and I say hey, what a wonderful kind of day

We lost our free cable a few weeks ago. I believe it is part of Comcast's evil plan to give people free cable, take it away, and wait for those now addicted to Top Chef to come crawling back to them, ready to pay any price, JUST GIVE ME THE GOODS, MAN. Fortunately for us, our cable watching was mainly restricted to Mad Men, which is now over, and I can pretty much watch everything else online, through our internet, provided by Comcast. Sucka.

This is all to say that today when I was home and eating lunch and surfing during Tyra commercial breaks (and might I just say, that bitch is crazy. Seriously. Who gave that woman a talk show and what producer lets her continually dress like a drag queen while speaking in random, inconsistent, accents? Are you French, from the hood, a gay queen? I give up. But I guess you're on top), I happened upon an episode of Arthur - two episodes actually. I stopped at the first one because Tom and Ray, the CarTalk guys, were on. No joke: Arthur's dad was having a problem with the family car, so Arthur called up CarTalk and his rabbit friend imitated the noise the car made. It was very cool and very disorienting and I now know what the Magliozzi brothers would look like if they were cartoon woodland creatures. Thank you, public broadcasting.

It was the next episode that caused me to write a blog post. In this episode some girl is a bed wetter and fretting about the slumber party she has to attend. While at home, she wears an alarm to wake her up to go to the bathroom. WTF, right? She had this thing that looked like a walkie-talkie on her shoulder and she was telling her dad she wouldn't wear it in front of everyone. And then her dad told her she could wear her Pull-Ups, which I'm pretty sure is a copyrighted name by Pampers. And this isn't even the weird part of the episode yet. Yes, it gets more bizarre than a cartoon bunny with a bed-wetting alarm attached to her nightgown. She has a dream sequence during the episode in which she wins a gold medal in the Olympics and the sportscasters comment on her Nocturnal Enuresis. I'm not being clever here -- the cartoon anteater said, on the children's show, "This is such a great triumph, especially given her struggle with NOCTURNAL ENURESIS." Since this was a PBS program, the other sportscaster then got out a dictionary and explained what nocturnal (occurring at night) and enuresis (from the Greek meaning 'to make water') mean.

So I'm pretty much floored at this point. An episode on a children's program about bed-wetting is something I can handle - I think Ben Seaver or Screech had the same problem. But alarms? Scientific terminology? NPR programming? And then there came this line which made my head explode: "You know that soda is a diuretic, right?"

Diuretic, folks. A word I just had to google to make sure I could spell it correctly, came out of the mouth of a cartoon moose on an episode of Arthur. This was another learning moment as the moose explains to everyone that diuretic has nothing to do with 'going number 2' but simply 'going number 1' more often. It's fancy moose talk for saying, all that soda is going to make you pee a lot.

I didn't find out if the girl made it through the slumber party or not without any mishaps. Tyra had Clinton Kelly giving makeovers to moms, daughters, and bathrooms while offering dating advice to vegetarians. But I did find out that Arthur is (1) still on PBS, (2) still very current with the times, and (3) makes me very uncomfortable.

red in the face

I just want to give a productivity shout-out to the Pomodoro Time Management App, an adorable little tomato that hangs out in my menu bar counting down twenty-five minute intervals while I work.

Apparently what my dissertation writing needed was for me to treat myself like a toddler who doesn't want to pick up her toys but will easily and readily be tricked into thinking it is a game - nay, a COMPETITION! - to breathlessly fling barbies back into a box before the timer goes ding. I will readily admit to typing faster and faster as I see my tomato timer count down the final three minutes, very afraid that if that 'ding' comes before I finish typing my inspired thoughts on imperial involvement in the Roman senate, my computer will explode, taking every good idea I might have with it.

