The Montana Difference

Just taking a break from trying to sunburn the back of myself to match. Re-reading—for the 15th time—Nicholas Evans, The Horse Whisperer, and finding myself tearing. Or maybe that's sweat. It is HOT out. 72 already and we've got another two hours of heating and 3 inches of snow on the way. See for yourself. Behold, the Montana Difference.

My Burn Burns

By 1030 this morning, it was 65 degrees outside and I do believe it was still 70 at 1800. Needless to say, I spent all afternoon reading outside and ultimately, sun-burning. A lot. I beat last years record of April 1st, though, I just didn't think I'd burn this badly. And people wonder why i always have aloe at the ready. But alas, the warm wind blowing through my toes and the wispy white clouds sifting in and out of cerulean blue sky, made it well worth the burn.

I've been playing cello everyday for a while now, sometimes in the music building, sometimes not. I'm actually improving even if I'm just dinking around. I also have a feeling my legs will soon match the stain of the wood. Oh well, it's supposed to snow on Friday—such is life here in Montana.

That's all I've got. I'm going to go slather myself with aloe now.

If Someone Asks if You Want a Fork, Say Yes.

Today started well enough, I awoke at 0730 with a small jazz hangover. (Win). I did my laundry, had some cookies, you know the usual Monday. Right? WRONG. It all started at Verizon Wireless...

"My phone broke, again—it won't charge."
"Oh, weird, says you just got one 4 weeks ago."
"I know, it broke again."
"Well this is getting expensive for us, you should bring in your charger and we'll replace it. I can ship you a new phone by THursday."
"Cool, thanks."

Then David's Bridal...

"Hello, I recieved an e-mail notification that my order came in."
"What's the brides name?"
"Magnuson."
"How do you spell that?"
"Umm... m-a-g-n-u-s-o-n."
"Are you the bride?"
"No, but thanks."
"And what's your name?"
"Naomi.—N-a-o-m-i."
"Hmm, ok, let me go grab that."

5 minutes later...

"What's the last name?"
"Myrick."

Three Minutes later

"Huh."

2 Minutes later

"Oh, the sash is in, not the dress."
"Ok, well can i come back when the dress is here, too?"
"Yes, it says it's on the truck."
"I'll just come back, thank you."

On my way home, I decided to get a small deli salad, to celebrate the onslaught of summer, so I stopped at Albertson's on 24th and Central.

"May I please have a small Ceazer Salad?"
"Would you like a fork?"
"No thanks, I'm on my way home."

At the register...

"You know we have forks, don't you? You want one?"
"No thanks, I'm like two minutes from home."

So, I get to the car, and it won't start. Naturally, I walked back into Albertson's and asked for a fork and ate my salad. Two hours and three phone calls later, Hans, had joined me to wait for the tow truck and in leu of paper, I had scrawled Montana AAA's number on my knee.

"Why do you have a car and driver magazine?"
"I like to look at the pictures."

Around 1440 the tow truck shows up, the driver stays on his cell phone all the while chaining my car to the truck. He ends his call, looks me up and down (yes I know I look like Ford Focus Barbie) and asks what's wrong.

"Like I know, man—it won't start and that's enough information for me. "

Thundytoes was then towed to Pro-Tech, where Hans and I waited another good 15 min. until we finally procured a clueless mechanic from the garage.

"Hi, I'm Naomi, I got the Focus, I called earlier, I've brought my car here via tow-truck because it won't start."
"SO, you're bringing in a car?"
"Yeah, I just did."
"Oh, well it's here then?"
"Yes."
"What's wrong with it?"
"It won't start."
"Huh, well here write down your information."

He says, handing me the peice of paper that Rick already wrote my info on.

"This IS my information."
"Oh, so, what happened to your car?"
"It will turn over, but won't start, it seems like the fuel injector is dying."
"Ok, give me the key."
"Here."
"When do you think you'll have an assessment?"
"Probably won't even look at her til' tomorrow."

Exit Naomi and Hans.

SO, if someone asks if you want a fork, say yes, it's likely they know something that you don't.

Where's An Orca When You Need One?

MY neighbor, "The Party," is really getting out of hand with consistent parties that begin at 1am and end around 5am. I'm tempted to ducktape a small stuffed animal whale to his door with a note that says, "you've been warned."

OK, that was insensitive, it's tragic, blah blah blah. Whales are evil etc. But seriously, what did they think was going to happen? A whale is a 12 ton beast, void of sentience. I doubt that it was a Murder One deal. Shamoo (or whatever its name is) did not spend the last 16 years, swimming around plotting to kill his trainer. He didn't wake up and say, "Today's the day!" No, that's crazy. And if he did, i am staying far away from the ocean.

Zoos are really depressing. As you've probably surmised from my previous post, I'm not about to join PETA or anything. All I'm saying is that animals are beats, and retain their wildness and wiliness. We hold only a sense of control over them, this is most simply evidenced by the fact that we have to cage them for our own entertainment. We market this watered-down version of nature and ultimately limit the creatures and it pisses me off.

