Chomper turned Longneck.

Littlefoot would be proud. This carnivore hasn't had meat in a whole week. Why, you ask? I wanted to see if it was possible. I wouldn't say I was very good at being a vegetarian, but I did it.

You see, like Buddy the Elf whose food groups are candy, candy canes, candy corns and syrup, I have my own food groups defined by the big C's: Carbs, Cheese and Chocolate. Obviously, my diet is more varied than this, but these are my weaknesses. I am not a steak-lover, devastated by the absence of a hunk of cow on my plate. I didn't really miss meat. The difficulty was breaking my habits and thinking of things to eat.

Usually, I have a turkey sandwich from a campus dining facility every day for either lunch or dinner. I've perfected that sandwich: roasted turkey, cheddar or pepper-jack cheese (depending on the amount of BAM I'm in the mood for) toasted with lettuce, onion, tomatoes and chipotle mayo. YUM. The vegetarian option at the deli is get double cheese and no meat. Plus you can have humus on your sandwich. I love humus, but the lovely lunch ladies put way too much on my first campus veggie sandwich. Nevertheless, the chipotle mayo was enough to keep me eating and I'm sure I could perfect a veggie-version of my sandwich as well.

As far as other meals, JMU has a lot a to offer for vegetarians and vegans. As it should be for the school ranked No. 3 for Best Campus Food in the nation. I had some sort of delicious stuffed pepper dish involving lintels. Another meal, I made a peanut butter and banana sandwich topped with honey and raisins. I also had falafel wraps (already one of my favorites) for lunch one day and some vegetable soup on my way out of town.

When I arrived home after exams, I thought vegetarianism would be more difficult. However, I seemed to luck out with dinner menu for the week. Wednesday, we had grilled cheese sandwiches. Last night, we cooked frozen pizzas. (The meat lovers was kind of tempting I'll admit, but the cheese pizza was good too.) Tonight, I went to an area favorite Mexican restaurant, Casa Grande, with the family (minus Jamie). I was a little bit worried about finding something san carne, but I didn't miss anything with my order off the vegetarian column.

Like I said, I achieved my goal of eliminating meat for the week, but I wasn't necessarily good at it. I'm not sure if I ate enough protein or just upped the carbs to compensate. I didn't read any special books or cook any vegetarian recipes. If I were to continue to be a vegetarian, I'd have to read up on it and get better at it. So, why, you may ask am I considering becoming a vegetarian permanently?

I'm not.. not right now. But I do want to change. I want to become a weekday vegetarian. I first came across this concept through treehugger (an excellent blog, but they post so frequently that I have difficulty keeping up). I encourage you to watch the video, because Graham Hill argues the point more concisely and effectively than I can. The main points? Eating less meat is healthier for your body and for the planet. There are a lot of jokes surrounding vegetarians, but I think they're the strong ones. Whether they sacrifice meat for religion, their bodies or the animals, vegetarians also reduce energy wasted and fossil fuels burned. If you don't have the strength to be a vegetarian, you don't have to give up cheeseburgers for good. Allow yourself to indulge on weekends. But don't mock the leaf eaters.

I'm going be trying this out for a while, reading up on what to eat instead during the week and I'll let you know how it goes. For now, share your thoughts about why you do or don't eat meat, and what you think of this compromise system. If you do eat meat, do you demand free range meat? I learned about free range from Ian and Curt from their documentary, King Corn, and their movement to bring people back to the land and think about what they eat. While the majority of my food sources are currently chosen for me by dining services, I hope to hold myself to these higher standards when I begin grocery shopping and cooking for myself.

This nation has serious problems with wastefulness and obesity. We need to learn that with great freedom comes great responsibility (sorry, Uncle Ben-the butchering was necessary). We have the responsibility to take care of future generations by handling both our bodies and the earth with care. So think about what you eat- watch King Corn, read about what you eat, visit your local farmer's market.. maybe even try a week without meat. You might be surprised.

Treasure Hunting

thrift- noun \'thrift'\: careful management especially of money.

For me, "thrift" is a verb and it means a lot more than saving money. I didn't really do a lot of thrift shopping before college. I loved exploring neighborhood garage sales, but never realized there are permanent stores dedicated to the same retail. Harrisonburg is a little town, but it has a high density of thrift stores. So, when I began walking around town last year, I fell in love with thrift stores. Maybe it's a fascination with what other people throw away, with items that have already had other lives. Maybe it's the excitement of 75 cent paperbacks.

I have many favorite purchases from thrift stores. The giant green men's sweater I'm currently wearing was five bucks at Granny Longlegs, a small homey thrift store in historic Harrisonburg. I think I bought my blue men's flannel the same day. I also have a wicker umbrella hanging basket on my wall for headbands that I probably got for a dollar there. One of my favorite purchases is a painting of a goose with a teal background in a gorgeous frame that looks like distressed drift wood. It was eight dollars at the Thrift for Life (proceeds to Massey Cancer Center) in Richmond. In fact, Mr. Goose probably needs a name, so if you have any ideas, please comment! Keep in mind that "Albert" is already taken for my bonsai tree. (That was your number one pick, wasn't it?)

While I have bought many cozy sweaters for studying and sleeping, I rarely buy clothing items from thrift stores that I would actually wear in public. I have several friends that build large portions of their wardrobes from thrift stores. I don't know whether they know better stores than me, have a better eye or can just pull off funky stuff way better than me, but I'm jealous. Their clothes are always so original. I imagine a good find is much more rewarding from a thrift store than some mainstream store. I'm determined to learn the ways of these thrift-savvy friends.

Still, clothes or no clothes, I love thrifting. Often, I don't buy anything, or just a 75 cent Dan Brown book. But I can spend some serious time in a good thrift store. Today, I plugged in a whole list of area stores that I hadn't tried into Google maps and organized them by location. I printed out my treasure map and spent the afternoon exploring. I had to tell myself "no" a lot: "No Sarah, you already have enough cozy men's sweaters," "No Sarah you have no way to transfer that couch let alone a place to put it"...let's just say it's a good thing I don't have a truck.

The best thrift stores look like a storage unit. There should be pathways to navigate through the chaos, and it must be organized, but it should be crammed pack. One "New, Used and Antique" store I like to frequent literally looks like someone's basement constantly added to over many decades. And I assume that's basically what it is since the owners seem to be so old. Though I didn't visit Hess Furniture today, there were many other well organized and crammed thrift stores. My treasure chests, to further my cheesy metaphor.

