My Dear Reader,
Apparently, I was so caught up in graduation mumbo-jumbo that I completely forgot that Plain Vanilla's one year anniversary was coming up. Well, Gentle Reader, I am sorry to say that the time has passed. It's been an eventful year though, hasn't it? I've been a blogger since 2003, but I got the idea for Plain Vanilla sometime around February 2007, and after a couple of months of preparation, I first published on April 10th, 2007. It seems like a long time ago.
For me, Plain Vanilla was always a lot more than just a way for me to get my thoughts out there; it was a way for me to create a voice and share it with others, even strangers. It was a kind of experiment in progress, to see if I had the ability to document my life in a way that would be interesting to other people, whether they knew me or not. If I could do that, I could prove that every life has value and is worth writing and reading about, even if they just happened to be middle class and white. At the same time, I do consider myself a writer, and creating a blog and promising to update every Tuesday was a way to force myself to continue to write on a regular basis. By now, I have 61 more writing samples to add to my writing portfolio, which have been well-received as far as I can tell.
Plain Vanilla hasn't exactly catapulted into the stratosphere or anything, but it has certainly done well for itself. My first and most supportive fans have been my family and friends, without whom I probably wouldn't have continued. (There's no point in writing if you don't think anyone is reading.) Of course, other people have stumbled on the site through one means or another, whether it was a random search, word of mouth, or the recent and very generous mention by Bloggernacle. That means that even though I only update once a week, I get an average of 20 site visitors a day. Sure, it's not hundreds, but it's not that shabby either. These visitors come from both coasts and everywhere in between, and even outside of the U.S., including such countries as Canada, Brazil, Korea, and Norway.
This next year should be promising, as I have a lot planned for Plain Vanilla. A new site design will definitely pop up in the near future, hopefully by the end of the summer. By that time, I would like to have a professional domain name site and move the entire blog there. The site would have biographical information as well as a portfolio of writing samples, Plain Vanilla included. It's even possible that I might start posting more than once a week, with the added content in either the usual format, or possibly as videos or a podcast (PetiteSoeur has suggested that the two of us start a radio show, but she's going to Paris in September, so we'll see). Nothing is certain, but the future is certainly limitless. My goal for this year was to create a base of readers, and since I think that this goal has definitely been accomplished, the next step would be to move this blog into a larger sphere. And since I am now a college graduate in need of a job, hopefully this blog will eventually aid me monetarily in some way or another (I tried putting Google Ads on the site, but I pulled them after I realized that they were less than praiseworthy). If that doesn't happen, though, I'll keep going, as I've come to find these weekly entries incredibly rewarding.
I have one short term goal that is definitely going to be good news for you, Gentle Reader: posting earlier in the day. I managed to get a post out almost every Tuesday last year, but you may have noticed that some were posted at 11:59 P.M. Hopefully this will soon be a thing of the past, especially since Blogger has added a new feature that allows me to finish my posts early and schedule them to be automatically posted at the appropriate time. It's a lot better than trying to figure out what to write at ten on Tuesday night.
So, to celebrate a year of Plain Vanilla, I'd like to list my five personal favorite entries so far. Hopefully they will give you a taste of where we have been and where we can go:
Laundry Memories
My Secret Identity
Thank You, Mr. Spock
Sister Moment #4: "Help, I'm Dying!"
The Break-Up
Regards, best wishes, and milestones,
-Cecily Jane
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Graduation Ceremonies
Dear Reader,
As you probably are aware, I'm getting my bachelor's degree this week, which means that I am obligated to go through the entire graduation ritual that scholars and teenagers have been going through for ages. The funny thing is that this time, I'm kind of looking forward to it. That's a big change from high school, when the only reason I went to graduation had to do with the fact that my grandparents came all the way from Oregon to see the ceremony. I complained a lot, though, as if that would make up for it. I remember that while we were practicing to graduate from high school, the one thing that one of the guidance counselors* kept telling us was that the day wasn't about us; it was about our parents. I think that made me a little more mad, but it eventually made me go through with it. It ended up not being that horrible.
Still, I had some friends offer to come and watch me graduate this time, which was really kind of them. But in the back of my mind I was thinking, "You want to sit in a metal chair for two hours just to see me walk across a stage for five seconds?" My friends are really supportive of me, but I don't think that I would ever make the same offer if I were in their shoes. I just don't think that it's worth it.
