Let's restart this thing!

Looking back over the last post on this blog, almost two years ago, I wrote about reservations about going abroad.

I must have gotten over those reservations, because months of applications and paperwork later, I'm pretty much set to spend eleven months in Japan starting in September! All scholarships are in, all contracts are signed...all we need is a specific start date for the program for plane tickets to be purchased!

Watch this space for updates, pictures, and thoughts on life abroad!

Help! Part Two

In the previous post I talked about my quandary over what courses to take next semester and that the whole point of the issue is to get ready to do study abroad next year. But the truth of the matter is that now I am also in a quandary over whether I really want to do study abroad next year or not. Well, that's not quite true. I want to do study abroad next year. But I also really want to stay in Pittsburgh next year. I want to do crew and get an apartment with my friends and just chill here in the states for awhile.

I know that if I go, when I go, I won't regret it and will settle into life in Japan and make friends there and learn lots of Japanese. For my ultimate goal of becoming an interpreter, it would be the best thing. But at the same time I will miss things here. I'm afraid that friendships will move and develop and when I come back there won't be a place for me.

Help!

I made the appointment to meet with my adviser and register for classes early in November, which is screaming up on us. I'm having a really tough time figuring out my schedule for next semester, and we talked for a long time during my pre-registration advising
appointment, and then I made a separate appointment and met with the Japanese major adviser.

My essential quandry is this: I'm seriously considering (trying my hardest) to do a study abroad program next year in Japan. It's a special one that was a major factor in my coming to Pitt at all: you go and enroll for a year as a regular Japanese student, taking all your courses in Japanese and staying in an apartment (as opposed to a homestay). So this next semester will be essential in preparing for that. Should I continue my course of this semester and take fourth year Japanese, which focuses on reading and hardly any speaking, while also taking third year Japanese, which is entirely review for me but involves lots of speaking practice? If I do that, I won't be able to take the class on Japanese language acquisition that my current fourth year professor, Nishi, is teaching because of time conflicts. She is a visiting professor for this year: the course is a one-time only offering, and I like her very much and would love to have two classes with her. Also, if I take third year Japanese I would not be able to take Classical Japanese (which is offered every spring semester) but I would be able to take Arabic with my very good friend who I take Arabic with now.

So if I don't take third year Japanese and take the language acquisition course, I could take
Classical Japanese. I would then have to take a different section of Arabic, probably the same one as someone on the floor who I don't feel very comfortable with, which would be incredibly awkward and not enjoyable at all.

Another thing to take into consideration is that I really don't enjoy my third year class at all. Since it's review, it's not really interesting or difficult, but the method of instruction drives me up a wall. Everything is structured around memorizing conversations that are set out in the book, with nearly no original speaking involved at all. Where I previously would study with my teacher and sit down and have a half hour conversation, I am now reduced to sitting staring into space for ten or fifteen minutes until it's time for my turn to engage in this little exchange:

Teacher: Try pushing this button.
Me: What happens when I push the button?

Return to staring into space. I have more to say about this method of teaching, but that's for a different post. The point is that I don't like it but I wonder if it's good for my speaking anyway, and whether I'm leaning towards not taking the continuation of the course next semester because I feel that the schedule without it would be better for my Japanese or because I dislike it so much.

Help!

Happy Tuesday

The sun was setting behind the clouds, lighting the sky in soft muted colors of blues and pinks as a misty rain fell intermittenly. Occasionally a dark line of geese would pass us, flying faster than we could ever move the boat, and out of the corner of my eye I can see that among the green of the trees lining the river, a tint of gold has begun to appear.

I shake my head a little and a bead of sweat goes by my eye, but no time to wipe it away. "Seat number six, faster with the hands and arms! You are late!" comes the coach's call, and I concentrate, working with everything, mind and body. The treasured, hoped for words come like audible gold: "Good job, seat number six."

And for that one moment, the world is perfect.

Highs, Lows

High: leaving the Islamic Civilization classroom knowing that all that studying I did? It paid off.

