A Conversation about Books

I love reading.

Books are my happy place. Always have been. I don't remember a time that being in a book store didn't make me ridiculously giddy.

Except today.

Today being in Barnes and Noble made me angry. It made me angry for a few reasons.

1. The "Men's Interest" section (which I've spoken about before) still has the same set up.
Fishing, hunting, having rock hard abs, half naked women, guns, fast cars. There were no Men of Colour on any of those magazines. Not a single one. This also goes back to the sad societal fact that Men are regarded as cavemen. They are incapable of feeling anything except for raging lust and the desire to kill things. We, as a society, have decided that this is what the definition of Masculinity IS. There is no room for people who are different. Especially if they are of a different ethnicity. Because we like to WHITE WASH everything.

2. The "American History" section.
In this section of the store I counted only 3 or 4 books that were dedicated to People of Colour. And none of them were dedicated to peoples from the Asian continent. One book was on escaped Slave narratives (which ARE important to American History, but ONE is NOT enough!), one book was written by Condoleeza Rice, one was about Rosa Parks and one about a Military Officer's wife during a Crow Indian uprising. I only count that one because it does involve Native peoples. As a book ABOUT Native Peoples... That's debatable. That's it. And the American History shelves were rather large. They could've held a whole shelf dedicated to Civil Rights, Emancipation, Native People's history, etc. Did they? Nope. Not at all.

3. The "Civil War" section.
In this section there were literally NO books on Peoples of Colour. None. And I saw ONE book on Women. That was it. I do believe the Civil War was an integral part of History, but there were more than WHITE MEN involved in that period of Time.

4. The "World History" section.
Basically it was all European history with a smidgen of African history thrown in for good measure. There was a small amount of Middle Eastern history, but almost exclusively in how it correlated to America. Last I checked that was NOT the extent of the World...

5. The Store in General.
I wandered around the store and found very few books that pertained to People of Colour or were written by People of Colour except in the Classics sections... This bothers me. Not just because its all White Washed all the time, but because Authors of Colour write books ALL THE TIME. Not just way back when.

So, I think from now on I'll shop at Second-hand stores or online where I can find variety that isn't completely white washed and only about Men.

10 reasons I asked if there was another way out of Barnes & Noble

Today, while I was at Barnes and Noble with my friend Kid, I met an author. His name is "Cousin Vinny." At least, that's what he chooses to go by. He was trying very hard to get me to buy his $27 book (paperback, mind you).

He apparently used to be a Soap Opera star, now turned Christian ("I have some spirituality in me") author. He spent 20 minutes raving about how wonderful his book ("The Devil's Glove") was (read: He was raving about how wonderful HE was). He told me that this book would "change your life" and is the best book for "preventing suicide."

He bragged about how he had "NEVER had a bad review" and then proceeded to hand me all of his reviews (in small time Christian newspapers and local papers), they were laminated mind you. Not only were they laminated, but he had apparently memorized each one. He handed me a review and proceeded to recite the whole article, verbatim.

He told me that there was literally no other book with that plot anywhere (spoiler: Its about baseball and Satan). When I mentioned that it was somewhat similar to "The Screwtape Letters" by C.S. Lewis, he swiftly denied it. "Those are two demons fighting over a human. This is ANGELS and demons fighting over a human. God and Satan battling for his soul." (I'm paraphrasing only a little there, this is how the guy talked)

He told me that the writing was the best I'd ever seen and that this would be my favorite book, ever. I sampled the writing while I was standing there... Let's just say it was nothing to write home about. He wrote like he spoke. Not very well.

I am saddened to say that a Pastor reviewed it as being a blend of "Paradise Lost, the Bible and Field of Dreams." Which is very disheartening for Milton and the Bible. To be compared to this is, well, its not a nice compliment in my opinion.

He emphasized that he was a "messenger" (the God part was implied) and when I asked why he didn't go by his real name (Louis Anthony Agnello Jr) he said it was his publisher's idea. It would be easier to "remember."

I told him that "Cousin Vinny" reminded me of Joe Pesci.
He said "Exactly!"
I said "I don't like Joe Pesci."
Taken aback, he said "You don't?"
I said "No. Joe Pesci does not endear me to your book."
To which he laughed, half-quoting me in disbelief.

Also, this guy has no concept of the term "personal space." (His breath isn't so great either) He kept touching me, as if I were an old friend, not a complete STRANGER. I'm not public property, get your paws off.

After I escaped him (it took about 20 minutes, mind you) I literally asked an employee if there was another way out of the store besides the front door because I didn't want to walk past him again. The employee was seriously taken aback and informed me that there was not. But also said that if I warn the front desk that I'm going make a run for it they won't think I'm stealing.

So now, I have a mission. Somewhat. I'm going to read this book, if only to write a terrible review of it. It seems only fitting that I do so, seeing as how I've reviewed the author. You're welcome, "Cousin Vinny," for the "first" bad review you've received.

The following is an open letter to "Cousin Vinny" recounting the experience.

Dear Louis Anthony "Cousin Vinny" Agnello (or "10 reasons I asked if there was another way out of Barnes & Noble"),

1. I am not public property able to be touched because I'm in your space. Just because we are inhabiting the same area does not make me less than human or give you the right to just touch when you feel like it. Did I give you permission?

2. Bragging about your Stripping days in the same breath as you're bragging about how wonderful your book is does not make me want to read it. Especially when you keep saying you are a "messenger" (the "from God" being implied by your "I have some spirituality in me" comments).

3. You don't even KNOW ME, so how can you "guarantee" that YOUR book is going to be my "favorite book?"

4. You're trying really hard to get me to buy your book, but I feel like you're really just trying to explain to me why your penis is the biggest the world has ever seen. And I'm sorry, but I'm just not buying it.

