Only one semester left (EVER!)

I'm off to turn in my last final exam! The semester is finally over. Never again will I have to sit through a lecture about the courtly politics of the movie Titanic. What a waste. I'm heading home to eat cookies, watch movies and make people play board-games with me. Yay! See you back here in January.

A Letter to Snow

Dear Snow,

I've got to say, I've always thought we were friends. We played together when I was a child, and we had great times. Remember that winter when I made an igloo out of blocks of you? That was really special. Even as I've gotten older, I've looked forward to seeing you each year. I know that sometimes I pretended I didn't want you to visit, but that was just to impress my friends. Secretly, I loved watching you cover the ground with fluffy whiteness.

But, Snow, I have to be honest. Lately, you've kind of been overdoing it. Sure, I don't mind if you visit once, twice, even three times a month. But you don't know when to leave, and this Snow everyday thing is getting on everyone's nerves. Yes, other people are noticing too. My roommate made a comment today, something about "freaking snowing everyday." As a friend, I thought you should know.

Please don't take this the wrong way. It's just that I get tired of wearing boots everyday, and scraping my car is a real bitch. So Snow, this doesn't mean we're not friends anymore. On the contrary, I look forward to seeing you at Christmas. Just tone it down a little, and everything will be back to normal. Call me, we'll go sledding.

Laura

Why I Blog

Once, a couple years ago, I randomly looked at a bunch of blogs on blogspot. I wanted to get a feel for what people were writing about. It was interesting, because people were writing about everything, but mostly about themselves. In the isolation of post-modernism, we're all looking for a way to communicate. Each blog was a person trying to make sense of a self and trying to tell someone, anyone, about that self. Well, not every blog. One was a site encouraging people to go to church naked. Still, that's communication! What better way to strip off the pretensions of life?

I guess a need for communication is why I blog. I'm afraid I'm becoming more post-modern every day, and blogging is a way to have a touchstone of embarrassing sentimentalism. The thing is, I love honesty. I want to know about how people are deep down. And I want to tell people about me. Sometimes I think I share too much with people, whether in print or in person. I like to explore the little everyday details that make up a life. I may have shared too much about those details when I wrote an essay in undergrad about going shopping for a new bra. Looking back, I think the class may have felt awkward when I read it aloud.

That's the problem with honesty: someone usually feels uncomfortable. But I'm sick of the boredom of being polite. So I will continue to post embarrassing personal and/or sentimental slush on this blog. Try not to feel uncomfortable.

List: Things Men Shouldn't Do on a First Date

1. Offer your arm prom-style and say "Shall we?'

2. Use grotesque cheesy phrases such as "You look lovely tonight."

3. Try to take a picture of your date with your camera-phone.

4. Suggest a walk in the snow when the woman is wearing heels.

5. Disregard bad weather and refuse to leave earlier so that you get stuck on a hill with the tires spinning and your date prays to Jesus to let the night end soon.

6. Insist on getting out of the car and walking your date the five feet to her door.

7. Be a boring, ridiculous buffoon.

8. Tell your date that people always tell you you look like Tom Hanks.

9. Not take hints about the woman being "busy" next Saturday but keep asking questions about what she's doing that day.

10. Call fifteen minutes after you drop her off to tell her you got home safely.

11. Expect a second date.

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Today I woke up and it was winter. Actually, I felt it coming on all through the night as the wind whipped tree branches against the side of the building and I had to burrow deeper and deeper into my nest of blankets. I have realized afresh how my conception of cold does not align with most of the population. I've learned that most households keep their thermostat at around 70 degrees in the winter. Some people even dare to drop to 68. This is not how I was raised. We were like a family of house-cats all seeking the warmest spot and turning the heat up to a temperature that would stifle most Mid-westerners. My parents' electric bills must have been obscene. I never thought about bills, I just wanted to be warm.

Now that I have to pay the bills, I am trying to adjust to life in an igloo. But in the mornings, when my resistance is low, I still sneak into the hall and turn the thermostat up to 75 degrees. Even that's not really warm enough. I wear sweaters all the time now, and fuzzy slippers. I sleep with a comforter, a quilt and another down comforter on my bed. But I'm still cold and am looking into getting an electric blanket. Now if only I could find an electric jumpsuit to keep me warm during the daytime.

