things that make me happy (today)

"I consider myself a skilled peer pressure-er," said Ali today over g-chat as she tried to convince me to write this post. "Hannah has even written one already!" she said, in a further attempt to persuade me. (Hannah is well known as the most perfectionistic, and thus the slowest, blog writer, possibly ever.)

Well, I don't doubt Ali's peer-pressuring skills in the slightest, having been the (usually) happy victim many times before, but the thing is, I didn't really need that much convincing. It's just that I, unlike the two of them, apparently, had work to do today (something that may actually come up again soon...).

I only mention the way this all came about because I think it is a good reminder of how important it is to focus on the things that make us happy and thankful. Even before she convinced me to write one of my own, Ali mentioned her plan to write a things-that-make-me-happy post, and it got me to thinking about the subject. The thing is, I had a big disappointment yesterday that was making me feel down about the world. But when I put my mind to thinking about things that made me happy--I couldn't stop thinking of new things! Thus, I recommend this practice, and write the following list of things--no matter how small--that made me happy today.

1.Morning swim. A new pool recently opened fairly close to my house and I and a friend or two have been going there to swim a couple mornings a week. This is part of my I-miss-exercising-and-I-should-do-it-more plan. Why should I do it more? Because it makes me happy.

2.Editing the Vietnam Cultural Window magazine proof. This is my favorite part of my job, and it only comes around once every two months. I get kind of upset when I don't get to be the person who does it. Why? Because it makes me happy.

3.Interactions with people. This morning, a pair of men, who turned out to be brothers, struck up a conversation with me in the pool. Even though it started with a question that can indicate the beginning of an aggravating, you-are-amazing-just-because-you-are-a-foreigner conversation, it was not aggravating. Maybe it helped that the one man and I had something in common--we are both editors! Additionally, at lunch today, I realized, for no particular reason, how much I have come to like my co-workers. Thirdly, I went to my new favorite coffee shop to read during lunch, and realized that the workers there know who I am now. Being a "regular" always makes me happy.

4.Reading. When the coffee is so cheap and the coffee shop is so air-conditioned and I have such a long lunch break, there isn't much to stop me from going to the above mentioned coffee shop nearly every lunchtime to read. I just finished Great Expectations, which I enjoyed in the way I might enjoy a 14 mile run--it's great fun and leaves you with a great feeling of accomplishment, but you are ready to be done with it so you can move on to eating and showering. And now I have moved on to a lighter fare: Run, by Ann Patchett. Sure enough, reading it makes me happy.

5.Air conditioning. Weather.com told me that it was 97 in Hanoi today, but that it felt like 116. Or something like that. I think it is obvious why A/C makes me happy.

6.My hair. It looks good today, even post-sweaty bike ride. I'm not going to lie, looking good (which I usually don't in this weather) makes me feel happy.

7.The fact that my co-worker pumps breast milk every afternoon around this time while she sits in front of her computer. After the initial surprise, this has made me happy ever since.

8. I think I eeked a smile out of my host grandma this morning on my way out. This could have been my imagination, but if it was I going to go right on imagining it...why? Because it makes me happy, of course!

9. 2 months. That's how long it is before I get to see you. I will enjoy being here for those 2 months, but I'll admit that thoughts of going home do make me happy.

10. SAPA! Tonight a 9:50 pm, I and a number of my closest friends in Vietnam will board an overnight train to Sapa, a mountainous area near the China border. It's probably the place in Vietnam I've been looking forward to going to the most, and my work is paying for it as a thank-you present for all the free labor. Pretty good deal I think. There should be lots of mountains and gorgeousness and some "trekking" (cool backpacker-y word for hiking) and...can you tell that the mere thought of it makes me...happy?

And now, I hope this has made Ali happy. Why? Because making other people happy makes me happy! :)

taste the rainbow

I thought I'd gotten used to "weird foods"--I've eaten snake, after all. And as far as fruit goes--I can eat my weight. In fact, one of the things I love most about Vietnamese cuisine/culture is the part where we all sit around after the meal and eat fruit and drink Vietnamese green tea. This is a pretty traditional habit; but in my family it's a fairly consistent nightly occurrence. Thus I've tried a plethora of fruits--from familiar (boring) things like apples, to things that look like they must come from other planets--hot pink dragon fruit; spiky, red rambutans; bumpy custard apples; and green oranges. Often, I find myself eating fruits I don't know the English names of; for all I know, some of them don't even have English names.

