One Month In

One month ago today I left home. It's not weird to me that I haven't been home in a month, I've been gone longer. It's weird to me that I haven't been on the west coast in a month. The longest I've ever been off the west coast was 6 weeks when I was in Virginia. And then it was camp so I knew I'd come back after the 6 weeks were done. This is a little different. It's not so much homesickness as it is just plain weird.

• I haven't seen the ocean in a month
• I haven't had a Rainier beer in a month
• I haven't seen someone wearing a Mariners cap in a month

To be fair, I've seen a lot since then that I love about Mizzou
• I read the paper every morning (New York Times and Missourian) because I get it for free.
• I can (sort of) afford gas.
• I get to listen to Sorority girls in the class I work as a TA compare hangovers.
• I work in a newsroom. I'll say that again, I work in a newsroom.
• I get to walk past stuff like this everyday:

And on top of all of that, I get an education. And it's in Journalism. At the world's first Journalism school.

Who needs an ocean when there's all of that?

Bones

My whole life isn’t journalism. In fact, most of my life has never been about journalism. So I think it’s appropriate for me to post about the other thing I do, which is music.

This summer I recorded and released an album and as of today it’s on bandcamp and noisetrade. I’m hoping to get some buzz around it so this post is half self promoting and half me just wanting to show what else I can do.

If you enter your email into noisetrade you can download the album for free. Is anything better than free? All I ask in return is that you share it with someone else.

Back By Popular Demand

... and moved by J-School demands.


So I've been hearing that since my road trip ended people have been wondering if my blog ended too.

Well, yes and no.

Yes this blog will still be here and who knows I might throw up a post on it (there are more Beatle birthdays to come).

However, if you want to stay updated on my life, check my new wordpress blog. I'm required to blog for school and keep a running log of my clips as well as thoughts on what I'm learning.

here's the link for that blog.

It's all about my time at the J-School and I'd love it if you read it and read my clips. I serve mid-MO but you never know, you might find it useful too.

The Big Move: Final Day

Sioux City, IA to Columbia, MO

Well, I'm here. I actually was beginning to forget where I was even going. That is, until I got about an hour outside of Columbia and my mom had to deal with my word vomit. I know this is a good life choice for me. I am excited to start school. But somehow, just outside Mizzou all I wanted was to pull off at a rest stop and extend my trip as long as possible.


Why I would want to extend today I'll never know. It all started in Sioux City heading South down I-29. Which is flooded. So that lead us to a detour with very few signs marking it a detour. Instead of a highway it took me to the intersection of two country roads with a church on the corner. I turned onto the highway, not entirely confident in where I was going. Furthermore my gas level was lower than I was comfortable with in a two lane highway with corn as far as the eye could see on either side. However I do have a flexfuel car so I guess if push came to shove I could have tried shoving an ear of corn in my gas tank.



We crossed into Missouri. Every place we have gone I've been only one night. I've gotten used to a state a day. Each place I look around a bit and say "yeah, I can see how people could live here".

And then I leave.

Now I'm in Missouri. For two years. So when we pulled into the hotel I was bit crazy. When we went over to the campus I calmed down. This was a very long drive to a blind date. I've never been here. Never walked here. Never seen it with my own eyes. But it is beautiful and I can't wait to get to know it better.

The Big Move: Day Five

Rapid City, SD to Sioux City, IA


Well I never thought I'd say this: I'm spending the night in Iowa. For years I have heard about my moms trips to Iowa to see the family farm. Well, I'm here now.

This morning I woke up early to see Mount Rushmore. The park gates open at 8am so naturally we were there at 8:10am.

Best idea ever.

Starbucks in hand. Me, my mom, and like a handful of people walked into the pavilion. There was nobody there. I have to say that this is the highlight of the trip. I may have mentioned this, or maybe I give off that vibe, but I really love NOT being around crowds. So going into today I was worried. Mount Rushmore? Wall Drug? This is my tourism nightmare. But instead it was pleasant. We spent two hours just strolling around, taking photos, buying souveniers, watching films, and viewing exhibits with no waiting or pushing or stinky vacationer B.O.

I had to catch myself. Is it really possibly that I am sitting in a quiet, serene, empty amphitheatre in front of a national treasure? Just thinking my thoughts?

As the busloads started to pour in we headed out to our parking space right in front of the gate and left the black hills. Destination: Wall, SD. Home of free ice water at Wall Drug.

I liked Wall Drug. It was so American and so fun. We were there for about an hour to lunch, gas up, buy crap, and take photos. My favourite photo, out of a stream of tacky poses, was one of the "travelers chapel". I thought originally that it was cheesy place to get married, Vegas style, but no. It's actually a chapel for road travelers to sit in and pray. Like Mount Rushmore in the morning, it was empty. I think it says everything about tourist America that there are swarms of people around a jackalope sculpture or jammed into a leather clothing store while a church lies empty. Not that Americans are uninterested in religion. To me it just showed that "The Great American Road Trip" is all chaos, all hurry, all self-involvement. I think it's pretty incredible that in the middle of all that "Famil-E-Fun Timez" there's a little side room that is totally peaceful and totally available to pray.