I think that all of this graduation hatred comes from my days as a band geek/nerd, and was forced to play one graduation ceremony every year between the ages of twelve and seventeen. I loved band, but graduation meant one thing: "Pomp and Circumstance," which just so happens to be the most boring, stupid, and lame song to ever be conceived by mankind. In order to truly appreciate the horror that accompanies this song, imagine playing it over, and over, and over again while you watch the people in caps and gowns walk in as if they were holy people. Are they coming in triumphantly? No. The song does not allow triumph, just pomp, with perhaps a dash of circumstance. And as you are playing this boring song for the twentieth time, your band leader says:
"Play, kids! Play until your lips fall off! Play until you bleed!"
Meanwhile, little Manny passes out and knocks over Amy's tuba.
And then you wish your lips were actually bleeding so you could claim cruel and unusual punishment and get the heck out of there, because band night has suddenly turned into a very deadly game of Survivor: Graduation. The last one standing wins the apathy of hundreds.
Now, something you have to know, Gentle Reader, is that this was the culmination of four years of trying to convince two separate band teachers to switch the processional song to the theme from Indiana Jones. "Imagine the awesomeness," I would say, multiple times, in a very persuasive and soothing way. But it was to no avail! Apparently, if you don't play the song, it's not a real graduation. How incredibly (and by "incredibly," I mean "unbelievably") lame and pointless.
Of course, "Pomp and Circumstance" isn't the only lame thing about graduation. Part of it is how people tend to use graduations to try to make a big deal out of things that are essentially meaningless. For example, they decided to cancel PetiteSeour's junior high "graduation" after kids started showing up in limousines, wearing prom dresses. I hate to be blunt, but when you put that much importance into something that is really a grade promotion, people wonder if you're doing it because you're afraid it's the closest you'll get to graduating anything. And by "people," I mean that I wonder if you're afraid this is the closest you'll ever get to graduating everything. The next year at my graduation, the same families sent their older kids to my graduation wearing flip flops. Obviously in this community, the pressure's off once you're sixteen and still on school. After that, all schooling is optional, and high school graduation is just another reason to bring out various beverages that are alcoholic in nature.
On an unrelated issue, I recently discovered that my high school got a six out of ten rating by one of those school-rating websites. I thought they were very generous.
Anyway, after that explanation, I think that it's a little easier to understand why I wasn't initially excited about graduating again. It's so strange for me that I'm starting to actually look forward to it. I mean, this time I don't have to play in the band. (I did at my high school graduation. Again, lame.) And this time, I really feel like I've accomplished something, like my time was well-used, and that I have stuff ahead of me. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I actually feel like celebrating this time, that I've actually achieved something. And since it's an academic achievement, I think that I can honor it in the way academics like honoring things.
I've spent a lot of time growing up by now, but it still never ceases to amaze me when I start looking forward to things that I utterly despise. And oddly enough, I think that my guidance counselor's advice still rings true. It really is their day, and my grandparents', who are driving out from Oregon again. And the rest of my family who will be attending. After all, my HermanaMayor is graduating with me, and we're the oldest, so it's kind of a big deal all around.
I wonder what my band teacher would think if he saw me right now.
Regards, best wishes, and real achievement,
-Cecily Jane
*In my high school, my guidance counselors had two jobs: first, convincing kids that they should go to college (which was a lot harder than you might think), and second, organizing graduation. They really put their hearts in it.
As you probably are aware, I'm getting my bachelor's degree this week, which means that I am obligated to go through the entire graduation ritual that scholars and teenagers have been going through for ages. The funny thing is that this time, I'm kind of looking forward to it. That's a big change from high school, when the only reason I went to graduation had to do with the fact that my grandparents came all the way from Oregon to see the ceremony. I complained a lot, though, as if that would make up for it. I remember that while we were practicing to graduate from high school, the one thing that one of the guidance counselors* kept telling us was that the day wasn't about us; it was about our parents. I think that made me a little more mad, but it eventually made me go through with it. It ended up not being that horrible.
Still, I had some friends offer to come and watch me graduate this time, which was really kind of them. But in the back of my mind I was thinking, "You want to sit in a metal chair for two hours just to see me walk across a stage for five seconds?" My friends are really supportive of me, but I don't think that I would ever make the same offer if I were in their shoes. I just don't think that it's worth it.