After more than 8 months of exposure to phenomena like these, I usually don't even glance twice at strange-looking fruit, but tonight was an exception. I was pleasantly shocked when, after supper, Co Van produced, from a large pot on the stove, purple sweet potatoes! I never even knew such a thing existed! (I find it interesting that the disfigurement of a known element is often more shocking than the appearance of a completely foreign one.) They were steamed to perfection and required no condiments. Mine was by far the most delicious and beautiful thing I have consumed in awhile, especially considering that purple might be my new favorite color.

Isn't it great when shockingly colored food does not necessarily have to imply a warning against its countless preservatives, unnatural dyes, and surplus sugar? I think so. It's just so much more fun this way! Of course, Vietnamese people are deathly afraid of pesticides (especially from Chinese-grown fruit), but this mostly means that even the most pain-in-the-butt types of fruit are washed multiple times and painstakingly peeled. At home, I would probably be far to lazy to put in the effort it takes to eat these exotic fruits; but here, they aren't exotic, and preparing them is an everyday task. (One that has rarely been assigned to me since my mango-peeling episode, and due to the fact that Vietnamese are naturally dubious of any foreigner's fruit-cutting ability.)

I'll taste this rainbow any day.

snake snacks

I recently got a request to write about food--something that should not be too difficult considering that food is something I'm pretty passionate about. It is especially easy to comply to this request because I just wrote a related article for Viet Nam Cultural Window, the tourism magazine (which I play a large part in editing) published by The Gioi Publishers every two months. However, given past experience, the article requires a preface (even though--once again from past experience--it probably won't work):

WARNING: READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. This entry may contain information unappetizing to those with weak stomachs or who are opposed to eating even animals commonly considered palatable by Western standards. Furthermore, the author will not accept future complaints about its contents (though she is not opposed to compliments about her culinary bravery).

Snake snacks

So, you’ve eaten phỏ by the side of the road more times than you can count—even taken it away in a plastic bag once or twice. You’ve braved the sketchy fresh greens in bún chả and bún ốc, and tried their siblings, bún ca, bún thang, bún bo, chả ca—yeah, you’ve got the bún noodle dishes covered too. Maybe you’ve been more daring than that and ventured into the “weird meat” territory—the land of dog meat and bubbly pig skin. Perhaps you have even developed a habit of gnawing on pigs’ feet. However, if you are one of those people who prides yourself on your fearless ability to try anything, there is still one stop left for you on your tour of the more exotic foods of Hà Nội—the snake village of Lệ Mật, located just outside Hà Nội on the road to Bát Tràng, the famous ceramic village.

One Sunday afternoon, seven friends and I headed across the Long Bien Bridge to visit Bát Tràng Ceramic Village,then stopped at Lệ Mật on the way back. What ensued was not the most filling or cheapest food I have yet eaten in Việt Nam, but it was the epitome of dinner and a show.

The restaurant owner and his son welcomed us enthusiastically by dangling two writhing snakes before us and rattling off the prices and merits of each. They told us that the larger bamboo snake (800,000VNĐ) was better for eating than the smaller, more expensive cobra (1,000,000VNĐ), whose blood made for better wine. While the cobra was enticing—mainly for the exotic idea of eating a poisonous reptile—the bamboo snake and its cheaper price proved more appealing to our group of hungry twenty-somethings, half of whom are volunteers.

After checking out a room filled floor-to-ceiling with glass vats in which coiled snakes and various other animals stewed in wine, we took seats in the delightful open-air dining room and awaited our serpentine dinner-mate. Our host brought the snake right to our table and allowed us to watch as he expertly slit its belly, squirted its blood into a jar, and extracted its still-beating heart.

As we waited for our meal—a set menu of six dishes, one of which apparently disappeared en route, made from various parts of our snake, complimented by an assortment of dipping sauces and a dish of qua sung moi (traditional Vietnamese pickled figs)—our server brought shots of rice wine mixed with snake blood, which the more courageous among us used to toast our forthcoming culinary adventure. One particularly lucky individual got to add the snake’s heart to his glass. We chased that shot with a round of bile wine.

bile: just so romantic...

After the wine escapade, we began nibbling crushed snake bones. The crunchy consistency of this dish—which was served with sesame rice crackers—turned some off, but its liberal sprinkling of peanuts and sesame made it a tasty appetizer by my standards.

snake bones and sesame crackers: the new chips and salsa?