Low: no matter how much I searched my room, with other people helping, I couldn't find my ATM card

High: sitting on the top bunk in a friend's room, eating ice cream and watching this week's episode of NCIS

Low: 12:30 in the morning when there is still hours of homework left to do and that feeling as if the weight is going to crush me

High: checking my email, one last time, at three thirty when I finish the homework and discover emails from my old Japanese teacher and old Japanese host mother waiting for me.


All in the same 24 hours...

Procrastination Nation

I have a midterm on Thursday in my Islamic Civilization class. So instead of studying like mad*, I'm procrastinating by reading articles on line and then writing about them here (this particular article comes to my attention courtesy of Phil), who is a wonderful procrastination resource.

I had my pre-registration advising meeting today (hang on, I will connect these paragraphs), which was good but a little frustrating for reasons at the moment irrelevant. However, the point is that next semester I have to take a course entitled Seminar in Composition, wherein, if you can't tell from the title, we get to learn how to write a paper, and have to write one every week.

Going back to Phil and this article, which you should go read (especially if you're procrastinating or a programmer. Or a procrastinating programmer). Now, I am not a programmer, and the inner workings of most things computer related are to me a mystery I am content to leave alone. But this really jumped out at me. The writer here is talking about writing specs, which as far as I can tell from this article is something like a roadmap/plan about what you're going to code in your programming project, and why you should write one. He then goes on to say,

So why don't people write specs? It's not to save time, because it doesn't, and I think most coders recognize this ... I think it's because so many people don't like to write. Staring at a blank screen is horribly frustrating. Personally, I overcame my fear of writing by taking a class in college that required a 3-5 page essay once a week. Writing is a muscle. The more you write, the more you'll be able to write.

Which brings me back around to Seminar in Composition. And here, people, from the mouth of a programmer, of all types of people, is the reason why we have to take this class. Turns out it has all sorts of usefulness and real life applications, argh argh argh.

I really wanted to complain about it, too.











* I am studying for this test! I have a six page study guide that is mostly memorized already to prove it! I'm just taking a break. So nobody get mad at me. I will PWN this test with awesome strength.

And there Was General Rejoicing Throughtout The Land

When you open the mailbox, and there is a package for you, there is a pink card that says "There is a package waiting for you. Present this card to collect your package." Happiest thing to get ever, except that usually for me it's just a newsletter or something from church that's too big to fit in the little mailbox. So I wasn't actually that excited to get my little pink slip.

And then the lady in the mail room handed me a big package! And I was all, wait, what could it be?! And there was a shoebox inside! And inside the shoebox was not shoes but (drumroll please)

FOOD!

I was so excited! My grandmother sent me food! And, okay, my grandmother is, honestly speaking, not a good cook but everyone else without my particularness about baked goods has been eating the loaf of something bread without too many complaints. The group of people I hang out with most spends alot of time in the little "kitchenette" and bring in all the cookies and brownies and things that their parents send them to share. And I've been starting to feel guilty about always eating other people's food and not having anything to share. But My Grandmother sent me a shoebox with food! And I fed people with an interesting blueberry nut bread loaf thing and popcorn~!

My grandmother sent me a package :-D :-D :-D with food inside :-D :-D :-D

My grandmother loves me.

I still can't dance

But I can pretend I can! Because we went swing dancing last night!

We arrived at 730 for the 8:00 lesson, and stood around in the foyer of the dance floor doing one of my favorite things in the world: being loud and nuisance-y if there had been anyone around to be a nuisance to. But there was only one of two older gentlemen and the musicians and we didn't bother them too much. There were arguments about binary, however, until eight when the lesson started. We learned the basic step and three turns, the Charleston and the Cha-Cha Slide by nine o clock and then the band started and chaos ensued.

Even if I was really bad (and I was), it was great fun. And then, because I'm sick with a head cold, I went home to bed.

I should be doing homework right now.

This could alternatively be titled, Marie Gets Smacked Down By Her Islamic Civilization Teacher.

