"No, but where are you from?"

I've been sitting on this post for a while now. I've hesitated in posting it, partly because I'm still working out my thoughts about it, and partly because it feels like pointless complaining. It probably is, but ... awareness is the first step leading to prevention, right?

Just recently, I was at the grocery store, picking up stuff to make slow-cooker chicken and rice ("Leta's favorite hot dish" as it's known in my family, similar to my brothers' eponymous fave mom-cooked meals: "Ryan's favorite hot dish" and "Evan's lentil chili"). It is about as Midwestern as you can get, except for maybe Tater Tot Casserole.

As I was looking at almost-stale loaves of bread and dented tins of soup in the day-old clearance section, a rotund, Caucasian, white-whiskered, middle-aged man came up behind me and said without preamble, "Konichiwa!" He then proceeded to speak about four or five more sentences of what I assume was proper Japanese. I planned on just ignoring him, but my damned politeness kicked in after a few seconds of silence, and I burst out, "I don't speak Japanese" in as robustly a native-English-speaker-accent as I could manage.

He promptly switched to Chinese, which I only recognized because he included "xiexie," a phrase meaning "thank you" that my best friend has added to her daily vocabulary since her semester studying abroad in China a few years back.

I wanted to walk away, but I also wanted to be able to browse the day-old shelves in peace. All I wanted was to stand there and debate with myself over the pros and cons of buying discounted cookies.

Instead, I was being sucked into a conversation (yet another conversation) about my race / heritage / background / culture.

"No, I don't speak Chinese, either," I said shortly, hoping my terse tone and lack of eye contact and generally stiff body language would deter this man from his current efforts to ... whatever he was trying to do. Show off his language skills? Make a friend (by making assumptions - presumptions - about her history)? Connect with a stranger (in a vaguely intrusive and mildly offensive manner)? The thing is, I'm sure this man's intentions were kind and friendly. I'm sure he thought he was being inclusive and interesting.

But the fact remains that he, seeing an Asian woman, assumed that she A) spoke a different language and B) wanted to stop and have a conversation with a complete stranger in the midst of grocery shopping.

I wouldn't have been upset if he'd treated other people who were browsing the day-old bakery aisle the same way, like if he'd gone up to the woman next to me who had dark wavy hair and a strong nose and started speaking to her in Italian or something. It would have been the same casual stereotyping, but at least I would know it was universal for this man.

Listen. I'm not saying I don't like talking with strangers. Sometimes, I really enjoy it. Some of the most interesting conversations I've had have been on airplanes or public transit, striking up impromptu chats with the people around me. I once spent a good four hours having an astonishingly fascinating conversation with a guy as we sat on a train from Illinois to Iowa. I think I shared more with him and learned more about him than I shared with or know about some of the people I went to college with.

But the thing is, those conversations started from a shared experience: waiting for a bus to arrive, flying to the same location, getting caught in the same unexpected rainstorm. They started with eye contact, shared looks of impatience, resigned shrugs, sheepish grins. The basic formalities of invitation were made, and conversations grew up naturally, springing up suddenly like dandelions.

The conversation the man in the grocery store was different. It started with an intrusion, a voice speaking to the back of my head. It started with a minimization of my autonomy and uniqueness as an individual. Someone looked at me, saw dark hair and almond eyes, and boiled me down into "speaks an Asian language" or "is not an American" or "would be really pleased / surprised / impressed that I can speak her language."

Also, the general blindness of the differences between the residents of Asian countries is tricky. As someone not raised in Asia, I'm just as ignorant. But - I also wouldn't just pick a language and start speaking, hoping it's the right one. Because I understand that that would be rude, or potentially even offensive.

A big part of me was tempted to just start speaking in German to the man. Nothing about him really screamed "German" but it's definitely likely that, as a white American, at least some of his ancestors were German, right? So it would make total sense to spit a bunch of friendly, well-meaning mothertongue at him. And if that failed, I could just switch to French! And then maybe Polish, or Italian, right? It's gotta be one of those!

But instead I just smiled thinly and walked away.




