I've been working hard lately. I didn't go on the climbing trip of my dreams over Memorial Day weekend for three reasons: First, neither Allie nor Cuny wanted to go and I didn't want to ditch them on our one shared vacation. Second, Allie and I both were recovering from colds, and three days of camping and hard climbing was probably not a good idea for my convalescent self. Third, I had grading to do. Lots of it. I literally had boxes and piles several feet high of papers and journals waiting for my attention like millstones hung around my subconscious.
Teaching does that. It gets into your subconscious and slowly fills it with obligations, responsibilities, and all important things to do. After the first few weeks of the year, you get into the rhythm of the days. Preparing lessons, teaching, grading, solving the millions of mini-crises brought to you each day, fitting all other parts of life around the mountain of teaching. Then, these last few weeks, as piles of paper accumulate and my curriculum runs dry and I have to create lessons for three different subjects out of thin air, the sprint began. You all know the feeling of the sprint at the end of the run. You're tired, your feet are complaining, your legs are turning to mud, and the only way you can convince yourself to sprint that last stretch is that it will mean you will be able to stop sooner. From somewhere inside your sweaty frame, you squeeze out a little bit more stamina, with all the grace of squeezing out the last bit of ketchup from the sputtering bottle. Your plodding feet plod a little louder and a little faster. After about a block your biggest fear is that you're going to trip, throw up, or that your heart is going to ooze out your nose. All your concentration is on getting to that self-imposed finish line, the random bit of sidewalk you picked as the point where you can begin to walk. You long to walk like a wilting plant for water. Then, when you get there, despite the fact that all you've been longing to stop with all your might, the action of stopping causes you to stumble. You have to force yourself to walk and your body panics, trying to slow down the pace, unable to accept the run is over.
That's what the end of the year is. You've been running for 179 days of school, nine months, 36 weeks, with only a few short water and bathroom breaks along the marathon break. Then comes the sprint at the end. The final projects, the clean out, the mountains and mountains of late work streaming in from every student's backpack. Wearily you jettison the parts of your life you enjoy (skating, climbing, cooking, and sleeping) and work a little faster. You grade through a weekend, you grade until nine p.m. on a week night.
Then suddenly, you pass that mark on the sidewalk. The students cheerily wave good bye and disappear in a cloud of paper bits and too much Axe body spray. The grading is done, the late work is done, and all that's left is loose ends: cleaning off your desk to find any last stray assignments, getting your checkout form signed by the financial secretary, going to the faculty lunch, and cleaning the snack food out of your desk before it goes bad for the summer. Your hamster wheel has abruptly, impossibly, run out of wheel. The to-do list has an end.
Tomorrow is the last day of school. The students only go to their first period classes, and I have prep that period, so I won't even see any students. I've trying to keep up so hard that the end of the year has completely snuck up on me mentally. My habit-conditioned brain isn't sure what comes next. My shoulders feel lighter as the invisible millstones I forgot I was carrying evaporate without warning. 24 hours from now, school will be over. I will set my own schedule, be responsible for only myself and my own time, and do whatever I want. It's exciting and disorienting. It's going to take me a while to adjust to a new pace of life, to find a new rhythm and habit.
Of course, I'm sure the dreads will help. 26 hours until the commencement of the Dread Party. To my surprise, school is all but out, I get dreads tomorrow, and summer is here. I'm surprised, disoriented, and thoroughly delighted.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
One Week!
Seven days until one of the best days of the year.
One day of listening to presentations and then grading papers.
A Saturday of grading papers.
A Sunday of not grading papers.
A Monday of maybe some adventure and grading some papers.
A Tuesday of not really teaching and grading papers.
A Wednesday of not really teaching and grading papers.
A Thursday of really, really, really not teaching and hopefully all the papers will be graded.
And then. and then... and then... THE DAY!! The double celebration of the last day of school and D-DAY will begin. The students are only going to be at the school for about an hour and a half, and they're only heading to their first period class. Normally this is sort of a pain, but, wouldn't you know it, I got lucky enough to have first period prep! That means I don't have ANY students the last day of school. I get to spend the time entering grades, cleaning my room, and mentally checking out (if it's possible to get any more checked out than I already am).
