{This Place Reminds Me of Somewhere I’ve Been Before.}

by Camille Posted on August 14, 2008

I’m in Fargo.

Which is a fancy way of saying, “Meh.”

Photo from here. And I drove past this historic theatre on my quest to find a place to lay my head.

Inasmuch as I’ve just been in a vehicle (albeit the plush leather passenger seat of the Ford F-[I-Forgot-The-Number]-50) for 17 hours, I’m kind of tired.

Hopefully I’ll have time to explore this historic city, and then we’ll see about writing a real question-answering post.

Also, today marks the 200th post I’ve written (201 if you count the deleted “Mayberry). Congratulate me if you will, but only because I’ve stuck with it this long–not because I’ve changed the world or even slightly altered it.

Someday…

Posted in Travel | 15 Comments

{Communism at its Finest}

by Camille Posted on August 13, 2008

How important is it that what we see on television–or in movies–is real and unaltered?

Me? I don’t care too much. When I go to watch Lord of the Rings, I fully anticipate special effects, digital supplements, and all manner of enhancements to make the actual finished product more effective than it would have otherwise been.

We live in a digital age–a time when images we see on screen or in print are rarely left unadulterated. The mainstream population of the world seems to acknowledge this–even embrace it, rewarding designers and filmmakers for best visual effects.

Why, then, does this story seem to rub so many–myself included–the wrong way?

China’s opening ceremony was beautiful, as I have already noted. Sure, there were some digital “tweaks,” like those massive firework footprints racing throughout Beijing, but that’s not what bothers me. What annoys me is that Chinese officials knowingly allowed this little girl, Yang Peiyi:

Photo from here.

to sing “Ode to the Motherland” into a microphone, probably hidden away behind some curtain backstage. Meanwhile, while her visual counterpart, Lin Miaoke:

Photo from here.

lip-synced the song for the world the night of the opening ceremonies.

I thought this sort of thing was over and done when Singin’ in the Rain came out in 1952. I mean, are we that superficial a world? Honestly?

It’s already bad enough for these poor little Chinese girls as it is: they are most likely the sole child in their family, since Chinese women are allowed, by law, to have one child only. And inasmuch as they are girls, they are already considered slightly unwanted by Chinese standards. Now, added to the pressure of making their parents’ one shot worthwhile, the girls are being taught that they fall short of their country’s standard of perfection.

I can see how it happened…

“Well, Yang Peiyi, there’s no doubt about it: you’ve got a great set of lungs. Unfortunately for you, you’re not much of a looker. Your haircut is rather square, isn’t it? And those teeth have got to go. How about you give the government your best efforts–your voice–and we’ll take care of the rest? That’s right…you just stand right over there, behind the stereos and equipment all night. Make sure nobody sees you…Hu Jintao forbid.”

And to Lin Miaoke…

“Lin, you sure are a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Unfortunately for you, your singing resembles a pack of cats in heat, so here’s what we’re going to do: You just go put on this fancy new dress…that’s right, dear. Remember to suck in, and make sure your mother puts your hair in pigtails–that’s what the people want to see…”

In the end, I don’t know which girl I feel worse for. On one hand, Yang Peiyi is learning that despite her very best efforts, she may never receive recognition for her successes. On the other hand, Lin Miaoke is being taught that, even with nothing to merit her, a pretty face is worth more than hard work or refining talents.

Sucking the best out of everyone’s lives and giving it all towards the support of one’s government… Call it Socialism, call it Communism…at the end of the day, it disgusts me. It’s one thing to have a single lawnmower for an entire neighborhood, with every family using it only as needed. It’s quite another to make one little girl give up her voice–and another one give up her face–in the pursuit of perfection for the onlooking world.

I’m so thankful that the red of my country’s flag is also merged with white and blue.

Posted in fiascos, oh brother what next, sad things, watch out or I'll blog about you | 28 Comments

There’s Nothing Like Watching the Olympics to Make Me Remember My Failures.

by Camille Posted on August 9, 2008

I am a devout follower of the Olympic Games. Always have been, since I was just a little girl.

Photo from here. Check it out–they’re all even more spectacular up close.