About a month ago, I was waiting at a bus stop and was reading a book to pass the time. A woman and her boyfriend were noisily gossiping together. I focused harder on my book, in part to not appear to be eavesdropping (not that I think the couple would care), and in part to divorce myself from the environment (since I don't really like listening to gossip). But suddenly I found it impossible to ignore the couple, because the woman was leaning over and almost-shouting a question in my direction.

"Where are you from?"

"Here," I said, knowing if I stayed silent it would just prompt more questions and possibly hostility from this boisterous woman.

"Oh." She was quiet for a moment. I thought maybe she'd reflect on the fact that barging in on a stranger's reading and demanding personal information from her might be a weird thing to do. Unfortunately, she seemed to just be taking a minute to figure out how best to get the information she wanted out of this apparently-dimwitted Asian.

"So, like, what is your nationality?" she asked, obviously pleased at the specificity of her question. Now she'd get the answer she wanted!

"I'm American."

"But, I mean, your ancestors. Where are you from?" she clarified, drawing out the from in almost exactly the same way the guy in the above video does. "Frommm?"

I turned back to my book, tired of being polite. "Korea."

The woman laughed delightedly. An answer! "I knew it!" she said, unknowingly mimicking the video again. I couldn't believe it. "I knew you had to be Korean! You have such pretty eyes."

Perversely, the compliment just made me furious. She liked my eyes? Because they're uniquely pretty eyes, or because they happen to be almond shaped? Would  my eyes stand out from any other Korean woman's eyes? It felt like a comment like "Your people have such a rich oral history" or "You're all such hard workers" - meant to be praise but feeling so alienating. And not terribly complimentary, because I have no control over how my eyes are shaped.

(not my eye, btw)

If someone compliments my clothing or my hairstyle, I'm okay with that. They're conscious efforts I make - my style is a personal expression I'm actively sharing with the world. I actively enjoy when someone notices my glasses or tells me they liked something I wrote. I don't even care when someone compliments my skin (it's happened) - part of its clearness and evenness is genetic, but it's also partly due to my beauty regimen (i.e. I don't wear makeup because I think it ruins skin), so I'm gratified when someone notices.

But my eye shape has literally nothing to do with me as a thinking being. It's not an accomplishment to look Asian when I was born Asian. Compliment my hair because I woke up and styled it. Compliment my handwriting because I had some say over how it looks. Compliment my ideas when they're praiseworthy. But waiting to tell me I have pretty eyes until you clearly establish my race (thereby implying that it's my ethnic background alone which makes them pretty) is ... not a compliment. Or, at least, it doesn't feel like one.

Again, it was this unthinking removal of my individuality.





I don't have any real conclusions to draw. I think I'll continue these thoughts in another post, or maybe a few others. Mostly I just needed to say it, to work out what I think about these things. It's both fascinating and infuriating.

More complaints/introspection to come.

Somebody got hit in the boingloings.

The other day, I posted a status about how Nick and I rewatched one of our favorite episodes from one of our favorite shows, Adventure Time.

A friend, Sally (name changed), commented on it. I'll let you read my ensuing disproportionately impassioned response below.

Note: the NPR link works, so feel free to click through and listen!

• Sally I'm sorry but [Adventure Time] is really whacked. I watched it after one of my young clients told me how much he liked it and I don't think kids should watch it. It really freaked me out.

  2 hours ago via mobile · Like
• 
  

  Leta  No, it's awesome. It's bizarre and random but at heart it's about a kid learning to do his best, and the values of friendship and doing what's right and listening. It's seriously so wonderful and if I had kids I would DEFINITELY watch this with them.  As opposed to shows like Regular Show which aren't funny or all that imaginative and don't have characters that are in any way redeeming or edifying.
  28 minutes ago · Like
• 
  

  Leta  Also, good points brought up in this NPR article: http://www.npr.org/...
  

  
  

  An 'Adventure' For Kids And Maybe For Their Parents, Too : NPR

  www.npr.org
  

  Adventure Time isn't your typical cartoon, but it's capturing an audience of kids and adults who believe it's getting at something special.

  24 minutes ago · Like · Remove Preview
• 
  

  Nick  It reminds me a lot of shows like Rocko's Modern Life and Courage the Cowardly Dog. Entertaining (and just plain weird) on the surface, but there's a lot more going on underneath if you take a second look.
  