Then, I get out at about two. I rush home, I pick up donuts (requests?), I pick up soda (requests?), I pace around the apartment waiting for my friends who want to dread my hair to get off of work, I order pizza (requests?), I take a shower, I compulsively rearrange the furniture, I fret, I take a few last pictures of unknotted hair, I pace, I lay out every item of my dreadlocks kit, I watch the how to video, again...And then...the dreading begins!!!
For those of you interested in helping with, observing, or simply mocking, show up at my place next Friday. The festivities begin at five, and continue until we're done. Anyone's welcome, just send me a text, drop me a comment, facebook me, or send a flare. They'll be food, movies, and the proud knowledge that someday, when my dreads look awesome, you were responsible for their beginning.
One day of listening to presentations and then grading papers.
A Saturday of grading papers.
A Sunday of not grading papers.
A Monday of maybe some adventure and grading some papers.
A Tuesday of not really teaching and grading papers.
A Wednesday of not really teaching and grading papers.
A Thursday of really, really, really not teaching and hopefully all the papers will be graded.
And then. and then... and then... THE DAY!! The double celebration of the last day of school and D-DAY will begin. The students are only going to be at the school for about an hour and a half, and they're only heading to their first period class. Normally this is sort of a pain, but, wouldn't you know it, I got lucky enough to have first period prep! That means I don't have ANY students the last day of school. I get to spend the time entering grades, cleaning my room, and mentally checking out (if it's possible to get any more checked out than I already am).
Then, I get out at about two. I rush home, I pick up donuts (requests?), I pick up soda (requests?), I pace around the apartment waiting for my friends who want to dread my hair to get off of work, I order pizza (requests?), I take a shower, I compulsively rearrange the furniture, I fret, I take a few last pictures of unknotted hair, I pace, I lay out every item of my dreadlocks kit, I watch the how to video, again...And then...the dreading begins!!!
For those of you interested in helping with, observing, or simply mocking, show up at my place next Friday. The festivities begin at five, and continue until we're done. Anyone's welcome, just send me a text, drop me a comment, facebook me, or send a flare. They'll be food, movies, and the proud knowledge that someday, when my dreads look awesome, you were responsible for their beginning.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Vegan Day Three: The Social Not-Eater
I have now been vegan for over 50 hours, and I've already been offered several tasty things I can't eat. I think that's going to be the hardest part of this whole vegan "adventure." When someone brings cookies to work, I can't have any. When a student offers me homemade baklava, I had to turn it down. Today there were sugar cookies and donuts and chocolate cookies all available at work, and I munched on my carrot sticks, consoling myself by trying to muster up some feeling of superiority. My superiority's pretty thin, however, since I've only been vegan for two and a half days and I don't think your diet is a good reason to feel superior to anyone anyway. Vegans are better people in my mind, just more dedicated to an ideal most of us don't feel passionately about.
The only other hiccup in my vegan paradise has been the lack of chocolate and readily available dessert. I've found a way around part of this problem by resurrecting a favorite dessert from childhood: cinnamon toast. I can't use butter, so I slather my vegan bread (I had to go to two stores to find vegan bread! Stop putting honey in every single loaf people! You're starving me!) with a little olive oil, then generously pour on the sugar, and then add a few dashes of ground cinnamon. Pop it into the toaster oven for a few seconds and presto! Dessert!
The inability to eat 99% percent of what people bring to share makes me feel both sad and guilty, however. What do I do for the end of year faculty luncheon? Pack my own sandwich and drink the soda? What if I get asked on a date? Do I explain that I can't eat anything, and offer to make him dinner? Gandhi used to pack his own food or just go hungry if there was no food available that he didn't consider immoral/unwise to eat. Since my veganism has only a dash of morality behind it, I find the prospect of watching all my coworkers eat while going hungry, or making a first date suddenly very awkward and giving him the impression I'm a rabid hippie.
