The Melodious Accord

I don't know your brother...

2006-07-23T16:20:00.000-05:00

but I'm pretty sure that mine's bad-ass-er.

That's him. Right there - holding the bass.

His name is Miles. He's 17. He plays in a band. (Called Steam Train Murphy - I could link their website, but it's even more abandoned by its creators than my own. They write songs about Gandhi and Star Wars, and have some latin-inspired tribute to all the really white white men out there.) The girls think he's hot. The boys are jealous of his mad skills. He's the coolest kid around.

But, wait! What's this? Is my sweet little brother also playing the mandolin?

Totally kick-ass.

If I were tech-savvy, I could include sound bytes. I don't know how to do that. He sings, too. Like Italian aria type songs. Not with his band. They're eclectic - but not quite that eclectic.

And because he really is a cool guy, he's sort of going to hate me for making an online shrine to him. But I can't contain my adoration. I just can't.

By the way, I have another brother, too. His name is Cliff. He's freaking awesome. And also a musician. He usually declines to be photographed. His personality is a little...ummm...darker.

What would happen if...

2006-06-18T19:02:00.000-05:00

I posted something to my blog? Would anyone notice? I'm pretty sure every reader, even the most devoted, of the Melodious Accord has given it up for good. I, in fact, had completely given up on it, as well. Recently someone asked me for my blog address, and my response was, "I don't know. Melody.com?" Honestly, I can't remember what it is. Even now. As I'm typing. I have no idea what the address for my poor, abandoned, cob-webbed little website is. I can only get to it from other people's blogs.

It seems like any post worth its salt includes a photo of some sort, so I googled 'abandoned'. This came up. Do you think it's how my blog feels? Dark and lonely and quietly artistic?

And yet, someone must check, because I get complaints about my absence. Few and far between, and becoming fainter by the day, but there are complaints out there, I promise.

The problem is this: What am I supposed to write about? I don't live in Scotland anymore. I'm not embarking on escapades in faraway lands on a regular basis. I don't even have a current stock of cute children photographs to post. So, what is there? Work? My strange and infinitely complicated dating/pseudo-dating adventures? My new knitting hobby? No one wants to read about those things.

Which brings me to: nothing. That's what I have to write about. But you know something, I think I can make that work for me. Lots of people I know do it. And here's the secret: Even back in the days when the Melodious Accord was wildly popular and maybe even one of the best blogs of all time, I was really always writing about nothing, anyway. Think about that, folks.

So, if nothing is what you want, then nothing is what you're going to get. Maybe.

Plastic Bags Are Not Toys

2005-10-04T12:11:00.000-05:00

Now's my chance to offer some sort of excuse for why I haven't blogged in so long that probably no one even remembers that I have a blog. But I won't bore you, or myself, with any of that.

As for this picture: this time it was my fault. Hydroplaning and airbags and raised insurance premiums and some whimpering on my part, followed up with the sweet blessing of painkillers, were all involved.

But seriously, as if being without my car for another month was not punishment enough, it now appears that the mechanics are actually attempting to suffocate my car. What did I ever do to them? What one person has ever given them so much business? They should be thanking me.

I will pay anyone ten dollars* who can explain to me why this could possibly be necessary.

*Of course, i'm lying.

The Age-Old Question: Does Art Create Beauty, or Does Beauty Create Art?

2005-08-22T23:27:00.000-05:00

Genius comes in all shapes and forms, it cannot be denied. I've always believed that my brother Miles is something of a genius; he's really clever, he's hilarious, he plays quite a lot of instruments, he sings, his tree-climbing skills are unparalleled (and a little freaky), he makes people happy. Everyone loves him. But I never knew he had this in him. No, this came as somewhat of a surprise.

To preface, I walked into his room this evening with the intention of asking about the progress of his English paper, and found him feverishly huddled over something on his desk, vehemently shouting, 'No Melody, don't come in! You can't see it!" and after a deep breath, "I'll show you when it's finished, I promise." Assuming that maybe he was etching something profane into the surface of his desk, or preparing to set something alight, I shrugged and left.

A few minutes passed, and then he came bursting forth from his room like some sort of mad scientist, and beckoned me to view his creation.

"Behold...a toenail demon!" was the cry that met me as I bent over his desk. What was I to do: Gasp? Recoil in horror? Or acknowledge it for the truly unique and glorious creation that it was? (All three?)

When questioned about his creative process, the artist had the following to say concerning his masterpiece:
"It just came to me."
and
"Man, those things are really hard to make."

And then, within a very few and fleetingly sweet moments, it had been destroyed. The attempt to preserve his work (involving a strip of packing tape), ironically, proved to be the cause of its demise.

Ah, the transient nature of art.

Aside: When questioned about the progress of a certain English paper, the artist had little, in fact, nothing, to say at all.

My Calling?

2005-08-18T17:54:00.000-05:00

I want to share a story with you; here's the story: Once there was a girl, and this girl had some convictions, and then this girl created a website dedicated to said convictions, and then I saw the website, and it changed my life, as it affirmed the deepest desires of my heart. Happily ever after, at last.

Don't neglect to read the tips. I find tips #6, #9, and #10 most compelling.

P.S. Infinite thanks to Trina for pointing me in the right direction.

Good Housekeeping

2005-08-08T18:42:00.000-05:00

Today at the doctor's office, I overheard the following conversation involving a doctor, a nurse, and some mysterious person called Homer...

Homer: I'm through with marriage. After being married five times, I've had enough.
Doctor: Five wives?
Homer: That's right. I've had five great housekeepers. (this followed by quite a hearty chuckle)
Doctor: Housekeepers?
Homer: That's right; they all knew how to keep a clean house, I can tell you that.
Nurse: Homer, that is so tacky.
Homer: It's not tacky. I'm just telling the truth; that's what I do.

I think we can all guess why his marriage are many and short-lived. I'm thankful that there was a curtain drawn between us while he was holding his discourse on the virtue of a wife of noble character, as I was fully incapable of preventing my face from contorting in disgust.

The Vindication of Mr. T

2005-08-03T22:12:00.000-05:00

There may be something wrong with my car.

What do you think?

Don't worry, she's almost totally healed now. It was rough-going for a while there, but she comes home on Friday. We can all breathe a sigh of relief.

It's now been nearly a month since that kid rammed into the back of me at an intersection and forced me under the car in front of me. The general concensus is that this guy sort of sucks. But I've done some hard thinking, and I'm starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, this guy (whom I'll hereafter refer to as Mr. T, as his last name actually does begin with T, and I think it's funny) hasn't actually done anything to merit such an unfavorable reception. I mean, what, really, makes Mr. T so"guilty"? Let's review the facts in a standard attack and defense style, shall we? (Is there a standard 'attack and defense' style? I have noooo idea.)

Attack: Mr T concealed the truth about the accident to the owners of the car, who happened to be his girlfriend's parents.
Defense: Well, you've got to impress the folks. Give him a break.

Attack: He hasn't returned anyone's phone calls regarding the accident, whether it be his own insurance agent, or someone from enemy forces, so that no one even knew that the car belonged to said girlfriend's parents for about ten days, and in turn, no action was taken on the part of the liable party to provide Ms. Barker with a rental car.
Defense: I heard that his phone isn't picking up voicemails properly. You should take it up with Verizon.

Attack: An insurance agent actually did attempt to contact him at his place of business, however, Mr. T hung up the phone immediately upon realizing who was on the other end of the line.
Defense: It is very unprofessional to contact someone at work. Mr. T was simply demonstrating his dedication to the Bus Boy Code of Conduct outlined in the Macaroni Grill Employee Handbook.

Attack: Well then, returning to the scene of the crime, Mr. T could have provided pertinent information, such as: who owned the car and perhaps a phone number for his girlfriend. Had that been done, this whole process might have been more expeditious. However, he claimed not to know or have access to his girlfriend's number at the time.
Defense: You can't really expect guys to remember phone numbers. Everyone knows that.