Next on the menu was grilled snake meat. The small amount of meat I was able to pull off the bones was quite good; the seasoning was superb. The following course of chả cuốn lá lốt (ground meat rolled in lolot leaves) was well flavored but, once again, bone-riddled. My favorite dish was the miniature fried spring rolls; of course, I am partial to spring rolls in general. By group consensus, the sticky rice—which claimed to be made with our snake’s fat and was topped with fried garlic—was also a hit.

If your goal is to get as much food as you can for as little money as possible, then find yourself a plastic chair and some mý xao in the Old Quarter; but for a culinary adventure and a story that will guarantee the amazement of your friends at home, venture across the Long Bien Bridge for snake snacks at Lệ Mật.

So there you have it. Any other requests? :)

a brief note on noodles:

phỏ: This word by itself can refer to one of the more famous Vietnamese dishes, and certainly the most famous of Hà Nội origin. However, the word phỏ also refers to the specific type of noodle used--a thin, flat rice noodle. This noodle soup features a clear broth, either beef or chicken, and some green onions. It is best with lemon (have I mentioned that Vietnamese lemons are green?--and no, they're not limes), black pepper, and chili added. (This is one of my favorite parts of eating phỏ--the process of doctoring it up and mixing it, while the delightful aroma wafts into my face.) There are many other uses of the phỏ noodle that I don't mention in this article.

bún: this is another variety of rice noodle, but this one is round and even skinnier--sort of like a pale, flimsy version of angel-hair spaghetti. The dishes I mention in that paragraph are various dishes that incorporate bún noodles--bún with beef, bún with snails, bún soup, bún soup with fish, bún with grilled fish...

mý xao: mý is (did you guess it yet?) yet another type of noodle. This variety is egg based and curly--close kin to that friend of the stereotypical college student, the Ramen noodle. Xao means pan-fried. This dish is usually topped with veggies and meat, or both, and is quite delicious in a greasy, comfort-food way.

A noodle is not just a noodle: If the number of different names and seemingly minuscule distinctions seems ridiculous and unfathomable to you, then don't let me get started on the different types of rice and "cakes." But believe me, I was right there with you at first. It seems silly, but to put it into perspective, just think what it would be like to be a foreigner who hardly ever eats bread who is just arriving in a Western culture. Think of learning the difference between French bread, wheat bread, focaccia, bagels, muffins, and croissants. Alternately, think of all the varieties of Italian pasta; to call noodles "noodles" in Việt Nam is like calling lasagna "spaghetti."

This is clearly not a comprehensive look at the noodle, the "for fun" Vietnamese food (rice is what you eat every day because you have to, noodles are what you eat for fun), but hopefully it helped you at least understand the snake article a little better!

adapted...or not.

On my way to work this morning, I ran into a significant traffic jam. No big deal. After determining that I could not, in fact, see any end to the line of cars and xe may, I decided to grab some coffee and wait it out--I had time (and no one would have cared much if I hadn't). So I went into "Sunday Coffee," ordered myself a caphe nau da, and spent about twenty minutes reading Great Expectations. As I was paying and preparing to leave, I glanced outside and noticed that the surface of West Lake was choppy and the sky was black; approximately two seconds later, it started pouring. Without any consideration whatsoever, I sat right back down and reopened Dickens.

As a few other women clad in business attire--clearly caught on their way to work--jumped off their xe may and into the cafe, ordering breakfast and coffee, I smiled to myself, thinking, I am so Vietnamese right now.

I sat, alternately chatting with one of the other women, text messaging Ali, and reading my book, for another hour, until the rain let up--not even feeling guilty about not being at work. I remembered how, during my first month or so in Viet Nam, I had gone to great lengths to wrap my bag up in five plastic bags and had ridden through a pounding storm to arrive--sopping wet but punctual--to a completely empty office. When my coworkers sauntered in an hour later, they expressed surprise that I had not waited the storm out at home.

So, see how well I learn? How well I have adapted to life in Viet Nam after 8 months? I have even started to plan to be places late sometimes, because I got sick of always waiting around for my friends to arrive. But before I get too cocky, I should probably relate an incident from this afternoon.

