Uncreated Conscience

Tuxedo and Dad

So I have a bit of a funny story to tell. This story requires a bit of background information on both my father (pictured above), and a boy on whom I had a crush when I was in 6th and 7th grades.

My father is one of those fortunate souls blessed with the ability to swear fluently and creatively. He also has a gift of bestowing hilarious, slightly mean, but very apt nicknames. For example, Mum is always referred to as The Commander, although to her face, Dad calls her Bunky. (Short for “bunkmate”. Mum calls him Hunky. Together they are Bunky and Hunky, and it would be absolutely gag-inducing if it weren’t kind of adorable.) My Halmeoni is WWW, or “Wicked Witch of the West”. My particular favourite pertains to an old frat brother of my father’s, a pompous man named Rex, who signed all of his emails with The Man Who Would Be Rex and whom my dad called Pencilneck.

This anecdote is not about my father.

When I was in 6th grade, there was a boy I liked. He had blond hair, blue eyes, and was an absolute pain in the ass. He flat-tired me (stepped on the backs of my shoes), he stole my pens, he put things in my hair, and cheated off my algebra homework. Science classes were an excuse for our legs to wrestle beneath the desks.

“You’re so smart!” he’d say.

“And you’re really annoying!” I’d shoot back.

Which is 6th grade speak for I really, really like you.

Because I am terrible at hiding my emotions, my father soon sussed out that this boy was the object of my 11-year-old affections.

“Him?” he said, lifting a skeptical brow. (Dad is really good at lifting one brow. I used to practice in front of a mirror so I could lift mine just like him. I am also really good at the skeptical brow now.) “He’s such a dweeb!”

And thereafter, the Object of My 11-Year-Old Affections was known as Chicken Legs around my house.

Now, this boy (despite the constant cheating off my algebra homework) grew up to be a Navy Seal. He’s a real credit, not only to our nation, but to his family, his wife, Mrs. Dorsey the 6th grade teacher, and even to me (because I’m sure my correct math answers got him into his prestigious boys’ high school). The morning after we learned Osama Bin Laden had been killed by a black ops Navy Seal team, my father emailed me with a single line.

Was Chicken Legs in the unit that got Osama?

Oh, Dad.

I have returned from Cancún with some color in my skin and a love of Mexico. I had never been before, which is sad for a southern California native. I mean, driving to Tijuana is practically a rite of passage!

White-Harp & I are on the beach in Cancun!

The water in the Caribbean is unreal. Surely a turquoise that beautiful cannot exist in nature! I took a million photos of just the ocean itself. I was thoroughly enchanted by Mexico and I was most excited to be able to visit Chichen Itza. My father went to Cancún for the fruity tropical drinks and the swim-up bar. My brother went to go snorkeling. My mother went to enjoy the natural beauty. I went to visit Mayan ruins.

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The ruins of Tulum.

I will be spending an extended Easter break with my family in Cancun this year, so expect internet/blog silence from me for the next few days. I will be back in fine blogging form on Wednesday!

Arriba!

New post at Running Roommates!

Don't be fooled; this is not snow. It's ice.

Things I Learned This Past Weekend

• Running on ice works all the small muscle groups in your legs.
• Running on ice when you have one flat foot also causes blisters.
• You should always live with a tall roommate so she can do things like change your lightbulbs for you.

I’ve read MAGIC UNDER GLASS and I’m itching to discuss it, but I shall postpone that blog post for another day when I have more time. Things are picking up around here–good for business, bad for my sanity. Also, this Friday is Masquerade Prom and I have to figure out how I’m going to get ready for it when I have a full work day. Can I curl my hair on the New Jersey Transit, do you think?

Mum is in town and I’ve subjected her to a healthy dose of icky snow. Too bad she couldn’t bring southern Californian sunshine with her. I am so over February. Hell, I’m so over winter it’s not even funny.

