Lately I haven't been doing too much other than work, reading, and hanging out on the couch. It sounds like a rut, and when it comes to writing I have to admit it is, but I've been enjoying it.
If you're in your own rut, feel free to check out Homeland (season 2), Breaking Bad, Eleanor and Park, Fangirl (double recommendation for Fangirl, in fact), and Project Runway (R.I.P., Kate. Your dresses were too cute for a show that has kept Alexandria and her weird tattered skirts).
Last night I went to a mini-law school reunion because a friend was in town. I forgot how much I liked hanging out with old friends and gossiping like crazy.* My friend Roger introduced me to the phrase "totes my goats," which he says he can only use at work without criticism, since his kids groan, "Dad, don't say that!" every time he uses at work.
You guys, we are officially old.
* Favorite law school reminiscence: Our friend T, who received the pro bono award at graduation for providing the most service in our entire class. T was also into gangsta rap, flat brimmed hats, and thought he was seriously thugged out because he was from the ghetto of Utah (West Valley City). The combination was amazing--"I just love helping people, muthafu**ahs!"
Showing posts with label I live across the green. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I live across the green. Show all posts
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Sunday, April 28, 2013
What book made you LOVE books?
This article in Publisher's Weekly got me thinking about what first fired up the need-to-read in me.
In first grade, I hated reading. This was mostly due to the fact that my first grade teacher, Mrs. Nielson,* had assigned me extra work to do at home. My mom would make me sit at the dinner table and do extra workbooks while she made dinner and my siblings played.
(Freakish Hermione nerd alert: I found out later that all this extra attention was due to the fact that in 20+ years of teaching, Mrs. Nielson had never come across a kid who never got anything wrong. The extra workbooks were designed to challenge me. But because my parents and Mrs. Nielson didn't want me to get a big head, they never pointed that out until I was in high school. Who knew?)
But by third grade, I had discovered the lure of Ann M. Martin and The Baby-Sitters Club, which I found enjoyable primarily on the basis that (1) Kristy was awesome and (2) you could read an entire BSC book in one night, partly because you can always skip the second and third chapters, which tend to just re-explain the business structure of the club. ("One night when Kristy was eating pizza, listening to her mom on the phone trying to find a babysitter for her little brother David Michael ...")
In fourth grade, though, the reading fever really took hold, thanks to a little book called Over Sea, Under Stone by Susan Cooper. I tore through that series and then everything else that followed.
What was the first book that made you interested in reading?
* Here's a brief ode to Mrs. Nielson, who passed away a few years ago. In addition to being my first grade teacher, she was also my Sunbeams teacher in church, and a good friend of my parents', so I was always slightly confused about whether I was allowed to called her Nanette, Sister Nielson, or Mrs. Nielson (since I had been using all three interchangeably my whole life.) Believe it or not, there was one other relationship Mrs. Nielson and I shared, I found out later -- sorority sister. After I went to college, I found out that Mrs. Nielson had also been a member of Theta Phi Chapter, Delta Delta Delta.
Mrs. Nielson was also an artist, and when she illustrated her first book, she used me and my sister Echo for her illustrations. (We--and Echo in particular--were weirdly beautiful children. It must be so disappointing for our parents that we turned into merely-adequate-looking adults.) Unfortunately, the book was never published, so no one ever gave a crap that we were former-baby-models. C'est la vie.
But man, that book was a winner. It was based on a true story from Mrs. Nielson's childhood. If I recall the story correctly, it was about a little girl named Emma who loved ducks. Her parents told her to never let the ducks get into her mom's poppy patch, but one day Emma wasn't paying attention, the ducks ate the poppies, got stoned, passed out, and little Emma was super sad because she thought they were all dead. She planned a funeral for the ducks, and when she started singing to them, BAM! all the ducks woke up. I'm pretty sure some other stuff happened too, but it's been awhile.
In first grade, I hated reading. This was mostly due to the fact that my first grade teacher, Mrs. Nielson,* had assigned me extra work to do at home. My mom would make me sit at the dinner table and do extra workbooks while she made dinner and my siblings played.
(Freakish Hermione nerd alert: I found out later that all this extra attention was due to the fact that in 20+ years of teaching, Mrs. Nielson had never come across a kid who never got anything wrong. The extra workbooks were designed to challenge me. But because my parents and Mrs. Nielson didn't want me to get a big head, they never pointed that out until I was in high school. Who knew?)
But by third grade, I had discovered the lure of Ann M. Martin and The Baby-Sitters Club, which I found enjoyable primarily on the basis that (1) Kristy was awesome and (2) you could read an entire BSC book in one night, partly because you can always skip the second and third chapters, which tend to just re-explain the business structure of the club. ("One night when Kristy was eating pizza, listening to her mom on the phone trying to find a babysitter for her little brother David Michael ...")
In fourth grade, though, the reading fever really took hold, thanks to a little book called Over Sea, Under Stone by Susan Cooper. I tore through that series and then everything else that followed.
What was the first book that made you interested in reading?
* Here's a brief ode to Mrs. Nielson, who passed away a few years ago. In addition to being my first grade teacher, she was also my Sunbeams teacher in church, and a good friend of my parents', so I was always slightly confused about whether I was allowed to called her Nanette, Sister Nielson, or Mrs. Nielson (since I had been using all three interchangeably my whole life.) Believe it or not, there was one other relationship Mrs. Nielson and I shared, I found out later -- sorority sister. After I went to college, I found out that Mrs. Nielson had also been a member of Theta Phi Chapter, Delta Delta Delta.
Mrs. Nielson was also an artist, and when she illustrated her first book, she used me and my sister Echo for her illustrations. (We--and Echo in particular--were weirdly beautiful children. It must be so disappointing for our parents that we turned into merely-adequate-looking adults.) Unfortunately, the book was never published, so no one ever gave a crap that we were former-baby-models. C'est la vie.
