happy halloween!

I've spent the majority of my weekend with paint on my face. There was some of this:

And some of this:

And best of all, some TRICK-OR-TREATING (which has nothing whatsoever to do with paint, but is still best).

The story is long and belabouring (but delightful, so I'm telling it):

I really wanted to go trick-or-treating this year. Like I do EVERY YEAR. But I'm old and tall (the latter being the biggest deterrent, if we're being honest). So I don't go, in order to preserve my dignity and such.

Well this year, the desire for that pillowcase full of Butterfingers and Smarties and Tootsie Rolls (to say nothing of the candy-trading) outweighed the dignity factor. So Paige and Sam (partners in all best ideas) and I decided we were going to go trick-or-treating. And thus began our afternoon concocting (please note ghoulish diction there) strategies for successfully trick-or-treating, despite our age and average height of 6'.

We went through various costume ideas that would mask our height (ET in the bicycle basket, wheelchaired old people, a horse) and various door approaches that would most likely ensure candy. Ultimately, we decided that the only way people would give us candy instead of turning us away with spurning looks would be if we offered some sort of entertainment--a "trick" for the "treat," as it were.

And what we came up with was truly a stroke of genius: three gondoliers, in a cardboard gondola, singing Italian love songs...me with my accordion, Paige with her guitar, Sam with his gondola oar.

We bought striped shirts, we planned our route...

and then tonight, at the last minute, we bailed. Turns out our dignity (but probably more the apathy of being in your mid-20s) won out.

I went home to my house-home-family-home instead, for a haunted dinner.



Which is when the magic happened. After dinner, the youngest of my sibs went trick-or-treating. Being the youngest, she had no one to go with, so she begged us older kids to at least walk with her. She's cute, so we did.

After three houses, she comes back and more or less says that trick-or-treating is lame when you have to go to the door alone.

Say no more, sweet child.

My other sister and I ran back to the house, put on the bird regalia, and were off to trick-or-treat (for our sister's sake, of course) for the evening. We had a ball. I may be sans dignity, but guess what I do have: a stash of Halloween candy.

The stash is small, but oh so perfect.

And we even traded candies after.

Christmas-wish: that it'd be cool for adults to trick-or-treat.

Cane

I saw a man with a cane at the grocery store. I used to see him quite regularly, but that was before the summer, before he used a cane. And now I can't quite place where it was that I always saw him. But I remember the suede jacket, and I remember he was always alone. I don't remember the swoop of hair brooding over his left eyebrow.

He looked so tired.

I wanted to go with him, tell him I'd push the cart at least.

He looked like an entire universe in one body,
an entire universe of sorrow.

But of course I didn't push the cart,
of course I just said, "Excuse me" and squeezed behind him looking through the spices
(what was he looking for?)

I wonder sometimes why I play by these rules I play by.
I wonder sometimes why I can't say,
"I can never find the cardamom..."
(They're alphabetized, you know.)
"Let's be friends.
I'll push your cart.
What happened to your leg?"

and then, in front of her 20 students...

I've had some awkward moments as a teacher. Like the day after lover-boy and I broke-up and my students found out and more or less tried to console me. (Tender.) Like the day I wore the bright red paisley shirt, and when I asked if any students had questions, one of them raised his hand and said, "No offense, but when you got dressed this morning, what were you thinking?!" (Rude but awesome.)

But today took the cake.

Today I passed out.

Yep, in front of all of them.

Passing out is no foreign land to me--I practically have a summer home there. So when I was walking down the stairs from my office to my classroom and everything started getting blotchy and tingly, I knew it wasn't going to be good. But I made it to the teacher chair at the podium, sat down, and tried to ward off students until I could recover. No bueno. These students of mine are inquisitive and apparently love nothing more than to talk to me before class starts (which thing I love).

Thus, on the brink of a major fainting spell, I decided to just cancel class, if I could just ... stay ... coherent ... long ... enough to ... tell themmmmm ...

[BLACKNESS & HAPPINESS]

Next thing I know, Student 1 is holding my arm and Student 2 is asking if I've eaten anything that day and Student 3 is saying, "Carolyn, what can I do for you. Tell me what you need." and Student 4 is looking seriously freaked out of her mind.