I suppose thrift shopping, garage sale shopping or any kind of used shopping is also environmentally friendly. Reusing baskets and cookie tins, furniture and decorations, clothes and books is better than using new materials, right? Less raw materials, less old stuff in landfills. Also, it's usually local, so there is no burning of fossil fuels across seas and countries to deliver your items. After this occurred to me, I did a quick search and found bloggers that agree. Apparently, according to treehugger.com, this is a popular trend for college students like myself. While I thought I was being unique and eccentric, it appears that I'm a walking stereotype, following the trends of my generation without even realizing it. Oh well, I found the treasure map first! ARRR!!

Anyways, I can't wait until I become captain of my own ship to fill with booty. (I know, I know, too far.) But in all seriousness, I used to draw pictures of my dream home when I was kid (I even created my own tradmark logo-see pictures). I went through a phase of "and the giant jungle tree will grow through my floor right here." Then I went through the modern phase, printing out pictures of sleek stainless steel and glass furnishings to paste on my sketchbook room. Now, I drool over funky couches, ornate intricate wooden dressers and thickly painted renderings of jolly geese. I can't wait to furnish my own abode with my finds. (I guess I should start looking for a friend with a truck and some time on their hands!)

Revolt against Hallmark

We like to think we are smart. The "chosen" species. Much to the disappointment (I'm sure) of my brother and dad, I haven't read Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. However, I have seen the movie which suggests that humans are the third-most intelligent creature on earth. Third to to the singing narrator dophins (watch the video) and to mice. I'd believe it. We may have language on our side, but human beings can be pretty stupid.

Look at the English language for example. I'm sure you've seen those lists of contradictions in the English language. One of my Spanish teachers read some out loud to point out that if we understood English, surely we could learn this new language. I never get tired of reading those- they really amuse me. But honestly, maybe dolphins could have devised a language that makes more sense.

Obviously, our species has overseen more destruction than any other earth-dweller. This destruction occurs because we are intelligent. Intelligent enough to create monetary systems and utilize earth's resources. But these reap greed and destruction. So we're smart, just not smart enough.

Each generation has gullibly believed the propaganda lies of their respective times. Whether it's the superstitious red scare, the belief that if a cartoon camel smokes cigarette they're cool or that the magic bullet will really do any kitchen task in just one-two-three, the majority of us will listen. See, we're stupid. You may say you've never ordered anything from an infomercial, that you don't fit this profile, but come on, we've all believed a scam at some time.

Well, here's one of the longest running scams people: wrapping paper. In 1917, one of the Halls brothers invented modern paper. Today, according to the CleanAir Council, the U.S. generates an additional four million tons of waste due to wrapping paper and shopping bags during the holidays.

When I was a kid, there was one family I knew whose kids always brought presents to birthday parties wrapped in the funny pages. I always enjoyed reading them, but I never thought about the pages beyond the laughs they brought. A couple years ago, after a lovely Christmas morning of opening presents, I looked around at the battle zone and I understood. Why on earth do we go out and buy special paper (that often cannot be recycled) to wrap up our gifts just to be torn off days later. It is one of the most senseless concepts when you think about it. It seems so natural to us, but why not just reuse paper you already have? It seems so natural to us, but didn't buying the magic bullet seem smart too? Look where that got you.

Your gifts don't have to be ugly to be earth-friendly (and pocket-friendly!) either. With a little creativity, it's easy to decorate your own wrapping paper. Or, you can leave the creativity to other people and buy handmade reusable cloth wrapping paper. For the past couple years, I've been wrapping in this fashion. In addition to saving money and reducing my waste, I really enjoy the challenge of making my presents prettier than the Hallmark-wrapped gifts. And usually, I think I succeed. You may say, "Newspaper wrapping paper is fine and dandy for your parents, Sarah, but imagine taking that to a fancy dinner party." Yes, maybe your home-wrapped earthy gift will look a little out of place among the shining gold sparkling gifts (like my soiled hiking boots in the sea of Uggs on campus), but it's a conversation starter. And this is a conversation that needs to begin. Because it's all about what we're used to- let's make newspaper and brown paper bags the new normal.

Visit the website I created on this topic for a class project, check out other people's green wrapping ideas and start thinking about the trees. And the landfills that are replacing them. Join the revolt against Hallmark. Dolphins would.

..And to Live By the Girl Scout Law

It's something we've been told since middle school. Get involved. Then, it was important for applying for honors societies and specialty high schools. When we were in high school, we packed our résumés with extracurricular activities and leadership positions for college applications.

As college students and adults, our reasons for involvement change. Some of my classmates may be looking to beef up their applications for grad school, but I don't think I'll be taking that route. And sure, an employer may like to see those extracurriculars on my résumé -especially in today's job market where you'd eat dog food if it would set you apart. But, I think there's a point in adulthood when either your root cause of involvement changes, or you just stop getting involved.

For me, it's the former. If I have nothing to do, I'll go crazy. I thrive on a filled schedule, on organizing my planner. (I already bought my 2011 salmon franklin covey!) My Macbook Pro desktop is filled with Stickies of organized lists and notes.

What becomes difficult it deciding what to get involved in and stay involved in. Most people tell you "don't spread yourself too thin," (I always picture cream cheese- way better thick!) but we also hear "get out there, get involved" and my personal favorite, "you'll never know if you don't try." My band director believes that if you are passionate about something, you can always make time to fit it in to your schedule. Obviously, you have to figure out how much is right for you, but you're probably not going to be able to motivate yourself to make it to all the meetings if you sign up for a book club if you don't like reading. Duh.

Sometimes an organization sounds awesome on paper and doesn't live up to your expectations wrong. I've tried to get involved in many groups that have extremely poor communication systems and I get so frustrated that i give up. "Oh you didn't know about the meeting? How did you miss the e-mail? I sent it five whole minutes before the meeting started!"

I've also found groups with great concepts that just feel wrong. There's often a set clique of people that you can't infiltrate. Even if you can and you can fake it well enough, you're not yourself. You're using a type of humor that you barely understand and certainly don't enjoy. "Hahaha yes I totally caught that reference to What'sHisName! Hilarious!" ...Who?