Attack: Okay, well there are strong suspicions that Mr. T secretly had the car fixed before anyone saw it to make it appear as if the accident was much less serious.
Defense: Ahem. You can't prove that.

Attack: Finally, Mr. T himself was quoted at the scene thus: "It was totally my fault" and "
Hey, I hit you, it's my fault." However, his statement, recorded some three weeks after the accident, reads more like this: "Man, I don't know how my car could have done that much damage. I wasn't going very fast. She must have, ummm, hit the other guy first, and I hit her after. Or, both accidents happened at the same time. It's not my fault." This statement consequently led his insurance company to conclude that the accident was caused by Ms. Barker's failure to control her speed (even though she was stopped when the whole thing happened) and she will, therefore, never ever ever be provided with a rental car ever.
Defense: I give up. He's a moron.

Well, maybe he does merit the unfavorable reception. Maybe he merits a lawsuit. Maybe he's going to get one.

Insecurities

2005-07-21T15:25:00.000-05:00

Does my blog look less pink to you?

Some People Are Appallingly Stupid

2005-07-19T21:10:00.000-05:00

I was sitting on the plane, flipping idly through People magazine when I stumbled across the following, in Mail Bag:

"I want to wish the best to Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. They've made me believe in love again. Those smiling faces and their happiness will always make me a fan of both actors."
-Christianne Zamprogne
Weymouth, Mass.

They've made me believe in love again??!?!!?

Please, Christianne, if you're out there and, by some miraculous twist of fate, are actually reading this, please, please, please tell me that you're being ironic, or have at least confused Tom and Katie with any other couple in Hollywood whose romance carries even the tiniest ounce of credibility.

Also, I happen to be watching the Real World as I'm typing this, and may I note that Rachel just said, "Usually with my past boyfriends it's been kissing first, then sex, then going out to dinner, then becoming boyfriend and girlfriend."

Hmmm.

On another note, I discovered that I totally do heart New York, and I want to move there.

Maybe I will...

A Typical Day in the Life of...

2005-07-12T14:31:00.000-05:00

Okay, so the other night I was driving my mom's mini-van (because some guy rear-ended me last week and sent me sailing into the car in front of me, and the Corolla is currently in critical condition, suffering unaided on some impound lot on Burleson Rd. because aforementioned guy's insurance have yet to begin their investigation) with my friend Matt, and I got pulled over by a cop.

When I saw the familiar lights flashing in the rearview mirror, I had a couple of thoughts:
1) there's no way I was speeding - I'm driving a mini-van, it's not even possible
2) man, I hate cops so much. all they ever do is give me tickets and falsely arrest me. they are all out to get me. I hate them.

So, I pulled into the nearby Whataburger parking lot, and awaited my fate. As the policeman approached my car I rolled down my window and, well, why don't I just write out our dialogue, as I'm so fond of doing:

Me: Hi (reminding myself not to be mean to the cop, because look at what happened last time)

Cop: You're lights aren't on. (in a friendly manner, actually)

Me: Really? I went to high school with you.

Cop (called James): Really?

Me: Yeah. We were in the same English class; it's Melody.

James: Oh, I remember you (with a smirk on his face. why the smirk?)

(And I think, 'you better remember me, I used to do your homework for you')

James: So, you're lights aren't on.

Me: Yeah, it's probably because I'm driving my mom's mini-van and I must not know how to turn the lights on.

James: Okay, well just flip this switch here. (he flips a switch, lights come on)

Me: Thanks. (thinking, 'he's so helpful, not like a real cop at all')

James: No problem. Can I see your driver's license so that I can issue you a warning? We're not allowed to give verbal warnings anymore. (I should say that this whole time there is another, scary, quite unfriendly looking cop standing on the other side of the car, just sort of staring in at me and Matt, I assume to make sure the girl in the Chrysler Town & Country is not dangerous, and that everything goes according to procedure.)

So, I hand him my driver's license.

James: That's your credit card. I don't need that.

Me: Right. (I hand him my real driver's license.)

And, pretty much, that's the story. He wrote me a warning, and then we parted ways.

Why did I hand him my debit card? I mean, I'm not a stupid person, though the fact that things like this happen to me on a regular basis really is not working in my favor.

Oh crap, I hope my parents don't read this. I maybe should have told them this story already.

Okay, well I'm off to New York in the morning. Pray I don't do anything too foolish.

I Heart NY

2005-07-02T13:53:00.000-05:00

Well, at least I think I will. Here's the deal: I know I've already told nearly everyone I know (and lots of people I don't), but I'm taking this opportunity to tell anyone left who hasn't heard... I get to go to New York for work! We're having a conference there in about a week and a half, and I get to stay in this fancy hotel called The Hotel Giraffe, and I don't have to pay for it, and I'm going to go shopping! I'm traveling for business; it's so adult.

So, I've never been to New York before, and I will have a limited amount of time to do cool things on my own. How will I spend that time? What cool things will I do? Those of you who know New York: any suggestions?

I'm Employed?

2005-06-23T17:15:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I was wandering around the mall with my friends and I saw a purse I wanted. However, there was a dilemma: I was unemployed and living off my parents' handouts. Then I remembered that only the day before my friend Elissa (whom I used to work for at UT) emailed me and said she might have a job for me. This friend Elissa happens to be the executive director of The Forte Foundation, a non-profit that helps and encourages women to attend MBA programs. So, with the purse in sight, I gave Elissa a call and I said, "Elissa, I want to go shopping but I don't have a job. What should I do?" and she replied, "I have a job waiting for you." Needless to say, I bought the purse, etc.

Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, things just fall into your lap. This is one of those times. I'm totally excited about this job. And I get to work from home (or coffee shops or Galaxy Cafe or wherever), and it has benefits, and I can begin working part-time for the first couple of weeks as I ease into things and continue to adjust to being at home, and my boss is my friend! And I didn't even have to interview! (I apologize for so many exclamation points, but I feel it's merited.) (!)

So, I thought I should probably get my room sorted out as I will be working in it come Monday, and as of this morning the floor was still covered with suitcases and clothes and about a hundred going-away cards. Half-way through, I thought I should probably go buy some pretty boxes for storing things, but I accidentally bought two shirts instead. It's a good thing I'm no longer unemployed.

Pretty much nothing.

2005-06-19T14:12:00.000-05:00

That's what I feel like saying to people when they ask, "What have you been doing since you got home?" or "What are you plans for this week?" or "What are you going to do with your life?"

Well, okay, I don't want to do nothing with the rest of my life, but there's not exactly a concrete plan. I've been working on my resume, which is looking more and more like a pathetic memo declaring that I have no skills. And with the prospect of an arduous job hunt looming, paired with the belief that I should attend seminary but without any clue as to which one, I'm trying to take it easy for a few days and not stress.

My first days back have consisted of a Ryan Adams concert, laying out in the sun, a bit of shopping, hanging out with my friends, and witnessing the miracle that is 'Batman Begins', from which I'm still recovering. Not such a bad way to go about relaxing, if you ask me.

I think it will take awhile to fully decompress. The thing is, while I have no complaints about my year in Scotland (weather aside), and actually have nothing but good things to say about it (weather aside), it was a tiring experience. Every week when I went to church, participated in church activities, etc., I was surrounded by people, many of whom I didn't know, who knew about me. Being the American volunteer worker in a sea of British people, I stood out a little on occasion. I don't think I expected that I would miss anonymity when I got over there, but I did. Since arriving back home, I've been interacting with people who haven't, for example, remarked on my accent because, in Austin, it's not remarkable; I didn't realize how comforting it is to be unremarkable. And it's also nice, after having so much responsibility, to sit at my house and know that nothing is expected of me for now, that I don't need to prepare for Sunday School or design a craft for toddlers or arrange a meeting or make conversation.