5. Memorizing your laminated accolades doesn't make you seem cool, it makes you seem pathetic.

6. I am half tempted to read your book simply to give it a bad review. Seriously, you tell me how the writing is "the best" and that your story is "the most original" (fun fact: You're not original) and that the copies you are trying to hock are going to be "collector's items" because you are leaving that particular publisher, but I read a sample while I listened to you ramble and your writing style is similar to a 13 year old's. Seriously, I've seen better writing styles in Children's books. You write like you talk. Not very well.

7. You're visiting small towns in the Bible belt, of course this book is going to "sell like hot cakes."

8. Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot. You play like you're the "Devil" just for a scenario, but you're in my face telling me I'm worthless. The difference, as I told you, is that I KNOW I'm NOT worthless. My worth is more than reading your book though. Seriously, how could you possibly think that would make me want to read it? Pretending that you are the Devil and that this book is going to save me from Suicide and save my soul... Dude, you don't even know my Soul!

9. "The Devil's Glove" is a terrible name. It sounds worse than cliched. And trust me, I've read some pretty cliched books. (Usually in the genre you are in)

10. "Are you big readers?" Nope. I walked into Barnes & Noble because I like the scenery. Never read a book in my life.

I could go on and on, really. This was the worst meeting with an author I've ever had. And I didn't want to meet you in the first place! Thanks for telling me all about your schedule though, because I now know to avoid B&N until Friday when you leave for St. Louis.

Sincerely,
Sarai.

Post Script: Don't laugh at me because I said "Joe Pesci does not endear me to your book." I was being quite serious. Going by his character name really doesn't make you more likable.

A Girl named Anne.

Recently Justin Bieber has been in the news for a rather controversial note he wrote in the Anne Frank House's guest book. For those of you who have been unaware (lucky you!) here is what he wrote:

“Truly inspiring to be able to come here. Anne was a great girl. Hopefully she would have been a belieber.”

Now, my biggest problem isn't what he wrote (though we'll cover that in a moment). It is all of his fans asking "Who is Anne Frank?"

This outrages me. HOW can you NOT know who Anne Frank is/was? What are you being taught in school that you skipped over this important piece of history?

Here, let me enlighten you:
Anne Frank was a young girl living in Amsterdam during World War II. She was Jewish and her family hid from the Nazis in what Anne termed the "Secret Annex." She dreamed of being a writer and she kept a diary during her time in hiding. She, and her family, were discovered and taken to Bergen-Belsen (a concentration camp) where she, and her older sister Margot, most likely died of typhus. She was 15.

Her diaries were published 1947, by her father, Otto Frank. He was the only survivor of their family.

When I was about thirteen or so, my grandfather gave me "Anne Frank: The diary of a young girl" for Christmas. It was one of the most precious gifts he ever gave me. I was Anne's age (when she started her diary) at the time. I remember the impact it made on my life. My sadness that this bright light had been snuffed out so early in her life. My heart still aches whenever I think of this brilliant young woman who never had the chance to properly shine.

What angers me the most isn't Justin's comment, though it was uncouth in the situation, it is that so many young people have no idea who this beautiful young woman was. And they have no interest in finding out!

America is lacking in Education. We spend more on our weapons and our wars than we do our children. Prisoners get better educations than some of our children.

For example: The US ranks 14th in Reading, 25th in Maths and 17th in Science as compared to Finland (purported to have the best educational system in the world) which is ranked 2nd in Reading and Maths and 1st in Science. If you don't believe me you can have a look at the following chart created by PISA (Program for International Student Assessment) of the top 34 countries.



This isn't the only comment to outrage me lately (as to education).

As many of you know, I am a huge BioShock fan. Recently BioShock Infinite came out (a game I have waited a couple years for) and I was pleased with the historical details it went into.

A, somewhat, brief synopsis of the game: BioShock Infinite is much like its predecessors in that it covers different ways blind belief and -isms can destroy us. Unlike the previous two, we were not in Rapture. We are no longer in the world originally created around Andrew Ryan (Ayn Rand) and Objectivism (Ayn Rand's philosophy). We are in Columbia (not the country Columbia), a world in the sky and very much like America in 1912, partially because it is an extension of America.

There are a few historical battles mentioned in the game. Namely Wounded Knee and the Boxer Rebellion.

There was a comment that my husband found by someone who played the game. It said "BioShock makes the best Skyrim references" and had a picture of the Battle of Wounded Knee sign in the game. He was referring to the "I was an adventurer like you, but then I took an arrow to the knee" line said multiple times by various guards in Skyrim. He seemed blissfully unaware that there was a real event called the Battle of Wounded Knee.

I've said this before, I know I have, but if we don't learn from the past how are we to ever survive the future? How will our children make it in this world? What happens when we all stop learning, when we all stop reading? What happens? What happens when we forget young women like Anne Frank and battles like Wounded Knee? What happens when we no longer bother?

To Justin: Your comments were inconsiderate and uncouth. You didn't come across as being cute or witty. You came across as ignorant and proud. Too proud to realize how much of an ass you made yourself look like. Anne Frank wasn't your typical teenage girl. She probably wouldn't have floundered at your feet. If anything, I think she wouldn't have liked you at all. If you had read her diary maybe you would realize she wasn't into the whole self-appreciation crap.

I used to think you were funny Justin. I didn't like your music, but you were a cool kid. I hate the person you have become. You are so self-absorbed and rude. So proud and arrogant. I hope, one day, that you grow out of it.

Pretty.

You will be "pretty" intelligent! You will be "pretty" creative! You will be "pretty" AMAZING! But you will NEVER be merely "pretty."

Pork Chops

This is triumph. The audacity of living in a world that continues to berate you and tell you that you aren't good enough. This is the strength of hope, a shining light in the darkness that feeds on our fears and our sadness. This is beauty. And it lives in all of us.