The most upsetting is when your favorite activity goes changing on you. I loved girl scouts. My troop in Oregon was fantastic. I remember crafts, field trips, camping trips... and this was all before third grade, so if I remember it, you know it was good. Maybe I was more easily entertained at that age. Maybe the brown and blue brownie outfit better suited me better than the nauseating green junior uniform, but I think it was that troop. I still have the pillow they made and signed for when I left for the east coast. In Virginia, I joined a new troop, but it didn't last. We went to D.C., slept over at Port Discovery in Baltimore -those were cool trips. And I always enjoyed the crafts. But it lost the outdoor aspect- understandably since one of our troop leaders had had at least two boob jobs. She wasn't exactly the type of mom that was going to take us tent camping. So I quit.

There are so many opportunities, that if you're not happy, it's worth moving on. You're not being flaky. You're exploring. I can picture myself as a certain type of person with interests and passions, but it's not who I am until I fulfill that image through actions. Once I'm actively taking part in environmental efforts, then I am a true treehugger. And being a treehugger in your theory doesn't will the sea level down.

Now just to confuse myself a little more, there are other times when I'm about to step down from a position and realize its potential. I was kind of guilted into being the environmental representative for my resident hall at the beginning of the semester. A couple of weeks ago, I planned to step down at the end of the semester. At community activities board meeting, I helped plan dorm programs which, except for perhaps the lure of free food, I probably wouldn't have attended freely. I volunteered to do a walmart run for our Halloween Party and I asked myself when I got home, is this really something I'm interested in? Granted blowing one hundred of someone else's dollars on decorations and candy was fun, and I spent an afternoon getting to know a girl from my hall. But how was this building my portfolio or spiritually fulfilling? I was ready to make cuts, and eco-repping was out.

But then, a series of events occurred that changed my mind. First, I became more interested in what we were doing environmentally. At meetings with other reps from other halls, we made plans to provide reusable dishware for resident hall programs to cut down on waste. I designed a logo that may appear on said dish ware (actually answering my 'how is this building my portfolio' question although that's not the point). I became invested.

Next, I was offered a spot in a practicum class evaluating resident behavior in dorms and how to communicate to students to influence their actions toward sustainability. What do you know, this EPA grant project is going to work with CAB eco-reps as well. Hmm, I thought, maybe I should keep that connection.

Then, I started having fun. We became a little more comfortable with each other and started laughing and cracking jokes at Sunday night meetings. We had a Thanksgiving craft night with pumpkin pie and hot chocolate and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I held my mandatory eco-friendly event last night and, although the turnout lacked in numbers, the ten people who came enjoyed themselves. And so did I. I got an opportunity to do more crafts and share my thoughts about sustainable gift wrapping. (See next post!)

I could go on and on about how many sports I tried as a kid (gymnastics, soccer, basketball, swimming, diving, dance- just to name a few). I could tell you how my friends and I tried to join basketball intramurals this year (FAIL!) or my un-fulfilling mandatory service hours with Boys and Girls Club last Spring, but I think you get the point. Maybe I just discovered "Involvement Attention Deficit Disorder" (heck if Facebook Addiction Disorder exists, surely IADD can). Maybe, it's the exact opposite of a disorder- maybe curiosity and exploration is healthy. Hmm.. what a thought!

In the end, you can't just make a list of organizations that fit your personality, sign up for e-mails from all of them (like I tried to do freshman year) and then voila you are perfectly, happily involved. (Side note, did you know "voilà" is French for "look here"? ) There are still groups I am interested in looking into. I want to be a Big Sister, join our chapter of Habitat for Humanity, and I'm sure other things will come up in the future. But it's trial and error and right now my trials are looking successful.

When Pigs Fly

While the rest of the world watches the Victoria Secret fashion show and posts about it on facebook, I'll do something productive and worthwhile. On Glee (the only program worth watching tonight), Rachel Berry's signature is a gold star. Like the character, the star is ridiculous and cheesy, but it represents Rachel, how she feels about herself and what she wants to be.

Though hers is extreme, anyone can relate to Rachel's obsessive need to stand out of the crowd. According to How Many of Me, there are 789,510 Sarah's in the United States alone. It's the 58th most popular name in the country. Another 22,000 have the same first and last name as me. Sarah was the 6th most popular female baby name my birth year. It used to be that people distinguished themselves from others with the same name by their lineage. I am Sarah, daughter of Robert and Philomena...yadda yadda. But everything is shorter these days (makes texting more efficient). I don't go a week without answering a call for "Sarah" on campus or in a crowd that wasn't meant for me. But I'm not complaining. There is an obstacle to every name. If your name is common, you get your last initial plastered to the end of your name, but I wouldn't want to have to spell my name for everyone either. I never have to give my professors a pronunciation lesson at the beginning of the semester and I never have trouble finding 'personalized' key chains and mugs at gift stores.

But how personalized are those items anyways? If there are that many other Sarah's out there (and another 355,901 that blasphemously leave off the "h"), then is a mug with my name on it really representative of myself? I think not. So I understand Rachel Berry's quest for an identifying logo. Companies create corporate identities equipped with logos, so why don't we?

Though I would not have chosen a symbol of monetary greed, Ke$ha made an attempt to give herself an identity. Wiki claims that "She has said that the dollar sign in her stage name was meant to be ironic, in that she 'actually [stands] for the opposite of putting a lot of emphasis on money.'" Sound like a poorly worded attempt to cover, but I can understand her need to stand out. I have known people that, kind of like some native traditions, identify themselves with a totem animal. They get necklaces, stuffed animals and even tattoos of that creature. I had one beloved aunt (may she rest in peace) who loved pandas. Her house was full of paintings of them, stuffed animals..pandas that students and friends had given her over the years. I'm not sure she would say that the animal represented herself, I think they were more than just cute to her. I still think of her when I see pandas.

Recently, I interviewed two people on campus about their tattoos- one increasingly popular way to make yourself different. (YEARBOOK PLUG ALERT- look for my article in your free copy of The Bluestone in May!) Anyways, the student got inked up to remind her of how she wanted to live while the professor's tats were symbols of accomplishments. Both has symbols of what they want to be and who they are. So I wondered, what would I have permanently painted on my body? What really describes me?

Don't worry mom and dad, I'm not getting tattoos...right now. This is purely hypothetical. In computer art in high school we had to make logos for ourselves. The requirements involved representing three different traits about yourself in addition to computer art and then combining them in one giant logo. I depicted my journalism goals and passions through an old fashioned reporter's hat, my love of nature and care for the environment with a leaf and band with a trombone. I tried to bypass the typical mice and monitors used for computer art with an electrical plug. The combination of the emblems resulted in a reporters hat with a leaf in the brim and my first and middle name. My middle name took the place of the trombone because I believe I received my musical inclinations from my middle-namesake, my grandmother. The sound effect blast from the name represented the music radiating from the name, a snipped of the trombone image.