I look around, realize what's just happened, and start laughing. I couldn't help myself, the whole thing was so ridiculous and so pathetic and so so funny. Then everyone started laughing.

They said I was just sitting there, slumped over at the podium, eyes open, not responding to anything. They said they thought at first that it was going to be an object lesson that they'd have to rhetorically analyze (so proud of them). Nope, just me and my fainting! They were such troopers and so kind to me.

And so then I taught the class! Ha, funny how your body can just reset itself like that--how a little black-time and a little clammy-sweat and suddenly you feel great!

And it's a good thing I did go on with the lesson because it produced this gem of a sentence (written by Student 1), with which we practiced comma usage:

"Carolyn really enjoys teaching her Writing 150 class, but sometimes class is so boring, even she falls asleep."

("--Before class even starts!" I chime in. To which they all good-heartedly laughed.)

the NPR Name Calculator

Now don't get me wrong--I'm all about NPR. It's one of my favorite things about driving to the bus stop every morning...nay, it is the only good thing about driving to the bus stop every morning.

But I mean, come on...are NPR correspondent names even real? Dee Dee Bridgewater? Lakshmi Singh? Starlee Kine? Yuki Noguchi? Vicki Valentine? Ira Glass? These names are too cool to be real. Everytime I start thinking, "Hey, I could work for NPR," Lakshmi Singh just has to say her name and all my fanciful aspirations come crashing down.

Either NPR only hires people with already awesome appellations (alliteration: intended), or there's something more sinister at work here....

ahem

...like THE NPR NAME CALCULATOR!!!!!!!!.

(And yes, those eight ! marks are part of the patented title.)

See, I'm pretty certain that when NPR hires you, they take you into a back room (probably one with big world maps and pictures of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World on its walls), then they plug your name into said CALCULATOR!!!!!!!! and decide if your new name is good enough--if it's worthy of being broadcast on the same airwaves as their illustrious programmes.

Now some of you may be wondering why I haven't blogged since Monday. Well, people, this is why: because I've been too busy working out the algorithm for the CALCULATOR!!!!!!!! And this I will share with you, because I love you, and because I think everyone deserves to have a name as cool as Starlee Kine.

THE NPR NAME CALCULATOR!!!!!!!!

The last vowel in your first name 

+ the last consonant in your first name 

+ the first vowel in your first name 

= NEW FIRST NAME
*if a longer first name is desired, repeat the above using your middle name's vowels and consonants. Tack on to end of new first name.

The first verb that comes to mind 

- the last letter of the verb 

+ the first three letters of the city you are currently in 

= NEW LAST NAME

I am now Yna Danchig.
(It's pronounced "I-na Dan-cheeg.")

NPR, I'm on to you. (And please note my excellent sleuthing skills--wouldn't I make a great correspondent?!) You'll be receiving my (I mean Yna's) job application shortly.

(What's your NPR name?)
photo via

givin blood like a BOSS

One thing's for dang sure: I will never forget my blood type.

Here's why.  Because every time I get near a needle (either in real life or just in my mind), I pass out.  Not exaggerating, people.  All blood rushes out of my face, I turn green, I go clammy, I think, "Aw crap" and then I'm gone.

Sometimes vomiting accompanies said passing out.

But today, oh no. Today I gave blood like a BOSS.

I had to get my blood typed. (Deep breath.)

So I stopped by Wendy's for a little natural-cut fries with sea salt (really Wendy's? Are all six of those words necessary?) and a frosty to get my blood sugar to a non-fainting level.

Drove myself to the clinic.

Waltzed right past the huge blood-red sign on the wall: BLOOD DRAW STATION.  (Really clinic? And was the red really necessary? How 'bout the all-caps? How bout the words "blood" and "draw" and "station"?? Might as well just write "Bloody Hell" which is what such a station is to me. Surely "A Helpful Place" would suffice. Or maybe "Land of Rainbows" with a metallic, sparkly rainbow background cerca the pencils I had in fourth grade. All of these options would be better than "BLOOD. DRAW. STATION. (OF DEATH.)".)

Looked the nurse squarely in the face and said, "I pass out every time needles go in my body," to which she said, "... Really?  Like...every time?"  "Yes lady.  Every time."

Followed her to a paper-covered cot where I would lie and probably go vagal.