This afternoon, Hannah and I were drinking coffee next door as usual (let's not stop to calculate how many of my stories involve the phrase "I was sitting drinking coffee...") and a woman walked by selling pineapple from the baskets hanging off either end of her shoulder pole. Being the eternally hungry person I am, I bought some. Turns out, the pineapple had been sitting in her basket for some time...it was rancid. As we headed back towards our office, I grabbed the bag intending to throw it away, but saw another woman with a shoulder pole, the baskets of which contained what looked remarkably like trash...so I threw mine in. Not only Hannah, but also a few people around us chuckled--turned out the woman's baskets were not intended for trash after all, but the recyclable materials she collects and sells. Oops! Too bad, because sometimes it is still a struggle for me bring myself to drop trash in the gutter by the side of the street, even though I know that by the next day, someone will have swept it up.

Well, they say, you win some, you lose some. I say, sometimes you just win. Because I had a great time reading and watching the storm this morning. And this afternoon, I made people laugh. Besides, I'll admit that I don't mind if I never get in the habit of comfortably throwing my trash in the gutter. And I'm going to count on the fact that I will be able to re-assimilate into an American version of timeliness fairly easily since, as we have seen today, I am an expert at cultural adaptation.

SOP english = no grammar

When I finished my last post, I proceeded to pack for my trip to India the next morning! I spent the whole next day (Monday) traveling, although only about 5 hours of it was actually spent in planes. Rather, Ali and I spent around 9 hours chilling in the Bankok airport. This might sound like a terrible prospect, but we actually enjoyed ourselves quite fully and managed to never get bored. The highlights included eating pizza and long-anticipated Dairy Queen blizzards (yum!), and spending hours people watching. We finally did arrive in Bangalore, India, around midnight and to our final destination, the Vishtar Compound.

Ali and I are here as guests/observers of the School of Peace (SOP), an annual inter-faith, inter-ethnic course for young people from Asia and Southeast Asia who are dedicated to working toward peace and justice in their communities and countries. SOP is actually wrapping up after a couple months of training, but is busy preparing for the Festival of Just Peace that will take place this weekend.

I really had no idea what to expect before coming here, but so far my experience in India has been a drastic change from my normal life in Hanoi. This might be best summed up in the words of the SOP participants who, on the first morning informed Ali and me, "Here, we speak SOP English." In answer to my question about what that entailed, they responded, "SOP English no grammar." As the school is conducted in English, applicants are required to speak it, but students' levels definitely vary. However, after a couple months living together, they really have found a way of communicating with each other, and have formed a tight-knit community. And while some of the English here is not much different from that which I read and edit at work in Hanoi, here, unlike there, it is not my responsibility to "fix" it. Rather, I listen and observe.

The first day, when Ali and I started working alongside the SOP students, clearing up the grounds in preparation for the festival, one of them apologized to me, saying, "Sorry you have to work so hard!" But I said, "It's no problem! It is a nice change because usually I would be sitting in front of a computer." And it's so true. I am enjoying the physical labor and being outside. Vishtar is a beautiful, quiet compound--quite refreshing after Hanoi. I have even learned a new skill--weaving mats out of palm leaves. Probably not something I can put on my resume, but fun anyways. The mats are used to make the walls and roofs of the stalls for the booths that various organizations will set up.

Otherwise, we attended a human rights rally at a Bangalore University (unfortunately, the speakers spoke in Hindi, so I could not understand much except that they were very passionate about their issues), have eaten lots of Indian food, have listened to a lot of stories, and have provided a feast for the resident mosquitos. The weather has been delightful. We heard horror stories of the 45 degree Celcius + heat wave that had hit India, but fortunately it is a big place and we are in a different area of the country. It is hot, but quite dry, and it cools down considerably at night. I am learning a lot, and will get to continue doing so for longer than anticipated, because we get to stay in India for a couple extra days to go on the SOP fieldtrip to Mysore on Monday!

silly me.

Sometimes I manage to worry or dread myself into quite a state about really silly, unnecessary things. I mean, I guess all worries are unnecessary, but some are more ridiculous than others. Including most of mine. Sometimes, I dread something and put it off for a long time and make it into this huge, terrible thing in my head; then when I finally get around to it, I am pleasantly surprised at how non-heinous it is.

Like tonight. To step back a few weeks, I have found myself coming off of a couple really incredible months in which I have honestly been loving life in Viet Nam, to a couple of weeks that have been inexplicably blah. So, I was already in an easily-annoyed mood.

