Take Your Camera to Campus Day

There is a Costa Vida in Oregon.

Dear Gentry,

Thank you for pointing out the gaping flaw on my blog. I didn't mean to snub Hillsboro.

Long live Costa Vida.

Finally...they can laugh.

Yesterday, I jumped out of a moving car.

It gives me such pleasure to be able to make this statement factually.

Why, you ask?

Well, it’s a funny story. And it’s one that I hesitate to tell because I want to keep you wondering.

Our old roommate, Joni (This is great that I can say that sentence with commas because it is a non-restricted clause, not essential information: she’s our only old roommate. We have lived together for less than a semester and we already have an old roommate.), had a small housewarming party for her new house. We (my roommates and I) decided to go in Beth’s car. I had a car too but it had a bunch of crap on the seat from my brother’s work. She knew that she was low on gas but we hoped we’d make it to Joni’s. Cars can sometimes go a long way on empty.

We picked up Andrea first and were on our way when Beth ran out of gas. Her car lost power but continued to coast, continually dropping speed. We quickly came to the conclusion inside that it would be easier to push it home if we had the momentum of its movement already.

And lately I’ve been thinking I should be more proactive. Not just pointing out problems, but maybe trying to do something about them.

Everybody said the car was going too fast, but I didn’t think it was going that fast. I decided to jump out. I didn’t anticipate the consequences. The car, apparently, was going faster than I thought. I lost my shoe and fell down. I didn’t remember it, but my roommates (my witnesses) said that I rolled.

I guess you’re wondering why I don’t remember it. I am pretty sure that I didn’t lose consciousness. All I remember is the pavement under my feet, my shoe coming off my foot, an awareness of the fact that I was wearing nylon stockings, the fact that I was on the ground, and looking back at the car continuing to roll down the street, away from me, laying on the middle of the street somewhere between 6th and 5th north and 2nd east.

It didn’t hurt at all. I got up, got my shoe back on my foot, and started running back to the car to help push it. There was a guy who saw Elizabeth and I pushing and ran over to offer his help. We were two blocks away from the apartment and I couldn’t keep up for very long. I’m pretty out of shape I guess.

Elizabeth and the random Samaritan named Cody pushed the car into the driveway . It was a Sunday and we were in a hurry to get to Joni’s because it was already late, so we didn’t go to a gas station (there is a 7-11 pretty close by).

By the way, when did “pretty” start becoming a modifier equivalent to “approximately”? Weird.

On Sunday, we received Spotlight sheets to fill out. It asked what our favorite candy bar is and I wrote that I didn’t like candy. That wasn’t the joke.

There were also a couple of things, like “Birthday,” and “Name.”

That also wasn’t the joke. But what I wrote on the part for name was somewhat amusing. “Amanda ‘the Awkward’ Stoddard.” And I am not going to lie, “Awkward Stoddard” has kind of a nice ring to it. Also, under favorites, I wrote, “1. Gushman. Everything else is secondary.” (If you don’t know who Gushman is, see Facebook--or the photo on the left. He’s my favorite stuffed friend.) And then, “i.e. pumpkin rolls, making pumpkin rolls, and cream cheese frosting.” I turned it in that way. Too bad more people aren’t acquainted with Gushman Bones.

Strange customs.

I want to know how all of the strange customs that we adopt in our modern culture came about. Things that aren't naturally so. My brother and I were talking a little bit about wisdom teeth yesterday, and we wondered why it is that it's necessary to remove wisdom teeth at all. Why would God give us teeth that we didn't need or use, or even have room for in our mouths? And what did people do before there was such a thing as wisdom tooth removal? On that note, teeth are kind of interesting. I'm sure that toothbrushes and toothpaste haven't always existed, so why is it so important now that we brush our teeth regularly (to keep our mouths fresh and free of cavities), or flossing? Who ever came up with flossing, anyway?