On the flip side, the inability to eat 99% of processed food means that I'm going to be eating a whole lot more homemade items. It's easy to make vegan bread, mustard, dessert, and meals. It's a pain to buy them. It surprised me to find out that there were a lot of animal products that weren't dairy or meat in most foods you pick up off the shelf. Riboflavin, for example, is in just about everything and is usually derived from animals. Carmine Red is made from crushed up beetles.
Other than hunting for vegan bread and refusing food others offer me, I've enjoyed my first three days of being vegan. I'm looking forward to the next 37 days of dietary adventure.
The only other hiccup in my vegan paradise has been the lack of chocolate and readily available dessert. I've found a way around part of this problem by resurrecting a favorite dessert from childhood: cinnamon toast. I can't use butter, so I slather my vegan bread (I had to go to two stores to find vegan bread! Stop putting honey in every single loaf people! You're starving me!) with a little olive oil, then generously pour on the sugar, and then add a few dashes of ground cinnamon. Pop it into the toaster oven for a few seconds and presto! Dessert!
The inability to eat 99% percent of what people bring to share makes me feel both sad and guilty, however. What do I do for the end of year faculty luncheon? Pack my own sandwich and drink the soda? What if I get asked on a date? Do I explain that I can't eat anything, and offer to make him dinner? Gandhi used to pack his own food or just go hungry if there was no food available that he didn't consider immoral/unwise to eat. Since my veganism has only a dash of morality behind it, I find the prospect of watching all my coworkers eat while going hungry, or making a first date suddenly very awkward and giving him the impression I'm a rabid hippie.
On the flip side, the inability to eat 99% of processed food means that I'm going to be eating a whole lot more homemade items. It's easy to make vegan bread, mustard, dessert, and meals. It's a pain to buy them. It surprised me to find out that there were a lot of animal products that weren't dairy or meat in most foods you pick up off the shelf. Riboflavin, for example, is in just about everything and is usually derived from animals. Carmine Red is made from crushed up beetles.
Other than hunting for vegan bread and refusing food others offer me, I've enjoyed my first three days of being vegan. I'm looking forward to the next 37 days of dietary adventure.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
The Immoral Vegetarian Goes a Step Further
Every year, my sister asks me what my New Year's resolutions are, and every year, I sort of mumble through an answer about all the improvements I'd like to make. You know, the ones I'm always muddling my way through in a vague sort of way. I'm not much of a New Year's resolution maker. I could make up all sorts of excuses for this. I could say that I don't like the idea of making a new start once a year instead of continually. I could say that, as a teacher, New Year's always feels like the middle of the year and not the beginning to me, and I'm far more likely to make goals over the summer for the next school year than I am for the calendar year. I could say that setting up a pass/fail goal is a silly idea, because once you fail (around February), you're done for the year with a goal that should have been the subject of continued progress. The actual truth about why I don't usually make New Year's resolutions probably lies somewhere along the lines of I forget, it takes too much effort, and the dilemma of what goals to set. If I set grand goals, I set myself up for failure, which is lame. If I make easy goals I know I'll reach, then I feel like I'm cheating. So every year I keep my vagaries, thank you very much.
But not this year. This year, when my sister asked the familiar question about my goals, I was armed and ready. This year I actually embarked on some measurable, definable, goals. These goals I have, for the most part, managed to keep going. One of these goals was to be a vegetarian. I've been a vegetarian before, but it's different this time. Before, I was a strict vegetarian for one month, mostly because a friend had dared me. Now I've been a non-strict vegetarian for five months all on my own. Notice the key word there, non-strict. Since I'm not going vegetarian for moral reasons about cruelty to animals, I don't feel the need to be strict about it. I'm an amoral vegetarian. An immoral one? Whatever, a vegetarian for non-moral reasons. I'm vegetarian out of a general concern for what the meat industry does to our planet, what eating that much meat does to our health, and a belief that when the Lord said to eat meat sparingly or in times of famine (D&C 89), he meant it. So my policy for the last five months has been pretty casual. If I make it or buy it for myself, I will make a genuine effort to make sure it's vegetarian. If someone else is cooking or buying, or if Allie and I are putting together a roommate dinner or something, then I let it go. I try not to even say anything. I figure that unless I'm allergic to something, no one needs to work around my food preferences. Sometimes I refer to myself as a "non-annoying" vegetarian.
