The Place I Call Home

Not sure if I just like my new apartment a lot more than past residences, or if it's just a matter of being used to living in an apartment, or if it's a function of finally feeling settled in my third year at school...whatever the reason, I've adapted to this place much faster than any so far.

In the dorms, it was 'the box','the hole', 'the dorm', 'the room', and my favorite, 'the cave'.

Last year, it was 'King Henry', 'the apartment', or 'the place'.

This year, we have a red kitchen. There is a serious lack of storage, but it is so worth it to have a red kitchen. We've all moved past Ramen or Pasta Roni this year, and have actually begun developing our cooking skills. Sometimes it pays off - as in the case of delicious Pear and Brie chicken we had last week, and sometimes...well let's just say one of us learned not to cook chicken by placing it frozen in a frying pan. (Our apartment was so thick with smoke it looked like we lived in a cloud, but at least we learned that the smoke detector is broken.) Anyway, I attribute our new exploits in cooking to the pleasant aura created by the red paint.

The bathroom/sink area is a little small this year...two sinks for six of us - but this is where the magic happens. Six disheveled and sleep-deprived girls emerge from their bedrooms, but after considerable time spent in front of this mirror, which includes lots of negotiating of various cords, and in some cases massive amounts of makeup and/or hairspray (to the point of causing a fire hazard - if one of us lit a match in front of that mirror in the mornings we'd all be toast, literally), six well-dressed girls in varying degrees of glamour emerge ready for the day. That is to say nothing of the bathrooms themselves. There are shampoo bottles on the floor of the tub because there isn't enough room on the edges and the hot water is so flaky that we have all resigned ourselves to the fact that we will be going without showers or be dealing with frozen hair this Winter.

Our living room is much larger than last year, and despite the ugliness of the plaid couches we actually enjoy hanging out in there. This is where we study when we can't stay awake on our beds, where we play marathon card games, where we do roommate therapy sessions, and where we watch Grey's Anatomy religiously every week.

And then there's my room. Well, our room. I have transitioned from having my own room last year to sharing a room this year. It has actually worked out pretty well, with the one exception that it is MUCH more difficult to go to bed at a reasonable time when there is someone five feet away to lay in bed and talk to about the big picture philsophical issues, the minor details of the day, and everything in between. It's fairly small, but we handle it. I just have to keep my mess to my side, and Ainsley keeps her order on her side. So far we've managed not to overflow but it's only been a month.

Anyway, that's the new place....this year, it's 'home'.

A New Era of Responsibility

Parker - that is his name. My new pride and joy...well neither actually. Can I just say that getting a car is far less exciting when it's one you are paying for and that you are responsible for? When I finally got my license and could drive my dad's old 1994 Ford Taurus (Bruce - see blogpost dated March 2nd, 2009 for more on him), when I got to drive that car I was ecstatic. There was nothing better! I volunteered to run every errand under the sun, I spent every minute in that thing that I could, despite the fact that it had no air conditioning and for music the choices were either radio stations full of static or good old-fashioned tapes.

Oooooh how times change. When I bought Parker, which name he shall be called, I could barely bring myself to go 70mph on the freeway. I would leave a good twenty feet between me and the car in front of me at stop lights. I tried not to accelerate or break too fast for fear of damaging something. It was much less a toy or source of fun, and more a prized possession, needed for transportation to work, and something I felt a real sense of stewardship over. It was all I could do to let my dad take it for a test drive up and down the street the night I bought it. And when he came zooming past the house, clearly giving the accelerator a good test, I determined that I would never let anyone get behind Parker's wheel ever again.

Now the cautiousness has worn off a little, I've returned to my normal, faster, more efficient method of driving, and I've already gotten two speeding tickets since I started driving Parker. In fact, the second officer to pull me over felt it necessary to inform me that the most common cars pulled over by his officers were Toyota Camrys and Honda Accords, like Parker, because apparently they run so smoothly that people don't realize how fast they're going. Hmmm, but was he going to let me use this as an excuse? Heavens no. $260 ticket, signed and binding. All of you in Millard County out there, it's poor Accord and Camry owners like me that are paying for the frivolous expenses of your country leadership. I hope you feel good about that.