The fancy (free) app has replaced my iPhone timer, which I had been using to mark off 20-30 minute timed writing sessions (and which was become disorienting because it made the same chime as my morning alarm. Finishing a paragraph was akin to hitting snooze and my body done get confused). What's nice about Pomodoro is that it gives you a five-minute break after each session, so now I read Slate with the same nervous drive for completion. While I used to casually wonder 'when is Dahlia Lithwick going to get the point?' I'm now frantically scrolling while looking at the clock thinking, 'oh, shit, I sure hope Lithwick gets to the point because I've got a minute thirty for this supreme court article to get INTERESTING'. The internet is starting to feel like a trailer to an action movie. 'In a world where Facebook only has five minutes to load albums of people you only tangentially know and vegan cooking blogs are limited to only nine different recipes for seitan and quinoa (pronounced keen-wah!) before the reader must go back to doing work, will the internet survive?'

Dun dun dun.

Let's hear it for the boys

A couple weeks ago on 30 Rock there was the following joke:

"I feel about as useless as a mom's college degree."

It's a great joke but I'm still not sure if I let out a 'ha' or an 'oof' when Kenneth said it. It felt a little below the belt, and the joke brought up a lot of issues I'm sifting through right now as I plan to go on the job market and the mister and I start to think about having kids. It so happens my two major life paths are diverging at the same point: right now could be the best time to have kids and right now could be the best time to start my career. And it seems like choosing one over the other is more serious than changing up a Netflix queue.

The joke also brought up a bigger issue of the options the women of this generation now have to have a family or not, to pursue a career and family, or to pursue career and then pursue a family. There's a lot of baggage still about staying at home or working and being a mom. As much as my own mother tells me that the first five years really isn't that long and I can easily pursue a career again once the kids are in school, I still have some feminist resentment that after those five years I will probably be back at the bottom of the ladder in my field. But I also feel liberated by the fact that I could completely walk away from this career path, raise a family, and be judged harshly by few people for doing it. I could render my PhD 'useless' and make bank as a 'mommy blogger', joining the cadre of highly intelligent, educated women who make a career out of their daily lives and frustrations.

I also realized the flipside to all of this is that the mister doesn't have this option, a fact which was made all the more apparent when we talked one morning about our parents' reactions to our career decisions. My parents never once pushed me towards any career path (although I do remember my dad telling me when I was 12 to become a flight attendant because I could travel) and they never expressed any concern about if or when I would have a job. The miso, on the other hand, was offered a franchise in place of a college education and faced an uphill battle with his parents upon leaving computers for dead languages. While I realize my parents probably assumed that I would 'meet a nice boy' someday and my education was more for life experience than ensuring an income that could support a family, I feel more liberated than subjugated. I was able to happily pursue my interests and now I can happily decide to stay at home and watch Sesame Street, while the burden falls on the mister, at least according to common opinion, to provide for the whole family. I know myself, and I know that I will always want to have my own income and will probably never look to my husband to be the sole provider, but a large number of stay-at-home moms, women who pursued advance degrees, are doing just that. Not to betray my feminists tendencies or anything, but I think I might be done bitching about having to stay at home. For now at least. When I'm up to my elbows in poo and cease to have adult conversations, I'm sure I'll have no end of feminist tirades. But for now, at least, let's hear it for the boys.

above you below me

I caught myself screaming at Says You on WGBH this morning because none of the 6 panelists could rightly identify 'travel down the road and back again' as the theme song to Golden Girls. I can't tell if I'm now above or below NPR programming.

When is the good time for you?

You know, I'm not really one to judge people who like to buy my used things, but I'm pretty convinced that about 5% of the the people buying things on craigslist actually speak English. We've listed almost ten items over the past two weeks, and I think two people so far have contacted me in normal, written English. There have been more 'ur' and 'plz' and 'thank u for quick respond' than my English degree can handle.

But this one, so far, is my favorite:

Hi dear friend,

I just saw ur small advertisement. I hv huge interesting on your Hdtv
and antenna,maybe I will also buy this tv stand;)

Please give me a call, if the tv still there. My phone number:xxx-xxxx
. I can pick it up on next day.

Thanks and hope to get your reply soon.

Best regards

wedding planning...

I just found our wedding venue on Style Me Pretty. It all looks so lovely....

http://www.stylemepretty.com/tag/barndiva/

We finished up the invitation re-labeling and I'm super happy with the results. I'm also now in love with Paper Source and can't wait to start scrapbooking. Oh, the possibilities.

