All the Skinny Men—Put Your Hands Up!

Posted on by Sierra

Dear Skinny Man,
There is, I think for the first time ever, a Hipster on the Bachelorette. He wears weird shoes, and his hair takes some getting used to (yes, I made Jeremy try “The Jef Coif”), I believe he wears Ray-Bans, and he made his entrance on the show via skateboard. So far, Hipster Jef seems to be a crowd favorite—America likes him, Emily likes him, and you know what? I like him too.

Jef Holm, everybody. 
…Jeremy thinks he’s a tool. A skinny jeans wearing, overly moussed tool. I am convinced that this is because I happen to find the style, to be blunt, rather attractive. When Jeremy and I were dating and he was fashionably malleable, I took him to Urban Outfitters and made him buy a cardigan. He wore it the night we got engaged and has since avoided it like the plague.
But here’s the thing about Hipsters: Before there was “Hipster,” there was only “Skinny White Kid.” It is my firm belief that the Hipster fashion arose to give the picked-on SWK’s a break.  All you skinny men, do not resist. The fashion industry is throwing you dweebs a bone! For a brief season, it is cool to be a wimpy male. Rippling muscles are so 2009, don’t you know? Elitist vintage clothes make you look superior, so roll with it. If it soothes you, ease into the style by actually shopping at a thrift store, rather than an Urban Outfitters or American Apparel. But do it soon. As with most fads, Hipster glory will be fleeting. I suggest you enjoy your moment in the sun while Jef enjoys his (hopefully more than) fifteen minutes of fame.
So you, SWK, ask yourself the following questions:
  • Do you gangle?
  • Do the sleeves of your t-shirt poke up because you have no muscle to grab the fabric?
  • Do you have limited athletic ability?
  • Is there a thrift store near by?

Then don’t resist the Cardigan. 

Grab a pair of Toms, coif up your hair, and get a one-speed bike because the time is now, for a limited time only (before the jocks start to beat you up again), to embrace your outward “cool.”

Skinny. White. Cool. 

I will not implode today…

Posted on by Sierra

My parents placed bets on how long it would take me to implode out here–jobless and routineless– in Chicago. Annoyingly enough, they understand that I am happiest when I am stressing myself out by scheduling every minute of my day. I only expect my fellow red-types to understand, but “down time” (unless penciled in) is damaging to my core. It feels like time wasted, time fettered, precious time squandered and irretrievable. After two weeks of scheduled (glorious, much needed) vacation, I must admit, I am ready to get back to the routine.
My real problem here is that there is no routine, and that I am extrinsically motivated, but trying to pretend that I am intrinsically motivated. I love listing out my goals, all noble and impressive, and I certainly pretend to myself that I can accomplish all 437 of them in a month. But unless there is a tangible reward at the end of the yellow-brick road to self-perfection, I realize now that I usually don’t follow through.

Things that Actually Motivate Me:

Pay Checks

Deadlines
Image Source

GPA

Words of Affirmation
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Awards, Accolades, Resume Builders


Applause
Image Source

Comments on my Blog

Good Tasting Food as a result of my efforts in the kitchen.

Improved relationships with friends and family

Pretty Things that Serve a Purpose

I realize that what I like about these things is that they are immediate, or at least, foreseeable. I think this all ties back to my severe lack of patience. I can’t patiently wait for accolades; I need them to come like clockwork. I feel so shallow about this! The joy in the journey is lost somehow.

Jeremy is the exact opposite of me, and it’s frustrating and admirable. The kid can spend hours, days, years LEARNING a new and important skill just because. His self worth has nothing to do with his GPA or his paycheck. I love that about him, but I am realizing that I am not this way. I wish I were this way.

So while the summer is young, I realize that I am at a crossroad. I can either perpetuate my extrinsic needs by imposing deadlines, checkpoints, and rewards for my summer goals OR I can attempt to reinvent—find joy in the journey rather than the accomplishment. Oh boy, that sounds so hard.

… Maybe I should get a trophy if I reach that point. 

PS: Stay tuned, I think this blog is about to see some exciting changes. 