The original plan today, post-Wall, was to have no plan and pull over whenever. So I jumped behind the wheel, totally recovered from my ticket the day before, and threw the hammer down on I-90. We decided that our goal of Omaha might be a little bit of a push. We left Wall at 1pm and still had a long way to go. So we set a course for Sioux City, IA. Because I had heard of it.

A ways out I had another "first". I booked my first hotel room. And it's a good one too. It's big, off the ground floor, and a local pizza place delivered to the room. Too bad travel agent is a dying career, because I'd ROCK at it.

"Big Soo" in Sioux City, IA

The big moment of today was crossing the Missouri River. From now on I'm living East of it. We head south and follow it down to Missouri. Tomorrow, for the first time, I'll see my new school.

The Big Move: Day Four

Jackon, WY to Rapid City, SD

WHY WHY WYYYYYOMING!


So before I blog anything about today, let me start with this: rural Wyoming was the place where I got my first speeding ticket.

The day was going SO well. I SAW A BUFFALO. Not just a buffalo, but a cute one, frolicking (seriously frolicking) in the Grand Teton National Park. How cool is that?

From there on it went down hill. And up hill. Up and up into the hills on a dirt road following a pilot car and going 15mph on a road with no guard rails.



We went down into the heart of Wyoming. It was here that I was pulled over for going 40mph through a town. Where was I pulled over? Like 20 feet away from a 40 mph sign. Don't believe me? Here's a picture:


"Seriously? Seriously."

When my mom (yup, pulled over with mom in the passenger seat) asked what the deal was when we were close, the cop responded that I might have hit someone crossing the street. In a town of like 100 people. Honestly if I did hit someone all I would have done was put them out of their misery. Excuse me for trying to get as far out of Wyoming as I possibly could. They should pay me for having to drive through that godforsaken wasteland.

To add irony to injury I literally got pulled over outside Hell's Half Acre. Literally.


Wyoming has the smallest population of the 50 states. It's probably not because no one lives here but because all of them are terrible at passing on the highway. One redemptive group of people was the Cottonwood Garden Club who have snacks prepared at the rest stop.


Driving into Buffalo Gap NP was the highlight of my day. Because it has a sign that says "welcome to South Dakota". Upon leaving Wyoming, home of my first ticket, I wanted to pull over and frolick like my baby buffalo in the morning. But mom was driving (since obviously I'm a highway hazard) and so I took a picture of eastern Wyoming in my rearview mirror.

"Bye-oming"

We drove into the black hills and also into a storm. Our destination was Rapid City. Two days before Sturgis. So here I am in the middle of the rhythmic hum of Harleys.

10 hours in the car really makes you crazy. So crazy in fact that when you go to order a beer at dinner you blurt out to the waitress "I got a ticket today! What's on tap?"

My mom and I explored the city and bought some sweet swag in the Coyote Claw discount outlet. Hell yeah! Four dollar shirts!

The Big Move: Day Three

Rexburg to Jackson

Today was a full day and that is probably why I'm so tired. Idaho, a slice of Montana and down into Wyoming.

We set a course straight to Yellowstone, somewhere I'd never been before. We went through the West entrance on the Montana side. Yellowstone is... incredible. It's hard to put into words but the best I can come up with it "peaceful".



That is, until you come to a point of interest. You drive in surrounded by tress and rivers and lakes and rocks and it is gorgeous. Perfect against the blue sky. Then you hit Old Faithful and it's like entering a town. It's crawling with people. Both aspects of the park have their charms.

I should be up front: I don't like people. I hate being around crowds. So National Parks at the height of the tourist season aren't exactly my kind of place.

But I can't be such a sourpuss, it was worth it. Old Faithful has become less reliable. Instead of every hour it's about 70-90 minutes. Aka "when it feels like it". So crowds and crowds of people gather around to just wait and stare at steam. For as powerful and destructive as humans are, it's pretty incredible to see steam hold people captivated. It begins to spout then stops and peeks out again in a geological striptease until finally it rockets into the sky. Or as the 5 year old in front of me said "It was being shy, then it came out".

"All the faithful at Old Faithful"

A geyser worth the wait

After Old Faithful we hit the road to Jackson Hole passing through the Grand Teton National Park. If Yellowstone was hard to put into words, the Tetons are beyond explanation. So here's one of like a million pictures I took:




When we got into Jackson I met a friend of mine, who is now a "local", at a bar. Hannah and I hadn't seen each other in two years. The last time I saw her we were leaving camp in Virginia. Now here we were having a beer as I passed through Wyoming. It's pretty incredible the places life takes you. I never thought I'd meet her here, after all, when I met her she was living in Michigan. I don't know the next time or place I'll see Hannah, but I know it won't be two years from now. It better be much shorter than that.