Instead, I can watch movies and reorganize my bathroom and wonder why, when I opened the trunk of my car for the first time, I found a single cantaloupe:

P.S. It's not entirely true that no one responds to my accent; my friends make fun of me for sounding a little British in a paltry attempt to mask their envy.

How will I ever get everything unpacked?

2005-06-15T08:02:00.000-05:00

I can't tell you how strange and normal it was to wake up in my own (big, beautiful, most comfortable) bed this morning. I awoke comfortably at 7:30 this morning, as usual, and wandered around the house for a few minutes; some things are the same, some are different. Someone appears to have made minor, yet unathorized changes in my bathroom, and there's a bowflex in the game room (I'm totally going to use it every day) and my mom appears to have acquired some fancy new foot massager, which I promptly gave the attention it was due, then I found a cat and am back upstairs in my room again.

A huge group of my friends came to the train station to see me off in Stirling. It was extremely emotional with lots of hugging and crying and people making jokes and breaking into spontaneous song and dance routines to ease the tension. It's really difficult to stop hugging people if you don't know when you'll see them next. A bunch of them ran alongside the train as I was leaving, and they were all smiling and waving, which was so nice. But I could also see the moment when it stopped being fun for Jo and it was like she was actually trying to catch the train to stop it. The last thing I saw was Peter's face, and that made me happy and sad. (Dawn sent me a text message saying that both kids went home and wanted to sleep in my bed, which reduced me to tears immediately.)

And then I crawled into my bed on the train (thankfully, I was alone in my cabin) and lay there in a bit of shock. And a mere 30 hours later, I was home.

The strange thing about being here is that it means I'm not there. At the airport (yesterday? time change is so confusing) this guy in line behind me raised his eyebrows at all my hundreds of luggage and said, "Well, you can't live in two places at once, can you?" I just sort of nodded, still feeling a little too raw to respond verbally. At one point on the plane, I went to the bathroom so that I could cry a little in private. How embarrassing is that?

I missed home all year, and now I'm home and missing Scotland, and I guess that's what I should have expected. It's what I should have hoped for, actually, because it means I love home, and I do, but that I also had an amazing time in Scotland and I love the people there, many of whom, I believe, are a fixed part of my life now. I'm a little afraid that me here and me there are a little different, and how will I merge the two?

My friend Jo Albrock just sent me an email saying, "Enjoy the things you've missed." I think she's so wise. So, I'm going to do it. I'm going to take a bath in my mom's jacuuzi and go to Target (and lots of other shops) and watch tv and listen to KGSR and eat more taco cabana (had some on the way home from the airport) and play with my friends and try to re-learn to drive on the right side of the road.

But I'll still drink lots of tea and think about Scotland and ponder which of these I love more now...

or

T - 8 hours

2005-06-13T10:09:00.000-05:00

At the stroke of midnight...

2005-06-13T02:31:00.000-05:00

I just woke up in Scotland for the last time. The children (Peter and Jo) have just asked if I can go to school with them today. (I think they've always secretly wanted to take me for 'show and tell'.) And Jo's just given me a pound in change so that I can splurge on my last day.

I don't know how I'm going to do it, how I'll manage to leave.

I'm trying to figure out when this place began to get inside me the way it has. When I left Austin in September, I felt, for a while, like someone had severed one of my limbs. And while the homesickness was always present to varying degrees, I got really comfortable here (except for all the rain) and felt at home. And now I have until midnight tonight to say goodbye to all the people who made Scotland a home for me. It's just like Cinderella.

Except, not at all, of course.

I cried in front of the church yesterday. So embarrassing.

Crap, I just remembered that I won't get to look at a castle every day of my life anymore.

But maybe at the stroke of midnight, it will all simply disappear...

Week of Lasts

2005-06-10T09:25:00.000-05:00

I have about three days left before I head home (on Monday night, now on a sleeper train to London where I will then get a taxi to a different station where I will board yet another train to Heathrow while bearing three suitcases all by myself...). I woke up this morning and thought, I will only wake up in Scotland for three more days.

So, I spent the day packing away all the bits and pieces of my life over the last nine months. It seems like there are some philosophical implications to be pondered here, but mostly I kept asking myself, "where did I get all this crap?" So, basically, I'm saving every little thing that I can fit in my suitcases (and very large box a friend is bringing over for me next month) because I want to have it when it suddenly hits me that my time here is finished. As it is, I currently feel more like I am preparing to go on vacation than actually moving away from Scotland.

I keep doing all these last things: last night at sports club, last night with the youth group, last time to change the sheets on my bed (not exactly something to get nostalgic about). A couple of days ago I had my last Parents & Toddlers, which I've done three times a week for pretty much the whole year. Here are Jacob and Scott (from left to right). We've done an awful lot of crafts together in our day.

At this point, Jacob said, "Scott has a disaster."

As I was the one in charge of crafts this year, disasters were a frequent occurrence.

While I was cleaning up said disaster, the boys and I had a conversation about how this was our last time to do crafts together, and we have to say goodbye, and next week some other lady will do crafts with them. It was a somber moment, with hugs and glitter all around. But really, they're three years old, so they don't totally understand that they won't see me again. And truthfully, the reality that I'm leaving this place and all these people hasn't sunk in for me anymore than it has for them.

Probably, it will hit me on the plane and I'll start sobbing publicly like a lunatic.

Pop Quiz

2005-06-08T10:19:00.000-05:00

You've been living overseas for 9 months, and are a mere 6 days from returning home when, in the midst of countless last meals with friends, shopping, and wondering when you should begin packing, you run into a horrific dilemma. You ask yourself, 'how can I solve this problem?' Then you think back to (a little perversely) to math class and something in your head clicks: 'A word problem! That should do the trick! (Or else why would you have spent so much time loaboring over them in high school)' Well, let's see...

A plane is scheduled to leave Edinburgh on June 14 at 10:35 a.m. and arrive in London at 12:05 p.m. Meanwhile, a second plane is scheduled to leave London to fly to America at 11:50 a.m. and arrive in Chicago at 2:50 p.m. (Chicago time). You are supposed to be on both planes. What do you do?

a) panic
b) weep a little
c) make frantic phone calls to every airline employee across the United Kingdom and the United States of America only to discover that you would have to promise to give up your firstborn child in order to change a flight on short notice in June
d) email your step-dad and beg for fogiveness... and money
e) write an idiotic post on your blog in a vain effort to alleviate the anxiety welling up within
f) all of the above

Ultimate Blog Laziness

2005-06-04T10:45:00.000-05:00

I recently discovered this comment that Nathan made on an older post, and thought it deserved a place of honor.

nathan clack said...
Tea is just the gateway drug. First kids are, like, "Just one cup can't hurt me. If I don't people won't think I'm cool." Perhaps they dilute with milk or something to sooth their weary conscience. Soon, though, it's a cold day and nothing sounds better than a strong cup of Earl Grey. Next, it's a cup of Lapsang Souchong at 2am brewed so strongly you can't even see the bottom of your cup (or your addiction). Then it hits. What do you do when you reach the bottom of that cup? Coffee. Black, strong and pure.
"Tea without milk is so...uncivilized" - The Great Escape

Maybe the real reason that I turned this into a post was that I simply can't be bothered coming up with anything clever/interesting of my own, so I'm just cutting and pasting a funny comment that someone else has already made. I wonder if I should feel a little ashamed.

In other news, I had a going away party last night and there were something like 70 people in attendance, which was quite fun, but left me exhausted. And then I got up today to attend the Baptist Union Sports Day and play on the netball team, though I've never played netball in my life. And believe me, I was no help to our team at all, even a little bit.

I wonder when I'll write the talk I'm supposed to give for the youth group tomorrow night...