We Out-Funned Ourselves

Posted on by Sierra

So, I get it, finally! I’ve been baffled by the “Travelog photo dump blogs.” Blogs are about writing, Not about dumping photos! That’s what Facebook is for, I thought. Yet by the end of the day, you are so proud of your travels and so exhausted that you don’t have the mental stamina to write something clever about them, and tagging sounds too tiring. So we photo dump. And I am going to assume that this is for posterity and close family members because… I don’t typically like anyone else’s photo dump blogs. Furthermore, I have never liked the word Dump, so I am going to call this a “Enlightening Photo Essay.” Much more enticing than Travelog Photo Dump, right?

So here we are:

An Enlightening Photo Essay: Chicago

The Art Institute of Chicago–we got in on a free day and bee-lined for the Impressionism. I plan on spending the first and second Wednesday’s of every month… Right about here. Tempted to join me, Emma Penrod?

Don’t expect much as far as captions go. All the Clever has run dry. This was one of our first days in the city, and of course, we went to the Art Institute of Chicago. I took pictures with my favorite paintings. Add to the spectacle and magnificence of it all, you know. This is Gustave Caillebotte Paris Street, Rainy Day. 
Notice that I carefully selected my most “Art Muesemy” shirt possible. Don’t I just look like a curator?
Renoir On The Terrace
Searching for our soul a la Cameron Frye. Georges Seurat, Sunday Afternoon in the Isle of La Grande Jatte. 
Claude Monet, Bridge over a Pond of Water Lillies
Claude Monet, The Artist’s House at Argenteuil
Renoir said painting flowers was a mental vacation, or something like that. Thought it sounded litt
Without people cluttering it up.
van Gogh, The Bedroom.
The Museum of Science and Industry. I believe this was Jeremy’s favorite, because he really liked all the Science. I liked all the buttons you could push. 

Jeremy creates a cyclone.
I think we were playing with bouncy balls here or something. But, you will not see many pictures of me this day… Underlight is not my favorite angle. I don’t want my posterity to see me so underlit. Plus, bangs WOULD NOT BEHAVE.
Ah, yes, the bouncy balls. Something about Wind Resistance or something… Science….
Lighting! I guess you can make lightning now a days but it has to be incredibly loud.
Some may call me short, but I am almost as tall as the scaled down model of the tallest building in the world… The Willis Tower. Didn’t know the tallest building was called the Willis Tower? Us neither. They stupidly renamed the Sears Tower the Willis Tower. We object. 
Jeremy has another dream in life. To build a train track as cool as this. 
Then we went to the Shedd Aquarium. I about died. It was magnificent, and we took a thousand and a half photos. I siphoned… sort of. 

This is the view from Museum Campus, where the aquarium is. 
After feeling self-conscious about the Sierra photo disaster of the Science and Industry Museum, I felt desperate to get a good picture up. 
Oh good, more jellies.  
I was most excited about the otter, and he was so cute! But I couldn’t get great pics. So here is your otter pic. 
Don’t know too many aquariums with DOLPHINS!
I love it when they swim upside down. 
We couldn’t tell if he was posing for the Paparazzi (us) or “flipping” us off… get it… ’cause he has flippers…
There was a Sea World style Animal show and it was insanely delightful, even though one of the Beluga Whales wouldn’t behave (For shame, Nunevic!), but I still think these are some of the most incredible animals. 
By far the most interesting fish. It’s little fins moved like moth wings! It was about the two inches and we loved it. 
Here’s another picture to show favoritism. 
Though we actually liked this frog quite a bit too. 
One night we used one of our wedding gift certificates to get some cheesecake. This skirt, sadly, just won’t work in the windy city. Almost had some Marilyn Monroe moments. 
The Cloud Gate at Millenium Park: A Super Cool Statue that encourages vanity and self-obsession at every angle. 
The Bean, or The Cloud Gate has probably been one of my favorite things so far. It is a big, mirror landmark in the middle of Millenium Park, and it reflects the whole city. Incredibly cool. 
We then took a series of silly fun pictures in front of the Bean, because that is what you do there.  
A very nice Iranian woman took this picture for us. She was there with her husband and adorable child. And though I didn’t know her well, I could tell we would have been friends.
She took this one too.
Guess what: Hair doesn’t stay super curled in Chicago. 
Getting tired of the captions. 

