Hanging out with my favorite pirate, Guybrush Threepwood. It's been a long wait for a new Monkey Island game, but the wait's been worth it, I think, for the improvement of 3-D rendered graphics and a return to the original spunk and spirit. I'm really glad Telltale Games knows how to do a thing right.
Friday, March 12, 2010
On Weddings
And I love you
Yes I do
And if you thought
That I didn't love you
Then you'd be wrong, honey
Because . . .
I really really love you I really really love you
I really really love you I really really love you
Brent and Ryan, best love song ever
A friend of mine is getting married today, and I am so happy for her. I have seen lots of friends get married, and I think this is the happiest and least jealous I've ever felt at a friend's wedding.
I'm not sad, because even though I won't see this friend as much anymore, I feel certain she's not going to cut off all friendships with singles. When she says we'll get together sometime after the wedding, I actually believe her.
I'm not massively irritated, because she was never my roommate, so I never had to deal with having her boyfriend/fiance over all the time. (Though I've had several good engaged-roommate situations.) Also, when she and her almost-husband appeared at social functions together, they were able to talk to other people and never indulged in obnoxiously sappy/physical PDA. They were sensitive to the world existing outside their relationship.
I'm not jealous, because I really feel like she and her fiance deserve the happiness they will find in each other. I think they both have an accurate idea of the dedication involved in a successful marriage, and that they'll be great at it. Watching them gives me hope that the same will be possible for me when it's my turn.
Mostly, though, I think I've just come a long way since the first of my close friends got married. I've witnessed many engaged couples and gone to many weddings (and observed whether friendships continued or ended afterward), and I understand a lot better what the process is like and how stressful it can be for the couple. I've realized that in nursing my own wounds and petty jealousies, I haven't always been the supportive friend I could have been, even to capable brides who never seemed to need my support. I've learned that it's okay to be just perfectly happy for someone else, without a particle of selfishness interfering. Actually, it feels wonderful—liberating, even.
So congratulations, J and J, and my sincerest, best wishes to you both!
Yes I do
And if you thought
That I didn't love you
Then you'd be wrong, honey
Because . . .
I really really love you I really really love you
I really really love you I really really love you
Brent and Ryan, best love song ever
A friend of mine is getting married today, and I am so happy for her. I have seen lots of friends get married, and I think this is the happiest and least jealous I've ever felt at a friend's wedding.
I'm not sad, because even though I won't see this friend as much anymore, I feel certain she's not going to cut off all friendships with singles. When she says we'll get together sometime after the wedding, I actually believe her.
I'm not massively irritated, because she was never my roommate, so I never had to deal with having her boyfriend/fiance over all the time. (Though I've had several good engaged-roommate situations.) Also, when she and her almost-husband appeared at social functions together, they were able to talk to other people and never indulged in obnoxiously sappy/physical PDA. They were sensitive to the world existing outside their relationship.
I'm not jealous, because I really feel like she and her fiance deserve the happiness they will find in each other. I think they both have an accurate idea of the dedication involved in a successful marriage, and that they'll be great at it. Watching them gives me hope that the same will be possible for me when it's my turn.
Mostly, though, I think I've just come a long way since the first of my close friends got married. I've witnessed many engaged couples and gone to many weddings (and observed whether friendships continued or ended afterward), and I understand a lot better what the process is like and how stressful it can be for the couple. I've realized that in nursing my own wounds and petty jealousies, I haven't always been the supportive friend I could have been, even to capable brides who never seemed to need my support. I've learned that it's okay to be just perfectly happy for someone else, without a particle of selfishness interfering. Actually, it feels wonderful—liberating, even.
So congratulations, J and J, and my sincerest, best wishes to you both!
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Gems from Drafts: Valentine's Day Stanza
I'm not a Catholic, St. Val,
but just this once, sir, be a pal
and send me someone kind and smart
to love me with a faithful heart.
So . . . I have a bunch of articles in drafts. Sometimes I start writing an article and get too philosophical or personal and bury myself in a hole, going nowhere, if vigorously so. The next day (or the next week . . . or the next month) I can come back and the thoughts have settled into something cogent that I pour into another article altogether. Meanwhile, the original sits in drafts, and like the packrat I am, I can't delete it. I had the same problem with scrapbooking: when I was done cutting out paper shapes and working out a page, I'd look at the scraps left behind and see graceful little curves or bold points and want to do something with them—nothing special enough for the perfect pages of a scrapbook; just a little fun. After awhile I found that playing with the scraps could be more fun than making a scrapbook.
I still see potential in small, throw-away things. I make miniature books and cootie-catchers out of post-it notes and accordions out of tape. I make little desks and chairs from candy wrappers during long meetings. And yes, if I sit at a table long enough after a meal with my plate in front of me, I'll start arranging the remnants of my food artistically. With a styrofoam cup and some aluminum foil, I can entertain the whole table (or at least earn a "quit being a goofball" swat from my brother).
In the end, I throw away most of these little garbage spectacles, but sometimes I hang onto the best ones. So I figure I'll do something in the same vein with these drafts—pick out the little gems and purge the dross. The stanza above is the best of a few lines I put together around Valentine's Day a year ago. I liked the poem I worked out later much better, but this stanza was snappy enough to keep me from deleting the draft for a year.
