The ubiquitous Jesus

I had the following exchange outside of Target:

Man: Hi, you look like a nice person. Can I talk to you for a second?

Me: Um, sure.

Man: Hi, my name is Mike. What’s yours?

Me: Lee.

Mike: Hi Lee, are you registered to vote? Wait…are you old enough to vote?

Me: Yes

Mike: Do you feel like you care about who’s in public office?

Me: Yes, but I think the election season is over.

Mike: I’m not trying to get your vote. I’m practicing to be on the radio. It just takes 30 seconds.

Me: I’m sorry but I really don’t have time (in that Pruett sheepish way) (Turns to walk away)

Mike: Don’t kid yourself, I wasn’t hittin’ on you.

Me: (astonished) I didn’t think you were hitting on me. I thought you were going to rob me.


I think this simple exchange highlights so many things that are wrong with our culture.
1. Talking to strangers (still a bad idea, but I really wish it wasn’t)
2. The idea that to take away the power a woman has exerted over you, a man, you need to insult some aspect of her physical/sexual being.
3. The idea that we are entitled to request a person’s time for our own self-advancement.

I’m not really that angry, just completely perplexed. I’m not sure what’s worse: that never in my understanding of the world would I assume he was hitting on me, or that I peg strange 20-something white men with baggy shorts as potential robbers?

No matter, my Christmas spirit has not been dampened! There’s a lovely tree of lights right behind my sanctuary (house).



Did I mention the huge statue of Jesus right off the 101?








Oh wait! That’s the virgin Mary!

Also, there’s a seminary near my place of employ with a lovely path to…..






JESUS!



My new haircut (for some reason it doesn’t look good in pictures. Hmm), given to me by a supermodelish woman whose haircut was confusing and nonsensical (that’s how you know they’re professionals).




Tonight's television is truly inspirational: back to back episodes of that ole thorn in my side, 7th Heaven.
What I’ve learned so far (through clever storyline (and by clever I, of course, mean that it’s opposite day)):
1. The dangers of premarital sex (only do it once and you’ll surely get pregnant. Abortion is not even an option in TV land (because if you do, then your character gets killed ala “Jack and Bobby” or sent away never to return. That would force the writers and families to deal with anything APPROACHING REALITY!)).
2. Teenager girls often decline dates with boys who are too experienced for them, and the boys then in turn thank them! (because they were nervous about possibly spoiling their honor)
3. Church functions are the neatest!
4. Conversation are often stunted and weird but without any incomplete sentences.

It’s really too bad that this is the last season for the family Camden.

city of broad shoulders

This weekend I had the delightful opportunity to see some people and places that were essential to the formation of my being. On Thursday I flew to Chicago and was immediately immersed in the scents and sounds of the city that I hate to love (or is that love to hate?). It’s not that it’s a bad city per se; it’s just that every corner of it has the potential to trigger flashbacks to the spiritual, emotional and intellectual growing pains I experienced whilst in its lower belly (Hyde Park).

As you know, I enjoy the science fiction genre. I also enjoy places that could pass for a setting within said genre. To me, the tunnel from O’Hare to the CTA trains reminds me of such a place. There’s a huge wall of glass behind which colors fade into each other in order to give the effect of movement. It’s the brightest source of light in the tunnel and so colorful that it gives that clean, futuristic look.




Of course the first thing I noticed about the El was the pungent combination of urine, hair oil and good ole fashioned BO. The second thing I noticed was how my personal space had grown considerably larger. All of the close contact on the El made me sweat in anticipation and fear of actual human touch.
Once downtown, the excitement begins…




Carson Pirie Scoot was unveiling a rather fashionable window display. I had to take a picture of this display because I love the concept of sparkle in both clothing style and lifestyle choice. Plus, this mannequin could be a doppelganger for me, no?




The Chicago River as it is fed by Lake Michigan. I think they dye it green for St. Patrick’s day.