Anyway, while my driving style hasn't changed, there is definitely less of a sense of fun when driving Parker. It's much more sophisticated and responsible. I notice every scratch, every crumb, every noise. I feel like I have to up my game for Parker, he is a car deserving of NPR and nighttime Jazz. He represents a transition to a more grown-up and sophisticated phase in my life. It's sad to see the fun driving days end, but at the same time I enjoy my morning commutes with the Diane Rehm Show and evening commutes with All Things Considered. Besides, this new phase of life calls for different types of thrill-seeking and rebellion, and Parker won't be a part of it.

Be Still a Man

Life since Europe has been an absolute whirlwind of school and work (I thought this was a perfect representation of the uniqueness of being a Philosophy major at BYU - two books laying on my bookshelf - very different reads.) Anyway, it got to the point where I was barely sleeping...and when I was asleep I was dreaming of forgetting things at work or missing class and bothering my roommate by apparently snoring like a bear and mumbling to myself during the night. None of these things are signs indicating a restful night's sleep, or good mental health for that matter. Anyway, life was insanely busy so I decided to take this last weekend and chill for a little while by joining my family at Lake Powell.

I was looking forward to getting away from all the couples and relationship garbage that is thrown in our faces down in Provo, but, what was one of the first things I heard after arriving on the houseboat with my family? A girl that I used to babysit (she and her family were in Lake Powell with us) was telling people about her boyfriend of 8 months! Yikes, so much for that.

I was looking forward to getting some much needed sun - it was cloudy and too cold for a swimsuit most of the time.

I was looking forward to eating more balanced meals instead of the junk I have in my apartment. However, my two greatest food nemeses won out at Lake Powell - I basically lived on Cheetos and chocolate covered raisins, with a few glasses of chocolate milk thrown in for good measure.

I was looking forward to a few days without worrying about messing anything up - no stress or obligations or expectations to maintain. Well - the very first day I got roped into a game of California speed, the epitome of stressful, and managed to lose - killing what had been a 3-year winning streak in the game.

I was looking forward to being out of the reach of email, so I wouldn't have to think about work for a few days. However, whenever we went out into Padre Bay, my phone would randomly get service for seconds here and there...just enough time to download the emails to my phone with their subject lines and the first couple words of the email body - but not enough to show the whole email. So I kept looking at the emails, trying to figure out what they said, and wondering the whole time what was going on and what I was missing.

However, despite the fact that the trip didn't quite go as planned, it was marvelous. It was a great break from the stress of daily life, and it allowed me to re-evaluate my priorities. There were certainly some unexpected difficulties but I realized I hadn't spend that much time talking to and enjoy the company of people I really liked in what felt like forever. I realized I had checked out of a lot of things that were really important to get too involved in work, and especially school. I think this idea is best summed up in something I read from David Hume, he was speaking about and to Philosophers specifically, but I think it applies to any profession or preoccupation that gets in the way of what's important. "Be a philosopher, but amidst all your philosophy, be still a man." So that is my plan...to be still a human being, amidst school, work, school and work...and more school and more work.

Europe: Self-Discoveries and Advice - #1

I learned a lot in Europe, a lot about myself and what to do, and not to do while there. Life is a little crazy being back home, but I want to pass on the pearls of wisdom I gained. So I will attempt to do this over the next few weeks. One pearl at a time.

I have never been a sweets person, not a big chocolate fan, I generally prefer cheese. However, I discovered something in Europe that completely altered my sweet/salty priorities. It's called the Magnum Classic.
Normally you don't want to quote from the company marketing spiel, as it's clearly bias, but in this case their description is right on: The crack of the Magnum chocolate as you bite in, followed by the contrast of the smooth and silky ice cream transports you away to a land of luxury...the original, pinnacle of pleasure, Magnum Classic. Everything, from the bronzy wrapper, to fine-grain wooden stick, to the monogrammed 'M', to the rich chocolate, to the delectable vanilla bean ice cream on every bar....it all says 'pinnacle of pleasure'.