You probably don't care for an entire portfolio-like description of the project, but I've been writing explanations of my work for classes so much lately, that it was habit. My apologies. However, there is a point. It was difficult to combine those three passions into one design and those three passions don't nearly encompass who I am. So how is a word, or a symbol supposed to represent me? Maybe that's why people usually have more than one tattoo.

There was some point where I realized that purple was kind of my symbolic color. Purple amethyst is my birthstone, it's my school colors and heck- clinique says purple brings out my eye color. So my glasses are purple, my TOMs are purple and I have more purple shirts and sweaters than I can count. Even so, a color can't truly tell who I am. In middle school, everyone said purple meant "gay," but it also represents royalty. In the church, it is used during lent to represent pain, suffering and therefore mourning and penitence. A google search for the meaning of the color results in a plethora of emotions and characteristics. The vastness of its meaning practically nullifies any meaning of the hue at all.

So, I've come to the conclusion that if anything is going to represent someone, the closest you're going to get is probably an animal. But no matter what, it will still need an explanation. If you tell someone that a butterfly is your symbol, they may think you are fragile and flighty while you were going for transformative or vibrant. For me, I can imagine there is a book or movie character that I identify with that could become my emblem, my coat of arms if you will. But maybe searching for that is wasted time. I was thinking about how much i like the concept of 'flying pigs.' First of all, they're fictional showing my creativity, imagination. Depending on how you think about the phrase "when pigs fly," they're also a symbol of faith that anything can happen or -as my roommate interprets it- of the impossible. Plus, some depiction are downright adorable. But you eat pigs. (Maybe I shouldn't- more on becoming a vegetarian to come!) Anyhow, I couldn't just proclaim the flying pig as my mascot. It didn't seem right. I think it has to come to me. I'll let you know when I figure it out. Or maybe you'll just see if inked on my shoulder blade. (Just kidding Mom!)

Compartmentalizing

That's what Dexter calls it. In one episode he talks about this method of dividing up the parts of his lives. In my life, compartmentalizing is not about keeping my murder victims separate from my children. But I realized that I also do this, and you probably do too.

Thanksgiving is a good example. In fact, it drives me crazy for the lack of divisions. There are so many options on my grandma's lovely spread that it was difficult to keep the carrots from running into the mash potatoes, the gravy into the stuffing. The next thing I know it, my bread is soggy. Bleh. It stresses me out.

As you can probably tell, I'm OCD. Not the kind of OCD that's actually clinically diagnosed. There are a lot of terms that we use in this lesser way. People use the word "retarded" to mean that someone acted stupidly. Not that they are stupid or not in any way intellectually disabled. In this case, "retard" becomes an incredible politically incorrect and offensive word. It is one that became habitual for me -not because I wanted to insult anyone, but because other people used it. It's one that I have purposefully and successfully eliminated from my vocabulary. "Gay" is another similar word.

So I'm not like OCD OCD, but you get the point. I like things ordered, listed, my ducks in a row. I like my roll unsoggy.

Like my perfect dinner plate, my life is separated. Being home, for example, is different than being at school. I divide those parts of my life and then there are further subcategories. I'm not a completely other person, but like I said, it's different. In some ways it feels good. Being home this week, I have done absolutely no school work. Maybe not the most responsible, but relaxing. When I'm at school I don't sleep in the way I do at home. Which is good for my attendance.

But life division is also a little weird. It means that I don't always have all my clothes. I brought home my whole hamper full of dirty clothes- plenty for a week, but when I have a specific sweater I want to wear and it's at school and I'm at home, it's inconvenient. It's not just about clothes, it's about having two different beds- which my back definitely does not like. And it's not about the beds either- it's just weird overall. But I guess I should probably get used to it. My siblings like to tease my mom about how I no longer live in this house and that my home is now Harrisonburg because they know it will upset her. But in the end, I have to get used to having different homes because this place is always going to home.

Compartmentalization. Good for serial killer Dexter Morgan, good for dinner, kinda sorta okay slash weird for life.

Kool-aid and Crazies

You know when something comes up once in your life -say a new vocabulary word- and suddenly you see it everywhere? Someone uses it in conversation, Ke$ha records a new song including it, you come across it in the novel you read in your abundant free time. (This exact example is completely fictional as I rarely have free time and if Ke$ha had a larger vocabulary than me I'd be off crying in a corner rather than writing this blog.) I do have another true story involving this phenomenon-Jim Jones. I don't think I had ever heard of him until I took a sociology class last year. After having studied his charisma and resulting cult and extermination of said cult, I came across ol' Jimmy everywhere I turned. Someone referenced him in conversation, another spoke of a Jones themed party involving Kool-aid that seemed, to me, a little too...what's the word? WRONG.

But neither of the aforementioned cases is the reason I introduced the whole phenomenon anyways. The concept that has appeared continually in my recent life is insanity. I know, I know what you're thinking. 1- You just made a post with "insanity" in the title. Are you running out of new ideas? 2- Sarah, you're crazy we get it. Why is this anything new? But it is not me e-mailing myself I'm talking about. (see my post, Dear Mr. Diary, I'm on the brink of insanity.) This is different. This is true insanity- the characters of Edgar Allen Poe, of Alban Berg and of Jeff Lindsay.

I find it interesting that these characters have all come up in different classes and in my free time in such a short time period. Yes I lied, I do have some free time. But what I have discovered, is how much I am fascinated by these characters. In English, we read of the anonymous narrators of Poe's The Tell-Tale Heartand The Black Cat who nonchalantly commit murders and conceal the evidence. Of course, the former's narrator spends the narrative trying to convince the reader, and himself, that he is not mad. "Harken! and observe how healthily- how calmly I can tell you the whole story," he tells us before ultimately revealing himself to oblivious police out of paranoia of the beating of his victim's heart. The story of the cat also involved an ironic reveal- this time at the hands -or should I say scream- of the feline. Both are seemingly normal human beings who commit murder.

The next luny I came across was in my music class. He is one Wozzeck, from an opera by that name composed by Berg. So okay, the a playwright actually originally conceived of the man, but Berg brought to musical life, the version I met. Either way, in the excerpt I learned about, Wozzeck has killed his love. He becomes incredibly paranoid, thinking the moon will reveal him, half-singing, half-wailing about being caught. His paranoia becomes too much and he drowns during an attempt to hide the murder weapon better. What do you know- another murderer gone crazy! Why can't anyone murder without loosing their marbles these days? Oh wait- that's who we forgot.