The Garfield Conservatory: We went here today, and give it a 5/10. There were some nice parts but over all, it was over-hyped. We’ve been garden spoiled by Butchart, so we are totally Garden Snobs. Still, the Fern Room was nice. 
This is the Koi pond. Koi give me the creeps. It’s the way they touch each other. And the way they expect so much from you with their big, nasty, wide open mouths. I don’t like them. Makes for a nice picture though. 
The Fern Room. There was a nice water fall. 
Here it is.  
The astute viewer will notice that I am wearing the same outfit two days in a row. I do not have a defense for this. That is what I did. 
Here are some Chicago Skyline Pictures. The architecture here is the best I’ve seen, next to Paris. It is so interesting and unique and beautiful and asymmetrical and I love it. 

Many of those pictures were taken from this place: The Navy Pier. I want to ride that Ferris Wheel, and Jeremy promised we could. 
“And so ends our photo journey… For Now,” she finished lamely. 

The Renaissance Women and The Impossible Expectation.

Posted on by Sierra

Hey, you. Your cupcakes are stressing me out. Your domestic achievement stands before me like an obtainable beacon of perfection. Your cupcake says to me:
“Hey! Look! I’m a Mormon domestic and I make beautiful things on the first try. Every cupcake I make is better than any cupcake you could make, because I used tweezers to individually place each sprinkle. And don’t worry, it’s a gluten-free cupcake, but I still managed to make it taste amazing. Come! Come one, Come all! And realize that when you partake of this particular batch of joy, you are also imbibing an extra dose of self-consciousness, because deep-down, you know that you’ll never create something so singularly perfect as this.”
Probably, in all honesty, what your cupcake meant to say was:
 “Oh my gosh, I made a pretty thing for once in my life, or I happened to have exactly four pretty cupcakes in a batch of twenty, and so I am going to prove to the world that I have somewhat awesome potential by editing this photo and posting it on facebook//blog/instagram/pinterst so that hopefully someone will stroke my self-confidence—because, well, to be perfectly honest, this is an area of my life where I am not used to accomplishing much.”
Friends, I would know. Because I am guilty of posting the following picture on facebook//blog/instagram/pinterest:


I spent several minutes assembling this adorable box you see, and then selecting which were my best cupcakes to publicize. I’m part of the phenomenon—I AM THIS PHENOMENON—the phenomenon that only celebrates my successes publicly, keeping (or attempting to keep) my failures a private secret. Why am I so keen to put my best face forward online all the time? 

Because everyone else is doing it. And it’s stressing us all out.
Men: You might actually be exempt from this particular societal observation. Hence, this blog is not catered to you. But ladies, I’m not just talking about cupcakes here. Cupcakes are a metaphor for (insert whatever you feel self-conscious about here).
For me, I didn’t reallyfeel the sting of inadequacy until I got married—and not because Jeremy made me feel this way. I couldn’t pinpoint it, but whenever I overcooked the eggs or pulled the laundry out of the machine too late, I’d feel a tremendous amount of pressure. Whenever I came home and the hallway smelled good because my neighbors had cooked something awesome, I allowed that to be something awesome that I had not done. Husband and I call it “Wifeyness,” this pressure that I put on myself to be The Perfect Homemaker. The pictures on facebook of other’s successes started to infect me…. I felt inadequate, so I posted a couple of pictures of my own cupcakes. Let someone else feel inadequate for the evening, I think I thought subconsciously.
The fickle thing about indulging in self-consciousness is that it bleeds into areas where you previously felt confident. As women, I really do believe that we are asked to “Do It All” these days. The demands on the modern LDS women are intense:
  • ·      Our religion asks us to be a nurturer. There are a ton of sub-responsibilities in this category.
  • ·      Our religion’s culture asks us to be a homemaker, and I suggest that you that there is a difference between nurturer and homemaker.
  • ·      Society says we need to be working women, severe, pencil-skirt wearing, ambitious feminists.
  • ·      Society suggests that we need to be friendly, affable, social party-goers, because there is something wrong with introverted women that prefer good books to good booze.
  • ·      We are made fun of by men for being “overly-emotional,” and Heaven forbid, we have tempers.
  • ·      The University asks us to be high-achieving, good-grade obtainers.
  • ·      The Media suggests we need to be sexy, yet also guarders of virtue.
  • ·      The world makes us feel like we should be skinny at all times, in all places, in all bikinis. 

