Dust Off Your Highest Hopes

"All I know is we said hello/ So dust off your highest hopes/ All I know since yesterday is/ Everything has changed."

So there has been a.....development in my personal life. Perhaps we can't even call it that. But it's a development for me, so shut up. Ever since we met a couple months ago all of our interactions have been more and more positive, and we've even been out of a date. (!) My past experiences are clearly being not that girl, and this continuation of awesomeness is terrifying. I don't know what to do in this situation.

I know he likes talking to me. Like, I KNOW it. He came to the Halloween party at my house and we talked for six freaking hours. I'm pretty sure he likes talking to me, I don't think he said twenty words to anyone else. I'm just not sure if he sees me as, you know, a GIRL or just someone who will talk about geeky stuff with him. I've been stuck in the Fictional Discussion Zone before. I'm trying not to get my expectations up, but my heart has no mind and insists on what it will. If this is going to not happen I want it to be horrible now when it's only a moderately high cliff.

He doesn't have to talk to me so much. And if he doesn't know that I like him, he's more idiotic than I thought. If he does know how I feel and he's doing it anyway, I'm going to hate him. 

Oh my gosh, feelings are just the worst and I want them to go away until I have proof that he's actually interested in me because right now they are making me wish I was dead. If he doesn't like me he needs to never talk to me again, not even joking.

It's gotta happen sometime, right?

I do love/ He does heartbreak/ I'll do love til he breaks my heart
I do love/ He does heartbreak/ I'll do love til he breaks my heart 

Dear Diary.... (Part Three)

Journal entries from March 2012
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The opera itself was of the highest quality and very entertaining. My emotional state was not of the highest quality, and so watching an opera where a girl literally has the option to marry one guy to make another one jealous was perhaps not the best choice possible.

  
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There are so many people at BYU! At one point we were stopped because we didn’t have student IDs, and I guess they keep the super secret BYU stuff back there, or something.

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Sometimes I’m impressed with the wittiness of my past self. When did I lose that? I want to be like, look, [name]! Look at all this stuff that makes us similar and is the fodder of two clever people becoming an adorable couple!

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I am making progress through War and Peace-- I’m about halfway through Part II. It’s gotten easier to follow now that they’re just mainly talking about the interaction of one character with the others. I just want to know what made Tolstoy be like, “I should sit down and write thirteen hundred pages about Russian people. Yes, I definitely should.” It’s brilliant, but, wow, man. That’s a lot of pages. 

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I’ve started coming up with names for the seventy-three cats that I’m going to live with since I so utterly fail at attracting men. Utterly, I’m telling you. UTTERLY. Tolstoy and Tchaikovsky, for starters. Tristan? Tennant? Tabitha? WHO EVEN KNOWS?! One of the lovely things about cats is that they will never judge you for going downstairs to eat cereal in pajama pants and a bra at midnight. Thanks, cats. 

Motivations

I read two very different books last week. One I didn't finish, the other I devoured in twenty-four hours. The first one was about a jewel thief in Florida, a tell-all memoir of crime, deception, and thievery. The second was about a Chinese peasant who has the one-in-a-billion chance to become a ballet dancer and how his life has unfolded.

I didn't finish Confessions of a Master Jewel Thief by Bill Mason for a few reasons, the main one being language. I'm not adverse to books with scattered swearing as long as it's tasteful or effective. This book wasn't like that, and I got tired of it. I thought learning about the life of a modern criminal would be fascinating. And it was interesting enough, I suppose. It made me aware of a few security risks I hadn't considered, especially for hotels. I wasn't bored. But I wasn't driven to keep reading. I had no desire to finish it, which is odd for me. I finish my books, usually just because I like them, sometimes just out of pride. It may sound naive and obvious, but crime is not as romantic as fiction makes it look. I put this one down.

Then there was Mao's Last Dancer by Li Cunxin. WOW. I really enjoy giving book recommendations when friends ask, and this is the book that I can see myself recommending more than any other. As it now stands, this is going to be my overall non-fiction recommendation of 2013. Everyone should read this book. EVERYONE EVERYONE EVERYONE. A basic description-- it's an autobiography recounting Li Cunxin's journey from an impoverished Chinese village boy destined to labor in the fields to a world-famous professional ballet dancer.

