pages in 0.4 seconds - when the pages are clothes-pinned to the music stand because of the wind so you have to unclip, turn the page, and reclip.  Again, in less than half a second.  That takes talent, let me tell you . . . and more than a little coordination with your stand partner.  And a lot of being careful when you play the cello that you don't accidentally knock them together.

Which means the last time my fourth of July was a Norman Rockwell painting of backyard barbecues and picnics and camp outs and watching parades and fireworks . . . was more than half my lifetime ago.  Oy.  Good thing that I don't much care, while I love all of those things they have more of a generic "summer" vibe than a specifically "July 4" one.  Even parades - marching 3 or 4 a summer will do that to you.

Well this has gone in completely the opposite direction than I was imagining.  Now I'm just wondering who these people are who have the Norman Rockwell fourth of July.  Seriously . . . where are they hiding?

Me, I think I'll just go play some more Mario Kart. :-)



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For both sides - something patriotic and serious, and something not meant to be taken remotely seriously . . . but that cracks me up every time.

That By Which We Call A Rose (Serves to Further Demonstrate What a Nerd I Am)

Allow me to put forth a theory/opinion: it is harder to name characters than it is actual babies.

Allow to me clarify: (beginning, of course, with some apparently random and unrelated tangent-like back story) in college I took a play writing class.  My professor was pretty awesome, and among other things she gave us a character bio outline handout full of facts/traits/questions/whatever that one should figure out/make up/discover/whatever for each important character early on.  Among the things on the list is the character's age and birthday including the year.  Something that seems really rather obvious, but that I'd never done so specifically before. (actually random unrelated tangent: I sometimes make up characters I'm 97% sure I will never use anywhere just because I think it's fun to fill out these character bios.)

Anyway.  Even before that class I always tried to make my names fit the character's age.  For example - a great-grandmother named Britney Ladashla?  Yeah.  Right.  But Dora Elizabeth?  Well, that was one of my actual great-grandmother's name.  And it just sounds right, doesn't it?  It's a grandma name - it just is.  So I went by the old lady-or-newborn sounding test.  And I suppose it more or less worked.  But you can never underestimate the ability of someone as nerdy as myself to take something like that to the next level. 

So then the internet happened.  Or rather, the no-longer-living-at-home-with-the-archaicly-dinosaur-iffic-tortoise-dial-up-internet-connection-until-two-thousand-freaking-six thing happened.  And the discovery-of-gajillions-of-baby-name-websites thing happened.  And the some-of-them-have-baby-name-popularity-rankings-for-the-last-over-a-hundred-years thing happened.  So naturally the Lacey-entertains-herself-by-looking-up-random-names-and-their-ranking-charts thing happened.  And, obviously, the using-those-sites-and-charts-to-name-characters thing wasn't very far behind . . . and now my method is to figure out the character's birthday, look up the popular names for that year, and pick something from the bottom two thirds or so of the top 100.  It works pretty perfectly, I find a name that feels and sounds spot on but still isn't a girl named Emma who was born in 2001 - if you know what I mean.

Okay, so here's the part where I start coming back around to my point or whatever.  As I've been playing around on various name sites and such I've been noticing how very . . . I don't know, "locked" some names are.

Case in point: Jessica.  A name said to be created by Shakespeare himself for (I think) The Merchant Of Venice, now it is the most quintessential of all the quintessential 80s names.  Even though it stayed in the top 5 from 1977 to 1997 it practically reeks 1987, smack dead center.  Think about it: when was the last time you heard about someone naming their newborn Jessica?  I'm willing to bet it's been at least ten years.  And on the end of the spectrum, Jessica is soooooooooooooo not an old lady name.  Unless, I suppose, you're an old lady who spends every day solving the latest murder in Cabot Cove, Maine.  (ten points if you get the reference . . . and minus a trillion for any comments on the fact that I could name the town off the top of my head.)

But people within five-ish years either way of my age with the name Jessica?  They're all over the place.  In elementary school there were exactly two names that ever had duplicates in my class: Sarah and Jessica.  I don't know what it is, but somehow it seems like the name got stuck in a time capsule, especially compared to other 80s names.  Sarah had timelessness going for it in the first place; Jennifers have used reinventions like Jen and Jenna to stay current sounding; Elizabeth had surpassed timelessness into obviousness . . . and then there's a handful of names that blipped big and died and will always be at least somewhat associated with big hair and neon and Madonna's cone bra phase - Jessica . . . Tiffany . . . Ashley.  (I feel like I should do the whole full disclosure thing here: I personally love the name Jessica.  And I have a cousin named Jessica.  And a sister named Ashli.  I like to wonder what my extended family name map would look like if there were as many girl cousins as there are boys.)