This semester I'm taking a course called Intro to Islamic Civilization, which so far has been history of the Islamic religion, and today in class we covered things like how Islamic law developed. This is an 80 person lecture class, but the teacher still encourages participation--in fact, it's around 15% of our grade. So there is a good bit of question and answer going on.

Question: Do non-Muslims come under Muslim courts?
Answer: For most civil things they have their own community courts

Question: What happens when a Muslim and a non-Muslim have problems--say, a non-Muslim murders a Muslim.
Answer: That would come under the Sharia (Muslim courts). Anything involving Muslims comes under Sharia.

So I sit there and ponder that little exchange (btw, those weren't my questions). Much brou-ha-ha is made in our textbook about the Islamic ideals of equality and justice. So I raise my hand and ask:

"What about the other way around? If a Muslim were to hurt a non-Muslim...?"
"That would be Sharia. Everything with Muslims is Sharia."
"I meant, what chance would the non-Muslim have of being heard...?"

Well.

"How are Muslims treated in Europe? What chance would a Muslim have outside Muslim lands? Don't ask that. Don't ask charged questions." And then she changed the subject while I sat there feeling a little stunned. I'd like to say that I looked studious and unflustered, but in truth I probably either had bright red ears or an open mouth. Possibly both. I've never had a teacher tell me not to ask charged questions. Irrelevant questions, maybe, but I've never been told to avoid questions that made the teacher feel uncomfortable.

I have a personality such that my initial reaction to this situation is to be embarrassed and feel bad about myself. I went to the TA's office hours after lecture (because I am lost on this week's material), and the first thing he told me was to keep asking those kinds of questions.

If I hadn't gone to office hours, if he had reinforced what the teacher had said, I'm not sure I would have said anything in that class ever again. Now, after a day of thinking about it, I'm--not mad, exactly, but something close to it. Of all places, university should be a place where you're free to ask questions...

Row Row Row Your Boat

Row, Row, Row your boat
Gently down the stream
Merrily merrily merrily merrily
Life is but a ...cucumber

(cucumber, fyi, because that's what my father used to sing to us and because of all the things life is, a dream is not one of them. Crazy, yes. Busy, yes. Fun, yes. A dream, no.)

Today marks the start of the second week of rowing on the water. Last week, I didn't know what I was doing, what all the words mean, or how the heck this group of uncoordinated strangers is going to turn into a crew team. I think I can see the beginning of it, now. I still only vaguely know what's going on (by the end of Saturday practice, though, I wasn't doing too badly: at least vastly improved over the beginning of Saturday practice). Our first race (regatta) is in three weeks.

We're learning together: rowing vocabulary, like "port" and "starboard" and "wain off" (stop NOW) "let it run" (stop) and "stroke" and "catch"; and how rowing on the water is from the rowing machine.

Also, the last weekend in October the team will be heading to Philadelphia to race on the Schukyll. :-)

>insert pithy title here<

It seemed appropriate that it was pouring bucketfuls of rain this morning when I got up. With the blinds closed, it was as dark in our room at nine o clock as it was in the middle of the night--a little bit darker, perhaps, since the bright floodlight located just outside our window was turned off.*

But I didn't even realize the date until yesterday when I got a homework assignment with the due date, 9/11, written on the top. I've been so busy with school and crew and social things that I've lost track of the days, and today is like any other Tuesday except for the date at the top of my notes for Islamic Civilization class. And I wonder to myself whether or not that's right, whether or not I should mark the day somehow.

I really don't know.



















*this floodlight is bright enough that I don't actually need my bedside lamp to read before I go to bed.

I Have A Question!

When you stood up in your micro mini skirt, four inch heels, and tight tube top, was it wrong of me to laugh on the inside when you said you wanted to learn Arabic because you wanted to convert to Islam?

Hi!

Well, this little blog thing started as a way of keeping in touch with people while I was abroad and then died a little when I was back home. Since I'm away at school now, I think I'll revive it to it's original purpose.