And guess what happened:

I gave that blood like a pro.

Didn't pass out, didn't go clammy, didn't throw up.

Blood Draw Station: 0
Carolyn: 1

two ladies

I met two ladies this morning that ride the same bus as me.

One is tall but petite, fragile.  Red matte pumps and a red leather purse, a modest navy pencil skirt with matching sailor striped top and navy blazer.  She has a tight, curly haircut, natural nails, and always wears either red or pink lipstick.  She reads Anna Karenina on the way to Salt Lake.

The other woman is stockier, a shoulder-length blonde haircut.  She wore a blood orange cardigan over a white button-up blouse, with a heavy necklace the color of robin's egg.  Fake nails and dainty pink lipstick.  Her husband died, so she went back to school, got a PR degree and is now working for the firm that made Mitt Romney famous.

nasty toast and other maladies

A story: a week ago, I went to make toast.  I hadn't eaten anything for a few days because I was too sick to eat.  Finally I could stomach a little toast.  I went to make some.  There was no jam.  Sister said there was more in the pantry.  I was too frustrated to dig looking for it in there, so I went downstairs to the secret storage room of jam.  Got myself a jar.  Came back upstairs.  Went for butter in the fridge, found none.  Opened the cupboard, found the butter tray, lifted the lid......no butter.  I screamed to the heavens, then grumbled something about nasty toast and no butter and sick and looked up and saw Rosie (sister) doubled over laughing at me.  

Not one of my more brilliant moments.  Really no moments in the last two weeks have been brilliant, if we're being honest.  I've felt at least three (at times up to twelve) of the following maladies at every moment in said time period:

1.  lung-igniting cough

2.  drizzly nose

3.  cloudy, spinning head

4.  muscles sore like a trainwreck

5.  anvil headaches

6.  crater-sore in mouth

7.  sahara lips

8.  a throat like sandpaper on fire

9.  nausea.

10.  tingling over whole body

11.  spotty-like-i'm-fainting vision

12.  chilly chills

I'm not typically a wimp either.  I power through colds pretty well.  Not so with this round.

Anyways, so my sister rubbed my feet (note for future reference: rubbing a sick person's feet is one of the kindest things you can do for them.  Washing their feet is even better.  Just sayin.)

Other than that little delight, I have been having all kinds of other adventures, including but not limited to:

1.  Saying "just sayin" after every sentence.

2.  Busking the streets of Salt Lake with an accordion and a boy named Ben who sings like he's famous.

3.  Cresting the quarter-century hill (more on that in a couple of days.  I've rescheduled my birthday this year because I was too sick to like it when it happened.  So I shall be celebrating it a week after the fact.  Yeah.  Send me presents and stuff.)

4.  Meeting singing Navajos in parks.

5.  Renewing my driver's license.  Looking like a freakin deer in the headlights on my picture.  Perfect.

6.  Pre-chopping all my hair off because it has decided to mutiny, and there's only one thing to do with mutinous hair: chop it all off.

7.  Playing jacks with the whole family.  (CLASSIC game, people.  If you don't know how to play, I highly encourage you to go get yoself a set and learn.)

8.  Starting a Nancy Drew Club with an eight-year old girl that has a hundred freckles and legs like a stork.

Now I'm going to go eat a fried chicken summer dinner because hallelujah I finally have my appetite back.

(Oh, and here's proof about the singing Navajos.)

snapshots from today

three conversations today still have me laughing:

1) i'm sitting in the jefferson memorial, reading "the american scholar" (i know, my life is out of a movie right now), when this family sits down beside me. despite the "please be quiet" signs around the monument, they enlist in an animated half-hour conversation about which metro stop is closest. the dad sends the oldest boy (15 yrs. old?) off because he keeps chiming in with his opinions (i empathized with the kid here...teenagehood can be rough for the oldest, because we really do know everything), and then the boy comes back and decides to talk to me. the conversation goes like this:

him: "wow, family vacations huh. i mean, they're called vacations so we're supposed to relax but instead it's so stressful because everything has to be planned out."

me: "yeah, i'm the oldest of seven kids...our family vacations can be pretty crazy too."

