Today Was a Day From...Well, You Know...

I believe some of you might remember me complaining about an eye ailment a few months ago. I was a good girl and went to see an eye doctor about it the very next day. Turns out I had inflammation of the eye in both eyes. The opthalmalogist treated the problem by giving me steroid drops to use every two hours, and had me keep my pupils dilated with a different set of drops. I know, joy of my life.

I didn't mind the steroids so much as keeping my pupils dilated. Not only could I not look at anything up close (homework, people, my phone) without wearing those super-magnified granny reading glasses, but I was also super-sensitive to light so I had to wear sunglasses everywhere I went. (This pretty much made me look like friggin' Lady Gaga's geeky wannabe stepsister.) I got over it though when the pain, redness, and clouded vision went away and things were looking good. I went back for a few follow up appointments, and the doctor had me taper off of the eyedrops (because if I were to stop using them too suddenly, my eyes would flare up again with a vengeance). I finally got to stop dilating my pupils, which was nice because I could read and type and look into my kids' faces without using reading glasses. I only just stopped taking the steroids about a week ago. Over last weekend, my eyes promptly started giving me problems again. I tried to pretend it wasn't happening, that is was just sinus pressure or eye strain, but no. Of course not.

I called the eye doctor's office and they said that it was critical for the doctor to see me TODAY. I made the only appointment available, which was approximately 40 minutes from when I got off the phone with them. My son was at school and needed to be picked up during the time I was supposed to be at the doctor's office. I called my mom's house, and someone was on the other line. I called her cell and it was turned off. I called my sister's cell, it was turned off. In a last ditch effort to find SOMEONE to pick up my son from school, I called my mom's house one more time. Mom answered, and graciously agreed to pick him up for me. I then jumped into the shower, left my hair wet, and got dressed. By then, I had 20 minutes to get to get to an appointment that was at least a 20 minute drive away. I went to get my daughter so I could take her with me, and she had been rather busy making a mess in her diaper. I cleaned her up, put her into her coat, got my shoes and jacket on, and then strapped her into her car seat. Knowing I would need a place to strap her into while I was being looked over by the doctor, I grabbed her child carrier seat from the basement and threw it into the van.

As I was driving to the appointment, I looked at the clock. 9:42--I had 8 minutes to make a 15 minute drive. (Tyler probably could have made it in five, but he's a better driver than I am, and I like being alive, so I drive a bit slower.) I called the doctor's office and warned them that I would be late. I then somehow managed to hit every red light and get stuck behind every slow-moving driver between my house and the opthalmalogist's office. Not to mention the jerk-wad that pulled out in front of me, nearly causing me to crash into them (You're on my list, Punk! Whoever you are!) Somehow, I managed to get to the appointment (After turning into the wrong parking lot and very nearly driving into the building itself when I mistook the gas pedal for the brake). I was only about 10 minutes late--a freaking miracle if there ever was one!

I waited for around 20 minutes to see the doctor, who looked at my eyes, told me they were inflamed again (Hmmm, really?) and told me to start the steroid drops every two hours again and use the dilation drops three times a day for a week, when he would want to see me again. Okay, sounds good. Let's get this taken care of. I made the new appointment, got my stuff gathered together, and then went out into the lobby and saw that it was raining cats and dogs outside.

I love rain, but its presence today meant that I would need to get all of my stuff, as well as my daughter, all put together correctly before I went outside so I could move quickly. I got her unbuckled from her carrier seat and placed the diaper bag inside of it while I put her back into her coat. Then she wriggled away from me while I was trying to get my coat on and managed to bump her head (gently) in the exact spot where she managed to severely bruise it just the other day and promptly started screaming and crying in pain. I picked her up, along with the carrier seat and my purse, and walked out into the deluge of rain.

I got to the van and, arms completely full, realized that I had no idea where my keys were. I dug around in my purse (genuine leather, by the way, and getting wetter by the second), then all of my pockets, and couldn't find them. My daugher and I were both drenched before I finally found the right pocket and opened the door. I strapped my daugher into her car seat and then threw the carrier seat, diaper bag, and my now water-speckled purse inside before slamming the sliding door shut, opened my door, and climbed inside--fuming.

I went to Mom's house and picked up my son, and then the kids and I went home.

Luckily, things started looking up after that and the rest of the day actually went pretty well. But I was in a crabby mood for the entire morning. Grrrr....*Deep Breath*....*Sigh*...

Okay, I'm done. Sorry about the ranting, but it needed to happen.

Celebration, Charles Dickens, and a Bit of a Scare...

I am officially finished with this school semester! Yay Me! I definitely showed NO MERCY whatsoever, and got everything finished up. Now I can finally start reading Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol." It's my own annual Chirstmas tradition. (No, I'm not a geek! Okay, maybe I am...)

I love that story. It makes me happy on so many levels. Dickens is an absoloute genius, and there is NO way that anyone will be able to convince me otherwise. I've read most of his amazingness, with a goal to one day read everything he's ever written. If you haven't read any of dear Charles' work, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!? READ IT! READ IT NOW!!!

Anyway...on to other things....

My daughter is learning to walk, and yesterday she had a very unpleasant wake up call.

I was sitting on the floor, having read her favorite book to her several times (She LOVES books! Already a bookworm. I couldn't be prouder!) Then she wanted to play one of her favorite new games where she starts by the couch and walks toward me and falls into my arms, laughs, and then stands up and walks back to the couch.

After we had played a few rounds of this game, my daughter somehow took the proverbial "left turn at Alberquerque" and headed across the room at a right angle from her original course. I watched as though in slow motion as she stumbled and then fell face first to the floor, smacking her forehead--hard--on the leg of our computer chair. Oh the crying! I felt SOOO terrible! The resulting purple bruise that bloomed between her eyebrows just about ripped my heart out.

She seemed to be fine, other than the enormous goose egg bruise on her forehead and later on she went down for a nap. She woke up, and then seemed to be a bit sleepier than usual. Worried, my husband and I decided it would be wise to take her to the doctor to make sure everything was ok. She had a Level One concussion.

Apparently there are three levels of concussions. Level Three is marked by the victim being knocked unconscious for 5 minutes or more. It's very severe. Level two is marked by a period of unconsciousness for less than 5 minutes, and is less serious, but still needs to be watched closely. Level one basically means, and I'm quoting the doctor here: "She got hit in the head, but everything is normal and she's just fine. A kid could take a Lego to the head and be considered a Level One concussion." As silly as this description may sound, I was pretty relieved to hear it. I'm a real worrier, especially when it comes to my kids.

My daughter is doing quite well today, and the bruise on her forehead is actually kind of shaped like a heart. It still looks painful though, the poor little thing seems to have inherited my ridiculous talent for personal injuries. Hopefully she'll grow out of it.

There's a Storm a-Comin', and Inspiration From a 5-Year-Old...

Apparently, Utahns need to duck and cover for a few days. Starting tonight, and going all the way through (at least) tomorrow morning, there will be snow and SUPER freezing cold temperatures. We've been advised to stay off the roads, as they will be icy and the blinding snowstorm won't do much to help the situation either. I'm pretty sure that we haven't had a storm like this in a couple of years. (Don't quote me on that, I'm not a freaking meteorologist.) All I can say is that our license plates are pretty accurate, but they don't tell the whole story. "Ski Utah, The Greatest Snow on Earth!" (What they left out was: "Hope you can get here without driving, because between our snowstorms and CRAPPY drivers, you may not live to see the slopes!)

In other news, my son is officially the coolest kid EVER. We have a white board hanging with magnets onto the side of our fridge. Just yesterday morning, I was making myself some toast and looked up to see this message:

For those who may not be fluent in reading 5-year-old, it says: Shonomerse Go Mom Caden

Can't figure out what that first word means? Try breaking it up: Sho No Merse. Then fix a few letters: "Show No Mercy".

No, I will not be picking too much on my son's spelling until he's at least 7 years old. He's still learning how to read, and he's doing quite well. I'm just so often impressed by his ability to sound out the words he wants to write, and often he comes pretty close.

