Pet peeves, as requested by Cara:
1) People who think they have me figured out...and don't
2) Rhythmic noises, like tapping or clicking or gum chewing or anything like that.
3) Flakiness. Not like buttery roll flakiness, but more like people not doing what they say they'll do.
4) "Without a shadow of a doubt", "with every fiber of my being", "I would be ungrateful if I didn't stand up here today", "nourish and strengthen our bodies", "the 3 Nephites were standing behind her when the killer opened her door" and other church cliches. Yes, I'm very critical at church sometimes. Isn't that awesome?
5) Habitual negativity
6) Papyrus typeface
This post put me in a bad mood. Particularly because I, at any given time, am guilty of any or all of the above trespasses (except #6. Never #6). So now I will write some things I really like, just to make myself feel better:
1) Nice lettering on signs and posters...good design anywhere, really.
2) Beautiful, thought-provoking movies like Big Fish and and O Brother, Where Art Thou and Stranger Than Fiction (watch that for a good design example, too!)
3) Giving the perfect gift
4) Good friends
5) Big tips
6) Sunny birthdays
7) Tater tots
8) Freesia
9) Rainy days for reading and Jolly Time kettle corn
10) My artist alter-ego name: Stella Sanchez
I'm not tagging anyone specific, but feel free to pet peeve post (or good things post) if you desire.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Musical Musings
I really wanted this post to be awesome and click-able, so you could hear the music I'm talking about. But that proves far too complicated and time-consuming than the lazy blogger can handle. So, if you're really interested, just ask me for details and I will reply. Then you can find anything you want using any methods you want. And if you know a good way to do this on Blogspot (without illegally downloading music), please let me know. Mwah.
1) There must have been a rash of incidents involving men dressing up as women and seducing unsuspecting men—a veritable Transvestite Epidemic. Just listen to such songs as “Lola” (I know what I am and what I am is a man, and so is Lola—La la la la Lola”) and “Dude Dressed Like a Lady”. Was this problem really so prevalent? As an isolated incident, maybe it warrants one song, but wow. Confusing times.
2) There’s this song about me by Sting, called “All Four Seasons.” More accurately, it’s about some guy who’s helplessly in love with me, despite my mood shifts.
3) I dare you to find better jogging music than The Sounds. Bring it!
4) One time a boy put my favorite Eva Cassidy song on a random, impulsive mix for me, because he knew I liked it. I’m sure there was no other deep meaning attached—he simply knew I liked it. Little did he know what that song does to me! He declared passionate love to me without even meaning to. Such a reckless use of sacred music. Idiot.
5) I’m willing to bet that the guys from Depeche Mode were the kind of kids who would raise their hands in Sunday school or in sex ed and say that thing that makes everyone cringe. “Vows are spoken to be broken…” or “God’s got a sick sense of humor and when I die I expect to find Him laughing…” etc. These things are designed to set your teeth on edge.
6) Have you ever seen someone rocking out so thoroughly, even violently, in their car that you expect a crash? Have you ever been that person? When I see that, I always wonder if it’s happy music or scary, pulsing, screamo music that they’re rocking out to.
7) Few things move me like music does. Last time I was agonizing over something in my perceived state of solitude, itunes providentially switched to the Killers, and I sang/prayed along as what’s his face repeated “You know you gotta help me out / yeah, you know you gotta help me out / No don’t you put me on the backburner, you know you gotta help me out.” It’s awfully self-absorbed to think songs are written for/about me as much as I do.
8) My college roommate Sarah had this quote on her wall from Pearl Jam: “I know some day you’ll have a beautiful life. I know someday you’ll be the sun in somebody else’s sky.” I’ll never forget that, for some reason.
9) Here’s an idea: Keep a playlist in your itunes called “Right Now”. Next time you’re doing something mindless (folding laundry, cleaning, getting ready for prom), take a minute to select 10-15 songs for this list. Just go quickly through all your songs and throw in the ones that immediately catch your eye. I’ll typically keep a list for a few days (listen to it several times) and then clear it out without looking at it and start over. You’ll know when to clear it, when it’s time for a new Right Now. I think it’s really interesting to see what I choose at different times.