Also, this custom of women shaving their legs and armpits, and men shaving their faces, or the plucking of . Don't worry, I fully endorse these practices. I generally don't like facial hair (on guys or girls, for that matter), and I shave...but I don't understand why I have to. Why do I even grow hair on my legs if I'm a girl and girls aren't supposed to have hairy legs? It makes no sense to me.

afterthought.

I think of this blog as my Russia blog because it's where it all began...but it's not. And actually, after 3 months of being American, I've forgotten what it's like a little bit there [in Russian]...to be there, to be Russian (ahem, I was never exactly Russian...but pretty dang close). How they say things and what they do, and all of the culture, the wonderful culture. That's terrible. It doesn't help that I suck at Russian. Ode to Russia...how will you be in my future? Only time can tell.

Handicap Sticker

My ethical standards have degraded to a large degree lately and I am not sorry for it, really. Ok, so maybe I'm a little bit sorry for it. It's guilt, but it's not the kind of guilt that's motivating me to change. It's just caused me to think about it...and not change.

Here's the deal. I have a handicap sticker...illegitimately. I am pretty sure there is someone in my family who has this legitimately, but somehow, because I have a car that is owned by the family, I have access to a decal.

Since parking in Provo is horrible (especially at BYU), sometimes I excuse myself and use it. It started this summer and it's gone on. At first, it was going to be a one-time thing. And then I started using it more and more, and justifying it more and more. And I thought, what's the big problem? It's not like faculty really NEED all of these spots they have. And I've gotten plenty of parking tickets on BYU campus (some of which haven't even been my fault), so I don't feel like paying again...but I do feel like parking closer to where I have class.

Today, I got a wake-up call in this department. Maybe it's God telling me that I'm wrong and need to start being more ethical...and not using something that I did nothing to deserve. It's not as if I steal handicap spots from people--actually, I never park in the handicap spots. Just faculty spots, and then I put up the handicap sticker so that I won't get a ticket.

This is wrong, I know. But is it really all that wrong? How many times do people have privileges that they don't deserve, anyway? Isn't that the definition of "privilege"? And the world is unfair, isn't it? Who am I to think otherwise?

Today, I was parking in the JKB faculty parking lot, right next to the Parking and Traffic Enforcement Office. There was even a girl ticketing in the lot. I saw her and she saw me, that was obvious. As I put up the handicap sticker, she turned around to tell me I couldn't park there (I presume), and then saw the sticker and said, "Oh, you're alright." (Or, more properly, "You're all right.") And I said, "Thanks." And headed to class.

But I was embarrassed, I'm not going to lie.

I do NOT have a respiratory condition, nor a cardiovascular disease, or any other "ambulatory" condition. I am not confined to a wheelchair. And I am not "blind." My knees sometimes pop when I walk and I get winded when I walk up the stairs south of campus, but that's my own fault. And I guess that means I am mocking people who actually have those disabilities. I'm not sure, but if I think of it that way, then I feel terrible. I'm really grateful to not have any of these conditions.

Life's Questions

I have a lot of questions. Recently, I have decided to start asking them, which is the first step to getting them answered.

Here they are (the ones I can think of right now, anyway):
1. What do the solid white lines mean on the streets?
2. Are there Costa Vida's outside of Provo?
3. Can lovehandles be gotten rid of?
4. What causes hiccups?

1A.
--SOLID WHITE LINES are used on the right of roadway edge.
–SOLID WHITE LINES separate lanes of traffic moving in the same direction. Crossing a solid white line requires special care and is discouraged.
–Solid white or yellow lines are sometimes used to channel traffic around a hazard. –A double solid white line prohibits lane changing.
(Source: "Traffic Signals and Pavement Markings," CyberDriveIllinois.com)

I have noticed that solid white lines are used for bike lanes and the car pool lane on the freeway. Sometimes, it is broken white lines and I suppose this is the time when you are encouraged to cross, if needed. The other day I was confused because there was a huge shoulder, big enough for a lane. I thought it was a lane. I was driving in it. It wasn't a lane. (Moral lesson learned: the car pool lane is an anomaly. Don't cross the solid white lines unless necessary.)

2A. Costa Vida's are all over the country, including in AZ, CA, CO, ID, NM, ME (Maine), TN, TX, and UT. It did start in Utah. In fact, the first location was Layton, UT, in 2003 (source: costavida.net).It was Costa Azul then, as I remember. (To think, my hometown!) I thought it was a crappy restaurant because it was right next to the movie theater. Not that the name change had anything to do with it, but it is interesting to note that I didn't start enjoying the restaurant until it became Costa Vida. Now it's pretty much an addiction.

Costa: coast
Vida: life
Azul: blue

3A. Exercise doesn't burn fat from specific areas of the body. The reason that it may be helpful to tone the muscles in your abdomen, though, is when you do reduce your overall body fat, the more toned areas will have a nicer appearance. But there is no way to get rid of lovehandles specifically, or fat from any other area of the body. And it seems to me that the places fat goes is up to your body type, often, althoughApparently, fat in the lovehandle area for men is due to heredity. I also read that lovehandles are more common in men because the midsection is the area of the body where men tend to gain weight. I read somewhere that sodium (from salt) causes water retention in your body, and that "The amount of too much salt in your diet is responsible for around 80% of love handles." I don't think that statistic is backed.

4A. Wikipedia says this about hiccups: "While many cases develop spontaneously, hiccups are known to develop often in specific situations, such as eating too quickly, taking a cold drink while eating a hot meal, eating very hot or spicy food, laughing vigorously or coughing, drinking an alcoholic beverage to excess, crying out loud (sobbing causes air to enter the stomach), some smoking situations where abnormal inhalation can occur (in tobacco or other smoke like cannabis, perhaps triggered by precursors to coughing), or electrolyte imbalance. Hiccups may be caused by pressure to the phrenic nerve by other anatomical structures, or rarely by tumors and certain kidney disease. It is reported that 30% of chemotherapy patients suffer singultus as a side effect of treatment."

I get hiccups all the time. I wonder if, in my case, it is an indication of a more serious medical problem. "Some illnesses for which continuing hiccups may be a symptom include: pleurisy of the diaphragm, pneumonia, uremia, alcoholism, disorders of the stomach or esophagus, and bowel diseases. Hiccups may also be associated with pancreatitis, pregnancy, bladder irritation, liver cancer or hepatitis. Surgery, tumors, and lesions may also cause persistent hiccups." I don't think I have any of these diseases.

In Russia, I got the hiccups practically every time I ate. I don't as much anymore.

Well, my long lost, it's been a while, ain't it?

It has been practically two months since I last posted on this blog and I thought about giving it up, just abandoning it, and letting it die from neglect. But I seek some excitement and when you share something, when someone appreciates what you share, it makes it that much more exciting and valuable. I don't think anyone reads this blog anyway, but we'll give it a shot, regardless.

I don't live in Russia anymore, and in some ways, I'm kind of sad about that. Provo is a much less interesting town to hang around in, but at the same time, I can communicate (potentially) with everyone in it, in a language we commonly speak, and so it provides a bit more to think about. I guess I'm into connections with words, because I have to admit that being lost by yourself in foreign cities is not the most interesting thing.

What happened to me in the last two months?

Very early in the morning on June 4, my host family drove me to airport in Moscow for my outbound flight. The sun was rising at 3:30 AM. Maya held my hand and hugged me for the last time, as she always did. And they stood at the gate that they couldn't go past and watched me leave with my large red bags that weren't even mine. I couldn't do anything but say 'bye' to myself (my hands were occupied) and look at them as they watched me leave them.

I backpacked through Europe with Moscow 2 people (Rachel, Dallin, Emily, Christina) and Dan. We went to Germany, then Switzerland, then France, and then England. I wore the same pair of pants every day for more than two weeks. I lived in hostels. I got sick of traveling but it was one of the coolest things I have done, probably. I was shocked in London by being able to hear language that I could comprehend fully (I speak English, and so do they.), and shocked by the use of a hair straightener. It felt like my hair just grew two inches in one day. It was a miracle. While I was in Switzerland, I tried to hike the Schillthorn (a mountain in the Alps) without a trail. I dropped my camera into a river and lost all of the pictures, the memory card itself, and the camera, of course. Как всегда. I had to write an e-mail to my host dad about that.

On June 19, I flew home from Frankfurt to SLC. On the 10 hour flight from Frankfurt to Denver, I didn't sleep a wink. I tried, but it wasn't working out for me. I missed my flight from Denver to Salt Lake and made Dallin miss it with me. So we spent a few more hours in the Denver airport. I did Sudoku. I was very tired. The United States looked very ugly and hot to me. When I got to Salt Lake, I had to wait at the airport for a while for my brother to come and get me. My cousin, Jenny, was with him. It seemed all a little too familiar to me, like I hadn't been gone at all. Even though I was gone for five months. They joked that Jenny hooked back up with her ex-fiance and I believed them. I'm so gullible.

I lived at home for a while and didn't have the motivation to put my life together. People told me I'd have culture shock and jet lag coming back to America again but I didn't believe them in the same way I didn't believe it when they told me to expect that when I left America for the first time. I did have jet lag. I did have culture shock. The most shocking moment occurred when I came to my apartment before I actually moved in, and there were several people in a small area, several conversations going on, everyone was the same age, and there were boys. I didn't feel like I could handle social interaction like that for a while, it seemed like too much. Not to sound boastful, but it was weird to say things without a reason, when no one was listening to me. It was confusing that people talked without listening to each other. That no one was listening to every word that was coming out of my mouth and sometimes the things that I didn't say. That no one was studying to know me anymore and that my presence was suddenly unfelt and temporary in a place. That I wasn't missed when I left because right now is governed by the principle of change. And it was weird to me how people are friendly to strangers and smile at each other for no reason, among a lot of other things. That is beyond comprehension for a Muscovite, maybe. I think I stayed awake for a 72-hour period, but I'm not sure. It could have been less. I really missed my host family. I think I cried two times since I came back.

I moved into my apartment in Provo and started school on June 25. I am taking Russian (every day, 12-2), a religion class on temples, and a Music/Humanities class. It's 9 credits but the only one I have to do actual work for is Russian. I have been looking for a job too, but I keep getting rejected. I have gotten several e-mails and I think that I would rather receive no response than the e-mail that says, "We're sorry, but your application was not chosen for further consideration. There were a lot of qualified applicants and it was a very difficult decision. But we wish you the best of luck in your job search." Great, thanks. Why can't I just have my old job back? I can't believe that I ever left that job. It was like home.

The weather is stinkin' hot and I hate this heat, it makes me miss my forest in Moscow where the shade was cool, where I liked to гулать с Лилей и Маей и собакой. It's dry and the sun beats down on you. Maybe when you can't tell the sun is making it hot it might be a little bit better...you can start to pretend that it's not really hot outside because it looks somewhat gloomy, as it always does. But that's not true, it's just a difference in humidity. And maybe I do really prefer dry heat. The humidity makes you feel gross and sticky and you can't really keep your hair straight. If you care about that. I guess this whole thing makes me sound really shallow because I keep talking about my hair. I do have to say, though, that I lived in Russia for 5 months without every straightening my hair. No, not once. And I was chubby, did I say that? Yeah, I gained some weight while I was there, but then I lost it. I was sick of feeling uncomfortable all the time, like I had just finished eating a feast. Fat is not a good feeling. I was disgusted with myself. But now I am okay.

Here I am in Provo, right now, and I'm still weirded out by that even though it's been a while. I think the desert is ugly and Utah seems pretty ugly in most places. I think I'm pretty much adjusted and I actually think I'm a little happier here because I am not too lonely anymore. I can drive a car around on the streets, somewhat competently, is that not weird? Here I am, and I know a little bit more than just the basics. But I still do really stupid things all of the time. That hasn't changed. It was almost better in Russia because I had a scapegoat for my stupidity: I was an American who didn't speak Russian very well and had never been there before. But what's my excuse here?