And here's where the harder-to-name-a-character-than-an-actual-baby thing comes in.  A person's name isn't just a reflection of who they are . . . it's also a major statement about the personality of the person/people who named them (by which I mean the character's mother . . . not me.  confused yet?).  A fictional person's name choice is likely to define that person very differently than a real life counterpart.  I have a daughter and name her Jessica?  I picked a pretty name I like that's become uncommon so she won't have to share it with classmates.  My character's mother names her daughter (born in 2006) Jessica?  She's an 80s baby who doesn't actually remember much of the 80s and tries to compensate by making everything in her life as 80s-tastic as possible . . . she considered naming her daughter Leia Buttercup - or maybe Sloan Claire (ten points for each reference, lol . . . well, five points for the first two).  My mother and aunt name their daughters Ashli and Jessica?  They picked cute, girly names they liked that just happened to be liked by the vast majority of the baby-having population at the time.  My character's mother names her daughter (born in 1989) Jessica?  She's a hopeless trend-follower desperate for any sort of popularity . . . her name is probably Lisa or Karen or Patricia (all top ten names in the 60s . . . no comment on certain other top names in that list).

In this particular case it's not that big a deal, the story I'm formulating has both mother and daughter as main characters, so I'm doing a thorough background bio on the mom anyway.  Of course, her name requires a bit of a dip into her mother's psyche . . . and before you know it I'm wondering where Eve came up with "Seth."

And therein lies why characters are harder: I didn't have to name myself.


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So this is totally shopped out the wazoo . . . but it's still pretty awesome.

The Cake . . . er, Town . . . is a Lie

Did you think you were done reading my Twi-rants?  Well . . . sort of.  Actually, I'm not entirely sure what today's rant is about - just that something needs to be ranted.

Have you heard of 50 Shades of Grey?  It *might* be the most terrible book ever written.  Seriously.  It is never-supposed-to-be-published-and-see-the-light-of-day bad.  And it wasn't - supposed to see the light of day, I mean.  Other than the deepest, darkest bowels of the internet.

For the lucky uninitiated, 50 Shades started out as Twilight fanfiction by someone who was bitter bout the lack of explicit sex scenes in the originals.  So they wrote all the varying levels of dirty things they wished Bella and Edward had in the first place and put it online.  And you know that episode of Friends where Joey writes a letter of recommendation to the adoption agency for Chandler and Monica?  In places it reads more or less like that.  I haven't read it myself, but I have been made aware of a website that posts small excerpts that demonstrate just how unreadable this thing is.  Where Twilight could have been vastly improved by a couple more rounds with an editor, its knock-off needed a complete tear-down-and-just-start-over treatment.  I would include quotes, but honestly the most unreadable bits are also the most not-appropriate-to-put-on-a-blog-my-grandparents-read.  Of course, they're also the most thesaurus-ed to death . . . some to the point that you can't even tell what's going on until you run it through a thesaurus yourself to translate it back into what it originally said.  And somehow it got so popular in those deep, dark internet bowels that the powers that really shouldn't be anymore decided it should be published.  As is.  So they ran it through a computer program that changed all instances of "Edward" and "Bella" to . . . I don't know, whatever the names are in the published version.  And then sent it directly off to the publisher.  And somehow it became the biggest thing among middle-aged women since . . . well, Twilight.

Which brings me to the source of my rant - which might actually be more of a "can someone make it stop being crazy????" sort of plea. 

As of a few days ago, 50 Shades of Grey was the most requested title at the library in this town.  The mind, she is boggled.  If you had asked me before I saw the list on the library website I would have been willing to bet big money that our library didn't even have a copy.  Much less four.  Much less that if I were to put it on hold today I would be looking at a three month wait to get it.  And then 3 more months a piece for each sequel.  Because oh yes, there's more of them.