Hot Cold

The computers hum and blink their one giant eye, a room full of Cyclops that never sleep and stare and have no eyelids. Sure, there are screensavers but they just blink some more and never stop radiating energy into the room chock full of fluorescent light and rays. It's dead here, quiet, a place of screens and papercuts on my fingers from the paper that spews out of the printers, page after page after page. Outside it's windy cold fresh and the leaves are slick wet under my shoes. The parking lot it black and wide and I rush to my car get in lock the doors. It's scary in parking lots at night when nobody's around and there are shadows and what could I do? Something. It's nice when I get home and the lights are on but they aren't screens and there is yogurt and cookies and I like the fire that turns on with a switch, because the fire is real true light not from a bulb or screen. It's hot light, not cold like the computer lab, parking lot, but like the sun, summer, the glint in peoples' eyes when they are excited.

Death Under the Kitchen Sink

We caught a mouse. The little bugger was in the trap this morning. I checked immediately after I woke up. It was sort of gratifying to actually see the cause of the trouble and know that it was eliminated. But it was also quite sad. The poor brown furry thing was stuck in the trap, dead. I just stood there and stared at it. Then I started to get really sad and had to close the cupboard. I knew I couldn't get rid of it, so I waited until my roommate woke up and asked her remove the mouse. My eyes got teary for a moment as I described to her the situation under the sink. I know it had to be done. Mice are dirty gross disgusting and can't be tolerated. We have scrub the cabinets with bleach. But it was sad to see the mouse in the trap. I hope there won't be any more.

Mouse in the Lazy Susan

There is a mouse in our lazy Susan. More precisely, there was a mouse. It is gone now. I don't know where it went. Perhaps it is traveling through a labyrinth of the backsides of cabinets and the spaces behind walls, nibbling as it goes. It nibbled my macaroni and cheese.

I discovered the mouse this morning. I woke up, drank some water and stumbled to the kitchen. I mixed some oatmeal from a packet and and microwaved it. I sat down on a stool at the counter to eat my warm oatmeal. The sun peeked through the blinds and all was right with the world. A few bites in, a sound came from the cabinet containing the lazy Susan. It sounded like a piece of paper being flicked around in the cabinet. I knew it could only be a mouse (or, more horrifying, mice). I was hit with the irony that this is the nicest apartment I've ever lived in, and yet it is the first one to have a mouse. I walked over to the lazy Susan and spun it around. No mouse. Thank goodness. I hadn't thought about what would happen if the mouse flew out at me. Maybe it wasn't a mouse after all.

I bent down and inspected the cabinet. A bag of popcorn had a ragged hole in the side, and specks of corn littered the bottom of the lazy Susan. I peered into the space behind the Susan. A tiny mouse turd lay on the plywood. In my mind, a tiny swear word rose and emerged softly from my lips. I thought about just closing the cupboard and finishing my oatmeal, but then I decided that my roommate needed to share in my horror and promptly woke her with the news that there was a mouse in the lazy Susan.

Together, we inspected the damage and found more evidence of nibbling. My macaroni and cheese packets had large bite marks in the paper. A corner was missing from her box of taco shells. The mouse could not be denied. I pulled on some jeans and rushed to Wal-Mart for traps, the old-fashioned kind that snap. I set them, nearly snapping off a finger in the process. Two traps sit baited in the lazy Susan, one on the top level and one on the bottom. No carnage has yet occurred. My roommate said lazy Susans are notorious for having mice. You are all forewarned.

Do You Want to be a Sex-Kitten?

Most women do, secretly, says Maureen Dowd. We're taught to want that, just as we are conditioned to think feminism is about ugly women who hate men. Lies, all lies. Read this column for some more insight. I don't usually like Maureen Dowd, but I think she nailed it here.

NY Times column

King of the Geeks

My professor for Epic Politics in Film is an insane old coot. He is tall and has large nostrils, so everyone can see up his nose as he towers above the class. He has a salt and pepper beard and stands with his hands clasped behind his back. His stomach is round and stretches the fronts of his sweater vests.

Theoretically, the class is about the ways epic films provide us with political myths. Practically, the class is an excuse for the professor to talk about swords, wars, the Lord of the Rings and other topics close to the hearts of geeks everywhere. There are four or five of these geeks in the class. Mostly males, they are the students who scream "Arwen!" in unison if someone has trouble recalling the name of the elf princess. They are not embarrassed by their knowledge, nor reticent about sharing.