Quotable Quotables

2005-06-02T10:07:00.000-05:00

In the last couple of days, my friends have said some startlingly absurd things which, you may have noticed, is a somewhat regular occurrence in my life, and I feel compelled to share:

Ailsa: "Would you like to be buried or cremated and have your ashes scattered, or cremated and then have your ashes buried?" Her question met with responses along the lines of "ummm" and "I don't know" from her audience; then she continued with: "Maybe I could do all three. Like, they could cut off my legs and head and cremate them, then bury my head ashes with my body, and then scatter my leg ashes somewhere. Wait, maybe they should burn my body and then, no, wait, they should bury my leg ashes... I wonder which weighs more, my body or my legs, because I don't want to cheat the worms out of their food..." and then in fits of giggles, Karen responded by saying, "I'd like to have my ashes scattered under an African sunset so that my family could have a nice holiday."

Seriously, I couldn't make that up.

Moving on...

Andrea: "Hey, do you think you could have a little fling with my friend Steve (name changed for reasons of anonymity) before you go? Just a short one. I think it would be good for his confidence level as he's been trying to chat up all these girls lately, and he's not having any success. Not that I think you should, but, I'm just saying." Totally appalled, I told her to go home and stop propositioning me, and as I shut the front door in her face she said, "Come on Melody, it could be fun."

How did I get involved with these people?

I was going to include a quote from my friend Hannah, who said, "Well, it's not like you have to work in order to pay for food, so you might as well spend all your money on jewelry," but in hindsight, I realized that that makes perfect sense.

Re: Norway

2005-05-29T10:29:00.000-05:00

So, as you know (if you've been keeping up), I went to Norway last week, and let me tell you, it was just one adventure after another. Aside from making the pleasant discovery that I could have a decent career as a fjord fisherwoman, I also...

ate fish pudding (which is not exactly as repulsive as one would suppose. Andrea said, "it just makes eating fish easier, as you don't have to worry about the bones.")

went whale-hunting

had an unexpected, and unhappy, encounter with some barnacles (one of the things I hate more than anything)

And if you're wondering whether I attended Europe's answer to Cirque du Soleil and witnessed a man doing acrobatic tricks while completely naked, then the answer is yes.

sorry, no picture available.

And one last photo:

Here we have Andrea. "What in heaven's name has she got in her nose?" you may be asking yourself. The answer is, of course, garlic. There is a perfectly rational explanation for this. You see, Andrea had quite a bad cold which left her terribly congested. What was she to do? And then it was as if a light went on (or off) in her head; I'll share with you a transcript of our conversation (pretty much word for word):

A: I'm so congested. I know! I should put garlic cloves up my nose. It's meant to be good for colds.
M: What are you talking about? Who told you that?
A: A lady.
M: What lady?
A: Well, when garlic first came to Norway this lady on the radio said it was good for colds.
M: Of course.

When garlic first came to Norway? Hilarious. I think the answer is something like circa 1990.

In conclusion, I highly recommend Norway to anyone who would consider a holiday there. It's beautiful and the people are really cool (and all speak English) and they have a lot of good music and you're pretty much guaranteed a fantastic time (as long as you steer clear of barnacles) (and possibly fish pudding) (and maybe even garlic).

Quote of the Week

2005-05-27T06:05:00.000-05:00

I stole this quote off eonline!, and man is it funny. On so many levels.

"Last time I met her we were in a restaurant together. She slammed down the menu and screamed, 'I hate reading.'"
--Pamela Anderson in the Globe, on Paris Hilton's dining etiquette. Apparently, reading is fundamentally not-hot.

fish, fjords, and a little sunburn

2005-05-22T16:39:00.000-05:00

I'm in Norway. Here I'll prove it: on the keyboard I'm using there are the following characters: æ, ø. å, µ. Weird. Anyway, we went fishing in the Oslo fjord today with spectacular results.

They tasted so nice with butter and onions and potatoes. Mine tasted better than anyone else's.

These Sorts of Things Happen to Me All the Time

2005-05-19T18:56:00.000-05:00

Today I needed to go to the post office, so I went to the one in town (as opposed to the tiny one by my house where I never have to stand in line). I walked in and thought, "hey there's only one person in line; that's not bad at all." I waited for a pleasant 20 seconds and then walked up to the desk and handed the guy my envelope. He looked at it quizzically for a moment and then we had the following conversation:

postal worker: I think it's the post office you need.
me: Yes. Where am I?
(not) postal worker: You're in a bank.
me: Thank you for your time.

So, I left this so-called bank wondering when, if ever, I will learn to pay more attention to my surroundings, and walked to the post office next door where I stood in line behind 15 people and grumbled quietly to myself. What's with the people who take literally 20 minutes to get all of their post office business taken care of? What are they sending? I think the longest it's ever taken me at the post office counter is like four and a half minutes, to send a package overseas.

Anyway, I finally got away from the post office and a little later I walked to my office where I promptly sat down in my chair, which promptly broke and tipped me over on my back. I just sort of lay there for a couple of minutes, staring at the ceiling, pondering life and giggling softly.

On a higher note, I'm going to Norway tomorrow with my friend Andrea who is Norwegian, and slightly crazy. We're going for six days, and I don't know what we're going to do but I think it's going to be pretty fantastic, and I do know that we are going on a fishing boat at some point, and I'm sure there will be fjords on hand a-plenty.

(Is there supposed to be a dash in 'a-plenty', or is it just 'a plenty'?)
(plenty is a weird word.)

Right, I'll just end this post now.

Please Don't Leave Us.

2005-05-18T08:53:00.000-05:00

Okay, not to turn my blog into some sort of tribute to all those actors who are, shall we say, aesthetically pleasing, but I need to take a moment to reflect on Hugh Grant. You see, when I hear things like, "Hugh Grant has decided not to make anymore movies." And I think things like, "I refuse to believe it. " And then I read statements such as the following: "I'm fairly seriously retired," Grant told XFM. "I lost interest a couple of years ago so I haven't really been doing much. I had a touch of stage fright. In the last couple of films, I suddenly started quivering on set for no reason at all." Well, my heart sinks a little, to be honest.

I know that a lot of guys don't understand what it is that girls see in him, but the fact that he's charming is a truth not to be disputed. And I know that he has had a couple of duds in his career (The Englishman Who Went Up a Hill But Came Down a Mountain comes to mind), but for the most part, I think he's made really good movies. I mean, who doesn't like Notting Hill? (I once caught a group of guys I know watching Notting Hill in the dark on a Friday night, with no girls present, though I won't name any names.) And About a Boy is heartbreaking and funny. And he's so perfect in Bridget Jones. Look, I could keep going but, really, there's only one movie I need mention in order to convey what a loss it would be were he to really go ahead with this silly retirement.

Just thinking about Sense and Sensibility causes my heart to ache a little. There are multiple scenes between him and Emma Thompson in that movie that, though I've seen it countless times, I cannot breathe while watching. And if he's making no more movies, then I'm sad. Just so sad.

Speaking of Jane Austen: yesterday, Brett asked me if it's really true that if a guy wants to understand girls, he should just watch/read Pride and Prejudice. For the record let me state that that isn't entirely true. If he really wants to understand, he should also become familiar with Persuasion, Emma, Mansfield Park, and, of course, Sense and Sensibility.

Will You Take This Man? I Think I Will.

2005-05-16T07:13:00.000-05:00

So, Tracy's recent post concerning the Hollywood atrocity TomKat has me thinking. Okay, now we all know that when a 26 year old girl dates a 40 year old man, it's somewhat dodgy. Especially when the man in question (who makes up these websites?) seems to be building a quite a rep for himself as a 'love her and leave her' type. And if someone were to ask me, "Would you date someone who's in his 40's?" I would answer in a heartbeat, "Not a chance. I have standards, and they do not allow for dating someone who could have gone to high school with my mom."