We've been toying around with wedding program ideas, and right now I'm liking these fan programs from Martha Stewart.

I think we might also make a 'wedding weekend cheat sheet' to put in the welcome bags. It would give people have information about the bridal party, the general schedule for the wedding, and random tidbits I would want people to know (like having rosemary in my bouquet in honor of my grandmother or vegan options at dinner). I also learned that Jordan Almonds are actually from a Greek tradition of candied almonds (koufeta) at weddings, so we're totally having those at the ceremony for the Greek contingent.

It's like my dream style board is coming to life...

the perils of planning ahead

This time in three weeks me and the miso will be fast asleep in a cambridge hotel, orange tabby in tow, waiting to wake up and go to the closing on our first home. Totally crazy, right? I've got a mere 20 days to pack, train the new Latin teacher, finish addressing wedding invitations, and get my car ready for the cross-country drive after the wedding.

But I have a special magic trick to make those mere 20 days suddenly feel like practically a whole freaking month. Read on, dear readers, read on.

In an effort to get some things taken care of, we decided to use this weekend (our last free one together since the mister heads east for a wedding next weekend and I have a 'faculty retreat' the following one) to post all the furniture we are not taking with us. Thanks to the kindness of my parents (and my mom's defunct antiques booth and their impending move to china), we are selling most of our current Ikea furniture and inheriting some lovely pieces made of real wood without any need for an allen wrench. Oh, be still my heart. 

My one miscalculation in this grand act of responsibility was that the items I posted on craigslist are items we are actually still using. How was I to know people would be so eager to purchase TWO used mattresses? As of Tuesday, me and the mister will be without a bed, dressers, and a dining table (also known as my desk). Oh, there's another new mail...cross off access to a second car as well.

And voila! Suddenly those three weeks until moving seems like a rather long span of time. 

Despite sleeping on a futon and living out of a suitcase for the next few weeks, the selling off of our less-loved possessions is kind of exhilarating. As that heavy-set woman said after the fact on that one episode of Oprah, the one who had all the crap in her house (or car, or purse) and was forced to clean it out by a big chinned man while a camera crew watched, 'it's like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I physically (and emotionally, oprah) feel lighter.'

the anxiety of influence

Every time I try to blog about my wedding stuff, it all sounds so boring that I end up posting something else entirely. Does anyone really need to read about the debate over resetting my wedding band? Or the big wedding shoe dilemma? Or the fact that the wedding planner has gone totally MIA and I'm half-expecting to call the restaurant one of these days and just hear an operator tell me the number is no longer connected? 

Well, maybe that last bit might interest some folks (seriously, Lukka, where are you? Are you off at some hipster convention checking out the latest too-tight denim wear? Or are you in gay Paris promoting the slow food movement with benefit concerts? Cuz I need to know whether we can throw lavender at my wedding. This is serious stuff, mister fancy pants), but the other decisions I need to make are pretty low on the interest meter. Somewhere around the 'I ate a cheese sandwich' blog post level.

But here is one mildly amusing tidbit: for some time now I have been picturing lots of cakes on cake platters instead of a tiered wedding cake for the reception. I've been hunting through all the blogs and mags to find an image of what I want but with little success. And then a couple nights ago, while I was putting on my PJs, I bothered to turn my head three inches to the right and saw the framed print of one of my favorite Thiebaud paintings:

Oh, right...that image of lots of cakes on cake platters. Tee hee indeed. I'm starting to wonder now about the inspiration behind those haystacks I want strategically positioned throughout the reception area and that pool of water filled with water lilies. Hmm...

and in the center ring...

Yes, we bought a leash for our cat. The best part is that when we first put the harness on him, Henry just fell over. It was like putting a blanket on a bird cage. And pretty much whenever he got confused by the whole process (like when the leash ran out or he wanted to turn around), he just fell over. This so goes against any claims I could ever make about wanting to end the exploitation of animals for human enjoyment. 