What a silly expectation. WHAT SILLY EXPECTATIONS.
And we are expected to do this in heels, yet. No wonder the “Claire” from Modern Family, and “Debra” from Everybody Loves Raymond stereotypes exist. A tremendous amount of pressure is placed on women these days. And so once we internalize these things, if we are not one, or two, or all of these things, we are bad at being a woman, or a bad woman. Too often we confuse this: In the woman’s mind, Bad (Homemaker, Feminist, Skinny Person, Super Model, Etc) = Bad Person.
I need you to understand something: I desperately want to be a pencil-skirt wearing domestic, a hard-hitting career woman by day, mommy-dearest (not the crazy type) by night. I want to be a sexy protector of virtue that is a writer, seamstress, photo-shopping professional mother. I want to be a healthy eating, fitness guru who can actually keep my house clean! 

I WANT TO BE THE RENAISSANCE WOMAN.
But here’s the important part: Even without the tug-of-war of influences, I think I would want to do this just for me. These influences, when I allow them to, just help to give me a complex about it—because I am not there yet. And neither are you. And that’s ok.
These are not “new” ideas. As women, we “know” in our heads that we are doing this to ourselves, that we are allowing our understanding of our personal divine natures to be corrupted by the published accomplishments of others. I suppose the difference here is that this blog seeks to publish it all:The epic achievements as well as the epic failures. Because life is a process, and the process deserves to be celebrated just as much as the mastery. Successes and Failures, it’s all part of being a woman. In fact, a healthy combination of the two probably makes us really fantastic women.

So, You! You out there, the amorphous, talented, beautiful, smart, hard-working, domestic-goddess in development, this blog is for you. Because, you, like us, like everyone else, aren’t “there yet,” wherever “there” is for you. If you’re not there yet, that is ok.  We aren’t there yet either.  

*This blog post is the premise to an upcoming blog I hope to co-author soon. Stay tuned.

I Don’t Hate This City.

Posted on by Sierra

So… carting around four ridiculously over-packed suitcases, a backpack laden with more reading material than a small library, and a purse that could fit Bambi in it across the Orange Line of the Chicago trains was awful…Or it would have been if it wasn’t so gosh darn exciting. 


But I think that was the low of this Chicago experience so far. Everything else has been wonderful–from attending church in an old Elementary school that looks like P.S. 118 from “Hey Arnold,” to a Starbucks and Chipotle on every other corner, to all the secondhand smoke (I secretly like the smell…), I have to say Chicago rocks. I am feeling very optimistic about my summer and just hope that Jeremy falls for this city as quickly as I have.

The best part about this city though–unequivocally the people. This is not Brusque Manhattan or Too Laid Back L.A. People have a healthy sense of “rush” here, but they can also spare a moment to help a brother out. My favorite instance of Chicago Niceness:

Our first night out on the city, Jeremy and I decided to hit up a Thai Restaurant on Rush Street, because, you know, we basically take Thai with our oxygen. We left with leftover souvenirs, which Jeremy carried in his right hand, holding my hand with his left. 

As we walked home, we crossed a jovial-looking old black man in a suit (there are black people here!), and as he passed he addressed Jeremy and said, “Son! Son! Where did you get that thing hanging off you there?” Jeremy and I exchanged confused looks and looked. 

“This?” Jeremy asked, holding up the bag of Thai food. 

“No,” persisted the man, twinkling. “That other thing. Where can I get one?” 

We hunted for a string hanging off Jeremy’s coat, but we were thoroughly confused. Finally, I noticed the old man, amused by our confusion nod slightly at me. 

“Oh!” I said. I couldn’t help it. I squealed. “You mean me?!” I twinkled back.

 He nodded and said, “You make a lovely couple, I gotta get me one of those.” said the old man to Jeremy, moving on with a grin. 