  Granted, where Rocko and Courage were underpinned with nigh-Lovecraftian worldviews, Adventure Time is basically a postapocalyptic Leave It to Beaver.

  12 minutes ago · Edited · Unlike · 1
• 
  

  Leta  ALSO, kids watch and love and aren't disturbed by things that adults find horrifying (i.e. The Brave Little Toaster, the Neverending Story, the Nightmare Before Christmas, the Secret of NIMH, pretty much any movie made by Don Bluth, etc etc etc). Through the Looking Glass. The Wizard of Oz books. All full of stuff so weird that they're at times viscerally disturbing for adults. Still much loved and not-scarring for children.

  
  Just look at the pictures kids draw, or the stories they tell. Half the time, if those things were painted or said by adults, we'd think that person was clinically insane.
  
  If given a choice between feeding kids processed grown-up-approved stale safe fluff, or letting them chew on bonkers original imaginative stories ... I'd choose bonkers any day.
  

  11 minutes ago · Like
• 
  

  Leta  Apparently I only have capslock feelings about Adventure Time. Probably this should have turned into a blog post instead of a series of emphatic facebook posts ....
  
   a heh heh, oops

  9 minutes ago · Like

So now it's actually a blog post.

I was going to write more on the subject, but I think I already covered the points I wanted to make.

Chris came to visit

And it was glorious!

It was totally last minute, but so much fun. Both Nick and I were able to rearrange our work schedules so we could spend the maximum amount of time with Chris. He's an old college buddy whom I haven't seen in far too long.

We packed a lot into three days.

We played a bunch of games with our friend Keefe (Star Fluxx, Nuclear War, Illuminati), who totally trounced us at Illuminati, as usual. After that, we headed downtown and got lunch at Pete's Kitchen (a little greasy spoon diner that's a Denver fixture). It was delicious. Then we set off to catch a tour of the Great Divide Brewing Co. There was a very drunk, very garrulous man on the tour who seemed to be intent on telling the tour guide lots of things the guide already knew ("You guys are such a little brewing company, but you ship all over the country! You've got a really special thing going here, do you know that?" Yeah, man. He knows that).

We hit the Tattered Cover and Red Mango (Chris fell in love with it). I lined up a behind the scenes tour at the museum, which was AWESOME. We got to go onto the roof and walked around the catwalks above the dioramas. It was so much fun. Then, the boys participated in the museum's taste and genetics study, which involves getting your tongue painted blue.

My two favorite dudes with blue tongues after
participating in the museum's research study

We played Cards Against Humanity and Chris petted the heck out of Amber, Nick's corgi. She didn't like that at all. (False. She loved it.)

Then he went home. It was sad. I've decided that Chris will now visit us at least once a month. I wish I was rich so I could make that happen.

I like having guests. It gives me an excuse to get out and explore.

adventures

I think I may be hormonal, because I feel like I did in middle school - a longing for a life filled with passion and grace and fierce happiness and adventure and daring deeds. I think about the real world and get a little desolate. Good thing I'm a writer; better write novels that make other people feel the same way as I do.

Part of what's got me feeling all off-balance and cranky is that the kitchen is in pieces. Mike is DIY renovating a lot of the house. This includes laying tile, installing granite countertops, and putting in new sinks ... which he has never done before. I'm all for trying things and saving money by not hiring contractors. But, man, you gotta take the time to do it well, with precision. None of that is actually happening with the kitchen renovation. Fortunately, it's almost over.

Not being able to use the stove or oven, having to wash dishes in the bathtub ... it's really amazing how depressing that is.



But in unrelated, fun news, I went camping at the end of August.

Nick and I drove up into the mountains with some friends, Nick's little Honda heavy on its wheels with the weight of tent and food and toasting forks and sleeping bags and people. We walked around Estes for a while, watched a glass blowing demonstration and bought some saltwater taffy.

(I tried to convince everyone to take one of those touristy old-timey saloon photos, but they were being buttheads.  One day, I will manage to get one of those pictures taken. ONE DAY.)