My professor revels in this sea of useless trivia. He is the King of the Geeks and presides gloatingly over his geekdom. He asks the class what the design on Frodo's sword looks like, then bellows, "Oh, come on!" when no one has a clue. Sometimes even the other geeks let him down. He watches each film once, then watches it again with the commentary. He loves the commentaries--they drip with geekiness.

I must admit that I am somewhat of a geek. I love the Lord of Rings and have read all the books. I have a subscription to National Geographic. I play sometimes computer games. Yet, I am not in the company of the true geeks, the ones who own a replica of the "one ring" and dream of naming their first-born after a character. My professor named his daughter Arwen. But what else would the King of the Geeks name his princess? As for me, I am content to stay on the fringes of geekiness where I can watch the occasional episode of Days of Our Lives and not feel ashamed.

Through the Looking Glass

Stranger than Fiction

A bizarre Iowa moment, brought to you by me. If you read nothing else this week, read the story at this link. To understand it properly, you may need to read it twice.

Fairfield Ledger story

Dream Journey

Fall is Nice

Ahh, fall. It seems I can't go a year without reflecting on my favorite season. Perhaps I like it because my birthday's in fall. But I don't want to talk about my birthday as I seem to be having a bit of a quarter life crisis. So, I also like fall because of the leaves and the wind and the hot chocolate and sweaters and cornstalks and Halloween cookies and pumpkins and creepy dark evenings. And then in November there's Thanksgiving, a wonderful holiday devoted to food. How can anyone not like fall?

Fall is when good movies start to come out. Only a little over a month until Harry Potter! The only bad thing about fall is that it is cold. I hate being cold. I am cold constantly from mid-October until April. Two years ago my grandma sent me long underwear, and I have big furry boots, but I am still cold. But I guess coldness is a small price to pay for all the other things I love.

My New Haircut

Just in case you were wondering. I look sort of mad in this picture. Sorry. I like the haircut though.

Mis-takes

I often think back to what Anne Shirley says: "Tomorrow is fresh with no mistakes in it yet." How comforting, especially since I make so many mistakes. And I make the same ones over and over, but at least I know I get another chance tomorrow.

The mistakes range from small to large. For instance, today I dropped a plate holding half a cake I had made. The plate shattered into tiny glass shards, and the cake landed on top of the glass. That was a small, though vexing, mistake.

A larger mistake is ignoring people because I'm too scared to talk to them. This is a mistake I make almost every day. You would think I would learn, and I do. I know exactly what I'm doing, but I can't seem to help it. But at least I get another chance tomorrow. I can have another "take."

Yesterday I made the mistake of eating a piece of leftover pizza before bed.
Tomorrow I'm getting my hair cut--I hope that won't be a mistake.

Smaller mistakes are more obvious. The largest mistakes--a marriage, a job, a life--don't become obvious till much later, if at all. I fear that we are usually oblivious to our worst mistakes while we're making them. So I won't cry over spilled cake. I wish I could say I do the best I can, but at least I get the chance to do better tomorrow.

Blog Anniversary

This blog is one year old! Hooray!

What have I learned in a year? Quite a bit about journalism. I've learned how hard it is, how bad it sometimes is, and how good it can be. I've learned objectivity is an illusion, but still a goal, much as living a sin-free life is an illusion but something we still strive for.

This blog is called "My Iowa." I know I still love Iowa. It's not that I think it's the best place, or the most beautiful, or even that I want to live here forever. The fact is, I have a relationship with it. I'm just that kind of person. My year makes sense because I know when it's time for the fuzzy caterpillars and when the first snow is likely to fall. If I go a year without seeing the monarch butterflies that show up in late September, I am sad. A golden-brown bean field on the side of a hill is happiness, and home. Can soil and air seep into our DNA over the generations? I doubt it, but it does seem possible.

I've learned you can't explain everything to everyone. Some things are intuitive. The answers to some questions are both yes and no. Don't worry--I've not gone relativistic. It's just that I'm starting to get old enough to not be self-righteous anymore.

For me, believing whole-heartedly in something makes it easier to hear criticism of that thing, because I know in the end it can weather that criticism. So whether it's journalism, my home state, or my faith, I know what I believe in can take whatever you have to dish out. I've heard it all before. I'm even comfortable pointing out flaws in the things I love. I know nothing's perfect, but I also know when to stop apologizing.