A Church for Saints.

The other night I went to church with one of my girlfriends. This particular friend is a very devout Christian, which I respect, and I have been with her to her church numerous times. I think she is hoping that one of these times I'll receive the Holy Ghost and be saved from myself. Which I also admire. It means she hasn't given up on me. But she also knows me very well and knows that my distance with God has been because of church, not a lack thereof.

I've known this particular friend for almost ten years. We met when I was fourteen and a freshman in high school. At first we didn't really like each other. I thought she was mean. Now I know that she was just teasing to be silly, not mean.

Because I've known her so long I've obviously been to church with her NUMEROUS times. As in, I've been going to this church off and on for almost ten years now.

So it bothers me whenever I go there and almost no one recognizes me. People ask if it's my first time. Or they assume it's my first time, which is even worse! The other thing is that people assume that I've never been to church ever. Which annoys the shit out of me.

See, I grew up in church. I attended church from a very, very, young age right up until I moved to OK when I was nineteen. Was my attendance stellar? No. But I was still a fairly active member in a church up until that point. I've read the Bible numerous times. I used to have huge sections memorized. I still have verses memorized.

Go ahead, ask me what Matthew 4:4 says. Go ahead. ("Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.")

Ask me about "Patience is a virtue" (which isn't actually in the Bible) or "The Lord helps those that help themselves."(That is actually from a myth. "The Gods help those that help themselves" is something that is told to Hercules during his twelve labors.) I dare you. It'll be fun!

In all seriousness though, it kind of bothers me after a bit that people are so willing to assume that I'm an idiot. I hate being underestimated. I should take it as a compliment, but it annoys me.

It especially annoys me when people who've only been in church for a few weeks talk to me like I've never read a word of the Bible. They start preaching at me and I hate it! I've been in church longer than you, I've read the Bible all the way through several times. I know my way around the Holy Scriptures and I know what I'm talking about. You've only been in church for a short time and you want to preach at ME? Really?

I'm saying all this because I'm proud of what I know. I honestly don't care if people are impressed or not. I no longer care about knowing that stuff. I know what I know, that's it. I just don't want someone coming up to me and acting like they know everything when they clearly don't.

The other thing I don't like about church (particularly my friend's church) is the looks I receive. I have rather large breasts, I can't help that. And almost everything I wear accents them, much to my chagrin. Don't look at me like I'm a whore because you can see some cleavage. I'm not a whore. I don't need saving. Thanks, keep walking.

I don't know. Sometimes it is like you have to already be a venerated Saint to be accepted in a church. Isn't the point of church and coming to God being who you are? A sinner, a wastrel? Aren't you supposed to be imperfect coming before Perfection? Isn't God's love supposed to make you pure?

What about that verse: "Judge not, lest ye be judged."? Since when are we supposed to ignore that?

Of course, we ignore most of what the Bible says anyway. We read in-between the lines looking for a meaning that suits us. We pick and choose verses to live by because they are convenient, not because God actually tells us to.

It bothers me! That's one of the reasons I don't go to church anymore. I got tired of the hypocrisy. The biggest being committed by my ex-step-father.

My sister doesn't know what Sodom and Gomorrah is. She doesn't believe that's in the Bible. Because her father doesn't even pay attention to her. That's sad. The man who forced religion down our throats when he was with us has completely neglected his OWN FLESH AND BLOOD'S religious training. Ridiculous really.

It's people that have ruined Christianity for me. It's God that has ruined God for me. And maybe, as the teacher was saying last night in Bible class, I am treating God like a harlot by running from him and coming back only when I need him. I don't really come back, though. My life has not changed since I stopped believing in Him. I'm just as miserable, just as unlucky, just as downtrodden.

Don't tell me "Rain falls on the just and unjust alike." I've had it up to HERE with that verse. Don't tell me that I am being refined by the Refiner's fire.

I am a human being who suffers, like every other human being. And my belief in God, or disbelief as the case may or may not be, hasn't changed that.

Another Moment

I was eleven in 1999. My brother was nine and my sister was almost four.

I don't think it was the first year that my mother let us stay up for New Year's Eve, but it was one of the first years she let us.

Y2K was everywhere. It was the new Communist scare; the newest trend in fear. We were going to be set back from the technological age.

For me it was exciting. I have always dreamed that we would be forced back in time. It is an idea that I've tried to write about too. I love history so much that it made me think that we would start dressing like we did in the 1800's again, start speaking properly and acting like we were civilized. Much to my chagrin, that isn't what would've actually happened if technology had been decimated.

On this particular New Year's Eve, on the brink of a new millenia, my brother and I were staying up for midnight. Hannah had already been put to bed, mostly against her will as she had wanted to be a big girl and stay up too. She fell asleep shortly before ten and I carried her to our shared bedroom. Chris and I hadn't fully decided what we wanted to do.

If I recall correctly, we played some records before we decided to watch a movie.

Of course our first choice was "Much Ado About Nothing."




My mother has always been very eclectic in her tastes (which is where I got it!) and her love of classical things is what influenced me in my love for the same. Shakespeare was one of my first loves. Elvis came first, though.

Anywho, this was one of our favorite films. It still is. So we watched that. That killed some time, but not enough for midnight.

It was around this time that Ivan, a dear family friend, called to wish us Happy New Year. I told him that Mom had gone to bed with a migraine and that Chris and I were watching Shakespeare movies until midnight. He offered to come over and watch movies with us. And bring pizza.

When he arrived we decided to watch "Henry V."




Which, in case you didn't know, is a war movie. It is one of the only war movies I enjoy, because it is Shakespeare in all his glory. And Kenneth Branagh. That helps too... Because it is a war movie, that automatically means that it is bloody. As in VERY bloody. Nothing like blood and pizza on the brink of what was supposed to be the Technological Apocalypse, right?