I've liked this lifestyle. But I'm still eating too much meat. And while I'm eating too much meat, I'm also reading Gandhi's autobiography, during which he takes about a hundred pages to talk about food. He tried several different diets for various health or spiritual reasons, and for most of his life he ate only fruits and nuts. He placed so much faith in vegetarianism and veganism that he frequently went against doctors' orders to consume dairy or meat products for his or his family's health. He placed his life on the line for his dietary beliefs on more than on occasion. He also makes a lot of intriguing arguments for a diet of restraint and self-control.
I am ready to experiment. I'm not going rabidly vegan. I'm not joining PETA or protesting chicken farmers or lecturing other people on their evil, animal-killing ways. But, just for me personally, I'm going to give it a try. I'm going vegan. Gandhi at one point urges his readers to experiment to find what will best benefit them, and I'm going to take him up on it. This will be an experiment only for now. When it's over, I'll go back to my non-annoying vegetarianism, and will probably settle somewhere into non-annoying veganism. But for the next little while I'm going to be strictly vegan in the food I consume (I'm not going to through away my leather shoes or my dread wax, though).
I was going to go vegan for a month, but then I decided to be more biblical about it and go for 40 days. My 40 days begins today, and will last until July 2nd. I'm making this public, so that I have to be accountable to at least the five people who read my blog. I'll report back to you with the complaints, realizations, and any great spiritual transformations that happen along the way.
Day One. I go vegan. Geronimo!
But not this year. This year, when my sister asked the familiar question about my goals, I was armed and ready. This year I actually embarked on some measurable, definable, goals. These goals I have, for the most part, managed to keep going. One of these goals was to be a vegetarian. I've been a vegetarian before, but it's different this time. Before, I was a strict vegetarian for one month, mostly because a friend had dared me. Now I've been a non-strict vegetarian for five months all on my own. Notice the key word there, non-strict. Since I'm not going vegetarian for moral reasons about cruelty to animals, I don't feel the need to be strict about it. I'm an amoral vegetarian. An immoral one? Whatever, a vegetarian for non-moral reasons. I'm vegetarian out of a general concern for what the meat industry does to our planet, what eating that much meat does to our health, and a belief that when the Lord said to eat meat sparingly or in times of famine (D&C 89), he meant it. So my policy for the last five months has been pretty casual. If I make it or buy it for myself, I will make a genuine effort to make sure it's vegetarian. If someone else is cooking or buying, or if Allie and I are putting together a roommate dinner or something, then I let it go. I try not to even say anything. I figure that unless I'm allergic to something, no one needs to work around my food preferences. Sometimes I refer to myself as a "non-annoying" vegetarian.
 |
| http://www.topnews.in/people/mahatma-gandhi |
I am ready to experiment. I'm not going rabidly vegan. I'm not joining PETA or protesting chicken farmers or lecturing other people on their evil, animal-killing ways. But, just for me personally, I'm going to give it a try. I'm going vegan. Gandhi at one point urges his readers to experiment to find what will best benefit them, and I'm going to take him up on it. This will be an experiment only for now. When it's over, I'll go back to my non-annoying vegetarianism, and will probably settle somewhere into non-annoying veganism. But for the next little while I'm going to be strictly vegan in the food I consume (I'm not going to through away my leather shoes or my dread wax, though).
I was going to go vegan for a month, but then I decided to be more biblical about it and go for 40 days. My 40 days begins today, and will last until July 2nd. I'm making this public, so that I have to be accountable to at least the five people who read my blog. I'll report back to you with the complaints, realizations, and any great spiritual transformations that happen along the way.