It started pouring rain. It was cold and heavy with huge fat drops that audibly impacted with the ground. We held out our hands to feel the smack of rain on our palms, and then we ducked into a shop to look at fossils.

The rain let up pretty quickly, but it stayed cloudy and thundery - you could hear it grumbling away over the mountains. We drove to our campsite and set up the tent. We played some card games, then built a fire and had hotdogs, baked beans, and s'mores. Everything tastes better cooked over a fire.

I woke up in the middle of the night (thanks, bladder), but I'm so glad I did. Up in the mountains, away from the smog and lights of the city, the stars were crazy bright, Jackson Pollocked all over the sky. You couldn't see all the sky, since the pines hemmed it in on all sides, but it was still mind boggling, in a really great way. They looked so bright and moon-close, despite knowing how far away they really are.

Normally stargazing makes me feel both awed and insignificant. It's a positive and depressing experience at once. But this time, I just let the sheer beauty wash over me. Didn't think too hard about it. Normally, I'm all for thinking hard about things. But it was nice to switch off the brain and just enjoy the sight.



More good things: This weekend, one of my good friends from college is coming to visit! Nick and I are planning outings already. Casa Bonita, a tour of the Great Divide Brewing Co., maybe a trip to Boulder to play Boulder Bingo (with squares that say things like "man with ponytail" and "metaphysical bookstore"). I miss my college friends, and the collegiate life. I should go back to school.

a beautiful weirdo

Nick got a phone call tonight, telling us that someone we went to school with had killed himself.

I'm feeling ... shocked. Sad. Guilty. Angry. Numb.

Our friend was - we weren't terribly close, but I knew and liked him. He was odd, and funny. He had this offbeat view of the world, a wonderful quirky perspective.

Things I remember:

• He used to live off bowls of yogurt and granola, exclusively, until he got what he called "werewolf hungry," when he'd take $20 down to the basement vending machine, buy everything he could, and totally go crazy on it.
• He once brought nothing to school for the semester except a backpack's worth of clothes.
• For the monthly variety show, he once taped a bunch of plastic tubing to himself, filled it full of water, and tried to make it look like he peed his pants on stage, but ultimately just dribbled water everywhere.
• He had atrocious handwriting.
• He had a sense of humor unlike anyone else.
• He had a really weird cadence to his speech which was entertainingly unique.
• He was embarrassed by how ripped he was. Skinny legs, crazy pecs. He refused to take his shirt off in front of people.
• I once made some chocolate truffles for my friends for Christmas. He ate his bag of a dozen in ten minutes and didn't believe me when I told him I made them.
• He could play the theme song to Beverly Hills Cop on his little electronic keyboard.

I have to wonder if I'm at fault here. He lived a short drive away. Nick and I always meant to get together with him, but never really bothered to schedule anything. Did we contribute to his suicide? Could I have helped prevent it?

The rational part of my mind says that there's nothing anyone could have really done, that I wasn't a close friend, that I didn't matter much to him one way or another. But then the other rational part of my mind says that's bullshit, that friendship always matters, that connection is the only way to fix isolation.  Never having been suicidal myself, I don't really understand the motivations behind it. Does it come from despair, or relief? Does company curb the appeal of ending everything, or enhance it? Does it stem from an overwhelming sense of isolation, or from a sense of an insurmountable disconnect despite being among others?

All I know is that I'm left with useless regret, aimless guilt, and a vague sense of failure.

I've been seeing a sort of restrained grief on facebook. Some of our friends, mourning the loss. I know it's genuine sorrow, but I'm still a little bothered by the public preachy tragic noble suffering of it. "I'm so sad about this, we really need to reach out and love one another and hold each other close."

For some reason, the stuff on facebook bothers me more than standing up and saying a eulogy would. It seems more for the benefit of the person saying it, like it's a way to garner applause. Look how eloquent and heartbroken I am. Look how strong I'm being.

I know I'm no better, writing about it here on this blog. I could just process what's going on in my journal, privately.

But I do feel guilty. I feel at fault, like someone should accuse me of willful negligence. I need this to be seen, so I can be judged and convicted.