Anyway, Ivan kept covering his. He isn't fond of blood and gore. Neither am I, usually, but for this particular movie I make an exception. Did I mention Kenneth Branagh is in it? I did? Oh, well it bears repeating... Hmm.... *drools* I mean, what? Where was I? Oh right, the movie.

So, Chris and I, being terrible children, kept teasing Ivan and telling him that the blood was gone. Of course he would peep out from between his fingers and see there was still plenty of blood on the screen and cover them back up. And we would giggle like it was the funniest thing ever. Which, at the time, it was.

I don't know why, but I've been thinking about this particular memory a lot lately. Nostalgia in my old age? Who knows.

I miss those times. I miss believing that everything was going to be fine. I miss believing that we were all going to make it somehow. I miss being closer to my sister. I miss having a family.

I still have a family, but it feels different. It has changed so much from the family it used to be. We are still Debra, Sarai, Chris and Hannah. But we are different. We are much changed from the people we used to be. Sometimes I don't think we are changed for the better.

Sometimes I miss living in that little blue trailer, in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by fields full of alfalfa and woods that held such beautiful mysteries. I miss riding my bike up and down that gravel road. I miss our dogs. I miss my knitting lessons and sneaking peeks of naughty movies while babysitting. I miss sharing a room with my baby sister, with an old and tattered poster of a Degas ballerina. I miss listening to Simon and Garfunkel on the record player. I even miss listening to old sermon tapes.

I miss the deer heads and the mounted fish. I miss fishing and playing in the snow.

I miss making homemade pizza with my mom. I miss playing chess with my brother. I miss reading to my mom.

What I miss most is what you can see in these pictures...










I miss what we used to be, when we were happy. Not when we were fighting, not when we were being abused, not when we were miserable. I miss those sparkling moments that linger in my memory where we were happy and we were a family.

All of Her: Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Clark and I have been together for a month today. I doubt that he realizes this, because he is a man. A sweetheart, but a man nonetheless. I ponder this "anniversary" while at work. David and I never celebrated monthly anniversaries. At least, David didn't. I celebrated our monthly anniversaries for the first few years, before finally giving up. I wonder if it makes it an "official" relationship if I celebrate a month of together-ness.

While I ponder this, Jahan comes in. She smiles and sits next to me at the end of the counter. It is a slow day and I haven't even touched the shelves I should be sorting.

"You look so serious." she says. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing intelligent, I can tell you that." I smile and grab a book that we've been working on. We have been reading through another book of medieval poetry. What started off as a brief curiosity has turned into a full blown obsession with medieval poetry of various ethnicities. Of course, it may not be the only developing obsession.

I have been spending a lot of time with Jahan, both at school and here at work. I am developing a small crush on her. I wonder, briefly, if the reason for this is because she is so completely hidden from me. I crave an actual glimpse of her face, not just her pretty gray eyes. It is pointless, of course, to even dream of seeing her uncovered.

It isn't just that she is covered, however, that attracts me. She is passionate and so very much alive. She devours the books we read. She brings up the most interesting topics for us to discuss. Her intelligence shines so brightly and I am drawn, like a moth, to that brightness. That is one of the things that drew me to Clark, as well. His obvious intellect and ability to maintain a conversation outside the bedroom.

It doesn't matter anyway. She could never find me attractive in that way. Not that it matters right now because I have Clark. For the time being.

Jahan and I spend a pleasant afternoon reading and discussing poetry.

"I have taken up poetry." she says, taking a sip out of her water bottle.

"Really? What kind of poetry are you writing?"

"Nothing as exquisite as what we've been feasting on. Just some simple poems about dreams and ideas I have. Thoughts about my family and other such topics."

"Will you let me read some of what you've written sometime?" I ask, smiling.

"Some day, maybe." The corners of her eyes crinkle and I can tell that she is smiling too. Her eyes dance and I feel myself wanting to lift her veil and kiss her. I'm not sure that the kiss would be entirely chaste either. I really can't keep having these thoughts. She would be offended and I would lose a friend. I don't have many that I should run headlong into losing them.

She leaves after a little while and I start to close up shop. I am spending the night at Clark's tonight. The school year is almost finished and I will get to spend some time with my Latin lover. He is supposed to meet me here any moment now. I smile when I look up and see him walking my way. He gives me a kiss and I hook my arm through his. We walk around the square of downtown, talking and laughing.

He gives me another kiss under a light spangled tree. This one is a little warmer than the first. I feel it melt into me like alcohol. He takes my hand and we run to his car. We arrive, breathless and laughing like school children. I lean against his car and he kisses me again. Every kiss makes me warmer. It is already too warm without these kinds of kisses.

We fly through the door of his apartment and collapse on the couch. We are laughing, kissing, touching and getting ready to explode into flames. We barely make it to the bedroom before our clothes have vanished and we are a tangled heap on the bed.

After we are done, we lie snuggled up in bed. His fingers trace lazy circles on my skin and goosebumps surface. My head rests on his shoulder and my arm is draped across his chest. This feels so comfortable, so perfect. Could we stay like this forever? I close my eyes and wonder, again, if I could fall in love with him.

"I love you." He whispers. He says it so quietly I think I have misunderstood him. I care about him, but I don't love him. Could I lie and say it back? I can't. I don't have the heart to lie about something so precious as love, so I remain quiet. I feel him tense under my head. He is waiting for a response and I don't have one to give. I snuggle closer to him, holding on tightly. After another beat he relaxes again, but his breath comes out as a melancholic sigh.

We decide to go out for dinner. All of our afternoon love making has made us voracious. We walk to the Hob-Knob cafe, just a few blocks from Clark's apartment. Though we are linked, arm in arm, I don't feel like we have regained the gaiety of earlier. Its my fault, of course. I didn't tell him that I loved him. Caring is such a pale emotion compared to love, why would I try to dress it up as such?