The thing I can't wrap my head around though - who's reading it here?  It's widely known to be erotic vampire fiction with extreme BDSM content.  It even mentions the erotic part on the library website, which I guess I always figured was more or less a kiss of death for a book in Utah.  It's just not the sort of thing you envision sitting on everyone's coffee table around here . . . which, I suppose, is why everyone has it on hold at the library.  They all want to read it, but you can bet there won't be cheers and claps when the movie release is included in the important weekly events announcements in Relief Society (actually happened with Twilight in the single's ward in Florida).  It's hard to believe such a book could possibly be popular in a place like this, but I have to admit it's a little amusing to wonder which of these apparently perfectly content, perfectly put together, lovely ladies I see everywhere I go are secretly reading the most popular porn since the Kama Sutra (which, as I've been told, isn't actually porn, but I haven't read it. I've only eaten the ice cream, lol).  Like I said, I can't wrap my head around it - it's a such a contradictory thought!

I mean, I really can't blame them for getting sucked into a book or series - there are three book releases I'm currently counting down to - but I have to wonder why anyone would choose one so poorly written.  Maybe I'm just a book snob. (who are we kidding, I am a book snob.)  And I can't help but think of this.  2:29?  Sums it all up.  But that, like, doesn't happen in Utah.  You know?  It's not a lecture you hear repeated every six months at the girl broadcasts before conference, just the priesthood session.

In conclusion . . . I am not living in the town I thought I was.  And it's a little weird.


P. ost  S. cript
Totally counting down to the Olympics next month.  Also - totally trying to pretend this wasn't almost 20 years ago.  Things I remember - quite clearly - are not allowed to have happened that long ago.

Everything Good For You Sucks

I am a rather introverted person.  That doesn't come as a shock to anyone, does it?  I mean, in certain situations you'd never know it, and on the internet we're all loudmouthed jerks of varying degrees depending on the level of anonymity in whatever corner we're hiding in at any particular time.  But generally speaking - in real, physical, actually-interacting-with-actual-people life I am an introvert.  I've known it for a long time.  I've been ashamed of it, I've tried to hide/overcome/change it, I've felt like it was something I needed to fix about myself.  And in the last couple of years I've finally started to accept that this is just who I am, and that it's not a bad thing to be . . . even when it seems like I'm the only one in the world sometimes.

At this point I'm sure it doesn't sound like it, but this isn't something about myself that I think about a lot anymore.  But it was brought up to me a little while ago, so I've been paying more attention to what goes on when I'm out and about with people.  And I noticed something in the last couple of weeks that I already knew, but I guess I'd forgotten - I'm not very good at the whole "having conversations" thing.

I think I've mentioned once or twice that I prefer communicating in writing as opposed to verbally, because in writing I can change things as much as I want until I've got my words expressing what I actually meant to say.  When I talk a lot of the time I know what I meant, but that's not what the people I'm talking to hear.  Sometimes I know where things got lost and sometimes . . . not so much.  But when someone asks you a question in person, you have to answer more or less immediately.  A response in writing can take a lot longer without looking weird/rude. (side note/fun fact: this blog post is probably going to take me most of the afternoon)

I saw this gif recently, and it really describes me perfectly - especially the second box.  And that, I think, is what makes it so hard for me to have a conversation . . . because I've also noticed that it's a lot easier for me if it's one-on-one rather than a big group of people all talking.  I get lucky sometimes with the occasional witty one-liner or something, but generally speaking the more people there are involved the more likely it is that by the time I think of something to say the group will have moved on to four or five new topics and my comment is completely irrelevant now.  And of course since I'm trying to be a good listener and they say good listeners don't just think of what the next thing they're going to say is I'm getting my topics mixed up and feeling guilty for thinking too much of myself when I should be listening to the people I'm spending time with but if I didn't then I would never say anything and that would just look weird . . . and I just can't win.  L'esprit de l'escalier?  Story of my life.  All.  the.  time.  One on one is easier, but even then sometimes I find myself at a loss for words - even with Luke, and if you don't know how to talk to the person you're married to, how the crap are you supposed to talk to anyone else? 

I suppose it's something I should practice.  Actually, I had a roommate who would try to get me to practice . . . mostly, I think, as practice for her since she was a psych major, lol. (love you, Cindy!!)  And it worked great because we were roommates and she was one of my best friends and so we'd just sit in the living room and chat so it didn't take that much effort on my part.  Because we all know I'm not one to go out on a limb for social interaction.

Man, three years of blogging . . . the list of reasons that a shrink would have field day with me must be in the quadruple digits by now . . .

