Summer Adventures - Vacation and Stuff

Are you ready for a picture blast??

So we went on a little trip! First we stopped for a day to visit our friends Stephen and Jenn (and cockapoos Hurley and Joey) in Virginia, and had a lovely time wandering around the utterly adorable Old Town Alexandria area and watching the boats on the - Potomac? Yeah, that sounds right. And I don't feel like looking it up. Some historic-sounding river. The Potomac, the Delaware, the Rubicon... don't make me learn stuff, world! I'm on vacation. That's the US Capitol building in the background. Or possibly St Peter's Basilica. Or the Kremlin.

Riding the free trolley. Leland can't just take a normal looking picture. Like your shirt, Stephen!

And the best part of DC - food trucks. Like, twenty of them. Why is food from a truck so much better than food from a restaurant? I don't know, but it's science.

CUPCAKES FROM A TRUCK. YES. Sweet Bites, the best cupcakes in America. That's right, I went there. We ordered a bunch and then devoured them, sharing each delightful concoction amongst the group. The woman who runs the truck actually came out of the truck to tell us how much she enjoyed watching us eat them. We are magnificent gluttons.

Then we went and bothered the President for a while. 

And wandered around the Mall, stopping at the new World War II Memorial, where I almost slipped and fell right into a fountain that had a prominent sign posted asking that people not throw coins into the water out of respect.

We took in the Vietnam Memorial, which I had never seen. I love this picture of our three reflections on the wall.

After our too-short visit in Virginia, we continued north to Leland's cousin's wedding in Doylestown, Eastern PA, which is like a yuppie-hipster paradise, but in a good way.

TWEE. And stuffed with antique stores, homemade pretzel bakeries, and establishments that will sell you any variety of gourmet product. It was a nice sunny day in the low 70s, and although we failed to find a coffee shop that lives up to Leland's high standards, I did enjoy the sensation of breathing in an atmosphere that was less hot and humid than the inside of my own lungs. The wedding was lovely, the food was tasty, and of course the bride was beautiful.

Leland and I sadly parted ways, and he drove back to NC while I traveled with Leland's parents to Indiana, Western PA. I came bearing gifts!

This is the first time I tried making bags, and they came out really nice if I do say so myself. These are designed to be lunchboxes (actually bento box holders), and have a vinyl lining and a little cover that can be pulled up over the goods. If you are can sew (optimistic beginner or above) and want to make a few of your own, the tutorial I used is here.

For my 3 1/2 year old nephew Luke, I made a pillowcase with John Deere fabric from the remnants bin (freaking LOVE the remnants bin). And yes, the fabric is sideways. Let's all pretend that was a deliberate artsy choice instead of an annoying mis-reading of the instructions (which, once you account for bone-headed mistakes, was surprisingly easy).

The boys each received my first attempts at making stuffed animals, little mooshy bunnies with embroidered faces. And the faces even turned out kind of non-creepy! Almost! Hopefully they won't haunt little Harlan's dreams. You can see him here trying to give the bunny back. (Just kidding.)

On Saturdays I went with my mother-in-law Phyllis to Ligonier Country Market to help her sell her lovely homemade soaps.

Love those rolling hills. Miss them in pancake-flat Eastern NC! Here's the market as vendors begin arriving...

And just before the opening bell. Of course, Phyllis' stand was the prettiest.

Though the sunflower seller gave even Phyllis a run for her money.

After two weeks in PA, we crammed three adults, one toddler, one baby, and all of their stuff --->

into one car and headed off to the beach (Kill Devil Hills) via a visit to Aunt Jean's (EDIT: Joan, not Jean! I promise I know your name, Sis, it was just a typing error. Also Uncle Don was there). It was an interesting lesson in how three year old brains understand time. "Are we going to the beach now?" "Is this the way to the beach?" and then, when we hadn't arrived at the beach after an unacceptably long amount of time (twenty minutes or so), "Mom, are you sure this is the way to the beach?"

Yet somehow, we all survived and no small children were murdered.

Ahhh.

It was great to spend some time with the nephews and see how Harlan's baby blanket held up to repeated washings.

And very excitingly, someone turned ONE! Things Harlan can now look forward to - being expected to use the toilet, feed and dress himself, and ultimately get a job and pay taxes and scrub the bathroom. It's all downhill from here, kid, so enjoy that cake while you can.

And be sure to lick all the icing off your arm before Mom is able to wash the rest of it away.

Luke and I had a good time goofing around.

For Harlan's big birthday, I made him a book of colors from fabric scraps. I didn't really have a plan or anything when I started making this, so it really came together better than I deserved. And it *should* be pretty durable.