My mom and I had dinner in town. Jackson Hole is a little high-end. Put in a westcoast perspective its the Cannon Beach of the Tetons. Definitely different than the roadside hotels we've been in.
Jackson Hole, WY
Tomorrow is a long day. We're driving all the way across Wyoming and in to Rapid City, SD. That way we can wake up early on friday and see Mt. Rushmore.


Yellowstone... Jackson... Rushmore... I've left Canada far behind.

The Big Move: Day Two

Boise to Rexburg

We stayed in the same state today, but that doesn't mean we didn't travel.

The morning began at a hotel outside Boise with a free breakfast consisting of coffee, bagels, and cinnamon rolls. The food on display was biscuits, gravy, and sausage patties. At least I think it was, in reality it was probably silicon implants and babysick.

The doors opened to the parking lot letting in the sweet scent of manure. Welcome to Idaho.

Despite the occasional whiff of livestock effluent, I've decided that I really like Idaho and at some point I'll come back. After all, I've got family here.

Gassed and caffeinated (thanks to McDonalds and not thanks to the hotel coffee) we hit the road. We didn't stop much except for rest stops. One was more than just a rest stop, it was in fact an Oregon Trail historical site. What I'm driving is basically a reverse Oregon Trail and it brings back so many memories of elementary school "computer lab". I keep hoping I'll find the graves of such beloved characters as "Farts" and "Poohead". Oh wait, that was only on the computer. What we did see was some trail ruts on the other side of a barbed wire fence. Mmmm history. As a big history nerd I pretty much go coocoo bananas every time I see a brown sign on the highway.


After visiting our "ruts" I jumped behind the wheel only to find that the road was under construction and instead of going East on 86 I would be going East on West 86. Huh? That's right, Idaho dropped some cones down the middle and I was headed down the wrong way. It was like a scene from "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles".

"You're going the wrong way!"

Our first real stop was Idaho Falls. It was a quite little town and great place to walk along the river with a shaved ice. I took 1,000 of the same photos. I also found a button on my camera that would display a photo 16 times. Needless to say it was a well documented trip.


"Idaho Falls and Caboose ice cream stand"

Our final stop was Rexburg, where my great aunt Ethel lives. We haven't seen "Auntie Ethel" (pronounced as one word: "antiethel") in maybe... ten years? When I walked in the first thing she said was "Gawrsh Karen, you done grown up" which is funny because my Great Auntie has grown down. It was pretty cool to see her. All her kids, my mom's cousins, came over too. It was really fun to see family after two days of travel and it was wonderful to see my grandma's younger sister. It made me miss my sister and really made me miss my grandma.

My grandparents were pretty incredible. As my great aunt said, my grandpa was "a prince of a man". It was so interesting to hear the movement of all my predecessors. They were everywhere over the last 81 years: Idaho, Washington, Montana, Oregon, Texas, Iowa, California, Colorado. I guess with me you can add British Columbia and Missouri to the list. They hopped trains and drove and walked all over this country. My grandpa ended up in Tacoma because it's where the train ended. My grandma ended up here with her mom who came to Tacoma because there were jobs as riveters in the shipyards during the war. My grandpa drove a bus, my grandma was a waitress. She flicked some water in his face, then they married, kids, grandkids, and now here I was in Rexburg having dinner with my grandmas sister. It all comes around. It's all history.

Several years ago I found a picture of my grandparents taken by my auntie in Kilgore, ID. It was on the BYU Idaho archives. I've loved it ever since. So I'll share it on my blog.

"Red and Irma in the 1970s"

The Big Move: Day One

My mom at a viewpoint in eastern WA

Tacoma to Boise

It all began today, August 2nd, when my mom and I rolled out of our driveway and hit the road to Missouri.

In between my summer off and grad school is the open road. I've always envisioned my Great American Road Trip differently than this. Maybe it's because I was obsessed with Kerouac in junior high. Now I realize that instead of Dean Moriarty I got my momma. At first I was disappointed. It didn't seem like beatnik meanderings across the country was a place to take your parent, but then again, would Dean have booked all the hotel rooms? I think not.
All packed.

The hardest part of today was saying goodbye to my dog. Leaving an animal is tough because it makes you feel so selfish. I know she knows something is happening, but I can't make her understand what is happening.
She didn't want to say goodbye. Neither did I.

The other cruel part was gassing up at a gas station literally blocks from my friends house. That was rough because it's the closest I'll be until December and it made all the leaving feel real.

Once we crossed the pass I felt better. We climbed a hill up to a vista and took in the view. I haven't really taken a trip to Eastern WA since I was a kid and we used to tag along with my dad. He would make sales calls during the day while we swam in a Red Lion pool and then we would all go out for putt putt or fro-yo in the tri-cities.

Today I went further than that, crossing through Oregon and finally into Idaho where we pulled off and got the view of the Snake River Valley. It's pretty interesting to cross state lines and time zones. Each step of the way all I can think is "I can't believe it's here. I can't believe I'm really gone".

Idaho. Snake River Valley


Now I'm in Meridian, Idaho which is a pretty uninteresting town. It has the usual list of chain restaurants and clothing stores. What appeals to me most about this place is that it's a place to sleep. After 9 hours of driving that sounds pretty good.