Stay posted for more little gems from drafts to come.
but just this once, sir, be a pal
and send me someone kind and smart
to love me with a faithful heart.
So . . . I have a bunch of articles in drafts. Sometimes I start writing an article and get too philosophical or personal and bury myself in a hole, going nowhere, if vigorously so. The next day (or the next week . . . or the next month) I can come back and the thoughts have settled into something cogent that I pour into another article altogether. Meanwhile, the original sits in drafts, and like the packrat I am, I can't delete it. I had the same problem with scrapbooking: when I was done cutting out paper shapes and working out a page, I'd look at the scraps left behind and see graceful little curves or bold points and want to do something with them—nothing special enough for the perfect pages of a scrapbook; just a little fun. After awhile I found that playing with the scraps could be more fun than making a scrapbook.
I still see potential in small, throw-away things. I make miniature books and cootie-catchers out of post-it notes and accordions out of tape. I make little desks and chairs from candy wrappers during long meetings. And yes, if I sit at a table long enough after a meal with my plate in front of me, I'll start arranging the remnants of my food artistically. With a styrofoam cup and some aluminum foil, I can entertain the whole table (or at least earn a "quit being a goofball" swat from my brother).
In the end, I throw away most of these little garbage spectacles, but sometimes I hang onto the best ones. So I figure I'll do something in the same vein with these drafts—pick out the little gems and purge the dross. The stanza above is the best of a few lines I put together around Valentine's Day a year ago. I liked the poem I worked out later much better, but this stanza was snappy enough to keep me from deleting the draft for a year.
Stay posted for more little gems from drafts to come.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Oh Valentine's Day
I'm the one that writes my own story,
I decide the person I'll be.
What goes in the plot and what does not
Is pretty much up to me.
Carol Lynn Pearson & Lex de Azevedo, "My Story"
Last Valentine's Day I was sitting in a big old van with a bunch of my friends, driving home from a really fun overnight horseback riding/camping excursion. I had spent some time carefully flirting with the guy I really liked, who was now sitting on the same bench with me in the van. "We should all do something tonight," he said. "We've got a ton of food leftover. We could all go to my place or something and watch a movie."
There was a round of non-committal comments about taking showers and maybe meeting later. I added a "Yeah, that would be fun." But nobody really spoke in any affirmatives, and this guy didn't cement it as an actual plan. My hopes of spending more time with him dwindled as the silence in the van lengthened.
When we parked the van and started unloading our stuff into our separate cars, I heard another girl in the group talking to Mr. Noncommittal. "You can still do something, it's not that late. It's Valentine's Day. You don't have to be alone." He didn't reply, and I dawdled purposefully in my unloading, just in case he was trying to decide whether he should invite me over.
He got into his car and drove off.
Today we had our monthly ward potluck, and I was talking to a bunch of people in a group when one of them, a new guy that I've spent a little flirt on, brought up Valentine's Day plans. "It's probably going to be another SAD year for me," he said, chuckling.
"You know, it doesn't have to be," said a girl in our group. "You could actually ask someone on a date."
"Really?" said the guy in mock-shock.
"Yep," said the girl. "It's rare, but it happens."
He made a couple more pretending-to-be-shocked comments, but he didn't stick around much longer after the subject changed.
This Valentine's Day, I'm going to stay home and watch the Olympics.
I decide the person I'll be.
What goes in the plot and what does not
Is pretty much up to me.
Carol Lynn Pearson & Lex de Azevedo, "My Story"
Last Valentine's Day I was sitting in a big old van with a bunch of my friends, driving home from a really fun overnight horseback riding/camping excursion. I had spent some time carefully flirting with the guy I really liked, who was now sitting on the same bench with me in the van. "We should all do something tonight," he said. "We've got a ton of food leftover. We could all go to my place or something and watch a movie."
There was a round of non-committal comments about taking showers and maybe meeting later. I added a "Yeah, that would be fun." But nobody really spoke in any affirmatives, and this guy didn't cement it as an actual plan. My hopes of spending more time with him dwindled as the silence in the van lengthened.
When we parked the van and started unloading our stuff into our separate cars, I heard another girl in the group talking to Mr. Noncommittal. "You can still do something, it's not that late. It's Valentine's Day. You don't have to be alone." He didn't reply, and I dawdled purposefully in my unloading, just in case he was trying to decide whether he should invite me over.
He got into his car and drove off.
Today we had our monthly ward potluck, and I was talking to a bunch of people in a group when one of them, a new guy that I've spent a little flirt on, brought up Valentine's Day plans. "It's probably going to be another SAD year for me," he said, chuckling.
"You know, it doesn't have to be," said a girl in our group. "You could actually ask someone on a date."
"Really?" said the guy in mock-shock.
"Yep," said the girl. "It's rare, but it happens."
He made a couple more pretending-to-be-shocked comments, but he didn't stick around much longer after the subject changed.
This Valentine's Day, I'm going to stay home and watch the Olympics.
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