Anyway.  I'm a little at a loss.  Hiding in a hole forever isn't exactly a practical option (even if it is what I mostly do in the summer).  Practice doesn't seem to help - heaven knows I've had enough to make me a pro if that were the case.  Like I said, I've been paying more attention lately and I can see exactly where I'm . . . failing, I suppose.  But what does one say when one doesn't know what to say?  When the mind is blank or you feel like you have nothing to add to the conversation?  It's not that I don't feel welcome - but I do feel overwhelmed sometimes.

I suppose it's no surprise really that I have over 1200 books on my to-read list, is it?  Books let you talk when you're ready.


To end on a lighter note, a classic Luke-ism for you: we were playing Disney trivia.  I don't remember the question, but the answer was Crimson Tide, and as a hint Luke said we'd watched it at my parents house once.

Me: No we didn't.  I've never seen that movie.

Luke: Yes we did.  Wait . . . that was Hunt for Red October.  But they both have red in the title!

I cracked up . . . but maybe that's because I've won 17 games to his 6. :-)


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I . . . kind of want one.  Don't judge.

Information Gathering

So I know you're all so totally wrapped up in my life and hanging on my every word around here that you don't need any reminder in the least . . . but. ;-)

The whole NaNoWriMo thing?  Still happening.  I think I even have a pretty good plot idea . . . which I shall be keeping under wraps.  *cue the hearts of the plagiarists of the world breaking*  I really like it - it may even be good enough for trying to publish when I'm done, although that remains to be seen.  Either way it'll feel good to be (non-blog) writing again.  I've missed it.

Anyway.  I'm planning on spending the summer doing some prep work - sketching a bit of an outline and making up a dramatis personae.  (side note: doesn't that sound so much more literature-y than character list?  I should get bonus points with publishers just for knowing the term, lol!)

Anyway.  I'm currently still in the process of naming (and in some cases creating) characters.  I've mentioned . . . okay, mostly ranted . . . about it a few times before, but I am a total names junkie.  As in, I can spend hours reading articles about baby names.  And picking and re-picking names to use on theoretical future children.  (this is the part where I should probably not admit that at one time I was absolutely determined to saddle some poor girl with Alexandriana.  that would be tougher to learn than Ashleigh Elizabeth . . . which apparently almost happened.)  But I sometimes get the feeling that I get lost in all the names.  You know how if you read or say a word over an over for some reason it starts to look and/or sound wrong?  Like when you're correcting a spelling test and by the time you get to the end you're not sure if the kid who spelled it "August" got it right . . . or the kid who spelled it "Ogst" did.

Also - that, you know, totally didn't happen last week.  And Katie totally doesn't need to go through those tests again to double check them.  (one of those sentences is true, lol)

So I need a little outside perspective.  I have a few names I like and am possibly kicking around for this story . . .or maybe another one . . . or possibly a child, although I'm trying to stick to names I don't quite like that much for characters.  Because I like so many names - especially girl names.  Anyway.  Since it's me, by a few I naturally mean pretty much every name I like in every possible version and with every possible spelling that doesn't look like a made-up Polish word or the ultimate in secure, unbreakable passwords.  Which do you prefer, why, what kind of character comes to mind when you hear that name?  (and at this point at least all the characters are pretty WASPy so keep that in mind if a particular name calls to mind a Polynesian princess or something.  that's the perspective I'm looking for.)

Also I'm just a huge dork who wants to know what everyone else thinks about a bunch of not-quite-random name variations.

Voila!:

Julie/Julia/Julianne/Julianna

Marie/Maria

Claire/Clara/Clarissa(?)

Clarissa/Marissa/Melissa

Sara/Sarah

Jennifer/Jenny/Jenna/Jen

Katherine/Catherine

Katherine/Katrina/Katya/Katerina

Olivia/Sophia

Rachel/Rachelle/Raquel

Adrianne/Adrianna

Adrianne/Emmaline  (Is pronouncing it Emma-leen too out there?)

Beatrice/Ophelia

Jacob/James

John/Jonathan

Caleb/Kevin

Nathan/Nathaniel

Alec/Alex

Philip/Phillip

 Quin for a boy - has it become to girly?
Quin for a girl - too trendy?

Brendon/Brandon

Brad/Brett(Bret)/Brian(Bryan)

Christian/Christopher

Theodore(Ted/Teddy)/Tobias(Toby)

Ian/Issac

Mark/Marcus


I could seriously go on for days . . . but I'll spare you.  I get the feeling you're already bored. :-)

I need to find a less nerdy hobby.



P. ost  S. cript
Some days it doesn't take much at all to crack me up.