10) If I could name one artist who most expressed the music that would come out of me, it would be Damien Rice. I promise I’m not always so anguished as that—I just think music would come out of me mostly when I was anguished, so it would sound like that….Anyway, the happy music that would come out of me would be like The Origin or sometimes OMD or other 80s stuff.
11) John Mayer may have a raspy voice and not the cutest face in the world, but some of him is pretty amazing. “You should have seen that sunrise with your own eyes—it brought me back to life.”
1) There must have been a rash of incidents involving men dressing up as women and seducing unsuspecting men—a veritable Transvestite Epidemic. Just listen to such songs as “Lola” (I know what I am and what I am is a man, and so is Lola—La la la la Lola”) and “Dude Dressed Like a Lady”. Was this problem really so prevalent? As an isolated incident, maybe it warrants one song, but wow. Confusing times.
2) There’s this song about me by Sting, called “All Four Seasons.” More accurately, it’s about some guy who’s helplessly in love with me, despite my mood shifts.
3) I dare you to find better jogging music than The Sounds. Bring it!
4) One time a boy put my favorite Eva Cassidy song on a random, impulsive mix for me, because he knew I liked it. I’m sure there was no other deep meaning attached—he simply knew I liked it. Little did he know what that song does to me! He declared passionate love to me without even meaning to. Such a reckless use of sacred music. Idiot.
5) I’m willing to bet that the guys from Depeche Mode were the kind of kids who would raise their hands in Sunday school or in sex ed and say that thing that makes everyone cringe. “Vows are spoken to be broken…” or “God’s got a sick sense of humor and when I die I expect to find Him laughing…” etc. These things are designed to set your teeth on edge.
6) Have you ever seen someone rocking out so thoroughly, even violently, in their car that you expect a crash? Have you ever been that person? When I see that, I always wonder if it’s happy music or scary, pulsing, screamo music that they’re rocking out to.
7) Few things move me like music does. Last time I was agonizing over something in my perceived state of solitude, itunes providentially switched to the Killers, and I sang/prayed along as what’s his face repeated “You know you gotta help me out / yeah, you know you gotta help me out / No don’t you put me on the backburner, you know you gotta help me out.” It’s awfully self-absorbed to think songs are written for/about me as much as I do.
8) My college roommate Sarah had this quote on her wall from Pearl Jam: “I know some day you’ll have a beautiful life. I know someday you’ll be the sun in somebody else’s sky.” I’ll never forget that, for some reason.
9) Here’s an idea: Keep a playlist in your itunes called “Right Now”. Next time you’re doing something mindless (folding laundry, cleaning, getting ready for prom), take a minute to select 10-15 songs for this list. Just go quickly through all your songs and throw in the ones that immediately catch your eye. I’ll typically keep a list for a few days (listen to it several times) and then clear it out without looking at it and start over. You’ll know when to clear it, when it’s time for a new Right Now. I think it’s really interesting to see what I choose at different times.
10) If I could name one artist who most expressed the music that would come out of me, it would be Damien Rice. I promise I’m not always so anguished as that—I just think music would come out of me mostly when I was anguished, so it would sound like that….Anyway, the happy music that would come out of me would be like The Origin or sometimes OMD or other 80s stuff.
11) John Mayer may have a raspy voice and not the cutest face in the world, but some of him is pretty amazing. “You should have seen that sunrise with your own eyes—it brought me back to life.”
Thursday, April 3, 2008
The Lost Brownies
I've had many requests lately for this recipe (though not really in BlogTowne...but oh well), so I thought I'd share it with the thousands of people who check my blog daily.
The story: I had a random roommate one summer who made these weekly...and I blame her for the 12 lbs I gained in a few short months. The brownies were the only thing we had in common, but she wasn't so keen to share the recipe. I weaseled it out of her eventually, but lost it years later. My dreams were haunted by vague chocolate yearning for years, until I ran into an acquaintance of the former roommate. I weaseled the recipe out of her, and proudly present the results of my weaselly efforts. I think "secret" recipes are so stupid--If you love something, share it with people! If you've had these, share the recipe with your friends. If you haven't, call me and I'll make you some. Enjoy.