Why I Love the Olive Garden

The Olive Garden: When you're here, you're family. Those words are not an empty promise. I've always liked the Olive Garden, but this week I realized just how marvelous it is. I know they are a chain restaurant, and some people look down their noses at chains, but that is snobbish and unfair. Not only is their food delicious, they have a wonderful "To Go" service.

Yesterday, after a long day of classes and work, I was starving. The thought of going home and reheating chicken casserole made me weary. "What I'd really like," I thought to myself, "is the Olive Garden." So I looked up their web site, found the number and proceeded to order myself a fettuccini alfredo dinner. I zipped over to pick it up twenty minutes later and found that ordering food to go from the Olive Garden has many benefits.

1. I received a dish of fettuccini roughly the size of a wheel cover.
2. I received a bin of salad the size of a medium shoebox.
3. Two lovely warm breadsticks.
4. An after-dinner mint.
5. All of these things were packed inside a large brown bag such as you receive at better retail stores. Handy for moving.
6. There were reserved parking spots just for people picking up orders.
7. The staff are friendly and exude charm just like in the commercials.
8. All of this could be had for only $8.75

Dear friends, if you can tell me of a time when you have received such wonderful service and value at a restaurant, I would be glad to hear it. But for now, the Olive Garden is my Jane Austen of restaurants--reliable, fulfilling and oh so flavorful.

Really? You don't say.

It's been said that the only thing people really like to read about is other people. Or, if it hasn't been said, I'm saying it now. We particularly like to read intimate details about other people's lives. So, I will indulge you. I've been on a campaign to be more social. The going is slow, but things are progressing. The fact that I have to make an effort to be nice to people should tell you a lot about me right off. It's not that I mean to be rude, at least not usually. I am just of a formal nature. I can't walk up to people and say things like, "Tom! What's going on? You are such a stranger--haven't seen you around the building." That would be impossible.

I am, however, working on saying things like this: "Hello Tom, how are you? That's good. How did the reporting assignment go?" But, the one thing I think I have going for me is that I am a sympathetic listener. At least, I can be if I turn it on. I widen my eyes, open my mouth a little and stare at the person, frequently furrowing my brows and nodding. I can look very interested and empathetic. People like that. Especially men. They like to have someone's rapt attention. This trick works in lectures, too. Professors always remember me.

I am always worried I will talk to people too long and they will wish I would go. It's odd that the thing I am afraid of is the thing I am least likely to do. Hmm, self-revelation is a good thing.

My friend Stephanie tells me I need to look people in the eye and smile. I'm trying. I guess I'm afraid people won't smile back. But I have a goal. My lofty goal is to become an inviting, warm and friendly person. I am well on my way with the sympathetic listening technique.

A Fine and Joyful Day

Today I got to wake up and wash my face. I had the privilege of eating a bowl of muesli for breakfast and chasing it with some filtered water. I had the distinct satisfaction of choosing an outfit from many colorful options. The bus graciously came to pick me up, and I was allowed to interact with other humans. I enjoyed the benefits of a public university, including lovely grounds and buildings. I was blessed with a tuna sandwich for lunch--it even had little onions cut up in it. The bus picked me up again (glorious convenience!) and I arrived home to bountiful technology and peaceful solitude until leaving for work in my fine automobile. When I get home again, I will indulge in a fantastic chocolate brownie, watch a fine television program and, finally, retire for slumber on my excellent Lebeda mattress.

Literal Answers to Advertising

"What would you do for a Klondike bar?" -- Nothing. The hard chocolate tastes funny and the ice cream is like snow.

"Just do it." -- What exactly? Become a professional athlete? Buy sneakers with gigantic rubber soles?

"Got milk?" -- No, I've not recently given birth.

"Say it with flowers." -- Well, then, I'll need 2,000 gardenias, 1,800 roses and about 5,000 carnations. Oh, and I'll need a vacant football field.

Echo Boom

I am on the cusp of a generation. So are you, if you were born in 1980-82. You are the very beginning of Gen-Y, otherwise known as the Echo Boomers because we are children of Baby Boomers. I am part of the oldest segment of Gen Y. We are beginning to stream into the work force (though I haven't joined up yet). People who do studies say a lot of things about us. Check out this 60 Minutes piece.