And apologies for the quality of the video - all the good ones have audio of me going 'oh my f*ing god, this is so adorable'. I figured I would spare you all that nonsense. And this is the first video of the set when hen was still getting his leash legs.

the art of losing

The mister and I spent part of the night choosing a reading for the wedding. In an effort not to exclude anything after the 1st century CE, I pulled out my old Norton Anthology from my college days. I happened upon one of my favorites which I think I first read in high school, and which, many years later, the miso sent to me in an email. And isn't it just lovely to find someone who sends you poetry in an email? We won't be using it in the wedding but I did think it worth sharing:

One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant  to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn't hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. --Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

purty like a picture in a magazine

I'm going to blog more in a little bit about some weddin' stuff, but I just want to give a quick shout out to notoriousmle. Her wedding last weekend could have been straight off the pages of snippet&ink. I had these moments during the whole event - from ceremony, to dinner, to dancing - where I just wanted to take a snapshot and put it in an email to her (as we did in her pre-wedding days) with the subject line 'check out this awesome wedding! you should do this!' 

I seriously cannot wait to find the pictures from last weekend up on stylemepretty with a string of comments along the lines of: 'OMG, I love it! What a beautiful bride!' Or part of an Instyle 'real wedding' segment. damned thing was an inspiration, it was.

It also gives me hope that even us mere mortals with budgets can have blog-worthy weddings without totally losing our shit. Everyone wins!

But in all seriousness, it was lovely, and she was lovely, and it was totally worth the 18 bug bites I have all over my ankles (I would only fake walk barefoot over ant hills for you, my dear). 

Here's some of my favorite shots from the night...

I still think of sheryl crow when I hear about our escrow

In the past four weeks me and the miso bought a house, lost our cat to cancer, and traveled back to the east coast all but one weekend. I am exhausted. Physically, mentally, spiritually - you name it, it's tired. My current fantasies involve a hotel with robes and an ocean and a patio. I get to hide away for a week and when I emerge everything has been packed and moved, unwanted furniture has been sold, the wedding is planned, the dress fits like a glove, and that tightness in my chest when I think about Finn has finally loosened. When I'm feeling really gluttonous, I add graded final exams and a tan.

All that has happened in the past month has, at the very least, made tonight all the better: this is the third night in a row that the miso and I have cooked a healthy dinner, done dishes together, and settled down for the evening with a cup of tea to do our own research. The fact that I currently do not have any pending itineraries is heaven.

The other upside of all this insanity is that the miso has been there and I've gotten to see him in crisis mode and major life event mode and dancing mode and I'll be the strong one here mode. Not to get too mushy here, folks, but that boy rocks my world and is my rock. And it's been amazing to know before we get all married and stuff that he really is that stand-up guy I thought he was in any and every situation.

With this past month behind us, I now have everything that needs to be done in our remaining two months on the west coast. And I will readily confess to being a total wimp about it all. When my parents dropped me off at the airport last Saturday (after the best wedding of the best friend a girl could have) and gave me the ol' "see you at your wedding in August cuz we're moving to China in a couple weeks," I straight up lost it. They pulled away, I gave the skycap a wad of ones, and my face exploded. I felt like I was boarding a plane to go back to more than I could handle. It was like every aspect of my life decided to come into the ring at once and I couldn't tap out. And it's all good stuff - amazing stuff. My first house with my first (and last) husband, my wedding, even my research paper that I get to deliver in Venice. These are all good things and I'm not moaning about them. I just kinda wish these major life events had been doled out a little more evenly.

For now I'm taking it a day at a time. I'm just going to enjoy my tea and draft some emails and think about my new home (okay, it's technically the mortgage lender's new home, but in thirty years, baby, that two bedroom is ALL ours) and a name for Henry's new best bud who will keep him company on those cold Cambridge nights. 

boston staring out your window

Here is the one weird thing about Boston (aside from the ridiculous number of Dunkin Donuts): the east coast size up. Every person I passed on the street looked at me; no, they didn't look. They stared. Straight out, up and down, in the eyes, stared at me. Men, women, I even think a pigeon gave me the eye. It was surreal. For a little while I decided I must be the hottest stuff to hit beantown so I worked it until I decided that many people cannot be in awe of my cuteness. I kept checking my pants, my top, my shoes, my teeth. 