However, I have to ask myself: If Brad Pitt, who is 18 years my senior, were to ask me out (in spite of the fact that he just left Jen for Angelina, which does not exactly speak highly of him), would I really say no on the basis that he's 42? Or because he has all the baggage that comes with divorce? Or because he lives far away? Or even because he's not a Christian?

Let's be honest, when it comes to certain celebrities out there, I'm pretty sure I'd be willing to set my standards aside (at least for a while) to have some face time with someone like Brad. I think the only real question I'd be asking myself is: "What am I going to wear?"

So, here's the deal: I want to know which celebrities you'd be willing to sacrifice your standards for? Whom would you honestly go out with, if given the chance, regardless of age, marital status, religious preference, whatever?

Heat Wave

2005-05-15T10:31:00.000-05:00

News flash: temperatures in Scotland today are at a record high; everywhere I look there are people out in shorts and tank tops, children are playing ball, couples are napping on blankets in the park, certain people (Dawn & David, my surrogate family, to be specific) are lounging on a beach about an hour from here watching an outdoor cricket match and sipping cold drinks. I took the kids to the park in their absence, and discovered that every other family within a three mile radius was there also.

This is Joanne and Rachael. They are really, really, really hot. So hot that they couldn't handle being outside for much longer than an hour. So hot that they could barely manage to walk the three blocks home. So hot, in fact, that they are holding ice cubes against their steaming faces and are crying out for popsicles (ice lollies if you're British).

Current temperature: 72 degrees fahrenheit.

Nobody's Happier than Me

2005-05-12T19:25:00.000-05:00

Oh holy goodness, you won't believe my good fortune. I called my dad tonight to beg and plead to borrow the money to buy an ACL Fest ticket, just in case they're all sold before I stop being a poor missionary and begin earning anything like substantial income. And here was his reply, "Okay, and while you're at it, go ahead and buy a ticket for Autumn and Miles, too. Just put it on my credit card. That way you can go together as a family, just in case you don't have any friends." My brother nearly broke down in tears when I just called him to break the good news. It's as if all the troubles in my life have simply melted away (for now).

Fancy a Cuppa?

2005-05-10T08:45:00.000-05:00

The other day I discovered something quite surprising: a nice cup of tea is actually, well, nice. I had noooo idea, as I've been heartily convinced for most of my life that I hate tea and that drinking a whole cup of it would be tantamount to torture. Therefore, I've spent the last many months politely refusing all six million cups of tea that have been offered to me. How very foolish I was, how very foolish. You see, the other day, for reasons still unbeknownst to me (divine intervention?), I made a cup for a friend and thought, "well, why not?" And then something extraordinary happened: by the time I got to the bottom of the cup I felt so refreshed and calmed and I adamantly repented of my previous wayward aversion to tea. (btw, tea with sugar (my sole experience of tea) = disugusting; tea with a bit of milk and no sugar = cup of wonder.)

I always wondered what it is with the British and tea. Now I get it. There's something so comforting about it. I've needed quite a lot of it lately, comfort that is, and in the last week I've averaged about three cups of it a day. It helps. It's been a hard few weeks with so much on my plate at work (the affect of sabbatical on those who are left behind), and not knowing what to do with my life, etc. I need to write a bible study lesson on the Holy Spirit just now, and I find it quite difficult to teach about something that I know in my head far more than I am currently feeling or experiencing. So, I'm taking a break to have a cup of tea and put something on my blog, and relax. It seems that God sent me the gift of tea at just the right time.

Maybe one day I'll discover that I love coffee, but I'm pretty sure I'll always think it tastes like dirty water. But, that aside, I encourage everyone to re-try something this week that you've always thought you hated; maybe you'll be pleasantly surprised. Or maybe not (I recently tried to eat carrots again; sick, sick, sick).

40 Days and 40 Nights

2005-05-06T03:57:00.000-05:00

That's how many days I have left in Scotland. Well, actually, I think it's 40 days and 39 nights, but let's not get too particular. 40 days when I'm getting increasingly more excited about going home to a land filled with sunshine and most of my dearest friends and family, the same 40 days I'm meant to make the most of with my friends and the ministry here. It's kind of hard to keep both aspects in mind at the same time. In the bible all sorts of spiritual and miraculous things happened within a period of 40 days. Is something spiritual and miraculous going to happen in my last 40 days, I wonder?

Note to self: must not put too much energy into thinking about Ryan Adams concert I will attend two days after I get home, or else will not be able to live in the moment here.

Let There Be Lite

2005-05-05T05:53:00.000-05:00

Update on my trip to Northern Ireland:

It was fantastic! Well, except for the part where we were on the Belfast City Bus Tour and this 9 year old kid threw a plastic coke bottle at the bus (which was open-topped) and it bounced off Connor's head (who recently got a mullet, for which Jo and I, and pretty much everyone else, have necessarily given him a good deal of grief) and then coke splattered all over several of us innocent tourists, and I sort of screamed (a short scream) because it startled me, and that's somewhat embarrassing, and the tour guide acted like nothing had happened. But, really, as no one was seriously hurt, it was kind of funny. I was told I was getting a true Northern Irish experience, and for that I am truly grateful. Look at how beautiful it is (Northern Ireland, that is):

Also, we went to the Giant's Causeway (btw, if you go to that link, you may run across sentences like this: " but whether Scotch or Irish, sorrow doubt of it but he was a targer", just warning you), and to this rope bridge and an ancient Druid tomb that predates the pyramids, and ate a lot of food, and hung out in an arcade in this seaside town called Newcastle (apparently lots of places are called Newcastle) and generally had the best holiday weekend in Ireland that I could have hoped for, except that a certain kidnapping scenario was conspicuously absent...

Oh, and we found this random sign lying in a field. Weird.

Embarking I Will Go

2005-04-28T18:06:00.000-05:00

That is to say, tomorrow I am embarking on a fabulous voyage to Northern Ireland. My friends Connor and Jo are taking me to their native land for my birthday. I feel sort of like I've won the showcase showdown on the Price is Right. I've always wanted to win that.

Despite the fact that I actually know surprisingly little about Ireland (e.g. I didn't even know Ireland was two countries before I moved over here), I've always wanted to go to there. Okay, here's the deal - and I can't believe I'm about to be this open and vulnerable on my blog, in fact I may lose my nerve and never post this post at all, and if you're reading this, then you should be a little astonished that I'm offering such a glimpse into my deep, dark, secret inner self. Okay, here's the deal (deep breath): when I was a kid (teenager), I had this little fantasy about being kidnapped. I thought it would be fun. Especially since I would be kidnapped by someone who was nice, and definitely not mean to me, but maybe just got me confused with some heiress or something, and he would steal me away to Ireland, where I would in turn steal away from him, and then, inexplicably, I would start a horse farm. Or something. There were variations on this scenario, such as being kidnapped along with friends, or being kidnapped by someone who was mean, but then getting rescued by some Irishman. Who owned a horse farm. I guess.

I think I've said too much.

Norwegian Movies are Great

2005-04-26T13:36:00.000-05:00

I make that statement based on the fact that I have now seen, I believe, a total of (1) Norwegian movie, but if that one movie is anything to go by, then all Norwegian cinema is fantastic.

This weekend I was hanging out with my friend Andrea, who happens to be Norwegian, and we finally got around to watching this movie Buddy that she's been telling me about for months. It was just such a nice, clever, interesting, funny, pleasant movie about this guy called Kristoffer who is an amateur filmmaker of sorts, and who stumbles into all manner of misadventures when the running video diary he keeps of his life with his roommates becomes a regular feature on a local television show.

I highly reccommend it to all who like to watch movies that are good. Even if you were to watch it without the benefit of a native Norwegian speaker sitting next to you and pointing out the times that the subtitles don't adequately capture the original meaning of the dialogue, I am confident you would thoroughly enjoy it.

(Hmm. It appears I'm employing the 'impersonal you' in place of 'one' while writing; I'm really slipping here.)