I remember being six years old and my mom calling me in to watch the opening ceremonies for the summer Olympics in Spain. I remember being eight years old and my mom calling me in to watch those beautiful, graceful figure skaters glide around the ice in the 1994 winter Olympics, and witnessing the whole mess between Tonya Harding and Nancy Kerrigan. I can vividly recall cheering on the USA volleyball team from the locker room with my own Freshman volleyball team, thinking, “I will never have a desire to go that far with this horrendous sport, where girls slap each others’ bums, and all my teammates are so vicious to me.” But I still loved watching it. I cheered on the “Thorpedo” in Sydney, thinking that Australian men were amazingly intriguing. And oh, how I cheered on those Hamm twins [oh, mercy, those Hamm twins!] take the world by surprise. I watched that young little figure skater–what was her name? Oh yeah, Sasha Cohen–surpass like a million world records at the age of 14, and thinking, “If only I lived in a place that actually created ice, I too, could have been a figure skating prodigy.”

So many dreams crushed, watching the Olympics throughout my lifetime. And yet, I really, really enjoy watching the Olympics. I find myself staying up later than normal, convincing myself to watch “just one more event.” I don’t want to sleep, because I don’t want to miss a single life-changing moment in history (that’s a value my mom instilled in me–she was always making me stay up late for the State of the Union address, or wake up early to watch the crumbling of the World Trade Center [and now I’m so glad she did]).

Photo, again, from here.

Poor Kyle thinks it’s all ridiculous, of course. The beauty of this year’s Opening Ceremony was totally lost on him. (He’s virtually culture-less, but I sure love him.) He mocked all the red fireworks China ignited, noting that they’re probably trying to brainwash the world into accepting Communism, sending all these red “subliminal messages.”

All these amazing photos from here.

In his defense, he’s stayed with me in the dungeon basement for four hours already, and with Kyle Shewfelt’s events two hours away, it looks like we’re in this for a bit longer yet.

Do you care about the games? What spectacular moments in Olympic history do you recall witnessing? I’m abnormally obsessed with knowing what people have seen in their lifetimes. Please, pipe in!

Posted in what I'm about | 21 Comments

“Ow–My Most of Me”

by Camille Posted on August 8, 2008

I’m a bit late in answering the first question of my new feature, “Ask Me Anything.” And I’m sorry about that, but I’ve been busy. In fact, I can hardly move my fingers enough to type this out [and it doesn’t help that Poor Kyle’s keyboard is ridiculously difficult to use]. I’m sure you all want to know what it is I’ve been doing. Read on…

Q {anonymous}: What do you do all day if you don’t work, go to school or care for children? Do you like this state of existence or are you going to do something different in the future? Does poor Kyle support what you do/don’t do?

A: Whatever the heavens I want, actually.

It’s quite nice. I “garden” [a term I use loosely]:

Make chocolates and eat chocolates:

I recycle truckloads of cans and bottles:

And without children to tote around and worry over, I am free to take each day as it comes. I fly by the seat of my pants. When I go to historic parks, I can take photos of myself in front of water mill wheels, without stressing that someone will steal my kids in their stroller while I’m not looking:


As far as Poor Kyle’s support, I suppose my anonymous commenter would have to ask him. My perception is that he loves me no matter how diligently I do or don’t decorate our house while he’s at work. I, myself, am perfectly happy with my life right now.

Sometimes, though, when people ask me “What do you do all day, Camille? How do you fulfill your life’s dreams without a job, or a degree, or snot-nosed kids waking you up at 6 in the a.m.?” I start to feel like I have to defend my existence. So for the past few days I’ve been doing this:



Mowing lawns. It’s not a bad job, actually, when I’m not doing it for 12 hours at a time [which I attempted yesterday]. Because when I do try it for 12 hours at a time, my hands turn redder than a Hot Tamale™, and I get blisters on my feet the size of a few extra big toes:



Last night after coming home from my 9 to 9 work day, I was literally walking on my heels to get around. because walking any normal way was too painful. And then this morning, I had to wake up and do the entire thing over. So before heading off to my “job,” I prepared my feet for the onslaught: I popped my four blisters (collecting over a tablespoon of puss from the combined poppage, and completely soaking three tissues in the process), bandaged each one, and donned three pairs of socks, in an attempt to soften the blow.

My mother-in-law cannot understand why I would want to do something like this.

“Because,” I explain, “I want to feel productive.”

“Why?” she wonders.

“So I can be a contributing member of society…”

“But…why?” she persists, clearly confused.

“So I can have money of my own…?”

“Well, I don’t know why you’d want to do anything like that if you don’t have to.”

And you know what? She may be on to something. This whole job nonsense…it’s exhausting.

Posted in ask me anything, photos, what I'm about | 10 Comments

The Sweet Life of a Single Wife

by Camille Posted on August 6, 2008
I got married and became more single than ever before.  I don’t have kids, so I’m not a single mom…I suppose some would call me a single wife.
Poor Kyle had better know I love him.
He’s on the road again [without me this time] and he took my laptop.  Which he probably won’t even have occasion to use, and how annoying is that?  Very annoying.  On top of which, if I’m going to update my blog at all, it means I have to type on a keyboard that is so stiff I might as well be chiseling each letter out of stone. And it’s really hard stone, too–not that soft limestone garbage.
On his way out, I was moping because (fill in the blank.  It’s August, so it could have been anything).  In an effort to cheer me up, he said, “Why don’t you do something adventurous to pass the time while I’m gone?  Live it up!”
In another life I would have taken that to mean, “Camille, take your credit card to New York City and live the Meg Ryan dream.”
But in this life, I simply went grocery shopping.
However, I went grocery shopping and pretended I was a yuppie [becoming a yuppie is, incidentally, my lifelong dream] and took my own reusable grocery bags and bought fresh herbs (since the ones in my garden are unbelievably pathetic) and I purchased four things I would have never bought if I wasn’t feeling so indulgent:

Excuse the awful photos–I didn’t think to take pictures until it was too dark outside for good light.

Gerber daisies are almost as good to have around the house as a husband is…or so I rationalised.

Bossy told me that this mascara would change my life, so I bought it.  It’s amazing.
I lost my previous can of hairspray.  Who loses an entire can of hairspray?  Someone who needs this life-changing can in their arsenal, that’s who.

And BioSilk Silk Therapy.  Not much to say except that if you don’t have it or have never used it, you might as well die an old, embittered spinster.  Poor Kyle will be so shocked at how nice I look when he gets home–I might even put on a bra for the occasion.
And I would have bought that new Stephanie Meyer book, but I was too excited to go home and make pesto with my shiny new basil from Safeway™, so I’ll have to save the reading extravaganza for Poor Kyle’s next trip.
Come to think of it, this single-wife way of life might not be so bad.
Posted in Married Life, what I'm about | 14 Comments

{I Know Everything There is to Know}

by Camille Posted on August 4, 2008

It’s been fun reading everybody’s questions. I’ve gotten several questions in the comment section, and a few more via email. No pill capsules in the mail, however. What a disappointment. I will hold out hope, however, because Canada is evidently a foreign country and as soon as mail reaches the 49th parallel, it mysteriously stops…for six days…and then is allowed to carry on to its final destination.

I do not know why this happens, exactly, but I think it has something to do with giving the mail time to really think about its choice to move to such a cold country. [Little do the post offices know, that mail is stubborn and will move to Canada come hell or high water. I mean, look at me–I had an entire two years to think about marrying Poor Kyle and moving north, and here I am.]

Anyway, remember that the questioning is open throughout each week. I think I’ll make question-answering day on Thursdays, because Thursdays are such glorious days.

Have I ever regaled you with my theory on Thursdays? No? Well, you’re in for a treat:

Thursdays are such hopeful days. Without them, life would be boring. Bland. Flavourless. Salt with no savour.

Bland, no?

They’re really, truly, the best day of my week, every week. See, Mondays are bad [for obvious reasons]…


…and on Tuesday, the rest of the week still seems quite interminable.

Wednesdays have nothing to boast (unless you’re an elementary school kid and have a half-day on Wednesdays, but usually that is a sure sign you’ve got piano lessons after school, so don’t get to hasty, elementary kids).


Fridays would seem like the best days of the week, but I, myself, find them a bit depressing. On a Friday, I always think, “Oh, good…the weekend.” But the thought that invariably follows is “Oh no–it’s going to be gone so soon!” Talk about the glass being half empty, eh? I know.


Saturdays just lull me into a false state of tranquility [and that’s only if I don’t have chores to do]…

… and on Sundays, the impending doom of Monday is such that I can enjoy nothing else…


Which leaves Thursday…

On Thursday, the weekend is near enough to start planning and looking forward to, but not soon enough to actually start dreading its end. Friday has not yet come to start the worries, Saturday is far in the distance, and Sunday’s dream-crushing reality seems a lifetime away.

Makes quite a difference, don’t you think?

There’s so much hope in a Thursday.

So there you have it: one more thing to make Thursday your best day of the week.

Posted in theories, thisandthat, what I'm about | 11 Comments