This could easily segway into something about Lent and being captive to fructose corn syrup, or segway into marketing murder pills (Plan B) the same way we cage and market animals. Don't worry, it won't. :)

Last night at Jazz, a good friend of mine presented a spot on and painfully accurate assessment of me—I don't like to lose. I've been awake since 6 am struggling with what he said, "I think, you just don't like to lose." His words were simple, but the thought was profound. When did I become so vain—so despicably vain! I am most disgusted with myself. All morning I've been trying to "win" and talk myself out of this.

I feel as if I should've curtailed this long ago. What is ethical about wanting to win all the time? Winning at the expense of others? Winning at the expense of friends? There is nothing morally obligatory or permissible about that mentality. Who am I to want to win, to deserve to win? Wining only enforces my vanity. This is where my tendency to fight rages out of control.

I've always been a proponent of not necessarily caring if I win or lose—at least rationally—because I'd rather be right. Although, my behavior does not always reflect this.

I think having a competitive nature is a survival skill, but a skill on which I often rely too heavily. Maybe I should've given up vanity and not vengeance for Lent. I need an orca to kill my vanity.

So, where is an orca when you need one?

Shiraz Would Go Nicely With Kitten

SO, I've been pairing wines with domesticated animals, "peppery, I bet cat tastes peppery!" Sinewy, too. I'm not sadistic and they eat dog in Korea, after all. (Non-sequitur?) What culture eats cat, anyway? None.

Andy thinks that Malbec would go with puppy, but I disagree. Puppy is too gamy. Perhaps a buttery Chard to compliment the after-taste of frisbee and cricket? Besides, Malbec needs to be paired with some creature that also naturally exists at elevations higher than 1,000 feet, like, oh, I don't know, goat. Does Mimosa go with hamster? Sure! This is Fun!

One time, Shoe and I gave his cat a White Russian, it was funny. NOW, I'm sadistic and probably going to hell. Interestingly enough, most people I've interviewed do not believe in hell. When I'm trying to satisfy an acquaintance's or stranger's or over-emotional friend's satiation for warm fuzzy feelings, I adhere to that "there is no hell—yay existentialism!" school of thought, too.

I have, however met a few despicable people who convinced me that, if I am to leave vengeance up to the Lord, there must in fact be some sort of hell. And I admit that his mentality is in it of itself vengeful, but it is also mean, right? Just like being ethical is mean. Thirsting for justice is wrong. Let's just ignore what C.S. Lewis said, "Mercy without justice, grows unmerciful." Justice requires critical thinking, and re-evaluation of paradigms, that's just a lot of work, isn't it?

The Culture of Feelings, is also a culture of laziness, and ignorance.

When and why did we become a Culture of Feelings? I've grown real tired of it. Moral obligation—even moral permissibility—has been completely dismantled and incinerated in some cases. I don't have a whole lot of emotion, maybe I use reason as an escape from this suffocating environment of perky—and obviously—medicated people. I really need some air.

Besides, I just ate my body weight in trail mix (thanks, Mom) it's time for a walk.

Bazaar, Nazis & Lemons

This morning, I was awakened at 0235 by my neighbors yelling and blasting their music. I am not sure why this corner of the building stirs so frequently in the 0200-0400 hours, but I don't like it. In fact, I feel a tad bit shanghaied. Despite sleep deprivation, though, I must say that I look like I just stepped out of Harper's Bazaar—too bad this campus hates fashion. Go to class in my pajamas, you say? No, thanks—I'd be naked. I digress.

Last week, maintenance was changing my smoke detector batteries, and the first thing they asked was, "how is it going with all of your neighbor's beer pong parties—that guy trashes every room he stays in—you should see the carpets! I hope someone warned you about this room, he is the reason no one wanted to live in this room."

No, no one warned me. Gee, thanks RMC housing, you keep me on my toes. Last year after you illegally searched my purse and bags, I began to view those people as a smaller Nazi Germany, but now, I've realized that it is more of a used car salesman mentality. "Here, have this lemon of a room. Oddly, it's been vacant all year."

I should get a discount. I mean, imagine if this apartment was property sold to me by a party that had full knowledge of the eye-sore (ear-sore) neighbors? I think that would be unethical, if not illegal. But then again, "morally obligatory" seems to mean less and less these days.

And I'm not making an extreme proposal of re-pricing rooms within an apartment complex, according to location, and view of the Rockies (I have a great view, by the way). I am, however, proposing that said obnoxious neighbor should've no longer been allowed to reside here. After all, maintenance said, "apartments," meaning he's previously lived here and in different rooms.

Whew.

Transfigulutheran

Lately, I've been filled with Schubert, and I would also like to be filled with Sherbert. This morning, at church, we were all filled with something alright—that enchanting Holy Ghost! Yes, it is hard to believe but during Hymn 877, "This Little Light of Mine," we all started clapping to the beat.

"Let it be noted that on this day, Sunday, February 14, 2010, Transfiguration Sunday, the Holy Spirit moved the Lutherans to clap on the down beat..." - Pastor Eric

Lisa Simpson once created Lutherans in her science experiment in "Treehouse of Horror VII." Well, I feel as if this morning we re-created or unveiled something rather marvelous. Behold, the Transfigulutheran! Super Lutheran, who, while remains traditionally stoic, now has the ability to clap—on beat—to hymns.

I really hope this happens again. I want to hang out with the Holy Spirit more often, but not in a dead way. :)