This little message meant the world to me at that moment, because right now we are in the "wrap up stages" of Fall semester. I have 2 big papers to write for my Communications classes, along with a 10-15 page formal report to put together for my Technical writing class. On top of that, I had two tests coming up for my Math class and a BIG group project to figure out and get done for my Communications class. I love that my son gave me some encouragement, and I am going to take his advice to heart.

I WILL "Show No Mercy"!!!

--Final Papers: Prepare to get the ever-loving CRAP written out of you!!!

--Formal Report: You'd better run and hide, cuz here I come!

--Math Tests: You suck! I WILL prevail!!!

--Group Project: You're almost done, and THEN what are you gonna do with yourself? HA!

Then, once the battle is over, I plan to make myself a LARGE batch of my (famously fabulous) chocolate chip cookie dough, and bury myself in as many mindless novels as I can get my hands on and devour them greedily until January.

Bring it on. I'm ready!

Tips for the Writing Challenged: Round Two!!!

A few weeks ago, I reposted one of my rants about a brutal murder. If you didn't catch it the first time, you can read it Here.

Anyway, just last night my mind was once again violated by the gruesome, horrific murder of one of the most underappreciated tools in the arsenal of mankind: The English Language. I present for your perusal, a posting by the most recent offender: We'll call him "L.B." Please bear in mind that I have changed nothing in this text. It is all a direct quotation.

"I don't think people ever really pay too much attention to their thoughts. So this was a good eye opener for me. I might start thinking before I act out or say what I'm thinking. I'm more of a realist type of a person on the optimistic side of things so this has helped me see things differently. Maybe the feeling we have as people are kind of like a little angles or devils on are shoulders they ether make thing more difficult for us but maybe that's what makes us balanced out."

I'll just give you a moment to digest that little nugget of pure ignorance....

And now, for those of you that are actually trying to understand what "L.B." is trying to say, allow me to advise you to stop. Stop trying to understand it. Your brain just might begin to self-destruct with the effort involved.

While you shake off that complete mess of jumbled non-language, allow me to do the world a favor:

"L.B.", in the name of the human race, you are hereby banned from publishing any form of written work from now until the end of time. The End.

To help restore some form of sense to the world of writing, I have some brand new tips for people that might wish to save the English language from yet another brutal slaughtering.

1) "Are" and "Our" are different words. They are not interchangeable.

2) Sentences MAY NOT begin with the word "So". I myself have been guilty of this particular faux pas in the past, but after reading "L.B.'s" abomination, you can bet that I'll be more vigilant in the future.

3) "Angles" have nothing to do with "Devils". I will repeat what I have said in the past: CHECK YOUR SPELLING! Always.

4) Do NOT switch back and forth between plural and singular words. Figure out which one you really want to talk about and stick to it!

5) Make sure you cut off your sentences in the correct place and use appropriate punctuation. In other words. Watch out where. You put; that, comma.

And there you have it. Candice's newest installment of Writing Tips for the Language Challenged.

Have you come across a "J" or "L.B." that you would like to put up for nomination as a subject of one of these posts? Email me at thoughtsbycandice@gmail.com.

If selected, your candidate could be eligible for a complete banishment from the writing world along with a personalized list of writing tips for people to avoid in the future.

Thank you for your time. Together, we can make the writing world a better place.

Happy November Everybody...

So this week has been a bit of a crazy one.

Monday was somewhat normal. Our son had school as usual, and our family spent the evening trying to get some Christmas shopping done. (Yes, we like to finish Christmas shopping before Thanksgiving.)

Tuesday morning Tyler was working at the voting polls all day and night. I had class in the morning, and after I picked up our son from Kindergarten, I brought the kids home. Soon, I received an e-mail from Tyler, humbly requesting that I bring him some lunch. I could hardly refuse, so the kids and I drove down to our local Arby's, got some food, and delivered it to Tyler. I then went back home and I honestly don't remember what I did for the next few hours. Then I got another e-mail from Tyler, requesting mints as he was suffering from a condition known as "onion-ring-breath". I went to the store and picked up the desired items, grabbing some dinner for me and the kids while I was there. I dropped the mints off to Tyler, and I even voted while I as there! Yay me! After dinner, I bathed both children and had just gotten them both to sleep when Tyler came home. I went downstairs to get some homework done, picking up my Blackberry to check my calendar. That's when things kind of went to crap...

I always lock my Blackberry's keypad. It is an important factor in preventing the ever-irritating problem of "Butt-Dialing". On the night in question, my phone was locked as usual and waiting for me on a side table next to the couch. I picked it up and pressed the "Unlock" button. Nothing happened. I tried again, nothing happened. I tried pressing other keys, still nothing. Finally, I pulled out the phone's battery, hoping it would reset the system and fix the problem. When I turned my phone back on again, a white screen greeted me saying something to the effect of: "Your phone has completely screwed itself over. You've lost all of your information. Have a nice day."

Yes. My Blackberry deleted everything that I had stored on it. Appointments, contacts, personalized settings, Applications...everything. My husband, in trying to fix the problem, was soon confronted with this message: "CAT. Failure". We interpreted this to mean "Catastrophic Failure". I'm amazed the thing didn't blow itself up. In the end, with the help of T-Mobile customer service representatives, Tyler was able to fix my phone and get it up and running again, though I still lost my information and had to restore all of my settings. I heaved a sigh of exasperated relief, said a thankful prayer that I have such a tech-savvy husband, set the alarm clock on my phone to wake me up the next morning, and went to sleep.

Wednesday morning was all planned out. I would drop my son off at school at 8:45ish, and then make my way to the pediatrician's office where my daughter had an appointment at 9:30 to get her ears checked. Perfect timing. The alarm on my phone was set for 7:20ish so I could have time to take a shower before I left the house (a VERY important prerequisite for me to make ANY public appearances). After sleeping blissfully through the night, I opened my bleary eyes to look at the digital clock on our dresser. What I saw there snapped me awake in a hurry.

It was 8:24 AM. I had 20 minutes to feed and dress both kids, dress myself and get my son to school. I jumped out of bed, shooed my son out of his room, threw some clothes at him and stood over him like a vulture while he brushed his teeth and combed his hair, then told him to find himself some breakfast. Then I burst into my daughter's room, changed her diaper and put her in some clothes. She didn't get breakfast at home, but I did pack some food to feed her at the doctor's office. I brushed my teeth, threw on a pair of jeans and a hat, and ran frantically out the door. My son was a few minutes late for school, but I guess it could have been worse.

I drove my daughter to the doctor's office, and we were actually about 15 minutes early. I took advantage of the time to feed her some breakfast before her appointment. (Her ears are fine by the way, she's just teething). I had them give her a flu shot while we were there, and she didn't even flinch. During the wait at the doctor's office, I figured out what had gone wrong that morning: my phone's catastrophic failure had caused my alarm clock to fail catastrophically too. Stupid phone. That same night, I had another class--and a test. It went fine, I think...we'll get the scores next week.

Thursday (today), I had to go take a test for a different class (Math, ICK!) While I was in the shower, I noticed something strange...you know..."down there". I felt around and pulled at the problem, and felt an odd cramping sensation. Then I froze. I'd been pulling at the strings for my IUD, very possibly dislodging it! I spent the morning in turmoil, waiting for my OBGYN's office to open. I dropped the kids off at my mom's house and headed towards the college campus. On the way, I finally got in touch with the doctor's office, and they squeezed me in for an appointment today. After taking my math test (which sucked, by the way), I ran back to Mom's house and picked up the baby, ran home to pick up something that I'd forgotten, then drove to the doctor's office again. Everything's fine with the IUD. It's an extra relief, because on top of all the problems I've been having with my eyes, I REALLY don't want to have anything else go wrong.

I went back to Mom's house to retrieve my son (Mom had picked him up from school for me while I went to the doctor), and then the kids and I went home. I got my daughter down for a nap, and just veged in front of the TV for a while. Then Tyler called. He wanted to go into town to go Christmas shopping. I made sure my son was ready to go, then got my daughter up from her nap (luckily she was already awake), fed her some cereal, pulled everything else together that we would need, and then ran out the door.

Our time in town was actually quite pleasant. We got some shopping done, and I got to be totally selfish. I got a brand new purse! Wahoo! Feeding the addiction, baby! Then we all went out to dinner and came home.