But man, that book was a winner. It was based on a true story from Mrs. Nielson's childhood. If I recall the story correctly, it was about a little girl named Emma who loved ducks. Her parents told her to never let the ducks get into her mom's poppy patch, but one day Emma wasn't paying attention, the ducks ate the poppies, got stoned, passed out, and little Emma was super sad because she thought they were all dead. She planned a funeral for the ducks, and when she started singing to them, BAM! all the ducks woke up. I'm pretty sure some other stuff happened too, but it's been awhile.
Friday, April 12, 2013
K is for existentialism (see what I did there?)
No friends, K is actually for Kafka and K, one of his more famous characters.
In high school, we had to read The Metamorphosis for AP English, and then the Cliff Notes version of The Trial. (Literally. We sometimes just read summaries of famous works, in the event they might become handy on the test. This has allowed me to pretend I've read way more classic works of literature than I actually have. Shhh, don't tell.)
The trial is about a man named Josef K., who goes by K almost the entire story. He is inexplicably arrested but not charged with a crime. He's subjected to a tribunal of some kind (I like to think of it as an arraignment), but no one tells him anything about what he has supposedly done. He's then released to his own recognizance (that part I'm interpreted liberally) and told to await further instructions. The story continues on like this for some time.
Now, the story isn't really just about the law or a trial (it's about life and how we can all sometimes feel like cogs in the greater machinery of modern society), but on some level it actually is about a trial. Kafka was a trained lawyer and it's hard to argue that (various levels of AP English analysis aside) he wasn't also delivering a very literal message with The Trial.
After AP English, I kind of forgot about The Trial, though the images of The Metamorphosis can be hard to erase. But then, during my first year of law school, I signed up for a class called "Storytelling and the Law." (Supposedly, it was about the narrative forms lawyers employ to effectively connect with and represent our clients. I would still like to take that class, because the class my peers and I actually took involved a lot of introspective essays entitled "Who am I?", watching documentaries about the communication styles of domesticated animals, and bringing poems lyrics to class to interpret them. Due to my resistance to sharing feelings, my grade was ... not good. But at least now I know what Spencer wants when he goes into puppy play pose!)
But one thing that actually stuck with me from "Storytelling and the Law"was my professor's belief that the law is inherently a violent construction. That there is no "right" or "wrong," and people who engage with the law (litigants, defendants, victims) inevitably end up worse off than they were to begin with. As such, a lawyer's primary function is to minimize the additional damage that the justice system is about to inflict.
I don't particularly agree with that vision of the law. In fact, sometimes I think it's the clients themselves who are making the law so violent, with lawyers, mediators, commissioners, and judges all shielding themselves from the shrapnel. But my vehement disagreement has softened somewhat since law school. The justice system can be a scary thing, even when (and sometimes especially when) you're a lawyer.
But much like Kafka himself (who had a tendency not to finish projects), I'm not entirely sure where I am going with all this, other than to ask -- what do you all think? About the law, about existentialism, or even about Cliff Notes?
In high school, we had to read The Metamorphosis for AP English, and then the Cliff Notes version of The Trial. (Literally. We sometimes just read summaries of famous works, in the event they might become handy on the test. This has allowed me to pretend I've read way more classic works of literature than I actually have. Shhh, don't tell.)
The trial is about a man named Josef K., who goes by K almost the entire story. He is inexplicably arrested but not charged with a crime. He's subjected to a tribunal of some kind (I like to think of it as an arraignment), but no one tells him anything about what he has supposedly done. He's then released to his own recognizance (that part I'm interpreted liberally) and told to await further instructions. The story continues on like this for some time.
Now, the story isn't really just about the law or a trial (it's about life and how we can all sometimes feel like cogs in the greater machinery of modern society), but on some level it actually is about a trial. Kafka was a trained lawyer and it's hard to argue that (various levels of AP English analysis aside) he wasn't also delivering a very literal message with The Trial.
After AP English, I kind of forgot about The Trial, though the images of The Metamorphosis can be hard to erase. But then, during my first year of law school, I signed up for a class called "Storytelling and the Law." (Supposedly, it was about the narrative forms lawyers employ to effectively connect with and represent our clients. I would still like to take that class, because the class my peers and I actually took involved a lot of introspective essays entitled "Who am I?", watching documentaries about the communication styles of domesticated animals, and bringing poems lyrics to class to interpret them. Due to my resistance to sharing feelings, my grade was ... not good. But at least now I know what Spencer wants when he goes into puppy play pose!)
But one thing that actually stuck with me from "Storytelling and the Law"was my professor's belief that the law is inherently a violent construction. That there is no "right" or "wrong," and people who engage with the law (litigants, defendants, victims) inevitably end up worse off than they were to begin with. As such, a lawyer's primary function is to minimize the additional damage that the justice system is about to inflict.
I don't particularly agree with that vision of the law. In fact, sometimes I think it's the clients themselves who are making the law so violent, with lawyers, mediators, commissioners, and judges all shielding themselves from the shrapnel. But my vehement disagreement has softened somewhat since law school. The justice system can be a scary thing, even when (and sometimes especially when) you're a lawyer.
But much like Kafka himself (who had a tendency not to finish projects), I'm not entirely sure where I am going with all this, other than to ask -- what do you all think? About the law, about existentialism, or even about Cliff Notes?
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Insert Title Here
Does anyone have a problem with titles?
I am a terrible titler. Which is actually sort of weird, since once upon a time I worked at a college newspaper, and one of my main jobs was to give columns their headlines. Humblebrag time: I am a bad titler, but an excellent headliner. I once managed to headline a column, "On the third day, God created the Remington bolt-action rifle" -- that took some tricky font action, I tell you what. NAME THAT MOVIE!)
When it comes to my second life as a writing bear, I often think of my skill set like the pain scale.
I am a terrible titler. Which is actually sort of weird, since once upon a time I worked at a college newspaper, and one of my main jobs was to give columns their headlines. Humblebrag time: I am a bad titler, but an excellent headliner. I once managed to headline a column, "On the third day, God created the Remington bolt-action rifle" -- that took some tricky font action, I tell you what. NAME THAT MOVIE!)