AHHHHHH this book is incredible. I can't even tell you how much this book moved me. There were points that I was nearly in tears, but it was such an optimistic and uplifting book. And it gave me a tiny glimpse of the culture shock that I would get if I ever travel to China. The focus is on duty, family, and honor. It's so NOT on the self it's hard for an American like me to comprehend. I understand what Li's saying, but my brain just doesn't work like that. It's not just an attitude of an individual, it's the attitude of an entire culture.

Another contrast between East and West became very clear. This man is only a few years older than my father, but their lives are night-and-day different. The culture of propaganda was all-encompassing. The poverty was inescapable. It's insane to think that people live like this and I complain that I can't afford a new car yet. I will never truly understand what it is like to grow up impoverished, because I didn't. But I hope to empathize anyway. 

These two books described two worlds with a gaping chasm in between. But I think the biggest difference, more than the East and West or Wealth and Poverty, was the difference in motivations.

Bill Mason wanted to steal jewels. He wanted to be rich. He wanted to take whatever he wanted without consequences. Li Cunxin wanted to help his family. He wanted to serve his country and make his teachers proud. He wanted to become the best ballet dancer that he could possibly be.

In short, Bill Mason wanted to be bad, and Li Cunxin wanted to be good.

Being good doesn't always bring happy endings, and being bad doesn't always end in tragedy. But reading about someone who strives-- goes out of their way-- to be good even when horrible things are happening brings light to my soul anyway.

I want to be good. Sometimes I need reminding of that.

My Body, My Business

I work in the airport behind a counter full of chocolate. It's not glamorous, but it pays the bills. This post is for all the people who ask me, "How do you stay so skinny?" "Wow, I'm surprised you don't weigh more" or my personal favorite, "Thin girls shouldn't be allowed to sell chocolate."

I hear these comments and variants thereof every single day. To all those people: Who exactly do you think you are?

Where did you dig up the idea that you have the right to make any sort of comments about my weight? You wouldn't (I hope) tell the cashier in an organic foods market that she weights too much to sell vegetables. (Actually, I'm afraid there are more people willing to do that than I'd like to believe.) If my appearance is making you feel insecure enough that you can't buy a treat for yourself, that's not my problem, it's yours.

I am the only one who has to deal with my body. Trust me, I am one-hundred and eighty degrees away from being anorexic, not that you were concerned. I am gripped by very strong positive feelings about food-- if you want to get me somewhere just tell me that they'll be providing cake. I'm there.

That someone would make comments like these-- and I'm sure the majority are meant as compliments-- completely baffles me. I, believe it or not, spend too much time feeling fat and insecure and unattractive. Just because your comments are meant to be "positive" ones does nothing to change that. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to take "too skinny" as a compliment. What if I was battling anorexia or some other illness? This national obsession with 'thin' is giving us millions of women with eating disorders, warped self-images, and self-esteem that can best be described as non-existent.

And anyway, I'm not actually that thin. I'm average, and could do with being in much better shape. If you are surprised by the concept that someone can work at a chocolate shop without being morbidly obese, I think you really need to rethink your worldview.

And in a note to all those men who feel entitled to call me "sweetheart", "honey", "dear", and all the other little endearments because those are the words you automatically associate with women: Shut up. Seriously. You are offensive.

Sincerely,
Rebecca

When I Grow Up, I Want to be a Mother....

Disclaimer: This post may be considered controversial......it's about a gender-creative little boy (in other words he cross-dresses and is very effeminate). If you're not comfortable with that, you have been warned.
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I have always loved children. Being the oldest of ten, I guess that makes sense. I am extra sensitive to young children being in danger, even in fictitious circumstances. I remember reading one of the Gregor the Overlander (Suzanne Collins before she wrote Hunger Games, fantastic) books at fourteen or fifteen and being so terrified for the little sister of the protagonist. Her nickname was Boots, and she was lost in a strange world. I was practically crying. To this day I associate negative feelings with Disney's Tarzan because of my first experience. The new baby at our house then was a boy, Matthew, my first little brother. You may recall the opening scene of Tarzan depicts Tarzan's mother and father being killed by a leopard, and the baby narrowly escaping death. Seeing this on the big screen at the drive-in was what I can only describe as traumatic.

As I pursue life as a single adult, I sometimes think that I could do without men entirely. But I have never been able to shake the deep need for children around, MY children around. I dislike singles wards because of the lack of children-- some days I want to find a nursery and hide there. I relate to children so much better than a lot of people my own age. I want to be a mother so badly it hurts sometimes. Children are so....good. That is obviously vastly oversimplifying them, but I can't put it into words. And seeing fathers-- young and old, especially my own dad-- with their children makes me rethink the single mother approach. I can only marry a guy that wants to be a daddy.

