Museums

I have been to so many museums. I couldn't count them if I tried. It's absolutely ridiculous. When my family goes on vacations (we haven't actually gone on one for several years now) we go somewhere and travel to every museum that we could possibly find along the way. In fact, there was one trip that was solely for the fact that my mom wanted to see a specific museum.

Yesterday me, my mom, and my dad went to go see The McAllister House Museum in Colorado Springs. (I wasn't aware of this fact until were half way there. I was told we were getting a door and I was getting a phone.) The plan was to take a tour of the museum like any normal family would. This of course could not happen.

It started off when my dad asked if the tree in the back was a crab apple tree. The answer was yes. Then the old lady working there offered for my dad to take some home. My dad said yes. The old lady then told us a long, boring history of the house and the founding of Colorado Springs. I zoned out and heard a few random snippets of information. Midway through the lecture the woman who was to be our tour guide came in coughing violently loud and apologizing for interrupting. The woman finished her lecture while I fidgeted in my old, uncomfortable, and loud chair. We then departed on the tour.

Our tour guide let us in the front door of the house and began telling us about the architect and his design for the molding on the doorways. It was a notches and nobs design (apparently). There was one area where one of the nob part of the design had broke off and was painted over. My dad of course had to inspect this and inform the tour guide of this. There was also a mirror that used to belong to Lincoln (yes the president). My mom explained what the jutting out piece was for (hats and gloves apparently).  We then moved into the formal parlor.

In the formal parlor, the tour guide was informing us of how it was used and blahdy blahdy blah. I wandered across the room to look at an old music box. It was cool. The tour guide informed us that they used to use it in tours, but one time it didn't stop after she started it and then the next time it didn't run at all. My dad then explained to her why that was and how to fix the problem. We then moved to the study.

By this point, I half felt like I was in a game of Clue. ("It was General Palmer in the study with a sword who determined that people needed to visit the middle of nowhere.") The guide pulled out a sword that belonged to the owner of the house and let my dad hold it. My dad then, spoke a good deal of the knowledge he has about Civil War swords. We then Moved upstairs.

Upstairs we entered the children's room. The lady explained about it and when she got to the chamber pot my dad stepped in with, "Usually they'd only use that for urine and kept number two to the outhouse. But there were times in the middle of the night where you'd have to do a Tennessee Quick Step." (This dialog is slightly abridged because I don't remember exactly, but it's pretty close. The Tennessee Quick Step part is verbatim.) After hearing about how school kids are usually horrified about chamber pots we looked at a copy of a newsletter written by one of the children. It explained in brief how the heating system in the house worked so my dad extrapolated. We then moved to the parents bedroom.

In here there was an old crib. My dad got permission to cross the velvet rope and inspect how the rocking mechanism on it worked. Crawling on the floor he inspected and explained it. Then he picked up a dead moth (which he disposed of out the kitchen door later on) and we headed downstairs to the Dining room.

Interesting enough in the dining room I actually learned something. My dad did briefly lecture on how people would paint pine molding to look like oak. What I learned: Colorado Springs back in the late 1800s and early 1900s had a high British population and was called Little London. Most of the population had British accents. This could be the reason for the use of the word "warsh" among local people of my mother's age or older. We then moved into the kitchen.

In the kitchen, we learned about... Well actually we didn't learn that much because my dad already knew it all so no one really lectured that much. However, we did discuss the equivalent of a 19th century easy bake oven. Then I noticed a little nicknack that had a sign that said, "We don't know what this is. Do you?" Since my dad was lecturing on everything else in the house I figured we'd see what he had to say on the matter. After fiddling with it for a minute or two he determined that it was a pencil sharpener. We then headed outside while my father bragged, "You didn't think I could figure it out, did you?"

Once outside my father started his collecting of crab apples (forgot about that didn't you; so did I). He started picking them up and handing them to me while the old lady working in the office came out and brought us a grocery sack to put them in. My dad then lectured her and our tour guide on how they could sell them as starts for crab apple trees and make a bunch of money because the tree wasn't a hybrid. After that lecture, he suggested that he could do an event where he showed people what it was like to be in a Civil War Cavalry. While he was discussing this option, we moved into the gift shop and my mom and I bought some books.

