My Name Revisited

So in a previous post I gave a little back story on my name, which kind of explains the former title of my blog. Basically, I found that I often introduced myself by saying, "I'm Michael . . . like the guys' name." This cut down on a lot of questions, and since I was on the phone for work, it was a handy crutch.

Here in Kentucky, I have realized I don't say it as much. It may be partly because I'm usually introducing myself in person. Whatever the reason, the phrase has organically dropped from my speech patterns. Now, when people ask my name, I find myself replying, "Michael, actually." And that's only if I use any kind of a qualifier at all; sometimes, I just say "Michael."

We've been in town for a while, and I've met people here and there, and no one--NO ONE--has asked me about my name. It's really . . . refreshing. And strange. Matt has suggested that maybe it's Southern politeness. Who knows? I won't be surprised if people ask as we get to know them better. But names tend to be such small chat fodder that I was prepared to field all manner of questions as we met new people. Slowly but surely, we are getting out in order to build our roster of friends and acquaintances (so far, no one has made the team, but it'll happen).

So, in honor of my new introduction, and because I have never really loved the title of my blog anyway, I am re-branding my blog as Michael, Actually. Because really, I'm not blogging about travel or food or politics or fashion or whatever else. This blog is all about me, actually. So that's the new name! It's probably a little weird to change the name of a blog after more than a year, but it just felt . . . right? Plus it's shorter, which I like. The url is still the same, so hopefully there won't be too much confusion. So what do you think? Is it weird, do you hate it? You hate it, don't you? Or do you?

Birds Don't Have Teeth and Other Silly Complaints About Louisville

From the Wikipedia article about UofL Athletics.

So far, I am really digging Louisville. We have tried a number of good restaurants, there are trees everywhere, and we even have a couple leads on friends. But, since I am a whiner and contrarian, I will share a few impressions that are less than positive.

1. Before we even knew we were moving here, Matt pointed out (most likely in the context of college basketball) that the U of L Cardinal has teeth. Now I can't stop thinking about it. As a side note, it turns out some birds do in fact have teeth, or at least teeth-like anatomy within their beaks (I'm looking at you, geese), which is really a terrifying discovery because I don't need any more reasons for birds to star in my nightmares.
   
2. I love ice cream. I love it a lot. But honestly, what is wrong with the portions out here?! A scoop of ice cream should be about the size of my fist. Every time I have ordered ice cream I have received a scoop the size of Andre the Giant's fist. It's too much, even for me, and the other night I was forced to admit to Matt (and myself) that yes, maybe I am mildly lactose intolerant. No human being needs that much ice cream in one sitting!
   
3. People out here seem to think that phone numbers don't need area codes, as evidenced by everything from "For Rent" signs to business ads. It's 2011 people! We all have cell phones and relocation is possible, frequent, and sometimes necessary in this day and age. I think the area code around these parts is 502? But how should I know? The local public transit system doesn't even provide an area code for the information line on the nearly useless signs posted at their stops (nearly useless because they only say "Board Here" and don't specify the bus number).
   
4. Humidity. I have straight hair but it gets kind of . . . flippy? And suddenly my short haircut is no longer sleek. And while we're talking about weather, the clouds have really dumped on us so far. I'm told this is irregular, which is good, because I moved to the South, y'all, not the Pacific Northwest. If I have to put up with this much rain I should I least get driving distance access to Seattle, Portland, and my awesome friends in that area.
   
5. Apex Theaters, a pair of local indie movie theaters, show more mainstream movies than indie movies, but I guess they're better than nothing. I haven't actually been to the Baxter Avenue location, even though it is in our neighborhood, but the Village 8 location is SUPER cheap and has some decent offerings mixed in with the regular stuff. Still, they're no Landmark Theatres, which I could rely on to pretty much tell me what movies I'd like. 

There's more, like that produce is more expensive (oh avocados, how I miss you), Trader Joe's does not yet have a location here, and even though we have had some good Mexican food we can't seem to find a decent tortilla. And of course, it goes without saying that the lamest thing about relocating to Louisville is that I couldn't force all my friends to relocate with me.