We are optimistic! Yay, I like that.
We have been sheltered. Hmm, yes I suppose so. Hence our optimism.
We don't want our work to define us as it may have our parents. I agree. Plus, we never had to work very hard for anything, so work isn't very high on our priority list.
So far, we seem like happy, sheltered Hobbits, blissfully unaware of life's misfortunes. I think that's about right.

We are rumored to be more like our grandparents than our parents. We aren't rebels. We value family and are marrying earlier (some of us anyway). Heck, we're even friends with our parents. We don't protest, we fit in to the system. We are basically followers. But, I'm sure there are some leaders out there somewhere.

Lists (Relating to Broadway Songs)

"A Few of My Favorite Things"

marinara sauce
television
reading in bed
men in crisp collared shirts
the smell of rain on cement
getting home after a long day

Why "I Enjoy Being a Girl"

can have long fluffy hair and not be gross
wearing pretty dresses
(it's hard to make this list and not seem like hopeless 50s-style repressed woman, but I do like those things.)
I sometimes like to have doors held open, etc., but hardly any guys do that anymore, so not quite the bonus it used to be.

"Memory"

I remember when my little sister was born, and I was excited because my mom gave me a new Teddy-bear so I wouldn't feel left out.

I remember getting my first tooth pulled when I was seven, and I refused to open my mouth for the novacaine shots. The dentist assured me it wouldn't hurt, and I believed him like an idiot. I opened my mouth and it hurt like heck.

I remember in fifth grade when I sent away for a list of all the endangered wildlife species, then brought it to class and the teacher let me present it to everyone. I can't believe how uncool I was.

I remember my first day of college when I had to play some stupid game with toilet paper and thinking that civilization was really going downhill fast.

I remember I was so happy on my 22nd birthday because my friends James and Jodi baked a cake with my name on it in blue frosting.

An Imagined Conversation between J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis

"So, J.R.R., how are the hobbers coming?"
"I've told you a million times--it's hobbits! Hobbits!"
"Sorry, sorry. Now, I imagine them as similar to dwarves. Is that what you had in mind?"
"Well, Jack, no. Dwarves live underground, in the mines. Hobbits live in hobbit holes! Like ground hogs."
"Quite, quite. Did I mention I've added a wicked queen to Narnia? She's an ice queen--I modeled her after that testy librarian."
"Yes, I know exactly who you mean! Always grimaces when I hand her a book, as if I've soiled it somehow by touching it."
"You have elves in your story don't you? I can't decide if I need them or not. Narnia doesn't seem elf-friendly. Plus, they get on my nerves--so jolly and smiling all the time."
"No, no, no. I've got elves, Jack, but they are solemn. Solemn I tell you! No one in my story is jolly except the hobbits. They're a bit like retards, really. Playing in the garden, believing whatever anyone tells them."
"I see. I have to say, this whole fantasy story business is merely a way to pass the time until I find myself a foxy lady."
"I agree completely, dear chap."

A Critical Look at Iowa City

Overall, Iowa City is a nice town. I don't think I'd want to live here forever, but if I had to I probably wouldn't hate it. Here are the good things:

The downtown has many shops and restaurants that I like.
The river is pretty and there are lots of trees.
There are bike lanes and paths all around.
There are cultural events and so on.
The bus service is good.
Hy-Vee (I could do a separate entry on why I like Hy-Vee, but that's another blog.)
Banana split hot chocolate at the Java House.
Close to open green spaces and not smoggy.

Things that are not so good:

Students overrun everything: the parking, the post office, the bars.
Drunk people in general.
Coral Ridge Mall feels like an airplane hanger.
Not too many great jobs outside of healthcare.
A general air of pretension.
People pan-handling all the time.
Still a lot of people driving poorly in pick-up trucks. (If you own a pick-up, I mean no offense to you. But, I see many people in pick-ups who think they can drive either very fast or very slow and not be courteous to other drivers. I don't know if rude people are attracted to pick-ups or if driving pick-ups makes a person rude.)

Things I Think are Strange in a Slightly Amusing Way

Girls who wear gym shorts and an old T-shirt to class but at the same time have their hair curled and are wearing full makeup.

How everyone has to sit next to strangers on the bus, yet never speak to them but in fact pretend they don't exist.

How the subject of an email I got was "Ladies coffee night next Wednesday," and the email managed to work in the word ladies four more times.

The book, The Epic Hero by Dean Miller. It's so terrible and pretentious that it is hilarious to read. But I don't recommend it unless you are very pretentious yourself. I actually hate it.