At the cafe, I order a Maine lobster spread on toast. Clark orders apple roasted chicken salad. We eat in relative silence. It is broken every now and then by inquiries regarding the food. Which is delicious. For dessert we split a slice of caramel apple cheesecake. This, too, is eaten in silence.

On the walk back to Clark's, we are not linked. He seems to walk a little ahead of me, in fact. I jog to catch up and grab his hand. He doesn't pull it away, but he doesn't actively hold my hand either. I didn't realize he was going to be this upset. I should've said something in response, but I couldn't lie to him. I care enough not to lie. I want an easy break-up with him. A friendship after the break. Lying would not increase the odds of friendship.

When we get back, he tactfully removes his hand from my grip. We go in and sit on the couch. Neither one of us makes the move to turn on the TV or to get out the board games. In fact we make no effort to do anything. We just sit there.

After a few minutes I can't stand it anymore.

"Is something wrong, Clark?" I turn to face him.

"No. I'm fine."

"You are lying."

"Why didn't you say 'I love you' back?" He doesn't sound angry. He doesn't even really sound sad, a little confused and maybe a little hurt. However, he looks so sad I can hardly stand it. I can't tell him that I don't love him, but I can't tell him I love him. I have to think of something to say.

"Look, I really care about you. You know that. But we've only been together for a month and I am just getting out of a bad break-up with someone I'd been with for ten years. Don't you think it is a little fast?" I scoot closer to him and take his hand. I squeeze it, gently, and try to smile reassuringly. I smile as if I will fall in love with him and we will be together forever. My smile is a lie, a sweet trap for him to fall into.

He is quiet, letting my words sink in. He smiles then. His smile pleads for indulgence and he kisses me. I continue to pretend that everything will be fine and kiss him back. Even the kiss is a lie. I feel guilty for leading him in this direction, but I can't stand the thought of him knowing that I'll never love him the way he wants me to.

He gets up and turns on some music. He takes my hand, pulls me up off of the couch and into his arms. We dance around his living room, just slow dancing. I listen to the lyrics. I know he didn't mean to, but he picked a song that is really speaking to me. He softly sings along in my ear. There is an ache in my heart when he sings, his hand on my hip and his other hand in mine.

Have I sold all of my dreams? What happens if the rain comes to wash me and I still don't know who I am when it is gone? I rest my head on his chest and move my feet in time with his. We dance until the sunlight filtering through the curtains has melted away into soft shadows. We don't talk, only swaying back and forth to the soft lilt of music. The disc comes to an end and we stop.

I look up at him, a trickle of moonlight, coming from below the curtain, pools around our feet. He smiles. It is not as warm as earlier, not as happy. He seems diminished somehow. I want to change that. If I could go back to earlier, I would've lied and just said those three words back. What power do they hold over me now? Every "I love you" David ever said was a lie. Why shouldn't I follow suit? I can't stand to think about any of it anymore. I decide that we should do something random. Maybe I can cheer Clark up in the process.

"Clark, let's go fly kites! The weather is perfect for it." I say, enthusiastically. He looks stunned for a moment and then smiles.

"Its dark outside though." He says, gesturing toward the windows.

"We could get glow sticks and attach them to the kites. That way we can see them. It will be fun! We could pack up a little picnic dinner and drive down to the beach."

He smiles again and I tug on his hand, pulling towards the door. While he looks for his sandals, I grab a sheet and make a few hasty sandwiches. Sandals on, he grabs the sheet, and my hand, and we head out the door.

We stop at the store for glow sticks, drinks and, obviously, kites. At the beach we break our glow sticks and attach them to the kites. I run up and down with the glowing kites until they drift upward. I giggle with joy, like a little kid, watching the kites and glow sticks dance in the breeze. For the first time, in a long while, I feel content and happy.

I feel like nothing can spoil this moment. The moon is shining brightly, I have glowing kites dancing above the water and a sweet guy to eat a picnic dinner with. I don't think I would've ever done this before. There are many things I have never done because David wouldn't have liked it.

We bury the handles deep in the sand so that we can eat our sandwiches. It is fun to watch them careen across the moonlit sky.

"We should do this again, sometime. Except make our own kites. Maybe we could make the frames out of glow sticks or the glow stick bracelets!" I say, dreamily munching on my sandwich.

Clark smiles and nods, his eyes following the flow of the kites.

"When you graduate, and I am done teaching for the summer, we can do this every night if you like."

"I'd like that." I say, smiling at him. I give him a kiss and then lean back on my elbows to watch our kites.

We sit in peaceful silence for a while, just watching the kites drift on the wind. I think about all the different kites I want to make and how much fun it would be to do something like this more often. I try to stop it, but a wish bubbles up into my daydreaming. A wish that David and I could be doing this together.

The wind dies down and our kites begin to falter. We unearth the handles and quickly reel them in before they are lost to the water. We try to get them going again, running up and down the beach like crazy people, laughing like lunatics. When they refuse to go up again we give up and pack everything back into the car.

Once we arrive back at Clark's, he kisses me. A lingering kiss. A hinting kiss. I smile and we grab everything and carry it up to his place. He kisses me again, once everything is put away and then pushes a stray wisp of hair back behind my ear.

"Thank you for a wonderful night, Abra." He says, kissing my cheek and then trailing kisses down my neck. Before I can say anything his mouth is on mine and that is the only response he needs.

The next morning, I am just lying in bed. Clark has already gotten up and is in the kitchen, cooking I believe.

I can't stop thinking. My thoughts are all jumbled and mixed up. I'm so confused. I can't help hating myself for being so blind for so long. I can't help but hate Alice and David for leading me on and breaking my heart. I want to stop remembering all of the signs and finally understanding what they meant. I want to let myself care more about Clark, maybe build a relationship to be proud of.