I became so addicted that people would have to physically restrain me to prevent me from buying one. I once had four in one day. My name is Jennifer and I have a problem...but I don't care, it's heaven in an ice cream bar and if I was back there I'd do it all again!

So, Europe advice: Seek out Magnum Classics for a refreshing, luxurious, delicious, artisan treat on hot afternoons. Beats the heck out of Gelato.

Warning: You may experience withdrawals once you've returned to the U.S., a barren land devoid of these, one of life's greatest pleasures. Symptoms include: late night grocery store raids searching for Magnum substitutes only to be disappointed by the unworthy Dove bars, frantic internet googling Magnums with the hope that someone, somewhere brings this joy to deprived U.S. citizens, and finally, massive consumption of all things sweet - aka over-compensation.

I Love Paris!

I’m getting behind again, but I have to provide an update on Paris…possibly my favorite city in the world. We got there around 8pm and, thanks to the great location of our hotel, we immediately set out for the top of the Eiffel Tower. By the time we got up there it was dark so the views weren’t necessarily spectacular, but the wait in line provided great bonding opportunities.

The next morning we (Erica, Britt, Sarah, Mira, Ainsley, Melissa, and I) went straight to Notre Dame and got in line to climb to the top. It was about an hour wait but definitely worth it, in my opinion you get the best views of Paris from there because you get great views of the river on all sides, and you can get the Eiffel Tower in your pictures, not something you can do when you’re standing on it. Other highlights of that morning include eating my first crepe (butter and sugar…I was in heaven) and going to San Chappelle – a cathedral with walls made of 80% stained glass.

We grabbed lunch on the go, I had another crepe, this time with cheese, and hopped on the train to Versailles. The inside of the palace was closed, which was just fine with me, so we headed straight into the fabulous and extensive gardens (which were free!). We slowly made our way down to the main lake and decided to rent boats…possibly my favorite thing we’ve done so far. We all had had some experience rowing so we thought we could handle the 4-person rowboats fairly easily…not so much. It didn’t start well as we apparently all sat down backwards, but the nice French dock-worker helped us out there and also pushed us out to give us a little head start. But then, we managed to row ourselves right back in somehow, and ran into several boats on our way. We continued this difficulty with mobility until we finally got the hang of it and got out into the middle of the lake. We still had some trouble with hitting other boats or scraping them with our oars, and we’re pretty sure every single other boater on that lake hated the dumb American girls incapable of rowing by the end, but it was a great way to spend the afternoon. The gardens at Versailles are enormous so we didn’t even scratch the surface, but here is one small section we saw on the way out – it’s what you might call the first level of the backyard of the very west wing of the palace. Oh and there’s the spare lake, in case the king wanted to go for a swim but didn’t want to walk the ½ mile to the main lake. The extravagance of some of these royal sites in Europe is unbelievable.

After dining at an exceptionally slow French restaurant in the Latin quarter, we met up with the rest of the group for a boat ride on the Seine. There was a recorded guide playing but we were in the front and fairly talkative so we couldn’t hear a thing. In fact, some of the group was enjoying the ride so much that they decided to break out into song, but it wasn’t quite spontaneous. Somehow they got it into their head that they wanted to sing ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ by Journey, so they planned out a little musical number. One person would start then others would join in softly, this person would stand up, then the others would raise their hands up, etc. It was a nice idea in theory, but when it came to showtime it became clear that a couple of them didn’t know the words, and two in particular were fairly tone deaf. But they got it on camera and enjoyed themselves – I think most others on the boat did not. This was definitely one of those loud, obnoxious, American moments.