I mentioned this phenomenon to the miso and he said this use to happen to him in New Haven. There it was guys looking at you to determine (and let you know) whether they could take you in a bar fight. I'm not quite sure how this translates to the ladies, so I'm just going to toss my question out to the internets: what the fuck is up with the boston stare? Seriously, I otherwise totally love my new home city, but I don't know if I can handle three years of thinking my skirt is tucked into my underwears.  

can't we just call HGTV?

Me and the miso are trying to become homeowners and if I thought parents of 'gifted' high school students were over eager, real estate agents introduced me to a whole new level of yowza. We made the mistake of inquiring about one property and had a message from a guy calling us from his vacation to answer any questions we had. Even better, he yells at his son halfway through the message to ask what the local number was.

Aside from starting sentences now with 'according to our realtor' and 'a 30 year fixed just makes more since than a 5/1 ARM because', I think the weirdest part of all of this was seeing the names Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac on the bottom of our loan application. Seriously? No one at Countrywide (which apparently is still allowed to do business) thought to white that one out? I have also begun to listen with rapt interest to Planet Money and the financial episodes on This American Life. I learned lots from this week's podcast about master's insurance, foreclosed condos, and not being lured in by stainless steel appliances. But they're so shiny! 

I also still keep waiting for our realtor or mortgage lender or, frankly, my parents to finally call us up and say, 'listen, this has been fun and all, but you are a child. call us in twenty when you want to be a grown up and not play grown up.' I mean, my number one concern a couple nights ago was google mapping the nearest In-N-Out while watching gossip girl on cwtv.com. Would you give me a loan? 

So now my new mission is to look responsible and worthy of homeownership when we fly out east this weekend to meet with the realtor. I have nightmares of me in my chucks and l.l.bean backpack smacking on gum while our realtor slowly drives away in his marquis and I'm asking the mister 'well where the fuck is he going, honey bunny? should we, you know, follow him?' damn my adorably young face (which the blood taker at Kaiser recently informed me is 'so small! so perfect for movies! big screen, small face.' I love her). I think the trick will be in the pants - I need slightly ill-fitting pants from the BR and a button-up shirt. And perhaps some sensible flats. Add in a pocket checkbook and we have reached adulthood! 

plz 2 hlp

How in the world does the youth of america have any shot at excelling in English and grammar if this is the kind of crap their parents send to their teachers:

Jane Doe has taken both exams
Apparently for the nation latin exam we need the school code before we send it out
Could u help
Plz call us back
555-555-555
Thx 
-------------------------- 
Sent using BlackBerry 

I just got the msg from lib that they found the code
It was included in the packet
So we are all OK
Thanks for help 
-------------------------- 
Sent using BlackBerry 

the unexamined life

I'm an addict and I'm ready to come clean. I am completely, totally, utterly, and helplessly addicted to self improvement. The detox I start tomorrow is a case in point. My attempt to adjust my sleep cycle is a case in point (by the by, I have made it out of bed before nine three days running, which, sadly, is a big step forward for me). My veganism, my yoga, my pilates, my sets of exercise DVDs (Winsor Pilates, anyone? How about some Jillian Michaels?), my Oprah Spirit Channel podcasts, my Eckhart Tolle, my gratitude journal, my subscriptions to Real Simple, Women's Health, the happiness project...shall I go on?

For whatever reason, right around when I started graduate school, I decided I had to have a spiritual and physical overhaul. It was as though I woke up and felt any issues I have now in my twenties will remain with me forever unless I work them out in my twenties. Like nail biting. If I'm not stopping in my twenties, will I be a fifty year old with chewed up nails? Clearly this issue must be resolved. Now. Right now. Let's go look at website and enjoy the free counseling on campus to get this matter all taken care of. 

I also decided that I will never again have as much free time as I do now. Busy as my life can get, I can still, on most days, spend a Tuesday at home watching romantic comedies on hulu all day long and the world does not stop turning on its axis. Shocking, I know. And so why I should use all that free time watching Jennifer Aniston fumble through a relationship when I could be out running, or doing squats, or becoming the master of my destiny?