I keep wanting to take all the people I love here and go back to Moscow. I want to go back when I can communicate. I realized that even though I was in one place long enough for things to become routine and familiar, I never got over feeling like I was in a foreign place, that I was a foreigner. I think that's because I never could understand everything that was going on around me. But now that I look back on it, it feels like a memory that is the same as all of my other memories, no matter where they occurred. The fact that I was in--where was I, Germany?--a month ago feels the same as it feels to say that I was in Layton three weeks ago, or somewhere in the Provo Canyon Mountains a year ago. It's all the same. You are the same. Not completely the same, but you're still you.

But it's rather funny. Will you come with me to Moscow? I'll take you to meet my host family. We'll sit at the table with them and eat and talk a lot. We can go for a walk in the forest when we are there, if it's warm. If it's not warm, we don't have to do that. Then we can ride the metro to the museum or the nearest Russian Orthodox Church, where we will catch a whiff of the strange incense from the candles as they rise up with the prayers of the devout and we can look at the ever-present icons. And we would wonder about what Russia was like in the past because there are 800 years of history beneath our feet. And we could wonder how that makes a difference, or realize that it maybe doesn't. We can go to a concert, any kind of concert that you could imagine. We can go to Ashan and buy pizza and eat it in the store. We can drink kakarde and take off our shoes to exchange for slippers at the door. We can walk into a place that you can settle into immediately, where everywhere is your domain. You don't have to wait to put your stuff down until you get to your room. Maybe we can just ride the metro around and pretend like we're going somewhere. We can stand really close to, even be touching, complete strangers. We could see how ghetto dirty Moscow is. Where history sidles up with the gutters of consumerism and makes friends. Where you can feel disgusted and inspired simultaneously. We could see best and the worst in one glance. The worst show man can put on in the best part of God's earth, or maybe it's the best show of man in the worst of circumstances. I'm not sure. And we could smell the mixture of that dirt with that cologne that everyone wears. If it's cold we wouldn't want to ride the bus too much because the windows get iced over and you can't see out of them, and you get rather cold riding on the bus without moving. Your toes feel numb and your nose hairs crystallize.

Somebody asked me the other day why I chose to go to Russia and learn Russian. I don't really know, but I'm glad I went.

Windows and Radishes in Russia

The funny thing about the window being broken...it wasn't.

Things like this are always happening, making me feel stupid constantly. I will tell a story about radishes too. But first, the window. It opens two ways. One way to open it causes the window to open from the side and the other way opens it from the top. To make this easier to explain, I've added visual rhetoric. (See pictures below.) In any case, I always open it from the side, and that was the only way that I knew how. I came home from St. Petersburg to flowers on my table and an open window. It was opened from the top and I thought it was broken. I tried to close it and was unsuccessful (obviously).

The problem was a case of "na ili ot cebya" or in English, "push or pull" kind of thing. It is like when you go through a door and you think you know that you have to push it but it ends up being slightly heavier than you think and so you decide it must need to be pulled, and then you kind of throw up your hands in despair because the door seems to be smarter than you are. Or am I the only one that experiences this? It's an easy comparison because it happened to me the other day, when I was going to the metro. I approached a door that I thought you had to push to open and spent about 5 or maybe 10 seconds trying to figure it out. I was right in thinking "push" but the door was heavy and I didn't anticipate it. I wonder what the Russian man behind me was thinking...

I left the already-open window open, determined that it was broken. A few days later, my host dad came into my room and noted that it was quite cold. He asked why I had the window open. I hesitated and said, "Because I don't know how to close it." He showed me how it closed quite simply and went into the kitchen.