Day One. I go vegan. Geronimo!
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Dirty Hippie Burn-out Bum
Or
Why I Want Dreads Part 2
After my initial attraction to dreads, years passed, and I didn't give them much thought. And I have to admit, that when I first looked into them as an adult it was on one of those "Ugh! I swear I'm going to just shave my head so I never have to do my hair again!" days. Then it struck me that dreads were a good compromise. I'd never have to do anything with my hair, but I'd still have hair! It'd be like a living wig!
Then I did a whole bunch of real world research and realized they took effort, especially at first. I saw that some people had really gross-looking dreads. But then there were others who had beautiful dreads, and I just wasn't sure which category I'd be in if I tried it. It was like chopping off all of my hair, something I'd wanted to do for years, but that I'd never have the guts to do because I thought you either looked good like that or you didn't, and there was no way to know ahead of time which one you were going to be.
But then I DID cut my hair, and I did dye it crazy colors, and now I DO have the guts. And, despite knowing how much work they are, and despite there being the risk that they are going to look ghastly, I'm willing, eager, champing at the bit, to get dreads.
Because I love them. Plain and simple. Most people I know don't really like dreads, but I must be missing that gene or have an extra hole in my head because I think that they are wonderful. I think they can look cool, attractive, sexy, neato, classy, different, and awesome. There are gross dreads out there, but I'm willing to take a chance that mine won't be among them.
They're a commitment, I get that. They take guts, I understand. But you know what? I'm into doing things that force me to have guts and commit to stuff right now. The person I always wanted to be wouldn't be afraid to have dreads. She'd go right out and get them regardless of the fact that her mother pretty much said she wouldn't be attracting any men this year. I want to be that strong, fearless girl. I think I'm going to love the dreads. I think I have the personality to carry them off, and to ignore the fact that every one in conservative Utah is going to think I'm crazy, especially the parents of my students. As Johnny Clean, spokesman for DreadheadHQ, said "Dreads are different, and the people who wear them are different."
That's the dream. That's the plan. Are you ready for The Insecurity? The Insecurity says that they're going to look awful. Mair hair is still above collar length, and the dreads are going to make it shorter. I'll barely have a couple inches of dreads, a sort of white-girl dread-fro. For the first month there will be elastics in my hair, I'll look ridiculous, and it will take years of looking goofy and weird before the dreads look good. Then, perhaps worse, The Insecurity whispers that I'm going to look like I'm trying too hard. Like I'm some wanna be hippie who thinks a hairstyle will make her be unique and interesting.
But however this adventure turns out. I am not getting dreads because I'm a "dirty hippie burned out bum." I'm getting because I love them. As much as my hair has been driving me nuts during this growing out process, I've celebrated every millimeter of length to add to my dreads.
The last question I get from people is, "What are you going to do when school starts in the fall?" I'm going to keep the dreads. I've already cleared it with my principal. I'm committed to them for at least a year. They may last for much longer than that, I don't know yet. But I'm going to "give it the old college try."
D-Day is in 12 days.
Why I Want Dreads Part 2
After my initial attraction to dreads, years passed, and I didn't give them much thought. And I have to admit, that when I first looked into them as an adult it was on one of those "Ugh! I swear I'm going to just shave my head so I never have to do my hair again!" days. Then it struck me that dreads were a good compromise. I'd never have to do anything with my hair, but I'd still have hair! It'd be like a living wig!
Then I did a whole bunch of real world research and realized they took effort, especially at first. I saw that some people had really gross-looking dreads. But then there were others who had beautiful dreads, and I just wasn't sure which category I'd be in if I tried it. It was like chopping off all of my hair, something I'd wanted to do for years, but that I'd never have the guts to do because I thought you either looked good like that or you didn't, and there was no way to know ahead of time which one you were going to be.
But then I DID cut my hair, and I did dye it crazy colors, and now I DO have the guts. And, despite knowing how much work they are, and despite there being the risk that they are going to look ghastly, I'm willing, eager, champing at the bit, to get dreads.