Dexter Morgan. My newest obsession. Dexter and I actually met sometime on break last year when I obsessively watched season four and then backtracked to season one. But classes quickly became more important and not until recently did we reunite. I am nearly done with season two which I started on Friday. I plan to be completely caught up when I return from Thanksgiving break. Why? Because Dexter is so intriguing, so addictive. (This is Jeff Lindsay's character if you haven't put that together- he actually wrote books first, which I didn't know about so I may have to devour those next.) If you don't know, Dexter Morgan, played by Micheal C. Hall who has become increasingly more attractive to my tastes, is a serial killer. His adopted father, a police officer, saw his dark side as a child and taught him a code by which to satisfy his craving. The code is based on the principles of only killing other murderers and not getting caught. You know he's a killer. You watch him kill almost every episode- and yet you cheer him on.

These three men have done more than create murderers. They have brushed the dust off the line between insanity and sanity. It is certainly not completely in sight. But now, we see a glimpse of where it is, what it's perimeter looks like. Poe, Berg and Lindsay present you with normal people and yet kill without a second thought. And we eat it up. We love every television show that analyses the phycho's brain. And Dexter is one of the best in my opinion. I highly recommend it.

In the end, it doesn't matter whether these characters are crazy or not. They're fictional anyways. We're all a little crazy because love the crazies... right?

Glory Days

There are some people that love going back to their high school. The jock who knows that his winning touch down in the big rivalry game will be remembered in the halls of his alma mater comes to mind. I am not one of those people.

I did not have had a bad high school experience by any means. The high school itself was fairly new, the teachers young and usually very good at what they did. We were known as the "rich school" by others in the county because there happened to be some affluent neighborhoods districted for it. A large majority of the girls wore designer clothes that cost way too much, went to tanning salons and had fake hair. They were what Mean Girls coined, "The Plastics." But it was not a bad school. I found my niche among more down to earth kids (aka band people). However, as my high school career ended I was ready to leave. No one had to pry my fingers from the flagpole and drag me kicking and screaming. By senior year, I felt like I had outgrown of the place. I was done with high school.

Last night, though, I went back. I went to my old high school to see my brother perform in the school play. That's what good sisters do, and I have to admit, I'll take an excuse to skip class. I was looking forward to the play until I walked through those doors.

I had three awkward encounters before the show even started. I didn't know whether teachers would remember me, so I didn't know what to say. I saw people whose name I couldn't remember. I was a mess. Not to mention annoyed. Sitting in my third row seat for twenty minutes, I listened to the group of (presumably) freshman behind me and couldn't not be annoyed. The girls threw themselves at the boys who enjoyed gossiping just as much as the girls. Their banter was insignficant and rude. They were loud, silly and annoying.

Not that I can't be silly and loud. I'm not TRYING to be the complaining old fogey that ruins the party...but I couldn't help being annoyed. I'm sure I was just as silly around boys at some point, but I can't imagine that I was so ditzy and stupid.

Needless to say, I loved seeing my brother on stage. But the moment I exited those doors, I relaxed. I breathed a sigh of relief, no longer worried about how to act, about trying to remember names, no longer uncomfortable.

It's sad that my high school can make me feel so uncomfortable. I get a warm nostalgic feeling flipping through yearbooks- but then again, I helped create those. There's something about being there that just doesn't feel right. But maybe it's a good thing. Maybe it's my psychological way of moving on. I'm in a different stage of life, and to a certain extant perhaps it's a good thing that I'm not trying to relive my glory days. The present is what's important after all, right?

Having just finished studying for a Buddhism test, I know that's what the Dalai Lama would say. Being in the present moment completely and wholly is the goal. I can't imagine not having what he calls "monkey mind," or being so focused that I literally only thought about each step when walking. That takes practice. But maybe avoiding high school, not living in the past is, in a way, a healthy start.

I never liked Turkey

That's right, it's true. I never really liked turkey. Now, it's my dominant sandwich meat, but I still don't crave thick, off-the-bone turkey the way most Thanksgiving-lovers do. It seems unAmerican to go about these weeks leading up to turkey-day without drooling at the mention of the gobbling fowl. And yet, although I look forward to the mash potatoes, the glazed carrots and the pumpkin pie, it is not the meal that I look forward to on Thanksgiving.

It's not even the football. Yes, I know- now I sound REALLY unAmerican. I don't cheer for an NFL team, only teams I feel directly connected to- right now (and for the rest of my life), JMU. In truth, I only learned what all the numbers are for this weekend. I've been in marching band for 6 years- probably going to 8-10 games a year as a high schooler and a college student. That's a minimum of 48 football games. I'm not stupid by any means. I just did that math in my head! I'm not unspirited either- I always cheer, and loudly too... when everyone else on my side cheers. Somewhere along the way, I learned touch downs and field goals, but never downs. So for the third or fourth time, I asked. Finally, it sunk in and now I actually understand what it means to be "3rd and 10." It means, if you're cheering for JMU, you're going to be disappointed (this season).

Despite this new knowledge, I have no desire to watch professional football on a television. So, you may ask, if it's not the food and not the football, why on earth am I looking forward to Thanksgiving?In recent years, I have begun to embrace in the next day, the day of early morning, long lines and cheap deals. But, it's not thanksgiving.

Like many American holidays, commercialization has fogged the true meaning of the holiday: giving thanks. I can't wait for these two weeks of classes to be over, because I have so much to give thanks for this season. Living in the gorgeous Shenandoah Valley, I have the dazzling fall colors blanketed across my view of the mountains. I have another year of health and success. I have a family to go home to. And this is what I'm most thankful for.

Thanksgiving, is about family. Whether you eat Chinese food with your immediate family- as I have done some years, gather with 20 extended family members, or with an un-blood-related family of friends, you will agree that thanksgiving is about people you love. Even if you love their cooking just as much.

Dear Mr. Diary, I'm on the brink of insanity

It's been a while. In fact, it's been over a week. And although I actually got a chance to hit the gym a couple times this week, something always suffers. This week, my blog did. So sorry Mr. Blog, I've missed you, I truly have. So, just in case I still have any readers left, I figured I should post SOMETHING. But the question was what.

I was scanning through my gmail for the hundredth time today. I know I never get emails on weekends, and yet it's habit to check every time I open my computer. Maybe that's one good reason I don't have a smart phone yet- I would never stop checking it. So anyways, I come across an email from none other than, myself. Yes that's right people, I email myself. I text myself sometimes too. You know what they say, talking to yourself is the first sign of going crazy. And while I do talk to myself...and inanimate objects (Mr. Blog included), I don't think they've added texting and emailing yourself to the list of signs of insanity yet.