So today marks the end of the second week of school. Which is a scary thought. What, two weeks?! Really?! Crazy! I feel like I've spent each day scrambling after an extra hour to get everything done. I like school. I like my classes. But the workload...is truly staggering.

Of course, this is all my own fault because of course I cannot do the sane thing and take a light course load first semester. No. I have to take not just third year Japanese, BUT ALSO fourth year Japanese. And Arabic (first year). And Intro to Islamic Civilization. And a couple of classes that aren't as intense. But that wasn't enough for me, either, so I'm joining the crew team. Two hour practices everyday except Sunday? Pish, I didn't need any free time anyway. Or the use of my leg muscles or hands.

If I speak honestly, though, my lack of free time has a little to do with the enormous amount of homework and a lot to do with my habits of waiting to do it until the last minute. These first couple weeks, I've been feeling out what I need to do and how. I think next week will be much better, now that I know the rhythm of the classes and what needs to be done when. (It also helps that I now have the syllabus for every class, something I didn't have until Wednesday. When I finally got the syllabus for the last class on Wednesday, there was a "Wait...this is week two...there's a test in two days!!!" moment.) I will let you know how my time management skills step up to the plate.

So tomorrow is the first practice on the water for crew team, and I am very excited. Up until now we've been learning the motions of rowing on the rowing machine (hereafter referred to as an "erg" upon which you "erg" or perform "erging" (ergging?)). Which, frankly, is boring. Crew is perfect for me since I cannot run at all on my leg, and rowing is completely non-impact. But it also means that while the rest of the novice team splits their time between erging and running, I just get to erg. Alot. Lots and lots of erging, which is where the comment about hands comes in: I'm developing calluses, which is great, except that it's going through the blister stage at the moment, where the skin peels off and leaves painful little pink baby calluses behind. But hopefully once I actually get in a boat and fully understand the point of all this erging, it'll be much more bearable.

Right?

I Didn't Laugh Because I Didn't Want To Encourage Him

him: "So, when are we going to hang out?"
me: "I don't really think we're going to..."
"Why not?!"
"Well, for one thing, I cannot think of anything we would possibly do."
"We could fly kites!"
"Well, kite-flying is fun,"
"...on I-95"
*pretends to not have heard*


And on the reason I post rather infrequently:

MONDAY, schedule:

4:30 AM: wake up
5:00 AM: Leave for work
5:15-8:45 AM: work in the bakery at Perkins
8:45-10:00 AM: commute downtown
10:00 AM-5:00 PM: Work desk job
6:00 PM: Arrive home.
6:15 ish PM: Go out with friend for dinner...

There Was Supposed To Be A Picture

I was intending to publish a picture of the kick-ass peach tart I made, but couldn't get a decent picture. In person it looks good, but apparently fruit tarts are not photogenic. At least for someone of my skill level. But let me tell you people, it was perfection...warm, perfectly textured, the perfectly ripe peach flavor balancing nicely with the cookie-like crust and cinnamon/allspice/ginger spices. Add some ice cream, and I don't want much more out of life.

In truth, I've been a little stressed lately, and I find working it out in cooking helps relieve that (also, my family appreciates it). I made this strawberry shortcake (except with four layers) from Smitten Kitchen on Sunday, and my peach tart today, along with some really nice roasted potatoes and green beans to go with the barbecue chicken my dad made for dinner. I love the moment when a person bites down on something I've made and the realization that they are experiencing something very good just crosses the face in an expression of bliss. I love that. I love feeding people. Kind of like Sunshine, except without the angsty vampires.

When I took the job at Perkins, I was hoping to satisfy that love in a constructive, profitable manner.

It's been a little frustrating. When I inquired about the job, the nice lady at the front desk assured me that they made stuff from scratch. Apparently she has a very loose definition of "scratch"...for muffins, I portion pre-made, frozen batter into muffin tins. For pies, I decoratively apply whipped cream and various toppings to premade, frozen pies. For cookies, I put premade, frozen, shaped cookie dough onto cookie sheets. For brownies...are you sensing a theme here?

