You know it's the holiday season when a Folgers commercial makes you tear up.

And my English professor would throw a fit if she read that title. If I cared at all about being grammatically correct,  it should read: "I know it's the holiday season when a Folgers commercial makes me tear up."

Because we all know that I'm talking about myself.

It's not that love coffee so much (I don't even think Folgers COUNTS as coffee), I'm just a sentimental sucker.

I've been like that a lot lately, stuck in that mind-numbing state  of "AWWWW!" that leaves you (me) with a diminished IQ and glossy eyes.

Examples:

• Watching the sweetest little old lady go out of her way, and then fight, to buy her friend his coffee.
• Little kids with their dads. Doing anything. 
• This article about Joel Przybilla (for the Portland Trailblazers) coming back to play tomorrow after multiple knee injuries.
• Sitting at your favorite coffee shop with two of your favorite people, and having them reaffirm everything you've ever doubted in yourself (Sar and Kait - thanks for saving me).
• Notes. 
• Old (as in 70, 80 years old) couples wearing matching outfits. 

But you know, right now it's a heck of a lot easier to make a list of things that DON'T make me cry.

• Any song that refers to a female as "girl." As in "ohhhhh girl, I wanna be loooovin' you girl, girl you so good to me! what would I do wichout you girl!!" 
• This music video. If there was ever a foolproof way to get a girl to seriously consider celibacy, this is it. I mean really, when you put that many bottle-blonde guys into one room and hand them musical instruments, it's just asking women everywhere to flock to the nearest convent.
• The song "Speak Now" by Taylor Swift. If he wanted to marry you, he would. But he's marrying someone else, so he doesn't. Deal. 
• Watching a couple walk up to the register, order, and say they're together... then the girl pulls out her wallet. Really right now?! Man up and buy your own sugar high! 
• Nicholas Sparks books. I personally don't think this even needs a commentary, they're that ridiculous. 
• Long, self-absorbed lists. Wait....

No Shave November: A Love Story

I love beards.

Let me just confess that, right off the bat, so it's not some secret I'm hiding behind my back, switching it irritatingly from my left to right hand to make you guess. Beards. Love 'em.

So No-Shave November (a month-long holiday in which men do not shave, in case you weren't aware) makes me pretty happy.

I feel like I should clarify this, my love of beards, so that whoever reads this doesn't think I have some sort of fetish for mountain men (or mechanics?).

But before I do that, I'll announce that I in no way endorse women celebrating No-Shave November in any way, shape, or form. Seriously, that's disgusting.

So, beards.

From a purely analytical standpoint, there are a few good reasons for this odd love. The first is that the first beard I ever saw was my fathers, which technically wasn't a "real" down-to-the-chest kind of beard, it was just a week or two of stubble.

But I loved it.

And I think I loved it because he loved it. And I think that's because when he skipped shaving, that usually meant that it was the weekend, or some kind of break from school, or summer. So he was happy and relaxed in his beard, which made me feel happy and relaxed as well, looking at his beard.

Then I saw beards on my grandfathers, uncles, and eventually on my cousins. Usually my family is a fairly well-kept bunch, but there are always times when the urge for a beard exceeds all reason. Again, those are times when they're happy and relaxed.

Also, they always seemed to be doing manly things, like barbecuing and chopping down trees and making fools of themselves in order to make their wives smile, they're getting up early to make breakfast for the family, and they're driving and listening to talk radio.

Beards. They make me smile.

Of course, there are always exceptions to my beards-are-awesome rule, things that make beards significantly less awesome. Those include, but are not limited to:
(1. something living in the beard
(2. a case of the beard making the man look like a drug dealer, pervert, or possible assassin.
(3. a beard that exceeds acceptable length and can therefore double as a carpet
(4. a smelly beard.
(5. if the beard has been colored or waxed, it is at least 60% less awesome, but braids increase awesomeness by 15%
(6. if there is a possibility of getting lost in the beard, it is awesome only from a distance
(7. if the beard is used to hide an unforgivably large beer belly, it is stripped of it's awesomeness

But that's basically it.