I arrived at the huge and comfortable casa de Klein and was greeted by some small ladies:

Bassie uses the expression “so so” in order to emphasize her ideas, as in, “Isn’t that so so funny?”




And though I could not understand everything that Dina said, she is super cute and greasy when she eats:





Did I mention the skillz these ladies possess on the computer? At 2.5, Dina can open up a web browser, find her bookmarks and play games. Bassie is fluent in C++ and edits home movies. They’re amazing!




On Friday night, our former roommate, Madeline, came over. She had to leave Saturday morning, so we didn’t have much time. Madeline is currently the fanciest lady I know. She has nice clothes, hair, nails, breath, brassieres, etc. Her job is to meet with very wealthy people and convince them to give her money to do things like save weird nearly extinct animals that I’d never heard of and recreate prairies in Montana. I got a makeup lesson and pointers for looking my best as I am WAY behind in my quest to become a fancy lady. I am firmly recommitted to smelling and looking nice.




I ventured down to the HP for some Candice visiting and Med eating.




I always loved campus in the fall. It seems so regal and European.

















Saturday night was amazing and all I can really say is that my mind was blown. In addition to witnessing true playas in action and some serious letting down of the hair (if you know what I mean), I drank 3 ciders, which is a personal record.

On Sunday I got to sit in an all women audience to see Rachel in an all women’s musical. It was my first experience in a huge sea of only (mostly) orthodox Jewish women.

Sadly, I had to leave on Monday, but because my plane ride was 4 hours, I was able to nearly finish reading The Game! As most of our weekend revolved around concepts within this book, it feels good to finally be done.



Big whoop whoop to the Klein family for the fun visit!

what’s the point of science? and neuroses involving my neighbor

My main difficulty with science is that I find it really hard to understand due to all of the foreign terminology. Participating in science is akin to learning a new language when adjusting to the common vernacular. Today at work, I engaged in one of my more awesome data-related discussions with Jen. We’d been going over the “big picture” of my paper, and near the end of our discussion, after we’d both been bravely using (or for me, attempting to use) all of the right jargon (flux, heterotroph, labile), Jen referred to a pool of available carbon as “bug plant food”. It was then that it hit me: science would be so much better if we’d give up science words and use everyday vocabulary to convey research. Isn’t that the point of science—to make it accessible to as many people as possible? I’ve started thinking of how best to express some of the terms currently in my life, and come up with a few suggestions below:

aromatic fractions: solidified onion ring (ie hard to eat!)
labile carbon: steak dinner with vegetables and a glass of milk
lignin: stale rice cakes
heterotrophic respiration: bug farts
autotrophic respiration: plant breath

Example of utility:

“The heterotrophic respiration decreased because of an increase in the relative proportion of the lignin to labile fractions.”

Translation: “The bug farting decreased because there was less of the delicious steak and vegetable dinner and instead, more of the stale rice cake option.”

That’s so much easier to understand.

Not so understandable is the emotional journey I recently completed in between parking my car and entering my house. As I pulled my hubcap-less and dirty Ford Taurus into my carport, I glanced into my neighbor’s kitchen window and saw her boyfriend cleaning some dishes. While a seemingly innocuous event, it in fact caused me to sigh with a twinge of jealousy. Jealous over her companion living in the same state as her, you ask? No, rather the sort of annoyed jealousy usually reserved for 21 year old girls to unleash when their roommate’s boyfriend is over all the time (sorry Carie, Kendra). The kind of annoyance that, in words, would be “Why is he over there all of the time. Why doesn’t he just go home?”

I immediately started to laugh at the absurdity of this feeling. Not only have I never met my neighbor, I only vaguely know what she looks like. She’s not MY roommate for crying out loud. OK, so he parks in a really inconvenient location in our carport that makes my car-driving life difficult, but should I openly sigh upon seeing him?

Place of joy and contentment:



The most beautiful traffic control box in the whole world: