tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38607150602123099052024-03-13T18:09:40.020-04:00Emerging: Creating an Artful LifeAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16484308457208018522noreply@blogger.comBlogger83125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-54979878822495961662013-03-27T00:25:00.000-04:002013-03-27T00:25:06.698-04:00Marry me?If I heard those words tomorrow, I would say yes. <br />
<br />
I would share the news with my family first thing, calling home with tears in my eyes and a voice so excited my mom would have to remind me, "Honey, slow down and try to speak a little softer! I can't understand you!" (Though she'd know, of course, exactly why I was calling.) I would start planning the wedding. Summer or winter, in a church or on a farm, here in New York or back in the Northwest. I would draft a guest list and call together my girlfriends to go wedding dress shopping. <br />
<br />
I would say yes and celebrate and plan the biggest day of my life so far because I <i>can</i>. I can marry the love of my life whenever, wherever, and however I choose. But many of my friends cannot. <br />
<br />
I have friends whose marriages and lifelong vows to one another are not recognized in every state. I have friends who hope to marry someday. If it were legal. But it's not. At least, not everywhere. <br />
<br />
I can't tell you the weight this puts on my heart, despite how light I've been the past couple months. I am living the most wonderful love story right now, and I know that story will someday include a wedding. But unless things change, the love stories of many of my friends will be missing that same milestone. Because I'm straight, and they're gay. And to a lot of folks, that makes all the difference. But does it? Really? In my heart of hearts, I don't think so. <br />
<br />
Argue the intersection of faith and politics all you like, but at the end of the day, I still believe we are all equal, if not in the eyes of the government, then certainly in the eyes of God.<br />
<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-88359644007323404932013-03-13T23:06:00.001-04:002013-03-14T00:31:47.761-04:00Mollie goes to Haiti (but not without your prayers and moolah!)<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<![endif]--><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Dear
Friends and Family,</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">As
you may or may not know, I have had a nagging desire to do humanitarian work
abroad for quite some time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have also
been very intentional about my desire to do work that is sustainable and helpful
in the long-term.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some service
programs—faith-based or not—seem to do more harm than help, acting as temporary
band-aids for much larger issues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a
result, I have waited for the opportunity to arise where I knew I could
contribute, in earnest, to a small piece of the greater good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s where my amazing church family comes
in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I have
been attending <a href="http://www.citygraceny.com/">City Grace Church</a>, a
small Christian Reformed Church in New York City’s East Village, since
September of 2010.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am blessed to have
an amazing support system and group of friends there; they really are my second
family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our Social Justice Task Force
has been engaged in serving the City for some time, but we wanted to challenge
ourselves with a larger project overseas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After careful consideration, we decided Haiti was the place to go,
especially in light of having weathered Hurricane Sandy together just a few
months ago. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">From
July 27 to August 2, I will be traveling with ten other folks from City Grace to
work with kids and families and help with some construction projects. We are
working with <a href="http://www.prayingpelicanmissions.org/" target="_blank">Praying
Pelican Missions</a>,
an organization which partners with 398 individual church communities in Haiti,
connecting them one-on-one with groups like ours (you can watch <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">their promo video below). </span>Despite billions of dollars in foreign aid following
the earthquake in 2010, there is still much work to be done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our week of service will be uniquely tailored
to our group’s gifts and to the specific needs of our assigned community.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The advantage of this sort of individualized,
grassroots approach is that it allows for a more long-lasting connection to the
community we serve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We will establish relationships
with our host community and will likely return to serve there on a yearly basis,
as long as there is a need.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/Ya8t0cltGRk?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Haiti
will be my first mission trip of any kind, so as you can imagine, I expect to
have a challenging, worldview-reshaping experience there. I am only one person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I know there is very little I can do in a
single week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But if there is one thing I
have learned over the last ten years or so, it is to not put God in a box.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I may affect very little immediate
change, God will use my efforts to impact the big picture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I expect to leave Haiti changed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope my time there broadens my
consciousness of human need.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope it
deepens my compassion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope it shakes
me out of my comfortable, First-world mindset.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I hope it stretches the limits of my understanding as I learn a new culture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope I can help, but I am just as hopeful
that my time in Haiti will undoubtedly draw me closer to God, teaching me to seek,
trust, and glorify Him more each day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And you can help me with all of this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">By
the end of June, I am responsible for raising $1,200.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Airfare accounts for half the budget and the
balance will cover food, lodging, and gifts to the local community in Haiti.
Collectively, our team needs to raise $13,200. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would you please consider a small gift? A
gift of any size would mean so much to me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Honestly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">To
give:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span>Click <a href="http://www.citygraceny.com/Resources/Giving" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span>Scroll
to bottom and click the “here” hyperlink to give. This will redirect you from
City Grace's website to a secure system called “easy tithe.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span>From
the panel on the left of the screen click “quick give.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="-moz-font-feature-settings: normal; -moz-font-language-override: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span>Select
“Haiti Support – Mollie McComb” in the drop-down menu, and fill in the
rest of your info as directed.</span> </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Even
if you are unable to donate your money, your prayers and well wishes are always
immensely appreciated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you are of the
praying persuasion, please pray that a) I would seek out God through this
process and not shy away from what he might show me and b) our team would gel
and experience true community serving together.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">This
trip would not be possible without the support of my friends and family, and I
thank God daily for the amazing people like you that He has put in my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Love and endless thanks to you all.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">With
the fullest of hearts,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Mollie</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-58111173705049802222012-12-18T01:42:00.000-05:002012-12-18T10:37:45.646-05:00On the topic of God's purported absence from our schools<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-prn1/644188_526552814037754_1413004826_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-prn1/644188_526552814037754_1413004826_n.jpg" width="328" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></div>
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">I
see "Christian" jargon like this being disseminated across the internet
from time to time, particularly following events like the recent
tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><br id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[2]" /></span></span></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]">A few days ago, a friend of mine quite appropriately </span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[0]"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/notes/vanessa-sadeckas/if-this-makes-you-think-less-of-me-as-a-human-being-friend-or-mother-than-do-us-/715093679816" target="_blank">asked some very important questions</a> about the message on this particular t-shirt. She made no apologies about the fact that she felt insulted and infuriated by this sentiment. It applies a seemingly personal, direct blame against her, given that she does not call herself religious or a Christian, and she has no problem with God not taking front-and-center in our schools. </span></span></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"></span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"></span></span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[3]">I appreciate the time and thought she put into the questions she raised, as well as the anger she was brave enough to express. Here's what I had to say in response:</span></span></span></span></i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[3]">Simply
put, a statement like that is bad theology. It projects certain
attitudes onto the character of God when, really, we have no business
saying just who God is or what he has allowed. Bad things happen all
the time because we are broken people. We’re flawed and complicated and
often do not operate under anything but blind selfishness. There are
certain things that as people of faith, we just have to accept as
unknowable. I can try to wrap my brain around this world and God and
all the hurt, but try as I may, I will never understand all of it. God
is God, and I am not.</span><br id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[4]" /><br id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[5]" /><span id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[6]">And
you’re right. The assumption, “God isn’t written into the curriculum
or etched into walls, therefore, he isn’t here for us” is absolutely
wrong. We can write God out of every textbook and sideline him from
formal public conversation, but that does nothing to deter God’s love or
his desire to see us live full, long, meaningful lives as we were
created to have.</span><br id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[7]" /><br id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[8]" /><span id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[9]">The
statement tastes just as bitter and mean to me as it does to you, and
I’m a Christian. I resent every insinuation and sentiment those
words express. They do not speak for me and the God I’ve grown to know
and love. These are the small, foolish words of small, foolish people who
have taken it upon themselves to <i>literally </i>attempt to speak for God. I,
too, am a small and often foolish person, but I’m long past thinking I
have the authority to announce the will of my Savior. </span><br id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[10]" /><br id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[11]" /><span id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[12]">I
am sorry that you feel judged, accused, blamed, and disrespected.
Sentiments like the one you mention are so politically loaded and
theologically skewed that, to the majority of us, they paint a picture
of holier-than-thou Christians peering down their noses at the
“unbelievers.” You have every right to feel infuriated and insulted.
Just know that I respect your perspective. You’re speaking out with
very valid anger as a compassionate human, a mother, and a person who
doesn’t stand for anyone—religious or not—who walks around waving a big
stick like they’re some sort of god.</span><br id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[13]" /><br id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[14]" /><span id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[15]">At
the end of the day, I think the thing we need to remember is humility.
We need to listen more than we speak. We need to ask more questions
and make fewer arrogant pronouncements. We need to be present and
mindful in the midst of our neighbors’ pain and anger without trying to
mitigate, justify, or sensationalize the tragedy they are dealing with.
I read <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/rev-emily-c-heath/dealing-with-grief-five-t_b_2303910.html?ncid=edlinkusaolp00000003" target="_blank">this article</a> yesterday and found it very appropriate and helpful
in responding to the situation</span><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/rev-emily-c-heath/dealing-with-grief-five-t_b_2303910.html?ncid=edlinkusaolp00000003" id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[16]" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"></a><span id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[17]">. I hope it is helpful to you in reiterating some of my thoughts as mentioned earlier.</span><span id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[19]"> </span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2]"><span class="UFICommentBody" id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0"><span id=".reactRoot[83].[1][2][1]{comment715093679816_2599571}.0.[1].0.[1].0.[0].[0][2].0.[19]">Keep
asking the tough questions, loving those girls of yours, and sticking
up for what you believe. And know that it’s okay to be angry, to have
more questions than answers, and to wrestle with God. He’s not going
anywhere. <span class="emoticon emoticon_smile"></span></span></span></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-39495146291051499352012-10-19T18:59:00.001-04:002012-10-19T19:40:10.762-04:00space soup under my bed<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">If you didn't already know, my mom is pretty terrific. I mean, <i>really</i>. She's a cut above the rest. It's not like she sent me to New York with a credit card or pays my rent or buys me designer purses. Because she gets me. And she knows I'm not about money and "stuff," just like she never has been. We both care about the small things, the thoughtful tokens that say, "this made me think of you today" or "I know this silly little thing will make your life a bit easier this week" or "I just love you. THIIIIIIIIIIIIIS much."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">What she's really great about is coming through just when you know you need her--or <i>didn't</i> know you need her, but you do. For instance, even if I feel ridiculous doing it, if I need to, I can call her at 3 in the morning, and she'll be just as happy to hear from me as she would be if it were 3 in the afternoon. She's also good at knowing how to keep me truckin' when I really slow to a grind. Like when she visits me and insists on putting $40 on my Starbucks card because she knows sometimes, I'd really benefit from a little caffeine but, often, I can't bring myself to fork over the cash. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Another classic example is an enormous package I got from her last year. She'd hosted one of those parties with her lady friends--you know the kind: with the candles or kitchenware or kitschy jewelry... Anyway, this one was about easy-to-prepare meals. Open the box, add 6 cups of water, heat, and BAM! Instant dinner. Well, because she hosted the party, she got this enormous prize package of food. And what did she do? She had it sent straight to my apartment in Harlem. So the UPS guy showed up one afternoon with enough food to get me through a small apocalypse (assuming I have access to basics like water...and cream cheese and milk). :/</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Admittedly, being the make-it-from-scratch-when-you-can foodie that I am, all this super-prepared, preserved, freeze-dried, dehydrated astronaut food kind of creeped me out. But without fail, every time I've found myself pinching pennies at the end of the month--or simply too lazy to go to the grocery store--there's something just right in that giant box of food under my bed. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Tonight, I surveyed the kitchen, only to find I'm down to half a block of aged Gouda, three eggs, some carrots, pasta, and marinara. There are a few more things, sure, but not much to pull together a passable meal (I already had eggs for breakfast, thank you). And that's when I remembered the box under my bed! Success! After a mental shout-out to Mama, I decided on potato cheddar soup. Sure, I'd rather make the real thing with whole potatoes and a block of cheese, but this will totally suffice for tonight. Thanks, Mama!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">All this to say that there are probably lots of little things your mom--or someone else who loves you--does to make your life a little brighter and less complicated. Like providing that silly little box of scary-yummy space soup. So offer up a hug or a thank you, a phone call, or an old-fashioned just-because card to let them know you noticed their little gift to you. Gratitude makes everyone feel good. Pass it on. :)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Thanks for reading. Love you all.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-33866904192685379572012-10-19T01:43:00.001-04:002012-10-19T20:09:05.028-04:00I am a woman, and my body does not define me.<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">It only takes one ugly comment to sour my night. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">All in all, I've had a glorious week: great fellowship with friends, plenty of hearty laughs, and a couple good drinks to boot. Plus, one of my dear friends from home is in town, and when I finally get to see him, it's gonna be like Christmas. But for a minute tonight, on my walk home, I forgot all that. In an instant, my cheery, confident attitude shrank to something small and angry. I walked past a rowdy group of young men and heard this: </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"Damn! I'm gonna be ninety-eight and <i>still</i> scoring pussy like that. Ha!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">He said it loud enough for me and all his friends to hear. And suddenly, I was in a twisted fit of rage and embarrassment. But because there was nothing I could say or do to take back what he said, I kept walking.</span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://images.elephantjournal.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/shouting-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://images.elephantjournal.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/shouting-1.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">A few days ago, before Romney's <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2012/10/17/opinion/cardona-binders-women/index.html" target="_blank">Binders Full of Women debacle</a> overtook social media and our collective American feminist conscience, I posted this <a href="http://thoughtcatalog.com/2012/stop-catcalling-me/#C8PucYfHXXSK1IRD.01" target="_blank">article from Slate.com</a> to my Facebook wall. To many of you, male or female, catcalling may seem a rather benign issue, unworthy of much public scrutiny. Indeed, the most recent comment on my link to the article was a condescending, belittling one from a high school classmate of mine: "Meanwhile in Afghanistan..." By no means do I wish to detract attention from the major socio-political crises of our day. At the same time, I don't think "smaller" issues in our own country involving our own people deserve to be overlooked. In fact, the problem of catcalling stems from a much deeper global crisis: the world over, to varying degrees, women are treated as second-class citizens. It's not a new problem, and we've only begun the work to solve it. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Generation after generation, misogynistic cultural mores continue to engender negative, shallow attitudes towards the value and purpose of women. That's why catcalling comes so easily to many of the men of our day. It's been ceaselessly tolerated--even condoned--by our male-dominated society, and only in the last two or three decades have women really been granted an arena to voice their disgust. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The author of "Stop Catcalling Me" validated many of the internal struggles I've faced living as a single woman in New York City, apart from the safe, appealingly insular community of my mostly WASPish college campus. For me, the entire article was spot-on, but here's what <i>really</i> put a lump in my throat:</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I suspect it’s difficult for men to imagine a world in which their bodies have long been inextricably linked to their value as an individual, and that no matter how encouraging your parents were or how many positive female role models you had or how self-confident you feel, there is an ever-present pressure that creeps in from all sides, whispering in your ear that you are your body and your body defines you. A world where, from the time of pubescence on, you can feel the constant and palpable weight of the male gaze, and not just from your male peers but from teachers and sports coaches and the fathers of the children you baby-sit, people you’re supposed to respect and trust and look up to, and that first realization that you are being looked at in that way is the beginning of a self-consciousness that you will be unable to shake for the rest of your life. </span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I can guarantee that no man has quite understood that "constant and palpable weight" of being watched like that. But I can assure you that every woman of a certain age <i>absolutely</i> has.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Growing up in a small town with a strong father and teachers and friends who looked after me, I didn't really have to deal with negative, subjugating attitudes about myself or my sexuality, at least not on a regular basis. Even in college, I was pretty sheltered; the guys were polite, intellectual, and thoughtful, for the most part. But I distinctly remember the first time I knew I was being looked at <i>that way</i>. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I was nannying away from home for the summer, and one night, after the kids were in bed and their dad had one too many beers, I sensed a shift in his attitude toward me. Nothing tangible happened, but my gut was screaming at me that the way he smiled and the ease with which he chatted at me was wrong. He had the position of power, and I was made to feel small and foolish. He was a married man. I was barely twenty. It was <i>his </i>behavior that was inappropriate, yet <i>I </i>was the one who suffered the silent humiliation.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">After I moved to New York, I quickly learned that it doesn't matter what you wear, where you walk, or what time of day it is--men will shout at you all they like. None of this really bothered me much until I moved to Harlem. I don't claim to understand the cultural intricacies of <i>why</i> this behavior seems more acceptable in upper Manhattan--I'd like to know--but I noticed the difference as soon as I moved into the neighborhood.</span><br />
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</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Last summer, on my way home from a late-night shift at work, I got off the train at 145th Street to walk home. It must have been about 2am. I can't remember. What I do remember is the man standing there on the corner as I reached the top of the stairs. He called for my attention, and, assuming he was asking for the time, I answered. To make a long story short, he made more than one very direct, explicit, entirely unsolicited request for oral sex. He actually offered to put me in a cab so we could go "to your place or mine." It was, by far, the most despicable, humiliating thing I'd ever experienced. And to make matters worse, I was wearing my work T-shirt, and he made mention of it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Afterward, I called 911 to file a sexual harassment report. And for the rest of the year, I couldn't bring myself to get off at that stop after dark. And I started taking a change of clothes to work. I only shared what had happened with a couple of my closest friends here. Even my mom is reading this for the first time (sorry, Mama). </span><br />
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</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I don't pretend to know the all the pain of what it sometimes means to be a woman. Believe me, there is a history of physical, emotional, and sexual abuse in my family that keeps me grateful for every day of safety and respect I'm given. Even so, I have no shame in admitting that I've been hurt, and every violation of my dignity and privacy only galvanizes my desire for a serious shift in how our society treats women. My future daughters deserve better than this.</span><br />
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</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">If what I've said in any way appeals to your conscience, here are a few small things you can do to help:</span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">If you want to compliment a woman, </span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="st">“you shouldn't tell <i>her </i>she looks pretty. You should tell <i>her</i> how nice <i>her outfit</i> is because <i>her outfit</i> is <i>her</i> choice whereas <i>her face</i> isn't” (Stephen Chbosky, <i>The Perks of Being a Wallflower</i>). </span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="st">Resist the temptation to gush over how "pretty" or "cute" or "adorable" little girls are. I read an article once that encouraged adults to engage young girls in conversation about their favorite hobbies, music, or school subjects, not just the color of her favorite tutu. They're more impressionable that we realize, and we should inspire their minds, not their makeup collections.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="st">Don't catcall. As Kendall Goodwin writes in "Stop Catcalling Me," "when in doubt, keep it to yourself."</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="st">If you're a man and you see your friends objectifying women, see if you can get them to think twice about what they're saying or doing. We need all the allies we can get.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="st">And because it's election season, give serious thought to whether your candidate of choice will really look out for women (equal pay, access to health care, a new national law demanding paid maternity leave, etc.) </span></span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="st">As seems to be the trend for me of late, this was not a "light" blog post. So if you've read this far, <i>thank you</i>. You've blessed me just by hearing me out.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="st">Love you all. xo </span> </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-1740470661251707582012-09-20T12:01:00.004-04:002012-09-20T15:00:16.096-04:00no exit wounds<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">This morning, I wake up two hours before my alarm is set to go off. My eyes snap open. I haven't moved a muscle, but I'd swear my body was made of lead. I'm sobbing in an instant, and I gradually work myself up to a near-hyperventilating state. Dial Mom. No answer. Dial Daddy. He picks up. They're still in bed in Phoenix, but I don't care that I'm waking them up at 6am. I haven't called like this since the summer I <a href="http://emergingmollie.blogspot.com/2010/08/worstbest-day-ever.html" target="_blank">watched someone die </a>in the middle of West End Avenue. And I haven't had a morning like this in years. Last time I had a nightmare this horrifying, I was sixteen, and I crawled right into Mom and Dad's bed, crying hysterically between the two of them, no questions asked. In my dream eight years ago, I held a gun to an abuser's head. This morning, the gun is on me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">___________ </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">As far as I can tell, I'm doing NGO work somewhere in the middle of Afghanistan in winter. It's biting cold and desolate. The sky is one great slab of heavy gray steel, a perpetual dusk with no clouds, no movement, no change. Everything is eerily still. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">I'm in what seems like an abandoned hospital or army barracks. The place is desolate and mostly uninhabitable, save for a few others like me and some locals roaming about, presumably because they're too old or frail or tired to go elsewhere. I stand on a second-story terrace, watching another woman like myself run after a supply truck that's mistakenly left with a stack of emergency blankets we desperately need. She's banging on the back of the cab, choking back cold, chalky dust until the driver stops. We have our blankets. And the rations of food they left.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">Then I sense a shift. Someone who is supposed to be on "our side" suddenly is no longer. I don't know who he is, but I know that yesterday, he was an ally, and today, he is not. Standing on a hill about fifty yards away, dressed in a smart red uniform, he turns from his lookout position and fixes his sights on me. I am startled, but he gives me a knowing look. Knowing I could never move quickly enough to outrun him, I take a breath, turn my back, and brace myself. Why his loyalties have shifted, I don't know, but he seals the deal with three shots: two square in the middle of my back and one in my head. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">I'm face-down on the floor and acutely aware of the pain at first, but my body goes into shock quickly, and soon, I don't feel much. I have no exit wounds in my abdomen, and I don't know what's going on with my head, but I am somehow able to stand up, wander the mostly-empty corridors, and ask how to get to the nearest hospital. It seems everyone else here has resigned themselves to this losing battle and cannot bring themselves to muster much concern for my current state. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">At the end of one corridor, I find a young, white-coat American woman whom I hope might be able to help me. She reads my face in a single glance and understands my situation immediately. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"I'm prepared to die," I tell her, "because I know where I'm going." And it's here that I lose what little composure I've managed to keep. "But I just have to get home to my family. You don't know what this will do to my parents." </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">She is kind and sympathetic, and I'm comforted by something she mentions about God and His purposes. But she can't get me to a hospital. Her advice is the same as that of everyone else here: find a cane and start walking, or come up with $15k