All good things have to end - and as fun as a vacation with small children is (really!), it's definitely exhausting. Even when you're just the aunt. Leland drove up to spend the day at the ocean, and then we went back to Greenville.

I had a couple of big quilt finishes recently, too. First was this blanket for Stephen and Jenn's little baby boy, who should be here in just a couple of weeks! And for some reason, as I was trying to finish, bind, and quilt the blanket under a deadline - the baby shower - I suddenly developed standards.

I had decided to border the quilt (a combination of Irish Chain and Snowball blocks) with an orange solid. But after I put it on, I didn't like it. I mean, it was fine. But the fabrics didn't come together to make anything better. They just sat there. It was like the equivalent of a plain peanut butter sandwich. It's all right. Even tasty. Certainly nutritionally filling. But what I wanted was a nutella peanut butter sandwich. Two things combining to create something new!

Meh.

At first I was going to let it slide, but then I couldn't and ended up ripping it off. I guess that means I've developed artistic principles. Luckily, I quickly found a replacement batik orange fabric that looked amazing against the amazing dark sky blue Robert Kaufman fabric that I got just for this quilt. Lots of quilters don't mix batiks with other fabrics. I don't know why, because it's like the equivalent of adding the nutella to the peanut butter.

I used the original orange solid to bind the edges. I just love those little suns on the fussy-cut blocks.

And finally, I finished the very first quilt that I plan to keep! It's a scrap quilt with mostly nine patch blocks - lots of clothing scraps. When I finished cutting for this quilt about six months ago, I'd used up almost all my fabric scraps. My fabric addiction has ensured that these have been replaced plus a bajillion more. Ha.

The colors are a little weird in pictures, but somehow work really well in person. The backing, which you can see peeking out in the first photo (tan background, brown and pink/coral leaves and plants) was a king-size sheet that I bought for 3$ at Goodwill. Boom. (Yes I washed it.)

One of my favorite blocks, made with leftovers from Luke's baby quilt, a wedding quilt for friends Adam and Sarah, and a white dress shirt that was Leland's.

Nova approves.

After our (ok, mostly my) lovely working vacation across this great land, it's been nice to kick back and make Leland make me mochas.

Suck on that, inferior coffee establishments!

And also, after getting a yogurt maker for my birthday (which: who knew?), I can make Leland make me yogurt too!

Boil the milk, add a container of store-bought (or some of the previous homemade batch) as a starter, and pour into these cute little glass jars.

The yogurt cooks in the maker for several hours (which you can also do in the oven I think if you don't want to buy a yogurt maker)...

And after a night in the fridge, this is what you get. Forget those smug people who eat the fancy Greek yogurt and can time their toilet arrangements down to the minute. You can be extra-smug if you make your own. Smugness IN YOUR FACE.

And now I shall mix it with nutella and counter all the healthy effects of the yogurt with a good helping of fat and sugar. Hoorah!

Skin child: A terrifying glimpse into my subconscious

You're gonna be glad there are no pictures in this one.

We all know that it's generally pretty boring to hear about other people's dreams*. And yet we all tell each other our dreams. It's kind of self-indulgent and narcissistic yet oddly whimsical and naive at the same time, like a little kid who is still amazed at the stuff their brain can come up with.

So it's kind of like having a personal blog...

*cough* moving on.

I have really bizarre dreams. Which I thought was normal until I reached an age where I had to listen to other people talk about their dreams. And I have to say the King of Boring Dreams is probably our ex-roommate, Stephen, who dreams about things like going to the store and working out. That's probably the sign of a well-adjusted subconscious. Which does not bode well for me.

My dreams pretty much come in two flavors: completely nonsensical and terrifyingly cinematic. Both types are quite vivid, though I can never really explain the first type. Often I'm trying to protect something small, a baby or a pet, and the thing I'm protecting changes size and sometimes it talks and generally there's a goal I'm working towards like climbing a mountain except sometimes it's like the world falls out from under me and I'm...

You know what, never mind. Let's just say that these dreams are hard to make sense of and leave it at that.

The second type are white-knuckle vivid dreams that stick with me for years. I can still remember dreams from my childhood (for a long time I had a reoccurring dream that I was a superhero fairy who could fly, which was awesome and maybe explains a lot about me). Though sometimes (rarely) these are good dreams, they are more likely to leave me just happy to wake up again.

And I have a lot of zombie dreams. I like zombie movies, tv shows, books (like Stant Litore's series set in Biblical times), but indulging in any of these inevitably means zombie dreams. If I think about zombies for too long I have zombie dreams. I'll probably have one tonight. I suffer for my blogging.

In fact, I had a zombie dream just two weeks ago. In the dream I was a soldier out on patrol with my unit. The dream was so vivid that I could feel the helmet on my head, the gun over my shoulder, the utility belt around my waist with a radio and a sidearm. And yes, I dream in color. I recall the olive green of the uniforms. It was sunset, the sky streaked orange behind the other soldiers in my unit.

And then came the zombies.

At first we thought they were just the enemy. Until our guns had no effect on them. Or to be more precise, our guns mowed them down, but they were able to get right back up again, flagrantly defying the zombie-genre convention that a headshot can kill the reanimated.

I pulled out my primary weapon, a machine gun, and felt the percussion of it as it slammed against my shoulder, and it grew hot beneath my hands. Each time I sprayed the mob it gained us only another few seconds, and we kept falling back, falling back.

Finally we came to an abandoned market stand, just me and one of the other soldiers left. The ammo for the machine guns was gone, and we rested our arms against the counter top as we fired our sidearms into the crowd.

One of the zombies was almost on us, a man with dark hair and a white shirt, and he was reaching for me, his hand so close to my wrist.

I pulled the trigger. The gun went click. I felt it, the impotent jolt against my hand. The zombie reached for me.

And then I woke up.

Not only is sleeping occasionally terrifying for me, it can be equally frightening for the other people in the room. See, my dreams sometimes leak through into real life.

During the hypnagogic state (transitioning to and from sleep), it's not uncommon for people to experience all kinds of sensory phenomena, up to and including full-on hallucinations. Which I sometimes have. And like my dreams, they tend to be very vivid. Once, sleeping in my room in Minnesota, I woke to see a man with a bike - wearing a helmet - standing in my doorway. I got out of bed and took two steps to my right, into my bathroom. Peeked out a second later. He was still there. Ducked back behind the wall again. Peeked out again. He was gone.

In my room in England, I woke to see an old woman sitting on my chair, knitting unfurled over her lap.

In one college bedroom, I opened my eyes to a face right in front of my own, with dark eyes and white skin, grinning at me, hands pillowed under its cheek.

On vacation beside Lake Chautauqua, a black human-shaped thing with fuzzy edges came through the bedroom door and dove under my bed. I woke up my sister in the next bed and my boyfriend in the next room with my frantic attempts to find the thing under my bed.

And the thing is, as my logical brain reasserts itself, I also see the way that the shapes resolve into ordinary things or just melt back into the shadows.**

Anyone I share a room with just has to get used to me talking in my sleep or half-sleep, trying to explain the pictures in my head, or even sitting straight up or calling out to a hallucination lingering from my subconscious. I'm not generally scared when I see these things.

Case in point, last night.

I woke up around 2:30 AM and looked down towards my feet, where I saw something slumped over the side of the bed. What I saw, more precisely, was the empty skin of a child, like something had slurped out the bones and organs and so on and left the rubbery rest of it hanging over the edge of my bed. Except the head. The head was still intact, facing away from me. I could see the dark hair.

So I did what anyone would do if they saw a skin child draped over the end of their bed. I sat up and touched the head. And it was soft and fuzzy, just like I expected. I wasn't afraid or weirded out. Maybe just curious and a little confused.

At that point I realized I was touching the cat, and the rest of the thing resolved itself into a blanket. I wasn't sleepy anymore (not because I was freaked out or scared, mind you, I just wasn't sleepy), so I got up and went into the other room. A few minutes later Leland joined me. Not thinking, I told Leland the story of what I'd seen.

"Why on earth would you tell me that?" he said, and then refused to go back into the bedroom without me.

Leland's really easy to scare.






*If you're a person who regularly tells me their dreams, this does not apply to you, I love hearing about your dreams. Just so we have that covered.

**So do I think these things could be ghosts? There is no reason to claim that these are ghosts when there is a recognized scientific phenomena - hypnagogia - to explain them. But I would never say that I knew for sure that they weren't ghosts. To be quite frank about it, I'm none too pleased with the idea that they might be.

How I Got to Dance to My Wedding Song (finally)

Things I should be doing instead of writing a blog post: a great multitude.

I was going to try this thing where I write smaller little stories or vignettes on my blog instead of the monster posts. In theory this will mean more posts. In practice I will probably still end up with monster posts because I am long winded.

So anyway, this is the story of how I (finally) got to dance to my wedding song.

When we were planning the wedding, we decided to go with a DJ for a couple reasons. 1) they're cheaper; 2) I usually like the standard version of a song better than a cover; 3) I am a control freak.

We hired Instant Request. Here's a warning. This story is not going to make Instant Request look real good.

We spent probably two hours filling out the EXTENSIVE questionnaire provided by the company about our music preferences, what we wanted to be playing during appetizers, dinner, dancing, and so on, and if we listened to Norwegian death metal never, seldom, occasionally, sometimes, often, or CONSTANTLY, and if we thought great-aunt Myrtle would enjoy Tibetan throat-singing for her after-dinner cup of coffee. If I could use one word to describe this questionnaire, it would be THOROUGH. We could even tell the DJ on what side he should part his hair, and warn him that Myrtle gets a little handsy after her third shot of Jack.

We also talked to our DJ for at least half an hour a couple days before the ceremony. We were Good to Go.

Until the day arrived, and all the little details were in place, and I looked ravishingly beautiful, and the DJ was sick and couldn't come.

So, as per their practice, Instant Request sent a replacement DJ. I was informed of this via a series of frantic whispers as I prepared to walk down the aisle. Now, to be fair, we had kind of a complex music thing that we wanted to have during the ceremony (all right, not THAT complex - one song for the small wedding party and a different one for Leland and I when we walked down together, and then a third song for the recessional). The DJ nailed it. I decided to relax.

The first sign of trouble was when the DJ came up to my brand new sister in law during appetizers and whispered, "what kind of music do the bride and groom like?"

DUDE. DIDN'T YOU GET THE QUESTIONNAIRE??

During dinner, which I was DETERMINED to enjoy for two reasons: 1) everyone tells you that you don't get to eat at your own wedding because you're too busy making sure everyone else is having a good time, and screw that, because; 2) our food was freaking AWESOME, the DJ then came up to me and asked me what kind of music I thought he should play.

And look - LOOK! While I was looking through the wedding pictures, I found this picture of the DJ talking to us while we were waiting for our next course. Here's a tip. When the bride is making that face at you, back away slowly. I'm not one of those people who thinks that the bride should get to do whatever nonsense comes into her head just because it's "her special day", but SERIOUSLY.

Uh - just play good music. That people like. Isn't that kind of YOUR JOB?

(As a side note, if you need a caterer, hire Three Sons Signature Cuisine in Minneapolis. Just do it. Even if you're in Reykjavik or something. Just fly them in. They made one of the best meals I've ever eaten and if you know me well enough to read my blog, you know that's a serious statement.)

After dinner, we got up for the first dance. Which, let me just say, is kind of weird. It's kind of weird to sway back and forth with your new spouse while people stare at you. We had requested Can't Help Falling in Love by Elvis (aka - the fools rush in song). You know. This song:

We stood there in the middle of the dance floor, and instead of the gentle opening melody and Elvis' dreamy voice, what started to play was a weird, fast remix version of the song, which I CANNOT EVEN FIND ON YOUTUBE.

Um.

We didn't request WHICH VERSION, which I suppose was our fault, but seriously. I didn't even KNOW there was a FAST VERSION, because while I have heard the slow version dozens of times, I have never heard the fast version. And - just - what the hell? Who would dance their first song to a weird fast remix of the original? Did it not occur to the DJ that this was strange, and while he was bothering us during the spinach and strawberry salad with goat cheese, he could have just made sure that he had the right song?

After a second of confusion, Leland ran over to the DJ table while I made this expression.

This is my "what the fuck!?" face. For future reference.

This is one of my favorite pictures from the wedding. (And if you need a photographer, Julie E Photography is amazing. Even though she does have automatic music playing on her website.)

In the confused silence, my new brother in law Tristano swept in and stole the first dance from Leland.

Tristano claims he doesn't remember doing this. PROOF. Leland is in the background talking to the DJ.

And Leland started waving me over. "The DJ doesn't have that song," he whispered.

It wasn't like we were talking about a deep track from a Men At Work album. This is a standard wedding song, right? Am I crazy? You have fifteen thousand songs and freaking I Can't Help Falling in Love by freaking Elvis is not one of them? Let's put this in perspective - we were announced in the reception to the Indiana Jones theme song. Which the DJ had.

So standing right there, on the spot, we had to ditch the first dance song that we had spent some time picking out and instead pull one off the laminated list from the DJ's big binder. We looked for one song, then the next, and finally one of us said, in semi-desperation, "What about Wagon Wheel by Old Crow Medicine Show?"

Right after we started dating, Leland and I made the brilliant decision to go work for the same company in close proximity for eight hours a day and also share a hotel room, all summer. It was predicted that by the end of the summer we would either be bitter enemies or married, and Leland bought the ring the next October, so I guess that worked out. Hence our choice of the song about fools rushing in. Anyway, on the two hour drive to and from the job site, we listened to a lot of bluegrass, and both fell in love with Wagon Wheel. There's a line in the song, "I hear my baby calling my name and I know that she's the only one", and Leland would squeeze my hand when that part came on. Awww.