Nevertheless, I had emailed myself. I sent the potential note of lunacy during one of my classes in a computer lab as a reminder so I would see it later. It was a quotation from my professor. He had nonchalantly made an observation which I found interesting.

"If you haven't figured this out yet, you're mind thinks differently when you're writing," said Dr. H. "All the things that block your creativity are eliminated when you write a couple paragraphs."

I think it struck me, because that is exactly what I have learned through this blog. I'm not trying to toot my own horn (a trombone, to be more precise). I'm not saying, well gee wiz I am super creative when I write. Rather, it's an observation about the lack of obstacles when writing. There's something about grabbing a pen (or keyboard) and letting thoughts flow. They go somewhere different than they would if they stayed in your noggin.

Your brain is interrupted by other thoughts and distractions. However, writing makes you focus, and yet it clears the way. Like Dr. H said, the road blocks seem to disappear. I feel a winding road stretching out before me. I think that's one of my favorite analogies ever. The road. It was my eighth grade yearbook theme- which of course, I had a lot to do with. There's something romantic about the image of an open road representing your journey- of middle school, of childhood, of your whole life, whatever. You imagine road blocks and detours, but also your navigator/right-hand-man and hitchhikers for a couple miles here and there. I basically just wrote out my conclusion of that 2005 yearbook, "Oh the Place You Will Go."

This is my stream of consciousness taking over. Once I've entered the land of nostalgia, you're just going to have to indulge me for a paragraph or so. Despite my lack of focus tonight, I think Dr. H is right. Writing breaks down barriers. It takes you to ideas you don't know you have, feelings you don't know are there. Sometimes those ideas and feelings can be scary or upsetting if the writing location is a letter or diary rather than a blog. (Or maybe a blog too, if you're the heart-on-your-er..homepage types). Even if they're scary, it feels so good when those feelings are no longer inside. Now I sound like a psychiatrist or something, huh?

When I began this blog, I wasn't quite sure where it would lead. Tonight, I wrote for myself. I apologize, readers. And yet, I do not. I needed to write without purpose, without directions. Sometimes you have to get lost. (Did you catch that reference to the road analogy- Oh Snap, look at you. Good Job.)

I suppose if there was a lesson for tonight, it's this: go write. I've come across so many friends and relatives lately who are overcoming tough times with the antidote called "writing." No prescription needed- just write. Even if you have crappy handwriting you won't be able to read later. Even if your typing skills are below par. Pick a medium and take a couple minutes to spill to Mr. Diary or Mr. Napkin. They'll be glad to listen to whatever you're thinking. All road blocks are down.

Dress-Up Time

Costumes. When we were children, they were an exciting excuse to play dress up. I don't know about you, but I had a great dress up box. This was not a store-bought cardboard box with thin pink tops and tutus. Nor was it a computerized "dress-your-avatar" game. This was a homemade box of real grown up clothes. I never asked my mom where they were from, or who pulled them all together, because it seemed like these pieces of clothing had magically congregated in that plastic storage box just for me. I assume they were hand-me-downs or yard-sale items, but to me they didn't have any previous lives. They were just mine.

I remember its contents well. There was a teal satin dress with big puffy sleeves, a pair of black wooden sandals with green fuzzy straps and a pair of red sparkly Dorothy high heels which I wore even once my feet had clearly outgrown them. There was a royal blue nighty and robe set and a pair of yellow Tweety Bird suspenders. When my dad went on a business to somewhere Asian (I want to say Singapore), oriental-looking outfits in blue for my brother and pink for me were added. There were a couple hats and bags as well as fake pearls and clip on costume earrings. Each year Halloween items were added to the box after their tour of the neighborhood. I was often wedded in those dresses and sometimes died in them. I wore them to balls and shared them with friends. Even my brother dawned one of them once. (He's going to hate me for that). Nevertheless, imagination was a HUGE part of my play as a child and mt dress-up-box certainly aided my creativity.

Imagination, though now when I say it I always picture spongebob spreading his hands and the appearance of a rainbow, is something I cherish. I think the fact that I played pretend games- not just house, but orphans, kidnapped, animal rescuer, power rangers and more- shaped who I am. I didn't just sit in front of the TV. We didn't have cable for a while and although I loved the Kratt brothers BEFORE Zaboomafoo and watched a couple other educational childrens' shows, this was not how I spent the majority of my time. Playing imaginary games often led me to the outdoors. It fostered creativity and forced me to share plot line decisions with siblings and friends.

Seeing the electronic-based way a lot of kids grow up today, I can really appreciate the arts and crafts we did, the outings we went on and the children's museums we visited. I think my parents did a lot of things right. And perhaps providing that dress-up box was also one of them.

When we were children, Halloween was just a glorified dress-up day. You got to stay up late and eat candy, so your costume. If you were like me, you probably changed your mind about your costume every week leading up to the big night. On those nights, I was transformed into a ghost and a cowgirl, a magician or a clown. Of course, it was hardly any different than everyday play- except these costumes were often newly bought or made and now, everyone could see the characters which I had already been in my imagination.

This weekend, in this college town, it is once again okay for us children to play dress up. Around the nation, there is a certain age when costumes are once again adorned, but this time for adult parties rather than door-to-door candy begging. College students, moms and dads and even the retirement homes throw parties, encouraging all to play dress up. Like when we were seven, we plan our costumes for weeks, pour through our closets and attics and ask friends what they're going to be. Sure, some of the college girls may use less fabric than their childhood costumes did, to cover (or not cover) much more body. The drink of choice may not necessarily be hot chocolate. And our choice of costume is no longer based on favorite action figure, but being the most creative, or the cutest....or the down right trashiest.

But in the end, our subconscious intentions remain unchanged. We want to be someone else for the night. And perhaps now, as adults, we have even more reason to want to escape our everyday lives. We have tests and papers, conference calls and presentations, bills and well.. "grown up" stuff. This weekend, however, we have chance to escape. I think that's part of the reason that college students and adults enjoy dressing up almost more than the trick-or-treating children down the street. We have more to escape. And while I am completely excited to join in the imaginary games, I wonder: If I am so eager to be someone else for the night, am I really living a happy healthy life? Or am I simply reverting to the healthily stimulating, creative outlet of my childhood?