Now the kids are in bed, and I've joyously switched all of my stuff over from my old purse to my beautiful new one. Happiness! :)

So much craziness...but it ended pretty well. I got a VERY nice treat out of all of it, and nothing too traumatic happened.

That said: Is it the weekend yet?

Listen to Me!!!

So...I've had a bit of a slap to the face recently.

One of my classes has been studying the process of listening effectively. Mainly, effective listening involves making a real effort to be completely present in the conversation. This, of course, means keeping your thoughts from wandering and doing everything you can to make sure you know what's going on.

The thing that REALLY gave me the punch to the gut was the section on different forms of "non-listening."

Here I was, going through 28 years of my life thinking that I'm a pretty good listener. Not so! I am apparently chronically guilty of the non-listening methods called "pseudolistening" and "monopolizing".

Pseudolistening is basically just pretending to listen. You're looking at the person that's trying to talk to you, you're nodding your head, you might even be saying a few "hmm's" and "yeah's" so they think you're following their every word avidly. In reality, your mind is in a far away time and place, thinking about what you're going to have for lunch, or what happened on "Hell's Kitchen" last night. So when you finally do come back to earth and start paying attention again, you realize that the person sitting across from you has been talking for a full five minutes and is now waiting for you to give a response to the very specific question they've just asked.

Me? Guilty as the guiltiest sinner when it comes to this one. Crap!

Monopolizing is even worse. It's the tendency to sit listening to a person talking about something, waiting impatiently for them to stop talking so you can dazzle them with your brilliance. You know how it goes, they're talking about what a difficult day they've been having and you jump in and say: "You think THAT'S bad, just listen to what MY day has been like!..." This can also involve changing the subject from whatever they're talking about to something that is more interesting to you. Another form of monopolizing is interrupting the other person to interject your own opinions and (usually unasked for) advice.

Do I feel like a complete jerk? Yes. Yes I do. It makes me wonder what people have really been thinking of me while I've been sitting there, jawing away about me and my life rather than allowing them to just talk to me.

Lesson learned? I REALLY need to keep tabs on myself when I'm having conversations with people. Am I allowing my thoughts to float away to a far off and distance space? Or am I becoming what Brian Regan calls a "Me-Monster" and taking over the entire conversation?

Either way, I intend to put in whatever effort is necessary to change my obnoxious ways.

PS: Here's a youtube video of Brian Regan, so you'll know what I was talking about with the "Me-Monster" reference. It's amazingly accurate. Enjoy!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5QvSoRQrVJg

Awww...I'm Blushing! :)

Today I discovered that I am the proud recipient of another blog award. I'm stunned, shocked, and completely honored.
The rules are thus:
1) Thank and link back to the blogger who gave you the award (I will in no way insist on this one)
2) Tell 7 things about yourself
3) Pass the award on to 15 other bloggers
4) Contact the other bloggers and tell them about the award

So...here it goes:

THANK YOU again Mynx at Dribble. http://just-tish.blogspot.com/ (For some reason I can't get the actual links to work, but you should totally check out her blog. She's fabulous!)

Seven Things About Myself:

1) I make the world's best cookie dough. I know not everyone likes unbaked cookie dough, but if you ever want to try the best stuff ever, just give me a call.

2) You may not know it from my blog, but I'm a VERY reserved person when you first meet me. I'm quite uncomfortable in crowded places and will often hang back and keep to myself unless I'm approached by someone else. I guess my mindset is: "If they want to talk to me, they will." It may not be rational, but it's me.

3) I LOVE watching Chef Gordon Ramsey yelling at those poor saps who volunteer to work for him in "Hell's Kitchen". That show is one of my guiltiest reality show pleasures. (Don't mock me!)

4) I love to sing. I was a choir geek in high school, singing in the "elite", audition only show choirs. I know, yay me, right?

5) I HATE eating fish (all kinds), bananas (even the word makes me cringe), tomatoes (plain, raw ones), and onions (but I will use them for flavor while cooking).

6) I have written and finished a novel. Thus far, however, I have been too much of a chicken to take any serious action toward getting it published. It's going to happen. It is. I owe it to myself to at least try, right?

7) I am obsessed with purses. I can't seem to stay away from them! It's a sad addiction, but a very strong one.

Now, I am happy to pass this award on to other bloggers, however I just can't come up with 15 of them today. So I'll list a few that I particularly enjoy:

She's a great writer, she's funny, and she reminds me of myself in a number of ways. (Yes, that's intended as a compliment) That's right, she's Chanel at "Fabulously Neurotic": http://fabulousneurosis.blogspot.com/

Next on the list is Nicki at "The Loaded Handbag". She's got a great sense of humor, and she's a great photographer to boot. http://www.theloadedhandbag.com/

Last, but not least, is Alexa at "Looseleaf Writing". She's a college writing teacher, and she always gives me something to think about. (Yes, that is a good thing) http://looseleafwriting.blogspot.com/

I guess I will divide the 15 available spots between these three by awarding them 5 times each. Don't spend them all in the same place ladies! ;)

Is There a Doctor in the House?

My eyes have gone completely insane.
I have no idea what is causing these symptoms, but I'm afraid to look them up on the internet for fear of finding out that it's something incurable or dangerous. Anyway, if anyone out there knows anything about eye conditions...here's what's been going on:

Things are pretty normal, until one day my eyes start to get a little sore. Suddenly, they both break out and the "whites" go from white to red. (I basically look like a crack addict who hasn't slept in weeks) Over the next few days, my eyes continue to hurt a LOT, feeling like they will explode from all the pressure, and the redness slowly dissipates. For those first few days, my eyes are VERY sensitive to light.

After those first few days, the vision in one or both of my eyes is rather fuzzy, especially in the light, but I am able to focus quite well on the pages of books, and other things that I am viewing close-up. The pain is gone by now, but my vision is still fuzzy. It kind of feels like there's a film on my eye that I can't get rid of, which is making everything all blurry.

So...anyone have any idea what's going on here? I'm not entirely sure I want to know. It's happened before, and it cleared up for several weeks before the whole "red demon eyes" happened and the cycle started all over again.

I'm pretty sure that this whole thing is a combination of stress, eye-strain (caused by the fact that my eyes have been taking a lot more abuse since I started going back to school), and lack of sleep. Sinus pressure may have something to do with it, too.

Anyone else have any ideas? I'm kind of losing it here.

Thank You Mynx!

Today I got a lovely surprise as I logged on to check the posts of one of my favorite bloggers, Mynx of "Dribble." She was my very first follower, and I have really enjoyed getting to know her through her blog.

Anyway, Mynx's post today awarded me a Blog Award and it made me happy. Now, in order to accept the award, I need to list 10 things that I like, and then pass it on to 10 bloggers that I believe deserve to be awarded.

10 Things I Love (In no particular order):

-My Family. They mean the world to me. No one will ever understand me or unconditionally love me more than my family does.

-Reading. I don't have much time for it nowadays, but there are few things in life that will ever give me more enjoyment than picking up a good book and losing myself in it.

-Grandma's House. There are few things in life that are better than a visit to Grandma's house. Surrounded by family, good food, and music. What else can I ask for?

-Chocolate. Ice cream, cookies, candy bars, truffles...you name it. Chocolate makes everything seem just a little bit better.

-Laughing. Especially with my husband. At 1 am. When we're both exhausted and EVERYTHING seems to be completely hilarious.

-Watching Chick Flicks. Whether it's with my dear husband, or my best gal pal that's stuck with me since high school, nothing beats a good Chick Flick night.

-The Feeling I Get When I Accomplish Something. Even if it's something small, I always get a deep sense of satisfaction when I get to cross stuff off my "To Do List".

-That head-to-toe tingly feeling that I get when my husband kisses my eyelids.

-Music. Whether I'm playing it on my guitar, singing with my family, or blasting it on my MP3 player, music will always reach me on a very deep level.

-Hugs. Yes, I am a firm believer in the power of hugs. Sometimes, whether they know it or not, people really do just need a hug.