I'm not in anyway saying this is a bad thing. Trying to become a better person is a good goal to have in life, and, overall, I think I am (in specific, small, clearly defined places) a better person for all my efforts at betterment. The trick seems to be finding the balance between self improvement and self destruction. The decision to be better, after all, is based on the premise that there is something to fix or improve upon, and constantly dwelling on all the stuff you want to fix about yourself can become a one-way ticket to couchville.

So how do you find that line? That place where you still have a drive to grow, to live an examined life, and become a person you are proud of without going completely nuts and always feeling disappointed in yourself? Especially in 'the world we live in today' where everybody with a keyboard or videocamera is on a physical or spiritual quest and ever so ready to help you start yours. You can't browse the tv or the web without someone just like you completely reinventing themselves and detailing just how they did it. We seem to be a culture obsessed with self improvement, and I am the target audience. From organizing your closet (which we all know equates to organizing your soul) to running your first marathon (which is the true test of the human spirit). You can do it! We can help! Read: there is something wrong with you and you didn't even know it. But now you do! Hurrah!

The whole dilemma actually reminds me of something notoriousmle said once about exercising, 'Whenever I start going to the gym, I always stop going at some point, so I've decided to no longer start going. Why start the cycle all over again?' I've always found something so lovely about that statement. It never struck me as a defeatist comment but a well reasoned and mature understanding of oneself. Sometimes it's not about stopping a cycle but never starting it to begin with. Maybe becoming a better person is knowing when to start, when to stop, and when to never resume. 

ctl+alt+delete

After a celebratory week of lots of wine and lots of cheese, my body needs a clean start, reboot, and possibly a force quit of a couple applications that are using up all my time and energy.

I've decided that starting Sunday I'm going to follow the vegan detoox detailed in Jan/Feb issue of Body+Soul magazine (it's a Martha mag). I'm not really a detox fan, but this one is actually very reasonable (I tried it out a couple days last week while the miso was out of the house to make sure it was possible). Basically, you eat a lot of brown rice. Like, a whole lot. For breakfast it's oatmeal and green tea, for lunch it's brown rice and a legume of your choosing, and then dinner is brown rice with steamed veggies. You start and end each day with a glass of tepid water with lemon juice. Not bad, right?

I'm waiting until Sunday because, frankly, there is still pecorino in the house and a lovely bottle of wine that I think I will only rightly appreciate this weekend. And me and the miso have some serious celebrating to do.

In addition to the detox I'm trying to reset my sleep schedule. This might just be the hardest thing I've ever done for my own health. I love (I dare say lurve) sleeping in. As someone who takes a while to fall asleep at night, I relish the warmth and comfort of my bed in the morning. Any sleep anxiety from the night before is completely replaced with the warm snugglies of my bed in the morning. Yes, snugglies. My concept of heaven is a warm bed on a cold morning that I never have to leave.

But I hate that I don't start my day until 10. That I rush through the morning. That I get to campus to teach right before my class. That I never get the things done in the morning that I tell myself I will the night before. And I'm also realizing that if I don't start to do some sort of physical activity in the morning that impending wedding dress fitting will make me weep.

So I'm trying to go to bed and wake up at the same time every day. The biggest hurdle to this one will be the dear miso. My dear sweet miso who can stay up until 2 in the morning and still wake up at 7 chipper and ready to feed the cats. The problem is that I am a light faller asleeper and he is an immediate faller asleeper once he does go to bed, which is much later than I do. The slightest little sniffle will rouse me from sleep and I will be grumpy. In fairness, I will be a raging bitch filled with hate I never thought possible. And once awake I will seethe and stress and bemoan the fact that I will never fall back asleep. Did I mention what I catch I am?

Last night I wore a sleep mask and even put in ear plugs, but I still woke up around midnight after having fallen asleep early. I managed to get out of bed at 8:30ish...maybe it was 9 and took a 'brisk walk in the sunshine' as the interweb told me I should to help reset my clock. And that really did help - I was borderline tolerable during breakfast, and I made it to campus with time to actually prepare for class.

So we'll see how it all goes. I'm feeling optimistic about the detox because I'm pretty good about controlling my eating habits, but the new sleep schedule could end up being disasterous for all involved.