for a MedEvac. My situation is becoming more bleak and absurd by the minute.</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">I leave the corridor and stumble into some sort of kitchen where, inexplicably, my dear friend Mitch is washing dishes. I collapse against him, sobbing, and he just stands there, stunned and dripping soap suds into a puddle on the floor. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">By some twisted bit of luck, I have cell service. But I can't bear to call my parents. Instead, I text them both vague "I love you" messages and decide to call my little brother. I'll tell him everything. He has to take care of Mom and Dad and Chelsea. He has to be good to them because unlike me, he gets a shot a living a bit longer and being a part of their lives. I'm about to call him...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">And that's it. That's when I wake up feeling like I've been encased in concrete.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">I don't know what dreams like this are supposed to mean. But I know they remind me of how much I cherish my time here on Earth with the people I love. This morning, I made sure to tell my parents I love them. And as she was running out the door to work, bewildered by her crying roommate crumpled up on the sofa, I told Hanne I love her, too. And I'm saying it now to the rest of you: I love you. Whether I see you daily or haven't seen you in years, each of you means something to me, and I count myself immensely blessed to have you in my life. My life would be nothing if not for the people in it.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">If you can, tell your parents you love them. Tell your wife or your husband. Tell your siblings, your nieces and nephews, your friends. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">Life is short. Make love a priority.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-31309637119454130152012-09-13T21:48:00.000-04:002012-09-20T02:09:47.549-04:00Food Not Lawns<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">I have a new obsession: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/" target="_blank">Goodreads</a>. It's both a website and and iPhone app, and the bookworm in me simply cannot get enough of it. While browsing book suggestions based on what I'm currently reading (<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/49418.The_Velvet_Rage" target="_blank"><i>The Velvet Rage</i>...</a> and <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/600998.Animal_Vegetable_Miracle" target="_blank"><i>Animal, Vegetable Miracle...</i></a>), I ran across <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/171249.Food_Not_Lawns" target="_blank"><i>Food Not Lawns: How to Turn Your Yard Into a Garden and Your Neighborhood Into a Community</i></a>. Which got me to thinking: how on Earth did we ever get to laying down a bunch of potentially-clover-choked sod in our suburban backyards instead of planting gardens?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">More than ever, as a New Yorker with very limited personal green space--I have <i>two</i> flower pots, thankyouverymuch--I miss the backyards I had growing up. </span></span>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"><a href="https://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash3/582000_620243510465_1231767826_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash3/582000_620243510465_1231767826_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">home on the prairie</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">In my childhood subdivision, we lived on a quarter acre with a massive greenbelt for a backyard. I'd get lost in the trees and moss and blackberry bushes for hours, making forts with my friends and dreaming of getting that tree house I always wanted Daddy to build. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">When we moved south to the Prairie, we had even more space: five acres of hay and crab grass. I remember our first season on that land very well. Dad rented a "billy goat" and a roto-tiller from the local Hertz, and we spent hours upon hours pounding and chopping and grinding the earth into submission, only to see it reclaim its wild ways a few months later. Eventually, our alpacas made good use of the space, but apart from that, our five-acre expanse--which now seems like an insane luxury--went mostly unused. Granted, Daddy's love of trees ensured we planted our fair share of paper bark maples, weepings spruce, and my personal favorite: a larch. But save for a few flower beds and a relatively small plot we kept maintained for blueberry bushes and, eventually, some out-of-control raspberry bushes, our yard was just one massive lawn-mowing project. Even on a gas-guzzling riding mower, it was a four-hour project just to keep the grass in check.</span></span>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"><a href="https://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash3/564145_620251389675_58114843_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash3/564145_620251389675_58114843_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">my front yard from 6th to 12th grade</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">The Northwest certainly lends itself to gardening, or so it seems. In reality, our yards are more often seeded and mowed and edged, then decorated with beauty bark and lava rock, then sufficiently doused in moss-killing, bug-ridding chemicals. We wage war against dandelions, clover, and fields full of daisies. But I wonder how much more we'd gain from our green space if we gardened instead.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">I distinctly remember being awestruck by two particular gardens as a child. My next-door-neighbor, Mrs. Hatfield, was an elementary teacher and an avid gardener. Some of my fondest memories are of her weeding around her rhubarb plants in her green rubber, leather-trimmed Sperry slip-ons. I had no idea what rhubarb was at the time--I eventually learned it pairs well with strawberries in a pie--but I knew I loved her garden. And, for that matter, every book she ever gave me for Christmases and birthdays and for looking after her dogs while the family went away on vacation. (Mrs. Hatfield, I still read <i>Holiday Handwriting School</i> every time I go home. :) A perennial favorite.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">The other garden I loved so dearly was at my godfather's house. Uncle Ron, as I called him, had a massive garden surrounded by a fence taller than me to keep out the deer. Zucchini, tomatoes, lettuce, carrots, broccoli...his was certainly a garden of plenty, and when we'd visit in the summer, we always drove home with a load of fresh produce--and usually a box of freshly-picked apples from the front yard, for good measure. </span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"><a href="https://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-snc6/282381_627029730825_428741456_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-snc6/282381_627029730825_428741456_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">berries from the garden, summer 2012</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">I realize that gardens, however big or small, require constant upkeep and effort. But really? If we took all that time we spent mowing and edging and fertilizing and pesticide-spraying and spent it on a <i>garden</i> instead...WOW. That would really be something. Or if you really feel like cutting loose, why not pull up some of that grass and throw out a few handfuls of wildflower seeds? We did that one year on the prairie, and the outcome was <i>glorious</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">So if you're one of my lucky friends with a little bit of a yard, think about growing a few things yourself this year. Strawberries, potatoes, carrots, squash, green beans, corn... just start somewhere. I, for my part, will try to coerce some basil into finally growing--and <i>staying alive</i>--in one of my little clay pots here in Harlem. As for the apples and squash this fall, my girlfriends and I will just have to take a Zipcar to an orchard upstate if we want our bushel of seasonal delights. I'll be sure to document all my (hopefully successful) attempts at apple pie, applesauce, and apple butter.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">In the meantime, happy gardening--and say goodbye to that riding lawn mower! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Thanks for reading! Love you all. xo</span></span>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-88768804043933677742012-09-11T13:01:00.001-04:002012-09-12T01:11:27.737-04:00a lesson in shallow thinkingLet's be honest. As much as we like to think of ourselves as uncritical, as much as we hope to be concerned with what's on the inside and not on the outside, we're massive failures. We've been raised in a culture where looks matter, and it's hard to maneuver around that. <br />
<br />
I'm riding the train right now with a woman who, ten years ago, would have been the perfect candidate for <i>Extreme Makeover</i>. Her chin is virtually non-existent. I look across the train and imagine what a little nip-tuck work would do, and I want to slap myself.<i> My God, Mollie. Who do you think you are?</i><br />
<br />
And just to compound my feelings of guilt at my shallow judgements against this woman, I catch a glimpse of the book she's reading: <i>Dying Well.</i> <br />
<br />
For all I know, the woman sharing her train ride with me could be dying of cancer--or God only knows what. How stupid of me to suggest, even to myself, that she'd benefit from a little cosmetic help. <br />
<br />
On days like today, especially, when life seems just a little more precious, just a bit more fleeting, the reality checks seem to hit me at all sides. Shame on me and my simple-minded foolishness. <br />
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So for her sake and mine, I hope my neighbor on the train is well and fulfilled and perfectly joyful about the life she's been given. She'll never know it, but she just taught me a very important lesson: live well and love the life you have right now. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-59916392163990993522012-09-08T00:57:00.004-04:002012-09-12T20:52:02.605-04:00Eye on the City, Part II<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Finally, here is the long-promised follow-up to "<a href="http://emergingmollie.blogspot.com/2012/04/eye-on-city.html">Eye on the City, Part I</a>." While the majority of my blog posts center on a single topic or theme, some things about life in the City are simply too fleeting, odd, or just plain difficult to categorize to constitute an entire post. But I hardly think the quirky little fragments deserve to be neglected. So here they are, in no particular order, for your amusement. Or so I hope.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1. New Yorkers love their movies. The bigger the franchise, the better. Hanne, Britta, and I stood in line down on 34th Street with all the other novel-turned-movie junkies to see <i>The Hunger Games</i> in IMAX. And this is what the wait looked like. Mind you, we saw the film well over a week after it had premiered. I think it's safe to say New York had a hand in setting all those box office records. </span><br />
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And let's not forget to mention the Bryant Park Summer Film Festival, a New York City institution. If you don't mind crowds, and have a blanket, snacks, and a few hours to spare, you can see a free screening of a classic film almost every Monday night of the summer. Emily and I saw the last show of the summer, <i>Raiders of the Lost Ark</i>. And this is the insane crowd that turned out. The line to get in literally wrapped halfway around the park. Look out, folks. Serious Indy fans here.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VB1tqg04bRc/UEq4bzWYcbI/AAAAAAAAAmA/dDSWXpmy1oQ/s1600/IMG_1666.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VB1tqg04bRc/UEq4bzWYcbI/AAAAAAAAAmA/dDSWXpmy1oQ/s400/IMG_1666.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">2. New York sometimes gets a bad rap for being frigid, self-serving, and relentlessly frenetic. But it's mornings like this one in early April that remind us how New Yorkers also invest significant time, money, and energy on broadcasting the kinder bits of life still happening on a daily basis. If you missed it the first time around, be sure to see <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/video/gma-reveals-disney-memory-makers-winners-16100829">Mom and Chelsea on <i>Good Morning America</i></a> (their segment starts at the 2:37 marker). Make sure you've got your box of Kleenex. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j4SvaI7xOzU/UEq4NwFhs_I/AAAAAAAAAls/BwzEBQ-qjrU/s1600/For+blog!3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j4SvaI7xOzU/UEq4NwFhs_I/AAAAAAAAAls/BwzEBQ-qjrU/s640/For+blog!3.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And as if <i>being </i>on GMA isn't cool enough, you might get stopped in the middle of the street by a total stranger who recognizes you from the program and wants to tell you how your family's story made her day! Yes, New Yorkers will do this. Everyone loves a little humanity. :)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kp4GTCcCabQ/UEq4SMgMnpI/AAAAAAAAAl0/g7PKul_hctU/s1600/IMG_0787.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kp4GTCcCabQ/UEq4SMgMnpI/AAAAAAAAAl0/g7PKul_hctU/s400/IMG_0787.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">3. New Yorkers are fast food pioneers. This City gives new meaning to food-on-the-go because nine times out of ten, when the guy behind the bagel counter asks you, "To stay or to go?"--the markedly East Coast departure from the West Coast "For here or to go?"--you're gonna say "to go." Capitalizing on that tendency are the City's ubiquitous food trucks. </span><br />
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</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">While in town for <i>Good Morning America</i>, Daddy passes one such truck. Since he's on his way to meet me and wait in line for tickets to <i>Anything Goes</i>, he passes up the truck, along with his breakfast. We get our tickets--and our Starbucks, thanks to Mom--and then Daddy goes missing. Pretty soon he turns up, looking a bit glum. <span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">"I tried to find that truck, but I think he rolled away," he tells us dejectedly. Not two minutes later, we turn the corner, and there's the disappearing truck. "Aaagh! It's here!" he shouts. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">We walk to the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_York_Public_Library_Main_Branch">Schwarzman Building</a> and sit on the library terrace. Daddy's breakfast is just what he hoped it would be. </span></span><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"> </span></span><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">Nothing like a bacon and egg sandwich--and his girl, of course--to make that man's morning.</span></span> :)</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FbHbRuzvegY/UEqyme8w4NI/AAAAAAAAAlI/_c19txEkmlE/s1600/For+blog!2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FbHbRuzvegY/UEqyme8w4NI/AAAAAAAAAlI/_c19txEkmlE/s640/For+blog!2.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="fbPhotoTagList" id="fbPhotoSnowliftTagList"><span class="fcg">Next time Daddy's in town, we'll have to do a food-truck tour of Union Square. He'd eat himself silly here:</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="fbPhotoTagList" id="fbPhotoSnowliftTagList"><span class="fcg">4. Nothing brings out the best of this City like a good cause. Charity walks and runs are HUGE here, and the AIDS Walk might lead the pack. </span></span><span class="fbPhotoTagList" id="fbPhotoSnowliftTagList"><span class="fcg"> </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span class="fbPhotoTagList" id="fbPhotoSnowliftTagList"><span class="fcg">The day of the Walk, the Apple Store opens its doors the help facilitate the smartest, most efficient check-in I've ever seen. Walk downstairs, plug your info into one of the dozens of iPads being used for check-in, pick up your little bag of goodies (including a beautiful button!), and you're on your way.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">After you check in, be sure to get a good view at opening ceremonies. Because you never know which folks from the casts of <i>Mad Men</i> and <i>Glee </i>might show up. And Carolee Carmello might sing. And David Hyde Pierce might be sitting in there in the front row distracting you the entire time from all the other cool people taking turns at the podium.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And then you join this fabulously proud, passionate (albeit slow-moving) mob of hopeful New Yorkers:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And when, halfway through the walk, you come upon a wizard, you won't be surprised. But you <i>will </i>snap a picture for posterity (and the blog).</span><br />
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</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">5. Further attesting to New York's endearing weirdness are the many "holidays" celebrated here, including International Pillow Fight Day. Before Chelsea and my parents got to the City, I made a special trip to the Brooklyn IKEA for $1 pillows. Best investment. And what a ridiculous way to have some fun on a spring morning in the Village!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">That's all for now! Thanks again for reading! Love you all. xo </span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-75796512312596010322012-08-22T23:55:00.003-04:002012-08-23T10:02:01.596-04:00Me? Write a children's book? Figures.<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Okay, this is silly. But I got a hair-brained idea to start a children's book today. Who knows if it'll actually turn into something publishable, but I'm having fun in the meantime. I just spent the evening pounding out part of a first-draft over a spread of Thai delivery: panang curry and sticky rice with mango. It's the good life, folks. </div>
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Like most children's stories (and all of my writing), this is character-driven, and everyone has their own wacky voice and set of idiosyncrasies. So far, I have a polar bear protagonist on his first field trip from the Bronx Zoo, an overexcited hot cider-drinking hippo, and a precocious little nose-wrinkling Bronx girl who offers the displaced polar bear some practical advice. </div>
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Sounds ridiculous, I know. But I'm going to do a little research and reading on how to <i>really</i> write for kids, and we'll see if I can make this thing happen.<br />
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[At the wise suggestion of a good friend, I decided to edit out of this post the previously included excerpt. I guess I should worry about protecting my work; anybody can steal practically anything these days. So you'll just have to wait until later to read it all in print.]</div>
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Keep your eyes peeled for a second installment of "Eye on the City," too, because heaven knows I've got about ten thousand photos--several of them subway candids (creeper!)--and I'm dying to do something with them.</div>
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Thanks for reading, and if you consider yourself a writer, I'd love your suggestions and cautions!</div>
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Love you all! xo </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-29359649492550886932012-08-10T17:39:00.001-04:002013-03-27T23:29:51.646-04:00all these things and more: how I've come to be a Christian gay rights advocate<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">A very dear friend once described me in rather accurate terms: "Explosive. Reactionary. Attractively naive. Emotional. Loud in voice and personality. Trusting. Focused. Intelligent. Non-religious. Jesus first. Easily offended. Traditional values. Wonderfully awkward. Cosmically compassionate. Selfless. A dreamer." </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">His was actually a comparison drawn from the character of April Kepner on <i>Grey's Anatomy</i>, but it has been immensely valuable to me nonetheless. I took his words to heart, and his outside observations have since helped me to clarify my sense of self and slog through more than a few internal struggles.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I am many things: a daughter, a friend, a singer, an actress, a New Yorker, a liberal conservative or conservative liberal (depending on who you ask), a fighter, a champion of underdogs, and a no-holds-barred supporter of equality. (My dad once called me a "bleeding-heart liberal." I think he meant for me to take offense; I couldn't have asked for a higher compliment.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I am all these things and more. But above all, I am a Christian. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I hesitate to wave that banner too wildly because by and large, society imagines a "Christian" utterly unlike me. Blame it on the media, politicians, entertainment--the picture is ugly: hypocritical, self-righteous, conditional, homophobic, greedy, heavy-handed, tight-fisted, stubborn, elitist, judgmental, and (sometimes) just downright unintelligent. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">It is the most alienating, least Christlike image I can imagine. But it is the dominant portrait of the American Christian, like it or not. I know countless followers of Christ who are just that: people who seek to live like Jesus and impact our culture in a radical, redemptive, arms-wide-open way. I hope you see me as the latter because I have a confession: I used to be one of those other Christians. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Make no mistake, I would've never joined the ranks of the Westboro Baptist Church with its "GOD HATES FAGS" signs (to even attempt to align that group with the larger Church is absolutely absurd). But I spent many of my younger years operating under the well-intentioned belief that President Bush could do (almost) no wrong, gay marriage was practically an abomination, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were just, and that if I just prayed hard enough, maybe my gay Christian ex-boyfriend would become straight and "come back to Jesus." I really believed it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Which brings me to the main point of all this soul-searching: I am a Christian <i>and</i> I support gay rights. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I am an advocate. Unequivocally. Proudly. Personally. Because some of my closest friends are gay, and I see their struggle every day. I see them being treated as second-class citizens in every sphere: social, political, and religious. But what cuts even deeper is that many Christians are complicit in the injustice, if not directly responsible. Bearing that in mind, it's safe to say that as a Christian, I tend to overcompensate. However insignificantly, I do what I can to make amends for the way I once condemned the gay community, even if the Church at large is painfully reluctant to do the same.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />My friend who made the April Kepner comparison calls me an "anomaly" in this. "You're an advo</span><span style="font-size: small;">cate for gay rights," he says, "But you really are a <i>Christian</i>." As if the two truths cannot, fundamentally, coexist. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">But I think that's where we've got it all wrong. For me, it simply would not be possible to have Jesus at the center of my life and simultaneously stand by while my friends are being denied basic human rights. It would be a betrayal of my faith and a slap in the face to Christ and those he loves.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Several days ago, I discovered Emily Timbol's <i>Huffington Post</i> article: "<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/emily-timbol/straight-christian-fighting-for-gay-rights_b_1710102.html?utm_hp_ref=fb&src=sp&comm_ref=false">Why I'm a Straight Christian Fighting for Gay Rights</a>." For the first time, someone had articulated exactly how I feel about being both a gay rights advocate <i>and</i> a Christian. I promptly posted the article to Facebook and was happy to see that a few friends gave it a thumbs-up. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The only comment on that post, to date, was from a former classmate and one I found a bit disappointing, though not entirely surprising: </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">"You will note, however, that whenever Jesus encountered someone living a sinful lifestyle, He always told them to turn from their sin and follow Him. He never treated anyone with contempt, not even the ones who set Him on the cross, but He also wasn't silent about how He felt about someone's lifestyle. From the Pharisees to the tax collectors to the prostitutes to the common man, He always tried to bring them to himself, and that means a change in lifestyle. I would normally not say anything about something like this, since the gay/lesbian marriage law seems to be an opinion-based issue, but saying that Christ would have stood for the law is something I can't keep silent about. Yes, Christ would've treated them with respect and dignity, as I always do, but I don't think he would've condoned their lifestyle anymore than he condoned the lifestyles of the aforementioned people living in sin. That's not something the Christ of the Bible would've done. That's my two cents. :\"</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-size: small;">The explosive, reactionary April Kepner in me wanted to respond immediately, but I knew my retort would amount to nothing more than a flimsy, half-realized statement of a very deeply held, steadily built conviction. I told April to take a back seat and allowed myself a few days to process. I've decided to answer the above comment one or two statements at a time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">First of all, everything hinges on whether you believe that a person is born gay or that homosexuality is a choice. Some of my friends, gay and straight, will say that sexuality is a spectrum and a number of factors play into sexual orientation and self-identification, with biology playing a critical role. Nevertheless, when all is said and done, there remain two adequately delineated camps: the folks that say you're <i>born </i>gay and the folks that say you <i>choose to be</i> gay. I, for one, believe a person is born gay. That alone is a huge discussion in and of itself, better addressed by scientists, psychologists, and psychotherapists. To that end, I highly recommend <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-velvet-rage-alan-downs/1007643445"><i>The Velvet Rage: Overcoming the Pain of Growing Up Gay in a Straight Man's World</i></a> by Alan Downs, PhD. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Once you've decided which camp you're in, it's time to struggle with the sin part. It is important to consider that while <i>you </i>may be a Christian, likely very few of the gay people you meet are. Some of them grew up in the Church, but to one degree or another, almost all of them have been alienated by Christians, many of them their own parents and childhood friends. So arguing the point of sin with them, directly, is a waste of time and further reason for them to resent the Church and the shame it has so deeply rooted in their lives. You are just another "clanging cymbal" (<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1+Corinthians+13%3A1&version=NIV">1 Corinthians 13:1</a>) in the greater Christian soundscape. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Now, some Christians believe that it is not homosexual <i>orientation </i>that is the sin, but the homosexual <i>act </i>that is the sin. In other words: it's okay if you're born gay, just don't <i>act </i>gay or live a gay "lifestyle" or (God forbid!) enter into a monogamous, committed, lifelong relationship--never mind marriage--with the love of your life. This position, while more progressive than some, still reeks of the "Love the sinner, hate the sin" jargon, a cheap cop-out that, more than ever, makes me want to rip the plaster off the walls. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />Then there are a few Christians who believe that being born gay is not an accident and being true to your sexuality is not a sin. I'm one of those Christians. I believe that my gay friends have just as much right to happy, fulfilled, purposeful lives as I do. I hope every one of them loves their job. I hope they each find a lifelong partner and gets married. I'd even love to see them start families. But the heartbreaking thing for me is that no matter how much I hope these things for my friends, their basic freedoms hang in the balance. I have no greater claim to basic human rights as a straight woman. But somehow, for them, something as simple as being hired at a job--and keeping that job--is up for debate, at least in cities like Jacksonville, Florida. Which brings me back to that Facebook comment I quoted earlier. </span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />To be clear, Emily Timbol's article has nothing to do with gay marriage and everything to do with, as she says, "blatant discrimination and legal prejudice." In fact, the article makes absolutely no direct mention of gay marriage whatsoever. Given that, I wonder what prompted my classmate to include in his Facebook comment a statement entirely unrelated to Ms. Timbol's article: "the gay/lesbian marriage law seems to be an opinion-based issue, but saying that Christ would have stood for the law is something I can't keep silent about." </span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />The article is actually about advocating in favor of a Jacksonville, Florida </span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://jacksonville.com/opinion/blog/403455/steve-patterson/2012-05-02/bill-banning-discrimination-over-sexual-orientation">bill that would ban discrimination</a> based on sexual orientation. According to the <i>Florida Times-Union</i>, the bill would "protect people from discrimination in situations involving employment, housing and service at public accommodations, places like restaurants and hotels." In short, gay people in Jacksonville will be allowed to eat in any restaurant they like, rent whichever hotel room strikes their fancy, and work at any job for which they are qualified without fear of being discriminated against <i>simply because they are gay</i>. I can say without reservation that as a straight couple, my parents have never been denied access to a hotel, restaurant, or job opportunity simply because they are straight. Why should it be any different for my gay friends?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">A few final thoughts on that Facebook comment. My classmate said that "Christ would've treated them with respect and dignity, as I always do, but I don't think he would've condoned their lifestyle anymore than he condoned the lifestyles of the aforementioned people living in sin." Well, we've already seen that the positions on the gay "lifestyle" are varied and complex, among Christians and non-Christians. Nobody can agree whether or not homosexual orientation and expression is inherently sinful, so I think making claims about Jesus's thoughts on the matter is a pretty risky move. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And perhaps most importantly, I'd like to inquire about my classmate's claim that he always treats the gay community with "respect and dignity," as Christ would have. Is there not respect and dignity in granting the gay community their basic human rights, such as are at stake in Jacksonville? Is there not respect and dignity in, perhaps, affording them the basic privacy to live their lives however they like behind closed doors? And is there not respect and dignity in maybe, just <i>maybe</i>, allowing our gay friends to share their side of the story? Because truth be told, I see little respect or dignity in my classmate's words. If he would like to argue me on that point, I'd invite him to ask his gay friends, if any, exactly what they have to say on the matter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">So there you have it. The April Kepner in me has kept her cool, for the most part. I don't expect everyone who reads this to agree with me on every point. I can only hope that what I have to say will be an impetus for some soul-searching. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />If you are genuine, humble, and earnest in your desire to better understand any of these issues, please listen to your gay friends. I say </span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>listen to</i>, not <i>talk to</i>, because years of experience have taught me that I have far more to learn from them than they could ever learn from me.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">After: this is what I want my life to speak</span></td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-56996569796140920462012-07-31T18:28:00.001-04:002012-08-10T19:06:02.447-04:00Where in the world?<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Today, my parents and little sister are making a huge move: from western Washington (where we were raised) to the suburbs of Phoenix. The news has raised a few eyebrows among our friends, so I think it's rather fitting that my family's new address will be in Surprise, Arizona. For real. </div>