We did eventually convince him to leave and get the tasks that I was originally informed of done (even if we were three hours late picking up my younger sister).

Books

The cover of a book is very important. It is what convinces a person to look into whether or not they want to spend their time reading it.

The ADD generation doesn't want to sit there and read the inside flap about what the books about, for a couple of reasons. 1) It's long and boring. 2) They rather just read the book. 3) They don't have the attention span to read about the book, but they do have the attention span to read the book (unless it's assigned reading.) 3) They have an annoying habit of giving away too much of the plot. (I want to actually read the book, not have you tell me the story. I have enough friends that do that for me.)

Bearing all that in mind, the cover is horribly important. i.e. If the title of the book is "Man Hunt" there are a few different options of what it could be about. If Osama Bin Laden's on the cover, it's nonfiction book about finding and killing the fellow. If there's a police line, it's a mystery. If there's a heart with magnifying glass (or a cute looking couple), it's a romantic comedy. If there is an illustrated picture of a shirtless well built man, then it's a romance novel.

The cover of a book is very useful. The cliche of don't judge a book by it's cover is only partially true. The cover provides a lot of helpful information. The title, the genre, and the author. The cover's not always a good indicator of whether or not the book is good, but there are plenty of clues. Most notably would be the author. There are certain authors who have great books then there are those to avoid.

If it's by Stephanie Meyer, just walk away from the book. Whatever you do, DON'T READ IT! If you do, one of three things will happen. 1. You'll read the book, become an obsessive fan and .... off normal people all across America. 2. You'll read the book, you'll throw the book across the room, find matches, burn the book, and be the cause of the next wildfire. 3. You'll read the book, your mind will explode, you'll turn into a zombie, and you'll eat the faces of your family, causing the zombie apocalypse.

If it's by Dean Koontz, there is only one thing that will happen. You'll read one of his good books. (Only two that I know of, Odd Thomas and Life Expectancy.) You'll like that book except for one (or two useless chapters that have nothing to do with the story. You'll think, I wonder how his other books are. You'll read the sequels to the book and pretend that they don't exist because they turn the original characters into someone you hope gets killed off. You'll then give him one more chance and read another of his books. This book will either be the other good book or one of the many that totally suck. If it's the other good book, you'll prolong the inevitable. You'll avoid sequels and move on to reading some of his other stuff. You'll read one more novel that will be so horribly predictable you can't even hear the title without cringing. After that last novel, you will forever have to fight the urge to find Dean Koontz and drive over him repeatedly with trucks, cars, wagons, and donkeys. If you're a glutton for punishment you will maybe try and find another good novel. This is like trying to find a needle in a hay stack and is in fact just as painful as that cliche.   

While we're not supposed to judge books on appearances (nor should we people), the information that is generously provided for you and is in no way hidden is a good indicator of how your time will be spent.

Wal-Mart

I'm not a huge fan of Wal-Mart, but on occasion end up buying something there anyways. (It's the closest place to get certain things.) Wal-Mart while having a low prices tends to also be filled with some pretty jank items. Even the brand name items seem to lack in quality compared to items bought at other stores.

Any clothing I get from there falls apart pretty quickly. For Christmas one year, I received a pair of Levi jeans from Wal-Mart. After one day of running around on rocks and trees with my cousin they were obliterated. There was absolutely no ass left in them. I purchased a shirt from Wal-Mart. A month later, it got caught on the doorknob of our kitchen door (which is blunt by the way) and ripped a hole in the back of the shirt.

While jank clothing is one thing (it's really only a problem at televised half-time shows), jank food is an entirely different thing. Awhile ago, I bought a container of lemonade mix for a backpacking trip that didn't happen. We decided to use it tonight for dinner. I glanced at the label and it had this notice posted, "May contain traces of milk, eggs, tilapia, and wheat or soy." Tilapia? What the heck? That's a type of fish! Why the heck would a drink mix contain traces of fish? Seriously, what the heck? It was Wal-Mart brand and it was cheep, but, seriously, what type of processing equipment do they use?

