911 . . . it seems easy, but when it comes right down to it?

Today I was driving to church with my brother. We're just driving along and suddenly this lady on the sidewalk collapsed right as we drove past. We were both just kind of stunned. What do we do? Should we stop? Call 911? Pray?

We ascertained that someone else had stopped, so leaving our minds at ease. Except for one thing: How do you actually make a 911 call? I'd never done it, he'd never done it, we really had just no clue. The problem in my mind wasn't the calling for help itself, but more just describing the location as would have to be done since we would be calling from a cell phone.

It's something I thought about all through church. If I had had to make that call, would it have turned into this big jumbled mess? Would they have understood what I was saying? Would they have come to the right place?

I just wish I knew what happened to the woman, and if she was ok.

Selling Yourself For Science

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Masterpiece

as
rain
shivers
in the air
taps windows
plip-plop tapping
percussion and drums
with wind accompaniment
and trees play all the strings
a symphony of nature-sound
the storm its concert master
a frog pond sings the chorus
welcoming the water-life
gently fading out

Here Kitty, Kitty

It was Saturday. There was a gun show, and a cat show (house cat's, not tigers like Nathan thought) at the fair.

At the gun show it occurred to me that if we were living in a TV show someone would have been killed there. And some detective like Adrian Monk, or Shawn Spencer would have shown up to figure it out.

Afterwards at the cat show, the whole thing became even funnier. The murder would happen at the cat show. And of course it would have something to do with the gun show.

I don't know all the details.

Also, mom and I managed to find jewelry, books, purses, and pink guns at the gun show. The most interesting things were the knives, in my opinion.

I'm pretty sure we were driving dad and Nathan crazy with all our, "oh, that one's pretty!"

Blog Potpourri

Here's a bunch of random stuff.

I've read several books in the past two months. I've always been a library addict, and now more than ever. I recently read Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See, which was beautiful and sad. It's set in 19th century China, and talks a lot about foot binding, which totally weirds me out. Then I got to thinking, there is all this stuff about how it made their legs look longer because the idea was that the foot would look like more of an extension of the leg. It started as a status symbol, for men and women; the women could afford to have servants, and the men could afford to have a wife that couldn't really do anything. It also made them walk with very short steps. Interestingly enough, this makes me think of high heels. Granted I made a comment a while back on this blog about liking high heels. But what do they do but make us look like we have smaller feet and longer legs? Interesting how you have to learn how to walk in heels, because you'll kill yourself if you try to walk normally. Short, quick steps. I still like heels, but it's something that really made me think. I was ranting for days about how horrible the idea of binding feet is, while our society does similar, if not as permanently damaging, things to women.

I also read Blink by Malcolm Gladwell. It discusses the role our subconscious plays in decisions. And how you can know things without knowing how you know them.

And now I'm reading Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card. I can't believe I haven't read this until now. Nearly all my friends have read it. It's a very popular book. It's right up my alley, scifi/fantasy awesomeness. It kind of hurts my head in that the main character is 9 (at the point I'm at in the book) and he thinks more like an adult than I do. He thought more like an adult when he was 6 as well. Maybe I'm not the best person to judge against. The amazing thing is that the way everything is set up it's still almost believable.

Nathan straightened his hair for the last church dance. Or rather, I straightened his hair. His hair is longer than parts of mine. It's kind of crazy. He went to the dance and got some remarkably stupid comments and questions. Such as, "how did you do that?" Um, a straightener? C'mon, no one would ask a girl that. For most hair (on a guy or girl) there are only a few ways to do that. A more pertinent question would be, " how long did that take?" I curled my normally stick straight hair, and that's basically the question I got.

I'm torn. I have a double bed. It's nice, and big and roomy. I miss my twin bed. Twin beds are great. When it's cold your whole bed is warm, as opposed to the cold patches that develop in larger beds. When it's hot you can hang you arms and legs off the bed to cool off. I'm so used to a twin bed right now that I don't even utilize all the space I have. When your bed is propped up on cinder blocks you get used to changing sleep positions without falling off the bed, so the fact that you've only got 4 ft or so doesn't even matter. If I had a twin bed right now I would have tons of space in my room.

I've got a job. I'm working at the same place I always end up working. I start Monday. I have an interview for a different job in a couple weeks. I hope I get it because it is less hours a week and I need to be able to take some classes at the college here.

I hate drug tests. Not only are they so completely pointless for me, they are so freaking annoying! I can't go on demand. I have a shy bladder. I finally got through the drug test. Passed it (of course), and left and then I immediately had to go really bad.

I also am completely weirded out by the TB skin test. They inject this stuff under your skin, so there is this dime sized bump, and then your body gradually absorbs it. I hope that's a good sign.