Convo of the Day

2005-04-22T17:19:00.000-05:00

Today, amidst seeming normal conversation, my estranged boss David Barrie, who has recently abandoned me to go on sabbatical (read 'paid holiday'), surprised me by initiating the following exchange:

David: It's just like my mammy used to say, "Hell mind ye."
Me: What's just like that?
shrug from David, as pictured here

Me: What does that even mean?
David: Oh, well, you know, it means one thing to one man, something else to another.
a sort of glaring silence from me
David: It means 'it serves you right'.
Me: What? What does that have to do with anything?
silence from David
Me: Okay. I'll see you later.
David: Bye, Hen.

That's how they do things in Glasgow, I guess; they talk nonsense and call girls 'Hen'. It's a weird place.

But pretty good for shopping.

happy birthday to me, etc.

2005-04-22T05:48:00.000-05:00

I realize I haven't exactly been dependable as a blogger (? there needs to be some better name for it) lately, but I, of course, have all sorts of excellent excuses. Such as: I had lots of important stuff going on; i turned older; my grandparents (who are extremely old) came to visit; we went on what I like to call the Saints' Tour of the United Kingdom (we went to Holy Island in the North of England, and Iona, which is essentially Scotland's Holy Island); I climbed some mountains (large hills) and got lost on one of the said Holy Islands, and then did some trespassing, fell into some marshes, snuck around a herd of cows, ruined my shoes, and found my way back to the Bed and Breakfast; I drove down a long, long road on a remote Scottish island which had only one lane so that I had to pull off on the side of the road for oncoming traffic and/or highland cows; commissioned my grandpa to make fried chicken and real biscuits so that my unenlightened British friends could experience real food; and I had a surprise birthday party.

The birthday party really deserves its own paragraph. In the weeks leading up to my birthday, my friends (Jo and Connor, my best friends over here, and David and Dawn, my surrogate family) were being all kinds of sneaky, and it was obvious something was going on. I was pretty sure that, confident that I am extremely clever, I had figured out the secret and that when I got home from church on Sunday, I would walk into the kitchen and find that 3 or 4 of my closest friends had surprised me with a nice little birthday lunch. What actually happened was that I got in the house and three or four of my closest friends jumped out and yelled surprise (and I thought, 'I really am clever') and then I looked up, and nearly every person I knew was standing on the landing upstairs. There were about 60 people there. I was totally surprised and so happy, and it made my birthday feel special, which as many of you know, is a big deal with me. I'm thankful to have such great friends over here. So, my birthday didn't last two weeks this year, but the celebration was more than sufficient for me. And I got cool presents. My friend Dave even gave me a "shout-out" on his university radio show. Who could ask for more?

BTW, Tracy sent me the birthday card pictured above. I think it's amazing.

Quote for the Day

2005-04-21T16:07:00.000-05:00

Today, I said to my friend Dave, "Hi, how are you?" and he replied, "Stressed, fed up, and most of all, unmotivated....and I forgot my dad's birthday."

Blackness

2005-04-04T05:14:00.000-05:00

Pronounced black-ness, not like the state of being black. You see, it was a peculiar weekend in our part of Scotland, which is to say, there was sun two days in a row. Everywhere this weekend I found Scots wandering around with befuddled grins on their faces and doing all sorts of strange things, such as having an impromptu barbecue one day (even though it was still necessary to occasionally hover near the grill for warmth) and then heading off for a picnic at one of the nearest castles the next day.

This is Blackness Castle. It's pretty cool. Actually, it was built to look like a boat because apparently the man who built it wanted a ship where he wouldn't get seasick, or a ship that would never sink, or else a ship that would frighten the English when they sailed up the river Forth. There are all sorts of legends. Apparently, the castle used to be a prison. But the sort of prison where rich people are sent into exile but still sleep on featherbeds and have servants, and are asked to look at this view all day (which seems sort of romantic to me). Their only punishment really seems to be that they must use this hole for a toilet. But, then again, it's really more of a punishment for those below, isn't it? But let me tell you what's really cool about Blackness Castle: nothing in it is off limits. There aren't any ancient tapestries or antique chairs of incalculable worth, and the whole place is in really good shape, so they pretty much let you run around it and explore little rooms and tunnels and do essentially whatever you want. So, Peter and Jo (the little kids I live with) and I immediately took the first available opportunity to hide in some deep, dark corner and then jump out and scream whenever the grown-ups came into the room. Subsequently, the entire family spent a good deal of time finding hiding places and jumping out to scare people. Then the kids and I climbed the rocks on the side of the castle and then walked down to the shore to skip rocks (where I had some unhappy encounters with a few barnacles - sick, sick, sick). It was glorious.

Oh my goodness, the window washer guy just came to the house, and he always frightens me a little, and I wonder if he can read what I'm typing through the window. I'm going to go.

Story Time

2005-04-02T04:33:00.000-06:00

Once upon a time (yesterday), I was walking along the street not really paying attention to where I was going, and as I passed this chip shop I looked up to discover that if I didn't make an adjustment, I would walk straight into this woman (picture a giantess in really baggy clothes with quite strange hair) in about five seconds. So, I moved to the side, doing my best to avoid her. But not only did she seem unaware of my presence, but she sort of drifted in the very direction that I had just sidestepped, and she walked straight into me. I just sort of bounced off of her. I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach a tiny bit. And she didn't even look up! I ricocheted off of her, and it didn't even break her stride! And as I was standing there looking at her as she sedately walked away from me, I noticed that these boys who worked in the chip shop had obviously seen the whole thing because they were unashamedly pointing and laughing their heads off. I was a little too wierded out to be annoyed at any of it. I just stood there and watched her enter the chip shop and start yelling at the boys who worked in there (about what, I have no idea) then screamed an obscenity or two, and turned around and left, making some very impolite hand gestures behind her back in the direction of the boys in the chip shop who were now yelling and gesticulating at her through the window. I always seem to have run-ins with people who have obviously just escaped from some mental institution. At any rate, the event served as a welcome bit of comic relief for the day.
The end.

Confession

2005-03-28T14:14:00.000-06:00

Here’s something I find obnoxious about myself: sometimes when I’m watching a TV and I stumble across a movie, I will watch the entire thing even if I think it’s the worst movie ever made. Even if it’s a really cheesy family movie from the early to mid-90’s where the protagonist always has some super cheesy long bowl-cut hairdo, and the tough kids in the movie wear lots of flannel shirts and have even longer hair. And even if the script is nauseating and the acting is even worse. Even if it’s House Arrest starring Jamie Lee Curtis and Kevin Pollak and (Lord save us) Jennifer Love Hewitt. To be fair, Jamie Lee Curtis and Kevin Pollak are both in several movies that I like, but a lot of actors made some very bad choices during the 90’s, and I should really be ashamed of paying tribute to them ten years later. But even though The Sunday Times described the movie as an ‘implausible comedy’ and I’ve never had the least desire to see it, I sat there in passive disgust, biting the head off my white chocolate Easter chicken, and watched pretty much the whole thing. Very disappointed. In myself, that is. The movie pretty much met expectations exactly.

But that is what I like about the way The Sunday Times publishes the weekly TV lineup. They comment on every movie so that you know ahead of the time what you’re getting into. And being a British publication, it feels no compulsion to be complimentary. Here are some examples:
Digimon – The Movie: Crude animated adventure.
Tears of the Sun: Disingenuous neo-colonial trash.
Old Yeller: Archaic schmaltz.
The Three Stooges: Miserable bio-pic of the American comedy trio.
Universal Soldier – The Return: Most unwelcome.
Mad City: Failing.
Kull the Conquerer: Moronic.
Bicentennial Man: Saccharine rubbish.

This can make the British television experience highly entertaining. However, some of their commercials are among the worst I’ve ever seen. So, it’s a tradeoff.