My Blog Picks:


Nicki at http://theloadedhandbag.blogspot.com/

Chanel at http://fabulousneurosis.blogspot.com/

Elizabeth at http://forgivingtrinity.blogspot.com/

Alexa at http://looseleafwriting.blogspot.com/

Charles at http://arealgoodblog.blogspot.com/

Tyler at http://www.rivetedhistory.blogspot.com/

Scott at http://scottstipoftheday.blogspot.com/

Mynx at http://just-tish.blogspot.com/

Jera at http://uniquenessisoverrated.blogspot.com/

The Empress at http://rantersbox.blogspot.com/

They are all wonderful in their own way, and I read them all on a regular basis because they make me smile.

I don't know if I'm allowed to "tag back" on Mynx, but I'll make up for it by excusing her from having to pass this on again. :)

Thanks everyone for making my blogging life such a great experience.

Just Because I'm Proud of this Accomplishment...

For my technical writing class, we were required to write a technical description. For those that may be unsure, that means I get to pick an object and describe its different parts and how they all work together. After a little bit of internal turmoil and struggle, I decided to choose something that I knew I could describe pretty well. An acoustic guitar. I've literally grown up surrounded by acoustic guitars. I own one. I think I can handle it. However...I have never really done any technical writing before. I'm more of a creative writer. However, as I'm a perfectionist and like to get good grades, I figured: "Hey, what the heck. Let's give it a shot."

After much editing and stressing, I finally pulled together a technical description that I am very pleased with. It's definitely not bad for a first attempt.

However, the thing I'm most proud of with this project is the visual aid that I put together for it. I couldn't find one diagram of a guitar that I liked, soooo...I made my own. That's right. The labels are mine and everything! Three cheers for me!

Anyway, here is the final product for those that are interested:

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Definition of the Acoustic Guitar:
An acoustic guitar is a stringed instrument that is played by pressing the fingers down on strings that are stretched across a fingerboard. The other hand strums or picks the strings near the sound hole of the instrument. Acoustic guitars come in many shapes, sizes, and are made from a variety of different materials depending on the desired sound and the individual style of each player.

The Anatomy of an Acoustic Guitar:
Every guitar is made up of the same basic components. The body is the large, hollow section of the guitar that typically rests on a knee while being played. When strummed, guitar strings create vibrations that are then registered by the bridge. Located just below the sound hole at the front of the guitar, the bridge is where the strings are anchored. From there, vibrations are picked up by the sounding board—the flat surface on the front of the body—which then creates the acoustic guitar’s unique timbre. The music is heard through the sound hole, located in the middle of the sounding board. To make different sounds with the strings, a player places his/her fingers on the strings in varying frets on the fingerboard. The fingerboard is the flat, dark strip of wood on the front of the neck of the guitar. Frets are metal ridges set at specific intervals along the fingerboard. Depending on which notes need to be played and the desired key, players use frets as primary reference points for where to place their fingers. The player then strums the strings with the other hand near the sound hole. When the strings are in need of tuning, the player uses the tuning keys, located at the very top of the guitar’s neck, on the headstock. Tightening or loosening the tuning keys change the tone of each string to be higher or lower as needed. (See Figure 1)

Figure 1

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As I said, not bad for a first-timer, eh? It was good for me to get outside of my comfort zone for a while, I think. It's why I took this class--to expand my writing skills and stretch a few mental muscles I didn't know I had. I still have a lot of work to do here, but I think I'm off to a good start.

**SIDE NOTE: This is my 30th post! Woohoo! A big thanks to my 6 followers! You all make my blogging life so much more fun. I love you all! Also, thanks to the stragglers that pay my little blog an occasional visit here and there. You and your comments are always welcome. :) Have a nice day, everyone!**

I'm Back!...

So...I just looked at the date on my last post, and realized that I have been shamefully lacking in the regularity of my posts. For that, I apologize. I can only blame homework and the fact that I was out of town with the fam for a few days. Good times, but back to business...

Over the summer, I was just starting to discover the blogosphere. I was still looking around for blogs that I felt I could really enjoy. While looking around one blog, I found another: http://looseleafwriting.blogspot.com/ (I highly recommend it, by the way. It's truly fabulous.)

Anyway...one of Alexa's posts was talking about how her inspiration comes to her while she writes. Alexa described her "Muse", and then posed some questions at the end of the post. Specifically, she asked who we were trying to please when we were writing, and what our muse was like. Here was my response:

"I would say that I write for myself. I have to assume that no one will be reading this stuff but me, (at least in the beginning). That way I know I'm being completely honest and am open to more ideas as they come to me. My writing sucks when I let myself get distracted with questions like "What will others think about this?"

My muse only comes to me when I stop thinking so hard and let her do the writing. She's kind of a control freak but our relationship works pretty well, so who am I to try and change things?"

When I checked back a day or so later, I found this post from a guy called Lysdexicuss:

"I am back here commenting because my curiosity is piqued by Candice's description of her Muse, being a Control Freak...? See, that to me would be my Ego, not my muse... When my Ego tries to write (which doesn't happen too much anymore) everything sucks or just goes awry. My Muse is really much like your b & w photo of an 'Adoring Audience in your head', except, there are more colorful crazy b*****s than preppy dudes, and the phrase "I'm a schizophrenic and so am I" constantly loops along with my typewriter ribbon. So, my Muse is actually the opposite of a control freak, but, a faucett that gets turned on an I (my Ego) am just the poor sap who tries to catch droplets of lightning in a bottle before it all goes down the drain. CANDICE~! Please elaborate on your Muse~! She/He sounds like they'd make a great character in a story about Writers~!"

This response rather surprised me. I piqued someone's curiosity? I was somewhat flattered, especially because I was still new to the blogosphere, and finding that I could write something that got someone's attention like that made me happy. So I put a lot of thought into my response, and this is what I came up with:

"Hmmmm...how to describe my Muse...?

She really is just a little bit of a control freak, but powerless to take over and inspire me unless I step aside and allow her to.

Think about an overexcited parent watching their kid's soccer game. Their team is losing. Picture my Muse fluttering around on the sidelines, screaming advice at me and shoving the other Muses around. She's jumping up and down, getting more and more frustrated by the fact that her hands are tied tightly behind her back.

Then, when I finally relax and let her in, she's so riled up and filled with ideas, she takes absolute control of my fingers. I don't even have to think. I'm just an instrument in the very capable hands of my Muse. Everything flows naturally, and I'm always happy with the result.

My ego is what prevents me from being open to my Muse. Then, when I get my ego out of the way, my Muse doesn't just step forward to help, she jumps in with both feet, pushes me out of the way, and takes over.

I hope this cleared things up for you Lysdexicuss. I feel like I may have only made things more confusing. I'm sorry if that's the case!"

The more I think about my muse, the more I realize how accurate this description is. In the end, though, I don't think it matters what my muse's personality might be, I work well with her, and our relationship is pretty healthy.

So now I pose this question in honor of Alexa, (who is now one of my favorite bloggers):

What is your relationship like with your muse? What are her most noticeable personality traits? What is the inspiration-process like for you? Let me know, I'm very curious.

Writing Tips for the Language Challenged...

A couple of months ago I was exposed to some REALLY bad writing. The kind that gives you the impression that the person is either unintelligent or just doesn't care enough to put any effort whatsoever into what they're writing. It annoyed me so much I typed up this rant and a half to help out the people that could benefit from it.

In my two online classes this semester, there are required discussion boards where we all post replies to questions about the class readings. There are a number of people in these classes whose posts remind me of the infamous "J" from this earlier post.

In honor of those people, I have decided to repost this particular rant for your enjoyment. Anyway, if you're curious about my more grumpy, sarcastic side, here's a lovely treat for you. (No, I'm not like this all the time. Only on VERY special occasions):)
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Tonight, I witnessed a brutal slaughter...of the English language.

Now, I know that English can be pretty confusing. For example: "I before e, except after c--BUT..." or: "A, E, I, O, U,...and sometimes Y". Despite being incredibly messed up in so many ways, the English language does not deserve to be murdered. English has served the world quite well in her own way, and I believe that she should be respected.

The murderer in question, (we'll call him "J."), has NO idea whatsoever about how to put words together into an intelligible sentence. I pity anyone that has to read the complete crap that "J." haphazardly throws together in a pathetic attempt at writing. (I'm using the term "writing" very loosely here.)