And even that feels selfish and self-aggrandizing, like I'm saying that I'm the reason someone got sick of life. That's not what I mean. I'm pretty sure I was more aware of him than he was of me. But I feel responsible, nonetheless, for just some small part of his decision.

I was right here, and maybe I could have helped.

But I didn't, and I can't change what's happened.

So now I just have to figure out how to deal with that, I guess.

I keep thinking about the last time I saw him, three years ago. He was happy then. The world was more interesting.

AK and Nick, at college just after graduation, summer 2010

He was a beautiful weirdo, and when he was around, he made me happy and gave me new things to think about.

As Nick says: we don't get a lot of time, but I'm glad I got to spend some of it with my friend.

Book Review(s): Anya's Ghost; Wildwood; Doll Bones

I've been rediscovering libraries.

I finally got a library card out here in Colorado. Checked out:

• Anya's Ghost, by Vera Brosgol
• Wildwood, by Colin Meloy (illustrated by Carson Ellis)
• Doll Bones, by Holly Black (illustrated by Eliza Wheeler)

 ... and I read them all in three days.

Yes, okay, they're all kid's books.  They're all fantasy.  Why? Because books for kids are fearless and daring and vulnerable in a way that books for grownups aren't. Or often aren't, at least.

They're scary in a primal way.  Beautiful. Fierce and raw. Blacktop and skinned knees and papercut perfect.

Anya's Ghost is about a teenage girl. Pretty standard story - feeling insecure, fighting with friends, trying to fit in, feeling lost. Except she's also got a ghost hanging out with her. And her new friend is sure she and Anya will be best friends. Forever.

It's honest. A girl, self-involved. Learning to be better, to think about more than herself. The themes are less about ghosts and the supernatural and more about fears and disappointment and what drives us to do what's right.

Wildwood reads, as you might expect, like an entire Decemberists album. A baby boy is stolen by a flock of crows, and his big sister must venture into a mysterious woods that grown ups avoid talking about. There are coyote soldiers, a beautiful but crazy Dowager Duchess, a useless Governor-Regent, an owl prince, a band of bandits, and mystics that talk to trees. There's the threat of civil war. Sacrificial rituals. Black magic. Quests. Bicycles. Doubt. Fancy, slightly archaic vocabulary.

Needless to say, I loved it.

It doesn't pull any punches. Characters die. There is bloodshed and terror and hunger and uncertainty. The protagonist, a prickly girl named Prue, has to learn to trust herself and her friends. It's a lush, wayward offering of love and betrayal and courage.

Doll Bones is at once eerie and familiar, like de ja vu. Part ghost story, part coming of age tale, part adventure, it's haunting and legitimately creepy at times.

It struck chords with me, because the heart of the story is three friends who've played and pretended together, reaching that strange in-between time. That time when the heart still wants to make believe, but when the head can't let you.

It's also about unraveling a mystery behind a china doll, and the strange mix of ash and bones that's inside it.

It's about growing up, letting go of some things and holding onto others. It's about belief and wishing and trying to understand what goes on in your own head.

There's a really heartbreaking passage toward the end, which I can't resist sharing here. If you plan on reading the book, look away. 

SPOILER:

One of the kids can see the others are pulling away, that their need to pretend isn't as strong as it used to be, as hers still is.

"It's not fair. We had a story, and our story was important. And I hate that both of you can just walk away and take part of my story with you and not even care. I hate that you can do what you're supposed to do and I can't. I hate that you're going to leave me behind. I hate that everyone calls it growing up, but it seems like dying. It feels like each of you is being possessed and I'm next."

Okay, it's safe to look again - spoiler's over.

I read this and couldn't help feeling gutted.

It's exactly how I felt when my friends and even my own treacherous brain couldn't carry on playing. When the stories were taken away. Things that had been important. It was hard seeing my friends moving away from our games, living easily without them.

The end of the story is about how the story goes on - just in a new way. Not with dolls - but with words.

Doll Bones is a little scattered. It leaves some questions unanswered. But it resonates so fully. It's honest. It took me back to the first heartbreak I knew.

I devoured these books. I need to get back to the library.