When it comes to my second life as a writing bear, I often think of my skill set like the pain scale.
1- Dialogue
I am really good at writing dialogue. If you know me in real life, you probably already know that I am a sparkling conversationalist. (Not really.) Writing dialogue is completely pain-free, and generally quite enjoyable. Given the option, I will leave a bunch of XXX's where plot should go so I can move on to writing more banter.
2- Critiquing other people's work
I am also really good at critiquing for other people. I am a much faster reader than I am a writer, to a semi-freakish degree. I also have LAWYER POWERS, which means I analyze minor details for a living, and YES, I will catch that inconsistency you built into your plot! I will also provide you with a Power Point about your options to fix said inconsistency, because I am pushy and overly organized. But it makes my eyes tired, so it's a 2.
3- Grammar
Grammar is less enjoyable than dialogue and critiquing, and causes me about as much pain as a hangnail. I don't actually know what a present participle is, because I always zoned out during that section in English class. But I am generally pretty good at following the rules of grammar, picking up on violations of the rules of grammar, and ignoring the rules of grammar (but only when I have an excellent reason to do so, like ending dialogue with prepositions because NO ONE REVERSES THE PREPOSITION IN REAL LIFE SPEECH.)
4- Beginnings
Beginnings are a vaguely throbbing headache. Unlike IDEAS!, which are a Negative-One on the pain scale (in that they are purely delightful), beginnings cause me a little anxiety, due to the fact that I have a hard time remembering, "Hey, this doesn't actually HAVE to be the beginning. It could always become something else later. It doesn't have to be that great at the moment." They are also difficult because starting one beginning means NOT starting another (at least not yet) -- which if you already have one time-consuming job means Idea 2 may never come to fruition. And that's a serious downer.
5- Endings
I actually couldn't quite decide whether endings or beginnings caused me more pain. I generally think of the ending first, but I tend to fiddle with it more. Endings are sort of like indigestion. Mostly they are no big deal, just some minor tummy rumbles. It's generally the "Am I going to throw up?" uncertainty that is the big problem.
6- Pacing
Pacing is like the last half mile of a jog for me. I know I can do it. My brain says I can, my muscles say I can, but my lungs say, "Oww, oww, no no no, let's stop and smell the roses, and oh, isn't Spencer tired? Shouldn't we stop and give Spencer a break? Look, there are ducks! Let's stop running, PLEASE, and let Spencer look at the ducks!"
It sucks, but it's definitely not the worst.
7- Middles
This is a sprained ankle (terribly unpleasant, but not debilitating) -- or, if we keep the "working out" metaphor going, medicine ball squats as a Crossfit instructor yells, "YOU CAN DO FIVE MORE!" and it takes everything you have to finish those squats and not hurl the medicine ball at that muscle-bound freak with all the might your pathetic upper body strength can muster.
Ahem. Yes. That's what middles are like.
8- Back story/World building
This is heatstroke. You're sweaty and dizzy, and sort confused about what you're doing and why. You just know you've got to get back to air conditioning and water, and soon.
9- Queries
Have you ever barfed from pain? I have. That's what a query is like for me.
10- Titles
I AM LITERALLY IN A MEDICALLY-INDUCED COMA RIGHT NOW.
Anyway, I really went overboard with that pain scale thing, didn't I? But my point remains, titles are literally the worst part of everything.
And the VERY worst part? It's generally acknowledged that if you do get published, your chosen title won't really matter anyway, because people who are good at titles will pick a new one!
Does anyone else have this problem? What's your 10 on the pain scale?
Sunday, September 16, 2012
What's better than watching the Utes win once?
Watching them win three times, friends.
Although, I do have to say, by the time the fans rushed the field the second time, I was ready to tear my hair out. STAY IN THE STANDS TIL THE FAT LADY SINGS, people. Also, how about just "don't rush the field unless it's the last game of the season and/or a bowl game and/or a championship"?
Yes, it was Homecoming, and yes, it was our biggest rival, but for pity's sake.
While we're at it, let's throw some additional Rules for Fandom out there.
1. Just because you are a large human does not mean you get more than your previously assigned allotment of bleacher.
This is not a criticism of fat people. This is a criticism of large men, in particular, who think that because they are over six feet tall and built like a brick wall, they get more space than everyone else, including sitting down on someone's THIGH without apologizing when I resumed my normal "seat 13" position after halftime.
I had about seven inches to myself at the game. I spent a lot of time standing sideways.
2. Speaking of that guy, leave the game commentary to the uneducated professionals in the box.
In addition to unapologetically crowding into my personal space, The Mountain Who Yells At Offensive Coordinators also had some serious issues with any play that resulted in less than 5 yards. "Just two yards!" he'd yell sarcastically. "Just one yard!" All the way down the field.
Behind me, Ryan concluded that he must have been working on his numbers.
Three yards! Ah-ah-ah!
3. Work on your burns.
"Mormons! Funny!" - the conclusion of every dummy who didn't actually manage to graduate from the U.
While I was dealing with the Count on my left, Hannah was dealing with the white trash contingent on her right, who felt that certain words beginning with F (you know which two I'm talking about) were the height of comedy.
Look, there are a great many jokes to be made at BYU's expense. But the Mormon thing? Kind of played out. It would sort of be like trying to joke about the Pope, and coming up with, "You're Catholic!"
But explaining this to our dear friend, I fear, would have been futile. His favorite form of flirting with his girlfriend was poking her in the back while she yelled at him to quit it ... for four hours. He also enjoyed calling the refs "zebras," because you know, a two syllable word is a lot faster to yell than a one syllable one, and presumably because the Ref People have a terrible fear of animals of the Serengeti.
I'm starting to think that you should have to show your diploma or class schedule before being able to buy a ticket to a college football game.
Although, I do have to say, by the time the fans rushed the field the second time, I was ready to tear my hair out. STAY IN THE STANDS TIL THE FAT LADY SINGS, people. Also, how about just "don't rush the field unless it's the last game of the season and/or a bowl game and/or a championship"?