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Meanwhile, I'm 3,000 miles away, babysitting a couple kiddos while on medical leave from Trader Joe's. Never one to pass up the chance for a geography lesson, I aim to explain my family's southern migration to four-year-old Jonah. </div>
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"Jonah do you know where California is?" Arizona is a long shot, so California seems a more likely point of reference. After all, most four-year-olds have at least heard of Disneyland. </div>
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But Jonah just stares at me, puzzled. "Uh-uh."</div>
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"Okay," I answer. "Do you know if you have a map of America?"</div>
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He shakes his head, content to loll about on the sofa while I cross the room to the bookshelf. I can't find any book that would suggest so much as a map of the City, let alone the country. The books in his room are no help, either. I could really use that Rand McNally world map hanging on my bedroom wall. </div>
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It's here that I come to a seemingly small yet critical revelation: I am determined to teach my kids from day one about the world beyond their backyard. Without a doubt, leading my children to a knowledge and love of Jesus is most important to me. And I can't wait to teach them how to swim and sing. But after that, almost nothing seems as valuable to me as raising my kids with a curiosity and respect for the people and cultures around them. </div>
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<a href="http://s1.favim.com/orig/13/globe-map-photography-Favim.com-180988.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" src="http://s1.favim.com/orig/13/globe-map-photography-Favim.com-180988.jpg" width="400" /></a>I've always loved maps and learning about faraway places. For as long as I can remember, my dad has had an unassuming yet incredibly handy globe perched on a bookshelf in the den. I loved running my fingers over its bumpy topography and discovering that places like Mali--well, would you look at that!--and Timbuktu actually exist. If I was bored, I'd spin the globe and drop my finger like the needle on Dad's turntable. Wherever my finger landed, I'd look the place up in Dad's Collier's Encyclopedia set. (That's how we learned things before the internet, Wikipedia, and Google Earth.)</div>
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When I was in third grade and Mom was homeschooling me, I remember doing a huge research project. I put together a butcher paper-sized booklet on all seven continents, each ocean, and the major points of each area--unique animals, climate, industry, etc.--complete with crayon illustrations on each page. I think that project is still in a box somewhere. Mom has always been good about saving things like that over the years. :)</div>
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In fifth grade, I was particularly obsessed with the inside front cover of my geography book. It was a two-page illustrated map of the world, and every major region was detailed with a representative portrait of its indigenous people group. I was fascinated by the Aztecs and Mayans, the Australian aborigines, and the diverse and beautiful people groups of the far north, from Greenland to Siberia.</div>
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It comes as no great surprise, then, that I've developed an incurable case of wanderlust as an adult. I spent a week in Ireland with my grandma after high school, absorbing the culture of my ancestors and visiting Grandma's longtime family friends. My travels abroad during undergrad were no small investment, but they were worth every penny. I spent the better part of a month flinging myself to every corner of London and beyond, relishing my first real sense of independence abroad and annihilating my bank account in the process. I was welcomed by warm, loving host families in Argentina and Thailand, and I am more sensitive to other cultures and their unique sociopolitical struggles because of my time in both countries.</div>
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And it is my two-week trip to New York in the middle of the bitter winter of 2009 that, frozen toes notwithstanding, served as my impetus for moving here a year-and-a-half later. </div>
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So here I am, on the easternmost edge of the map of America I want to buy for Jonah. It's his fourth summer as a New Yorker, my third. I hope he grows up with the same cutiosity about the world as I have. And for my part, I'm going to fling myself into a few more corners of this world. Several African countries--and a number of humanitarian efforts--have topped my bucket list since high school, but they'll have to wait a little longer. For now, I think there's a bus ticket to Boston calling my name. </div>
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Get ready, Jonah, buddy, because we still have the whole wide world ahead of us! And I'm just getting started.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-74334011540870239042012-04-29T02:47:00.000-04:002012-08-21T23:35:32.831-04:00Eye on the City, Part I<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Admittedly, I've been a bit MIA on the audition scene the last six months or so, but I've seen and done a lot of fantastic things in the meantime. That's the beauty of New York: there's always more to discover, and living here (almost) never gets old. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">It's been on my to-do list to share a few highlights of life here in the City, and almost two years in--have I <i>really </i>been here that long?!?--it's time for me to show you the New York I see. Enjoy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1. If it's not already, New York should be known as The Other Windy City. Here's a clip of a walk I took one night last fall around Lower Manhattan. </span><br />
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2. Sometimes, I take pictures of people on the train. Call me a creeper, but I bet all of my New York friends will admit to having done the same at least once. </div>
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This couple riding downtown on the C train made me smile. Quintessential "Old New York."</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Good dads always brighten my day. Loved seeing this napping pair.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I love this guy's style. I've seen him twice on the train home from work, and he was dressed fabulously both times. </span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tZXJ-5TdROA/T5zPxUu7HDI/AAAAAAAAAhM/WcGAqruqSMw/s1600/IMG_0488.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tZXJ-5TdROA/T5zPxUu7HDI/AAAAAAAAAhM/WcGAqruqSMw/s400/IMG_0488.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">3. Enjoying the city skyline doesn't necessitate paying $40 to take an elevator to the top of the Empire State Building. I shot these from <a href="http://www.jalc.org/venues/allen/index09.html">The Allen Room</a>, part of Jazz at Lincoln Center, atop the Time Warner Building overlooking Columbus Circle. My dear friend, <a href="http://www.benbonnema.blogspot.com/">Ben Bonnema</a>, invited me to be his plus-one at the 16th annual ASCAP Foundation Awards night where he was honored with the <a href="http://www.ascap.com/eventsawards/awards/foundation/scholarships/loewe.aspx">Frederick Loewe Scholarship</a> for his outstanding achievements in musical theatre composition. Paul Williams hosted, Stephen Schwartz was recognized for his lifetime contributions to musical theatre, and Judy Kuhn sang (and all the while, I kept picturing her as Pocahontas). It was a night to remember. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">4. I can scratch "sing at Carnegie Hall" off my bucket list. On January 16, I sang in the world premiere of <i>The Peacemakers </i>by Karl Jenkins (and under his direction) with choral groups from all over the world. The soprano on my right came from outside London, and the soprano on my left was from Melbourne, Australia. Music is the universal language! (But we already knew this.)</span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zbx8AZx7nN4/T5zGwzfYl2I/AAAAAAAAAgg/A4NoSOnh8_k/s1600/IMG_0285.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zbx8AZx7nN4/T5zGwzfYl2I/AAAAAAAAAgg/A4NoSOnh8_k/s400/IMG_0285.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">5. New Yorkers, despite their reputation for being hurried, stiff, and entitled, are really good at heart. One random act of kindness can create a chain reaction. See? I found this on a bench in the 72nd Street CB station one night after work. Someone in need had dinner that night when they otherwise might not have.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">6. Some of my favorite views of New York are on my regular running/commuting routes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I snapped this shot inside the northwest corner of Central Park on January 23rd, one of the only snowy days this winter. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">This shot was taken a little farther north the next day, just a few blocks from my apartment in Harlem.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The High Line might be my #1 spot in the City, particularly for out-of-town visitors. I snapped this series one night in mid-March after babysitting in the West Village.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">7. Here's a snapshot of a day in the life on the audition circuit. The room at Telsey + Co was full of women at the call for the second national tour of <i>Wicked</i>. And these are only the Equity women. They typed Equity and automatically sent non-Equity home. So I walked in and walked out. Can't win 'em all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">8. I'm a sucker for clever breadboards. Enjoy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">This hot dog establishment wants to give the legendary Nathan's chain a run for their money. </span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xl_8jduccI4/T5zXSj7If_I/AAAAAAAAAh4/EMufg5QDJNk/s1600/IMG_0552.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xl_8jduccI4/T5zXSj7If_I/AAAAAAAAAh4/EMufg5QDJNk/s400/IMG_0552.JPG" width="298" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Guess you won't be needing that milkshake as long as you've got their cookies!</span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6fjskGny0zc/T5zRqKJzHHI/AAAAAAAAAhk/wh7PIeFIY3M/s1600/IMG_0555.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6fjskGny0zc/T5zRqKJzHHI/AAAAAAAAAhk/wh7PIeFIY3M/s400/IMG_0555.JPG" width="298" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And this one is just horrifying.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">9. This Williamsburg bathroom just off the Bedford L train is the coolest, craziest thing I've seen in a long time. Just in case you were bored while peeing...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">10. It's hard to believe it's been more than ten years since 9/11. There are still fresh flowers every day at this West Village neighborhood memorial. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">More to come very soon! Thanks for reading. Love you all. xo</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-88151877084342593482012-03-07T22:54:00.001-05:002012-06-06T01:15:39.036-04:00"You and that kale..."<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Today on Facebook, my friend, Christian, noted my recent obsession with kale. His comment on my cheddar, kale, and asiago grilled cheese photo: "You and that kale." Yup. It's a new favorite. And along with quinoa, it's not going anywhere anytime soon. In fact, I'm so convinced everyone should at least <i>try </i>both that I'm posting a couple recipes here for you to sample. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Unless otherwise noted, all ingredients used are Trader Joe's brand and available at your neighborhood store. I know, shameless plug. Get over it. :)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><u>Cheddar, Asiago, and Kale Grilled Cheese </u></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Ingredients:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">1/2 tbsp. extra virgin olive oil</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">1/2 c. kale, stemmed and chopped</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">dash of garlic salt or fresh minced garlic (I used Tastefully Simple's Garlic Garlic)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">dash of onion salt or finely diced onion (I used Tastefully Simple's Onion Onion)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">2 slices Ezekiel 4:9 Sprouted Grain Bread (available at Trader Joe's)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">1 tbsp. salted butter </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">1-2 oz. <a href="http://www.traderjoes.com/fearless-flyer/article.asp?article_id=440">asiago cheese</a>, thinly sliced </span><span style="font-size: small;">1 slice sliced light cheddar (also try English coastal cheddar, reduced fat Celtic cheddar, or extra sharp Wisconsin cheddar) </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8ZjmJodvQms/T1glzC-KHaI/AAAAAAAAAfw/Wikzav44leI/s1600/IMG_0566%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8ZjmJodvQms/T1glzC-KHaI/AAAAAAAAAfw/Wikzav44leI/s400/IMG_0566%5B1%5D.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Heat olive oil in skillet on medium heat. Add kale, garlic salt, and onion salt to taste. Sauté for 2-3 minutes until wilted. Covering the skillet for a minute or two is also an option as it helps to steam the kale nicely. Remove kale from heat and set aside.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Butter outside of each bread slice. Top one slice with asiago and cheddar cheeses and set to grill on the skillet at medium-low heat. Once cheeses begin to melt, top with chopped kale, and close the sandwich with the second buttered slice of bread. Grill each side until cheese is melted and the bread is toasted golden-brown.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><u>Quinoa Risotto with Kale and Asiago</u></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">This is my take on this <a href="http://bijacoaching.com/wordpress/2011/02/quinoa-risotto-with-kale-and-asiago%E2%80%A6-love-ancient-grains/">recipe</a>, a modified version of the original <a href="http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/healthy-recipes/RE00024">Mayo Clinic recipe</a>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Ingredients:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil<br />
1/4 organic sweet yellow onion, finely chopped<br />
1 garlic clove, minced<br />
1/2 cup quinoa, well-rinsed (from Costco)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">1/2 cup <a href="http://www.traderjoes.com/fearless-flyer/article.asp?article_id=412">organic tricolor quinoa</a>, well-rinsed<br />
2 1/4 cups organic vegetable broth<br />
2 cups kale, chopped and stemmed <br />
1 small carrot, peeled and finely grated<br />
1/2 cup thinly sliced fresh shiitake mushrooms<br />
1/4 to 1/2 cup grated asiago cheese, to taste </span><span style="font-size: small;">1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">dash of sea salt<br /><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DG9iXjxML90/T1gmcUZawfI/AAAAAAAAAf4/lJmcGjQO9Qo/s1600/IMG_0568%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DG9iXjxML90/T1gmcUZawfI/AAAAAAAAAf4/lJmcGjQO9Qo/s400/IMG_0568%5B1%5D.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">In a large saucepan, heat olive oil over medium heat. Add onion and sa</span><span style="font-size: small;">uté </span><span style="font-size: small;"> until soft and translucent, about 4 minutes. Add garlic and quinoa and cook for about 1 minute, stirring occasionally.