Straws. Aren't they funny?

Funniest Thing I've Read in Weeks!

I realize this blog is disintegrating into randomness, but you have to read this. I'm not joking.

http://www.mcsweeneys.net/2005/5/16stoeckel.html

My Corner of Iowa

My hometown, folks!

http://www.pbs.org/wnet/religionandethics/week845/feature.html

Farm Web Site

I don't think I ever gave anyone the link to my web site from last semester. I made it for my web design class and had a great time working on it.

http://myweb.uiowa.edu/ljbillin

Enjoy!

Toppings

I have a new addiction. I have a three-day-old hot fudge habit, and the sad part is I don't even want to quit. I got a jar of hot fudge and found that homemade sundaes are far superior to ice cream shop ones because you can put on as much fudge as you want. And I do. I love hot fudge. If the next time you see me I've gained twenty pounds, you'll know what's to blame.

I'm not even a big chocolate person. Whenever I get a box of chocolates, it takes me about four months to eat them all, and I never eat the ones with hard caramel centers. I'm more savory than sweet, preferring cottage cheese and crackers to candy. But there's something about hot fudge, ya know?

Looking Out

I spent the last two days touring the Lake of the Ozarks area and trying to find the best lake lookouts. It was quite hazy, so the pictures aren't very good overall, but I still like some of them. The temperature got up to 99 degrees today, so walking miles in the woods trying to find the overlook made me very sweaty. The humidity must have been about 90 percent as well. But, it made me feel like an actual travel writer, enduring horrendous conditions to get the story.

The swinging bridge is over the Auglaize Creek. You can actually drive cars across it, though we didn't think that would be a good idea. It's a genuine swinging suspension bridge out in the middle of rural Ozark country.

Things I Do When I'm Alone:

Eat chocolate pudding straight out of the carton.
Play Nintendo for hours at a time.
Stare at my face in the mirror, trying to make sense of it.
Watch CNN.
Watch Audrey Hepburn movies and wish I was her.
Look up information about dogs on the American Kennel Club web site.
Make up little songs while I wash the dishes, usually on the syllable "da."

That's all I can think of that I care to share right now. What do you do when you're alone?

Heeeeeere trouty trouty trouty!

Missouri Adventures

Last Thursday I was introduced to the rainbow trout. Our meeting place was a stream off the Niangua River in Missouri. The time was 5:45 a.m. I wore green rubber waders four sizes too big with suspenders. The trout wore nothing. I tried my best to coax a trout onto my hook, but the trout were much too smart for me. Plus I don't know what I would have done if I'd have caught one--most likely run around trying to find someone willing to take it off the hook, by which time it would have been dead. Not that I have a lot of sympathy for trout, though they are smart and speedy. But they are cannibals. After a better fisherperson than me caught a trout, he cleaned it right there by the side of the stream and threw the guts into the water, where they were promptly carried off by other trout and devoured. Gross. I ate some trout too, for breakfast at 10:30. Yep, that's right. Fishing time lasted three and a half hours. I quit a teensy bit early and took pictures of the trout, since I couldn't catch any. Most of the people in the stream didn't seem to tire of trying to catch trout. They are still there now, in the dark, casting their lines over and over, muttering in low voices about how this time the trout will bite.

Christian Women sans Babies

Yep, they exist. No, seriously. I'm not joking. Check it out.

Women in the Church: One Woman's Thoughts

Lately I've been thinking a lot about women in the Christian church. As a woman and a Christian, I'm concerned. I'm just thinking in print here, so don't get all uptight, but I don't think I can agree with people who say women shouldn't be pastors or ministers. I can respect them, because I understand why they believe what they do, but at this point I can't agree.

I don't see good enough evidence that women shouldn't have these roles. Some say that traditionally women weren't pastors. Well, I don't say this callously, but so what? If, since the time Jesus appeared on earth, we've been learning and moving toward the kingdom, then maybe we should learn that women can lead the church. And, of course, disciples have traditionally been slow learners. Maybe it's just another case of "You thick people! Don't you understand yet?"

Really, I don't see any other substantial arguments except the one for tradition. The parts in the Bible dealing with women in the church most likely dealt with preserving the status quo of the time. The passages that say the man should be the head deal specifically with a marriage situation. I just don't see a good enough argument for keeping women out of pastor roles. I think the main reason we balk is that we aren't used to it. We can't imagine a woman minister, so of course it feels strange. And I'm not saying that any woman could be a minister. As with men, it takes a special gift and calling. And if a woman has that, I see no reason to not let her use it.