It was quite a long day, but we wanted to get in as much as possible during our short time in Paris, so after the boat ride we hopped on the metro out to the Arc d’triomph.. Coming home, I was fairly tired and wanted to get home quickly so I walked out in front of the group. I had been the leader most of the day since I remembered my way around fairly well, so I thought this would be fine. This time though, I didn’t stop often to make sure everyone was with me, and it turns out they weren’t. I got to a place where the turn was tricky, and stopped to make sure everyone went the right way for the right line, but no one was there. I waited for five minutes but gave up after that, thinking they had all either gone the wrong way or somehow gotten ahead of me. So I went and hopped on the train. It was probably 11pm so not too late, but I still felt slightly iffy about being there alone so I just pulled out my phone and started to read email, looking very busy. Two men sat down across the aisle from me and soon one started trying to ask me something in French. I explained that I didn’t speak French and so he tried to mime/communicate fireworks to me. I think he was asking when the fireworks from the Eiffel Tower would be. I told him I didn’t know and thought that was that, but then he asked me if I was American. I said yes, and he pointed to his companion and said, “He’s American.” I turned to the other man out of politeness and said “oh, where are you from?” He answered and I thought that was that, but no, pretty soon I was trapped in conversation with this guy, who, I realized, was clearly drunk. Next thing I know these two are inviting me to join them on the Eiffel Tower. I, being the idiot that I am and not thinking before I spoke, said, “Oh it’s closed tonight, I don’t think you can go up because they’re setting up for Bastille Day.” They would have gotten off at the next stop, but no, I had to tell them that it was closed. So they stayed, and were apparently getting off at the stop I was supposed to take, so I got off one stop early, hoped they wouldn’t follow me, and just walked back along the track to the right place. It was dark and I passed more than a few people sleeping on the ground between cars who did not look happy to see me…but in the end I made it. After that day I was ready for bed in a big way.

That was just day one in Paris, other highlights include my first encounter with tartare (see picture above), fireworks off the Eiffel Tower, more crepes, and lots of art. But I think I have to stop now...more on Switzerland and Austria soon to come.

The Sound of Music in Salzburg

I spent the last few days in one of the most musical cities in Europe, Salzburg, Austria. On day one we did the Sound of Music tour, which means we saw the sites where Julie Andrews and co. sang those immortal songs...as well as actual sites where the real von Trapp family lived/walked/sang etc.

We spent our second day slightly differently, acting less like obnoxious American tourists and more like locals. We shopped during the day, spending way more money than we should've on fabulous items we felt we couldn't live without, and joined the Austrian aristocratic elite in an evening of sophistication. We took a funicular up to the main castle in Salzburg where we dined in a fancy restaurant with great views of the city and surrounding musical hills.

The first course was a fairly strange gelatin-with-beef dish, not our favorite. The second course was a delicious cup of soup, which somehow reminded someone of Christmas and as a result we all discussed our Christmas traditions for the rest of the meal. The third course, for me, was a salmon cooked in a white wine sauce with parsley potatoes....quite excellent. The dessert was 'a Mozart assortment' composed of some light chocolate ice cream and a small apple fritter with jam and powdered sugar in the shape of a treble clef. Great stuff, perfect to get us in the mood for the next stage of the evening.

We then adjurned to another higher room in the castle, where a string quarter played four pieces by Brahms, Hayden, Mozart and Dvorzac. It was fabulous and we all felt very posh. Then we came back to the reality that we are not wealthy aristocrats, rather we are cheap students....and ate McFlurries at McDonalds.

Paragliding in Switzerland!