him: "so my dad makes this special kind of coffee, it's like cappuccino, but it's different. you know? cappuccino? yeah, it's different. my dad makes it. so i have this business plan with my brother, see, and we're gonna make the cappuccino--we'll call it something different, obviously--and sell it here instead of lemonade. you think that's a good idea? to sell cappuccino? it's my dad's recipe."

at which point the little sister comes up behind him and put bunny ears on him.

him: "this is my little sister who never stops talking or bugging me."

at which point the little sister takes off her hat and puts it over his face.

at which point the boy is trying to swat her away, all the while explaining to me this different kind of cappuccino, while the sister is all the while inventing more ways to get in between her brother's diatribe on coffees and his new-found audience-of-one.

the family gets up to leave, pulling the little sister away, and he reluctantly stands up...

him: yeah, washington dc is great for politics. i like politics a lot, read a lot about them, but really economics are my thing.

all the while he's walking backwards away from me out of the monument

him: yeah, i'm fascinated by economics. ECONOMICS ARE WHAT I WANT TO DO!

this last statement he all but yells, as he is already on the other side of the monument, still facing me, still carrying on the brain-to-mouth monologue.

me: laughing uncontrollably.

wouldn't it be great if we could all talk to strangers like he did? just open our mouths and let spill our every thought? sitting next to a man on the subway, him holding an iphone, me holding "heart of darkness", both of us looking forward, neither of us iphone-ing or reading, i think about this. we wanted to talk, but neither could think of what to say. so we sat in silence and never met.

2) approaching the metro to ride home for the evening, i met a man at the elevator. swearing up a storm about how the escalators were broken (heaven forbid we use them as stairs), he welcomes me onto the elevator.

him: "you know what i firmly believe? they stop the escalators on PURPOSE. to make us think they really are low on budget. they keep raising fares, keep raising fares, and then so we actually believe their lies about "not having funds", they put out the escalators and don't repair them, so we believe they have to raise fares to keep the place running. i firmly believe that. you work in department of ag?"

3) and finally, walking home, i get passed by a two-year old chinese boy, running as fast as he can for the intersection, his dad chasing behind. once they're across the intersection, the boy takes off again. he finds a stump--no, an elevated manhole cover--in the grass, climbs up on it, and starts doing karate moves. walking past, i hear, "you wanna learn kung FU?!! hiii-YAAAA!"

i giggled all the way home.

stop! in the name of the law!

dear officer h.,

thank you for being so kind when you pulled me over this afternoon. you see, it was my first time being pulled over. ever. so i was a little shaky and nervous. but you were so nice--so nice, in fact, that after you handed me the ticket, i said thank you.

also, thank you for choosing to pull me over on a day when i was only going 13 over.

and since i could tell you felt a little bad about giving me a ticket, i should tell you this: i've chosen to look at the $155 i will be paying for those 13 mph as follows: if i divide that by all of the other times when i probably should have been pulled over in the last year, it only comes out to about 0.42 cents per incident. that's probably less than the average american spends on lottery tickets everyday. guess we all have our addictions.

sincerely,

carolyn

my first basketball game

it went like this.

five girls in pink shirts, stretching on the sidelines, giggling about how funny it is that none of us have ever played basketball before. "hehe, we're so brave, hehe."

enter the other team. all of whom were over seven feet, and were wearing intramural champion shirts from previous years. i'm pretty sure darth vader's imperial march was playing in the background and everything slowed way down as they walked in.

one of them had horns.

and then, because i cannot say it better than our own favorite coach did, here are ray's words:

He Ping Pings Return...

So...a couple nights ago, I was asked to be a coach again. I was a soccer coach this last semester for a group of my friends (girls) who have never played sports before. Needless to say, basketball is a bit more technical than soccer.

Originally, I was told that I couldn't coach their team because I don't know enough about basketball. My response: "I played in Junior Jazz and watch the Jazz all the time. AND, my brothers are really good!" (should be credentials enough). Well, Katherine finally begged me to come and coach them mainly because:

1. I am nice and only yell encouraging things.
2. I am ok with embarrassment.
3. I just love it so much.

So, we stumbled onto the basketball court (Nicolina wore a skirt). As we were waiting, our much-anticipated opponents showed up. They were hard to miss. They looked much like this:



Well, you can imagine the panic that ensued. I suggested that we all run away as quickly as possible. Everyone was in agreement...except Liz. "We are not running away. I have never forfeited before." Oh great. So, to the death it was.

