Warning: Unless you know me, the following is probably boring. It might be boring even if you know me. If all you want to know is if I'm still alive and happy, then read no further. Okay, read the very end paragraph where I tease you with things I will be writing within the next few days.
I am torn. I am not sure I want to give up ‘the granola’ but I’ve also wanted to consolidate. Why have two spaces when I could only have one? But why mix things up too much? But then, why make it so complicated for friends to hear my voice? And back and forth it goes.
The real problem is that I like the idea created by the title ‘the granola rules’ and being ‘the granola’. It rings a lot with what I want to say in that blog. I’m playing with changing around my categories to reflect it. Maybe posting as multiple people. One is the author breaking into publication and considering screenplay writing (or rather, being begged by her husband to do it), the other is the science observer and pseudoscience critic. And what about Amka on poor ‘testing the cultural divide’? Well, all the posts in that blog have been transitioned over into amichopine.com/blog. Those words come from a woman caught in the middle of living earth life, and especially between two cultures. Suddenly, after being far enough away from an intense and difficult encounter with Russian culture, I have something to say there now too.
Writers block is not my problem right now. Time and not letting myself really post until I get at least the blog at amichopine.com up in good form are my foes here.
Here are some personal updates: I’m getting a tonsillectomy. Yay. I guess that means no more chips and salsa for a while. But I had to do it before I went ahead and got my eyes fixed, which is happening in March. That makes for a total of three surgeries within about 2 months. The eyes are done one at a time. I'm also in physical therapy. On one level, I'm feeling a bit overmedicalized. (Is that a word?) And yet, isn't this moving forward? By the beginning of April I will be completely healthy. I will see better than I've ever seen. I will run faster than I've ever run, and more safely too. And I'll be able to smell my baby's poopy diapers better than I ever have before.
Don't have any. Not anything that I've coined as such anyway. But I do have general goals in mind for the coming months and days.
1. Maintain my exercising, including participating in a couple of 5Ks. I'm not sure I would bother putting it down as a goal, but a couple of things have made me feel the need to focus energy on this. I've had mutinous tonsils (they've attempted a coup 4 times this past year) and a whiny knee that started having a tantrum.
2. Finish rewrites for a short story and submit it somewhere. This is a short story I wrote for a Halloween contest at Codex.
3. Finish a novel by June. Have a couple outlines for it somewhere, but I think I'll just write a new outline. Outlines, by my definition and for my use, are chapter summaries.
4. Other things, that are important to me but none of your business.
5. Start a real personl/professional website. After only a few month stay, I'm leaving blogger behind. Testing the Cultural Divide has died due to server problems, but the posts in it will still be at the new place. I've been working on this a bit here and there, and husband is currently working on it. I'll keep this up, for posterity's sake, but in the coming days I'll stop posting here. So, to my handful of readers, get your RSS feeders ready for the move, to be announced soon.
¶ 6:42 PM1 commentslinks to this post
I can't get the picture of her out of my head right now. It isn't just her face, it is her holding her little baby, a tube coming out of his nose and taped to his head.
"He looks so good," I said stupidly. He did look healthy, except for the tube, but we all knew that in a few weeks he would be dead of the brain tumor he had been born with. A baby hoped for, prayed for, another one gone. Three of her children had died of cancer, and a pair of twins had died from complications of premature birth.
All that is left is the father, Gary Ceran, and two kids. In total, he has lost his wife and 7 children. Do you want it to get worse? His mother died two years ago, and one of his brothers just a few months after that.
And after all of that, after everything, he forgives the drunk driver and is praying for the man. It is is faith in God that is carrying him through this.
¶ 9:45 PM2 commentslinks to this post
The average American gains 8-11 pounds during the holiday season.
WRONG. Not only is this wrong, it even exaggerates the 7-10 lb here and here for that. These all use different calculating methods. They are still not quite as good as using a scale in water(runs usually around 300 dollars), or caliper measurements (technically difficult) but much closer than the devices that measure electrical resistance to estimate body fat.
Just losing weight will make you a smaller version of what you are now. You will just be a skinny FAT person.
Please note that this sign is in the women's weight training room of a gym. The women who will read this sign aren't just dieting. They are exercising. This simply is not true of this population. Not only that, but the statement encourages the culture of anorexia.
The rest of the sign is about seeing the in house personal trainers for a free one hour consultation. I have plenty to say about that in another post. But for today, the point is that this advertisement isn't about encouraging these women to reach a little farther, be a little stronger, a little better, and most certainly more confident. This advertising is telling them that if they don't sign up with these guys, they will gain weight or if they lose it, they will still be fat. It is all about fear.
Guess what, women (and men). You don't need them. They aren't worth your time or money. Need some encouragement? Get a friend. Need some knowledge? There are plenty of books, magazines, and websites out there that will tell you everything these guys will teach you, and more. The last thing getting fit should be about is being afraid of failure.