Don't get me wrong, my husband and I got a good laugh about this fully grown college student's bungled, blundering babble. However, he has committed multiple crimes against the English language, and I feel that he should be held accountable in some way. So here it is:

"J", in the name of the human race, you are officially banned from ever publishing any form of written work from now until the end of time. The End.

Of course, "J." is not the only offender out there. Too many people anymore are concentrating on just about anything except their writing skills. Why is this? The two most important things a person can learn in school is reading and writing. Or at least it used to be that way.

I doubt that the general American public reads all that much these days unless they have to, and what in the world has happened to our writing? I guess most people don't consider the ability to write skillfully as being all that important. Well, it is important, IT IS!!!

For those of you that want to fix this disturbing trend of crappy writing, here are a few things that you should know:

1) It's okay to proofread and revise your work. I promise I won't mind, neither will anyone else that has to read the finished product.

2) Commas are important. They're not just there for decoration, they actually serve a purpose.

3) LEARN THE FREAKING DIFFERENCE BETWEEN "THEN" AND "THAN"!!!!! Please, you're embarrassing yourself and the rest of the human race when you confuse the two. If you can't write better THAN a monkey, THEN you should quit altogether.

4) The first word of a new sentence should be capitalized. Every time.

5) You are allowed to make your sentences shorter. You know that single, rambling sentence that goes on long enough to be its own paragraph? Feel free to break it up with a period or two--within reason, of course.

6) Two words: SPELL CHECK!!! Use a dictionary or Google if you must, you'll be doing us all a HUGE favor.

7) Look at your sentences and paragraphs. Is there anything in there that's unnecessary? If so, take it out. The "fluff" doesn't have to be there, get to the point.

8) Be careful about repeats. Make sure that certain words aren't used more than once in a single paragraph unless it is absolutely necessary. (Words like "the" and "and" don't count on this one.)

These rules represent a mere fraction of the common sense guidelines that should be followed when people are writing for any purpose. No need to thank me, I'm pretty generous when it comes to correcting the faults of others...

...But you're welcome anyway.

The Battle of the Century...(Or at least the Summer).

A couple of weeks ago, we went out to dinner as a family. As would be expected in many restaurants, there were coasters on the table. However, Tyler and I decided that we didn't really want or need coasters that night. We needed pucks for a game of "Dinner Table Air-Hockey".

For those of you that are unfamiliar with this game don't feel bad, it's not even in the Olympics yet. Anyways, allow me to enlighten you. Basically, the goal is to get the puck (coaster) past your opponent's defenses as many times as possible. The first person to seven points wins.
I have to say, I was doing quite well. I shut Tyler out on the first two games, but then he started gaining momentum and won the next two. It was the tie-breaker round, and I began battling even more fiercely for the title. The score was so close, it was anybody's game, and then...

Apparently Tyler's glass was a smidge too close to the edge of the table, and what with the battle raging back and forth...well, let's just say there was a bit of a mishap. I had one of those slow-motion moments as I watched that glass fall to the floor, splashing ice and water all over the carpet next to our table.
Luckily, the guy they sent to clean up the mess was perfectly amiable (at least on the surface, you can never tell what those guys are really thinking). He cleared up the icy mess and left us to ourselves.
Well, we couldn't very well leave the game unresolved, so we continued the battle until there was a winner. I have to be honest: Tyler won fair and square. He's a worthy opponent, I'll give him that.

Be honest now, what sounds more appealing to you? A calm dinner with your family, or an epic coaster battle to end all coaster battles? I think we all know my answer!

The Stuff of Legend? Yep. That's me!

I have decided to take another trip down memory lane...

I have never made any secret of the fact that I'm one of the most uncoordinated people alive. The number of sprains, bumps, bruises, stitches, and broken toes would pretty much take me a week to relate in writing.(Although that could be a fun project...)


Anyway, instead of going through the gruelling horror show that is my list of injuries and overall clutziness, I will only tell of one series of injuries in particular...

My first ever broken bone was my ankle. I was twelve, and in the 7th grade. On that fateful day, I was in gym class, playing soccer out on their death trap of a playing field. By "death trap," I mean that there were multiple divots and pot-holes in the ground that were hidden by grass. I'd rolled my ankles on multiple occasions, but not so spectacularly as on that memorable day...

It was cloudy outside, but not cold. I was assigned to play a defensive position, therefore I was stuck on my side of the playing field. The other team's offense pretty much sucked, so all the action was taking place at their end of the field. Growing bored, my fellow defensive players and I started messing around. You know, doing cartwheels, jumping around, the usual stuff.


Predictably, during one of these outbursts of jumping, my foot landed in one of the killer grass-hidden divots and my ankle rolled, making an impressive crackling sound. Hoping it was just a sprain, I walked on it for about a week before asking to be taken to the doctor. The bone was fractured, and they put me in a brace.

After the required number of weeks, I was all healed up, and the brace was taken off. But...one day, jumping around in my room, dancing to music, (yes, I jumped around a lot, don't judge!), I rolled that same ankle and RE-BROKE IT! Of course, this just had to happen the day before summer vacation started. It sucked.

Anyway, let's jump forward to two years later. I was 14, in 9th grade, and...you guessed it, in gym class again. Anyway, there was a dance portion that we all had to participate in. We learned such basic dances as the Fox Trot, Waltz, the Bunny Hop, and various line dances. At the end of this learning experience, there was an exam day, when we were tested and graded according to our mad dancing skills.

On the day in question, I was doing pretty well. I could keep up with the rhythm and remembered all of the steps to the different dances. Then came the final test for the day...The Bunny Hop. We were split up into different groups, formed lines, and were required to Bunny Hop until the song ended. Things were going fine. My friend and I were in the same line, and having fun.

Then a group of boys thought it would be SOOO funny to intentionally crash into our line, breaking right through us. In my mad scramble to catch up to my group, I twisted my ankle (the opposite from the one I'd already broken twice). There was a horrible cracking sound, and I was in excruciating pain. I tried to dance it off, but it only got worse. I flagged down my teacher, and with my friend she helped get me off the dance floor and into a seat.

Taking off my shoe, we saw that the ankle was swelling impressively, and my teacher got me some ice to put on it. Since the injury wasn't getting any better, I hobbled to the main office and called my mom, who promptly picked me up. After a couple of days, the pain wasn't getting any better, so I went to the doctor and...(fanfare please)...it was broken. I was in a boot for a majority of that school year.

A couple of years later, I was in high school, and my little sister was in Junior High. One day she comes home, and relates to us a story about her day in gym class. They had started on the dance portion of that year's curriculum, and were about to learn the Bunny Hop.

The teacher, while talking about the Hop, said: "Now, you all need to be careful when you're learning the Bunny Hop. We actually had a girl break her ankle while doing this a few years ago." My sister promptly volunteered the fact that her sister--me--was the clutz in question.

That's right, my crippling clutziness made me a freaking legend! At least my talents aren't being wasted...

Memories of Music...

Today was the first day of school. For my "Mass Media and Society" class, I was required to find a song that I feel defines me as a person and post a YouTube link to it. I liked this idea so much, I decided to share it with all of you.

The song I chose was "Return to Pooh Corner" by Kenny Loggins. Perhaps it doesn't define me so much as it defines my childhood.



Every time I hear the familiar melody and words of this song I picture my dad, sitting on the couch playing his guitar. I'm about 5 years old, it's close to bedtime, so I'm already pretty sleepy. My sisters and I are lying on the floor in our pajamas. Dad has been playing songs for us for the last hour, and we are begging him to play just one more. (Stalling bedtime for as long as possible)



Dad smiles, and tells us it's getting late. We give him the best puppy-dog eyes we can manange and add a synchronized "Pleease?" Dad smiles again, and shakes his head. He's no match for his little girls. "Okay. Just one more. Which song do you want to hear?" The decision is unanimous. "The Christopher Robin song!" (If you've ever heard the song before, you'll know why we gave it this alternate title.)

Dad's voice is always the one I hear in my head whenever I think about "Return to Pooh Corner." Kenny Loggins does alright I guess, but he's no match for Dad in my mind.