I am in love with the USA series Psych. I don't really know what I like so much about it. It's random and funny, though. And kind of mysterious, but not dark and depressing. I've also really enjoyed messing around on the show's website.

Because of my current Psych addiction I also stumbled across Super Chicken! Awesome, awesome, awesome. Cartoons used to be so much better.

When you find youself in danger,
When you're threatened by a stranger,
When it looks like you will take a lickin', (puk, puk, puk)
There is someone waiting,
Who will hurry up and rescue you,
Just Call for Super Chicken! (puk, ack!)

Fred, if you're afraid you'll have to overlook it,
Besides you knew the job was dangerous when you took it (puk, ack!)

He will drink his super sauce
And throw the bad guys for a loss
And he will bring them in alive and kickin' (puk, puk, puk)
There is one thing you should learn
When there is no one else to turn to
Call for Super Chicken! (puk, puk, puk)
Call for Super Chicken! (puk, ack!)

Also, I am hooked on The Beatles.

Mind Meld

Somewhere between my dad waking me up at six and actually getting up I had a dream.

I was trapped on one side of a river and my only escape from a very strange world was on the other side. I also stumbled into something that I shouldn't have and somehow ended up with a small symbol etched on my arm. As I was trying to find my way over the river, which was not only deep itself, but had very steep sides, I came across a shape shifting guy that knew how to remove the symbol from my arm. It involve a strange creature the size and shape of a large marble that rolled itself across my skin and then returned to the shape shifter and placed the symbol on his arm instead. He was covered in all sorts of these strange markings.

Somehow I came to the conclusion that the only way to get across the river was by becoming covered in these symbols. I was immediately attacked by the marble things and was coated in small blue etchings. Then I flew to the other side of the river.

Oddly enough, once on the other side of the river I met Spock (I'm a nerd ok?) who informed me that I couldn't leave this place with these markings on me. He then proceeded to do the Vulcan Mind Meld on me (yeah I wasn't too enthused about that), at which point I lost consciousness (yes, while dreaming).

When I came to the symbols were all along the river bank etched into stones and I was surrounded by many Star Trek characters, and other characters from sci-fi fame. Spock told me that I had defiled their sacred river and I would have to atone for my crimes! I had the choice between being stabbed to death or to not speak until the next full moon. If I spoke I would immediately die. For some reason this all made sense and I agreed to it. (Now everyone knows that although I think Spock is awesome, I am afraid of him murdering me for some unknown reason, that is still somehow logical).

I woke up because my mom wanted me to come make waffles for breakfast. I was still in the middle of the discussion about me dying when I woke up, so I was still somehow convinced that I would die if I said anything. It took me until I was dressed and had my contacts in to I realize that it wasn't all real and I could talk if I wanted.

The full moon aspect makes sense, as does Spock (somewhat) and shape shifters. What I don't understand is how my not speaking meant anything.

Swimmers and Chests

So today my little brother was getting ready for his swim team's district meet. This involved shaving his legs. Remembering some of the injuries he sustained from this last year, I offered him advice and a fresh razor.

When he was done, I found out that he had also shaved his arms. Ok it gets weirder.

Later today as I was chatting with a friend online, he walks into my room with his shirt pulled up, rubbing his stomach. After a few awkward moments I asked, "did you shave your stomach?"

To which he replied, "not very well!"

This is all very odd considering that my little brother has so much hair on the top of his head and he practically refuses to cut it, but he'll shave most of his body for a swim meet? He points out that he will be wearing a swim cap for this meet. This isn't the weirdest incidence surround swimmers and their dedication to their sport.

At school there are a couple of guys that play water polo. They used to swim for regular meets and stuff at their high school. One of them related a story about one day in school where his teacher sent him to the principal's office because she was afraid he was worshiping Satan. As it happened the guys on his school swim team had the tradition of buzzing their initials into their hair the week before districts or state. This guy's name is Scott, so he was going around with a big S on his head. Granted, Scott self-proclaimedly does not have a soul, so perhaps his teacher wasn't too far off.

My friend Carly would argue that we should put up with the oddities surrounding swimmers because "they have nice chests." Carly notices chests. I've known Carly for long enough, that whenever I see a guy with his shirt of I almost always think of her, usually my thoughts go somewhere along the lines of "that guy was hot . . . Carly would have liked that." Yeah, disturbing and possibly problematic later on.

Carly is also a huge tennis fan. Watching tennis with her is tons of fun. You get a nice running commentary on everybody's form. Tennis form and otherwise. :P

Thank you swimmers and Carly, for making my life a little more interesting.