And the DJ had the song. Feeling like maybe we should take more time in picking, but also feeling flustered, I was all, "fine", and we took our places again.

At first we swayed awkwardly back and forth for a while, but then Leland started singing under his breath, and then I started singing, so here we end up swinging around the room, both singing at the top of our lungs. It was wonderful.

(Julie shoots in real film, not digital, so we got to see all of the hilarious pictures that would probably have been deleted from digital cameras to preserve dignity.)

So that was my first dance, and I couldn't have asked for a better song. And that was before we moved to North Carolina and the song became even more meaningful to us (the lyrics go, "heading down south to the land of the pines, thumbin' my way into North Caroline... and if I die in Raleigh, at least I will die free...")

Last summer, while at a bluegrass concert with Leland's folks, we heard Wagon Wheel and I made reference to what had happened at the wedding. My inlaws didn't know what I was talking about - they'd never heard the story. And my father in law said, "don't ever tell that story again! I love that Wagon Wheel was your song, it's just so - you".

And so all of that was just set up for the actual story... How I Got to Dance to My Wedding Song (finally). I'm just so good at these short posts.

Two weeks ago, Leland and I and his family attended the wedding of his cousin Kathleen and her now-husband Charlie. It was a beautiful wedding, with a great DJ. As I was signing the guest book, I saw Leland trying to catch my attention from across the room.

"Do you hear what's playing?" he was saying.

It was "Can't Help Falling in Love".

"Hurry, we're going to miss it!" he said.

I didn't have a chance to consider the unlikelihood of my husband actually wanting to dance with me, because normally he just flat out refuses. (We've since worked out a deal. At weddings I get one slow and one fast song of my choosing, excluding either Wagon Wheel or Can't Help Falling in Love, which are both freebies.) I rushed to the dance floor.

And finally we got to dance to our song.

(Well, the last half of it, anyway.)

We were even the only couple on the dance floor.

Then, as the song ended and we were leaving the dance floor, another familiar song came on. Wagon Wheel. And there, behind the table, is my father in law, grinning at us. "What a 'coincidence'. You can't leave now!" he said.

So we danced, and Leland's parents were dancing on one side of us, and his sister and brother-in-law on the other side, everyone singing at the top of their lungs.

It was wonderful. Much better than if the DJ had just played the right damn song in the first place. So maybe at the end of all of that, you SHOULD hire Instant Request to screw up your wedding. At the very least you'll get a good story out of it. And at best, you'll get something much better.

This is not an apology

Isn't it lame when people apologize for not blogging more often?

That's why this is not an apology. I'M NOT SORRY. There, I said it.

Don't worry, I have no plans to stop blogging. I'm just boring and kind of lazy. Mostly the second one. And also almost 10,000 people have read my post on atheism. Which is weird.

Anyway, if you are desperate for regular doses of my wisdom, I am now running the Humane Society of Eastern Carolina blog here. I write maybe a third of the posts (sometimes more, sometimes less, depending on what the other blog writers are up to), and I edit everything that is posted, so it all has the Anna stamp of approval. If you like little fuzzy animals, check it out.

And now for some pictures of my pets.

Double-decker apartment living for effective use of space. Oh yeah - we moved into an apartment. I don't think I mentioned that.

 

A Dog of Very Little Brain

My kitty is the cutest.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Chicago

So I went to Chicago...

As I took this picture someone said something about muggers and I laughed nervously and they said, "no, really".

It's a beautiful day in the Chicago hood - wait, that didn't sound as bad in my mind.

This is Layne (who blogs at Librarian Hot) and her partner Nate. They live in Chicago, and are lovely people. I've known Layne since freshman year of college, when I was intimidated by how smart and pretty she was but quickly got over that fear to discover that she is incredibly awesome. We have a long history of consuming entire packages of double-stuf oreos (I am ashamed that I didn't even have to look up how to spell 'stuf') and watching lots of trashy tv. Such is the basis for a great friendship.

Circa 2005? Layne and I in college, dressed up for Halloween - as each other.

Nate and Layne were gracious enough to allow me (nay - INVITE me - fools) to hang out at their Magical Dream Apartment for a week. Seriously, if this was my apartment, I'd be inviting random people in off the street just so I could be smug at them about my good fortune.

Seriously.

Ever notice how it's your friends that always have the Magical Dream Apartments? Where's my MDA?

I am totally allowed to be on the bed. Totally.

I was welcomed by a room decked out in ECU colors, and by a dog on the bed. Note that the dog is not supposed to be on the bed, which is why she's giving the camera that unique doggy look, the am-I-in-trouble-or-can-I-bluff-my-way-out-of-this look. I feel at home already!