My past few weeks of annoyance with life have been contributed to by my dear/aggravating bicycle, which has been struggling. Just the other weekend, I spent a whole morning finding a repairman and then getting my back wheel's tube replaced after having a perpetually flat tire, and yesterday--much to my annoyance--the flatness returned, even after the third time getting it pumped.

So the plan: take the bike to the MCC office, so that our guard can take it somewhere to get a tune-up while I am gone in India for a week (!!). The thing is, the only way I could figure out how to get the bike there was to walk it from my house, along the aptly-named "Smelly River." Now this walk--probably around 4 km, give or take some-- wouldn't be so bad for a strong girl like me. But have you ever walked a bike any distance before? Yeah, its annoying. Sometimes it even kicks you. And here, I expected that I would have an hour of "Allo!"s and stares to put up with--things that sometimes only make me laugh, but other days drive me crazy. And, given my recent history, I figured today was likely to be one of those other days.

Anyways, to make this already-long story short, I finally did it, and it just wasn't nearly as bad as I expected. As far as the catcalls go, I think I just got one compliment and one exclamation of "foreigner!!!" until I got to this one group of guys who really wanted me to come into their restaurant; but by that point I was able to just laugh off their comments (which were probably just responses to my height, white skin and "tall nose"--in other words, my astounding, exotic beauty--anyways).

Then, after dropping off my bike, I needed to find a xe om (motor taxi) home, because while I could have walked or ran, I really needed to pack. I found a group xe om men, and after some spirited bargaining and timely use of the walk-away tactic, I got one of them down from 50,000 (a truly ridiculous price) to 30,000. I was happy. And, of course, the men complimented me on my Vietnamese, which was really a load of BS considering that I had really only said the words "so expensive!", the name of my street, and a bunch of numbers, along with various noises of disgust. And considering that my Vietnamese really isn't good at all, as I've been reminded of a lot recently. However, these days I have been feeling particularly down about my lack of Vietnamese and--as a result--about my interactions with people, so I couldn't help but feel a little good about the encounter.

I realized two things. One, about the actual xe om bartering situation: so much is really just about confidence. I didn't speak Vietnamese well, but I was confident about the fact that the man's price was absurd. My dad gave me some advice recently that I have found to be profound. Paraphrased, it was something like this: sometimes the only way to gain confidence is to act like you are already confident. I'm not always good at living this out, but when I am, it often pays off.

The other thing was just how often I blow silly situations way out of proportion. Which is a lesson you would think I might have learned by now; clearly I still need reminders.

Anyways, remember how I said I had to get a xe om home so I could pack for India? Yeah, about that...

reverting back to my 10-year-old self

When I was in second grade, I was home-schooled for a year. During the first week of school, my teacher, Mr. Dad, assigned me reading homework: I had a week to read Laura Ingles Wilder's Little House in the Big Woods. To counteract the image any of you, my dear readers, may have of me as having always been a perfect student, allow me to present you with an alternative image: little Calah playing with her long braid as she explains to her dad on Sunday night how, although she hadn't finished the book as she was suposed to, she did, in fact, read a whole chapter! However, she never again had to plead her case, because from that point on, a book per week became a laughable minimum requirement.

When I was around ten years old, my family moved to the Navajo Reservation in Northeastern Arizona. We lived about a half hour's drive from my school, and there were few children my age on the hospital compund we lived on in Ganado, Arizona. I didn't have a lot of friends. However, while the first few years were difficult, I don't remember being lonely, per se. Mostly I just remember reading read all the time.

In college, I read plenty, but--as assigned reading and competitive running are
wont to do--was too exhausted during my breaks to do much reading for pleasure aside from the occassional, long-anticipated Harry Potter book. I must admit to some sadness at the fact that I, who had in some sense dedicated my life--or a chunk of it--to words, no longer felt a desire to read unless forced. Although that isn't entirely true--I often felt the desire to be swept away by a great story again, to stay up well past my bedtime reading a book I couldn't put down. But when I would try to pick up a book, there just wasn't any chemistry there.

Well, I'm pretty sure I've found the spark again. While I probably have more friends than my 10-year-old self, I seem to have reverted back to her habit of devouring any book she could get her hands on.