Friends, it was just delightful to start this journey out with an unsolicited compliment from a stranger, and I promise there was nothing creepy about our new, never-to-be-seen-again friend. But it got me feeling the glow of this windy city. I think we will be just fine here. 
PHOTO DUMP PART:
This is our little apartment. We’re used to “little” with our apartments, so we actually like it a lot.  

This is the beautiful view from our apartment. Which car is your favorite? 

Our generously-sized closet. When you only pack 1/6 of your wardrobe, you’d be surprised how much mess you don’t make.
This is us at the airport. For all you Instagrammers, you may have already seen these pictures. Mostly, I just need to know what you think of my “Chicago Hair,” because sometimes I worry that Ombre is too wild for me.  

I’m just mostly thrilled by the prospect of a $9 sundae. No really, these were magnificent. 

If you can see the chocolate in this picture, you win! Actually, if you can taste the chocolate in this picture, you win. Which means, I win. 

I’m a chocolate fan like the rest of them, but my hot chocolate was so rich (Literally steamed milk with four squares of Ghiradelli’s chocolate mixed in), I had to throw in the towel. Luckily my sweet-toothed sweetheart was up for the task. 

Mandatory Skyline Picture.

Because none of the other pictures really proved I am in Chicago. 
PS: I am feeling uncomfortable about having 69 followers. Will someone please be my 70th?

Selling Out

Posted on by Sierra

So, we figured out something: Jeremy and I aren’t having another wedding any time soon, so rather than being sentimental pack rats, we are selling some of our wedding decorations. Hopefully you, or someone you know is in the need of some of these guys. Go ahead and email me (SierraRPenrod@gmail.com) if you are interested in any of these! Prices are negotiable.

Large basket filled with well-wishing tags. We put them on a tree with pictures, but you can put them on anything.

                    

 

Frame–obviously you can put your own picture in there. 
Balsa Wood Flowers–there’s about 50 of them. See how we used them.

 These are little table numbers. They are light blue and peach. They only turned out alright, so we would sell them for pretty much nothing. 

Just Married Burlap banner with glitter letters.

See how we used it? We are also selling the streamers in the background as well. 
See the streamers?

You will obviously want to switch out the images but these vintage frames are homemade and way cute.
 See how we used them? 

See anything you like? Just shoot me an email, and we will talk about pricing. 

Punctuate.

Posted on by Sierra

How do you end your college career? Especially your college career as an English Teaching Major? And more importantly how do you punctuate the end of your English Teaching Major Undergrad Education?

  • I think predominantly, the last semester produced a sort of fizzle effect, a pathetic wheeze into the finish line that is best characterized “grammistically” (made it up, whatcha gonna do about it?) by a “…”
  • At times throughout my college career, and this semester especially there was a lot of indecision and uncertainty, which as we all know looks a lot like this “?” Unless it looks more like this “!?” or even this “!?” when you are having a panic attack about all the choices you have to make (Man, I could really use an interrobang right now).
  • Once I walked out of that last final this morning, all I really wanted to do was click my heels with a giant “!”
  • But even though I am immensely relieved, finally breathing again, proud of myself, enormously grateful for all the support, and tremendously excited for my future, I can’t help but pause and recognize that another one of life’s major milestones has come and gone. And the only real way to punctuate that moment of bittersweet solemnity with a note of resonant finality is one giant “.”


I’m done. I’m done with college. 

Period. 

This is My Cork.

Posted on by Sierra
I wish I could bottle moments, memories. Not like putting them in a Pensieve. This is different. Because if you get to bottle the moment, rather than put it in a shallow basin, you get to give that cork a satisfying yank for the release of the bottle’s content. You get to let the moment you bottled wash over you like a caffeine fix when you open up a Dr. Pepper. You get to put your bottled moment on the shelf, and it looks pretty. I wish I could bottle this moment, so I can have it for always. As a novice writer, and non-bottle beverage drinker, this post will be my cork. 