My family is a large part of what defines me as a person. So is music. Sitting here thinking about Dad singing and playing the guitar makes me want to find the time to pick up my guitar, or sit at the piano, or just start singing for the heck of it. (A little note about me: If you want to get through to me in the most effective way possible, you'll be able to do it with music. Every time.)

There are probably quite a few songs I could compile that would spell out the many different seasons of my life. Maybe someday I will find the time to put them all together, but until then...here's the link to my chosen song for the day:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BpXUYIOoFzM

If you were to pick one song that defines you or a significant part of your life, what would it be? I would love to know your stories.

A Night on the Town...

Last night, my husband and I took the night off from being parents for a few hours and went out to the theatre to see "The Lion King" broadway musical. I took a few pictures during the course of the afternoon and evening, and will be posting them for your viewing pleasure. You're welcome.



My best friend Alicia agreed to come and watch the kids for us, and she was due to get here at 4:30 so Tyler and I could go out to dinner before the show. About 45 minutes before she was due to come over, I went upstairs to get ready for my night out. My hair was wet, so I pulled out my blow-dryer to fix it. Being the clumsy butter fingers that I am, I dropped the stupid thing on the tile floor of our bathroom. Admittedly, I've dropped it many times before, so I didn't think much of the incident until I plugged the thing in. I flipped the "ON" switch, and...nothing. I am 45 minutes away from a night at the theatre, and my stupid blowdryer goes and gives up the ghost!



Needless to say, I'm pissed. How dare that piece of crap just up and die on me right as I need it the most? I discarded the traitorous appliance into the trash where it belonged, then moved on to my only option. It turned out to be my saving grace.

Months ago, on the recommendation of my sister, I purchased a hair straightener. Not just any straightener, a Remington "Wet 2 Straight" hair straightener. You're actually supposed to be able to use this thing to dry your wet/damp hair and make it look fabulous without a blow dryer. I've really loved it, but due to a warning from that same sister that I mentioned before, I've only ever used it on my already dry hair. Last night, however, I had to put my faith in this little appliance's claims. What do you know? It worked! My hair looked fabulous, and I had to do a little dance of celebration. Yay!

Alicia arrived soon after I'd finished getting ready, and I took her through the nightly routine for the kids. By then, it was about 5:00. I kissed the little ones and Tyler and I walked out the door.

We went to one of our favorite restaraunts and enjoyed a lovely dinner. I was even careful not to spill food/raspberry lemonade all over myself (impressive, I know). Then, we were on our way to the theatre (to be pronounced THE-ah-tah!)

We got there VERY early, an hour and a half early, to be exact. We decided that, rather than sit around waiting, we would walk around the city for a while. The weather was perfect. Warm, but cloudy with just the right amount of wind to keep things extra pleasant. We thought we would look around in the local shops and things. The only problem? ALL of the shops were either empty and out of business, or they closed at 6 pm. Stupid, but true.



I didn't really mind the closed shops so much as I minded the fact that my feet were getting all sorts of blistered from walking around in the worst walking shoes EVER! I had to stop in the middle of the sidewalk, dig around in my purse for a band-aid (a Mom is always prepared!) and bandage up my poor torn up heel. I was limping as we made our way to the theatre, and had to replace my bandage, but we were there!

We got our tickets torn, and still had plently of time to hang around before the house opened. Finally, we made our way up to our seats. I'm not trying to brag (much), but we have pretty awesome seats. Here's the view:



Right next to our seats, we turn and see an entire set of percussion instruments. To be honest, we were pretty worried that having those things playing right next to us would drown out the entire show. When the percussionist came to take his place and prepare for the show, Tyler actually stood and asked him how loud it would be. The guy didn't really know, but he said he didn't think it would be too loud. I thought: "Yeah, we'll see."

Finally, several minutes late, the lights went down and the show began. I'm not gonna lie, the show was spectacular. The music, the costumes, the choreography...all amazing. And the drums right next to us? We actually loved it. They weren't so loud that they drowned anything out, in fact some of the sounds he was making were so subtle we couldn't imagine that anyone else would have even noticed them. I was amazed, watching the guy out of the corner of my eye as he played the bongos and other instruments. Every tiny little change in the pressure and position of his hands and fingers made such different sounds. I was blown away by how talented he was. Well done, Drummer Man! I have no idea what your name is, but thanks!

Overall, I loved my night out, and I would like to thank all the people who made it possible.

First, I'd like to thank Alicia for coming to babysit. You're my hero!

Second, I'd like to thank Remington for making the world's best hair straightener.

Next, I want to send a big thanks in the direction of Winger's for a fabulous dinner.

I'd also like to thank myself for being smart enough to stock my purse with Band-Aids.

I want to thank all of the actors and actresses who made "The Lion King" such a fantastic experience.

Another thanks must go to Mr. Drummer Man for making the show that much more interesting from our perspective.

Finally, I want to thank Tyler for spending such a great evening on the town with me. Let's go again soon! :)

Dreaming, Plotting, Planning...

I have ALWAYS wanted to go to England. That's right, England. For years, I have harbored a dear ambition to visit the land of Stonehenge, the birthplace of my literary heroes: Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, and Thomas Hardy.


Don't get me wrong, I love being an American. However, if I could find the means to do so, I would gladly move my family to England and live there. I would like nothing more than to own a house in the British countryside, where I could spend my days writing while my kids grow up learning to speak with British accents.

I'm not alone in this wish. My dear husband would pack things up and our little family would be flying across the pond tomorrow if it was possible. He has different interests than I do, though. He is a history buff. Big time. One of his primary interests? The British Monarchy. He can tell you just about anything you want to know on monarchs ranging from Alfred the Great to William the Conqueror to Queen Elizabeth II. He would spend much of his time in England studying everything he could get his hands on regarding Britain's royal line.


Mark my words, my husband and I will be taking this trip someday. We will be visiting the land of Big Ben, the Thames, and Harry Potter. When? I have no idea. A cross-Atlantic trip isn't really feasible for two full-time students/parents of two. (However, if anyone out there has a few thousand dollars/pounds/Euro just lying around that they would like to donate towards two round trip plane tickets to England, just let me know.)

Until then, I'll just keep on plotting this glorious vacation...ahhh happy day...

(PS: If anyone is interested, my husband's writings on history and other subjects can be found on his blog: www.RivitedHistory.com)

Men: Embrace Your Baldness!!!

A number of years ago, I went out to dinner with my family. (I mean my husband, my parents, one or two of my siblings, and my uncle) Imagine us, all gathered around one of those circular corner booths, chatting away pleasantly. My uncle had just returned from a long stint of working as an entertainer on a cruise ship, and we were enjoying the chance to catch up with him.

Somehow, the conversation turned to Donald Trump and his extraordinary comb-over. My uncle then chimed in with a story from his time on the cruise ship, talking about one of the passengers he encountered. Apparently, this man was entirely bald on top, but the rest of his hair was really long. This man apparently used bobby pins to sculpt what was left of his hair into a swirling hair-beanie on the top of his shiny, bald head. Yikes, right?


This, of course, started an extensive conversation about comb-overs in general. The basic gist of the conversation was that they are utterly ridiculous. If a man is bald, he should embrace it. To me, at least, even the shiniest bald head says: "This guy is bald" but then my mind quickly moves on to something else. A comb-over on the other hand screams "BALD AND SELF-CONSCIOUS!!!"

Anyway, while this conversation is going on, I look over at my mom (she was sitting across the table from me and my uncle). Her face is bright red and she's gesturing, subtly but urgently in an attempt to get our attention. No one caught on quickly enough though, and the conversation ran its course. The bill came, and we all stood up to leave. That's when we noticed what Mom had been so desperately trying to tell us about.

Sitting in the booth right next to ours, in a position that would have allowed him to hear every word of our conversation, was a man with one of those REALLY bad comb-overs. I'm talking about the kind where the combed-over hair didn't completely reach the other side of his bald "patch" (and by "patch," I of course mean an entire barren wilderness). As we abashedly walk past him and his wife, we hear her say: "They think they're funny, don't they?"


Very embarrassing, but hey, maybe we did that guy a favor in the end. Comb-overs are one of the worst decisions any balding man can make. Unless he plans to have surgery to replace his hair, he needs to accept that it's gone. Cut what's left of that stuff into a style that suits you. Buzz it, trim it, or go the whole hog and pull out the Bic razors. Anything but a comb-over!