Ok, so I’ll have to go back and back-fill you in on Paris and Geneva, but for now let me just tell you about the here and now. Today I went paragliding….in the Swiss Alps. It was completely amazing. Let me preface this story by saying that I was heavily medicated when I set off for this little adventure. I have a pretty awful cold, congestion and coughing, the whole bit, so yesterday I went to the pharmacy and got some mystery German cold medicine. I have no idea what anything on the label says, but the woman at the Pharmacy said it was for colds so I bought it. I normally would have been hesitant to take German mystery medicine, but I haven’t been able to sleep at all since getting sick. It was either this or going back to Ambien, and I was not ready to go down that path again. I had also taken two Advil, had three cough drops, and eaten a healthy helping of scrambled eggs at breakfast. Having said that, here’s how the morning went down:

We took the train down to Interlaken and met up with the paraglider pilots who gave us our hiking boots and ushered us into a van with no instruction whatsoever. So there we were, six girls and two less-than-intimidating guys, in a van with nine Swiss men we’d just met. The guy who seemed to be in charge told us to choose our pilots, and after some hesitation, we all basically pointed to one of the guys. I chose one who looked fit, was fairly attractive, seemed like he would have a sense of humor, but also looked like he really knew what he was doing. In this case, my judgment of the book by it’s cover turned out to be very accurate. Bert (he spelled it Beat, but every time he said it, it sounded like Bert, said with a Swiss accent so it really sounds like Bear-t. Anyway, that’s what I called him.) turned out to be a great pilot, calm and happy no matter what.

So after ascending to almost 3,000 feet up (we’re pretty sure that’s how high the take-off point was from the ground, not sea level) on a tiny, windy road in a packed van I was starting to feel a little queasy. But as soon as we emerged and saw the view and where we would be gliding I, along with everyone in the group, could barely contain my excitement. Bert helped me get into my harness, pretty much a backpack with a wooden board underneath for a seat, and my helmet. The whole concept of needing a helmet kind of confused me…if we were to fall, the chances seemed very slim that helmets would be of much use. But I donned the helmet anyway, not feeling the great need to question Bert about what exactly would happen if we fell.

We reached the take off point, a hill with a pretty significant downhill grade, and were given our takeoff instructions, those being just to run until we couldn’t touch the ground anymore. It sounded too simple, but it worked like a charm and soon we were out soaring over the Alps! I wasn’t sure about the appropriate social protocol for such a situation, was I supposed to make conversation with Bert while in flight, or did he need to concentrate on steering? Even if I had decided to attempt to start a conversation, I think I would have failed miserably as I was pretty much overcome staring at the beautiful scenery and trying to snap whatever pictures I could.

After about twenty minutes of climbing higher and higher above the thick trees and beautiful blue lake, we made our way towards the town of Interlaken and our landing location. As we were starting to make our descent, Bert asked me if I liked roller coasters. Had I been safely on the ground, my answer would have been ‘yes’, but this didn’t seem like an offhand inquiry as to my thrill-ride preferences. I responded, “Yes, although if they’re too intense they make me sick.” He took this as a green light to do some corkscrew-like turns, but assured me that if I started to feel sick we cold stop. He did two, and I knew I was in trouble. I hadn’t been feeling completely stable stomach-wise since we’d left the ground but this had pushed me over the top. I told him we’d better stop, so he did and asked me if I was feeling sick….but as he was asking, the evidence that I was not had started to explode from my stomach all over the little town of Interlaken. I’m not sure if it was the meds or just straight-up motion sickness, but after several minutes of emptying my stomach I felt just fine, and even laughed a little at the thought of my breakfast raining down on someone below…not a very nice thought, but still amusing. Maybe I was used as a sort of pre-Sodom & Gomorrah warning, I rained down vomit, but next time the big guy is bringing fire and brimstone

Bert and I did not escape my sickness unscathed unfortunately, and I felt bad for that but he just laughed and we went over to the fountain in the park to wash up a little. I felt kind of silly washing my jacket in the a fountain in the middle of a city, and as people walked by, I wondered if they thought we were homeless and just using the fountain as some sort of washing machine. Despite this tiny hiccup at the end, it was a great experience, possibly one of the coolest things I’ve ever done. I highly recommend it for anyone and everyone, although I would advise you not to experiment with German mystery medicine and Swiss scrambled eggs right before takeoff.