In unrelated news, Snoopy is back to her Snoopariffic self. She doesn't yet seem comfortable outside, but she's down to hang out with the people in her household. No complaints there.

A Bit Heavy

I've been meaning to post for while and this week I have no excuse since things have settled down a bit. I was so focused on finishing up my tales of my February trip that I haven't really updated much about the move or anything like that.

From the living room of our new place.

I'm in Louisville now, and I had plenty of posts planned about all the things I'll miss about San Diego, or all the things I look forward to about Kentucky, or about notions of home. Plus, it's National Library Week, so I have been meaning to post about that. But somehow I just haven't been in the mood . . . And then I feel guilty for not keeping up with my blog, even though it's something I choose to do and therefore should be fun.

I guess I feel guilty for more than just not blogging. Instead of being productive by unpacking or looking for a job or even writing I'm squandering my time on the internet, playing trivia games or reading semi-informative but humorous blogs or not at all informative but wicked funny blogs or discovering new (to me) webcomics or browsing wikipedia for hours on end and then realizing I'm reading about Jack the Ripper or horrible sea creatures (aren't they all horrible?) when that wasn't my intention.

If you want insight into my brain and my life, go read this incredibly relatable Hyperbole and a Half post about being an adult. Even if you don't want the insight, read it anyway because the blogger is hilarious. This is basically what happened with my promise to correspond with a bunch of strangers, and I'd like to get that started again but I need to get to a point where I can trust myself to follow through, because everything went well for a few months but then I just . . . got distracted or something and again, the guilt has prevented me from picking up where I left off. For any of my pen pals that are reading this, I am sorry if I let you down.

Another thing that's bothering me is the behavior of our cat, who has been spending pretty much all of her time in the attic. If this door is closed, she will scratch, meow and pace in front of it until we open it. We don't open it when she scratches, but if she asks (meows) then we open it to let her explore.

Normally, she is a cuddle monster whose only desire is to sit on a lap and be petted. But since we let her come into the attic of our new place with us, all she wants to do is go back up there. She spends hours up there, just hanging out by herself. It would be different if she were a different cat. Plenty of cats are aloof and spend their time wandering around and maybe come to visit you for a few minutes a day. But not Snoopy. She lives for snuggles. In San Diego, when we were home she wanted to be in the room with us, preferably curled up on Matt's lap.

Besides, ignore her unusually social ways and she's still a cat, which means she should still come running for tuna. Well, she wasn't even interested in the tuna I gave her yesterday. I'd be worried that she got into something up there that was unhealthy for her but she seems to be eating, and when she does grace us with her presence she's not lethargic and demonstrates all signs of a healthy cat. Just not the healthy cat I know. I would blame the move, but until I opened the attic door to check it out and let her come along, she seemed like she was getting comfortable. Matt says it's probably a phase and I'm sure he's right, but I miss having her around.

Sorry to be heavy but I kind of felt like I needed to get that out. I don't really even feel lonely yet but I guess all the changes have me in a funk. On the positive side of things, I do like what I have seen of Louisville so far, and I'm meeting Matt downtown for dinner and a play tonight so that will be fun. Incidentally, for National Library Week I suggest you check out this NPR piece which points out many of the joys of a public library and is kind of targeted toward skeptics. As for me, I plan to get my Louisville library card before the week is through.

My Name

I get all sorts of reactions to my name. Mostly, people just want to know how I came to be named Michael. The questions have been strange to get used to, because growing up, I didn't actually use it.. When my grandparents learned that my mother named me, a girl, after my father, even though she was not expecting a boy, they decided they would not call me by my given name. Rather than use my middle name, they started calling me Misty. I have no idea where they got it, or who picked it. I probably should have asked my grandmother before she died. However it came to them, that is what I was called in all circumstances--excluding getting in trouble--for the first 14 years of my life. In fact, as a child, I hated when people learned my real name because it led to teasing.

Then I went to high school and, because I was terrified of the new situation in general but also specifically because I was in a new district and had no friends, unless a teacher asked if we'd like to be called something other than what appeared on their roster, I was too scared to speak up and asked to be called Misty. So in a few classes my freshman year (bio, PE, and French, where it was "Mee-shell" anyway), I went by Michael. Still, most people knew me as Misty.