Yes, the Magical Dream Apartment allows pit bulls. Magical! I was pretty much constantly concerned that Miss Roxie, the pit in question, was going to eat me. She is, after all, a fearsome beast.

Fearsome beast... in a hoodie. See, hoodies mean danger!

Roxie and her fellow pitties were on patrol one lovely morning as part of the SociaBulls, a group of mostly pit bulls and their owners that meet regularly to have a group walk throughout different parts of town.

Getting ready for the walk

Roxie says, "you can keep scratching there... if you want"

Breaking stereotypes, one well-behaved pit at a time.

It was AWESOME to see so many well behaved pit bulls in the same place.

Part of the reason I visited when I did was because the Field Museum was having Member's Night. Because - obviously. Field Museum. Behind the scenes Member's Night with beaver dissections and free reign (kind of) in the Anthropology Large Items Collection.

View from the steps of the Field. Ahh.

Anthropology large items, what whaaaat!

We all faced our fears! Layne faced her fear of snakes by bravely heading down an aisle filled on both sides with jars of preserved snakes.

Now we have reaching the unsettling part of our tour

And Nate and I faced our fears of creepy things with too many legs.

Unfortunately, one of the etymologists staffing the creepy-crawlies table was a total ass. I hate spiders, but I hate cockroaches more. They make me feel like things are crawling on my head. Too many legs! As we passed the table, the woman held out one of those giant hissing Madagascar cockroaches out to me and I RESISTED my urge to knock the thing to the ground and slam it into eternity with the sole of my shoe, screaming all the while. That's how we deal with roaches in the south, Ma'am.

Instead, I smiled through the fear paralyzing my face and said, "no thanks."

She shot me a look of disgust and said something disparaging, then turned to the folks behind me in line and said, "this girl's crazy."

Ok, lady. Never mind that it took some courage just to go into the room with your stupid insect, and that I in fact intended to do something I'd never had the guts to do so before - actually touch a tarantula. So thanks for shaming me in public and making it even less likely that I will ever touch a cockroach. Maybe next time you could keep your excellent people skills and your judgey-judge-pants to yourself.

Oh, and I did touch the tarantula. So there.

That is my finger. Bitch.

She was actually very fuzzy and soft and much nicer than her human "spokesperson". Maybe next time I'll try to hold one. And for the record, I think Nate held both a cockroach and a tarantula.

We then headed into the bowels of the Field to check out the animal dissections.

This sign is For Serious

I was actually surprised at how much I reacted to the smells in the dissection lab. I've never reacted to the sight of blood and guts, and I've done plenty of formaldehyde dissections, but never had been next to something quite so... fresh. But not really fresh, since it had been shipped from somewhere else. A few of the specimens were a little bit ripe. My brain wanted to stay, but my tummy wanted to go...

Go to where the bones were!

We got to see a new mummy exhibit with several CT scans and resin reproductions of skulls. That's what this guy up here was holding. He was so impressed by my enthusiasm that - totally unbidden - he started talking about erect mummy penises.

I bet you talk to all the girls that way

The photo also shows the magnificent, insane-child grin I had on my face for the entire evening. It's amazing that anyone puts up with me, really.

In the mummy exhibit, I pushed some little kid out of the way to get down on my knees and examine one of these skulls more closely. As I got up, an older gentleman with a British accent said, "did you find what you were looking for?"

"Oh, um - I just wanted to see it more closely," I mumbled. And then I saw his nametag - Head Curator for Biological Anthropology.

Holy shit!!!!!

As we chatted, I found a way to shoehorn into the conversation that I had a degree in Bio Anth, and then he showed me a deformation on the top of the skull that he thinks is due to artificial cranial deformation. "But the Egyptian government doesn't accept that, of course!" he said, and we chuckled knowingly together.

And if this had been a movie, he'd have been so impressed by my wicked mad bones skillz that he would instantly offer me a job. But this is reality, so instead I just get to write about it on my blog.

Besides the Field, there was something else that drew me to Chicago that weekend... the Chicago Comic Entertainment Expo - C2E2.

Oh yes. There was cosplay.

And now, to be totally honest, I have to admit that while I am a nerd of significant standing, I've never been a comics person and was really drawn to this event because I would be able to hang out with this Nerd First Class:

I have known Lisa since I was a freshman in high school. Our friendship is based on hating math, many nights of bad decision making in her apartment (hookah + trampoline = bye-bye security deposit), and long aimless drives around Minneapolis and the surrounding countryside, during which time Lisa would put in one cd after the next, listening to half of a single song on every disc before exchanging it for a new one.