Yes, it was Homecoming, and yes, it was our biggest rival, but for pity's sake.
While we're at it, let's throw some additional Rules for Fandom out there.
1. Just because you are a large human does not mean you get more than your previously assigned allotment of bleacher.
This is not a criticism of fat people. This is a criticism of large men, in particular, who think that because they are over six feet tall and built like a brick wall, they get more space than everyone else, including sitting down on someone's THIGH without apologizing when I resumed my normal "seat 13" position after halftime.
I had about seven inches to myself at the game. I spent a lot of time standing sideways.
2. Speaking of that guy, leave the game commentary to the uneducated professionals in the box.
In addition to unapologetically crowding into my personal space, The Mountain Who Yells At Offensive Coordinators also had some serious issues with any play that resulted in less than 5 yards. "Just two yards!" he'd yell sarcastically. "Just one yard!" All the way down the field.
Behind me, Ryan concluded that he must have been working on his numbers.
Three yards! Ah-ah-ah!
 |
| I would have much rather sat with this guy. |
3. Work on your burns.
"Mormons! Funny!" - the conclusion of every dummy who didn't actually manage to graduate from the U.
While I was dealing with the Count on my left, Hannah was dealing with the white trash contingent on her right, who felt that certain words beginning with F (you know which two I'm talking about) were the height of comedy.
Look, there are a great many jokes to be made at BYU's expense. But the Mormon thing? Kind of played out. It would sort of be like trying to joke about the Pope, and coming up with, "You're Catholic!"
But explaining this to our dear friend, I fear, would have been futile. His favorite form of flirting with his girlfriend was poking her in the back while she yelled at him to quit it ... for four hours. He also enjoyed calling the refs "zebras," because you know, a two syllable word is a lot faster to yell than a one syllable one, and presumably because the Ref People have a terrible fear of animals of the Serengeti.
I'm starting to think that you should have to show your diploma or class schedule before being able to buy a ticket to a college football game.
Monday, September 3, 2012
Meet and Greet
Hello to everyone from the Gearing Up To Get An Agent Blogfest! I'm very excited to meet you and hope to make it around to a few other blogs before all these events are through. In the meantime, here is the questionnaire Deana passed around. Hope it helps you to get to know me a little better.
-Where do you write?
I try to write in my office. When I bought the Casa, the office and the porch were my favorite things. The office has taken a little longer to spruce up than other areas of the house, but I'm a big fan at the moment.
(Please ignore all the lawyer stuff. This room is presently pulling double-duty.)
However, I can make myself write just about anywhere, though not quite as effectively. Waiting for someone at work to call me back? Watching a reality TV marathon on the couch? I probably also have my laptop and Word document open.
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. I'm re-reading the entire Harry Potter series in preparation for a pub trivia tournament on Thursday. Wish me luck!
Oh, you mean of the stuff that is usually here? Well, to my left is a built in book shelf full of staplers, code books, The Federalist Papers, a food scale for weighing letters, and a can of Four Loko that is very near and dear to my heart.
-Where do you write?
I try to write in my office. When I bought the Casa, the office and the porch were my favorite things. The office has taken a little longer to spruce up than other areas of the house, but I'm a big fan at the moment.
(Please ignore all the lawyer stuff. This room is presently pulling double-duty.)
 |
| Home office: Fake Tiffany lamp, robot clock, cartoon lineup, San Pellegrino. Three of these four things were actually purchased by Diego. Can you guess which three? |
However, I can make myself write just about anywhere, though not quite as effectively. Waiting for someone at work to call me back? Watching a reality TV marathon on the couch? I probably also have my laptop and Word document open.
-Quick. Go to your writing space, sit down and look to your left. What is the first thing you see?
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. I'm re-reading the entire Harry Potter series in preparation for a pub trivia tournament on Thursday. Wish me luck!
Oh, you mean of the stuff that is usually here? Well, to my left is a built in book shelf full of staplers, code books, The Federalist Papers, a food scale for weighing letters, and a can of Four Loko that is very near and dear to my heart.
-Favorite time to write?
Afternoons and evenings. This having a "real job" nonsense seriously cramps my style.
Afternoons and evenings. This having a "real job" nonsense seriously cramps my style.
-Drink of choice while writing?
Diet Coke, except when I'm trying to get off Diet Coke. Then probably some kind of sparkling or flavored water.
Diet Coke, except when I'm trying to get off Diet Coke. Then probably some kind of sparkling or flavored water.
-When writing , do you listen to music or do you need complete silence?
It kind of depends on my mood. I almost always have music or TV on in the background, unless I am stuck. Then I'd rather have silence to try to figure out where I should go next.
It kind of depends on my mood. I almost always have music or TV on in the background, unless I am stuck. Then I'd rather have silence to try to figure out where I should go next.
-What was your inspiration for your latest manuscript and where did you find it?
I am currently working on two projects, both of them semi-inspired by my sorority days. One is a New Adult contemporary romance with LDS themes. The other is a murder mystery. Both are chock full of fun facts about my alma mater! Ahh, sororities are fun.
I am currently working on two projects, both of them semi-inspired by my sorority days. One is a New Adult contemporary romance with LDS themes. The other is a murder mystery. Both are chock full of fun facts about my alma mater! Ahh, sororities are fun.
-What's your most valuable writing tip?
Writing is like exercising. The more you do it, the easier it gets. But if you need a break, you need a break.
Writing is like exercising. The more you do it, the easier it gets. But if you need a break, you need a break.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Nothing cements victory like pastry
PS, college band leaders across America: "Livin' On A Prayer" is not really a "get pumped" song. It's more of a song that visiting fans are going to love belting out as their team gives yours the beatdown and your fans sit in sullen silence.
So perhaps next time consider the AC/DC oeuvre.
(Did I really just to use "oeuvre?" Sure did. These opportunities only come along every so often, people.)