I think that all of this graduation hatred comes from my days as a band geek/nerd, and was forced to play one graduation ceremony every year between the ages of twelve and seventeen. I loved band, but graduation meant one thing: "Pomp and Circumstance," which just so happens to be the most boring, stupid, and lame song to ever be conceived by mankind. In order to truly appreciate the horror that accompanies this song, imagine playing it over, and over, and over again while you watch the people in caps and gowns walk in as if they were holy people. Are they coming in triumphantly? No. The song does not allow triumph, just pomp, with perhaps a dash of circumstance. And as you are playing this boring song for the twentieth time, your band leader says:
"Play, kids! Play until your lips fall off! Play until you bleed!"
Meanwhile, little Manny passes out and knocks over Amy's tuba.
And then you wish your lips were actually bleeding so you could claim cruel and unusual punishment and get the heck out of there, because band night has suddenly turned into a very deadly game of Survivor: Graduation. The last one standing wins the apathy of hundreds.
Now, something you have to know, Gentle Reader, is that this was the culmination of four years of trying to convince two separate band teachers to switch the processional song to the theme from Indiana Jones. "Imagine the awesomeness," I would say, multiple times, in a very persuasive and soothing way. But it was to no avail! Apparently, if you don't play the song, it's not a real graduation. How incredibly (and by "incredibly," I mean "unbelievably") lame and pointless.
Of course, "Pomp and Circumstance" isn't the only lame thing about graduation. Part of it is how people tend to use graduations to try to make a big deal out of things that are essentially meaningless. For example, they decided to cancel PetiteSeour's junior high "graduation" after kids started showing up in limousines, wearing prom dresses. I hate to be blunt, but when you put that much importance into something that is really a grade promotion, people wonder if you're doing it because you're afraid it's the closest you'll get to graduating anything. And by "people," I mean that I wonder if you're afraid this is the closest you'll ever get to graduating everything. The next year at my graduation, the same families sent their older kids to my graduation wearing flip flops. Obviously in this community, the pressure's off once you're sixteen and still on school. After that, all schooling is optional, and high school graduation is just another reason to bring out various beverages that are alcoholic in nature.
On an unrelated issue, I recently discovered that my high school got a six out of ten rating by one of those school-rating websites. I thought they were very generous.
Anyway, after that explanation, I think that it's a little easier to understand why I wasn't initially excited about graduating again. It's so strange for me that I'm starting to actually look forward to it. I mean, this time I don't have to play in the band. (I did at my high school graduation. Again, lame.) And this time, I really feel like I've accomplished something, like my time was well-used, and that I have stuff ahead of me. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I actually feel like celebrating this time, that I've actually achieved something. And since it's an academic achievement, I think that I can honor it in the way academics like honoring things.
I've spent a lot of time growing up by now, but it still never ceases to amaze me when I start looking forward to things that I utterly despise. And oddly enough, I think that my guidance counselor's advice still rings true. It really is their day, and my grandparents', who are driving out from Oregon again. And the rest of my family who will be attending. After all, my HermanaMayor is graduating with me, and we're the oldest, so it's kind of a big deal all around.
I wonder what my band teacher would think if he saw me right now.
Regards, best wishes, and real achievement,
-Cecily Jane
*In my high school, my guidance counselors had two jobs: first, convincing kids that they should go to college (which was a lot harder than you might think), and second, organizing graduation. They really put their hearts in it.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
The Break-Up
My Dear Reader,
After an extensive five-year courtship, I would like to announce that I will soon be formally ending my relationship with Harold, who is otherwise known as the Harold B. Lee Library. While our relationship was deeply meaningful and very advantageous for the both of us, I felt it was necessary to break it off. "Harold," I said, "it isn't you, and it isn't me. It's just that you are a 47-year-old building, and I am going to be a 22-year-old graduate. I just don't see how this will work out." Harold then sighed, but I could tell from the look in his deep blue windows that he was starting to understand. It was time to move on.