Snail Mail Gets a Bad Rep

One day this crazy midterm week (note my sly insertion of an excuse for the lack of posts), I decided to stop by the mail room on my way to the computer lab. It was mostly just a form of procrastination- I didn't expect anything other than advertisements for university events and off-campus housing. I turned the combination lock on my mail slot and... had to redo it it. Even after three years of using a locker in middle school, and many combo locks on band and gym lockers throughout high school, I still hate those dang things.

Anyways, after finally opening my box, I reached inside and felt something thicker than than the postcard advertisements I typically receive. It was a letter. Not from the bank, or from some organization asking for a donation, but a hand-addressed periwinkle envelope from Eugene, Oregon. I opened the letter as I moseyed (yes, that's actually how you spell it!- learn something new everyday) toward the lab. It was from a cousin. She's older than me, so we were never playmates and only lived in the same state for a couple of years, but she is awesome. I love seeing her at family gatherings because she is always so happy and always interested in everyone's story, no matter how insignificant.

Now, she was an even awesomer cousin. (No boys and girls, "awesomer" is not a word, but I am evoking my creative license.) Turns out, she saw a particularly excited facebook post of mine about pumpkin frappuccinos and was inspired to get herself her own pumpkin flavored drink sent from heaven. But this was no "thanks for the idea" note. My cousin, for no holiday or occasion, sent me a Starbucks gift card to ensure that I got to indulge in a little more heaven before the pumpkin season wore out. What a nice thought! I was so taken aback by her generosity and thoughtfulness. It was inspiring.

As nice and heart-warming as this story is, there is another point I have. Snail mail. Even if that card had not contained a gift card to the golden gates of coffee drinks, it still would have made my day. Getting a hand written letter or card these days is as exciting as a new episode of Glee. Perhaps, if the dysphemistic retronym had not been coined, "snail mail" would not have died to quickly. Now, I know you're thinking, "Geez Sarah, you expect me to know what a "dysphemistic retronym" is?" No I don't. In fact, wikipedia just informed me of the existence of this term, but it is so relevant to my discussion, that I felt inclined to share. Apparently, "dysphemistic" means intentionally harsh, as in the antonym of euphemism. "Retronym" is a new term, often developed due to the development of technology. There you have it.

Wikipedia also informed me that the term "snail mail" was first used in the 1840's with the development of the telegraph. The Philadelphia North American stated: "The markets will no longer be dependent upon snail paced mails." However, the man credited with the first use of the term contrasted to e-mail is Jim Rutt who eventually become CEO of Network Solutions. Well *&^% you, Mr. Rutt! Why the harsh words about my beloved paper mail?

If receiving a letter is watching Glee, writing a letter is belting one of Rachel's ballads in your car. It's not as exciting as hearing her do it, but it's relaxing and it clears your mind. I wrote back to my cousin, full of gratitude, but also updating her on my life. I wrote to another friend as well. She and I had decided to be pen pals, but writing regularly is more difficult than it sounds. When I actually hunker down with pen and paper I always feel good though. And when I lick the envelop and seal it, I feel accomplished and also nostalgic. It reminds me of other times I wrote letters as a child and I feel connected to all the great letter writers throughout history. I am reminded of the important correspondences between literary characters such as Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. (I had to look up his first name- gotta love Wikipedia.)

As often as I check e-mail, love the convenience of texting and enjoy calling home, I sometimes wish we still lived in a world of letter-writers. There's something about hand-written word that is so much more personal.

Isn't it Ironic

So I was hit with major writer's block the other night. I sat in front of the computer trying to think of something to write, but the only thing that came to me was squirrels. Writing a whole post about how under appreciated squirrels are was... just bad. Believe me, you're glad I didn't post that one. After surfing the web looking for inspiration for a while, I decided sleep was more important.

Of course, the second I Iaid down, three new ideas flooded my brain. Well isn't that ironic, I thought. While I don't have time to delve into those ideas yet, I did just want to touch on irony. In fact, do you guys remember vending machine guy from the Automatic Responses post? Well, before I embarrassingly told him I'd see him later, we were discussing this very topic. He asked if I needed to get into the vending machine he was working in, saying that usually it was the second he opened it up, that students flocked in to use it.

"Of course it would be," I told him. "Just like if you bring your umbrella the rain will hold out and the one day you forget your umbrella, it will downpour." It's true. It's practically science. There's probably some smart person's law about this. We love irony, too. Our television and movies are just a cleverly construed examples of irony and we eat it up.

Anyways, I have to run to class, but what ironic situations have you had? And of course, if you haven't already been reminded of the song, here's a little Alanis Morissette breakfast for your ears. Seriously go listen.

P.S. the puppy has nothing to do with irony, but he's cute.

I Want my Car

At my school, no freshman are allowed to have cars on campus. This seems like a reasonable way to encourage students to get involved with campus. I did that last year. I went through looking up bus schedules, walking everywhere, begging upperclassmen for rides. It wasn't bad. We have a great public transportation system and I enjoyed walking around and seeing the town.

But now I'm a sophomore. Most of my friends live off campus and brought their cars and even many of my friends still living on campus (like me) brought theirs. You would think that would be enough for me: having friends that drive. They are all very accommodating and drive me around when we hang out and just to help me out when available. And yet, I still have this crazy, unexplainable craving desire for my car.

When I say my car, I mean the midnight purple (it looks black, you can only see purple in the right light) 1990 Saturn that my family owns. My dad used to drive it but has since moved on to Mustang, and now Harley Davidson. I drove it when I lived at home, and now my brother does and we share it when we're both home. It has roll-up windows, no automatic lock system, manual transmission and a starry night sky fabric for internal roof fabric. It has all my personalized bumper-stickers, advertising for places and things that I love. And I miss that dang car.

It's crazy how often I say "I wish I had my car." There are those inconvenient times when it would just be more efficient to be able to drive. There are also times when my friends don't mind driving me, but I hate being a mooch and wish I could drive places myself. There are other times when I simply crave being in the driver's seat with my windows down and the music blasting. There's something about driving stick shift that increases the awesomeness of that feeling exponentially.