Whoa-oh, we're halfway there
Whoa-oh, livin on a prayer
Take my hand, we'll make it I swear
Ohhhh-oh, living on a prayer ...
Friday, May 13, 2011
A miracle that made me employable
(This was posted yesterday, but given that Blogger may have eaten it, I am reposting.)
When I was in college at The Blessed U, I wrote opinion columns for The Daily Utah Chronicle. I have no idea how many, just that I started working there the summer after freshman year and continued until I graduated.
I loved my time at The Chronicle. Seriously loved it.
And yet, I'm kind of grateful no one can find any of my old columns.
You see, a few years ago, The Chronicle redesigned its webpage, and when it did, something happened to the electronic archives. It messed up formatting and removed bylines. So instead of being able to google "Ru's Real Name" and finding dozens of inflammatory, inane, or otherwise problematic columns by moi, you find a bunch of boring stuff. Which is how I like it.*
Does it make me sad that I can't easily find roughly three years' worth of work online? Sometimes. But at the same time, I'm pretty sure at least a few of those columns mocked my current employer. So some things just work out for the best.
* Do you think I'm being ridiculous with this non-googlable manifesto? Do you think I have internalized too strongly the message of infinite career counselors and law school deans who only sort-of understand social media to begin with that literally ANYTHING can come back to haunt you?
Perhaps.
But what I do know is this: A few months ago, I had to work with someone on a relatively sensitive project. The first thing I did was google him in an effort tofigure out why he was so high-strung better understand where he was coming from.
And let's just say it took me all of five minutes to find something that made it difficult for me to keep a straight face around him from that point forward. Difficult, though not impossible, since I am as professional as the day is long.
When I was in college at The Blessed U, I wrote opinion columns for The Daily Utah Chronicle. I have no idea how many, just that I started working there the summer after freshman year and continued until I graduated.
I loved my time at The Chronicle. Seriously loved it.
And yet, I'm kind of grateful no one can find any of my old columns.
You see, a few years ago, The Chronicle redesigned its webpage, and when it did, something happened to the electronic archives. It messed up formatting and removed bylines. So instead of being able to google "Ru's Real Name" and finding dozens of inflammatory, inane, or otherwise problematic columns by moi, you find a bunch of boring stuff. Which is how I like it.*
Does it make me sad that I can't easily find roughly three years' worth of work online? Sometimes. But at the same time, I'm pretty sure at least a few of those columns mocked my current employer. So some things just work out for the best.
* Do you think I'm being ridiculous with this non-googlable manifesto? Do you think I have internalized too strongly the message of infinite career counselors and law school deans who only sort-of understand social media to begin with that literally ANYTHING can come back to haunt you?
Perhaps.
But what I do know is this: A few months ago, I had to work with someone on a relatively sensitive project. The first thing I did was google him in an effort to
And let's just say it took me all of five minutes to find something that made it difficult for me to keep a straight face around him from that point forward. Difficult, though not impossible, since I am as professional as the day is long.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Can Butler beat Utah State? CAN THEY??
I never knew filling out an NCAA bracket could be so mentally taxing.
Do you use a math-based system where the high seeds win and hope that statistics are on your side?
How much does loyalty play into this? Will I feel like an idiot later if I don't pick Mountain West teams now and then they triumph over adversity and higher ranked teams? Will blind faith in UNLV, despite having never watched a UNLV game, be rewarded somehow? And as far as my home state goes, I want Utah State to go as far as they can, but at what point does that get unrealistic? Should I just substitute my Ute love for Aggie love on principle and ride that team out to the Championship? (Answer: No.)
BYU ... oh, what to do with BYU ... I feel like Jimmer alone gets them past Round 2, but BYU is famous for crumbling under high expectations. And really, nothing can compel me to put BYU in the Final Four, but at what point do I knock them out?
Does Cincinnati beat Connecticut just because it's more fun to say "Cincy?" DO THEY?
I can't even imagine how people who know stuff about college basketball handle this.
Do you use a math-based system where the high seeds win and hope that statistics are on your side?
How much does loyalty play into this? Will I feel like an idiot later if I don't pick Mountain West teams now and then they triumph over adversity and higher ranked teams? Will blind faith in UNLV, despite having never watched a UNLV game, be rewarded somehow? And as far as my home state goes, I want Utah State to go as far as they can, but at what point does that get unrealistic? Should I just substitute my Ute love for Aggie love on principle and ride that team out to the Championship? (Answer: No.)
BYU ... oh, what to do with BYU ... I feel like Jimmer alone gets them past Round 2, but BYU is famous for crumbling under high expectations. And really, nothing can compel me to put BYU in the Final Four, but at what point do I knock them out?
Does Cincinnati beat Connecticut just because it's more fun to say "Cincy?" DO THEY?
I can't even imagine how people who know stuff about college basketball handle this.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Dilem
Christmas is coming, and my billable hours are nearly reached. (Woot!) As soon as I hit that sweet 1950, I am done working. I don't care if the world is getting ready to explode and the only thing that could stop it would be me filing an injunction against Terraforma Explosificus. STAYING HOME.* Sorry, fellow Earth-dwellers.
But here's my problem. Let's say I finish all my work this week, which I intend to. I am out next Monday and Tuesday to go to New York to visit various homies. I have an application for attorneys fees to finish Wednesday, Thursday, Friday (which I may actually be able to cram in this week), but then I am done for 2010.
Do I fly home that Friday (or Saturday, or Sunday, depending on how much time I just want to spend wallowing in my apartment, drinking Diet Coke and wearing fuzzy socks) ... or do I wait, and then drive home via Las Vegas to catch the Utes versus Boise matchup in the Maaco Bowl on December 22?
So torn.
* I know some lawyers get what is known as a "bonus" for going above and beyond. But the likelihood of me getting a bonus is low, the potential bonus would be relatively small, and therefore either way, I just don't care that much. YAY FOR MORE VACATION!