I spent a lot of time trailing happily along in Lisa's wake as we plowed through the many offerings of nerd culture on parade. Our friend Tom was also there, and as he and I have similar viewpoints on The Nerds, it was very fun to have someone to make fun of Lisa with.

NERDS!

Book signing with my FAVORITE fantasy author, Robin Hobb

We met some great artists, stood in line for some signatures, checked out a few panels, and basically exhausted ourselves (Lisa more than anyone else).

The official C2E2 DJ

I texted Leland "we're watching Quidditch". He texted back "how is that possible?"

Quidditch was... well, it looked like they were all having fun. Running around holding the broom between your legs seems mighty silly to me. But when they invent actual flying brooms, sign me up.

We also bought a souvenir or two.

Winter is coming...

And as Layne and Nate are ranking high-level nerds themselves, we all were able to hang out together on the last day of the convention.

For America!

One of the best parts of the convention was just seeing people in costume. There were some amazing, and no doubt expensive, get-ups there.

Spiderman has a backpack?

Watch out, zombies

These are not the droids you're looking for

And then, after lots of nerds and great food and good times and hanging out with friends, it was time to go.

But I'll always have the memories...

of Layne's cat Byron (aka Captain Naughtypants) throwing up in my suitcase.

A Brief Soapbox Intermission

Brace yourself, I've got something to get off my chest...

I'm an atheist.


Part One: Americans Hate Atheists

And that makes me a member of a minority group that is perceived with suspicion, disgust, and outright fear by a large percentage of the population. Consider the following. According to a recent study published in the American Sociological Review, "atheists are less likely to be accepted, publicly and privately, than any others from a long list of ethnic, religious, and other minority groups" (cite).

• Only 49% of Americans would be willing to vote for an atheist president (59% would vote for a homosexual, 90% would vote for a Black, female, or Jewish candidate, pretty much everybody would vote for a white dude.)
• 39% of Americans agree with the statement that atheists "do not at all agree with my vision of American society" (26% agreed regarding Muslims, 23% agreed regarding homosexuals, 13% agreed regarding conservative Christians [interesting], 13% agreed regarding recent immigrants.)
• 47% of Americans would disapprove if their child wanted to marry an atheist (34% would disapprove of a Muslim, 27% of an African American [yikes], 19% Asian or Hispanic, and pretty much everyone's ok with a Caucasian.)
• Atheists are more distrusted than Muslims, Jews, gay men, and feminists. A similar percentage of respondents reported distrust for rapists as did for atheists.

(cite, cite)

So, Americans hate Muslims, homosexuals, and rapists, but they REALLY hate atheists. Ok, that might be overstating it. Americans may also really hate rapists.

Part Two: How Many Atheists Are There?

(Well, it is a nice thought, but not all these guys were atheists.)

About 14% of Americans have no religious preference, but only 7% respond to surveys about belief by agreeing with the statement "I don't believe in God", or "I don't know whether there is a God and I don't believe there is any way to find out". (These are the definitions of atheism and agnosticism, respectively). 7% is a pretty small group, but way larger than Mormons (1.9%) or Jews (1.7%).

Only 1% of Americans self-identify as atheists or agnostics*, but this is still more than the numbers of Jehovah's Witnesses (.7%), Buddhists (.7%), Muslims (.6%), or Hindus (.4%). Of course, most atheists don't go to atheist meetings or dress up in suits and go around ringing doorbells, handing out pamphlets about how there is no God. (Can you imagine?)


Part Three: FAQ

We'll get to why people hate atheists so much in just a bit, but first I want to answer a few questions. These are the most common questions that I get when I talk about being an atheist.


Why are you an atheist?

• There is no need for the presence of a supernatural deity to explain the variety and wonder of the natural world.
• Text from the Bible, as from other religious documents, is an amalgam of myths, aphorisms, and archetypes that have been around probably since humans first learned to tell themselves stories. The text and history of the Bible, as with other religious documents, clearly demonstrates that it was written by humans and has in fact gone through an editing process by which bits were added and removed according to the whims of the ruling religious elite at the time. Furthermore, passages from the Bible specifically contradict what science tells us to be true.
  
• I have never experienced anything which might be described as a religious experience that could not be explained by the psychology and sociocultural pressure of the milieu.

Of course, all of these together don't mean that God doesn't exist, that the Bible isn't divinely inspired, or that religious experiences aren't real. However, I find these three factors to be necessary foundations of my disbelief in any deity. Were any of these pillars to be removed, I would likely become a more religious person. (That is not a challenge, people!)

I realize that spelled out so clearly, my beliefs make me sound arrogant. But no more arrogant than people who go around claiming that they know there is a God, and furthermore, presume to know what God wants.


