Dear Bruise on My Arm,

Where in the world did you come from? You arrived two weeks ago, as evidenced by a tender pain, and yet I don't remember whacking my arm into anything. You kind of look like a thumbprint, but I don't remember anyone grabbing my arm either. You quickly turned deep purple, and then settled into a lovely yellow-green. Now, you look like a random tan spot on the skin over my left femur. And yet, every time I see you I go "oh, yeah! Where did you come from?"

Also, where did your cousin, bruise-on-my-right-leg come from? I don't remember doing anything to warrant that either. Have I taken up sleep walking? This guy is quite a bit bigger and bluer than you, bruise-on-my-arm. How clueless do I have to be not to notice something jabbing the inside of my leg? Did I drop something? If it were the shin or outside of my leg I might not be so confused, but the inside? Weird.

Now you've been joined by painful-bruise-on-my-ankle. Since I almost started crying when I ran into the coffee table last night, I have no question where that came from. I hope I didn't scare you with all of the wordless screaming; the pain was amplified when I put the frozen strawberries on it. But at least I put it on the painful spot for a little while. The ankle is twice as big as normal, but it's not purple. I probably should have left the ice on longer, but the frozen strawberries thawed and are now a paste, and since it was midnight and I was supposed to be in bed I thought it a waste of time to freeze my medical ice pack (should I just leave it in the freezer? I don't need it that often...). Plus, I didn't want to use regular ice because I feared I'd fall asleep, accidently break the plastic baggie, and have water all over my bed. Thankfully, it only throbbed until I fell asleep, which didn't take too long...

Oh! Hello bruise-on-my-elbow! You arrived this morning shortly before bruise-on-my-scalp. Um, welcome? I'd say "nice to see you" but 1) I'm not that happy about you, and 2) you're both in places I can't actually see. I can feel you, though.

Bruise-on-my-arm, thanks for the visit. It's been educational and entertaining to watch as you grew, changed, and started to fade. Will you please take all of your relatives and go away quickly? It's swimsuit season and I loathe to explain that no, I haven't been beaten up, I'm just apparently really clumsy.

Thanks and many regards,

Miss Megan

p.s. Keys and cell phone, will you stop randomly jumping out of my fingers? Especially in public places? I'm a little tired of picking you up, so I'd appreciate it.

Fiction-o-holic

KUED ran a television miniseries during the last few weeks called Lost in Austen that I quite liked. It's about a young woman, Amanda Price, living in a suburb of modern-day London, who one day discovers Miss Elizabeth Bennett from Jane Austen's novel Pride and Prejudice in her bathroom. Elizabeth has found a door in her house at Longborn that leads directly into Amanda's house. They end up switching places, and much to Amanda's delight, she learns she has appeared at the beginning of the story. Unfortunately, since she's there and Elizabeth isn't, she ends up messing everything up while she's trying to direct the action. It was a really engaging story, and I was quite satisfied by the ending. And it posed a good question: what do you do when the main character is removed from the story and replaced with someone totally inappropriate?

The other day, I went out to lunch with some coworkers, and they asked what I am reading. Kate had loaned me Enchantment by Orson Scott Card and it's really good! It's about a young man, Ivan, who grows up in Russia during the Cold War, moves to America with his family, and then goes back to Russia to do research for his dissertation on the origin of fairy tales and their relation to life during the 10th Century, then becomes a key player in a fairy tale himself. I'm about halfway through, and it just gets better and better! I have no idea how it's going to end, and that's a rarity for someone who reads and watches as much television as I do. I can predict a lot of endings.

I think my standard of how "good" something is is how much it diverts from the outcome I'm expecting. I like to be surprised! It makes me feel a lot more engaged in the story and characters and appreciate them more.

As I discussed the book with my friends, I realized that Enchanted has similar elements to Lost in Austen. And though both are fantastical stories, I have no trouble accepting them.

Apparently, I'm not a skeptic when it comes to fiction.

For example, the television show LOST was pretty wacky this last season, with a huge plot dealing with time-travel. I thought it odd, but was happy to follow along, and it's even making sense to me. I have no problem with the time-travel element at all. They have some very specific rules... that the characters are trying to foil. But because of those rules I accept the oddness of the situation.

I think one of the reasons I didn't love the Star Trek movie at first is because it didn't follow LOST's rules of time-travel. But upon seeing it again I realize the Star Trek movie does establish and follow its own rules, which frees up that suspension of disbelief so I can just adore the movie and see it as many times as I want...which I no doubt will until Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince comes out and I have to see it multiple times...

So, I have surrounded myself with a lot of fiction. I can accept the crazy stuff, but often during my regular life -- like while driving -- I say "really?" all the time. Funny how real life surprises me and causes me to question, but I take fiction in stride. Probably because real life affects me personally. I'm not an outside observer, so I have to be active and can't expect all of the insight to just come to me. Plus, the choices I make affect other people, too, so I can't just do whatever I want willy-nilly. Happily ever after is not guaranteed in real life, unfortunately, no matter how hard you work on it. That doesn't mean there isn't plenty to enjoy though!