However, when I stop and think about it logically, I wonder if having a car is really necessary. If I truly follow the environmental consciousness I promote and respect, wouldn't I be proud to walk and use carpooling and public transportation. What is this crazy notion that has corrupted me? Personally, I blame America. Now don't get me wrong. I'm all for purple mountain majesties and those broad stripes and bright stars. I'm American though and through. But we have some issues. As a nation, we are extremely materialistic. We live extravagantly compared with the rest of the world. We buy a lot of stuff and we are really wasteful. (I'm lazy and I'm not finding legitimate data to support these statements- but I know you've all heard it before.) As much as I despise this ideology, it is a part of me. I don't have 100 shoes, but I have many more than I actually need. Media teaches us that everyone should own their own car, that it's not only one of the luxuries of life, but a necessity. Although I know I can function perfectly fine in my college town without a car, I want my it. It's become part of my identification of who I am, of what I like to do. And I'm not sure I like that.

In addition to proving my materialism, this craving for my car shows another American fault. We are always crunched for time. We want to get where we have to go as fast as we can and we need things now, now, now. As much as I could argue that I'm a busy college student who needs more time, this is an unhealthy way to live. I'm not going to use the overused maxim, but we all know we should stop and smell the you know whats. So why don't we? I love efficiency, but sometimes we overuse it. Somethings should be done slowly. Maybe getting from point A to point B is one of those....once and a while.

Maybe it's a good thing that I'm sometimes forced to walk or use the bus system. I often meet people I never would have all cooped up with my self blasting my music in my car. I witness things I would not have. I smell subtle hints of things I never would have have. I even get a workout I would not have.

But especially since I know my parents are some of my few followers, I can't end this post with the lie that I am completely changed and rid of my American materialism and need for efficiency. No mom and dad, I do still wish I had my car in town. (Hint hint: maybe next year?) But I do recognize that it's not a necessity. I wish I could be one of those hipster simpleton people who get everywhere with a bike or on foot. But I'm not. Driving is a guilty pleasure of mine. Like taking an extra long showers and eating meat. I know these things are wasteful, but our culture has brought me up with them. Baby steps, people. Baby steps.

Who Invented Whiteboards?

Thank God for the man who invented whiteboards! Dry-erase board, dry-wipe board, pen-board... Whatever you call 'em, they're awesome.

I hate chalk. My mom always told me "hate" is a strong word, but gosh darn it, this is pure hatred. Black and white chalkboards or big fat sidewalk chalk are like old fashioned telephones. They look pretty, but I would never actually want to dial with that spinning holey thing. (Apparently, the technical term is rotary dial, but I like my description better.) Chalk is the same way. The old-fashion symbol of education, the tool by which youthful imagination is spread accross the sidewalk, the medium of Bert in Marry Poppins: it will always be a pretty thought. But it's gross. The sounds it makes, the texture on your hands. I get shivers just imagining it. Bleh!

So thank you, Mr. Whiteboard-Inventor-Man. I think it was around middle school when my classrooms were graced by your ingenious creation, and I could not have learned the same on a chalkboard. I'm convinced, I would have failed out of high school from skipping so I didn't have to hear those awful sounds. Not only does your invention aid my education, by my organization, my sanity. My lists are constantly scribbled upon that white glossy slate, without the hassle or disgust of a dry, powdery substance covering my fingers. I can erase with ease rather than dusty fits of coughing. What would I do without my whiteboard? Probably waste a LOT more paper on lists.

Oddly enough, I cannot uncover your true identity, my hero. Not even wikipedia knows who invented the whiteboard. Ceramic whiteboards have been around since 1960, but did not become popular until the 90's. I thank my lucky asterisks they did!

Zoom Zoom Zoom

You sung the title, didn't you? Well this post is not about Mazda, or cars, or going fast for that matter. Today we're talking about zooming, as in camera focal length.

One of my video professors was talking about how cameras do something that our eyes cannot. We can pan, truck (move laterally) and dolly (move front-to-back) like a camera, but our eyes cannot zoom. I had never really thought about that before. It's obvious, but just something I had never come across in my discussions or imagination. Zooming is kind of a novel concept, in the sense that we can't find an example of it in nature.

That got me thinking... What if our eyes could zoom? It would be a lot easier to stalk people, and we would never catch peeping toms, but come on, how cool would that be? Can't see the slides during class? No problem.. just neurologically, naturally zoom in!

I've never even come across a superhero with this power. There are plenty of laser and infrared eyes or goggles and glasses that can may zoom or collect data in the fictional world. I'm not a comic book master, so correct me if I'm wrong, but I've never heard of zooming eyeballs.

Who knows? Maybe in the next century, humans will have invented zooming contacts. Or perhaps we'll just wait another 100,000 years and evolution will grant us zooming eyeballs. What would you do them? (Keep it clean, please!)

On Automatic Responses

"See you later," I said to guy filling the vending machine, pulling my bag of potato skins out of the machine next to his. The guy I would never see again. See you later? I thought to myself, Where did that come from?

Don't try to say you've never done it. Who hasn't responded with "you too" to the ticket sales girl's "enjoy the show" or "that's cool" to a friend who was telling you about what a rough days he's having?

Okay, those are usually mistakes that you quickly realize. But even the habitual American greeting "hey, how are you?" is contradictory. If someone stopped to give you a wordy account of their exact disposition, let's face it, you'd be surprised. We are used to saying "good, how are you?" even if we got locked out of the house that morning and are on the way to take a test we stayed up all night studying for. There are a few close friends with whom you may develop a custom of sharing details, but generally that passing by "how are you?" is pretty meaningless.

It's all about tone. Say "how are you" as if you're passing someone you know and don't expect a real response. (Maybe in your head if you're around other people; they may think you're crazy.) Now say the exact same words, but really mean it. Doesn't that sound nice? (They're all staring at you, aren't they? I told you not to say it out loud!)

So why do we end up responding without thinking and asking without caring? Perhaps we are all zombies controlled by evil Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz's newest invention (Phineas and Ferb anyone?). Or maybe we're just acting like zombies. We get so entrenched in our schedules, our to-do lists, the next task, that we forget to stop and be human. When you step outside of the normal meaningless salutations, it means a lot. Imagine how she will feel when you actually ask the checkout lady at the cafeteria or the grocery story how she is. (Now's where that tone comes into play.)


I catch myself in zombie mode all the time. When I say "see you later" to the vending machine guy, I feel embarrassed. But when I return to earth and compliment a stranger's shoes or start a conversation on the bus it feels good. Not even because I "did a good deed" or anything like that, just to have human interaction.

What automatic/incorrect responses have you made lately? Post them here for a good laugh and then snap out of it and be human. But before you do, obey my command to click "follow" on my blog! I borrowed Doofenshmirtz's make-people-do-what-I-say-or-they-turn-into-jello invention, you must obey or you will soon be consumed by unsuspecting jello lovers!