Because I love them. Plain and simple. Most people I know don't really like dreads, but I must be missing that gene or have an extra hole in my head because I think that they are wonderful. I think they can look cool, attractive, sexy, neato, classy, different, and awesome. There are gross dreads out there, but I'm willing to take a chance that mine won't be among them.
They're a commitment, I get that. They take guts, I understand. But you know what? I'm into doing things that force me to have guts and commit to stuff right now. The person I always wanted to be wouldn't be afraid to have dreads. She'd go right out and get them regardless of the fact that her mother pretty much said she wouldn't be attracting any men this year. I want to be that strong, fearless girl. I think I'm going to love the dreads. I think I have the personality to carry them off, and to ignore the fact that every one in conservative Utah is going to think I'm crazy, especially the parents of my students. As Johnny Clean, spokesman for DreadheadHQ, said "Dreads are different, and the people who wear them are different."
 |
| I stole this picture from a friend's blog. Maybe someday I'll have dreads like that. |
But however this adventure turns out. I am not getting dreads because I'm a "dirty hippie burned out bum." I'm getting because I love them. As much as my hair has been driving me nuts during this growing out process, I've celebrated every millimeter of length to add to my dreads.
The last question I get from people is, "What are you going to do when school starts in the fall?" I'm going to keep the dreads. I've already cleared it with my principal. I'm committed to them for at least a year. They may last for much longer than that, I don't know yet. But I'm going to "give it the old college try."
D-Day is in 12 days.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
How I Got This Way
Or
Why I Want Dreads Part 1
The story of why I want dreads begins in February 2001. It was the first time I saw someone wearing dreadlocks, and I think that first impression has colored the rest of my experience with them. (Which means, unfortunately, that if your first impression of them was awful, you will probably hate mine by default. Sigh. Nothing I can do there.) I was a freshman in high school, fourteen years old, and at a debate tournament. I was doing a duo interp of a scene from Jane Eyre with a friend of mine. At the age of 14, I nearly believed that I was Jane Eyre. The plain Quakeress, firm and quiet and resolute, was my hero. At the tournament, all of the contestants were dressed up: ties, skirts, suits, shined shoes, and best behavior. A decade later and as a teacher, I think we probably looked adorable, a lot like when little kids wear tuxedos for weddings, but at the time we all felt very grown up and professional.
As Jack and I went to our second or third round of the day, one of the teams of actors we were up against (interp is primarily an acting event) caught my eye. Well, one of the contestants caught my eye, and not just because he was cute. He was neatly dressed in a suit and had the careful posture we all were sporting that day, but he also had dreads. They weren't long and dramatic; they were short, ear length or shorter. What drew me to them is the way they paired with the suit to form a unique balance of professional and personality. I got the same impression from those dreads that I got when watching one year's Miss America contest when I was probably seven. We were sort of watching it by accident, having found it while flipping through the four channels we had to see what was on. My sisters, mother, and I watched as all of the contestants strolled out on the stage like princesses in their evening gowns. There were lots of pastel colors (early 90s) and bare shoulders and low necklines and big blond hairdos. Then came one contestant who walked onto the stage with a big, genuine smile, brown hair in a sleek up-do, and a bright, neon green dress with sleeves. My mom and both of my older sisters took one look at her and said, with obvious respect, "That girl's got spunk." Looking from my older sisters and my mother to the screen, the little girl that I was, who had never read Jane Eyre, immediately wanted to have "spunk," too.
I got the same feeling when I visited Arizona last year and saw Saguaro cactus growing out of a rock in the desert. "Wow, that's spunk," and then, "I want to be that tough and determined." I looked at that kid's hair and instantly fell in love with it. At the time of that debate tournament I had no idea what dreads were. I just knew that the boy's unusual but somehow fitting hairstyle had that mysterious spunk that I was always on the watch for. Later, when I asked Jack what you called that hair style, he laughed at me and told me that I had just seen dreads for the first time.