If there wasn't enough of an incentive to boycott Wal-Mart before, there certainly is now. I will not be purchasing any more Wal-Mart brand food items. I don't care if it costs more to buy it somewhere else. I like my lemonade without fish. The fact that a food item may contain fish isn't even the issue. It's the fact that a drink item might contain traces of it. Honestly, Wal-Mart what the hell?

Petty Arguments

The world can be burning and people will still be arguing over stupid shit. As many will without a doubt know there is a huge fire not terribly close to me, but close to many of my friends. Of course my family is worried and concerned  about it, but that doesn't sway anyone from their normal routine. We are still arguing, yelling, and blaming our problems on inanimate objects. While we're all so terribly concerned, we decided to take a break from that today and resume our normal schedule of arguing.

Petty Argument #1
Today my younger sister had the day off from her job (a fact she has stated more times than I have books). I got up at noon. Not an unfair time as far as I'm concerned and learned that I was required to do the chores, so I did them. I then chilled for a little bit. I attempted watching TV. I watched about ten minutes of Loony Tunes before my sister jacked the TV (even though she told me I could watch whatever). So I started making the lasagna for dinner. My sister started watching a movie and I informed her I was going to turn on music in the kitchen so she could either go upstairs and watch the movie in my room or on her laptop. She told me no, so of course I did so anyways. I turned it on and after yelling at me for about five minutes she slapped me in the arm and stormed upstairs.


Petty Argument #2 Giant Petty Blow-up
This evening, after dinner it was time to do the chores. I asked if my younger sister could do them, since I did them this morning. Little did I know this would spark a completely ridiculous argument. While news about the giant f-ing fire played in the background, I got to listen to my parents and sister scream at each other. (Seriously, banshees would have been preferable.) My dad (being the genius he is) decided that her reluctance to go do the chores was the result of the internet (rather than the fact that no one like to do the chores). After the yelling match, my dad told my sister she was grounded if she didn't go do them, then stormed out to go do the chores. She then stormed out to do the chores. This resulted in more yelling that, if my neighbors were ever home, might actually result in the calling of cops. My mother than came back into the living room and yelled at me to do the dishes. (Which, by the way, I had already volunteered to do.) My mother than unplugged the internet. My sister came storming back inside pissed off and crying. Then after a moment yelled at my mother about having unplugged the internet. I then did the dishes (and even put them away) and asked nicely about getting the internet back.

It amazes me how my family can put their energy towards getting overly pissed off about something like the chores when there's a huge wildfire closing in. It also amazes me how they manage to find something inanimate to blame. I promise you that problem is not and has never been the internet. Nor is it the television, the book I'm reading, or the influence of our friends. I've yet to actually see a time when being a dick helps. Nor have I seen yelling at someone for a stupid reason help. Chill is a five letter word and my family could benefit greatly from it.

Mind Reading

There seams to be a weird consensus in my family that I can read minds. I'm not quite sure where this comes from. It's baffling the amount of times I get yelled at for not doing something that no one told me about. When I mention this fact, I either get told, "It should've been obvious." or they told me when I was asleep. Neither of these work.

The should have been obvious completely baffles me. Maybe the fact that the floor needs mopped is  obvious to you, but I don't spend my days staring at the floor. I don't notice that it needs to be clean unless I walk in there and my foot sticks to the floor. Unlike you people, I don't spend my days looking for chores that need to be done. I more or less stumble upon them. When my I break the closet door because my stool breaks and I crash into it, that's when I realize me stool needed fixed. Not when it's wobbling profusely. That's just a minor inconvenience. It's the way my mind works. If a person wants me to do one of these chores that "is obvious" then they might benefit by actually telling me this.

The form of actually telling me to do something by coming into my room when I'm asleep, "waking me up" enough that I respond, then telling me something important, doesn't work. When I'm asleep, I'm asleep. Waking me up so that I respond doesn't actually work. It's a subconscious mechanism that tells you what you want to know, so you will leave me alone.