Here's another brilliant argument for beard-growing: http://www.biggerbetterbeards.org/

An article on No-Shave-November: http://www.jzkretail.com/general/no-shave-november-men/

And another awesome article: http://www.lsureveille.com/entertainment/no-shave-november-popularity-growing-nationwide-1.2051734

http://www.no-shave-november.com/

 

 

 

Too many cliché blog/photo album/song titles have already been coined using the word "Fall," so instead of adding to them, I'll just use this as a title.

Fall is my favorite season for a number of reasons that I'm not going to write here, mostly because I have a long To-Do list (written on graph paper) and wet hair.

(Detour: I've been noticing that I have a huge problem with hiding behind excuses and with complaining. When I decide to write the "Things I'm Bad at Blog," being grateful and taking responsibility will be mentioned.)

But one of the reasons that I love it is that Fall always seems to have a soundtrack. I notice music more in the Fall: the combination of colors and sound seems more magical than during any other season. I feel like I should be taking a picture of everything, like every moment is too beautiful to not be captured; and therefore remember and re-lived.

But since I didn't take all of those pictures, I'm going to borrow them from Google. 

http://microscopiq.com/category/music/

Song: Barlights (http://ournameisfun.bandcamp.com/track/barlights) from about 2:25 onward. I love the feeling of looking at all that GOLD on the trees and hearing "And for the first time in a long time, I feel alive, I feel alive."

http://shadowmountainstudiosllc.com/contact_us

 

 

I feel like this, when listening to "Everything's Magic" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oM3ykGr6Nj4&ob=av2e) is self-explanatory. What's more magical than the sky looking like that?!

Okay, well maybe a lot of things, like babies being born or blueberry pancakes, but still, it's pretty magical.

This one's all mine. I took it from inside my car - it's VOLT, the lighting shop on Wall Street in Bend, Oregon.

And when I see glowing lights like that, I hear "Come Fly with Me" in my head, and then I sing it all day. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QEFw0_iRE10)

http://www.nrichienews.com/2010_04_01_archive.html

And people dressed like this makes me hear that so-catchy-it's-upsetting Sugarland song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5iDPw_qjhtM)... because to like someone even when they're bundled up like a goober means you really like them.

--------------------

And I realize that a lot of these things you can see any time, but I see them more in the Fall. Not that they occur more often - they're just more noticeable, they're more clear. They're more like scenes in an indie movie, complete with soundtrack.

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I also like Fall because it's an obvious, unmistakable, straightforward sign that life changes. It's proof that life has different seasons, it has transition periods. In order for people to ever grow or learn or become better versions of themselves, they have to change. They have to have transitions.

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The summer before my freshman year in high school, I went to a week-long camp. There were the customary bunk beds, the bad food, and the insane group games, but there was also a zip line. I remember being absolutely terrified, but I didn't really admit how scared I was. The kids who sucked it up and did it always came back so happy, and the kids who chickened out all walked around with a sheepish, downtrodden look on their face. I wanted to be one of the happy-looking people. So I climbed the ladder, and I put on the harness, and I sat on the edge, and my feet looked very small in comparison to the ground below them.

I jumped.

And I fell.

When you ride a zip line, there's a two second time period in which you are neither safely on the ledge or zipping through the air, you're just dropping. You're in transition from stability to going on an adventure, you're  waiting for the change. The pulley has not yet proved it's strength, the harness isn't yet tight around your waist.

You're falling.

Because when you're riding a zip line, or when you're living, you have to Fall in order for the change from sitting still to flying to happen. 

And right now, the whole town and I are falling, we are in Fall, we are waiting for the pulley to catch and the flight to start.

I don't want to write this.

But I hear that forcing yourself to do something that you know you need to do, even when you don't want to do it, is good for you. Like taking medicine, or jogging, or eating salad in winter.

My bratty, stubborn side thinks that's just a load of phooey, but I know my fellow blogger Matt Funk will probably kick my butt if I stop typing now.

So I won't.

My only excuses for not writing this is that I'm sleepy, it's cold, and I don't want to, because I don't have anything to say.

But everyone that knows me at all knows I always have something to say. Sometimes it's not verbal, I just express my thoughts with my scary right eyebrow, or a smirk, or my skeptical face, or my super intimidating grumpy face. Once in a while, I smile. I can also be fairly expressive with sighs, "psshhhh" 's, obnoxious scoffing sounds, and snorts.