But oh, Gentle Reader, the times we used to have! Harold always made sure that there was a chair waiting for me whenever we spent time together. We would read together, study together, blog together, and I found that he provided the best defense against any and all distractions from academia, pushing me to work as best and efficiently as I could. It was Harold who taught me how to write one double-spaced page in a half-hour, could easily gather information on a variety of subjects, and had memorized an untold number of books and scholarly articles by heart. Occasionally, our adventures together would last until midnight (when he would suddenly change from his usual, calm demeanor into one which was loud and obnoxious, as if to encourage me to get home at a reasonable hour).
Harold wasn't like the other Big Boys on Campus, like Harris Fine Arts Center, who was cultured but unpredictable, or Wilkinson Student Center, who was good for a meal but would keep you from your studies in order to quench his own loneliness. Harold understood that I was a student, that I had books to read and papers to write, and that I would sometimes have professors who were the most vicious taskmasters. While our relationship was by no means exclusive (for, as I was very well aware, he courted many), when I was with him, he would always make me feel as of his very existence was to serve my scholarly needs
Harold was and is one of the most popular guys around. Everyone knew and loved Harold, and he would often ease the tension I had between those of other majors. If we had to do something as a group and Harold was going to be there, we would know that no one was taking sides, which might have occurred at the presence of Henry B. Eyering Science Center or Joseph F. Smith Building. While F. and I would become great friends (though I was sometimes confused as to where I was in the relationship and where it was heading and how do I get out of here?), it was Harold who had my heart from the beginning, who would soothe my group's frustration when a test or project was near, and always gave us the chance to study effectively. I just don't think that I could possibly have graduated without him.
But, as I said, the time had come for the two of us to move on. As I walked away from Harold into the orange-pink haze of the setting sun, I looked back at him, and I too started to sigh. I thought about how life would be after graduation, when I no longer would have a friend who would spend his days finding meaning in the world's greatest literature with me. It was a troubling thing to think; after all, my departure had more to do with my fulfilled academic requirements than anything else. Could I say that we had actually grown apart? No, of course not. The fire in our relationship still burned as brightly as ever. Our paths were only planned to diverge because of circumstance and social convention. With misty eyes I ran back to Harold, put my hands on his paned exterior, and told him that though I might travel far and wide, I would always cherish what he had given me. When we finally parted, we promised that though we would be apart, we would always remain friends.
Regards, best wishes, and libraries,
-Cecily Jane
After an extensive five-year courtship, I would like to announce that I will soon be formally ending my relationship with Harold, who is otherwise known as the Harold B. Lee Library. While our relationship was deeply meaningful and very advantageous for the both of us, I felt it was necessary to break it off. "Harold," I said, "it isn't you, and it isn't me. It's just that you are a 47-year-old building, and I am going to be a 22-year-old graduate. I just don't see how this will work out." Harold then sighed, but I could tell from the look in his deep blue windows that he was starting to understand. It was time to move on.
But oh, Gentle Reader, the times we used to have! Harold always made sure that there was a chair waiting for me whenever we spent time together. We would read together, study together, blog together, and I found that he provided the best defense against any and all distractions from academia, pushing me to work as best and efficiently as I could. It was Harold who taught me how to write one double-spaced page in a half-hour, could easily gather information on a variety of subjects, and had memorized an untold number of books and scholarly articles by heart. Occasionally, our adventures together would last until midnight (when he would suddenly change from his usual, calm demeanor into one which was loud and obnoxious, as if to encourage me to get home at a reasonable hour).
Harold wasn't like the other Big Boys on Campus, like Harris Fine Arts Center, who was cultured but unpredictable, or Wilkinson Student Center, who was good for a meal but would keep you from your studies in order to quench his own loneliness. Harold understood that I was a student, that I had books to read and papers to write, and that I would sometimes have professors who were the most vicious taskmasters. While our relationship was by no means exclusive (for, as I was very well aware, he courted many), when I was with him, he would always make me feel as of his very existence was to serve my scholarly needs
Harold was and is one of the most popular guys around. Everyone knew and loved Harold, and he would often ease the tension I had between those of other majors. If we had to do something as a group and Harold was going to be there, we would know that no one was taking sides, which might have occurred at the presence of Henry B. Eyering Science Center or Joseph F. Smith Building. While F. and I would become great friends (though I was sometimes confused as to where I was in the relationship and where it was heading and how do I get out of here?), it was Harold who had my heart from the beginning, who would soothe my group's frustration when a test or project was near, and always gave us the chance to study effectively. I just don't think that I could possibly have graduated without him.