Tomorrow is shorter. Idaho Falls and then up to Rexburg to see my Great Aunt Ethel. Life keeps rolling along.

Bug splat on the window, we're in Idaho.

Pack Attack!

So I've begun packing for my big move to Mizzou (more, much more, on that later). There's something about a deep clean of your room that is so freeing. I'm unearthing things from by gone days and losing myself often in reminiscing.

Here's some of the best discoveries. These are truely gems:

1. Jack Kerouac's On The Road book on tape burned for me by my cousin

2. Mix tape made for me. On my 13th birthday.

3. Various R.E.M. bootlegs

4. A poem scrawled on the back of a Blarney Stone receipt

5. Travel journal from a trip I took in 2001

6. The contact information for a bass player from UCM last year that I lost and never contacted. Something I continued to lament everytime I needed a bassist. Where did I find it? In some notes from a class. Guess I should have reviewed my notes.

Breaking Up with Vancouver. Part 3.

Breaking Up With Blue Chip

Though I worked at this job for only one of my four years in UBC, it really came to define a lot of my university experience.

When I first applied, Blue Chip was just supposed to be my job. I would serve coffee for a few hours, get money, and leave. It wasn't really all that important to me that I make friends at work. I already had friends and I was tired of always being broke. I told myself that I would keep my head down, not get involved with people, and make some money. The vouchers would be a bonus too.

I think that whenever you plan on not getting involved, life surprises you.

To be honest, I don't know how I survived even the first semester of last year. I was doing ministry/music full time, working, and had a full course load. On top of all that I was desperately trying to get into Graduate school. I can't remember when I slept, or even if I did. In the midst of all that, Blue Chip shifts were the one time I knew that it was pointless to worry about my future or anything else. After all I was at work and I had to work.

The thing I'll always take away from that job is the feeling I had of being totally comfortable with who I was. I started coming out of my shell, wearing technicolor jeans, bandanas, and just being a genuine joy to work with (I'm assuming).

The lasting legacy of Blue Chip in my life is the friendships I made. Years from now I don't think I'll be proud of the lattes I made or the cookies I scooped or the coffee I brewed (or the customers I neglected). All the money I made there has been spent. What I'll always look back on is the shift that occurred in my life when my fellow Blue Chippers turned from coworkers to friends. In the middle of a stressful year I never failed to laugh and that made all the difference in the world.

Having said all that, here is what I won't miss:
I will not miss working my 7am-10am shift in first semester, then rushing to class and finding that a. I was late b. the only seats were in the back where I couldn't hear the prof and c. that all the keeners who had gotten there early to take up the good seats had blue chip cups with drinks in them that I made. I also knew none of them tipped me. Jerks.

I won't miss the way my uniform smelled by the end of the week.

I won't miss complicated orders (securrrityyy).

I won't miss being the only person in class eating a ton of Chinese food (hella vouchers, yo) and then falling asleep in the lecture (it happened once, ok).

I won't miss my profs coming to Blue Chip and me being all awkward and like "uuuuuhhh soo hey lemme get that coffee for you" and then hating myself for being so awkward.

I won't miss the classical music blasting in the morning that would send my heart rate racing to hummingbird levels.

I won't miss sifting through compost for plastic lids.

I will miss the little things:
The way me, Sef, and Brittany would freak out with joy when Unbreak my Heart came on the radio.

A 12oz Guatemala in a 16oz cup with honey and cream, and dropping by on my way to class for coffee and having a group of people excited to see me.

I'll miss smiling at the chairbo on my way into work (he's a guy who lives in the SUB, kind of like a hobo but he has a chair so he's a step up from a hobo).

I'll miss sneaking raw cookie dough, broken cookies, and chunks of white chocolate.

I'll miss Steph shouting my name so it sounded like a monosyllabic grunt ("KRrrrnn"). In addition I'll miss turning up to work only to find I was dressed identically with Steph.

I'll miss "producing" coffee with Jimmy and Katie.

I'll miss Ariel's iPod. Even that time she only played ska music.

I'll miss Saturday afternoons with Rachel making cinnamon apple deliciousness. And Big Scoooooop. And Sammy Jo's iPod full of Tay Swift and ABBA.

I'll miss Anna filling out shift request vouchers to hang out with me when I'm in town. "Reason for shift change request: Karen/burrs." I can't even imagine what the AMS must think of us.

I regret that I never got approval for my plan to turn Blue Chip into an after-hours nightclub called "The Chip". But people do call it "The Chip" sometimes, so I'll take credit for that and move on.

And I don't want to be vain, but I'm pretty sure Blue Chip will miss me too. I like to think that maybe someday next semester, a quiet kid will apply to work there and after a few months will be turning up to their shift in bright purple jeans. And maybe people will say "Hey, remember Karen. She was a good time."

Breaking Up with Vancouver. Part 2.