Personal Jesus

I saw this Obama image pop up on Google News and couldn't help but think of rooms upon rooms of medieval religious art featuring our lord and savior with the golden halo. Oh, bama, let's hope you live up to your iconography.

the name game

I always just assumed I would take my husband's last name. I never found it sexist, demeaning, or patriarchal that you took the name of the man you married. If anything, I was looking forward to it given my own last name. In fact, I think I intentionally gravitated towards boys with simple last names, Murphy, Price, Wilson, in the hopes of never having to spell my last name again. It all seemed so exciting, getting a new name halfway through life.

But now here I am, a mere six months away from the big day and the smaller issues surrounding the name change are starting to make my mind wander. For example, do I get a new email address? I'm guessing I stick with the same email address, especially since I'm planning on keeping my name 'professionally' (which then requires actually having a profession, and that, my friends, is a whole separate entry), but at some point I'll have to change it, right? Or not?

I always thought taking the mister's name made life simpler, and this seemed all the more true after addressing envelopes for our save the date cards. It was so hard to tell of our married friends who was Mr. and Mrs. who was Mr. and Ms. and who went on which line depending on their situation. My parents' friends were super easy: Mr. and Mrs. Fancy Pants. Done and done.

But for how long do I live a double name double life? I'm guessing my maiden name goes on my diploma but my married name goes on the passport? My students call me Dr. Maiden Name and my dentist calls me Mrs. Married Name? In some ways it sounds nice - keeping my worlds separate and feeling like my career is all mine and my home life is a partnership with the mister. But it also sounds potentially identity-crisis inducing.

My other minor marriage fear is that I am still not entirely clear on how to pronounce my future last name. Not only is it a Greek name, but even within the miso's own family there are alternate pronunciations and even spellings. What is a girl to do? Maybe we can just become name renegades, dub ourselves the Smiths come August, and go merrily on our way, both with new names.

night of the living finn

Ever since our cat got sick and has begun the slow road to recovery, she has taken to sleeping on my pillow. As in, I get a tiny corner and she gets the rest of it. Seeing as how she is sick and all, I don't mind, but it is kind of a pain since it's one of those tempurpedic pillows that has that specific 'mold to your neck and head' shape. Moving down a couple inches and to the right has left me with a kink in my neck.

But here's my bigger concern: when she was really sick, I woke up one night to find her (on my pillow...my whole pillow) not breathing. So I gently wake the miso to let him know that we lost her. He wakes up and carefully picks up her little body to carry her upstairs. And then, kapow! she shoots out a paw and is back in the land of the living. In other words, I'm a little afraid that I now have a zombie cat. And she is sleeping on my pillow not out of a desire to be close to her dear owner who just footed the vet bill, but so that she can eat my brains while I sleep.

Seriously, there is some mischief in those eyes. Brain-eating, undead, mischief.

On the positive side, when the academic job market shrivels up with the rest of the economy, we can get the miso a reality show on television healing animals. ka-ching.

Come to think of it, 'the misadventures of zombie cat' could also be an interesting spin off...or at least that opportunity I've been looking for to get on Oprah.

Legos

These images just made my day.

http://niemann.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/02/02/i-lego-ny/

we fear change

While channel surfing I happened upon Gulston Dart's face on my television. He's apparently one of the new anchors for the local NBC affiliate in SF. When I interned at the ABC affiliate in Atlanta, Gulstan was just a peon with a funny name, following Monica Kaufman around. He was, though, probably the only reporter who would talk to interns and let them come along on stories.

I kind of feel like I should make a social call and take him out to Trader Joes or something. Maybe I can explain the lack of Chik-fil-A but abundance of In-n-Out. There are the same number of hyphens, Gulstan, but less number of Christians.

I'm also having some issues with reporters changing cities. I mean, I'm sure it's good for their career and all, but I really believed that Gulstan was a good southern boy (I mean, what gentlemen named Gulstan aren't?) with a vested interest in the water shortage in Atlanta. And now I'm just supposed to believe that he is a mountain-bike-riding, bay area hipster who is closely following the ban on plastic bags and state budget crisis? It's all just a bit much for a girl to handle.

the anthropologie effect

In addition to eating better and exercising, I think my other new year resolution is to stop looking at wedding websites. Much like the eating of dairy and sitting on the couch, reading about other people's wedding, invitations, and flower arrangements makes me feel bad about myself.