Perhaps I am wrong. I'm only saying what I feel makes the most sense in light of my understanding of Jesus.

People often become very emotional over this topic. Actually, people often become very emotional over many discussions about church issues. I can appreciate that, though I rarely feel that way myself. While the issues are very important to me, and I spend a great deal of time thinking about them, I don't feel that all the passion we give to these issues is always justified. Airing feelings honestly is the only way to grow. I don't think that discussion and disagreement offend God. He is more mighty than that. Of course, we should try to agree and work towards reconciliation, but I think we should do it by honestly trying to see the other side and then, if we can't agree, at least agree to not stop communicating.

Words of the Day

It often happens that after I encounter a word I don't know and look it up, that word starts appearing everywhere. It happened with "peripatetic." I'd never heard of it, but it was on the GRE. I looked it up as soon as I got home and found that it means "walking or moving about; not staying in one place, itinerant," according to Webster. After that I came across that word no less than ten times in the following year. It still pops up regularly. Maybe I'm just more sensitive to the word, but it really seems as if it came out of nowhere.

The same thing happened with "schadenfreude" (enjoyment obtained from the troubles of others). This time I saw the word yesterday for the first time, then I read it again today in a textbook for class! Does this happen to you? Is it a world-wide phenomena? It like it when it happens--it makes me feel as if the world is operating on some sort of pattern.

What is Wrong with People?

That, my friends, is the question. When people say they will do something, their word doesn't mean anything. Seriously, I don't trust anyone anymore. It's sad, but it's true. Let me tell you my story:

I thought it would be fun for the journalism grad students to get together for drinks tonight downtown. So, I talked to people and sent out an email. I had three people tell me to my face that they would definitely be there. So, I waited and waited and waited and waited, and finally the doorman asked me if I was okay, so I thought I'd better leave. What is wrong with people who don't want to go out and have a fun night? I know some of these people are just sitting at home.

You know what the saddest part is? I'm not even surprised that no one showed up.

Sometimes, I feel like my life is just one long string of disasters. I know I shouldn't say that because some people have real problems, like war and famine and abuse. But it would make my year if just ONE thing could go right. That would be friggin' fantastic.

Iowa Optimism

Here are links to some stories about Iowa. They show that we are starting to head in the right direction. Some people will say that they don't prove anything, that there are ways to discount what they say. Maybe they don't prove anything, but they are hopeful. I choose to have an optimistic attitude. But, some people will always be pessimists. That's their loss.

The new urban hierarchy: Future is shifting to second-tier cities

Census figures reflect increase in Iowans in their 20s

Iowa sees nation's second highest increase in income

Dyeing the river green in Chicago for St. Patrick's Day. I was quite thrilled.

Weather

This blog might be getting a little photo-heavy, but I have a digital camera now and want to take pictures all the time. Everybody likes pictures anyway.

Today I realized something: I actually enjoy talking about the weather. Perhaps it's in my genes as an Iowan, or maybe people in all states like to talk weather, but I'm fascinated by the conditions outside. This morning while waiting for the bus, I talked weather with this guy who also waits for the bus. We generally always discuss the temperature since we have to stand outside, by the highway no less, for five minutes each morning. (An aside about why I hate standing by the highway: First, the cars and trucks whiz by at 60 mph and sometimes kick up a lot of dust that blows on me. Second, the trucks honk at me. Third, it's just kind of ugly there. But, on the plus side, an orange cat lives in the ditch by the highway and I watch it sometimes.)

In the spring, each day's weather is exciting and different, so there is plenty to talk about. Today it was windy and cold. Yesterday it was nice and warm. Tomorrow it might be snowing. I think the bus stop guy likes weather, too, because he spoke with real amazement about it being cold today. That's the key you know. You have to believe that constantly commenting on the weather will force it to change. I also believe that if I check the forecast on the Weather Channel online enough times, it will get better, i.e. warmer.

Spring break is over, so it is officially the time when Laura gets spring fever. It affects me quite badly. I start to daydream about eating Tropical Snow and and getting my hair cut.

It Might as Well be Spring--Seriously, why wait?