Breaking Up with the B-Line

I've lost count of the number of times I have gone back and forth and back and forth on this bus. Honestly, I don't think I'll miss it much. The crowding, the pushing, the fight for space.

And of course, the "B-line Crazies". Because the B-line boards at all doors, an over abused honor system, pretty much anyone can be sitting next to you. There was the homeless man who smelled like urine telling me that my Arts degree was worthless, there was the woman across from me who had a little snake in a plastic cup, and there was a plethora of people who found it totally ok to utilize my shoulder as a pillow during their nap.

Of all these memories of the crazies, there is one that I will forever cherish. It was after the UCM Christmas banquet and me and some others moved on to the Wolf and Hound pub. After having some beers we headed for the 99 stop headed East and along shuffled a new friend. He was a bit haggard and carrying a guitar case. When I asked him about said guitar case he straightened up, looked at me with pride and said "this isn't a guitar, this is a BANJO". He then proceeded to open the case and play his banjo. This turned into an impromptu sing-a-long on the streets of Vancouver (Alma, to be exact).

What I appreciate about this banjo man is his love of sharing his music. For example, instead of putting away his instrument and sitting quietly on the bus, he informed the driver that we (his new back up singers) had some songs to share with the bus. As we launched into "Stand By Me" (our signature tune, I guess) I could feel people staring at me. I was a "B-line Crazy" and maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the banjo, but I really didn't care. Ever so sly, I took a picture with my phone to commemorate the occasion:

Every time I pass the Arbutus stop, I look for this wandering minstrel, but sadly my search has been fruitless. But that's how it goes on the B-line, every one on it is a crazy ship passing in the night.

As much as I want to break up totally with B-line, I probably can't because now that I no longer possess a U-Pass, it will be my main form of transportation when I visit unless I rustle up some coins.

Breaking Up with Vancouver. Part 1.

What started as a weekend trip to see an opera has turned into a 6-day fling in Vancouver. When I started this blog it was supposed to be my observations about the life of an American in British Columbia, at UBC.

But yesterday when I reached the Canadian border they took my passport and tore out my expired study permit. I've been turning in keys and closing my bank account (which was pretty much empty, the sign of a life well lived). So really, this blog is changing. What lies ahead of me is a Blind Date with CoMo (that's Columbia, MO. My future home for grad school). So in the interest of tying up loose ends I'm going to write for the next several days about the things in Vancouver that made up my life here. It's a way for me to say goodbye. So let's begin.

Breaking Up with Barber

Much of my time in Vancouver wasn't spent studying (sorry mom and dad) but the times I did study I, like many, got down to busness at the Irving K. Barber Learning Centre. Aka Barber. Each semester it seemed I would stake out a different room here: library stacks, Riddington Room, Musquem, ect. Now I'm sitting in the room on the second floor I utilized most of this past year.

It was here I composed most of my graduate school applications, read many a text, and worked on a few papers. I also raced the chairs around the room pretty intensly and, one night in November, I served communion here. So this is pretty much MY room.

When I lived on campus I would be in Barber til it closed at 1 am. Working. Writing. Worrying that I wouldn't make it out of undergrad. Last year, when I commuted, Barber was the place where I had exactly 1 hour to eat lunch and study as much as possible between class and work. This was a room that filled me with anxiety.

In November I decided to fight back. On Remembrance Day I helped organize a night of music, art and prayer in this room. I wanted to hold the night in this room because so often this building is full of overworked, desparate students struggling for a tiny spot of study space. On that night, with the building pretty much empty, we came together to paint, to sing, to read scripture, and serve each other communion. After that night on my hour long rapid study breaks, I felt calmer here. It was as if I knew that even this building, that forces you to ruthlessly prowl for study space like some sort of hungry lion, could be transformed. I knew it could be peaceful.

Now I'm sitting here with my blue chip coffee and holding a textbook. A textbook I'm studying for grad school and I can't help but think that back in the middle of all that chaos that surrounded school, work, UCM, and grad school apps that this is how it was always supposed to end up.

In many ways, my time in Barber has seemed like 1 Peter 5:7-9:
"Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that your brothers throughout the world are undergoing the same kind of sufferings."

Sometimes this building reeks of failure (during 24 hour study it reeks for other reasons). Not that people here ARE failing, but they're so afraid of it. I feel like failure stalks this building looking for people to devour. I was afraid of it. I thought that by June I would be jobless and adrift. That I would never figure myself out. I can say now, as I finish my coffee, I may not have it all figured out, but I do know that I feel peace.

So to conclude, goodbye to you Barber. Goodbye to study sessions, to early morning wake ups to secure a good table, to the security guards and the overpriced cafe. Goodbye to the pressure. Goodbye to the musty smell in the stacks. Goodbye to the feet smell that creeps up every now and then. Goodbye to the fast internet I used to download movies. I'll miss you occasionally, but we've run our course. I hope you find some new undergrad who can break the landspeed record I set on your black wheely chairs.

Happy Birthday, Macca!