Since my future isn't exactly littered with marriage prospects, this craving for motherhood is frustrating. I hope that I'm more smart and savvy than your average baby-hungry BYU freshman, but who can say? The most I can do now is keep my list of baby names updated (it's historical and literary figure based and pretty dang awesome, if I do say so myself) and keep an eye out for strategies I plan on using or most definitely not. Oh, and stress myself out thinking of all the possible things that could go wrong when I have kids.

What's that, you say? You don't have that on your Preparing to be a Parent checklist? Haha, would that I could say the same. I first starting stressing out about raising kids, especially girls, soon after I became a feminist. Packaging Girlhood (by Sharon Lamb and Lyn Mikel Brown) and Cinderella Ate My Daughter (by Peggy Orenstein) were particularly helpful in pointing out that **Spoiler** our world is not particularly conducive to girls having high self-esteem. I've spent the last couple years revising my plans for raising independent girls (and independent boys who will respect independent girls) and occasionally flying into a panic when I ponder having to deal with raising daughters amid the inherent sexism of our society, both in the media and out. My mom will testify to the fact I've called her worrying about the fates of Abigail, Alice, and Anne-- who are years away from being born!

Anyway, this afternoon I sat down and read Raising My Rainbow (by Lori Duron) which alerted me to a whole 'nother set of issues I'd never considered. Suppose I have a son who naturally breaks gender roles? I've been so concerned with making sure my girls know they don't have to play with dolls I've never thought, "What if my son wants the dolls?" Raising My Rainbow tells the story of CJ, a gender creative little boy who completely stole my heart almost immediately. CJ loves Barbies, makeup, dressing up like a princess-- anything girly. He identifies (in his own words) as "a boy who likes girl stuff and wants to be treated like a girl". I greatly admire his mother for being willing to chronicle this experience (the book left him on the verge of starting kindergarten but she also writes a blog that is updated weekly).

It was hard to read about little CJ and his older brother, Chase, a very traditional boy, getting bullied because their family was different. Children should never feel ashamed of who they are or be afraid of going to school. I started thinking, "What would I do?" Would I let my son wear his Snow White costume to the school's Halloween party? Would I buy him Disney princess dolls? Would I let him have lipstick? There are hard questions here, not just for letting a child express himself, but for the consequences it may have when dealing with the outside world. Kids are not always kind, and 'hiding' and 'protection' may seem to blur into each other.

I recommend Raising My Rainbow to someone who has never thought about gender-creative children. I enjoyed it and it made me think, which is the most important thing a book can do. I'm still digesting it and trying to work out how I would deal with raising this type of child. By the way, having a gender non-conformant son is not the same as having a gay son, although gender creative children often do end up members of the LGBTQ community. In my mind, sexual orientation can't truly be defined until you hit puberty and hormones kick in. Toddlers aren't gay and they aren't straight because they aren't sexually motivated at all. Just my two cents.

What I came away from the book feeling is that no matter what issues come up with my children (and I know there WILL be issues), I want them to know that I will love them no matter what. Heck, I love them SOOO much right now, and I haven't even met them! I know that love will grow exponentially when I am actually ready to start a family, but for now just the hope of being a mother is a light for the lonely days. Anyway, I'll freak out over how I would raise and accept a gender-creative child and how I want my boys as well as my girls to know that they are unconditionally loved and that I can do anything with God's help and that home is a safe place for a week or so and then I'll move on to another issue.

I swear, my husband will have to be a saint to deal with all my fears.


www.raisingmyrainbow.com  for the continuing adventures of CJ

Historical Fangirling

If you don't like history, you're wrong. I'm sorry, but I will stand by that statement. History is the most fascinating subject there is. It's stories about people having adventures and making mistakes, falling in love, committing murder, changing the world, being subject to the twists and turns of fate, but all the stories are true! These people really lived! Men and women have lived out plots that we'd deem much too fantastic to be novels or movies. I don't understand how people think history is boring. I suppose if you have a teacher that just makes you recite places and dates....but most teachers aren't like that. And if you take it upon yourself to dig deeper.....history is awesome. Holy cow.