What is the point of this blog? I forget. I don't want to make it into a whole "life is like a novel" thing, or explore why I like reading or watching about fictional characters. I simply like to enjoy some quiet time in the midst of my own life adventures.

So, I'll end with a list and let you come to your own conclusions:

1) These are great stories and I am recommending them to you (Lost in Austen is available on DVD!)
2) I like rules,
3) I read and watch a lot of fiction,
4) I like stories with great characters that feel familiar and yet surprise me,
5) Mixing or reinventing well-known stories can be cool and interesting,
6) Reading about quiet times in a novel is boring, while quiet times when reading a novel is preferable,
and
7) Real life is probably stranger than fiction because I have to participate.

The End.

Darth Stewie -- Just Because He's Funny

I kind of want to perform this scene for something, somewhere. Of course, I would be the guy arguing with Stewie.

Man, I love this dialogue! And casting Adam West as Grand Moff Tarkin is brilliant!

The Sock Puppet Story

I have decided it's time to retire the sock puppet that has been living on the gear shift of my car for the last seven years:

(Please forgive the drawing. It didn't ever occur to me to take a photo of the sock puppet while it was still whole. Yes, I drew this today specifically for this post.)

This puppet came into my life on a blind date. While I was going to school at BYU, one of my roommates brought home a guy she had a crush on. This guy met me and thought it would be a great idea to set me up with his roommate. He then proceeded to invite me on a group date for that Saturday as his roommate's date... but didn't bother to invite my roommate as his own date. Therefore, I knew nobody there.

The date consisted of dinner (which I ended up making since the other couples and my date were all friends and just wanted to hang out and play games), and then each couple was given a pair of socks. My date and I shared a bright orange pair. We all sat down at a table laden with yarn, buttons, felt, glue, needles and threads, etc, and proceeded to make ourselves a custom sock puppet. I was the only one to give mine teeth -- the other crafters were very impressed.

At one point, one of the boys asked what we were all thinking: "What am I going to do with this thing?" Someone else responded, "Well, you could put it on your golf clubs, or your gear shift, or something." Thus, my sock puppet was born, and his home became the gear shift of the Ruby Red Pamplemousse.

I must say, that sock puppet has been the catalyst for many a conversation. Pretty much anyone who has had occasion to ride or even look inside my car -- including Jiffy Lube guys, friends, dates, family, everyone -- has noticed it and wondered why in the world I had a sock puppet sitting on the gear shift. It made for an entertaining conversation piece, and I smiled every time I saw it. Plus, there was the added bonus that it kept the black leather gear shift from burning my hand during those hot summer months. I tried to name it a couple of times, but could never remember the name. Harold? Horace? Howard? Something like that.

After a while, I realized it would probably be a good idea to wash the sock. Problem was, if I did that, the whole thing would fall apart. To preempt any unravelling, I went ahead and cut the face off. Then I sewed the remaining portion of sock together, washed it, and put it back on the gear shift. It's sat there ever since. Sadly, I have no idea what happened to the face. It was looking pretty pathetic by the end, with the mustache coming unstitched, the button eyes falling apart, and the nose missing, but I could have at least given it a decent burial.

It's amazing to me when I look at the underside of the sock to see the bright orange-yellow color, because it has faded so much in the last seven years. The top of the sock is now also threadbare. So, I retired it. It's been good to me and I'm grateful, but it's time to move on. My mother gave me a pair of brown socks that no one in the family has claimed, and now I have one sock for the gear shift, and one I can put on my hand to save it from the hot steering wheel if necessary.

It's the end of an era. Thank you, sock puppet, for taking such good care of my hands and my car. It's been fun!

I Want

1. double-paned windows for my condo
2. a washer and dryer
3. a new computer
4. to go on vacation for my birthday
5. a new digital camera
6. a new cell phone
7. to make an extra mortgage payment or two
8. can lights in the livey-kitchy-diney room
9. seasons tickets for Broadway Across America AND Hale Centre Theatre next year
10. to somehow get all of the negatives from my growing-up photos onto CDs (without having to reprint the photos, if possible)
11. LOST season 5 on DVD
12. to finish stocking my food storage
13. to get my black boots and white corduroys mended

I want them...but can I afford them? That's the dream!

The Best Thing for Being Sad

"The best thing for being sad," replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, "is to learn something. That's the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting.”
--T. H. White, The Sword in the Stone*

*Thanks, Gina, for posting this on your blog. I needed it today!



I love this song, Requiem Aeternam by John Rutter. The change at 1:20 gives me chills, and my whole body just relaxes as I listen to the rest. I could listen to this song over and over. It is so hopeful and peaceful! (The music is anyway. It's possible the words are sad, but I've never looked up the translation.)