What do you think happens when we die?

The same thing that happened before we were born. Nothingness.


Doesn't this make you sad/scared?

Not for me personally - obviously I won't be aware of what's going on. It does make me sad that death is final and that I won't have an opportunity to meet up with my loved ones again. It would be nice if an afterlife did exist. But wishful thinking cannot and should not be the basis for religious belief.


How do you fill that hole in your life that religious people fill with God?

Why do you assume that my life has a hole? I certainly don't feel in any way that my life is less than complete. I work, I write, I blog, I quilt, I play with my dog and cat, I raise money for charity, I love my husband and family, I clean the house (sometimes), I read, I hang out with friends, I eat (lots), I travel, I teach - these are the same things that everyone else does too.

And lest you accuse me of being in denial about some gaping hole in all of this, let me also tell you what I don't do. I don't drink, smoke, or do drugs. I don't gamble or sleep around. I'm not depressed or sad - in fact, I'm pretty happy most of the time. In short, I don't do anything that would lead someone to suspect that I'm subconsciously compensating for some kind of soul hole (sounds like a band name - Soul Hole). I'm actually pretty boring that way.


How can you tell right from wrong?

AHA. I feel like this is what people really want to ask, though most don't come right out and say it. And this same question is what goes back to the statistics I cited earlier - why people don't like atheists. It's really a trust issue, as studies confirm (cite). Many religious Americans don't trust atheists because they don't believe that atheists share - or even possess - a recognizable moral code.


Which is really pretty insulting. And confusing. As a person with religion, do you need to do a quick WWJD check before every little interaction, or do you have a reliable internal compass that lets you know how to behave in most instances? It's simple. In order to be a good person, I don't have to be scared into behaving by the threat of punishment from above. If you need the threat of punishment to do right, that makes me a little bit afraid of you. And if you need to have the rules of right and wrong clearly spelled out by someone else, then I'm a LOT afraid of you. Do Unto Others - that's all you gotta know. Unless you're a sociopath.

People are people - if they want to behave like jackasses, they'll do it, and they'll find a way to justify it, using their religion if necessary. Not so sound too self-congratulatory, but I think I do pretty well at being a good person. I often wonder, though, while in the midst of a good deed, if the person on the other end would ever guess that I'm an atheist. Like the folks from the church food fundraiser, who told us that we gave more canned food than many other houses, or the woman stopped on the side of the road, who we helped secure a runaway mattress back to the roof of her car, and who kept saying "God is gonna bless you!"

The point is not to make a list of how awesome and righteous we are, but to suggest that atheists are perfectly capable of being good people, and that in fact we are way more successful at this than some would suspect. After all, we're 7% of the population - that's 21 million people. 21 million people can successfully start some shit, I tell you what.

Part Four: This Part is Just For Lindsay

ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?

Part Five: Atheists Are Good People Too

Compared to the general population, there are WAY fewer atheists in prison - less than a quarter of one percent, according to many, many studies (cite). Ok, so maybe all of these prisoners were evil, evil atheists while doing their crime, and now that they're doing their time, they see the light. That seems unlikely to account for all cases, or even the majority of cases, but fine.

Consider instead the country of Norway. Known for their lovely fjords, Norway also has an unusually high percentage of atheists - estimates range from 26-71%, depending on definition. And you know what? The Global Peace Index rates Norway as the 9th most peaceful country in the world, after Iceland (16-23% atheist), New Zealand (20-22% atheist), Japan (65% - second highest in the world after China), Denmark (43-80%), the Czech Republic (54-61%), Austria (18-26%), Finland (28-60%), and Canada (19-30%). (cite) (Sorry no cite for the atheism percentages, but I'll send you the pdf if you're curious.)

I THINK YOU GET MY POINT. But just to make sure I've ground it totally into the ground, I'll just remind you that Norway is ranked number one in the Human Development Index, which considers life expectancy, literacy, education, and standard of living. (cite)

The US is ranked 82nd in the Global Peace Index, and 4th in the Human Development Index. (Isn't it nice to find at least ONE global ranking scheme in which the US does pretty well for itself?)

Part Six: TL;DR

Hating on atheists is stupid and nonsensical. And BIGOTED. So knock it off. One can be a perfectly happy and good person without religion of any kind. Also, I'm moving to Norway.


*If you really start poking around in the Pew Forum's data on religion - and if you're a data nerd, prepare to spend several hours happily plugging away at it - you'll see that when asked if they believe in God, a weirdly large percentage of those who call themselves atheist or agnostic replied that they do believe in God, meaning that they don't actually know what the terms 'atheist' and 'agnostic' mean, but that's a whole 'nother thang.