Ka'anapali Beach, Lahaina, Maui

Greetings from the Westin Ka’anapali in Lahaina, Maui! My body is absolutely confused as to what time it is. My family and I flew into Kahului Airport last night around 4:30pm Hawai’i time, which meant it was 7:30pm in Los Angeles, and 10:30pm in New York. Coordinating daily phone calls with Bear was a bit of a challenge as he is now six hours ahead of me. I woke up around 5:30am here to a beautiful silvery full moon was hovering over a lavender and indigo ocean in the pre-dawn light. I’m excited; it’s been five years since my family and I went on vacation together. Unfortunately as I seem to have forgotten my camera battery back in LA, I can’t photodocument everything I normally would, so you will have to make do with a random photo of Ka’anapali Beach I found online.

But gloating over being in Paradise is not what I meant to blog about. I bought and finished GRACELING by Kristin Cashore several days ago and meant to review it before I left Pasadena. Without further ado:

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I wish everyone joy in this holiday season! Christmas is the holiday my family is inclined to celebrate, but whichever festival/holiday/celebration you observe, I wish you glad tidings!

Life in Los Angeles with my family has been low-key and sunny and wonderful with the exception of Christmas morning, which is turning out to be grey, misty, and rainy. Boo. It’s odd being back in my old neighbourhood with a few years behind me; there are buildings that weren’t here when I was in high school and buildings that are now gone. Still, the core of Pasadena is unchanged, especially this: The Fair Oaks Pharmacy.

The Fair Oaks Pharmacy

First opened in 1915 and on the historic Route 66, the Fair Oaks Pharmacy is an old-fashioned soda fountain/pharmacy on the corner of Mission St. and Fair Oaks Ave. that my family and I have been frequenting since I was a child. The decor has changed a little since I was a seven (no more swinging hips Elvis clock and no more unicycling monkey riding back and forth across the ceiling), but it is, in essence, still the same.

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Rose Red weather.

I awoke this morning to find the world leached of all colour and blanketed in white. I absolutely love the snow (even if I hate winter). It may be a white Christmas in the city for the first time in years (I’m being optimistic here) and I’m glad I got to see it before I left for sunny and warm Los Angeles.

I remember the first time I ever experienced snow. It was the first time I ever went skiing. I was four years old and my family had taken me to Big Bear. I must have scarcely been taller than three feet and I remember my dad having to keep me between his legs as we rode the T-bar up the slope because I was so small it would whisk me along so fast I ended up being dragged on my stomach. It felt like a small private world being in Dad’s arms: his large gloved hands on either side of my small mittened ones. The snow was coming down heavily and I didn’t like it, not then, not the way it stuck to my eyelashes when I didn’t have my goggles on. My dad laugh as I made a face and told me to stick out my tongue.

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I had thought that The Golden Compass DVD would be released today but it appears as though my anticipation has run away from me because it isn’t released until next week. I had hoped that the DVD would come with the deleted scenes, which include the sky bridge to Cittàgazze and the confrontation between Lord Asriel and Mrs. Coulter but alas, the now defunct New Line will not oblige me. I would have also liked to see a director’s cut, which ordered the panserbjørne fight and the escape from Bolvangar correctly. Chris Weitz, I was mistaken in my estimation of your love for the source material and for that I apologise. New Line, you suck.

Because I had not heard back from my aunt before I left work last night, I went about my routine as per usual. She called after I had officially settled down to sleep to arrange a meeting today. I am not pleased.

It’s really quite unfair of me to say that because I really and truly do love my aunt, who taught me to whistle and throw a frisbee and make snowmen when I was eight. I thought she was the coolest person in the world then: she was single and independent and a grown-up tomboy, something I thought girls had to grow out of when they got married. My aunt is great with children and knows how to play properly and I always felt that she knew me, that she knew what it was like to be a little girl who didn’t necessarily like feminine things.

Funny how age changes your perspective on things.

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Stolen from Karros

I find this rather interesting as I am fairly balanced between the Thinking and Feeling functions, although this test seems to indicate that I am an INTJ rather than an INFJ (it appears to be a difference of one question). Out of curiosity, I went and looked up the personality traits of an INTJ, and while certain things do apply to me, the portrait of a INFJ is much more applicable to “me” as a whole. As a personality type (according to Keirsey), I am absolutely an NF, not an NT as I make my rational decisions according to how I feel about them, not based on what I have previously experienced or currently know.

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