Sunday it was spring. Actually, it was the first day of spring. It was 70 degrees; the sun shone bright and warmed my skin. A light breeze stirred the brittle grasses that lay in wait for the new to sprout up and displace them. But on Monday it was winter again. The high was 38 degrees and gobs of slush fell from the sky, as if some terrible giantess kept blowing her nose, farmer style, toward the earth. I have never seen a farmer doing this, though no doubt some of them do. What would you do alone in a field, miles from the nearest tissue? But the point is, it was miserable on Monday, and the splendor of Sunday made the cold that much more unbearable. You see, in Iowa there are many first days of spring every year. They generally start in March and continue until June, when spring finally comes at last and ceases to taunt us like a child showing a cat a tasty bit of hotdog, then whipping it behind his back.

So, in protest of this delay, I've decided to behave as if spring has come in earnest. I painted my fingernails pink and, tomorrow, I plan on wearing a pink top. I refuse to wear my winter coat any longer. I plan on buying an ice cream tomorrow and eating it as I wait for the bus. If necessary, I will eat it in the snow. I will eat it just for show. I will not rest till winter leaves. For spring is here, if you believe.

The inside of my grandparents' barn. Very old--about 100 years.

What Every Iowan Must Read!

"Keeping Iowa's Young Folks at Home After They've Seen Minnesota." Read it before the seven days are up! This article was the most emailed today on the New York Times online. I think it hits the nail on the head--what do you think? Of course, the main problem with Iowa is that it lacks a major metropolitan area. But I would hate to see a string of suburbs across the state's midsection. Actually, there are a few reasons I think Des Moines might take off in the next ten years, but I don't have time to detail them now. To be continued . . .

Downtown Iowa City on the nicest day of February.

New link

Since the New York Times link to the IQ story is expired, I posted a new link to the British Times that I think ran the original story. It's worth a read.

Is society short-changing boys?

A story in The Detroit News says boys are falling behind academically. Teachers expect boys to sit quietly in class like the girls, not accounting for the fact that boys and girls mature at a different pace. But, later on in high school, girls get the shaft when they are seen as unfeminine for speaking up in class. What to do?

I would have to think long and hard about sending my child of either gender to public schools. I think public schooling teaches toughness and real-world coping skills, but there are so many negatives, such as incompetent teachers and misplaced priorities. Home-schooling or private schools might be good alternatives, but who has the time or the money? Maybe single-gender elementary schools are the way to go. I think I would have benefited from that environment. Then boys can be boys and girls can be girls.

This whole topic makes me wonder when I internalized the idea that smart isn't cool for girls. I think it was at a very young age, though I can't remember a specific instance. (If you've been reading my posts, you can see that I've never gotten over this.) In elementary school I always wanted to be pretty--it was my greatest aspiration. I wanted to be a scientist--but I wanted to be pretty more. I thought of a career as something you did, but being attractive as something you were. It was only much later that I finally realized that being pretty wasn't enough--I had thought it was. It really doesn't make anything easier.

So everyone, male and female, is permanently screwed up. I guess that makes things even.

Women's chance for marriage drops as their IQ rises

That's what a recent British study found. Read about it at these sites: Times Online and Yahoo News. Seriously--read the the Times story at least.

Sometimes I wonder if our society's need to make men and women exactly the same has made us want to reinforce stereotypes even more. Men know they want a woman who is different from a man, but they don't know what that means anymore, so they are drawn to subservient women or ultra-feminine women who make the distinction between the sexes seem clearer. Just throwing that out there as a possibility.

So, are women drawn to more manly men? Maybe, maybe not. Personally, I'm drawn to men like the guy who was on "That Seventies Show" whose real name is Topher Grace. Now that, my friends, is the most un-manly name in the world.

Continuing the discussion about men and women

I found the comments on my Nov. 14 post interesting, and I appreciate all comments. I thought you might like to read the original article I was responding to, so here's the link to Independence Daze.

Don't get me wrong: I'm not belittling marriage. In fact, I would quite like to get married myself. But I don't believe I have to be married to be complete. I'd like a man in my life, but I can't make that happen by sheer will power. I've HAD to get along on my own, and this has changed me. I hope that the right man will come along, and I hope I'll be able to let him into my life. Many of my female friends are in the same boat, or at least a similar one. I don't know what to tell them. I hate to be so prosaic, prattling on about marriage and courtship. But hey, it worked for Jane Austen. But she was a genius. I'm just a romantic with an outer layer of cynicism.