Don’t let the garlic brown.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Add the vegetable broth and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer
until quinoa is almost al dente but slightly hard in the
center, about 12 minutes. The mixture will be broth-like. Stir in the kale,
carrot and mushrooms and simmer until the quinoa grains have turned from
white to translucent, about 2 minutes longer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Stir in the cheese and season with the salt and pepper. Serve immediately.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-34774374011441541722012-02-28T14:37:00.000-05:002012-08-11T03:02:46.454-04:00Cracker with a Conscience<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Rewind to Friday the 24th. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I've just finished my usual 4 to midnight shift at TJ's. My friend Greg and I take the train together, as we often do, down to Columbus Circle. We transfer to the uptown A, a ride which, at midnight on a Friday, can mean just about anything. I'm usually prepared for good conversation at the least--and some guy puking in the corner, if it's one of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">those</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> nights. You never know.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The A is crowded with our New York neighbors, some of them tired after a long night of work, others just gearing up for a night on the town. Greg and I stand in the center of our car and hold the pole. I, at least, covet the happy feet of my fellow travelers with seats. Seven hours of standing, walking, and hauling really do a number on this body, even at twenty-four.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Greg and I chat about music and movies and the upcoming Oscars, our usual post-work banter exalting the superior geekdom of independent films and music, namely New York's bevy of stellar singer-songwriters who scratch out a start playing in subways.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sitting below me is a scraggly middle-aged man talking gibberish and invading the personal space of the people around him. He's more than drunk. This guy has to be strung-out on crack. For a moment, he's creating a minor scene. I get ready to step behind Greg if he gets too close because I have my suspicions about this less-than-coherent guy groping me, either by accident or on purpose. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Here we go. </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> But the man retreats into his own world again, simply mumbling from his seat. All is well--or well enough, at least--on the A train.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And then I hear it: "Don't be gay!" </span></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What?</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I try to register what I just heard. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That wasn't an off-handed exclamation; that was a verbal attack. </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">To my left, two clean-cut men are sitting together and talking. They blink. Sitting down the car and facing them is the man who just announced his bigotry for everyone with ears to hear. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">With Greg standing in front of me, the man is out of my line of sight. White-knuckling the pole, I swing out past Greg's shoulder and eye the man. "Excuse me? I think you need to watch what you say." I spit each word at him, slow and clear, not to be mistaken. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He laughs. Buttoned-up and seemingly sober, he is not at all what I expected: a loud-mouthed punk kid who's had a few too many. This man is lucid, self-satisfied, and cocky as hell. He's got a girl on his arm and a posse of equally deluded friends guffawing right along with him. Disgusted, I swing back to my spot in the center of the car, hoping it was enough to shut him up. It's not. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Homos!" He's not stopping. I can't think about what's going to come out of his mouth next. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I check in with the couple to my left. They smile at me. I'd smile back, but I'm too furious to put on a bright face, even for them. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The bully keeps throwing his punches, taunting the couple and congratulating himself on his remarkable wit and wisdom. He's so smug I could puke. Again, I swing out past Greg and stare the man down. "Hey! You need to keep your opinions and your comments to yourself. Some of my </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">best friends </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">are gay, so you can just </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">shove it</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">." The last time I used that phrase, I was six, and I thought it meant "shut up"--or something equally benign. Not so after a strong reprimand from Mom. But I know even Mom would cheer me on tonight. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But what about everyone else? I'm in too much of a blind rage to take in much else on the train. Are people reacting? Doesn't anybody else have a shred of sympathy? Or a conscience? Not one other person speaks up. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I shake out the fist I've been making and quip sarcastically, "Remind me, Greg, what century are we in? Is this really 2012?" </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"It's like being back in the schoolyard," one of the couple adds. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"No," Greg interjects, "I think we've devolved to the paleolithic era."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">No one can argue that point. We stand in silence. The bully sees his window of opportunity and segues from the gay couple to me. "Polly wanna cracker?" He cackles and squawks, imitating a parrot. It takes a minute for me to register what he means. "Hey, little cracker. Polly wanna cracker? Huh? Polly wanna cracker?" </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Cracker. Because I'm white. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I look to Greg, who's steady and understanding. "Don't let them get to you." But I can't really help it. I stare at my shoes, biting my lip and still white-knuckling the pole. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">One of the men I spoke up for reassures me, "You can't let him win. Just let it go. You know you're the bigger person, anyway." </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's not enough to stamp out the fire in my belly. It literally burns, and I'm so furious I'm shaking all over. Hot, angry tears leak out the corners of my eyes as I try to keep it together. </span></div>
<div>
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</span> </div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Harlem-bound A train!" shouts the bully. "Last stop 116th street!" He keeps it up for a few more blocks, getting louder and more indignant by the minute. "Cracker's on the wrong train! Harlem-bound A train. Last stop 125th street! Get off the train, cracker!" </span></div>
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</span> </div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"That's right!" I say, mostly to myself. "This cracker's going home to Harlem. And I'm not getting off until 135th! Snow bunny in Harlem, God forbid!" I'm at my wit's end. </span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span> </div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But the guy hasn't run out of ammo yet. "You're on the wrong train, little cracker! Get off at the next stop and take the train downtown. And don't forget to take those two with you," he continues, indicating the gay couple. "Make sure they get off at West 4th." Greenwich Village. Of course.</span></div>
<div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I can't believe it. The guy just won't shut up.</span></div>
<div>
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<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">He keeps up his act, throwing the three of us around, and making a few stray comments about others on the train, including the crack junkie.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Greg checks in with me, offering to walk me off the train back to my apartment. "No, thanks. I should be fine. As longs as those fools don't follow me off the train." </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Once we hit 135th, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I steal a glance behind Greg</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> to make sure they're all still sitting. "Now's your break," he tells me, and I dart off the train without looking back. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">::::::::::::</span><br />
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</span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My friends have been so supportive in their responses to what went on that night. But much as I appreciate their support, I want to make something very clear: what I did and said was not particularly brave or courageous. If it is inspiring to you, great. If you're proud of me, fine. But I was just being a decent human being. Call it a conscience. Call it a backbone. Call it whatever you like, but as a Christian, I try to live by Micah 6:8: "</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God." </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Justice was not being done, so I spoke up. Anything less, and I'd have called myself a hypocrite.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The thing that breaks my heart is that if I hadn't done something to defend that couple, I don't think anyone else on that train would have. And let's be real. This is definitely not the first time they've been harassed, and it probably won't be the last. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It should not "take guts" to do what I did. But if it does, I hope the next girl on the next train has guts enough to open her mouth, too.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-9972098291731930822011-11-12T03:34:00.000-05:002011-11-12T03:34:31.370-05:00Don't Stop Believin': The Glee Project<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I did it! My online <a href="http://www.thegleeprojectcasting.com/Auditions/View/3404927">audition </a>for The Glee Project is up and waiting for all your love. I'll be at the open auditions here in New York, too, on Sunday. If I am cast, I'll compete with a bunch of other talented, fabulous Gleeks for a role on Glee next season. Please "like," "share," and comment on my video as much as you can, and please pass it on to your friends via Facebook, twitter, and whatever else strikes your fancy. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Thanks so much for your support! Love you all!</span></span> xoxoUnknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-20671131266645947002011-08-29T18:18:00.001-04:002011-08-29T18:20:51.016-04:00Hurricanes and Spaghettios<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lxefrKZCdhQ/TlwJNvmC3OI/AAAAAAAAAfY/ZFmyRKsxObY/s1600/DSC08074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lxefrKZCdhQ/TlwJNvmC3OI/AAAAAAAAAfY/ZFmyRKsxObY/s320/DSC08074.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I bought a can of Trader Joe's brand spaghettios for the hurricane. Because it was either that, clam chowder, or green beans. (Talk about a gutted store!) And while the hurricane wasn't all it cracked up to be and my power never went out, it's still a quick meal. I'm unpacking a bunch of boxes from storage today, so I thought I'd give the o's a go.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Let's just say nostalgia got the better of me when I bought this can of tomato-y goo. Spaghettios must have been much tastier as a seven-year-old.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Mediocre canned food aside, things have been pretty great here in the city. I was prepared for the worst when we got news of Irene (which, for me, wasn't until 5pm on Thursday at work!), and we got off relatively unscathed. Areas like Coney Island, the Rockaways, Staten Island, and Battery Park took a hit because they're low-lying coastal areas. But it could have been so much worse. Thinking that we'd see window-blowing, basement-flooding conditions, I took before-and-after shots outside my apartment.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Dtz5H-Erqu8/TlwKptkouEI/AAAAAAAAAfc/nAo5jZdWpH4/s1600/DSC08053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Dtz5H-Erqu8/TlwKptkouEI/AAAAAAAAAfc/nAo5jZdWpH4/s400/DSC08053.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">Before, just across the street, around noon on Saturday</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LuAvzuIYNZ4/TlwK816YyvI/AAAAAAAAAfg/JZB1ZEM4xng/s1600/DSC08054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LuAvzuIYNZ4/TlwK816YyvI/AAAAAAAAAfg/JZB1ZEM4xng/s400/DSC08054.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"> Before, the empty lot at the end of the block</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hQriH7WZUqU/TlwLQb3I4cI/AAAAAAAAAfk/B-OlGtc_Asw/s1600/DSC08057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hQriH7WZUqU/TlwLQb3I4cI/AAAAAAAAAfk/B-OlGtc_Asw/s400/DSC08057.JPG" width="400" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-G6hQ2_qaoZI/TlwLjeycMBI/AAAAAAAAAfo/A26VoTXfzrU/s1600/DSC08058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-G6hQ2_qaoZI/TlwLjeycMBI/AAAAAAAAAfo/A26VoTXfzrU/s400/DSC08058.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"> Mid-storm </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pVQ0oYcb9VU/TlwL0nkEYFI/AAAAAAAAAfs/VNM7RSUPaxQ/s1600/DSC08064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pVQ0oYcb9VU/TlwL0nkEYFI/AAAAAAAAAfs/VNM7RSUPaxQ/s400/DSC08064.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"> Afterward, around noon on Sunday</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;">Apart from a large but short-lived puddle in the corner of the empty lot, plus a few blown-about pieces of trees and bushes, you'd never know New York saw a Category 1. At least here in Harlem. Things are quite a bit soggier downtown.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;">Speaking of my new place in Harlem, here's a shot of the gorgeous City College of New York (better known as CUNY). I snapped it on my phone last night while walking back from the bank and stretching my cabin-fevered legs.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/s720x720/319010_566998029835_59402424_31855098_7791521_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/s720x720/319010_566998029835_59402424_31855098_7791521_n.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;">So there you go! Things are great here on the East Coast. We're moving into my favorite time of year, I'm living in a beautiful new apartment with two lovely new friends, and work at Trader Joe's is still fantastic. I'll be back to auditions within a week or so, once I get all settled here. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: left;">Thanks for keeping up with me, and thanks, especially for all the concerned calls, texts, and FB posts during our crazy weekend of weather. We made it! Love you all. xoxo</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-11572709490344977382011-07-12T18:57:00.001-04:002012-03-06T02:22:03.350-05:00summer sweetness<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It's been a great couple of weeks. :)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Last Thursday, I go in for an interview with the Trader Joe's here on the Upper West Side. You may wonder why, of all things, I'm applying with Trader Joe's. After all, I swore I'd never work retail, especially grocery. But circumstances change, and I'm open to a lot of options. Part-time status earns me a 10% employee discount and full benefits. My medical, dental, and vision coverage with Dad's insurance policy expires at the end of the summer, so the benefits with TJ's are especially attractive. It's either that route or $400 out-of-pocket every month. Considering I'm not a chronically ill individual (thanks be to God), I can't see forking over hundreds every month. And frankly, my budget won't stand it.</span></div>