But here's my problem. Let's say I finish all my work this week, which I intend to. I am out next Monday and Tuesday to go to New York to visit various homies. I have an application for attorneys fees to finish Wednesday, Thursday, Friday (which I may actually be able to cram in this week), but then I am done for 2010.
Do I fly home that Friday (or Saturday, or Sunday, depending on how much time I just want to spend wallowing in my apartment, drinking Diet Coke and wearing fuzzy socks) ... or do I wait, and then drive home via Las Vegas to catch the Utes versus Boise matchup in the Maaco Bowl on December 22?
So torn.
* I know some lawyers get what is known as a "bonus" for going above and beyond. But the likelihood of me getting a bonus is low, the potential bonus would be relatively small, and therefore either way, I just don't care that much. YAY FOR MORE VACATION!
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Why I love BYU fans
Driving home after the game yesterday, Kate's husband Ryan turned on sports radio so we could listen to a few recaps. For the most part, all the analysis came down to whether Utah would be able to hack it in the Pac-12 next year based on tonight's performance (irrelevant) and BYU fans complaining about a questionable call (typical).*
But my very favorite debate was who was truly the better team - Utah or BYU?
Utah with its 10-2 record and a (admittedly close) win over BYU ... or BYU, with a 6-6 record, and a loss to Utah.
So tough to figure out.
As the debate raged on about physicality, statitistics, aggressiveness, attitude, whose team was trending up versus down, and who just "looked better" on the field, I began to wish there were a way to determine which of two teams was superior to the other.
Perhaps there should be a way to assess the skill level, leadership, ingenuity, toughness and cohesiveness of two different groups of athletes. Maybe we could assign points to different actions, and give a certain amount of time (just throwing it out there - four fifteen minute quarters maybe) to see who achieves the most points.
Seems fair to me.
* Before you get all outraged and send me links to the instant-replay, I just want to say this: Sports are not scientific. Let's assume the call was wrong. Guess what? Mistakes get made, teams win and lose over bad luck, and it all evens out in the end. Cough cough Washington State? Yeah. So please, keep my blog a NO BITCHING ZONE.
(Except for my bitching.)
(OK, you can bitch. But minimal pro-BYU bitching, please. There's already too much of that in the world.)
And as for the possibility the call was right? Look. The calls are made on the field. If they are challenged, there has to be incontrovertable evidence that the call was wrong or the call stands. The call was challenged, and there was not sufficient evidence to overturn it. If you want to live in a world of activist referees, fine, but personally, I want to live in a world where our judges call it like they see it, and restrain themselves based on the parameters they are given. Liberal hippies.
Finally, there is also the luck factor. Yes, a punt-interception-touchdown drive is a bit of a fluke. But to that I just want to say, in general, the classics had it right: Fortes fortuna adiuvat. Suck it, monkeys.
But my very favorite debate was who was truly the better team - Utah or BYU?
Utah with its 10-2 record and a (admittedly close) win over BYU ... or BYU, with a 6-6 record, and a loss to Utah.
So tough to figure out.
As the debate raged on about physicality, statitistics, aggressiveness, attitude, whose team was trending up versus down, and who just "looked better" on the field, I began to wish there were a way to determine which of two teams was superior to the other.
Perhaps there should be a way to assess the skill level, leadership, ingenuity, toughness and cohesiveness of two different groups of athletes. Maybe we could assign points to different actions, and give a certain amount of time (just throwing it out there - four fifteen minute quarters maybe) to see who achieves the most points.
Seems fair to me.
* Before you get all outraged and send me links to the instant-replay, I just want to say this: Sports are not scientific. Let's assume the call was wrong. Guess what? Mistakes get made, teams win and lose over bad luck, and it all evens out in the end. Cough cough Washington State? Yeah. So please, keep my blog a NO BITCHING ZONE.
(Except for my bitching.)
(OK, you can bitch. But minimal pro-BYU bitching, please. There's already too much of that in the world.)
And as for the possibility the call was right? Look. The calls are made on the field. If they are challenged, there has to be incontrovertable evidence that the call was wrong or the call stands. The call was challenged, and there was not sufficient evidence to overturn it. If you want to live in a world of activist referees, fine, but personally, I want to live in a world where our judges call it like they see it, and restrain themselves based on the parameters they are given. Liberal hippies.
Finally, there is also the luck factor. Yes, a punt-interception-touchdown drive is a bit of a fluke. But to that I just want to say, in general, the classics had it right: Fortes fortuna adiuvat. Suck it, monkeys.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
In which I lecture all of you, though none of you likely deserve it
Today's game was not a fun experience.
And I know it sucks to watch good players make bad mistakes.
But while everyone needs to be able to express their frustration with a bad play (brief yelling, groaning, the occasional Gob Bluth "Come on!"), if you plan to boo your own team, just get the hell out of the stadium.
And I know it sucks to watch good players make bad mistakes.
But while everyone needs to be able to express their frustration with a bad play (brief yelling, groaning, the occasional Gob Bluth "Come on!"), if you plan to boo your own team, just get the hell out of the stadium.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Who knew? I miss working at Deseret Book
I was back in Utah for a few days to be sworn in as a proud member of the Utah Bar Association. (Yeah, basically, when I was a junior highschooler, imagining myself published and totally wealthy by 26, what I really meant was LAWYER WITH DUAL ADMISSION.)
I love "Austin" in the Fall. 85 degrees and blue skies. Palm trees inside, autumn-scented Bath and Body Works candles inside. (Uh, yeah, autumn has a scent. And it comes in Bath and Body Works candles Can't believe you didn't know that.)
But being back home - even wearing my orange coat from last fall - made me very nostalgic for when my life was broke and awesome.
I worked in a super laid back office. Everybody was chill, even if most of them were BYU fans. (And one of them sang at me once. Scratch that. Several times.) I always finished work by 5 pm, and never felt compelled to take anything home. I made just enough money to justify eating overly expensive sandwiches and soup every day at lunch. (Miss you, Hagermans.) Several of my law school homies worked just around the corner. The boy I was dating lived within walking distance of my office. Going to a Ute game didn't involve packing and airports.