Many of you went about your Saturday entirely unaware that today was Paul McCartney's birthday, but I didn't. Due to my combination of Beatles fandom and ability to store really useless information in my brain I was well aware that today was the 69th birthday of the "cute" Beatle.

I didn't do anything too nutso and fangirl, but I did come home, put on one of my many Beatles shirts, drank out of my Beatles pint glass, and played some of my favourite Paul songs on my guitar. You know, normal stuff.

As I've developed as a songwriter and a person, I've grown to respect Macca. You see, when I was younger I venerated John Lennon as the troubled, brilliant, genius whose eccentricies I longed to emulate. Paul, on the other hand, seemed like the sappy, boring Beatle who wrote standards like "Yesterday". Paul was never my favourite Beatle, but that was when I was young and my heart was an open book.

Nowdays, I gravitate toward Paul's music. For example, the one song I was always just a little bored with in the Beatles catalog was "The Long and Winding Road". When I was 13 or 14 there hadn't been much of a road at in my life, much less one long and windy. That all changed at the end of undergrad. I was driving back to my apartment from a friends place the afternoon that I was moving out. I knew then that it was the last time that this commute would be in my life. Sure, I may visit, but it would be a temporary stop in a former life. And that's when I heard it. This song that I always passed over. It was in this moment that life and music completely synchronized and I realized that for all the strange and fractured artists I long to be like, I'm a Paul. Although songs by John like "Strawberry Fields Forever" and "Yer Blues" may have spoken to my melancholy, it's Paul's music that makes me feel better. There's something emphathetic about the way he writes that makes me feel encouraged. He inspires me to take a sad song and make it better. To take my broken wings and learn to fly.

On that I'll close by including a song. I've chosen this one because it's from Paul's first solo album McCartney. If you don't have this album then go get it now. It's super easy to get your hands on because it was recently re-released.


I'm also including "Mull of Kintyre" because there is nothing better than coming home from a long day of work and watching Paul in boots wandering around a field with a guitar. Also, bagpipes.

I Am Genuinely Bad at Being an Adult

I have a lot of gifts and talents, but unfortunately "adulthood" is not one of them.
I realized this several weeks ago when I found out that the reason my visa card didn't work was because I never activated it. I said to my father, in a joking manner, "I'm not very good at being an adult." In a very direct and truthful way my father responsed 'No. You're not."

Here's the crap I should have figured out, but I don't:


1. Having Nice Things

The Problem:
It seems that everything I assume will somehow improve my quality of life breaks. Two iPods, one laptop, two guitars, and tonight: one phone. Yes, truthfully, I had a Droid for for a matter of hours until, frustrated with a wonky charger, I broke the prongs in the charger jack. Smooth, Karen, smooth. This wasn't the first time I damaged something "big". The worst was the guitar for which I paid an undisclosed amount and also made some lofty promises to God. We agreed on a down payment of one worship song with a contract that would deliver worship songs over a three year period. This precious, wonderful guitar that I pined over for months was actually damaged by the air. Seriously? And it was a crack that a cheap, plastic humidifier could have prevented. Something an actual adult would have purchased.

The Loophole:
I haven't found one that is effective. What seems to be happening is the Universe is telling me that I should buy used. So far I've had luck with hand-me-downs up until buying a used phone. My mistake there was buying a nice used phone I wanted. I was just asking myself to mess up. Hand-me-downs are my lot in life as a younger sibling. I realized this as I walked over to the Verizon store in a coat from my sister with the used phone I purchased from a friend tucked in a purse handed down from my sister and still dressed in the work uniform from my sister that I wear to the job she used to have. This is not something to be sad about, in fact, without this rag tag assemblage of items I wouldn't be able to accomplish the loophole laid out in point number 3.

2. Understanding Money
First, a short observation. I work in a zoo gift shop. Lately it's been school group season which means everyday 10 minutes before their bus leaves, chaperones bring groups of dirty, illmannered, disrespectful hell children into my shop. Up until recently, I always questioned the educational value of visiting the gift shop (aka "Karen's Gifts and Sundries" or "Ye Olde Gift Shoppe"). Now, however, I've come to understand that the Gift Shop is actually the MOST educational area of the zoo because it is here that children learn all about money and more importantly, what it means to not have enough money. Maybe it's cruel, but there's really something intoxicating about a child bringing you exact change for a useless toy and then you telling them they still can't have it. I feel like I am doing my part for society by informing children of the lifelong fist in the ass known as "taxes".

The Problem:
You see it's not that successful adults can count and invest and hold onto money. It's that they understand it's actual value and how to exchange it in a responsible manner for goods and services. And although I boast that I am teaching young children, I myself am no different than them. I don't really "get" money. I'll spend the same money over and over again. For example if I get a paycheck I'll go out and spend part of it on something I want but don't need (hockey jerseys, guitars, records, books, food... yes food, my body relies on dreams for sustenance, food is merely a hobby). Then, I'll forget I spent that money and go out and "spend it again" on something I need like gas or a pair of TOMS. What ends up happening is I'm twice as broke as I thought I was and NOT a successful adult.