Story number two is about radishes. On Victory Day (it is celebrated like July 4 is in America--it's a big holiday in Russia), May 9, we had a birthday party for Maya. Her birthday is on the same day. I wasn't really sure what to expect, but it ended up being a marathon event. We went into the nearby forest with a lot of food, a hammock, picnic table, etc. and set up shop, so to speak, and proceeded to have a barbecue of sorts. No matter that it lasted more than 8 hours. That's a long time to sit on a log. At the first, there was a lot of bustling about, making preparations. I didn't know what to do and so I just stood there, feeling rather useless. (Which I am, because I can't speak Russian.) When my host mom got the food out, though, I was gladly put to use cutting cucumbers, tomatoes, bell peppers, and (I thought) radishes. Eventually, every one kind of wandered away and left me there, cutting away. The kids were off to the side, playing, and two women (party for parents and children, novel!) came and asked me something that I didn't understand. They didn't know who I was or that I wasn't Russian at first and I ignored their question and continued cutting my radishes. It took me about fifteen minutes probably to cut all of them and I was satisfied with my work by the end. The party progressed, and at one point in our feasting, my host dad turned to me and said that I cut the radishes very well. (In Russian, so at first, I didn't understand him.) Then he said it in English and I said, "Thank you," not fully realizing the strangeness of such a comment. Then I noticed everyone around the table looking at me and suppressing quiet laughter, and I was confused. My friend Mike (by the way, Mike served a mission here in Moscow a few years ago and came back for a visit), who was sitting on the other side of me, served as translator for a moment. "He says they don't usually cut radishes," Mike told me. And then I'm pretty sure I turned a little red. Gah.

Opening from the side. (Handle perpendicular.)
From the top. (Handle up.)
Closed. (Handles down.)

Moscow in May...not enough time left!

My time here is drawing to a close and this obtrusive fact has made me feel contemplative lately. I feel unprepared to leave, as if I am trying still to piece together all of my experiences and my environment, which still boggles my mind at times. My group and Moscow 3 went to St. Petersburg last weekend and I missed my host family more than I expected. I was quite homesick for this apartment! I was so happy to come home. That night, we drank kakarde and my host mom asked me what I would do without it when I returned to America. I started to tear up a little bit on that line of thought. It's so strange how I feel like I am a part of their family, and even stranger to think that all of that will change in about four weeks. I am afraid that it will not be the same again, if and when I come back...I will be forgotten. I guess that happens, but it still is strange to me.

The weather is rather cold but Moscow is turning green. When I walk through the birch forests on my way to and from school, things seem greener every day. The light is lasting longer too, and I feel like I sleep in late when I wake up at 8 AM because it's been light outside for a long time already. My sleep schedule is really weird, in fact.

I recommend the book Lenin's Tomb. I have been reading it lately. It's about the collapse of the Soviet Union and Communist faith; it's interesting and well-written. I had read it once before, in high school (I was always interested in 20th century Soviet history for some reason), but rereading it now is a new experience. I am here. The streets that it mentions, they are in Moscow. They are places I have been, people that are close to the memories of everyone that I see. It is Russia's world, and I am in that world. In my attempt to understand its current implications and effects on the people and place that I am in, I feel overwhelmed by something that is so much larger than myself. It wasn't so very long ago.

My friend Mike came from Provo on Thursday morning. I met him at the airport even though my host father recommended me not to do so. I didn't know how else we would see each other, though, because we exchanged little information beyond his flight itinerary. I got on the metro and then in a marshrytka after that. It was the first time I've traveled in a marshrytka by myself--the last time I was in one, I was with Gulya. I remember her mentioning that I might be able to use them by myself in the Spring when I knew more Russian. I still don't feel comfortable enough speaking to use one, so I told the driver where I wanted to go and that I didn't speak Russian and he took care of me. When we got to the airport, he turned to me and held up two fingers. That was my signal. I saw President Beus, the mission president, and also some missionaries getting in, but I didn't talk to them. Actually, I had never met President Beus before that, and I wouldn't have known him except for his nametag.

It's been weird--like two worlds are clashing--to have someone I knew from Provo enter my world in Moscow. It's been nice, though. He understands Russian and can translate for me when I don't understand or tell me what words mean if I don't want to look them up. :) He's also shown me a few cool things around the city. (Like the fountain you see below at an "amusement park" we went to.)