I have very mixed feelings about living in Austin. I love most of the people I work with, even if only a few of them are chill. I almost never finish work by 5 pm, and I always feel like I have to do something at home. I make more money, but I pay more taxes, and there are no fun places to walk to lunch, so mostly I drink a can of V8 (which I hate) and a can of Slim Fast (which I hate more). I do not feel that this routine has resulted in a smaller ass size, and now I resent the case of Slim Fast I bought at Costco. (But at least I'm prepared for the zombie apocalypse.)
I love my apartment, but I don't love my ward. (Sorry, ward. It's not me, it's you.) I love sleeping with my windows open in November, I hate that there's no snow.
Being a lawyer is not at all what I thought it would be like. And I was expecting it to not meet my expectations.
I'm going back again in a few days for the TCU Blackout game and to hang out with my friends and family this weekend. (Please don't rob my awesome apartment.) I hope I'm less nostalgic, I hope I have some magic epiphany about what I need to do to get my life in order. I hope we kick the hell out of TCU, and I have at least three excuses to put on a scarf.
If any two of those things happens -- particularly the beating TCU part -- I will be completely content. For at least another week.
I love "Austin" in the Fall. 85 degrees and blue skies. Palm trees inside, autumn-scented Bath and Body Works candles inside. (Uh, yeah, autumn has a scent. And it comes in Bath and Body Works candles Can't believe you didn't know that.)
But being back home - even wearing my orange coat from last fall - made me very nostalgic for when my life was broke and awesome.
I worked in a super laid back office. Everybody was chill, even if most of them were BYU fans. (And one of them sang at me once. Scratch that. Several times.) I always finished work by 5 pm, and never felt compelled to take anything home. I made just enough money to justify eating overly expensive sandwiches and soup every day at lunch. (Miss you, Hagermans.) Several of my law school homies worked just around the corner. The boy I was dating lived within walking distance of my office. Going to a Ute game didn't involve packing and airports.
I have very mixed feelings about living in Austin. I love most of the people I work with, even if only a few of them are chill. I almost never finish work by 5 pm, and I always feel like I have to do something at home. I make more money, but I pay more taxes, and there are no fun places to walk to lunch, so mostly I drink a can of V8 (which I hate) and a can of Slim Fast (which I hate more). I do not feel that this routine has resulted in a smaller ass size, and now I resent the case of Slim Fast I bought at Costco. (But at least I'm prepared for the zombie apocalypse.)
I love my apartment, but I don't love my ward. (Sorry, ward. It's not me, it's you.) I love sleeping with my windows open in November, I hate that there's no snow.
Being a lawyer is not at all what I thought it would be like. And I was expecting it to not meet my expectations.
I'm going back again in a few days for the TCU Blackout game and to hang out with my friends and family this weekend. (Please don't rob my awesome apartment.) I hope I'm less nostalgic, I hope I have some magic epiphany about what I need to do to get my life in order. I hope we kick the hell out of TCU, and I have at least three excuses to put on a scarf.
If any two of those things happens -- particularly the beating TCU part -- I will be completely content. For at least another week.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Sweatshirt love
Hey Ute fans, if you happen to have an excuse to be in Salt Lake City tomorrow, it's Fan Appreciation Day at the Bookstore, which means 25% off U of U gear.
The last time I was in SLC, I picked up a zip hoodie that feels like I'm being hugged when I put it on. Sooooo soft. Sooooo fuzzy.
I know I kinda sound like one of those blogger girls who waxes poetic about lacy underskirts and knitted pinkie warmers (and secretly hopes for some tasty corporate sponsorship to come her way), but for shizzle. (And I never say "for shizzle" lightly.)
Sometimes you just need your wardrobe to take care of you. I basically plan to live in this zip hoodie all weekend.
The last time I was in SLC, I picked up a zip hoodie that feels like I'm being hugged when I put it on. Sooooo soft. Sooooo fuzzy.
I know I kinda sound like one of those blogger girls who waxes poetic about lacy underskirts and knitted pinkie warmers (and secretly hopes for some tasty corporate sponsorship to come her way), but for shizzle. (And I never say "for shizzle" lightly.)
Sometimes you just need your wardrobe to take care of you. I basically plan to live in this zip hoodie all weekend.
Friday, September 10, 2010
The U
Let's get something clear right now: the University of Utah is the U.
Now, I don't expect people outside of Utah to automatically know what I mean when I say I attended the U. Lots of places have abbreviations that outsiders don't get. For example, it took me forever to realize that "Texas" is the University of Texas at Austin, not Texas Tech or Texas A&M. So in general, I specify "The University of Utah" and try to avoid referring to my alma mater (times 2) solely as "the U." I already attended a badass university and law school -- I have to attempt humility somewhere.
But it is infuriating to run into people who attended the University of Miami, who all insist that THEY, not I, attended "The U." And yeah. That happens.
So I just want to say to all you out there in BlogLand: Suck it, Hurricanes, and get over your deluded selves. The University of Utah. Chello? You think you get a letter just because there's "University" in your name?
University of Santa Barbara.
University of Southern California.
University of Florida.
University of Arizona.
University of Michigan.
University of Maine.
University of Phoenix.
Etc.
Etc.
Etc.
Either we refer to them ALL as "The U," or we all agree, once and for all, that the alliterative university gets the letter.
Until this egregious behavior is rectified, I am officially adding the University of Miami to my list of Teams I Hate on Principle, which currently only includes BYU* and Ohio State**.
* As for BYU, I do not care if they win or lose their games and would generally prefer they beat BCS teams, but I will always want the U to defeat them, and generally in the most humiliating fashion possible.
** Also, I mostly just "hate" Ohio State because I think they are the most over-ranked football program in the history of the world. No real reason other than that.