I can't. I just can't fall in love with him. I can't trust him. He is the enemy in this scenario. He is the heart-breaker here, the vice that I can't escape from. He isn't David. He isn't the enemy, but I can't make myself believe that. Sometimes, when we are having sex I will see David's face, looming over me. He isn't there. Only Clark is there. Clark. The man who slows down and comes to a stop when he sees the panic in my face. The man who forgets about getting what he wants and will just hold me when I start to shake uncontrollably, crying again.

In my dictionary of love affairs, Clark will be the definition of a "perfect boyfriend." He will be a shining example of what men should be like, but I can't fall in love with him. I can't reconcile my feelings for, and about, David to what I feel about Clark. I have to maintain control over my emotions.

I need to get out of this before I get too into it. I'm already too far. I'm playing with fire and not only am I about to be burned, but someone who doesn't deserve it is about to be burned as well.

I ask myself the important questions.

If Clark was in a terrible bear wrestling accident and lost most of his face and his ability to... well, you know... could I stay with him?

If I was pregnant with an alien love child would he cry when it exploded my heart?

If I we were going to a ocean colors party and I wore blue, but he refused to wear green what would I do?

Okay, those questions are silly and I'm trying to be serious. I honestly can't think of a reason to break up with him. He is perfect. He cooks, he flies kites with me at night, he cares about me. I don't love him, but is that reason enough to leave him? Could I learn to love him? Could I let go of all this hatred that is burning me up? I don't like asking myself these questions so I switch back to silly ones.

I need coffee. I need to break up with Clark, before I become too attached. I need a new boyfriend and/or a new course of action. I need a new life.

My cell phone begins to chirp. The caller ID says Noah. I let it go to voicemail. He'll be mad that I'm not answering. Oh well.

Clark comes in with a plate of steaming waffles and a cold glass of dark chocolate almond milk on a tray.

"Good morning, beautiful. Breakfast?" He sets the tray down next to the bed and slides in next to me. I summon a smile and we eat.

"What are you thinking about?" He asks.

"Whether there are angels on the moon. You?" I take another bite of homemade waffle, followed by a swig of almond milk.

"A beautiful woman." He says.

"What lucky woman?" I ask.

"You." He leans over and nibbles my ear sending a shiver through me.

I smile and take another bite of waffle. He takes a drink of his almond milk and winks at me. I try to stifle a guffaw, but can't help it. We end up laughing through the rest of breakfast.

Once we are done eating, I help him do the dishes and get dressed for another day. I head to the book store and he heads to the school to post some final grades. He gives me a goodbye kiss and off I go.

As I am trying, unsuccessfully, to unlock the door of "Wilde: Rare and Used Books", my phone begins to chirp again.

"Hello?" I say, tucking the phone in-between my face and my shoulder whilst attempting to open the door.

"Hey, what are you doing today?" I am caught a little off guard, I thought it was Noah. Instead it is my sister, Anna.

"Nothing much, work. You?" I finally get the door to open and manage to grab the phone before I drop it.

"I was wondering if you'd be willing to watch the kids this next week. Greg wants to take me out on a movie date. Em and Sophie have finals this week and Mom is finishing up her art class at the college. And Kevin has a date, apparently. Help, Abra Kenobi, you're my only hope."

I laugh, flipping on the lights through out the store. I don't know which is funnier. Kevin having a date or being called "Abra Kenobi."

"I suppose I could help you out. Its just going to be so rough having to watch the kids, Ann. I mean, after all they are related to you."

"Ha ha, very funny. You know you love watching my kids. Especially so I can go and have some alone time with my husband. I might even be persuaded to scoot a little green your way, if that helps."

"You don't have to pay me, I don't mind. Just don't expect me to clean or anything like that and we'll be good."

"Deal!" My poor sister, I give her such a rough time.

"So, Kevin has a date, huh?" I set my bag on the floor and begin to count the cash register drawer.

"Apparently so. He met some girl at the Wilford and Brimley. He wouldn't give me details, but insisted that he was completely booked all next week."

"Wow, one date books up the whole week. Must be a very interesting girl." I laugh, but experience a little guilt for it. I feel a little sorry for my brother. He hasn't had a date in a year. Not that he generally has time to date anyway. He is always working or at Mom's helping Brad with upkeep. I shouldn't tease him, especially when he isn't here to defend himself. But what else are little sisters for?

"He hasn't had time to date, you know. Between work and... well, work. I don't mind, but I still need some time to just be with my hubby. Are you sure you don't mind?"

"It'll be fine. The kids and I will have a grand ol' time. So grand they'll have completely forgotten about you before you even leave."

"How nice. Well, I guess I'll let you get back to work. Call me later so that we can talk more about which day works best for you and what time. I really appreciate it."

"No problem. Talk to you later, love you."

"Love you too, sis." With that, my sister hangs up and I realize I am still standing in front of the cash register with un-counted money in my hands.

Once all the money is accounted for, I begin to dust. As I dust, I pick out books I am planning on reading today and I lay them on the counter. The bell on the door jingles as a customer comes in.

"Good morning, welcome to 'The Wilde'." I say, not really looking up.

"Good morning, Abe." I look up to see Noah. He is smiling, his eyes twinkling over his John Lennon glasses. His hair is rakishly styled and there is a glow about him.

"Hello, what are you doing here?" I ask, going to hug him.

"You didn't answer your phone so I thought I would stop in. Still hanging out with Oscar, James and Edgar, I see." He glances over my book choices resting on the counter.

"I never quite leave their company, do I?" I smile and pull up a chair for him. "May I offer you some tea? I have Sencha Kyoto Cherry Rose Festival, Lapsong Souchong, Earl Grey, Sevenberry Sangria Rooibos and Strawberry Misaki Blooming."