I could make the exact same things from scratch in not much more time and it would be ten thousand times better. My father half-jokes that I could finance my college
education on my baked goods. This job makes me want to try, in the sort of "This is how it should be done!" kind of despair.






PS To everyone who wants to know how my mother is doing (she had surgery for acute appendicitis), she is doing okay. Stomach muscles don't recover from being cut very quickly, and since you use them for everything, it's pretty painful. But she'll be fine in a few weeks. Maybe more like a month and a half. We really appreciate all the prayers and thoughts.

PPS I didn't post pictures of my leg post-scraping because there was nothing to post. No bruising, not even redness the next day. I definitely felt gypped. What the use of undergoing torture in the name of physical therapy if you don't have anything to show for it the next day?! Geez.

The Purple Plastic Implements of Doom

Woke up this morning

After another one of those crazy dreams

Oh nothing is going right this morning

The whole world is wrong it seems

Oh i guess its the chain that bind me

I cant shake it loose these chains and things

Got to work this morning

Seems like everything is lost

I got a cold hearted wrong doing woman

And a slave driving ball

I cant loose these chains that bind me

Cant shake them loose these chains and things

Just cant loose these chains and things

Which pretty much sums the first portion of my day up.

The second portion? "The purple plastic impliments of doom". Pictures will follow tomorrow, where with any luck my leg will be a nice dramatic shade of purple. To match the things that made them that way.

Perhaps I should back up and explain. I tried to find an article to link to but couldn't; it's called "scraping" and, well, it's exactly what it sounds like. They take what is basically...um...a long caulking blade. Except florescent purple. Then they drag--scrape--this along the injured area. The idea is to, in essence, reinjure it so it can heal properly and quicker. In my case, scar tissue is also worked out. This hurts.

At the moment my leg is pretty red, and the long-term bruising I've had since I orginally injured the leg two years ago is more pronounced than usual.

I kind of want a really dramatic purple and black and blue reward for my troubles. Like a trophy, only alot better at inducing sympathy. Because I'm a sympathy junkie...but I can give it up ANYTIME I WANT TO. Seriously.

Ask and Ye Shall Receive

In case anyone is interested: there's a strong possibility that I'll get to take the Tolkien and Lewis class I wanted after all! I emailed the professor and expressed how much I wanted to take the class. She emailed me back saying "show up to class, someone usually drops out, and if not...maybe we could work something out."

This is extremely exciting for two reasons. One because, c'mon, it's a legitimate reason to study Tolkien and Lewis (Not just read. You don't understand. I'm the the person who owns a comparative study of the two authors already, the kind that's in dry scholarly language, and enjoyed reading that. I'm that person, the one who's taken notes on Lewis' essay The Weight of Glory to be sure I was properly understanding it. I revel in my geekiness) Also, this validates my life philosophy, which is that you have to try. Just ask! I'd tell my friends when we wanted to have a sleepover. "Maybe it is too late and the parents will say no. But maybe they'll be in a good mood. What do you have to lose? Just ask!"

So, I reason, maybe I'm too late to take the class, but if I ask, politely...maybe the teacher'll be inclined to let a student who really wants to study in--because I can say for myself, it's far more of a joy to teach someone who wants to learn. She might say, "I'm sorry, closed is closed," but she might not. It turned out to be that she didn't. I had to ask to find out, and I'm glad I did.

The principal of "Just Ask" is lacking in the general way of things. Sometimes people think to themselves, "There's no way, I'd never win/get accepted/become friends with him; so I might as well save my energy and not try." The biblical axiom of, "You do not have because you do not ask" bears out: they don't have everything they could from life because they don't ask anything from life. Maybe they did ask once: tried a business, a relationship, a school, and got rejected. The thing with asking is, sometimes--oftentimes-- the answer is "no". Sometimes people can't shrug it off and try again: sometimes they become bitter about it, and believe that because that's what happened once, that's the way it's always going to be, so they stop asking for things. But they still want something. But since they're not asking, reaching, or trying for it, they don't receive it; but they become convinced that that is further proof that they wouldn't have gotten it anyway. In a sort of savage way, they feel vindicated. The cycle continues downward from there.