Very recently, I was having a moment–a different kind of moment, an italicized moment. Not the kind of moment that you bottle up. You’ve had them too, so please don’t judge. Just a moment where Finals week because a grim, impossible reality, and life becomes too insurmountable to do it all. And even if you have a very good track record of pulling it all off in the clutch, in these italicized moments there seems very little possibility of it happening this time. And every time I realize that I can’t possibly do it all, a little bit of self-hatred creeps into my soul.  For the Type A, medium-smart but very driven girl, not being a prodigy has been something that has been very hard for me to cope with. My whole life.

So I stumbled to Jeremy, shame-faced, because I’ve had one or two of these little meltdowns this week (IT’S FINALS, OK?!). And I cried. I just cried because I really don’t think that I can possibly do it all. And even though Jeremy has heard it all before (in the last 24 hours), he didn’t sigh. He didn’t get frustrated. He didn’t tell me “Yes! Yes you can, Sierra.”–which I would have hated during the moment so I am glad he didn’t. 

He said,

“I love you whether you can do it or not. I love you the same if you get a C or an A. I wish you loved yourself that much.”

I heard it, but I didn’t really hear it. “I know, I know you love me. But I just… Why can’t I be a prodigy?”

And Jeremy looked at me. I watched his expression–I watched his eyebrows sink into soul-reading concern. I felt his thumb slip beneath my eyes and snatch my tears. Quietly, ever so quietly, he said, 

“Sierra, don’t you get it? You’re a prodigy to me.” 

So I must cork these words up and keep them close to my heart, not just on my shelf where they look nice. Because for the first time in my life, I felt capable of being what he saw in me.  And for tonight, and for tomorrow, and for whenever I uncork my bottle: It doesn’t matter one hoot if I am a prodigy to Professors Johnson or West. Because I’m not and I will never be. 

But it doesn’t matter. I am a prodigy to him, as he’s always been to me. 


Delicious Dystopia

Posted on by Sierra

CAUTION: ENGLISH TEACHER GEEKISM ENSUES

So, Question: Am I a bad person for LOVING the Hunger Games movie?…Much more than I loved the book, I might add. Last night we saw it with a large group, and the boys seemed unanimous in their approval of the movie, but it seemed the movie left a bad taste in all the girls’ mouths. Many girls I know chose not to go see this movie on a moral high ground because the premise is kids killing each other. Should I have also abstained from the blood bath? And I answer myself, “Perhaps…”

If you are looking to be surprised by the plot of the book/movie, I suggest that you not read this blog, and I also suggest that you might be living under a rock, because this story is everywhere. But I think the reason I justify my love for this book is because I have recently (I know, bad English Teacher Sierra) discovered dystopian literature. I got to read and teach Fahrenheit 451 with my high school students, and the book rocked my WORLD. Fahrenheit 451 depicts a community of people that have outlawed reading because it brings suffering (due to excessive thinking, don’t you know), and have instead favored enormous, four-walled flat screened TV’s that they can interact with. These people have become numb to their relationships, they find conversing with one another “strange.” They are calloused to horrible things like war, and they trivialize death. They drive fast just to have fun, just to feel anything…. And yes, the story is hyperbolic, but I just had to realize how not far off Ray Bradbury was in predicting our future. We numb ourselves with television, and Hulu wants us to watch Grey’s Anatomy on our lunch breaks, and facebook and texting have replaced intra-personal communication in many ways. I don’t really know much about the war in Afghanistan right now. And I know death exists, but I don’t really know anyone intimately that hasn’t died of old age, so therefore, death’s not REALLY a real thing to me just yet. Don’t worry, I know there are problems with that! I am criticizing myself here, people! And so was Ray Bradbury. Controversially, I think he was dead on.

I believe Suzanne Collins, in writing the Hunger Games, is a similar societal commentary, although I have to say, I did not always appreciate her “bumbling rhetoric” (someone on Facebook called it that. Sorry, that’s the best citation I can give). She satirized fashion, making the statement that when we run out of new ideas with fashion, we will keep pushing vanity to an extreme. By having her characters dress up with 9-inch eyelashes and PURPLE up to our brows, and nails with 3-D fixtures and ornate wigs… She’s making fun of us, people.

I recently subscribed to an Instagram (profile?) called Fashion Forward. I’m not sure why. Well, maybe it’s because of my deeply rooted ideology that I need to look cute. Anyways, here were two recent “Fashion Forward” photos.