And it's almost nice to have people that can translate my odd noises, or call me out on things, but it's also kind of a pain. Like a lot of things in life are.

-------------------------
 
I used to always think that 19 year old's knew everything. From my blonde-pigtailed-jumper-clothed-little-kid self, I looked up at them in awe, sincerely believing that they had finally received the keys to the Lamborghini of life. They had it together, with a career all picked out, an identity settled upon, a confidence that never wavered, a height that was actually fitting for a 19 year old, a clear direction in which they were headed.

I'm starting to think now that there's a distinct possibility that the girl in the jumper was wrong.

But I also think that the girl I am today, the 19 year old, the one in the old jeans and oversized sweater, is okay with not knowing everything. Maybe I'm even okay with not knowing anything.

Because the more you don't know, the more you have to find out, the more excuses you have to go on crazy adventures or do stupid things or take risks or ask tons of questions to find things out.

And I would rather live my life trying to find things out than carry around a huge book of things I already know.

-------------------------

 I think the biggest influence on my life philosophy, including everything I've already written about, is my mental image of God.

And I'm sure I just lost some of you, you're thinking "Dang it Jazmin, who do you think you are, a Southern Baptist preacher or something!?!?"

Even though that might be cool, I am not a Southern preacher.

The only reason I have for bringing this up is that I'm talking about myself, and without Him being who He is, I wouldn't be me, and so He has to come into the conversation eventually.

When I think of God, I think of a master artist and a master storyteller and a master shepherd, who is always out to make things whole and beautiful. He is poetic, He is faithful, He is gentle. But I also picture Him saying things like "Dude, I got this, just watch and see!"

And that enables me to know that for everything I trip over in life, everything I wonder about and worry about, everything that I find stressful or irritating, everything I don't understand and want to know about, God is right there with me in it, saying "Watch."  


-------------------------

 So that's what I said when I thought I didn't have anything to say.

Psh, sucker.

This is one of my new favorite songs.

http://ournameisfun.bandcamp.com/track/the-gambler (listen there)

(and read here)

Slow down,
we've got time left to be lazy
All the kids have bloomed from babies into flowers in our eyes.
We've got 50 good years left to spend out in the garden
I don't care to beg your pardon,
We should live until we die.

We were barely 18 when we'd crossed collective hearts.
It was cold, but it got warm when you'd barely crossed my eye.
and then you turned, put out your hand,
and you asked me to dance.
I knew nothing of romance, but it was love at second sight.

I swear when I grow up, I won't just buy you a rose.
I will buy the flower shop, and you will never be lonely.
Even if the sun stops waking up over the fields
I will not leave, I will not leave 'til it's our time.
So just take my hand, you know that I will never leave your side.

It was the winter of '86, and all the fields had frozen over.
So we moved to Arizona to save our only son
and now he's turning to a man, although he thinks just like his mother,
he believes we're all just lovers he sees hope in everyone.

And even though she moved away,
we always get calls from our daughter.
She has eyes just like her father's
they are blue when skies are grey.
And just like him, she never stops,
Never takes the day for granted,
works for everything that's handed to her,
Never once complains.

You think that I nearly lost you
When the doctors tried to take you away.
But like the night you took my hand beside the fire
30 years ago to this day
You swore you'd be here 'til we decide that it's our time
Well it's not time, you've never quit in all your life.
So just take my hand, you know that I'll never leave your side.
You're the love of my life, you know that I'll never leave your side.

You come home from work and you kiss me on the eye
You curse the dogs and say that I should never feed them what is ours
So we move out to the garden, look at everything we've grown
and the kids are coming home
I'll set the table
You can make the fire.

 I'm a sucker for songs like this. Actually, come to think of it, there are a lot of things I'm a sucker for. Children. Good coffee. Cardigans. Miniature things. Notes. Indie films. Scones. Tupperware. Anything sentimental.

And straightforward-ness. I have a heart of stone when it comes to begging, pleading, sniveling, groveling, puppy eyes, whimpering, kneeling, bribing, and crying. But a well reasoned, logical, direct and to-the-point argument gets me every time. If you have a good reason for something I have a very, very hard time resisting you, even if I don't agree.

Just saying.