At my community college, I largely didn't bother with the nickname, because so few instructors have an opportunity to address you by name anyway. If I met people, I still introduced myself as Misty, but there were a handful of classmates that called me Michael. On leaving for San Diego State University, I decided it was prudent to include the nickname on the documents submitted to the dorm, lest they accidentally place me in a room with a dude. As it was, when I got a letter indicating my roommate would be named Izzi, I wasn't assuaged of that concern (Izzi turned out to be a lovely girl). So my dorm-mates knew me as Misty, and that seemed fine, because that's how I was called by my family, by my boyfriend and his family, and by my oldest friends.

Then, during my first year at State, I met a woman in an interior design class who changed how I felt about my name. In an art class, names are actually relevant because of presentations and critiques, and I was using Michael. However, our first project was done in pairs and my partner, Monica, had been to my room in my dorm to work on the assignment, so she learned of my nickname and called me that. Our classmate, Joy, heard the nickname, and asked about it, explaining that she was "not comfortable" calling me Michael. This kind of irked me. Shouldn't it be about what I'm most comfortable with? Who is this near stranger to make choices about my name? I had never before had such a strong desire to go by my name, my real name, as I did after that conversation. I mentioned Joy's comment to Monica, and she seemed to agree with me, indicating she intended to call me Michael from then on.

The transition wasn't easy. As I mentioned, most of the people closest to me called me Misty, and to this day, my family, oldest friends, and former roommates still use the old nickname. However, I started introducing myself as Michael as much as possible. After breaking up with my ex, that dramatically reduced the number of people that use Misty. Now, most everyone calls me Michael. While my mother could hardly change her habits now, she did tell me she's glad I use Michael, since she chose the name.

Although I hated it as a child, I've grown quite fond of my name, although it sometimes feels like a bit of a burden because I get so many comments and questions. For my first two jobs, both as cashiers, I wore a name tag, which people inevitably assumed wasn't mine, even though my first name tag HAD MY PICTURE ON IT. People also frequently assumed name was pronounced Michelle, which is an honest mistake, and doesn't really bother me when people are reading it and not hearing it.

At my current job I talk to people on the phone and I developed the habit of saying, "Like the guys' name," because it seems to be the most concise thing to say. Those of us on the phone all have our little habits; for last names I know a "Glaze, like a donut," and a "Melrose, like the avenue," but because we only give our last names when asked, those don't come up as often. My spiel produces the occasional chuckle, but nearly always ends the discussion of my name and therefore saves time. This is because it confirms the listener heard me correctly while also confirming that I am not a man with an extremely feminine voice, which is none of their business but you'd be surprised at what people will say on the phone. On the occasions I skip the phrase, I've received such responses as this:

• "Michael? Like, Michael? Like my son's name?" -Man on phone recently
• *outright laughter* "You sound like a girl!" -airline representative in India (or where ever)
• "Michael? You sound like a female." -some guy, more polite than the Indian guy but odd word choice
• "Thanks for your help, Michelle." -innumerable clients (seriously, do you even listen?!)

And so, while I do like my name, I'm with Johnny Cash on this one, if I ever decide to procreate and produce a daughter, her name will be any damned thing but Michael!

On Independence Day

I would not call myself a patriotic person. I don't even understand the phrase, "Proud to be an American." For me, pride is for accomplishments. Being an American takes no special effort on my part. I was just lucky enough to be born here, where I have a good quality of life and plenty of opportunity to excel. If I had to earn my citizenship, I would likely feel proud to call myself an American, but as it is, I just consider myself fortunate.