Last week I finished reading Outliers: The Story of Success, by Malcom Gladwell. I enjoyed the book, but the significance of this is not in the book itself, but in the fact that it is the twentieth book I have read in the almost eight months I have been in Viet Nam. Now, by my calculations, this is only 2.5 books per month--probably less than the weekly average of my 10-year-old self--but I still think that it is a significant number, even if some of them were on the short side. Whether or not you agree is irrelevant to me; I mention my twentieth book because reading has been a significant and very enjoyable part of my time living in Viet Nam. It has been at times an escape from loneliness, at times entertainment during periods of boredom (yeah, Mom, I know that word is not in the Bible, but sometimes I just can't find another word to describe it!), and at times a justification to myself for not watching MTV with my host sisters, just to name a few times.

Anyways, as no one but me is probably quite as excited about my entire "Books read in Viet Nam" list, I thought I would just mention a few of my favorites thus far:

The Bean Trees (Barbara Kingsolver): It's set in Arizona: automatic bonus points. I think I read this one in two days because it was so amazing. I don't really know why; it's just a good story, I guess, aside from being well written. If I was allowing myself to list multiple books by the same author, Animal Dreams would be here too, especially since that one is not only set in Arizona, but part of it takes place in Canyon de Chelly--around Christmas Day! (My family used to hike in Canyon de Chelly every Christmas Day!!!) Ok. I'm done with my AZ ad now. Don't be misled; The Bean Trees really is good in its own right, not just for Kingsolver's excellent choice of setting.

The Amazing Adventures of Cavalier and Clay (Michael Chabon): Winner of the Pulitzer Prize for fiction (I forget which year), this book drew me in from the beginning. I thought the second half dragged a little, but what book this long doesn't at some point? In a nutshell, it's about two Jewish-American immigrant cousins who start a comic book whose superhero fights the Nazis. Hannah found this lying around our office and recommended it to me. We in turn recommended it to Ali. This is how it usually goes with our reading here--our book selection is limited, so we pass books around. Added bonus is that we get to discuss them afterwards!

Telling Secrets (Frederick Buechner): It might seem strange, given my previous statement about my limited literary selection, that I am in the middle of my fourth Buechner book. The explanation is simple: my Bible study leader is obsessed with Buechner and has a personal library that contains nearly every book he has ever written (a considerable sum). Buechner is a writer (obviously) and Presbyterian minister with a knack for elucidating the divine in the ordinary. Telling Secrets is the third of his four-part autobiography, and my favorite thus far. I haven't yet, but am interested to, pick up one of his novels. Actually might do that at Bible Study tonight...

Pilgrim at Tinker Creek (Annie Dillard): You might ask how I escaped from the Calvin English Department without having read this. The answer would be that I shouldn't have...This is a book that demands time, something that I either didn't have or didn't allow myself when I was assigned it in English 101; thus, I was never quite able to understand my professors' awe of Dillard's long-winded account of her life in the forest. Here in Viet Nam, I had time to unravel Dillard's gorgeous, half-page sentences and more properly absorb the profundity she extracts from the fecundity (and other aspects) of nature. Ok, Schmidt and VanderLei, I get it now...

The Quiet American (Graham Greene): This book takes place in Viet Nam during the first Indochina War. It was fun to recognize the names of places and people, even if some of the war history went over my head. This book may have the effect of making you hate the fact that you are an American (if you are) for a couple days; but that's probably not a bad perspective to have now and then. If you're not much of a reader, it's been made into a movie that I hear is pretty good too.

The Chicago Manual of Style (The University of Chicago Press): This is not actually on my list because I can't claim to have read the whole thing (yet). However, I am ever more amazed by this orange book, which never ceases to brighten my day when I get the chance to use it. It resides just inches from my left hand all day at the office and gives helpful advice while recognizing the fact that an editor's work is often more of an art than a science (in Viet Nam it is often more along the lines of code-breaking). I must admit my nerdiness and the fact that I welcome editing questions just to have an excuse to open it, and then often get distracted from my work by perusing its pages. You think I'm joking, but I'm really not. Just ask Hannah.

So, where do I usually read these books? Often on my incredibly comfortable bed at home. Or on a bench by a lake (contrary to popular belief, these benches are useful for many things besides making out) or in a cafe during my ridiculously long (2 hour) lunch breaks.

So, what's next? Well, that's an interesting question on multiple levels. I just cracked open What Color is Your Parachute? a book my dad recommended the other week after we discussed this question in the context of my life. I can only hope that it might provide some insight...

(Note: I hope that none of you, like me, are always disappointed by things you hear rave reviews of. If you are, then I'd advise you to disregard my enthusiastic commentary about the above books, but check them out of the library anyway.)