This morning my dad apparently came and told me that I needed to go do the chores. When I woke up around 2:00 this afternoon, I was surprised that no one was yelling at me to wake up. I didn't think to much of it. I just figured that my dad had decided to do the chores and let me sleep. (It does happen on occasion, believe it or not.) I showered, got dressed, and was about to head downstairs when my dad came plowing into my room.
He yelled, "Why haven't you done the chores yet?"
I responded with, "I just woke up. I figured you already did the chores."
"This is ridiculous! It's two thirty in the afternoon!"
"I figured you'd have woken me up if you wanted me to do the chores."
"I talked to you this morning!"
"Well I didn't hear you!"
That's when went outside to do the chores while me dad angrily dialed the phone. I'm assuming he called my mother because that's what he does when we have issues about the chores.

My dad's not the only one that does this. When I was little, my sisters would use this to their advantage. When they wanted to borrow something of mine, I'd make them ask. In the mornings, before I got out of bed, they'd ask me to borrow something and I being asleep would say yes. Then later, when I actually woke up, I would get pissed off because they were using my stuff.

You'd think that after eighteen years of living with me, they'd figure out that I can't read minds. I can't tell what you're saying to me when I'm asleep, and I don't find the same things obvious. It doesn't work, so let try something new. When you have something you want me to do, tell me and do so. Preferably, when I'm actually awake.

The Twilight Zone Theory

"There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call The Twilight Zone."

The area in which I live has an annoying lack of diversity. My friends and I have developed a theory as to why this is.

This area is the Twilight Zone. A barrier surrounds the area and no one with ethnic diversity can get in. It's not possible. That being said, you should know that one of my friends who helped develop this theory is half Arabic. How she gets away with entering is by the fact that her mother's white. The Twilight Zone gets confused when it comes to her ethnicity. It can't quite figure out what's going on. It doesn't know what to do so it leaves her alone. She doesn't have issue until she travels to another location.

Over spring break, she took a trip to Santa Fe to visit family. She got more tan than she normally is (and ended up an orange color). This threw the barrier into an outrage. It wouldn't let her back into the area. A huge snows storm formed and blocked off the interstate. She physically could not get back in. Eventually her orange tan faded enough that the Twilight Zone resumed it's normal state of confusion and she returned home.

There are people who like my friend managed to confuse the barrier long enough to slip in, but it is a rarity. You get quite the attention if you actually manage to do so. I, along with several of my friends, am quite convinced that this is the Twilight Zone.

P.S. Some people must have a special agreement with the barrier because there is never a lack of Asians at the three Asian restaurants in town.

Embarrassing Moments

Everyone has at least one moment where they were embarrassed. My most embarrassing moment tops a lot of peoples most embarrassing moments. Not everyone's, but I've yet to meet someone with a more embarrassing one.

My freshman year in art class. We were working on a charcoal unit. To start us of my teacher put an image up on screen and told us to sketch it. As time went on she focused it in more and more. At the end of the class period she told us to put our drawings up on the wall.

Next class she told us to take down our drawings and get started. Mine wasn't on the wall. I told me teacher that my drawing wasn't there. She asked me which one was mine. I told her and she nodded. She had me follow her over to her desk where she pulled my drawing out of a drawer.

She asked, "Did you do this on purpose?"

I had no idea what she was talking about, but I shook my head and said, "No."

She handed me my drawing and I headed to my desk and began working. I saw my art teacher walk over to the other teacher and I could tell that she was telling her about what had just happened. I was confused. That is, I was confused until the other art teacher yelled across the art room, "Bad Penis Girl! No more penises on the wall!"

That statement cleared my confusion until it was crystal clear and gift wrapped in a nickname. From that day on, whenever I'd pass the other art teacher she'd say something along the lines of, "I know you. You're The Penis Drawer. So, when are you gonna take my class?"

It wasn't until my senior year, when I finally took her class, that she learned my name and stopped calling me The Penis Drawer. I was so happy when she said my actual name during role call. I was actually quite amazed. Since there was another Sarah in the class, I half expected her to just call me Penis Drawer for the rest of high school.