But, as I said, the time had come for the two of us to move on. As I walked away from Harold into the orange-pink haze of the setting sun, I looked back at him, and I too started to sigh. I thought about how life would be after graduation, when I no longer would have a friend who would spend his days finding meaning in the world's greatest literature with me. It was a troubling thing to think; after all, my departure had more to do with my fulfilled academic requirements than anything else. Could I say that we had actually grown apart? No, of course not. The fire in our relationship still burned as brightly as ever. Our paths were only planned to diverge because of circumstance and social convention. With misty eyes I ran back to Harold, put my hands on his paned exterior, and told him that though I might travel far and wide, I would always cherish what he had given me. When we finally parted, we promised that though we would be apart, we would always remain friends.
Regards, best wishes, and libraries,
-Cecily Jane
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Surgery?
My Dear Reader,
So it's official: I've got to go into surgery about my dislocated shoulder. I'm not that happy about it, partially because I don't really think that anyone should be happy about going into surgery, and partially because it messed up all of my plans for the summer, which weren't doing so well anyway. The problem with this whole thing is that I'm graduating. I always kind of thought that I would be a student forever, and that graduating was what other people did. Other people got sick of school and had better things to do. I don't really have either. Like I've said before, I'm only graduating because staying would be somewhat ridiculous and cost more money. I mean, sure, I'll try to get a job someplace. Editing, most likely. That's the only thing business-ey thing that I've simultaneously enjoyed and been good at, except for writing. I could write the pants off of most people. Anyway, here's a list of what I was hoping to accomplish this summer:
So it's official: I've got to go into surgery about my dislocated shoulder. I'm not that happy about it, partially because I don't really think that anyone should be happy about going into surgery, and partially because it messed up all of my plans for the summer, which weren't doing so well anyway. The problem with this whole thing is that I'm graduating. I always kind of thought that I would be a student forever, and that graduating was what other people did. Other people got sick of school and had better things to do. I don't really have either. Like I've said before, I'm only graduating because staying would be somewhat ridiculous and cost more money. I mean, sure, I'll try to get a job someplace. Editing, most likely. That's the only thing business-ey thing that I've simultaneously enjoyed and been good at, except for writing. I could write the pants off of most people. Anyway, here's a list of what I was hoping to accomplish this summer:
- Eat
- Publish my book
- Live somewhere that's not Utah
- Go to New York City with a friend
- Make mountains of money somehow, preferably by way of #2
- Get my own apartment
- Feel like a bachelor's degree is actually worth something
- Get an editing job
Now that I'm going to be getting surgery at the beginning of the summer, I'm not sure if I can still work at the MTC this summer while I try to find an editing job. I've got surgery scheduled for May 7th, after which I might be spending up to three weeks at Madre and Padre's until I feel better. Then, I'll go back to my job here (spending six weeks in a sling), I guess, but it now kind of doesn't make sense if I'm only going to be here for a couple of months and two of my best friends are going to be in Russia the whole time. Ugh.
And then today, as I was sitting in class, I thought that it would be really strange to go from being an English major to not-talking-about-literature-all-day-every-day in a little over two weeks. And then I was thinking that maybe grad school would be worth it. And then I remembered that I never, ever planned to go to grad school grade-wise. And I haven't even looked into any of the requirements or anything at all. I mean, I really, really don't want to leave college, but at the same time, I don't want to go into grad school just because I'm too afraid to try anything else. And I have student loans to pay off. Ugh again!
And then I think that this might be my big chance to grow up even more than I already have in the years I've studied here. That's one of the reasons why I want to try to live by myself: I want to be even more independent that I already am (or do I mean less dependant?). I'm the kind of person who's always looking for an opportunity to stretch myself a little more, and moving away and getting a job might be it. Or I might just fail miserably at everything because a bachelor's degree isn't worth what it used to.
At this point, I just wish that I knew what I wanted, and how to get it, and that this surgery thing wouldn't mess everything up. For now, it seems that I'm just going to have to play it by ear. In the meantime, if you hear of any editing jobs that require only a bachelor's degree, let me know.
Regards, best wishes, and not surgery,
-Cecily Jane
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