I'm not being judgemental. I'm not touchy-feely "oh, if you believe in yourself you can do anything" types. At all. That is a myth that makes me aggressively sick to my stomach. But I do think that when you're negative on yourself, you make self-fulfilling prophecies.

I also think that there are two reasons for not asking. One is that some people, odd as is it may seem, really derive a sort of bitter enjoyment of feeling downtrodden and unlucky. They like to feel sorry for themselves. It's a seductive pleasure I've sometimes struggled with. I honestly think it's a tool of the Enemy. It makes us focused on ourselves and our petty issues instead of God. It makes us angry towards other people: towards the people who didn't give us what we wanted, towards people who did get what they wanted. And if you think that self absorption and anger can't be twisted into soul-destroying levels, I have some swampland in Florida I'd like to sell you.

The second reason people don't ask is a little more logical. They are content to be part of the masses, because that's safe. It's scary and uncomfortable and even painful to be something more, something better.

Some people don't ask because they're afraid they'd get what the asked for.

Last of the Italy pictures

Except actually they're Germany, not Italy. We stopped in Dragonsburg (um, I'm actually pretty sure I'm getting this wrong but that's what I heard it as). It was around 6:45 in the morning and COLD. I mean really really COLD. Like you know the earring I have in my cartiledge? It was so cold that sucker froze, and let me tell you, that hurts. Seriously.

Anyway, (of course) we had stopped to see a cathedral, but it was Gothic instead of gilded. I found it much more impressive, especially with the spires towering up to disappear into the early morning mist. (If I may brag a little, these are two of my favorite of the pictures I've taken.)


Inside it was that kind of half-light that simply does not work in pictures, but in some small areas I was able to use flash to get the image. Here's a well in the cathedral. I guess for sieges? Honestly, I have no idea why, but I think it's really cool.
And here is a small pulpit on one of the pillars of the main sanctuary.
At that's really all folks for the Italy Trip pictures.

Rainbows!

I have been anticipating (and putting off) the necessity of buying an SD card reader, believing the cord that connects my computer to my camera to be having a wild time without me somewhere in Europe. Unfortunately for the cord, but fortunately for me, what really happened is that it got cold feet and hid in my father's music paraphenalia box instead. Therefore I am pleased to once again have the capability of showing everyone snapshots of my life. bwahaha.

One thing I think is important, and that I don't do enough, is to notice the little things. Little beauties and kindnesses etc. etc. etc. I don't want to tarnish my reputation as a slightly (cough) cynical, definitely non-mushy type, because I don't tend to think in daisies and roses. But I do love to take moments to pause and watch the sparrows that sometimes come to rest on the bushes outside the computer room (ex-schoolroom) window, or examine the butterflies that come to those bushes with the flowers by the door (botany is not my strong subject, okay?!).

One of the little quirks of my house that I really love is that at certain times and conditions, the sunlight coming from the main bathroom upstairs sometimes filters through that window in just such a way as to create a little rainbow on the door of the linen closet.
I love coming up the stairs and being surprised by the unexpected splash of color.

In Which I Learn Not to Volunteer

We have new youth pastors coming to the old church. This is great and wonderful, and I thought I would be helpful and help prepare for their arrival. Especially when I peeked into their office and saw that it was a complete wreck. I was at church for the afternoon anyway, until my mother was done work and could drive me home, so I decided to spend my time there doing my part and beginning to clear out the spaces. It's just wrong to come into that kind of mess at your new job. That was on Tuesday.

We just finished the first day of painting today, Thursday.

Somehow, three hours of moving computer parts has morphed into a four (or, gulp, five) day project mainly spearheaded by myself.

That'll teach me to volunteer.