Here is Effie Trinket from the Hunger Games:
Image Source
Not so far off, right?
–Please note, the above is an ADVERTISEMENT… MARKETING THIS LOOK TO OUR SOCIETY.
Furthermore, politically, Collins depicts a dystopia where peace is maintained hy having 24 teenagers thrust into a scientifically engineered arena of evilness to fight to the death, and then making this into a reality TV show that people wearing stuff pictured above watch and enjoy, make favorites, place bets, and spend money on. It’s a little sick. 
Jeremy and I both realized separately yesterday that we were like patrons of the Capitol by patronizing this movie–we were paying to watch kids killing each other…. I even got dressed up to see the film. That can look a lot like endorsement. 
Now, society hasn’t digressed back to Roman times with Lion’s and Gladiators just yet, but we do avidly watch Reality TV shows that are all about bringing people down, and killing their self-esteem. We do, to some extent, revel in others’ misery. Think: Shark Tank. Those people are mean to nice people. Sometimes, it feels immoral. We still watch it. The Bachelor–we are entertained by meanness and girls getting their feelings hurt–we pick favorites and make bets. We say salacious, mean things about the girls that were mean on the show. We become every bit as bad as these people… and I am TOTALLY guilty.

The Hunger Games is holding a mirror up to us, People.
Image Source
Image Source

So here’s the reason, I think, I don’t feel bad about LOVING the movie last night. I think I got the message. I did not enjoy “the blood bath” so to speak. It made me cringe, like it was supposed to. But the movie made me look inward and say… there’s a problem here… even if it’s not really a problem yet. 

I know, I know–I’m changing my tune. Didn’t I just write THIS BLOG? But you know what, this movie was so well-acted (for the most part, cough cough Peetah… cough cough Gale), and so well depicted, and so well-adapted (awesome additions with the Seneca Crane under current, Gary Ross!), and so well-costumed, and just… so excellently executed… that I have to say: I’m reexamining. If nothing else, I think I’m going to cut The Bachelor from my life. It’s a big step for me. 
And the other reason to go see this movie:

Image Source
Willow Shields as Primrose Everdeen. Wait ’till she tucks in her ducktail. 
You will know what I mean.
So, for those of you who actually made it to the end of this epically long blog, I applaud you (and would think it would be awesome if you commented on my blog, so I can see who is in on my experiment here). For those of you who merely looked at the pictures, skimmed for a second, and clicked away, don’t worry, I don’t blame you….
Ray Bradbury already predicted you would do exactly that.

Oh yeah… Here.

This was Jeremy’s way of preparing for the Hunger Games. This may also be reason # 467 that I married him.

SOL: Misery and All Her Friends. She Sure Loves Company.

Posted on by Sierra

I have spent the last several weeks thinking about an essay that was due today. I wrote it last night, and I was… less than satisfied with the outcome. I could feel the teacher’s red pen before I even turned it in–Dangling modifier! Unsubstantiated claim! Too Verbose!

I toiled over this essay, but my professor is a challenging grader, and even with my best foot forward, I might get a B+, if she’s feeling especially generous. All day yesterday, as I was crafting this paper, I tap danced on the infinitesimally fine line between motivation and demotivation. There is something motivating about wanting to improve yourself, think stronger, think smarter. There is something demotivating about realizing that you can’t.

Fortunately for me, as I was feeling all glum about my abilities,  I ran into precisely five people from the same class, all turning in the same paper, all haunting the Professor’s office begging forgiveness for their essay’s outcome or pleading for mercy because their essay was so poor.

And I do, I do, I genuinely feel ashamed for this, but– all five of us shared an empathy sandwich and expressed to one another the true massacre that our essays became–and that felt awesome.

One of the students put it nicely. “I knew this class was going to be a challenge, and I liked the idea of the challenge. But now I don’t like the challenge. I only like a challenge when I’m doing well at it.”

So alas, t’is true. I don’t feel like I’m doing particularly well at this challenging class, but all is well. Class let out twenty minutes early today, three other classes got cancelled this week, and I like Thai food.