Warning: The Following Post Contains a LOT of Whining...

So…I think I need an intervention.



I am currently working on my Generals for an Associate’s degree, after which I plan to move on to my Bachelor’s. That’s a very natural progression, right? Nope, apparently not for me.

Don't get me wrong, I am thrilled to be going to college. However, here's the frustrating part: I am still undecided on my major. That's right. It took me a very long time to finally settle on my current course of study. I felt really good about it for a while, and now I’m waffling again! Seriously? I am 28 years old, am I really that indecisive? Yes. Yes I am.

Allow me to take you on a journey through the many different avenues that I have considered travelling during my time back in college:

--English, with an emphasis in professional and technical writing (Declared, then changed)
--Nursing, (Never officially declared, mainly because I HATE needles and because I took a chemistry class and remembered that I suck at, and therefore despise science classes)
--Respiratory Therapy (Never declared, just a desperate, fleeting idea)
--Radiology (Never declared, another fleeting idea)
--Psychology (My original, intended major right out of high school 10 years ago—I wanted to go on through my Doctorate and become a psychiatrist. This option is still not entirely off the table in my mind.)
--English (Because it would be the easiest, most comfortable course of action for me. English is my mind's mother ship.)
--Journalism (My current, declared major)

These are just the highlights of course. The mess and chaos that has been my disconnected train of thought on this matter has been dizzying.

And now, I’m seriously considering changing my mind AGAIN to pursue a BIS degree (Bachelor of Integrated Studies). This is a degree in which a student chooses 3 areas of emphasis, bringing them all together into one integrated degree. Sounds perfect, right?

To an indecisive person like me, not having to choose between my 3 favorite subjects and then finding a way to bring them together is a very attractive option. I would probably have declared this major instead of Journalism had I known it existed before now. This way, I can study three subjects: Psychology, English, and Communications. When I decide to go on to graduate school, I’ll have more options before me. (And then I can start this whole ridiculous process all over again!)

However, I am still undecided. Yeah, I know it's ludicrous.



So, where’s my intervention? Where is that Magic 8 ball that I can get a straight answer out of? I need someone to grab my face, stare me right in the eyes, point to a clear path and say: “Do this, you freaking lunatic!” Anyone want to take a crack at that? I’m all ears!

Brace Yourself...

I posted this rant several months ago, before most of you read my blog. Now you all get to endure its awesomeness again, because I'm still pissed off at the morons at Kit Kat's advertising department. Pull it together Kit Kat!!!
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Okay, I started a little rant about this on facebook, but that tiny status update wasn't very satisfying so...here we go.

I am sick and tired of commercials where I am forced to listen to the nauseating sounds of people eating. The most prominent culprits on the radar right now: Kit Kat, Light & Fit, and Dairy Queen.



I remember Kit Kat's commercials from the 90's. Happy people running around, singing that "Gimme a break" song. That wasn't annoying, in fact it's one of the most memorable candy bar jingles ever. Now, some schmuck at their advertising firm thought: "Hey I know what we can do, let's take our famous jingle and use the sounds of people chewing and smacking their lips as instruments." Morons! All this commercial makes me want to do is change the channel, hit the fast forward button on the DVR, or mute the sound altogether. Because of this stupid commercial, I cringe every time I look at a Kit Kat bar. Gimme a break, people! Seriously!



The Light & Fit commercial is just as bad, and less clever. It shows two women sitting in a room. Apparently, they're strangers to each other. One of them is humming and slurping on a cup of prominently displayed Light & Fit yogurt, like a freaking toddler--no, toddlers are more sophisticated--it's more like a St. Bernard. The other woman looks over and expresses her surprise at the number of calories in the yogurt. I don't care that that cup of yogurt supposedly has less calories than any other, all I can think about is how annoying that woman/St. Bernard is. No thanks, Light & Fit.



Dairy Queen is also doing something stupid with their advertising these days. Now, I've enjoyed a Blizzard or two in my lifetime, but these commercials have ruined them for me. There's some crazy family that's driving around, tailgating a Blizzard truck. Most of the commercials haven't been too bad, until now. Just tonight I was exposed to one of the most disgusting displays I've seen in quite a while. Apparently, this insane family has parked their van to sleep for the night. For whatever reason, their teenage kids are able to fall asleep with frozen dairy treats in their hands, so the parents lean their seats back and start eating their kids' Blizzards. Not only am I forced to listen to them smacking and slurping on the ice cream, they're also talking with their mouths full. Really? This is supposed to make me want to go out and buy a Blizzard? What are these people on, anyway?

What can I say? I am appalled. Am I the only one, though? It it just me that gets so annoyed by these commercials that I refuse to even entertain the idea of wasting money on the products they advertise? Maybe I'm just stubborn, but I've got to stick it to the man somehow, right?

Found One!

As promised, I have been on the lookout for any signs that I found entertaining and lo and behold, I came across a new one over the weekend.

Just the other day, (Saturday) my family and I were driving home from a visit at Tyler's parents' house. During the drive, I looked up and saw a billboard that made me laugh. It was just so unexpected. Imagine what it was like for an unsuspecting passenger like me to look up and see these blaring white letters:



I'm just saying, how many people went home after seeing that and looked up the answer? I wonder if there was anyone who was thinking that very question to themselves and saw this billboard as an act of providence. If so, I'm glad that those good people were able to find some answers. Thank you billboards. Your wisdom is never-ending.

Summer Can Finally Begin!

This last week has been a good one for me.



On Monday morning (July 26th--Happy Birthday Marc!) I left the comfort of my home and went to the hideous torture chamber known as the Math Hub. This seemingly harmless room has set the scene for some of my greatest frustrations and triumphs of Summer Semester, 2010. On the aforementioned day, that room witnessed my greatest victory of the entire summer: I survived the Final Exam and passed the class!!! I never have to go through that horror show again!

As I drove home that morning, I was literally, childishly giddy. I don't think I've giggled that much since the 5th grade. I was beside myself, and I celebrated by blasting some of my favorite songs over the car stereo. Take THAT Intermediate Algebra! Consider yourself defeated!

After jumping that (for me) considerable hurdle, I was able to really focus on finishing up the work for my English class. My final essay has been written and edited. However, I have to wait until some of my fellow students review, edit, and return said essay to me before I can turn the thing in. (They've got until Wednesday night, then I'm turning the essay in with or without their input. It's due at 6 pm on Friday evening, and there's no way I'm going to turn it in late.)

Once I finished my essay, I found that I had the time and mental energy for some completely frivolous reading. I haven't been able to really enjoy a book in months, so the last few days have been heavenly.

Now I have a couple of weeks to recover before Fall semester begins. I think I'll be ready. I have one last math class to trudge my way through, and then I can REALLY celebrate and start taking classes that I actually enjoy.

However, it's not the evils of math that I'm feeling the most anxiety about. What's really got me nervous is the fact that in the same time frame that I will be starting Fall semester, my son will be starting Kindergarten. I really need to have a sit down with Father Time. He's totally messing with me, making my kids grow up so impossibly fast. It hardly seems fair...but that's a rant for another day.

Until next time, let's all just celebrate my current freedom with a collective sigh of relief: Aaaaahhhhhhh...feels good.

Moms. Ninjas. Same Thing.

Tonight I decided that Moms are essentially made of the same stuff as ninjas.

Think about it: Who else do you know (besides a ninja) that takes on the full-time responsibility that mothers do? They work 24/7. Even while sleeping, moms are still on duty, ever ready to handle any crisis that comes about.

Moms, like ninjas, require catlike reflexes. This is necessary in order to avoid injury. Moms must keep out of the way of any flailing arms, legs, and heads of young hyperactive children. Moms also use such reflexes in order to be sure that children, fragile objects, and/or food do not fall crashing to the floor. They must be able to catch a falling child/item at any moment.

Just like the best ninjas, moms are also required to be ever on the alert. A mother must ensure that young children don't get a hold of anything dangerous. If by some means a child does manage to gain access to something dangerous, moms have to be quick on their feet in order to avert disaster.