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<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">So I interview with Kelly on Thursday afternoon. She's super nice, the interview is really informal and fun, and as I leave with a firm handshake and wide smile, she tells me she'll pass along my application and "I really like your energy." Awesome. Talk it up, lady. Get me Interview #2.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And she does. Just a few hours later, as I'm on my way to Ben's 23rd birthday party at West 3rd Common, I get a call. I'm asked if I'm available to come in the next day at 1pm to interview with Bobby. YES, I'm available!!! I show up to the birthday bash high on adrenaline. Gourmet Mac and Cheese, a decidedly "adult" board game, and a bottle of cider round things out for a very fun, carefree night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The interview with Bobby on Friday goes well, but he asks challenging questions, and when all is said and done, I don't really know where I stand. He's a little hard to read, and unlike my experience with Kelly, I leave feeling a bit uneasy. But I've prayed about the situation a lot, and I know God has my best interests at hand, and whatever happens is what needs to happen. I've long since quit my end of the guessing game with God. It's so much better to be surprised and roll with it than to pointlessly agonize and worry about every detail.</span></div>
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<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">On my way out, Bobby tells me if they're interested in hiring me, I'll hear by Tuesday at the latest. I hate the waiting game. I might as well be six years old again, already itching in July for Christmas to hurry up and get here. I've never been too good at the whole patience thing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Saturday morning, I am determined to run off all my anxious energy. I lace up my Sauconys and run west across town in what I feel is a bizarre workout combo: a white tee, running shorts, my Nathan runner's pack (for my phone, keys, ID, and debit card), and a bikini top. Yep. After 2+ miles down the <a href="http://www.trimbleoutdoors.com/ViewTrip/190972">Greenway</a>, I stop on the water at 72nd St. At 11am, it's hotter than the blazes--at least for this mild-blooded Northwesterner--and I congratulate myself on my clever plan. </span></div>
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<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">At 72nd St. (and two other locations in the city), the <a href="http://www.downtownboathouse.org/">Downtown Boathouse</a> offers free kayaking every weekend, all summer long. Volunteers and donor-sponsored equipment means there's no catch. You just sign a waiver, pick up a life vest, and wait your turn in line. Awesome! I take my kayak out and paddle around for about 20 minutes. It's the perfect cool-down after a hot run. And seriously, if we have to suffer the heat by being sticky and wet all day, it might as well be thanks to the Hudson rather than sweat, right? I think so. After docking my kayak, thanking the nice volunteers, and catching the train home, I decide I'll be back next weekend with Mom, Daddy, and Chelsea. (They fly in TOMORROW!!!!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Laura and I round out Saturday night at her place, over homemade spaghetti and <i>So You Think You Can Dance</i> from the DVR. It's so nice just to kick back with a good old friend and relax. We can be total bums with our pasta, sparkling wine, and cupcakes. No judgment. Who needs therapy? We both agree we need to do this more often. :)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I'm at home after church on Sunday, making lunch, when the call comes. These days, every unknown number on my cell makes my stomach do a little flip-flop. (I never know if it's going to be a job offer, a casting director, or some other random twist of events. Anything can happen in this city.) I answer, and the guy--whose name I missed in my blurry fog of anticipation--tells me I'm hired. At which point I proceed to do a skillfully restrained happy dance--you know the kind--and all but gush my thanks. Orientation is on Thursday. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Pete's sermon that morning was <a href="http://www.citygraceny.com/resources/multimedia/details/?id=107110">"God Keeps His Promises"</a> (scripture reference below).</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And boy, does He. Every single one of them. Trader Joe's may not seem like such a big deal, but in the scheme of my little life, I think it is. And I give God all the credit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Hebrews 6:13-20 (NIV)</span></div>
<blockquote style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-30058">13</sup> When God made his promise to Abraham, since there was no one greater for him to swear by, he swore by himself, <sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-30059">14</sup> saying, “I will surely bless you and give you many descendants.” <sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-30060">15</sup> And so after waiting patiently, Abraham received what was promised.</span> </blockquote>
<blockquote style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-30061">16</sup> People swear by someone greater than themselves, and the oath confirms what is said and puts an end to all argument. <sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-30062">17</sup> Because God wanted to make the unchanging nature of his purpose very clear to the heirs of what was promised, he confirmed it with an oath. <sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-30063">18</sup> God did this so that, by two unchangeable things in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled to take hold of the hope set before us may be greatly encouraged. <sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-30064">19</sup> We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, <sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-30065">20</sup> where our forerunner, Jesus, has entered on our behalf. He has become a high priest forever, in the order of Melchizedek. </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;">____________________________</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Monday morning, I'm up early for three calls. They close the <i>Mary Poppins</i> audition to non-Equity, so I don't even have to bother with Pearl. I hang out with my friend Bryna at AEA, hoping to be seen for <i>Nice Work If You Can Get It</i> and <i>Camelot</i>. I get to sing for the first, but the folks with <i>Camelot </i>ask us to come back tomorrow. It's only 2:30, so I still have a lot of my day left. Awesome. :)</span></div>
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<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I do the same routine this morning: up at 6:30, out the door by 8, on the list at AEA by 8:30. Little do I know what a whirlwind I'm in for! The monitor for the New York Musical Theatre Festival calls me in around 10:30. I sing "A Summer In Ohio"--definitely a new favorite--which goes over well. One of the guys behind the table asks me where "Gon-ZAH-ga" University is. Ha. Spokane. That's what happens when you're from the west coast. At home, everyone west of the Dakotas has at least heard of the basketball team. New York casting folks, however, don't seem concerned about the geography of Eastern Washington, much less college basketball (and I don't blame them). But it's nice to be talked to in the room, beyond the obligatory "hello." :) Thanks, Gon-ZAH-ga. I'll take it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I schlep myself and my things back to the non-Equity lounge, the space to which we underlings are relegated until we earn our much-coveted Equity cards. I sign up again on the <i>Camelot </i>list since my name was called while I was on line for the other audition. And just as I'm about to sit down, monitor #2 calls me in. Well, alrighty, folks! We're going back-to-back! I'm still buzzing a little bit from being in the last room, so I focus on breathing more and gathering my thoughts. <i> </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Camelot </i>asks us for 16 bars of a standard up-tempo. I love up-tempos, but singing just 16 is always so hard. The music moves much faster, and I always wish for at least a 32-bar allowance. Still, I choose a chunk from the middle of "I Have Confidence." </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And what does the girl in front of me sing? The end of the same song. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I stand there in the hall, grinning (how ironic!), knowing that I'd be foolish to change my game plan now. So I pull up my bootstraps, greet the room smartly, and make my good-humored announcement: "Well, she gave you the end of the song. I'm gonna give you some of the guts of the song!" My ego silently thanks them for their chuckled response. And I sing my bit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Afterward, the first thing they say is, "You <i>do </i>have confidence, singing that right after she did!"</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">"Yeah, well, I wasn't going to change my cut last-minute. It's either sing what you've got or scramble and sweat right before you walk through the door." They definitely agree with me on that one. Smiles all around. :)</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I thank them and glide right out of the room, savoring the sweetness of doing something good for myself. Sticking to your guns and being brave is sometimes the best--and most rewarded--policy. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;">____________________________</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> Mom and Daddy and Chelsea fly into JFK tomorrow afternoon for a week-long visit. Mom was here last August, but it'll be the first time Dad and Chels see the city. I can't wait. I'm totally going to go bonkers-tourist-cheesy with them. And I don't care who laughs. :)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Thanks for reading, guys. Your quiet, steady support means the world. Love you all. xoxo</span></div>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-40404528766527891972011-06-20T00:59:00.005-04:002011-06-20T01:18:10.806-04:00beautiful-difficult<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">There are so many things about New York that I love right now. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Like summer thunderstorms. Except when you're at the airport, your plane is diverted to Philadelphia, said plane is stuck in Philadelphia due to an oil spill on the runway, your flight from JFK is delayed three times, then it's canceled, and you don't know until 3am the morning of your brother and sister's graduation that you'll be <i>home</i> for said graduation--instead of making a connection in Salt Lake City during the ceremony. Thanks a lot, Delta. (Don't worry; I made it home in time.)</span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://26.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lmwdnczZw41qiavnmo6_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://26.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lmwdnczZw41qiavnmo6_500.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Then there's napping in Central Park--and Central Park, in general. Not to mention all the free concerts, Shakespeare, and other events.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">My already-lovely weekends are made even better by extra-sunny church time at City Grace. Gotta love those massive windows! Throw in a dinner with a friend, a free Starbucks Mocha Lite Frappuccino (free drink every 15!), or a kid playing "Chopsticks" on Moira Fain's <a href="http://pianos.singforhope.org/">Sing for Hope piano</a></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">at Tavern on the Green, and we're golden.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span><br />