Hmmm, what else... I'm a sucker for compliments that don't have anything to do with Taylor Swift or being blonde. Math. Little black dresses (I think I have seven...). Tea cups. Sunsets. Light, reflections, and shadows. Beanies. People who make eye contact. Art. Crayons.

"This is just like something in a movie!"

Do you ever feel like your life is a low-budget, highly artistic, fascinatingly unpredictable indie film?

I do.

It felt like that one morning last week, when I was awake before the sun and wouldn't get to go to bed until long after the sun retired. Stupid, lazy sun.

I remember sitting there thinking, "What is this, who put me here in this life, and why do I feel like I have a camera watching me and Ben Folds is playing the keyboard for the soundtrack as I tie my shoes?"

Do you ever feel like that, like your life isn't something that you asked for? It's just something you were thrown into? Because a character in an indie film doesn't ask for it either. The writer never checked with her to see if she was okay with being gently but pointedly mocked, her facial expressions becoming more and more animated as her emotions develop and expand as the story develops and expands.

One of my favorite scenes in the film is the one where I'm sitting at the counter in the coffee shop and I'm holding a latté with perfect foam, and I'm looking out at the sunshine-drenched and people-filled street, and I'm hearing my favorite song, and you can tell I'm a regular because all the baristas and even some of the other customers know my name. And I have the look on my face that says "Yes, I am here, and this is the right place for me to be, and I know it."

Life feels like an indie film when I'm in my kitchen. I'm standing there barefoot, wondering about life and where it's taking me, and I'm wondering what kind of love story, job story, college story, life story, that I'll get to tell my kids. In the film, the editor would cut to a shot of the happy ending of the story I'm imagining - in that scene, I'm not baking for my dad, but for my kids. Or better yet, my kids are baking for their dad, and I get to tell the story of how we met. I get to tell them about my college experience, about the amazing life I was given. Then the director would have the scene go back to me, the barefoot one, wondering in the kitchen.

Some moments feel too perfect to not be part of a script. They're not always the moments with the plot twist, or a radical change in the tone of the narrative, but they're beautiful because they explain more about the character.

It's when the two close friends show up wearing the same sweater and find out that their parents have the same wedding anniversary. It's when she runs into an old friend. It's when they play basketball and he doesn't let her win because he knows she hates that. It's when the perfect shoes are purchased. When he finally cries, when she offers a hug because she can tell that everything isn't fine. When she walks into a door because good Lord, he is distracting. The moment the letter is written, when eye contact is made, when a song starts, when the letter is received.

And maybe life actually is a film, because really, what is a film other than a story that people watch? Maybe the only difference is that real life doesn't end with credits rolling on a black screen.  


(Maybe it's just because I finally got my spot in the library back, or because I'm paying too much attention in Film or English class, or because my hair is up ballerina-style, but this is what I needed to write today. Sorry that it's a little disjointed and emotional and maybe a tad pretentious.)

What I couldn't post on Kaitlyn's wall about a feminist book from the 1980's

(This was originally a post on my friend Kaitlyn's wall on Facebook, but Facebook took one gander at it and said "PSH, we don't allow rants that long!" and I was too lazy to edit it down, so I'm posting it here. It references a book from the 1980's that is, in my and Kaitlyn's opinion, absurd. It's called The Cinderella Complex, and it's by Collette Downing. If you've read it, or have something to say after you read about it here, let me know.) 

So.... I didn't want the book back.... like..... really.... because it just sits there staring at me, like it's daring me to read it, but I can't, (a. because I literally don't have time, (b. because even if I DID have time, reading it would just make me angry, and I don't have extra energy to be angry.
But it still stares, it looks, it addresses my soul directly with it's thin browning pages, and it says "Excuses."
Because it would like to persuade me that by my act of putting it down before I finished it - it won. It's trying to build up the argument that not finishing the book makes me narrow minded and unwilling to hear other opinions or change my mind.
I don't want it to win, but I can't sit there and fill my mind with what she says, because she is like poison to intelligent thought. She is like cardiac arrest or a hangman's noose to my mind, and yet she has me at an impasse.
I'm at an impasse with a BOOK from the 1980's, and I just wrote almost two hundred words about it.

About that whole LOSING MY MIND conversation....