On Sunrise Services (and daylight savings)

2005-03-27T08:06:00.000-06:00

Every Easter in Stirling there is a sunrise service at the castle at 7:30 in the morning where different churches from the town gather to celebrate. I'm not going to lie: I was not looking forward to it. The fact that daylight savings time fell on this day and it's the one where we lose an hour, so that the service really felt like 6:30, so that I had to start getting up at what felt like 5:45, was rather unfortunate. To add to that, I couldn't sleep at all and I'm sure I secured less than two hours of sleep. The trudge up the hill to the castle through the damp was a bit miserable as well. And really, the problem was that I was too sleepy to concentrate on anything that was being said. I kept thinking, "Melody, you should really take in this experience because you won't have it again," but I was just sort of distracted and looking around.

Then this woman who is an opera singer went up and sang 'Were You There When They Crucified My Lord' and she was so full of emotion that it was impossible to not be moved. Especially on the last verse which talks about Jesus raising from the dead, and how sometimes it makes one tremble. And I looked around at my surroundings; there I was standing at the gate of this ancient castle with a statue of Robert the Bruce standing guard over us and mist covering the hills all around Stirling, and I was celebrating Easter with all of these Scots, many of whom I didn't know, and I was thankful that I had half-heartedly stumbled out of bed.

It's really surprising where we end up in life, sometimes. I was thinking the same thing the other day when my chaplaincy duties called me to do a bible reading at three school assemblies for Easter. Afterwards, when I was riding the bus home (the same bus that a lot of the students were riding, which was a bit akward, and I hit my head on this low bar as I was getting into my seat and tried to pretend like it was no big deal and I was definitely not fighting back tears) I thought, "how did I get here?" Maybe I'm waxing philosophical, but I am thankful that my life is a mystery to me, but not to God. And I am also thankful that going where God leads me has so often taken me into fellowship with people I might never have known otherwise.

I hope everyone has a Happy Easter.

The thing is...

2005-03-26T09:33:00.000-06:00

I sat down at my computer today intending to compose a post about things that I hate (which doesn’t seem like a very positive exercise) when I discovered that my dear friend Matt Clack has just posted something on the same topic, except that he focused more on the things that he loves. So, it seems even more appropriate now for me to share my hates, although I will temper it with a few of my loves. And everyone should check out Matt’s post as well, if you haven’t already. Maybe those interested could comment about their loves on his blog, and their hates on mine.

This is making my blog sound a little like the evil twin of the two.

My desire to share my hates does not come out of the blue, I’ll have you know. A few days ago my boss (who is abandoning me to go on sabbatical as of the day after tomorrow) stuck his finger in my ear during a Child Protection Policy training meeting and a had a hell of a hard time keeping it together and not making a scene. And lets be honest, I made a bit of a scene. I could still feel his finger in my ear for about half an hour. This is all because I happen to have a thing about people touching my ears, or, especially, sticking anything in them. It makes me physically sick. As I was sitting in that meeting pouting about how violated I felt, I remembered a conversation I had with Tracy once where I’d said, “I just have this thing about ____” and she said, “well, Melody, you just have so many ‘things’; it’s too hard to keep up.” So, I thought I’d set the record straight and just make public a list of my ‘things’, though I doubt that it will be totally comprehensive. So, here they are:

The Things I Hate
1. People inserting things into/touching my ears.
2. Hippopotamuses
3. Barnacles

4. Things that are porous.
5. When people don’t wash their hands after going to the bathroom.
6. Men/boys wearing denim shorts (unless they are old men, at which point it doesn’t seem to matter.)
7. When boys try to hit on girls while in another car sitting at a stoplight.
8. Fungi of any variety.
9. When children pick their noses.
10. Blatant disregard for appropriate grammar.
11. When I ask a sales associate for something and they respond by saying something like “Oh, I’m all out of that right now but I expect a new shipment in this weekend” as if he/she and the store are one and the same. Especially at places like Garden Ridge or cell phone stores.
12. Bad/cheesy poetry.
13. Bill Paxton.

I should really stop there, not because I’ve listed everything I hate, but because I’m beginning to get annoyed thinking about all these things.

The Things I Love
1. Really good poetry.
2. Waking up and realizing that I still have three more hours to sleep.
3. Hanging out with someone and being comfortable with not talking.
4. Accoustic guitar.
5. Sitting outside at night in the summer when it’s humid, or sultry, if you will, and eating fudgecicles.
6. Hiding. Like not necessarily when someone is looking for me, but sitting in my closet or something and thinking, ‘if anyone came in my room right now, they wouldn’t know I’m here.’
7. Chinese food.
8. Reading books out loud with my brothers and sister, and a select few others.
9. Watching movies with people who love movies a much as I do. (And with my siblings.)
10. Singing along with the radio really loudly in my car. When I’m alone. Of course.

And of course, that’s not all my loves, but it’s a start. If I name too many more, I’ll begin to feel vulnerable (which maybe should have been on the ‘hates’ list.)

What are yours?

House of Puke

2005-03-18T15:09:00.000-06:00

Maybe everyone has already heard about this movie, I mean, I'm usually the last one to hear about things these days as I don't live in America and I don't get to hang out with my regular group of friends who pride themselves on knowing about stuff before the general public. But either way, I wanted to pay a little tribute to what I expect will be a glittering cinematic highlight for the year 2005.

It's called House of Wax, and its stellar cast consists of not just one, but two WB heartthrobs (one of whom my friends spied at ACL Fest last year), as well as Paris Hilton, and if that isn't enough to scare the pants off you (in the UK 'pants' means 'underpants') the fact that the byline for the movie is "Prey. Slay. Display." should send shivers down your spine. Make note of Chad Michael Murray's facial hair in the trailer. Frightening. And where did Paris's shirt go? As if wax museums weren't creepy enough already.

p.s. when did the Tommy Lee Jones movie where he watches, i mean protects, cheerleaders from the window in the boys' old house change its name from 'Cheer Up' to 'Man of the House'? Gee, I sure hope no one confuses it with the JTT movie of the same name. I mean, I know that it apparently came to the theatres a couple of weeks ago, but as I've already explained, I'm out of the loop. Did anyone go see it?

they call them lorries

2005-03-15T11:31:00.000-06:00

apparently, this happens regularly here.

holiday adventures

2005-03-11T09:57:00.000-06:00

You know, a job as a youth intern in Scotland really isn't so bad (in spite of the fact that I'm currently sitting in an office with a hairy man from Belfast who only occasionally thinks before he speaks, and even when he does...) because it offers quite a lot of flexibility. Therefore, when my friend Andrew dropped in for a couple of days this week while he's in England hanging out with his sister, I was able to easily rearrange my schedule so that we could go climb a mountain.

(Now, Colin is entertaining himself by zooming in on pictures of me on his computer. No one should ever see me that close up.)

So, we climbed this mountain called Ben A'an, which overlooks Loch Katrine, and it's pretty spectacular. There were a few moments when it was nigh impossible to hide how out of shape I'm in. Maybe I should exercise some time. To get to the very top there was some sort of ancient set of steps, and once we'd ascended those, we pretty much just scrambled up any way we could through brush and stream beds. (I felt like Sam and Frodo struggling to cross the border into Mordor.) It's not really so dramatic as all that. We saw some pretty old people do it. But, I maintain that it was a feat far superior to climbing Enchanted Rock (not even in the same category) and I felt like I had really accomplished something once I got to the top.

Another benefit of living in Scotland: When Andrew got here on Tuesday night, we met my friends Jo and Connor and headed straight for a pub quiz. (The experience sort of made me feel like I had finally been assimilated into British culture - I've just been so intrigued by pub quizzes since TIm's Birthday episode of The Office.) We sat around in various teams at our little tables and drank and answered trivia questions (not always correctly), and what could be better than that? There was quite a lot of drama at one point because of the following question: 'What is the correct term used to refer to a group of whales?' The answer is of course, 'pod'. But the lady who was announcing the quiz insisted that the answer is 'school', which is just ridiculous because whales are not even fish, and consequently she suffered though a barrage of boos and hisses from the rest of the pub. And the man who wrote the quiz, and obviously didn't do his homework, wasn't there to defend himself. And our team didn't win any prizes. Ah well, such is life, I guess; there's injustice everywhere in the world. It's safe to say that that pub has seen the last of us.