In defense of wedding porn, I love that weddings are no longer super cheesy affairs that go from church to rented ballroom at the Sheraton with white wedding cakes covered in layers of frosting. I love that you can wear what you want, get married somewhere secular, and have tacos instead of salmon and grilled asparagus. And I love that people are using the tubes to share ideas and pictures and tips for supercool weddings. These are all very good things, and I'm glad this is the kind of world I'm getting married in.

What I don't like is, what I term, the anthropologie effect on weddings. This is when every detail of the wedding becomes important. From save the date to handkerchief to the damn envelope box, these wedding websites glorify the minutiae and make you feel like that damn envelope box defines who you are as a person, a couple, and a contributing member of the human race. It's just like an anthropologie store, which isn't just selling expensive sweaters that look second-hand; they are selling you a lifestyle, an identity, from the weathered wood table upon which the sweaters are displayed to the french nouveau cabinet holding mugs and saucers you can't afford (though they oddly all look like something you could find on ebay for 15 cents. but whatevs). And here's the tricky part: you buy the second-hand sweater for 120 bucks, thinking that it will transform your life into a foreign film from the 60s set in misty Amsterdam. But it doesn't. Because that one sweater for 120 bucks is going to be worn with your old jeans and scuffed shoes from Target while sitting in Ikea furniture. You can't have the anthropologie life just by buying one sweater.

These wedding websites do the same thing. You start to think that the quirky seating chart or the handmade cake topper will turn your wedding into something that should be featured in a catalogue. And these hip weddings with cool brides and grooms look like they were thrown together with a casual flick of the DIY wrist. But like that sneaky anthropologie shop, you realize the bride is a graphic designer who had all the tools to make her own paper goods, the groom is in a band, and they both make loads of money to spend on designer gowns and suits. It looks like flea market finds, but it is all top-dollar and it will make you feel bad about yourself.

So I'm done being told that any part of my wedding other than the guy standing next to me at the altar in any way defines me as a person. I want to show my guests a good time, and I want the whole thing to feel right for me and the mister, but I'm not looking for any more 'inspiration'. Actually, now that I think about it, I'm not even using any of the ideas I've seen on those websites.

Goodbye bklynbride, snippet, and styleme. It was a fun jaunt into the land of delusion, but I'm happy to be getting back to a surfing routine of msn hot gossip and merlin mann. those are ideals I can live up to.

is this thing on?

A couple weeks ago while reading my latest issue of Women's Health I discovered a marshmallow bon bon from See's candy stuck to my sleeve.

Perhaps it is time to renew the blog and keeping tabs on being healthy.

Did I fall off the vegan wagon? Not entirely...I kinda just walked beside it for a little while. Not to sound like a wimp, but traveling and being vegan don't so much go together. I also don't like to ask people to completely readjust their world because I would like to avoid dairy. So I'm not a wimp. I'm polite. Basically I'm still vegan when I cook for myself and pretty much when I eat out all depending on circumstances. Birthday brownies for the boy from the future mother-in-law? How could I say no?

While the all-or-nothing approach definitely worked for a period of time last year, I think my new, adjusted, realistic approach is to never be completely vegan but self conscious about what I choose to eat (or wear) and how it makes me feel. I learned the hard way that two weeks of pasta and red wine topped with veg chili and indian from a box doesn't make me feel good. Shocking, I know. Tofu and vegetables have yet to give me any reason to complain. I'm also trying to get back into regular exercising. The fall was filled with travels and guests and snow on the mountain...i.e., endless reasons to not go out for a run. I'm sorry, did I say run? I meant walk with increased pace down hills. But armed with a wii fit, my disturbingly attractive wii fit coach, and a damned wedding dress fitting on the horizon, I'm feeling optimistic.

So I'm back to blog about matters mostly vegan, mildly bridal, and mainly trivial.

I want to close my first post of the new year with this realization: there is a fine line between interval training and being out of shape.