Now, I don't expect people outside of Utah to automatically know what I mean when I say I attended the U. Lots of places have abbreviations that outsiders don't get. For example, it took me forever to realize that "Texas" is the University of Texas at Austin, not Texas Tech or Texas A&M. So in general, I specify "The University of Utah" and try to avoid referring to my alma mater (times 2) solely as "the U." I already attended a badass university and law school -- I have to attempt humility somewhere.
But it is infuriating to run into people who attended the University of Miami, who all insist that THEY, not I, attended "The U." And yeah. That happens.
So I just want to say to all you out there in BlogLand: Suck it, Hurricanes, and get over your deluded selves. The University of Utah. Chello? You think you get a letter just because there's "University" in your name?
University of Santa Barbara.
University of Southern California.
University of Florida.
University of Arizona.
University of Michigan.
University of Maine.
University of Phoenix.
Etc.
Etc.
Etc.
Either we refer to them ALL as "The U," or we all agree, once and for all, that the alliterative university gets the letter.
Until this egregious behavior is rectified, I am officially adding the University of Miami to my list of Teams I Hate on Principle, which currently only includes BYU* and Ohio State**.
* As for BYU, I do not care if they win or lose their games and would generally prefer they beat BCS teams, but I will always want the U to defeat them, and generally in the most humiliating fashion possible.
** Also, I mostly just "hate" Ohio State because I think they are the most over-ranked football program in the history of the world. No real reason other than that.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Best ... feeling ... ever
Tonight, I will miss my first University of Utah home football game in SIX YEARS. That's a streak right there. (And it would be longer, but for a few minor interruptions during my freshmen and sophomore years.)
I miss my homies and I miss Salt Lake City.
But really?
I love football. And it's hard to be bummed out when there's a good game that needs watching.
Four hours to go, homeskillets.
I miss my homies and I miss Salt Lake City.
But really?
I love football. And it's hard to be bummed out when there's a good game that needs watching.
Four hours to go, homeskillets.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Seven
I have realized that seven is my optimal friend-making number.
When I don't know anyone (as I do here, in Austin), I can't make friends in a crowded gym. It looks fun, and if Diego, Kate, Alicia, Hannah, Rob, Sally, Aaron, etc. were here to boogie down with me, I would have gladly joined the dance party.
But when I'm alone, I just can't seem to do it.
You would think this makes me more of a one-on-one girl, but you'd be wrong. I'm not good at putting my best foot forward, nor am I a very good judge of character. Meeting a brand new person is generally an excruciating experience for me, and very rarely results in a brand new BFFship being formed.
Which is why college and law school were my ideal friendship-making zones. You were constantly in smallish of groups of people, usually too lazy to leave the premises. Friendships just were--it was very Zen. Groups of seven people, hanging out and doing something? I am all over that action.
Will someone please find me a play date so I can make some effing friends already?
When I don't know anyone (as I do here, in Austin), I can't make friends in a crowded gym. It looks fun, and if Diego, Kate, Alicia, Hannah, Rob, Sally, Aaron, etc. were here to boogie down with me, I would have gladly joined the dance party.
But when I'm alone, I just can't seem to do it.
You would think this makes me more of a one-on-one girl, but you'd be wrong. I'm not good at putting my best foot forward, nor am I a very good judge of character. Meeting a brand new person is generally an excruciating experience for me, and very rarely results in a brand new BFFship being formed.
Which is why college and law school were my ideal friendship-making zones. You were constantly in smallish of groups of people, usually too lazy to leave the premises. Friendships just were--it was very Zen. Groups of seven people, hanging out and doing something? I am all over that action.
Will someone please find me a play date so I can make some effing friends already?
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Max Hall hates me and thinks I'm classless
First question:
If every BYU fan in the world claims to know someone who has had beer thrown on them during a game, why don't I know a single person who knows a single person who has ever done that? Or even a single person who has SEEN it done? Could I please get some documented evidence of a U fan EVER throwing beer at a BYU fan? C'mon people, in the era of camera phones, if it's ever really happened, the moment has been digitally captured.
Second question:
Does this mean we can officially retire that old BYU line that they're the classy ones? Because that was old BEFORE the BYU quarterback claimed our entire school -- sociology department, student newspaper, LDS Institute building, law school, med school, juggling club -- was classless.
And one comment:
If you want to know how classy is done, Mr. Hall, maybe you should go look up what Eric Weddle said about your team and your players after he had just LOST in 2007.
If every BYU fan in the world claims to know someone who has had beer thrown on them during a game, why don't I know a single person who knows a single person who has ever done that? Or even a single person who has SEEN it done? Could I please get some documented evidence of a U fan EVER throwing beer at a BYU fan? C'mon people, in the era of camera phones, if it's ever really happened, the moment has been digitally captured.
Second question:
Does this mean we can officially retire that old BYU line that they're the classy ones? Because that was old BEFORE the BYU quarterback claimed our entire school -- sociology department, student newspaper, LDS Institute building, law school, med school, juggling club -- was classless.
And one comment:
If you want to know how classy is done, Mr. Hall, maybe you should go look up what Eric Weddle said about your team and your players after he had just LOST in 2007.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
Having a collegiate moment
At the Salt Lake Roasting Co., enjoying a cookie and steamed milk while I work on a fellowship project leftover from my law school days.
Surrounded by hipsters and one guy who kinda looks like Emmanuel of homeless-dudes-who-kidnap-teenage-girls-fame. One particularly granola looking couple appears to be on a blind date. One girl who looks like she hasn't slept in awhile is struggling with calculus and flirting with her study-buddy. (The flirting appears to be going well.) There are peacoats and scarves EVERYWHERE.
Had no idea how much I missed the pseudo-life that students lead. Sigh.
Surrounded by hipsters and one guy who kinda looks like Emmanuel of homeless-dudes-who-kidnap-teenage-girls-fame. One particularly granola looking couple appears to be on a blind date. One girl who looks like she hasn't slept in awhile is struggling with calculus and flirting with her study-buddy. (The flirting appears to be going well.) There are peacoats and scarves EVERYWHERE.
Had no idea how much I missed the pseudo-life that students lead. Sigh.
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