Smooooooooooooooth

The days keep getting longer, the temperature keeps rising, and it's turning into smoothie season.

Nick and I have been playing with smoothie recipes. Smoothies with oatmeal. Smoothies with peanut butter. And now - smoothies with spinach!

Get the recipe (and more delicious, pretty pictures) after the jump!

Variables

Nick and I were listening to an episode of This American Life the other day. I learned that, apparently, a frequent and common sign of autism is a tendency to fantasize about traps.

A woman begins to suspect that her husband may be autistic, so she has him answer a diagnostic questionnaire normally given to children and teens.

"And then the questions started getting just bizarre, where I was like, this must be a typo. I remember there was one question about, have you ever fantasized about making traps? And I said, 'Oh, that must be a typo.' And he's like, 'No, I totally have.'"

Nick and I were trying to figure out why traps, specifically, would be this universal thing.

We decided that maybe it was just an extension of the desire to control or predict situations, particularly chaotic ones. Building a trap to catch, say, a rabbit - that's a pretty good analogy for taking an unpredictable situation (i.e. nature) and carefully constructing a series of logical events (i.e. rabbit smells bait, rabbit approaches bait, rabbit triggers sensor, etc) which lead to an easily controlled and predictable end result (i.e. a rabbit in a trap).

It makes a kind of sense.

It got me thinking about my own tendencies to plan for adventures and disasters. I have fun discussing zombie contingency plans. I like to pack imaginary Adventure bags. What would I take with me on a quest through a vampire-infested city? What would I need on a voyage through Fairyland? What kind of tools would I want to survive an alien abduction?

It's kind of fun, thinking through the variables. It's also nice having these pre-defined worlds populated by monsters with clearcut weaknesses.

Like, if I found myself facing off against a werewolf or The Fair Folk, I could totally handle it.

I think that's one of the reasons fantasy and scifi are so appealing. The worlds they describe follow rules, and if you just learn them, you're fine.  I can understand why people with autism find traps so soothing. If you can just figure out the rules, if you can account for all the variables, everything works.

I kind of feel that way, particularly right now. I'm sort of getting the hang of my new job, but I keep feeling like I'm forgetting things. I don't feel fully trained. On top of this, the girl who also does this job the other half of the week just announced that she's moving to Texas with her husband. So in a few weeks, I'll be the most experienced person doing this job.

The person they're hiring will potentially take over my shift, and I'll move to the other half of the week. I might be a jerk and put my foot down and refuse to change shifts. I've already gotten to know the volunteers on my shift, and the idea of starting what's basically from scratch is hugely unappealing. I just trained for this shift; I don't feel like I have it down well-enough to train someone else for it.

Also, I'm a little concerned about hiring someone who was from the same applicant pool as me last time. I'm afraid that this situation will result in competition - who's doing the job better, who was the better hire after all? I'm not feeling competitive - I just hope the new person isn't, either.

And I can't find my keys. So, in all, I'm feeling a bit unequipped to deal with everything that's going on right now.

I just want someone to hand me a rule book, a field guide to doing this job well, to making the right decisions. If I can figure out all the variables, I can make solid plans
.

new new new

So the new job is going pretty well. At this point, the volunteers I manage still know more than I do, so that's a bit awkward. Hello, I'm doing the same job as you, but less well, and I'm getting paid to do it!

I'm sure it'll get better.

My laptop has decided to stop working. Or rather, the keyboard quit and the ability to detect and connect to wifi signals followed suit shortly thereafter. SO I got a Chromebook.

I know it's just a netbook, but honestly, pretty much everything I do is online anyway. Word processing, video watching, music listening, etc. It's all done on the internetz. And I use google products almost exclusively.

So far, I'm digging the experience. It's taking a bit to get used to the Chrome OS, but for someone who's used gmail and the like for a decade, it's a pretty easy learning curve.

I just recorded a video with it. Not astonishing quality, but it doesn't need to be. I have my handheld pocket camcorder for better quality videos.

It's been nice having a stable job. I don't feel guilty about doing silly, unproductive things with my free time anymore.

For example:



Yep. Completely useful and grown up, I know.

What is this madness?!