"Some Earl Grey would be nice." He says. I set a kettle of water on a little stove situated several feet from the counter. The idea of serving tea had been my idea. Luckily for me, my boss, Mrs. Hafstead, approved and had a small stove top situated behind the counter.

"Any other reason for coming to visit?" I ask, retrieving cups and saucers from under the counter.

"No. I was thinking about you and thought I would visit. Maybe see if you wanted to go get some coffee later."

"Why not?" I say. "Sounds like fun to me. We can go on my lunch break, if you like."

"Sounds fine to me."

The kettle whistles and I pour it into our cups, over our tea-bags. We sit in happy silence, steeping our tea and listening to the soft classical music drifting through the, otherwise, empty store.

Video Games anyone?

Yep, I've been distracted by Dragon Age II... My bad! Oh well, I hadn't been playing video games for a while there. I think it is okay to take a little break and actually enjoy myself... Maybe?

My head hurts, my stomach hurts. My whole body aches. And I have two more days of work to look forward to.

Have been looking into buying a house. Yes, friends, a house. With a mortgage and a yard. A little house or a duplex. Haven't decided yet. But we are looking into it. May have found one that we could live with/in. Still hoping to move to Sweden, though we are hoping to go ahead and get a house now and then save (in-between mortgage payments) for a place overseas. The sad thing is, it will be cheaper paying on a mortgage than it will be to keep renting. *shrug*

Is it wrong that I want to start writing little bits of fan-fiction again? Donnie says I'm a dork and that fan-fiction is objectively bad, no matter how well you write it. But I still kind of want to write it again. Especially since I'm playing video games lately.

A BioShock fan-fiction or Dragon Age (II)... Or maybe I'll just stick with silly J-Rock/K-Pop fairy tales... I don't know. Maybe I won't do it at all, but its something I feel the urge to do. Maybe I should do it for the sake of just writing...

I am hoping to apply for college next month *fingers crossed*

The plan is, currently, to double major in Linguistics and English Literature. With the hope that one day (when I have a degree) I can translate works of fiction and non-fiction into various languages so that everyone can enjoy the beauty of literature and reading. That's my dream anyway. I don't know how it will be trying to double major. That is going to suck, mightily. But I am determined! I don't want to be a demo lady at Sam's Club forever!

Plus, this would enable me to continue to write AND read! Maybe I will make it through that massive book list I have going?

I should really go and do laundry now, though I am not looking forward to it. I desperately miss having a washer and dryer!! I never knew how inconvenient it was to have to go out to do your laundry! How can people stand it? I certainly can't!

Have been having interesting conversations about religion with one of my co-workers who is Muslim. I don't know what to think about that either. I think he just wants me to believe in something, versus believing in nothing. But it is hard to explain to him that for years I have felt utterly abandoned by God (the gods/goddesses) and that my life hasn't changed from when I followed Him (or her) with utter abandon. My mother says that God is proofing me for the years to come. That I am being tested so that I can help others through the same things.

I think that is bullshit (Sorry, Mom). I really do. Do I have to go through every horrible thing to be able to sympathize with others? That seems stupid to me. I'm obviously not going to go through everything there is to go through and there are always going to be people who are going through something different from me. I can be sympathetic and there for someone without having to go through it myself!

Granted, the list of tragedies and atrocities is long in my short life. But I seriously doubt that whomever exists out there is keeping track just so I can "minister" to someone later.

I also hate the holidays. They are never very happy for me. And I wish we could skip over them. I do appreciate the break from work, however, so I suppose that is something.

I am rambling, skipping from topic to topic... Oh well. You guys love me anyway right?

Enough randomness for now,
love,
Sarai

Albania Week (Day Two)

Today I have decided to present some interesting facts about Albania for, what I have now dubbed, Albania Week!

Some fun facts about Albania include:
* Due to some "difficult historical conditions" Albania was a little late in the literature game. The first book published in Albania was written by a priest called Gjon Buzuku in 1555. It was titled "Meshari" and was, apparently, written in Latin.

* Albania is the home of the historic city (and archaeological center) of Durres, which dates back to the 7th century BC. Along with Mbjeshovë Castle, which was built somewhere between the 4 and 5th century AD.

* Kristaq Antoniu was an Albanian Operetta singer, as well as actor. He was born in Korca, though for some unexplained reason was exiled to Romania. He was a tenor as well as a baritone.

In the Heart of the Mediterranean

Just for shiggles (also known as shits and giggles), I've decided to blog about a special country, carefully chosen, for this week.

This week's country is Albania. That's right kids, Albania! This week's country was specially chosen by Phil. Thank you, Phil.

Albania, as it's official website claims, is in the heart of the Mediterranean. It is considered a part of the European continent and is actually rich with history and beauty. More so than you would think. Poor Albania is one of those forgotten countries, a lot of the time.

And to start off Albania Week, I have decided to present some delicious recipes. Apparently, Albania has a thing for meat dishes, because the very first page of recipes I looked at were all meat related. I did manage to find a recipe for a Spinach Pie and a Walnut Cake. For my culturally involved audience, I present this interesting recipe for Spinach Pie first.

Spinach Pie (Byrek me Spinaq)
1 cup oil, preferably olive oil
1 1/2 packets (or about 30) pastry leaves (Filo dough)
1 1/2 pounds spinach, chopped
1 cup diced feta cheese
1/2 cup chopped green onions
2 eggs
salt, half teaspoon

( NOTE: A medium-sized, round baking pan is recommended because it's more authentic but any medium-sized baking pan will do).

Brush the baking pan with some of the oil, and start laying the pastry leaves inside. First, lay two leaves, sprinkle or brush with oil, then lay two other leaves, and repeat the procedure until half of the leaves are laid. Make sure that they cover the pan by hanging them about one inch over the edges of the pan.