I started to pump myself up and cheer the girls up. We could handle this. Then their coach showed up. Yup, Noah Hartsock, the BYU basketball player. Even I looked stupid now.

Well, here are the highlights of the game:

1. Carolyn wanting so desperately to foul someone and not knowing how. At one point, she was waving her arms frantically in front of the girl she was guarding and barely touching her. She then asked the girl, "Can I even do this?" The girl just laughed. Paige and I were dying on the sidelines. Carolyn just smiles, shrugs, and runs down the court.

2. Katherine SCREAMING at the top of her lungs every time they stole the ball from her.

3. Alisha had her jersey on backwards.

4. Suzie telling the other team to be nice before the game even started.

And at half time, we had 3 points. I proceeded to tell the girls that we were going to set goals that were specific, measurable, and achievable. Our goal: 10 points by the end of the game.

End result: We lost 89-12.

And we totally exceeded our goal!

life of a teacher (aka me)

today in second period, a girl passed out. i was walking her out of the classroom to the nurse's and she fell on me.

today in third period, six kids in the back of the classroom burst into "I Want it That Way", chorus, high parts and all. that's right all you class of 2004 that thought WE were the only ones who listened to backstreet's back all through mrs. call & mr. cornell & harm & dempsey & so on. OH NO. high schoolers are still diggin the tunes. (because let's face it: who doesn't want it that way?*)

today in fourth period, a boy knocked the socks off the whole class with a baller video he made on his fav bballer. at the end, we all went, "Awww!" and my faith in fourth period is restored.

yesterday was a hard-on-the-inside day. lots of rainclouds in my head and in my heart. but my students smiled at me and said "carter, you're the best" and laughed at all my silly jokes and came in just to chat at lunch and to tell me they like my 'style'. yesterday, my students saved me.

and that's what makes teaching the best job in the world.

*every morning for about a month now I've woken up with a song in my head...not one i listened to the night before or dreamt about or anything like that--no, just some random song that i haven't heard of, thought about, or even know the title to. and the best part is, every morning it's a different song. my brain is a jukebox. tomorrow perhaps it will be I Want it That Way.

true gentleman

i was walking to church in the snow.

i was wearing these.

a man about ten yards ahead of me had already begun the long, cold trek up the back hill of campus.

i remember him wearing a scarf.

he stopped. he turned and he waited. he held out his elbow and said, "i will walk you up the hill because i think with those shoes it might be dangerous."

thank you sir.

a photo-exhibition through my day!

how come the only thing i want to do anymore is eat christmas peanut m&ms? this is a little known fact about me, but i am an expert on peanut m&ms. i have begun a catalogue system of the many oh-so-intricate differences in flavor of peanut m&ms. eating them is a constant adventure.

ANYWAYS.

today was one of those days where you have to force yourself to do things all day long.

case in point: jogging. my warm morning body said, "NO." but i went anyways, thinking that it would give me more motivation during the rest of the day. not the case. this is me. minus the man. and the beach. and the beanie. and the smile. okay, this is nothing like me.

case in point: cleaning my bedroom. before and after shots, because who doesn't love those.

THE BED:

THE DESK:

THE DRESSER:

THE CLEANING LADY:

and now i am thoroughly creeped out that i have posted all these pictures on my blog.

case in point: eating pineapple rice and watching iron chef. practically had to force myself through this one. (lying)

happy new year world! we're off to a clean and health-conscious (or at least pretending to be) start!

going, going, gray.

i found my first white hair today. three inches long, a little piece of skin still clinging to the root where i yanked it from my head.

i wanted YOU to be there, mr. knightley-aragorn-joebradleyblack, so I could scream, "HONEY!" and you'd come running in, thinking i needed saving from curling-iron-electrocution or a spider with seven legs. we'd stand there, side by side, in front of the mirror, staring at it mocking me from the tile countertop, in all its white resplendent self-importance. and after a moment of contemplating our aging bodies and growing up & growing old, you'd grab my arms, turn me to you, tell me i'm just as beautiful as ever.

then we'd go have dinner because i cooked it for you, so grateful that that was one rite of passage i didn't have to make alone.