That said, I don't think patriotism is all bad. Patriotism doesn't have to be nationalism. It can be as simple as love for one's country. While I don't agree with, and am even disgusted by, the Fox News story and ensuing reader comments regarding Wonder Woman's recent costume change and what Fox News thinks it represents, I know that expressions of patriotism needn't be so idiotic. So I was surprised to realize how many people oppose the celebration of the Fourth of July. A friend posted the following quote of facebook, and it definitely got me thinking (as was his goal):

"What, to the American slave, is your 4th of July? I answer; a day that reveals to him, more than all other days in the year, the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is the constant victim. To him, your celebration is a sham; your boasted liberty, an unholy license; your national greatness, swelling vanity; your sounds of rejoicing are empty and heartless; your denunciation of tyrants, brass fronted impudence; your shouts of liberty and equality, hollow mockery; your prayers and hymns, your sermons and thanksgivings, with all your religious parade and solemnity, are, to Him, mere bombast, fraud, deception, impiety, and hypocrisy -- a thin veil to cover up crimes which would disgrace a nation of savages.There is not a nation on the earth guilty of practices more shocking and bloody than are the people of the United States, at this very hour." -Frederick Douglas (full text here)

 It's a powerful statement, and the choice of this passage by my friend suggests that while much has changed since Douglas so skillfully strung these words together, we still have much cause for disgrace. While our history is marred with much oppression and bloodshed (including the obliteration of Native Americans, slavery, and Japanese internment camps, etc.) and our present is similarly blemished by much (including, but not limited to, our discrimination against immigrants and those with non-normative sexualities), that doesn't mean that we can't feel love for our country. Another friend shared a very different quotation on facebook. The words are William Faulkner's (who incidentally, was probably racist), and are taken from an essay on Mississippi. I do not know the source work, so I have quoted it exactly as my friend did, and make no claims regarding the accuracy of the text:

"Home again, his native land; he was born of it and his bones will sleep in it; loving it even while hating some of it. . . But most of all he hated the intolerance and injustice. . . But he loves it, it is his, remembering. . .Loving all of it even while he had to hate some of it because he knows now that you don't love because: you love despite; not for the virtues, but despite the faults."

This is true about love in general, but I really appreciated the sentiment as it relates to one's country. Seeing the two quotations side prompted me to think about this holiday more than I generally do, so I wanted to share the experience with others. Now that I've typed this, I'm going to go make some potato salad to share with good friends at a barbecue, where the subject of our nation is unlikely to come up at all.

Mood Music with Dark was the Night

Music has a glorious ability to enhance or transform our mood. We all have those songs that make us feel happy, sad, lost, thoughtful, pumped, or impassioned in some way.  Some bright songs will pick us up in spite of an otherwise sour mood (although admittedly, some depressions are so deep that even the liveliest, cheeriest of tunes becomes a cruel mockery of our unhappiness).  And some bad moods call for music that will bring catharsis; raging guitars inspire a burst of angry energy that can beat out negativity, sad songs let one embrace a loss.  I like to listen to Tori Amos's Little Earthquakes for a good cry that is guaranteed to bring me to the bottom of a slump so I can climb out again.  Music has been an incredible crutch for me in my life, and I know so many people feel the same way.

I've been fortunate to call myself relatively happy for a while now, and consequently I have felt a little less affected by the music I listen to. This means that to some extent I have been less able to attach the songs I've discovered lately with my experiences. However, this doesn't mean I don't still enjoy music immensely, and I continue to be swayed by the tunes in my life.  Currently I cannot stop listening to a compilation called Dark Was the Night, a 2009 charity album that benefits HIV and AIDS by raising awareness and funds for relief.  Picking a single favorite of the two disc set is, without exaggeration, impossible for me to do.  I could probably narrow it down to six or seven if pressed, and the list might vary depending on when I am asked.

I selected the following tracks for inclusion here because I feel they foster a certain pensiveness.  On Tuesday this week, I took the bus to and from work (the bf works from home on Tuesdays), and there is something about riding in a vehicle (or several) for over an hour without speaking to others that makes me feel very reflective. These songs enhanced that feeling.

Again, while I can't choose a favorite, I would say the spotlight here is on Yo La Tengo's "Gentle Hour," a song that makes me feel a several things, some seemingly incongruent with others and all somewhat difficult to define, including an intense yearning--an excitement that is hopeful but almost melancholy.  More potent though, is the feeling of contentedness I get when I listen to the song.  It makes me feel so happy that I wouldn't change a single thing in my world, giving me a such a sheer joy for life that I even appreciate the sensory experience of a bus ride and all the noise and odor and jostling that goes with it.