Moms and ninjas also need to have exceptional mental capacities. This is how moms are able to face the logic of those wily toddlers. Moms have to stay ahead of the game, or be defeated.

Another essential skill that moms and ninjas share is the ability to move with ninja-like silence and stealth. This provides the ninja/mom with the ability to sneak up on an opponent. Ninjas to do ninja things, moms to catch a kid in the middle of doing something forbidden or dangerous.

One of the most vital skills that moms and ninjas require is the ability to block out all unnecessary sounds in order to focus on what they are doing. Moms possess the power to tune out the noise of television, music, talking, and the chaos of young children playing and bustling around them. How else could they get ANYTHING done?

Moms and ninjas also share a higher threshold than most other humans for annoyance. Moms can handle the sounds of whining children, Spongebob Squarepants, and can even answer the question: "Why" approximately 5 times more in an hour than anyone else. (Ninjas exhibit this lack of annoyance by being endlessly patient and calm at all times--most moms haven't quite reached that level yet).

Always on duty, excellent reflexes, ever vigilant, intelligent, stealthy, focused and patient. These are all skills that ninjas must possess in order to survive. Moms require these very skills and more. Motherhood is a tougher job than most people realize, and most of us moms wouldn't trade our position in life for the world. Why would we? We're on equal footing with NINJAS! HI-YAH! Bring it on!

Just Because I Can...

I decided to post one of my essays from this semester's English class. The assignment was to watch a movie, and then its remake. Then we were required to find the differences between the two films as well as some sort of societal change that would have caused those differences.

The film I chose to look at is "12 Angry Men". Admittedly, the two versions of this film didn't really have a lot of differences. The story and dialogue are nearly identical. However, there is one big difference: The cast in the newer film is far more diverse--racially I mean.






Anyway, here's the essay, in which I discuss my findings in more detail. Enjoy!

(PS: I have an entire "Works Cited" list if you feel the need to see it. Just let me know!)
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An accurate, though often underestimated way to measure the attitudes, traditions, and emotions of any culture through time is to watch movies. Whether it is a time of war, peace, or political unrest—anything that might be happening at the time will invariably be portrayed on film. It could even be said that a way for people to escape from or confront the issues that their society is facing is to watch them play out on the big screen.

Movies may not be an obvious source of information, but they can be counted on to give an accurate snapshot of society. This becomes even clearer when one watches two versions of the same film, especially when they have been produced decades apart. This tendency is something that will be explored further in this paper, using one film as an example.

The setup seems simple. Twelve jurors, locked in a cramped room are instructed to come to a unanimous verdict regarding the murder trial of an eighteen year old boy. If convicted, the boy faces the death penalty. During the course of their time together, each juror’s individual character is revealed; the good and the bad.

“12 Angry Men,” directed by Sidney Lumet, was originally released in 1957 (Fonda). Starring Henry Fonda, the story develops around the deliberations of a jury—if their unanimous verdict is “guilty”, an eighteen year old boy goes to the electric chair for the murder of his father. When they first enter the deliberation room, a vote is cast. Eleven of the twelve men immediately vote “guilty.” Only one, Juror #8 (played by Henry Fonda) raises his hand for a “not guilty” vote.

From there, the story becomes far less simple as Juror #8 begins to convince his fellow jurors to reconsider their decision. By pointing out the inconsistencies and gaping holes in the prosecution’s case, the jury begins to see the case in a whole new way. Each and every man in that tiny deliberation room reveals the darkest side of his personality during the course of the film. One by one, the jurors change their verdict. (Internet Movie Database)

The original version of this film was taped in black and white. Every juror was a Caucasian male, as were the judge, both attorneys and the guards. According to a review by Tim Dirks, the story of “12 Angry Men” is meant to be metaphoric. “The jurors were made to represent a cross-section of American attitudes towards race, justice, and ideology…” (Dirks)

In “12 Angry Men”, race is a source of tremendous tension in the group. Juror #10, played by Ed Begley in the original film, is openly racist. To the credit of the other jurors, every one of them is disgusted by his bigotry, turning their backs on him during his most impassioned racist speech. However, although the characters are more open-minded, seeing a racially integrated jury on film in 1957 was not something that most people would have been completely comfortable with. When “12 Angry Men” was first released, the Jim Crow Laws were still in effect.

Jim Crow was the name given to a set of laws which were passed during Reconstruction in 1877. These stated that white people and black people should be kept “separate but equal”. Of course there was hardly any “equality” involved in this societal segregation (Pilgrim).

The Jim Crow Laws didn’t really end until the 1960’s. Even then there would be quite a long way to go before African Americans were fully integrated and accepted into mainstream American society. Some say we’re still not there. Now, over fifty years later, Americans look back on the time of the Jim Crow Laws as though they ended a century ago, when in fact it has been merely half that time.

In 1997, “12 Angry Men” was remade and released as a cable television movie (Lemmon). Directed by William Friedkin, this new version of the film was also set in New York City. The case under discussion was the same; the dialogue is almost identical to that of the original film. The more minor differences between the original film and its remake include: the fact that it was in color, the actors, and the addition of a few curse words.

The one stark difference between the two films is the fact that the cast is considerably more diverse. Four out of the twelve jurors are African American. The guard is African American, and the judge is a woman. In the remake, Jack Lemmon takes over the role of Juror #8. His performance is good, but it’s the performance of Mykelti Williamson as Juror #10 that is the most surprising. Juror #10, an offensively racist white man in the first film, is now a Black Muslim man. (Internet Movie Database)

When most people think about racism, they think about white people looking down on every other race. What this casting decision does for the audience is to make them think about the way other races feel about each other. Racism is ugly no matter who it’s coming from.

The question now becomes: What is the reason behind the difference between the 1957 and 1997 versions of “12 Angry Men”? The answer is simple: The Civil Rights Movement.


In 1957, the Civil Rights movement was only just starting. Two years earlier, a 42 year old woman named Rosa Parks refused to relinquish her seat on a segregated bus to a white person, sparking a flame that would change America. According to the official NAACP website, Parks’ story has been skewed a little through legend and rumor. Contrary to popular belief, Parks didn’t remain in her seat because she was too tired. A long time member of the NAACP, she was willfully protesting against the Jim Crow Laws. Because of that simple act, she is now considered to be the mother of the Civil Rights Movement (NAACP).


On February 14th 1957, Martin Luther King Jr. formed the Southern Christian Leadership Conference—a group whose purpose was to fight segregation (SCLC).
In that same year, a new Civil Rights Act was presented before Congress. Its purpose was to protect the voting rights of all citizens, including “Negroes.” At the time, the Democratic Party was made up largely of Southern politicians, many of whose constituents still believed that blacks were a lesser race. Democrats chose to filibuster the Act until it was weakened enough for its terms to be more acceptable (eisenhower.archives).

Because of the turbulent debates regarding the issue, Civil Rights were slow in their success. It took decades of work to bring about the equality that African Americans needed and deserved. On August 6, 1957; the Director of Minorities for the Republican National Committee—Val J. Washington, wrote a letter to then Senator Lyndon B. Johnson. In the letter, Washington chastised Johnson, a Democrat, for the anti-Civil Rights actions of his party (Washington).

Then in 1964, at the insistence of now President Lyndon B. Johnson, a new Civil Rights Act was signed into law. This outlawed the unfair treatment of any individual, regardless of race, gender, etc. It was a big step toward a better, more integrated society, giving all citizens a better chance to reach their full potential, and work together as equals.

Since the Civil Rights Movement, African Americans have gone from being seen as second class citizens to highly respected people, vital to American society. People of all races and origins have come together as friends and fellow Americans. The first ever African American President is currently in the Oval Office. With every generation, we come closer and closer to becoming a country of true equality for all citizens.

This society-wide change for the better is largely due to the heroic efforts of Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King Jr., the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, and enlightened members of the United States government. Now, instead of people being shocked at the idea of African Americans serving on the same jury with Caucasian-Americans, they would be shocked and appalled if every jury were not made up of a diverse array of people.

If nothing else, movies can show us as a society where we have been, and how far we have come. At least in the case of Civil Rights, we can look at our progress with a sense of satisfaction, and gain a greater hope for the future.