Right now I'm in the midst of a Mark Twain (or Sam Clemens, as I'm learning to call him) biography. So good. He's such a snarky and funny guy; I feel like we'd get along. Not perfect, but so real and down to earth. And his love letters to his wife, Livy Clemens, are simply too adorable for words. What a couple of cuties.

William Shakespeare. Just- William Shakespeare.

My favorite biography of all-time (so far) has to be Hide and Seek With Angels by Lisa Chaney. The subject is the playwright JM Barrie, and it's fantastic. That was the book that really got me into biographies.

James Madison by Richard Brookhiser changed my favorite president. I still idolize George Washington-- who doesn't?-- but James Madison is overlooked and incredible.

American Eve by Paula Uruburu focuses on Evelyn Nesbit. She's depicted in both the novel and the musical Ragtime, but after learning more about her life I felt physically ill at how I had misjudged her from those fictional portrayals.

William Wilberforce, Thomas Clarkson, Charles Fox, William Pitt-- the whole gang of British abolitionists. FOREVER LOVE. (I don't have individual biography references for all those, but the film Amazing Grace is five stars. [And I realize the irony of recommending a film right after relating how wrong fiction can get a peson.])


For more general historical books that aren't about one specific person:

American Tempest by Harlow Giles Unger talks about the causes, effects, and general what-have-you of the Boston Tea Party. It's wonderful-- this event was so much more planned, complex, and important than I had previously realized.

The Ghost Map by Samuel Johnson relates the tale of how cholera was cured after one of the most fatal recorded London outbreaks. It reads like a thriller, the plot is that straightforward. I am amazed and humbled by the men who dedicate their lives to research and healing.

A History of Opera by Carolyn Abbate and Roger Parker is a five-hundred page history of, well, opera. What did you expect? Like another favorite of mine, Showtime by Larry Stempel, this book delves into the behind-the-scenes of theatre. The lives of composers and actors, political issues, different translations, and the wax and wane of opera are all discussed, along with a lot more. Made me want to go catch an opera-- I've only seen two.


Anyway, history is the bomb and I will never be tired of talking about it.

Dear Diary.... (Part Two)

Taking another lighthearted stroll down memory lane. Sometimes I worry about the odd glasses I see the world through. Journal entries from early 2012

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I just discovered the sensation that is peanut butter toast. Why have I never eaten this before. Why. It is so good. Can't even use question marks, that is how good it is. Also, when I was on the phone today scheduling an audition, the guy said I sounded like I’d had extensive experience in musical theatre. I consider that win. That’s a being identified as a theatre freak even over the phone win!

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         Restarting the on-hold-since-July Ivanhoe and getting past the first two chapters: Accomplished

        Making goals for at least the short term: Accomplished

      Accepting that I'm almost through the tenth Doctor's seasons: Not accomplished

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I just sort of want to show up at his house and be like, “Hey, we both love Harry Potter and Doctor Who, so naturally we’d be a great couple and I think this is where you kiss me.” The only problems with this scenario are: A) I have no idea where he lives, and B) He would likely have no idea who I am. Other than that, it is one hundred percent foolproof.

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Today Kelli was telling us the story of her CRAZY temporary roommate before we went home. The guy is insane. He didn’t bring any stuff besides a razor and a toothbrush, and when left alone in the house he ate ALL of the food (a five-pound jar of nuts and uncooked cornbread mix included) and used ALL of the dishes in the house (right down to eating cereal with a measuring spoon) while washing none of them. He set the fire alarm off at one and then again at two in the morning. When Kelli was getting ready for work in the morning he just sat in his completely empty room. He claims he has a car, but it has never been seen.
UPDATE ON KELLI’S ROOMATE: He has moved out, but left a pile of toenail clippings behind, as is fitting and representative of his stay. 

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There was a brighter spot in my day when we got candy. That in an of itself is a bright spot, but I had it sitting there on the desk, not going to eat it till lunch, but it looked so good, so in between calls I put some m&ms into my mouth, even though a call could come any second, and realized, “I am just like Donny Osmond.” You see, back in Powell 97.9 had Donny’s DJ program and I would hear his crazy stories. I’m not a huge fan of Donny Osmond. But I will never forget this story. He was in a show and he entered flying over the audience singing. He had a chocolate éclair that had been tempting him all day, and he stuffed it into his mouth while getting into costume, the harness, etc, and ended up spewing it all over the audience. But nothing bad happened in my case, although I had to compare myself to Donny Osmond. 

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