I am so glad to live in an age in which we not only have recorded music, but portable music as well.  I'm sure traveling minstrels were grand, and I still say there's nothing like hearing music live, but I consider the library of music available to us a great blessing.

This is not a grilled cheese sandwich!

Okay Carl's Jr, I am really sick of your advertising. First, it was the slogan, "If it doesn't get all over the place, it doesn't belong in your face," which you weirdly juxtaposed with busty models eating your sloppy sandwiches (Weird because if the viewer applies the same slogan to the model instead of the burger it's be just . . . gross). Next, you moved away from the objectification of women and instead lampooned men, all of whom are apparently too stupid to prepare any sort of meal for themselves.  This is actually rampant in advertising; it's not okay to make fun of women, but it's okay to make men seem too dumb to tie their shoes, let alone operate a blender. Then you bragged about your obscene portion sizes, perhaps to compensate for your prices, because I'm guessing your Six Dollar Burger actually is around six dollars. Now, you have resorted to making shit up. In the commercial below, you are calling a bacon cheeseburger a grilled cheese sandwich.



If the dude in the commercial wanted a bacon cheeseburger, he would have ordered one. But he wanted a grilled cheese sandwich. Which is why he didn't order a burger like the rest of his friends. I will consent that if you add tomato, or maybe even bacon, to a grilled cheese sandwich, it's probably okay to call it a grilled cheese. But when you add a hamburger patty you move very clearly into the "burger" category and no amount of advertising or delusion will change that. So cut it out.

Creating a Beautiful Day

One of the interesting (relatively speaking) features of my job is hearing all the different sorts of things people record for their outgoing message on their answering machine.  I've heard some interesting things, sometimes in content and sometimes in tone.  One thing many people say is, "Have a blessed day." Today, I left a message for a client whose recorded voice instructs the caller, "Create a beautiful day for yourself." When she returned my call, she was a pleasure to talk to and called me "Miss Michael" several times. I would venture that she's nice to talk to because she practices having a good attitude about things.

I'm a little ambivalent about the idea of thinking positively. On one hand, I complain a lot. My boyfriend thinks I'm happy when I complain and while I'm not sure that's true, I admit I complain frequently. I knew a girl that was planning to go for a month without complaining because she thought it would change her life.  That's just the sort of hokey crap that turns me off. (As a side note, I never got the follow-up story from her so I don't know if she succeeded).  This person also believed in the law of attraction, and I just can't believe in that sort of thing, personally.  I don't believe in the power of prayer or that the universe will grant a person what he or she wants just because of his or her thoughts. Actions matter. In my opinion, the concept is completely ludicrous and I'm always surprised when otherwise logical people live by it.  This is why I've been wanting to read Barbara Ehrenreich's Bright-Sided ever since I saw her promoting the book on The Daily Show. From what I've seen and read, in the book she points out that thinking positively can lead to delusion and examines its effects on an individual and national level.

While I don't live by the idea that thoughts have the power to change your life, I do believe in making the best of a situation.  Despite my complaining, I try to enjoy my life.  I think the advantage of thinking positively is much more direct than the "power of attraction" suggests. On a basic level, if one goes into a situation with a good attitude, the pleasantries of the situation will be more evident.  On the other hand, if one goes into a situation with a bad attitude, one will find things to be unhappy about. I know this from personal experience because I've definitely been guilty of it at various times in my life (I'm looking at you, teenage-Michael). A while back, I went through a period of depression, and it felt like even when I tried to be happy I couldn't.  A friend told me I needed to fix my attitude, and while part of me resented the idea, he had a point.  There's a Rilo Kiley song called "The Good That Won't Come Out" with the line, "You say I choose sadness/that it never once has chosen me/maybe you're right."  This song was particularly meaningful for me during that period.

I have experienced many life changes since that period in my life: I have a better job, a great boyfriend, and I live in a neighborhood more suited to my lifestyle.  I can largely thank these changes for the end of my depression.  However, I still try to remember that line, and to remind myself that there is an upside to thinking positively. I do think it's possible, in a limited sense, to "create a beautiful day."