Holy cow. Holy, sacred, numinous cow!

I ... I have a job. Like, a grownup job with benefits. At a science museum. Working with volunteers and wearing a labcoat and preparing frozen sheep organs for dissection and making agar plates and cultivating bottles of algae and innoculating bacteria cultures and painting visitors' tongues blue and stuff.

Mind. BLOWN.

I start officially on the first. I am so. unbelievably. excited!

KSSHHHWFFFFFFFFF!!!

I'm in a super destructive mood today. All I want to do is shake up a bunch of cans of Coca Cola and smash them on the ground. KSSHHHWFFFFFFFFF!!!

Taking out a plaster wall with a sledgehammer would also be acceptable.

I think I'm feeling restless. Too much time spent sitting, doing the same things, living in a set routine. Not enough shouting, not enough running around, not enough of the unexpected.

Gotta take some time to be spontaneous.

Pursuit

I've been reading Carl Sagan's The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a candle in the dark - a birthday present from Nick (who knows how much I love books, science, and Carl Sagan).

It's mostly been talking about scientific literacy, and how important it is. Not just for scientists, but for everyone. Students. Politicians. Parents. Educators.  It's about how seductive pseudoscience and ignorance can be, and how dangerous they are, too.

I'll write some more about it when I've finished it.  Suffice it to say, it's wonderfully written and makes me want to be Carl Sagan when I grow up.





I'm considering going back to school.  For premed, maybe? So I can be an optometrist? Or a speech pathologist? Something. I was lying in bed this morning, thinking about the future, thinking about things Carl Sagan said in The Demon-Haunted World, thinking about the science teachers I had in grade school and high school.

It struck me how, after fourth grade (when I had a wonderful science teacher who made it hands-on, who showed us that science isn't a big abstract concept, that it's immediate and breathing and inseparable from existence), I didn't have any teachers who painted the big picture.

They taught their subject well, but it didn't connect to anything. I just learned about lysosomes and mitosis and balancing chemical equations and finding the coefficient of Mμ, without understanding the why behind the how.

No one stopped to point out that the beauty of the scientific method is its tireless pursuit of the truth, its ability to admit when it's wrong, its capacity to look past the obvious and seek the unknown.

I never connected what I was doing in the classroom with the concept of critical thinking. It was just a lot of rote memorization and standardized test preparation.

Not one teacher lifted off the lid of procedure to reveal the romance that lies so close to science's heart.

I've been mulling all of this over a lot lately.  Maybe I should be a science teacher.  Maybe I should be a science writer. I'm no scientist, but I do think about the future. I think about everything I don't know or understand, and I think about how there are other people out there who ask the same questions I ask, who work at chipping away at humanity's ignorance. I think about all the kids I went to school with who wouldn't even understand the point Sagan makes in The Demon-Haunted World, and of the politicians who think science is an unimportant sideshow.

I think about all of this, and I think about how it seems like so many people out there have no idea how beautiful and humbling the universe is, and I think about what it would take to show them, even just a little bit of it.

I don't really know what I want to do with my life, but this seems like something worthwhile.

birthdays

So I didn't achieve everything from my list. But in the last couple months since I posted last, I did check off

4. Go to the Celestial Seasonings tea factory in Boulder.
     (went with Nick, Sonora, and Phil - the peppermint room was amazing.)
9. Make a pitcher of lemonade from scratch.
     (made Brazillian limeade with fresh limes and sweetened condensed milk)
11. Read, at the very least, eight new books.
     (Dodger, Spook, Stiff, Packing for Mars, Bonk, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency, and I'm currently reading The Demon-Haunted World.)
16. Watch a sunrise.
     (saw it while waiting for the bus one morning before work.)
17. Have a picnic.
     (had cheese and bread and pickles with Kara out on her porch.)
19. Take a road trip (even if it's only an hour long).
     (went to Steamboat Springs to see an ice castle with Nick, Sonora, Phil, and Teri.)
21. Make something beautiful and sell it.
     (sold a bunch of mugs from my etsy shop over the holidays.)



 Still doing the job search thing. I had an interview at the museum for a more sciencey position. It would be amazing. Fingers crossed on that one.