Fighting a losing battle.

2005-03-08T08:11:00.000-06:00

Well, I think I should just give up on my blog ever being cool. It might have stood a small chance, but now that my parents have begun commenting on it, my hopes are pretty much dashed against the proverbial rocks. It's as if my dreams were this bright tiny balloon wafting slowly up into the blogosphere until my parents came along with their little dart guns, and then giggled as it fell limp to the ground.

I'm going to get all sorts of sass from them about that, and everyone will read it. Sigh.

In other news, now that I've finally seen Million Dollar Baby, I have to agree that it is well-deserving of all its acclaim and awards. And in spite of the fact that inexplicably there were 6 ten or eleven year old boys sitting next to me and disrupting the whole theatre with their laughing, playing games in their phones, and constant flatulence, I wept like a little girl through the last half hour of the movie.

Sometimes people here still call the movie theatre 'the pictures'. The United Kingdom really is a wonderful place.

Coooooooo

2005-03-04T11:16:00.000-06:00

Apparently, for several months I've been a chaplain at a school called Lornshill Academy. However, for several reasons I have never set eyes on the school before today. So, I needed to find my own way there and all I knew was that it's located in Clackmannanshire just beyond Tullibody on the Alloa road. This was only marginally helpful. The reason I got there in the end was because the nice bus driver took pity when I said, "Umm, I need to go to Lornshill Academy but I don't really know where that is," and told me he would just let me know when it was time to get off. From there I easily found the office and met the pastor who is my co-chaplain of sorts, and who does a good deal of his communicating with his eyebrows. And I said some things (don't know what) at an assembly of sorts, and children laughed at my accent. But that happens every day, and I think good things could come out of these little 'chaplaincy' visits.

Here's the exciting part. While on the way there, thinking all sorts of things like, "Where am I going?" and "What will I do if/when I get there?" and "Who would make me a chaplain?" I looked out the window and had my first, live, in person, Muckle Coo sighting.

That's what they call them here. Sometimes they're just called Highland Coos, but at any rate, they are definitely not cows. They're just big funny, hairy longhorns and their babies are the cutest things ever, ever, ever. Except for this little guy.

Amateur

2005-03-03T09:28:00.000-06:00

Here's the thing: I'm pretty sure that no one would ever accuse me of being crafty. The kind of crafty that actually has to do with arts and crafts, that is. As for the other kind of crafty...

Anyway, I was always that kid in elementary school with more glue in her hair than on the page, and I have to admit that not much has really changed since then. However, the thorn in my side this year is that my job requires me to come up with a craft three mornings a week for children under three, and then lead them through it. All this means that for the last six months, at any given time, one could easily find such things as glitter, paint, and/or glue on my clothes, on my skin, under my fingernails, etc. And I can't express to you the humiliation I experience when I (being, as aforementioned, no good at this sort of thing) have spent so much time (like minutes and minutes) trying to turn one of my ideas into a successful craft when one of the moms walks in and, with a quick flick of the wrist, tweaks my idea slightly and instantly creates with her child a precious keepsake that they will enjoy for all the years to come. For example, this week I have been helping the children to fashion caterpillars out of egg cartons and I have had a hell of a time getting the little goggly eyes to stick to them. But today I spied a mom as she deftly removed a bit of paper from the back of one of the goggly eyes and simply stuck it to the caterpillar face. They're stickers! Stickers! I'm ashamed to admit how much time I've wasted holding those eyes in place until the glue dried. It's embarrassing, really. I mean, sure, when I came to Scotland, I expected a lot more of this and this, and a lot less of this, but I really shouldn't complain.

Good things about today: I sat at my desk for a while opposite my boss, David Barrie, and giggled quietly while he grumbled to himself and cursed at his computer in an inscrutable Glasgow accent. Ah, Glaswegians. They're always good for a laugh. And I also found this website, that I'm sure I'm the last to find, where you can download hundreds of bootleg Ryan Adams songs. It has something to do with something called FTP, which everyone else probably knows about, but is a complete mystery to me. I just keep listening to 'Goodbye Honey' and 'The Sweetest Decline' and 'Hard Way to Fall'. They're just such good songs.

On Pipe Dreams

2005-03-02T10:21:00.000-06:00

Why do I feel so much pressure to make my blog cool? Ultimately, I will fail; I know it. Here's the thing: Yesterday at lunch time I still hadn't given much thought to ever having my own blog at all, and here, a mere 26 hours later, I feel this tension rising in me when I visit my friends' blogs and realize that I don't even know how to post a picture of myself on my profile yet, and I'm too lazy to proofread my own posts, and I haven't managed to edit the links section yet so that currently it insinuates that I think all visitors should check out this incredible new website called 'google news'. And then, when a so-called friend has only to say about my fragile, fledgling blog that it reminds him of pepto bismol, and is neither melodious nor according to anything (which isn't even that clever, btw), I'm ashamed to admit that embedded somewhere deep in my psyche there exists some strange desire to have the coolest blog of all time. You know, to be listed on the front page of blogger.com. To have friends and strangers alike assert, 'Has everyone seen Melody's blog? I mean, she's only had it for a couple of days, but I have to say, it inspires me.' Stuff like that.

Maybe this is why I put off the whole blog thing for so long, feigned indifference as it were; I was afraid of failure.

Oh, what a fool I am.

Me too, me too...

2005-03-01T11:05:00.000-06:00

Okay, I mean, I'm pretty sure that I'll be faithful to this whole blog thing for about as long as I was devoted to Friendster. Maybe not even that long, because I really did love Friendster quite a lot back in the day. But the truth is that all of my friends are getting blogs, and it first I thought: "who would read their blogs?" But, of course, I did, and over time began to feel a bit jealous and excluded (there may be issues for me to explore there). So, here I go, I'm taking the plunge. I wonder if anyone will read it...

So, at the bottom of this little window I see that the time is 6:59 a.m., which isn't exactly true. I mean, it's true somewhere, but these days I live in Scotland, so it's actually the afternoon here. You'll never find me doing anything at that time of the morning, if I can help it. So, anyway, I live in Stirling, Scotland this year, and my house is right next to the Wallace Monument. It's really beautiful here and I totally love it, but why is it always so cold and wet? Seriously, I am sitting in my office right now, typing in fingerless gloves. Oh well, the sun made an appearance this morning, so I really shouldn't complain.

BTW, my office is in Stirling Baptist Church where I work for the year as a youth and children's ministry intern, which is a glorified title for slave. Luckily, it's great work. It took me no time at all to make friends here, and the kids in the church are amazing. I love teenagers; they're so ridiculous, and fun.

I should have started this blog when I got here six months ago, and I could have shared with the world all my wonder at living in a new country, but I was far too lazy to do that. And now I've been here long enough that my everyday vocabulary includes words like "hiya" and "aye" and an increased presence of "quite" and "bit(s)". And sometimes my inflections when I speak are decidedly British. And I think haggis is delicious. So, when it's time for me to go back to Austin, TX in June, I know I will be very sad to leave, but it probably won't be a moment too soon. My friends at home already make fun of me quite a lot as it is; imagine what a few more months will do.

I think that's enough for my first post. Maybe I'll post some pictures, since I'm not blog-savvy enough to include them in this actual post.

Stirling

2005-03-01T10:38:00.000-06:00

DSCN0167
Originally uploaded by melodybarker.

The Wallace Monument

2005-03-01T10:19:00.000-06:00

DSCN1080
Originally uploaded by melodybarker.