The Lost Brownies
1 c. butter
8 T. cocoa
4 eggs
2 c. sugar
2 t. vanilla
1 t. salt
2 c. flour
Melt butter and cocoa over low heat; Cream eggs and sugar. Add cocoa mixture to egg mixture SLOWLY ( to avoid cooking eggs) and stir. Add the remaining ingredients and stir until smooth. Pour into a greased cookie sheet and bake at 350ยบ for 12-15 minutes (you may need practice to see how you like them cooked--I like them kind of fudgy). Frost right out of the oven.
Frosting:
1/4 c. butter
2 T. cocoa
1 t. vanilla
dash of salt
1 1/2 c. powdered sugar
Whole milk
Melt butter and cocoa on low heat; add remaining ingredients, with enough milk to make it pour-able. Stir until really smooth, but don't let it cool too much...and pour on super hot brownies. BAM!
**OCD notes: Use only real butter and whole milk, or you'll anger the brownie gods. And be generous with the salt, my friends!
The story: I had a random roommate one summer who made these weekly...and I blame her for the 12 lbs I gained in a few short months. The brownies were the only thing we had in common, but she wasn't so keen to share the recipe. I weaseled it out of her eventually, but lost it years later. My dreams were haunted by vague chocolate yearning for years, until I ran into an acquaintance of the former roommate. I weaseled the recipe out of her, and proudly present the results of my weaselly efforts. I think "secret" recipes are so stupid--If you love something, share it with people! If you've had these, share the recipe with your friends. If you haven't, call me and I'll make you some. Enjoy.
The Lost Brownies
1 c. butter
8 T. cocoa
4 eggs
2 c. sugar
2 t. vanilla
1 t. salt
2 c. flour
Melt butter and cocoa over low heat; Cream eggs and sugar. Add cocoa mixture to egg mixture SLOWLY ( to avoid cooking eggs) and stir. Add the remaining ingredients and stir until smooth. Pour into a greased cookie sheet and bake at 350ยบ for 12-15 minutes (you may need practice to see how you like them cooked--I like them kind of fudgy). Frost right out of the oven.
Frosting:
1/4 c. butter
2 T. cocoa
1 t. vanilla
dash of salt
1 1/2 c. powdered sugar
Whole milk
Melt butter and cocoa on low heat; add remaining ingredients, with enough milk to make it pour-able. Stir until really smooth, but don't let it cool too much...and pour on super hot brownies. BAM!
**OCD notes: Use only real butter and whole milk, or you'll anger the brownie gods. And be generous with the salt, my friends!
Friday, March 21, 2008
If nothing else, painful experiences are conducive to thoughtful expression. So….All-aboard the Thought Train! Woot-woot!
I want to discuss how it is that our vision becomes blurred without our knowledge…or at least without our conscious permission. I find that even though I’m getting older and seemingly wiser, I’m not getting better at controlling the blinders that come for the duration of my experiences. Even while I’m practicing practicality, I’m only thinking clearly enough to make my own reality—a reality that becomes truly clear only when I’m looking back. They say hindsight is 20/20 and I’m redefining what that means…I’ve always thought it was like looking back on that stock purchase you should have made, that “near miss” that seems so logical now that everything has played out. I now think it means that once the smoke has cleared and the dust has settled, I can see with unforgiving clarity all the facets of an experience that I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, see before. This is not always an enjoyable process. Having your actions thrown into sharp focus is somewhat painful, if you’re honest. No room for delusions, excuses, or benefit of the doubt. Suddenly I can see how much I fight and push for the things I want, and how much I convince myself that it’s going my way, when the signs throughout are telling the truth more succinctly than my mind will allow.
I have to declare myself as an internal optimist, then. Because I apparently hope for and expect things that aren’t happening, right up until the bitter end. My heart is only convinced of the reality of my failures when there’s no possible room for doubt left—I suppose that’s a good thing in some ways, but I can’t help but wonder….if I didn’t try so hard sometimes to make things so, could I relax and just let them happen? Would they happen? And if they didn’t happen, is that any worse than convincing myself that they are happening, only to experience that crash, that wind-knocked-out-of-me feeling that comes when reality sets in? They say the higher you climb, the farther you fall. Well, I better start investing in a safety net, because I’m not going to stop climbing anytime soon. I would, however, like to be able to better recognize when I have steps to cling to, rather than inventing them. Amazing how high one can climb on imagined ladders—Thank goodness the ground below isn’t imagined as well, since I seem to need that plummeting to wake me up. Wicked says it best: “Don’t dream too far—don’t lose sight of who you are.”