The Loophole:
Slightly ashamed to say this, but call my dad, ask for money. Or just sit at home and refuse to let myself out of the house until my next paycheck so I won't spend any money.

3. Cooking
The Problem: Its not that I can't cook, it's just that I won't. It has nothing to do with laziness (most of the time...) but mostly I am afraid of it. It is an entirely rational fear and I can justify by simply drawing your attention to point number one of this post. I'm afraid to cook because I break things. Pots? Pans? Utensils? Ingredients? This is just too much involvement for me. Being in the kitchen stresses me out. And when I'm stressed I eat my feelings. The problem is that I'm not a good cook so inevitably the food I indulge in isn't even that good. Then I feel sad. Then I microwave a burrito. Problem solved.

The Loophole:
So what do I do when I don't microwave a burrito? Well, I have a few staples I'm comfortable with mainly some sort of bread item, cheese, and a frying pan. However if I'm not in the mood to take a Plowman's Lunch and fry it, I usually find a way to get someone else to cook. Through this loophole I have become less of an adult and more of a stray cat. Basically, I can sense out a kind soul who will pity me (in my hand-me-down clothes), cook for me, sometimes cuddle me, and then I saunter back into the alleyway. It's a good life, but it's not the most adult way of living.

4. Dressing Myself
The Problem:
I own several items of clothing that inspire rage in people. There's the fur hoody, the bandanas, the technicolor jeans, and a Canucks jersey. As you can tell my ensemble walks a thin line between "ironic hipster" and "rehabilitated mental patient". As I head toward grad school, adult life, and the hope that I'll turn into some slick go-getta I realize that I have very few adult clothes. It's not that I don't try. I go out shopping with the best intentions, I envision myself in a Hilary Clinton pantsuit taking on the WORLD. But usually I come home from the mall without heels and a dress, but with a new pair of vans and more skinny jeans.

The Solution:
I haven't really found a rebuttal to the accusation "don't you have any real clothes?!" All I've come up with is a garbled, muddled response along the lines of "it works for Ellen to wear sneakers and suits" to "I refuse to give into the man" to "someday I'll have a job where I won't need nice clothes!"

Lady Crush

Recently, my good friend Sarah listed out her top 5 lady crushes. I was ranked #5 which is a little disappointing.
First off, for those of you that don't know a "Lady Crush" is a nonsexual feeling or affinity for a successful, famous, or mythical woman. I can usually tell if I have a "Lady Crush" if I refer to someone like this: "OMG if (insert name here) and I ever met up we would instantly be bessst frieeeends".
Another sign is the feeling I get that maybe I should NEVER meet said person because it would only lead to me saying something like "you are my world", holding them tightly, crying, and refusing to let go. I get the feeling that if I were to meet some of these women, my cray cray levels would reach a "Celine Dion" level.

Second, Sarah's list has got me thinking about who makes it on to mine. So here's my top 5:

5. Allison Janey

Allison Janney is an actress with the ability to take a movie from "watchable" to "must see". A prime example is the way she elevated my favourite movie Drop Dead Gorgeous from amusing up to "constantly quoting". But she's more than just an actress. She's CJ Cregg, who I considered making a separate Lady Crush, but she's fictional and I feel like that's weird.

4. Ellen Degeneres

Ellen fills a hole in my heart the same way she filled the affable, lesbian daytime talk show host slot vacated by Rosie O'Donnell. There's a lot of reasons to love Ellen, but the biggest one for me is this: while Oprah is assigning books to people and talking about achieving your dreams or whatever she rambles on about, Ellen is doing things like this:

3. Patty Griffin


I think of most of the women on this list I would be most likely to turn into a sniffling, sobbing wreck in front of Patty Griffin. If there's one songwriter that I listen to and say "damn, I wish I wrote that" it's Patty. If I had one ultimate wish it's that she and I would write a song together. It would be filled with harmony and insightful lyrics. It would be like our voices were high fiving and our minds were making out. You may think I'm being too over-the-top, but go listen to "Don't Come Easy" and then reassess how you feel about her. I love her.

2. Mary Tyler Moore (aka Mary Richards)

When I presented my list to Sarah she said "I knew Mary would make it". Why? She sings, she dances, she gives to charity, and she is a 70s icon. She's got spunk, she's got style, and she even turns the world on with her smile. She's everything I want to be, but I'm probably more of a Rhoda than a Mary.
If I did ever meet Mary in person I'd probably throw my arms around her, cry, and say "I treasure you, Mary". Maybe it's better if I never meet her....

1. Brooke Fraser

Brooke doesn't know this, but we're soul mates. When I saw her live in Vancouver last winter I realized that we were made for each other. Why? Because she starts rambling into the mic about everything from gorilla suits to hot dogs. Then she launches into a transcendent, heart achingly beautiful song. How can you not love someone like that? When I really think about it now she could actually be my whole top three because I have a Lady Crush on Solo Material Brooke, Hillsong Brooke, and Brooke Fraser's Voice. Combining these three elements she easily coasts into the number one spot by miles.
Seriously, Brooke. Call me.

four.