<a href="http://a2.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/45554_140333709336241_138022996233979_192359_5935130_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="http://a2.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/45554_140333709336241_138022996233979_192359_5935130_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And of course, what is summer without ice cream? My new obsession:<a href="http://jeandjo.com/icecream.html"> je & jo ice cream</a>, specifically the </span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Fresh Mint Ice Cream with Lemon Lavender Shortbread Cookie Dough. Total foodgasm.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But despite all the sunny loveliness, I see things every day that remind me it's not all beautiful. Or simple. Or good. Or pixie-dust fixable. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Earlier this week after work, I load up on some produce at Whole Foods. Mangoes, peaches, apples, celery, lemons. On the way home, a man passes through the C train, asking for help with food or money. His speech is slow and labored, his frame bent with the burden of too many hungry days, too much hardship, and very little recognition, let alone respect. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I am sorry to disturb you. But I am in desperate need of help..." He would like a warm meal. Or money. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Since moving to the city, I've struggled with how to respond to people who are homeless and asking for help. Once in a while, I'll offer change, but it seems like such pittance--almost an afterthought as far as real compassion goes. So food has seemed to be the best I can offer. Lucky for me, this time I have a bag full of good things from Whole Foods. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">We're almost at my stop, so I stuff my fist to the bottom of the bag and fish out a fuzzy, near-ripe peach. I stand and offer it to him, "Sir, would you like a peach?" Obviously discouraged, he shakes his head, points to his mouth, and mutters "Sorry, no teeth." Sure enough, most of his teeth are missing. I exit the train, peach in hand, and say to myself, "at least you tried." It's frustrating. I want to help. But dental issues aren't something you think about when you're a middle-class girl with dental insurance and a mouth that probably cost her parents about three grand.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">After church today, some of us stay to listen to a talk by Jonathan Walton, Director of the <a href="http://www.nycurbanproject.com/">New York City Urban Project</a>. I learn dental problems are a common challenge for people who are homeless. I am not the first person whose food offering has been turned down. I also take away a few helpful nuggets that will make me a bit more useful and sensitive when I interact with those in need. Ask him his name. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Introduce yourself. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">If she's asking for money, offer to walk with her and buy her a meal. Don't just sympathize, empathize. Ask about his or her situation, and if you don't understand, ask questions. Be an active listener. Don't feel like you have to feed <i>everyone</i> or fix <i>everything</i>. One person at a time is all we are called to. We are simply called to be the <i>hands</i> and <i>feet </i>of Jesus; we're not asked to be the <i>entire body</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">One thing, in particular, that Jonathan said settled right into my bones: other languages have the right idea in putting the adjective <i>after</i> the noun. A person's situation should never define them. He is not a homeless man. He is a man who is homeless. She is not a prostitute. She is a woman who is being prostituted. Condemn the injustice of the situation, not the struggles of the individual. Very often, prostituted women are trafficked. Some homeless people have suffered monumental trauma and simply cannot find a way to cope. Jonathan told us about a man whose wife had been killed by a drunk driver. He couldn't bear to return to a closet full of her clothes, so he never went home. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I guess this is all to say that while you're enjoying your je & jo ice cream and concerts in the park, take time to listen to the difficult stories. Leave home ten minutes early to talk with the woman you pass on the corner of 34th and 10th every day on your way to work. Pack some extra food whenever you leave the house. Give away your post-dinner to-go box. Offer the man on the train a peach, and then take him to Jamba Juice when you learn the peach won't work. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">It's the little things that count. And we all have time for that.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-12388638987494799822011-06-04T00:43:00.001-04:002011-06-04T01:35:26.557-04:00Cheers to the hot intellectuals!<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">From my latest message on OkCupid.com:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"I'm impressed by your profile because it is very articulate. The quality of your writing is in the top 5% of what I have seen." </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Is it silly that I find this immensely flattering? I know: NEEEERRRRRD. But I'd so much rather read this than what some other loser wrote me a while back: "hey babe, what is your bra size? do you...?" (You don't even want to know the end of that question.)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And no, I didn't make that one up.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Cheers to the hot intellectuals! :) </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-91375662869644901402011-05-24T23:30:00.001-04:002011-05-25T00:07:34.739-04:00Catch-up! (And mustard!)<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So much has happened in the last couple months that I hardly know where to start!</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">After finishing my first half-marathon, I hit a bit of a bump in the road: my knee started giving me trouble. And it wasn't even the "bad" knee, the one that I messed up in soccer about ten years ago. I couldn't figure out what had happened because there was no clear moment of injury. But with the counself of some athlete/med student friends, I iced, took some ibuprofen, and bought a fancy compression brace. And you know what? I think things are almost back to normal! Going up and down stairs doesn't bother me anymore like it did. And I've gone for several little runs in the Park--braced, of course--just to test the waters. So far so good! I'm on my way back to a normal running routine! And gosh, there couldn't be a better time of year to run. Central Park--and all of New York, really--is just glorious right now. I think May and June might shape up to be my favorite months in this city. :)</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UtwUP3A6IbM/Tdxt7UffhsI/AAAAAAAAAek/rOA6ZsuwMoM/s1600/Mollie+McComb+headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UtwUP3A6IbM/Tdxt7UffhsI/AAAAAAAAAek/rOA6ZsuwMoM/s400/Mollie+McComb+headshot.jpg" width="265" /></a>Since April, I've also got my hands on a pretty little box of one hundred new headshots, thanks to the talented <a href="http://www.ronnienelsonphoto.com/">Ronnie Nelson</a>. Here's what I have printed now:</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I never thought I'd go within ten feet of blonde (I'm stubborn about conforming to any image status-quo or stereotype), but this is just the start. I'm scheduled for another round of highlights next month, and I can't wait. I also started getting really vain about the length of my hair before I got it cut, but I love the shorter length, and I know it'll serve me well going into the sticky, drippy, sweat-while-you're-standing-still New York City summer. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vpfb7PBADHw/TdxtraHPziI/AAAAAAAAAeg/vao7ZbZII4s/s1600/M.McComb-2+mustard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vpfb7PBADHw/TdxtraHPziI/AAAAAAAAAeg/vao7ZbZII4s/s400/M.McComb-2+mustard.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I also never, <i>ever</i> expected to pull off mustard yellow. But I took a chance on this sweater last fall (thanks, Burlington Coat Factory!), and this photo ended up being a favorite with a ton of my friends who were kind enough to offer their input on my headshots. I like how my friend Jayana put it: "You and this sweater get along really well." And my brother, the infinitely cooler third of our sibling contingency, added, "Brother likes this one." 'Nuff said. If brother likes it, it must be good. :) So, this headshot is the next to go to print--as soon as I've banked a few more paychecks. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">In other news, despite being out of auditions for <i>way</i> too long, I've done quite a bit of work lately. Last Friday, I went out on a limb and answered a call for "strong movers/dancers" needed for a movie musical flash mob. I showed up to rehearsal, learned the routine, and gave myself a pat on the back for not chickening out beforehand. And you know, it wasn't that bad. I held my own. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">We shot the film, directed by VP Boyle in association with the New York Film Academy, on Sunday. What a great experience. We brushed up our moves in the morning, then spent all day shooting at the NYFA Cafe. Coming from theatre, it's weird to do the same take over and over from different angles. I'm used to so much continuity with live theatre. But half the fun was doing it more than once--that and the reactions of passersby. And boy, that guy in the street food cart must have had the best day ever on the job. He got to watch us sing and dance all day long. :)</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The film's working title is <i>It Is What It Is</i>, and its release is scheduled for January of next year. Keep you posted! In the meantime, here's a clip of our work on-set. The quality isn't terrific, but you get the idea. I'm in the hot pink sweater.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/dIsWK5vgdc8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe> </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Over the weekend, I also helped shoot a music video in Times Square with my friend Christine. I'll post the youtube link as soon as it's up for viewing. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Next on the agenda is a project with the NYU Graduate Musical Theatre Writing Program. Thanks to Ben Bonnema, I'm being brought in as a replacement for one of the roles in <i>La Sayona</i>, a brand new 20-minute musical by Maria Alexandra Beech and Salomon Lerner. I saw the premier reading of it at Tisch last week, and I get to perform with them at a second reading this Thursday at The Duplex. If you can make it, RSVP at the <a href="http://www.theduplex.com/webcalendar/view_entry.php?id=5937&date=20110526">event page here</a>.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So, all in all, it's been a grand spring, and I can't wait for all that summer has in store! Thanks for keeping up with me. It's great to know I have so much support, both here and back at home. Love you all! xoxo</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-31364654157972047582011-05-24T22:00:00.001-04:002012-08-14T01:09:17.403-04:00Because we all need goals<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Ok. Here's a running list--nowhere near complete--of things I want to accomplish by the end of 2011. Check in with me every so often to see how I'm doing, will you? </span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Take improv classes with Upright Citizens Brigade</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Buy ballet and tap shoes; then <i>take</i> ballet and tap</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Find an acting coach; study regularly</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><strike>Take VP Boyle's Build Your Book class</strike> - Done June 2011</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Go to at least four calls every week this summer</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Save $2,400 by the end of July</span></li>
</ul>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-79403608932360190922011-04-02T16:08:00.003-04:002011-04-02T16:14:53.511-04:002:33:46Wow, guys. I was totally overwhelmed by your support. We hit the $400 mark, and I think a few checks should still be rolling in. Thanks so much for backing me up on this. :)<br />
<br />
Today's race was terrific. With 11 hydration stations, a bunch of blue Powerade, several high school drumlines, and an old-school funk/rock band of fifty-something guys, I made it through 13.1 miles. My <a href="http://results.active.com/pages/oneResult.jsp?pID=102598915&rsID=107426">official time</a> was 2:33:46, which comes out to a pace of 11 minutes, 43.7 seconds per mile. It's my first real run <i>ever</i>, so I was pretty happy with the result. :)<br />
<br />
Professional photos will be available soon, and I'll share as many of those as possible. I'm also expecting a few shots from friends at church, plus a video--put together by my friends Christy and Ben--which should be posted to YouTube at some point.<br />
<br />
So thanks, again, for your wonderful support. It's been a great day--for me <i>and</i> for the kids in Africa who'll have access to clean water, thanks to you. :)<br />
<br />
Love you all.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-16047999432225506622011-04-01T22:58:00.001-04:002011-04-01T22:59:53.515-04:00Race Day!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://twv.convio.net/images/redescont/1233_smilingkid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://twv.convio.net/images/redescont/1233_smilingkid.jpg" width="297" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Okay, folks. It's right around the corner. 24 hours from now, I'll be in Flushing Meadows, Queens running the New York 13.1 to benefit World Vision and their well-building efforts</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 20px;"> in Africa. I picked up my official Team World Vision shirt and my race tag today. It even has my name printed on it! :) I'll try to post pictures tomorrow night.</span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 20px;">It's not too late to sponsor me and give a little of your hard-earned cash to the cause. You can make a tax-deductible donation <a href="http://twv.convio.net/site/TR/TeamWorldVision/General?px=1140789&pg=personal&fr_id=1380" style="text-decoration: none;">here</a>. I'm at 35% of my goal. Now see if you can blow me away by closing the gap in the next few hours. </span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Runners, take your mark, get set, Go!"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">See you at the finish line. :)</span></span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3860715060212309905.post-18377694036341595572011-03-21T20:44:00.002-04:002011-03-21T20:45:12.624-04:00Chunky Spiced Apple and Oat Muffins<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Chunky Spiced Apple and Oat Muffins</span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>(adapted from <a href="http://allrecipes.com/Recipe-Tools/Print/Recipe.aspx?RecipeID=25209&origin=detail&&Servings=12">Oat Applesauce Muffins</a> at allrecipes.com)</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ingredients:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1 c. rolled oats </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1 c. buttermilk</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1 c. flour (I used all-purpose, but whole wheat would be ideal)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1 tsp. baking powder</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1/2 tsp. baking soda</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1/2 c. brown sugar</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1/2 c. Trader Joe's Chunky Spiced Apples (or regular applesauce)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1 egg</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Directions: </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1. Place oats in a small bowl, pour in buttermilk. Let sit for two hours at room temperature.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Grease 12 muffin cups or line with paper muffin liners.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">3. In a large bowl, stir together flour, baking powder, baking soda and brown sugar. Stir in oat/buttermilk mixture, spiced apples, and egg; mix well. Pour batter into prepared muffin cups.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">4. Bake in preheated oven for 30 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into center of muffin comes out clean.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0