There’s really no point in analyzing it, since I’ve already pointed out that it’s beyond my control. I so fervently wish that it weren't. But I wouldn’t know what to do with that ability if I had it. I don’t know that I’ll ever find that balance between hoping for good, preparing for bad, expecting reality, protecting myself, and remaining open to all possibilities. I’ve never learned how to juggle.
*Note: I realize this may seem like a depressing post. And it is. I apologize. Happiness must be tempered by opposition in order to exist, right? Happiness MUST be tempered by opposition in order to exist…And I’m still having the time of my life ☺
I want to discuss how it is that our vision becomes blurred without our knowledge…or at least without our conscious permission. I find that even though I’m getting older and seemingly wiser, I’m not getting better at controlling the blinders that come for the duration of my experiences. Even while I’m practicing practicality, I’m only thinking clearly enough to make my own reality—a reality that becomes truly clear only when I’m looking back. They say hindsight is 20/20 and I’m redefining what that means…I’ve always thought it was like looking back on that stock purchase you should have made, that “near miss” that seems so logical now that everything has played out. I now think it means that once the smoke has cleared and the dust has settled, I can see with unforgiving clarity all the facets of an experience that I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, see before. This is not always an enjoyable process. Having your actions thrown into sharp focus is somewhat painful, if you’re honest. No room for delusions, excuses, or benefit of the doubt. Suddenly I can see how much I fight and push for the things I want, and how much I convince myself that it’s going my way, when the signs throughout are telling the truth more succinctly than my mind will allow.
I have to declare myself as an internal optimist, then. Because I apparently hope for and expect things that aren’t happening, right up until the bitter end. My heart is only convinced of the reality of my failures when there’s no possible room for doubt left—I suppose that’s a good thing in some ways, but I can’t help but wonder….if I didn’t try so hard sometimes to make things so, could I relax and just let them happen? Would they happen? And if they didn’t happen, is that any worse than convincing myself that they are happening, only to experience that crash, that wind-knocked-out-of-me feeling that comes when reality sets in? They say the higher you climb, the farther you fall. Well, I better start investing in a safety net, because I’m not going to stop climbing anytime soon. I would, however, like to be able to better recognize when I have steps to cling to, rather than inventing them. Amazing how high one can climb on imagined ladders—Thank goodness the ground below isn’t imagined as well, since I seem to need that plummeting to wake me up. Wicked says it best: “Don’t dream too far—don’t lose sight of who you are.”
There’s really no point in analyzing it, since I’ve already pointed out that it’s beyond my control. I so fervently wish that it weren't. But I wouldn’t know what to do with that ability if I had it. I don’t know that I’ll ever find that balance between hoping for good, preparing for bad, expecting reality, protecting myself, and remaining open to all possibilities. I’ve never learned how to juggle.
*Note: I realize this may seem like a depressing post. And it is. I apologize. Happiness must be tempered by opposition in order to exist, right? Happiness MUST be tempered by opposition in order to exist…And I’m still having the time of my life ☺
Monday, March 17, 2008
I'M RUNNING A MARATHON.
Please come to the after-funeral. June 14th.
http://www.mammothmarathons.org/bl/bl.html
Please come to the after-funeral. June 14th.
http://www.mammothmarathons.org/bl/bl.html
Friday, February 22, 2008
Friday!
Check this out for a preview of coming attractions. Pictures of us for sale!
http://www.sharpshooterimaging.com/Templates/is-search2c.php?imageset=/0&vn=&destLocation=&resetselected=true
http://www.sharpshooterimaging.com/Templates/is-search2c.php?imageset=/0&vn=&destLocation=&resetselected=true
You can buy a copy if you want. That would be a little weird, but...whatever.
In other news, I'm posting the story below because it makes me happy. This was an add-on story between me, Shelley and Laura--I think it was a long time ago. If any of you want to finish it, I'm dying to know how it ends.