It may surprise those who haven't known me since I was a preteen, but I didn't have much obvious spunk. I was extremely conservative in person and dress. The me I am now was in there, my friends can tell you I was just as random and weird then as I am now, but it was buried in there pretty deep. It took me until my junior or senior year to feel comfortable wearing a hoodie to school; I thought they were sloppy and too casual. When I was a freshman in college I saw a girl wearing tie for a belt. I thought that was awesome and bought a second hand tie to wear as a belt myself. It sat in my closet for months waiting for me to get up the guts to tie it on and walk out the door. It took me until I was 20 years old to have the chutzpah to get the perm I had wanted to try for years. Before the perm, the most daring thing I'd ever done with my hair was to get bangs and cut it to shoulder length with layers. There's a reason that, when I started wearing skulls and crossbones, the first bit of pirate-themed stuff I bought was underwear. It wasn't to be sexy; it was because no one would see it. I was way into pirates, but didn't have the guts to wear it on the outside.
As the years passed, I started to get the hang of who I was and who I wanted to be and how to let all the parts of my personality show, the Quakeress and the hippie and the punk and the 5-year-old-little girl. It helped to have friends just as quirky and unique who never seemed to be afraid to wear or say whatever their whims prompted to them. Friends like Di, Anna, Lina, Amanda, and many others gave me examples of people who could wear whatever they wanted and have nobody care, because their personalities were more charismatic and eye-catching than the pixie cut, the crazy clothes, the shaved head, or the pink Mohawk could ever hope to be. Gradually, I experimented on my own. I wore huge skulls plastered on my back, I wore gypsy skirts to church, I wore feather necklaces, I wore knee high argyle socks under my dress pants. I cut my hair into the pixie cut I'd been coveting since I was 12, and then I dyed it red, black, blonde, copper red, purple, and back to brown in a year's time. When my puzzled mother asked if I was going through an identity crisis, I honestly said that it felt more like I finally gotten so comfortable with who I was that I could wear whatever the heck I dreamed up and it wouldn't change who I was.
So. That brings us up to the present day. All of that long back story is to tell you that after a journey that long, I am triumphantly making things happen now. I am systematically going through the the wishes and whims and crazy ideas I've always harbored but lacked the guts to implement. If a wish isn't harmful or wrong in some way, I'm making it happen. I'm actively going after the things I want, and having dreads is on the list. After taking that many years to get to this point of confidence, I am very attached to doing these things I always believed myself to be incapable of doing.
"So why dreads?" you may be asking. What is it about them that captured your imagination so permanently? Well, the answers to that are many and they range from the shallow and superficial to the personal and unpost-on-my-bloggable. Which means you'll probably end up with an overdose of the shallow reasons and conclude that I, and my dreads, are rather pathetic and shallow. Who knows, maybe you're right. But, looking at the length of this post, you'll have to be right another day. I'll talk about dreads specifically in an up and coming post within the week, promise no crossies.
Why I Want Dreads Part 1
The story of why I want dreads begins in February 2001. It was the first time I saw someone wearing dreadlocks, and I think that first impression has colored the rest of my experience with them. (Which means, unfortunately, that if your first impression of them was awful, you will probably hate mine by default. Sigh. Nothing I can do there.) I was a freshman in high school, fourteen years old, and at a debate tournament. I was doing a duo interp of a scene from Jane Eyre with a friend of mine. At the age of 14, I nearly believed that I was Jane Eyre. The plain Quakeress, firm and quiet and resolute, was my hero. At the tournament, all of the contestants were dressed up: ties, skirts, suits, shined shoes, and best behavior. A decade later and as a teacher, I think we probably looked adorable, a lot like when little kids wear tuxedos for weddings, but at the time we all felt very grown up and professional.
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| Except for my hoodie (I had already changed out of my suit), this is what we looked like at debate tournaments. |
I got the same feeling when I visited Arizona last year and saw Saguaro cactus growing out of a rock in the desert. "Wow, that's spunk," and then, "I want to be that tough and determined." I looked at that kid's hair and instantly fell in love with it. At the time of that debate tournament I had no idea what dreads were. I just knew that the boy's unusual but somehow fitting hairstyle had that mysterious spunk that I was always on the watch for. Later, when I asked Jack what you called that hair style, he laughed at me and told me that I had just seen dreads for the first time.