Sprinkle spinach with salt, then mix well by hand. Add the feta cheese, oil, onions, eggs and salt, and spread this mixture over the already laid pastry leaves. Finish by covering the spinach with the rest of the pastry leaves repeating the first-half procedure and then roll the hanging edges of the bottom leaves over the pie (think of a pizza crust), sprinkle top with oil and bake moderately at 3501_F for about 45 minutes, or until golden brown. Serve hot, accompanied with buttermilk, or beaten yogurt, thinned down in cold water or with chilled stewed prunes. Sometimes a green salad adds to the meal!
Serves 4-6.

Walnut Cake
Ingredients
Cake
1/2 cup butter, at room temperature
3/4 cup Sugar
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1/3 cup plain yogurt
1/3 cup buttermilk (or additional 1/3 cup yogurt)
2 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1 tablespoon freshly grated lemon rind
1 cup walnuts, toasted and finely chopped
Glaze
3/4 cup water
1 cup Sugar
1 cinnamon stick (or 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon)
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
1 dash ground cloves

Directions
Preheat oven to 350 °F.
cream together the butter and Sugar until light and fluffy, and then mix in the eggs.
Blend the yogurt with the buttermilk.
Sift together the cake dry ingredients and add them alternating with the yogurt mixture into the egg mixture.
Stir in the lemon rind and walnuts.
Pour the batter into a buttered 9X13 baking pan and bake for 30–40 minutes until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. The cake will still be moist.
Make the glaze by simmering together all the ingredients, covered, for about 15 minutes.
Remove the cinnamon stick.
When the cake is done, remove it from the oven, turn off the oven, pour the glaze over the hot cake and return it to the oven for about 10 minutes.
Cut the cake into squares and serve it warm or cool.

Throughout this week expect to see blogs about Albanian fashion, fun facts, music and other interesting (and slightly random) things!

Beloved

Toni Morrison



Toni Morrison is an author and editor. Her works include "Beloved", "The Bluest Eye" and "Song of Solomon". She has written seventeen books (including two for children), a play and a libretto.



Some Interesting Facts
* Her real name is Chloe Anthony Wofford.

* She was the first African-American to win a Nobel Prize for Literature.

* She earned a Masters degree of Arts in English from Cornell University in 1955.

* "Beloved" is based on the true life story of Margaret Garner, a young slave woman who murdered one of her children to protect it from a life of slavery.

* She also wrote a libretto (or opera) for Margaret Garner with the music composed by Richard Danielpour.

* Once described Bill Clinton as "our first black president".

Some Quotes from Toni Morrison
- "Like any artist without an art form, she became dangerous."

- "Love is never any better than the lover."

- "Definitions belong to the definers, not the defined."

- "What difference do it make if the thing you scared of is real or not?"

- "A dream is just a nightmare with lipstick."

- "You wanna fly, you got to give up the shit that weighs you down."

A Scene from "Margaret Garner", the Libretto

I will Scream.

This blog is about Twilight. I thought I had posted a blog about this topic before, but apparently not on here or anywhere else. Hmm. Anyway, the reason for this is because I am tired of people comparing Romeo and Juliet to Twilight. So here, is my little rant on that. Enjoy.

RANT

First of all Shakespeare was a literary GENIUS. He added thousands of words to the English language, created a story for almost every genre known to mankind and is still one of the most widely read authors of our time.

Secondly, Romeo and Juliet (being one of my favorite Shakespeare plays) is about love at first sight. Not meeting someone who breaks into your bedroom at night to watch you sleep and is always bringing up the fact that he can (and wants to) eat you. Also, Juliet has a life independent of Romeo. She is the daughter of a leader, she is supposed to marry someone else when she falls, tragically, in love with Romeo. There is a whole story besides Romeo and Juliet's love interest in one another.

Thirdly, whilst Romeo may show some signs of stalking (I can admit that he does go looking for her), it isn't out and out stalking. And they get married and then realize how flawed that plan was. In the end they kill themselves for love and everybody is better for it. If "Twilight" was anything like Romeo and Juliet, then Edward and Bella would die and the rest of us would feel much better and could continue on with our lives.

Unfortunately, Stephenie Meyer decides to go and ruin the entire Vampire genre with someone who sparkles and reads minds, but can't read Bella's mind at all (which is never explained) who is also bipolar and manic-depressive. Bram Stoker is turning in his grave as we speak. Then to add insult to injury she can't even keep his hair color straight. That's right, I went there. She says he has bronze hair one moment (which is brown and gold), red-brown the next and red-gold after that. None of those colors are alike except that two of them have brown and two of them have gold. There are other such cases through out the books where she incorrectly calls something one thing and then calls it another, sometimes in the same sentence.

So again, I would like to point out the following:

Vampires do not sparkle (I know they aren't real, but there is mythology that she could've researched and did not). I could understand if she gave some explanation as to why Edward is different, but she doesn't. EVER. He doesn't explain why he isn't burnt up in the sunlight or why he doesn't turn into a bat or anything else. I refer you to Christopher Pike's "Thirst No.1 and No.2" for reference on explaining what you are changing about the mythology and why.

It is not only breaking and entering to break into Bella's house every night for a month and watch her sleep, but it is also considered stalking.

Controlling where she goes and what she does is abuse. Making her feel guilty for feeling certain ways or doing certain things is abuse. Breaking her car so she can't leave is abuse. Abandoning her is abuse. Need I go on?

Romeo and Juliet was created by a literary Genius and Twilight was created by a lonely woman who wanted to create a fantasy for herself. And then wrote it very poorly.

Jane Austen

Take the Quiz here!

For those of you who love Jane Austen as much as I do, this was a great little quiz!! And I feel perfectly suited to Elizabeth Bennet!!