Once upon a time there was a girl named Shellinskaya who liked to sit and read by her pool. She read all sorts of books; Books about love, books about vengeance, and books about how to win friends and influence people. One day, as Shellinskaya was sitting in her favorite spot by the pool, the sun beating down on her intent figure…
A handsome young brute happened by and said "My...what a nice figure."He said this to himself because, well, thinking aloud is generally frowned upon. The strange thing about the brute is that he was lost. He had been busy fighting dragons and slaying filthy rich rastards from the Netherlands when suddenly, *POOF!* he happened upon the fair Shellinskaya at the pool. It seems he'd entered some kind of time continuuuum vacuuuum wormhole and nobody has ever understood those so just go with it. He greeted Shellinskaya with a "Holla back now!"
Shellinskaya battered her eyes. Actually, she battered her fries and batted her eyes. Yes, that's it. Her eyes. "What up, G?"
The Brute, thus addressed, firmly replied, "Wiggidy wack. Love."
His name was Peter. Oddly, the main character in our heroine's book was named....Petro.
"Do I know you?" Shellinskaya asked, wondering where the brute came from and why he was talking to her. Peter explained that he was a secret agent for the Russian government and was fighting dragons from the Netherlands. The last word Shellinskaya heard Peter say was Russian. You see, Shellinskaya loved Russian novels and dreamt of visiting the motherland one day.
The odd thing about Shellinskaya is that although she had a Russian name and loved Russian literature, she was actually a very small and shrewd African-American who has been denied all the luxuries of life--thus we enter into a B-movie with little to no plot line but some very good dancing...
Peter and Shellinskaya continued their strange conversation, which only continued to get stranger as Shellinskaya confused Peter with Petro, the character in her book (Petro, as we all know, means Peter in Icelandic). Peter explained, as people often do in these sorts of stories, that his greeting to Shellinskaya was actually a secret code...that she failed with flying colors.
The even odder thing about this odd pair is that they had managed to enter the time vacuum device together and now found themselves on a beach in Madagascar. You know, spider monkies and such. Well, thankfully S-Dawg was a small shrew--er, shrewd--Africanish woman, so she knew all about spider monkies. But did she know about mad, rabid, evil-terrorist-plot spider monkies? A good question. That's where our story gets interesting. Spider monkies are known for their anti-Russian-African-Scandinavian-American tendencies, and this one was no different. As soon as he spotted the twitterpated couple he began plotting against them. The goal? To kill their love, their puppy, and their very souls. In that order. Or maybe love and souls are synomous. Semantics. (Narrator interjection: If you'll recall, semantic is different than semitic. So if you hear a band called Anti-Semantic, don't alert the ACLU. Can't we all just get along?)
So anyway, the evil arachna-monkey anxiously awaited his opportunity to destroy our main characters. And he waited with a swichblade...
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
On happiness
I am happy.
Completely incomplete, convincingly content, and incredibly, wonderfully happy.
When thinking of what to update on this little bloggity-blog, no great big awesome changes come to mind. Indeed, dear readers, I swear this happened without the help of a) a boy, b) money, or c) dramatic weight loss/promotions/accomplishments, etc.
Here's what happened: I realized I have nothing to be unhappy about.
I would consider myself a typically upbeat person, even though I'm pretty cynical sometimes. But typical Stef became Happy Stef early on in 2008. One day I woke up and felt a mysterious anticipation. That feeling lasted all day, though nothing big happened. All I could think to say to everyone is that big things were about to happen. I felt so excited, for whatever reason. I had the best day in the world and nothing really happened.
I haven't been able to shake that feeling. Yeah, there have been a few things here and there that bum me out for a minute, but for over a month I've been annoyingly happy. And oddly enough, good things have happened. Big, good things are still happening, which leads me to wonder: Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
I think good things happen to happy, positive people. And I think we can decide to be those people. I know there will come things to be unhappy about, but we always have a choice in how we react and how we view the world.
Thus, my 2008 theme: Positive thinking.
And the best example of it that I can think of is President Hinckley. If a prophet in this day and age--in any age, really--can maintain a positive outlook, then I definitely should. My perspective doesn't even stretch very far beyond my four walls, which are in pretty good shape, so I have no reason not to be optimistic.
So, I've learned I can just decide to be happy. I'm not delusional, I'm not refusing to face reality, and I'm not being fake if I do. I'm realizing all the things there are to be happy about, and choosing to create opportunities for more by being open to them. Cheesy? Yeah. But I'm having the best time. Weird that I wanted to flee the country not too long ago, eh?
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