I've been delaying this blog post for an obvious reason: I don't like to think about it. It's been four years since I moved to Vancouver and now I've finished my degree and moved home.

I've taken a week before starting work in order to process things and adjust to being home. But it's anything but restful. Living with my folks is weird because they go to bed at like 9:30 and my dog falls asleep at like 8. I, on the other hand, have been living on a schedule where I get home around 9:30 (if I come home at all) and go to bed when my body can no longer hold itself upright. Sometimes a little after that.

But I was thinking that it would be nice to come home and process the last four years.
Something happened to me in the last four years, but even more happened in the last four months, and a whole hell of a lot happened in the last four days in Vancouver.

I spent four years investing in the same group of friends. "Building Community." "Enjoying Fellowship." You know, those buzzword Christian terms.

And yet, in the last four days of my degree, I spent very little time with those people. Instead, I got to know new people. Normally its good to get to know new people, but in this case I don't know how I feel about it. Because while it is exciting, it is also a million times more painful to leave behind something (or someone) new.

And at this point I feel like I should stop writing and go do something else. I know that if I keep writing this will turn into a Junior High Xanga page. I feel like I should leave it and actually work things out before I post my feelings all over the interwebz.

What I do know is this: if you had asked me four weeks ago how I felt about graduating I would have told you that I was tired, burned out, and ready to move on with my life. Goodbye Vancouver, it's been fun. But if you asked me today how I felt I wouldn't give you a coherent answer. I would have just spit out whatever was on my mind. And my mind has been sounding a lot like this lately:


So that's where I am. I feel like I need to be back in Vancouver. Like I'm missing something. Like there's more to see. However, it's the end. And soon I'll accept it. And I'll move to Missouri and things will be great. I'll meet people. If I learned anything last week it's that it only takes four days to radically reshape the way you feel about a place; how you feel about your life. In fact, it takes less than that.

"Vagabonds" Claire CBSC #22

This is the final song I was commissioned to write. This song is about what it's like to be a "commuter" student like Claire and me, oh, and 60% of the student population.

It's about stupid late buses, heavy backpacks, crashing for the night, and that feeling of shutting the door to your apartment/room/house and thinking about how long it will be until you're back and hoping you left nothing behind.

"Come September" - Kristen CBSC #21

It seems weird still posting these, but I don't like not finishing what I start.

I found out that I will be going to Grad School next year, so the transition time is beginning. This song is for my campus pastor who began her internship in my first year. We've done a lot of growing together and I know she's been sad about seeing me and other students graduate. This might cheer her up or make her more miserable, I'm not too sure, but I can say that it feels good to be writing again.

"Sunk" (Erin) - CBSC #20

Yup it's still going even though it's February.

This song is for Erin. She graduated from UBC a few years before me and then went to bible school. I found out she was coming back to Vancouver and I was desperately in need of worship leaders for UCM. Her support at the beginning of the year was probably the only thing that kept me from sinking. Both literally and figuratively.

We both have the ability to "talk each other down" when we freak out about stuff, well, at least she has that ability with me. So this song is about how we would be sunk without that person to keep us moving forward, like a boat on a river or a fallen leaf across the ground.

"Free" (Molly) - CBSC #19

Yup, it's still happening.
I had a little songwriting hiatus while I figured some things out, but I couldn't just leave the last four songs unwritten. That just wouldn't be fair and also, I want to write them.

Molly is someone I've met this year. She's younger than me, but a lot like me. So if anything, this song is advice I wish I had gotten. Whether or not it's advice she needs is another matter. After all, she already wears bows in her hair like it's no big deal.

But songs are more than something expected, that's what this whole experiment is about.

Oh my

Oh my what a week it has been. I stood in my last line or a UPass. I stood in my last line for books. I hit the Blarney Stone. I felt how beautiful and unpredictable and wonderful Vancouver, BC can be. Please, Vancouver, never let me go. I don't want to leave. I don't want to go. I want to stay forever and ever and ever and ever and ever.

"Stage Fright" (Rebecca)- CBSC #18

This song took awhile and I genuinely didn't think it would turn out this good. Toward the end of filming I started getting chills because this song sums up a lot of things.

Rebecca is an Opera singer. Actually she's a REALLY GOOD Opera singer. Last year I saw her perform in an opera called "Louis Riel" A soaring, atonal opera about Canadian History. It's even boring summed up in one sentence.

Here's the thing, I constantly make fun of it because it was my first opera and it was not what I hoped for (no funny glasses, no really old socialites, no Harpo Marx engaging in shenanigans). However, what I've never told Rebecca, and will say now on the blog no one reads, is that she was amazing. I was stunned, because all that year she sang back up to me at UCM.

The great thing is that when I first started leading on my own I was really scared, but there was something about an opera major behind me that gave me confidence. I could always hear her (not just singing, but talking too). So in a way I find something really very comforting about the sound of her voice. So I wrote this song about that.