It may surprise those who haven't known me since I was a preteen, but I didn't have much obvious spunk. I was extremely conservative in person and dress. The me I am now was in there, my friends can tell you I was just as random and weird then as I am now, but it was buried in there pretty deep. It took me until my junior or senior year to feel comfortable wearing a hoodie to school; I thought they were sloppy and too casual. When I was a freshman in college I saw a girl wearing tie for a belt. I thought that was awesome and bought a second hand tie to wear as a belt myself. It sat in my closet for months waiting for me to get up the guts to tie it on and walk out the door. It took me until I was 20 years old to have the chutzpah to get the perm I had wanted to try for years. Before the perm, the most daring thing I'd ever done with my hair was to get bangs and cut it to shoulder length with layers. There's a reason that, when I started wearing skulls and crossbones, the first bit of pirate-themed stuff I bought was underwear. It wasn't to be sexy; it was because no one would see it. I was way into pirates, but didn't have the guts to wear it on the outside.
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| The perm that made me feel like a rebel. |
So. That brings us up to the present day. All of that long back story is to tell you that after a journey that long, I am triumphantly making things happen now. I am systematically going through the the wishes and whims and crazy ideas I've always harbored but lacked the guts to implement. If a wish isn't harmful or wrong in some way, I'm making it happen. I'm actively going after the things I want, and having dreads is on the list. After taking that many years to get to this point of confidence, I am very attached to doing these things I always believed myself to be incapable of doing.
"So why dreads?" you may be asking. What is it about them that captured your imagination so permanently? Well, the answers to that are many and they range from the shallow and superficial to the personal and unpost-on-my-bloggable. Which means you'll probably end up with an overdose of the shallow reasons and conclude that I, and my dreads, are rather pathetic and shallow. Who knows, maybe you're right. But, looking at the length of this post, you'll have to be right another day. I'll talk about dreads specifically in an up and coming post within the week, promise no crossies.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
I Got Googled
Since I started posting on my blog more, I have begun almost compulsively checking my blog stats. How many people read which blogs? What times of day do my friends read blogs? What search terms draw someone to my blog? etc. How on earth do those random hits pop up? Most of my readers by far are in the US, but then they're the outliers. Then there's the speculation about the outliers, is someone from Malaysia really that attached to my blog, or am I being spammed? I usually figure it's spam.
Well, this week I got googled. It was Dread Info #3 that did it. Suddenly that sucker has 50 views. That's twice as many as any post I've ever written. That's about five or six times the number of views my usual post gets. Look at my traffic sources, most of them are from different versions of google from around the world. People in Canada, the United Kingdom, India, Australia are all getting google results that include my blog. Goodness knows what search terms their using that lead them to that blog. Samson? Dread information? Six of them found my blog by searching for "Egyptian art." It makes me laugh.
Hello, lost cyber-searchers. These probably aren't the posts you were looking for. But welcome anyway.
On a side note, here's a link to the-burning-house.com, a website that asked people to post a picture of what they would take with them if the house was burning down. It's actually really intriguing, and the photography's good, too.
Well, this week I got googled. It was Dread Info #3 that did it. Suddenly that sucker has 50 views. That's twice as many as any post I've ever written. That's about five or six times the number of views my usual post gets. Look at my traffic sources, most of them are from different versions of google from around the world. People in Canada, the United Kingdom, India, Australia are all getting google results that include my blog. Goodness knows what search terms their using that lead them to that blog. Samson? Dread information? Six of them found my blog by searching for "Egyptian art." It makes me laugh.
Hello, lost cyber-searchers. These probably aren't the posts you were looking for. But welcome anyway.
On a side note, here's a link to the-burning-house.com, a website that asked people to post a picture of what they would take with them if the house was burning down. It's actually really intriguing, and the photography's good, too.
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