The Truth Behind My Name (Also: Planking)

I was sitting at my desk this morning wondering what I was going to blog about today, since it's Tuesday and I'm trying to make that a post day. I have a few posts "in the works", but they're either in-depth or extensive rants and aren't ready for sharing.

I don't believe in karma. I do, however, hold a great appreciation for coincidence and irony. A few minutes after pondering this blog dilemma, I received a voicemail from a customer. It started out, "I was talking to a young lady at your office yesterday," and ended with, "could you please have that young lady call me?" I called her back, and the first thing she said was, "You said Amber? I couldn't remember your name when I left the message, but it's such an unusual name I should have been able to."

Thus contradicting my life-long belief that "Amber" is a fairly ordinary name.

(Counts number of Ambers I know....)

Congratulations, Dad. Not only did you help in choosing nine names collectively for your kids, you managed to pick ones that were relatively unique! Who knew? I certainly didn't.

I suppose now is a good time to share with you the history of my name. Wesley's name story is Mom, Dad, and friends in a car shouting out boy names until they hit upon one they thought sounded nice. Mine? I have the honor of being named after a character in "The Running Man".

Y'know? The Arnold Schwarzenegger movie?

Imagine my delight when I learned that tidbit.

At that point I had never seen "The Running Man". A couple years later, I walked into the living room while Mom and Dad were in the middle of it.

All that hard work learning to appreciate and accept my name started to peel around the edges.

This is why:

Don't even get me started on the suits. Nah, what gets me is that my namesake (or am I her namesake???) spends a good portion of her screen time screaming.

I mean, I probably would spend most of my time screaming if I was in her shoes, but.... Just no. It doesn't help that she plays in a Schwarzenegger movie. (For those of you who can't sense sarcasm through the screen or who haven't already learned this of me: I don't like Arnold Schwarzenegger very much. The fact that I've had to spell his name three times already isn't helping.)

<end rant>

I actually had thought of another topic to amuse you with before the aforementioned phonecall, so since I have the time I'll move on to that!

In the wake of my first post of the year, I sat back and reevaluated several aspects of my life. The conclusion at which I arrived is no surprise: certain things need to change. And unlike some people who are rational and tackle on thing at a time, I've gone for the overhaul approach.

I have a working budget in place and am trying to remain aggressively dedicated to it because, if nothing else, I need a car. I'm already doing OK with my eating habits but they could stand to be adjusted. And I'm trying to stay fit.

Since I miss my 1/2 mile jog at work every day because of the snow, I was starting to get worried about what to do in place of that (not to say a 1/2 mile jog everyday is all I need to do to keep fit, but it's a start). Browsing facebook around the New Year, I came across a post for the 30-day Plank Challenge and thought, "That looks my speed. I do need to strengthen my core. Why not?"

I actually started it Sunday morning, and this is what I have learned so far:

1) My thighs are already killing me. Everything else feels fine so far, so either it's too early to for the rest of my body to get on board the "good kind of pain" train or I have my form all wrong. Possibly both.

2) Never judge a workout routine based on the pictures. I should know this by now. I really should.

3) Never do anything like yoga with my dog around. The moment I lie down on the floor she's in my face. Either she's worried about me; she sees a perfect opportunity to snuggle; or, in her twisted way, she thinks I am finally submitting my authority to her. In any case, I have to ban her from my room when I do my morning stretched.

4) "The secret to getting ahead is getting started." - Mark Twain

5) Half of my problem must surely be the face that I'm trying to plank on a laminate floor.

I've never been very fit. (I ceased being able to touch my toes when I was, like, ten.) The idea is exciting, but I tend to lose my drive pretty quickly. We have Wii Fit and for a while I was going pretty strong on that, at least with a bit of yoga. But have any of you ever had the Wii give that shocked little "Oh" when you wobble on the board? Yeah, I got sick of that. I was walking my dog pretty regularly, but then winter hit and I'm at work sunup to sundown. So planking it is, until I break something or find a better alternative.

I'll keep you posted.

Sleep-overs, Book vs. Movie, and the Definition of "Classic"

It's been repeatedly brought to my attention lately that I am "deprived". "Culture deprived", it might be called, because it's all about the movies and TV shows I haven't seen and/or don't desire to see. I only just saw an episode of "I Love Lucy" last year upon Jessi's insistance, followed by "Gilligan's Island". Yeah, I wasn't impressed with either. I'm not much into watching or reading things because it seems to be the thing to do.

At the latest "singles'" evening get-together, Jessi and I got to talking with one of the fairly new guys about this topic. They both gaped at me with a mixture of shock and mild disgust when I said I hadn't seen or even heard of this show or that. At one point, the guy said, "What about Star Wars?"

Ha! I know about Star Wars because I'm American. I "get" the references. However, I think I've seen about 30 minutes in total from all the movies. (I don't even know how many movies there are.)

"Never seen 'em," I proudly informed him.

His head sank onto his arms, folded on the table.

"Actually," I continued with a smirk, "my dad's a Star Trek fan."

He groaned, and his head sank even lower.

As a kid, the worst form of punishment one could give me was to take away my reading privileges. Especially when I was two chapters from the end of the book or someone had either died or was just about to. I rarely got grounded from TV or computer, and if I was, it didn't bother me too much, because Sims could wait. It was when Mom told me I wasn't allowed to read another sentence until my chores were done that I fell into the depths of despair. Such a concept leaves most of my peers flabbergasted, and the remaining, the kindred spirits, settle down to discuss their favorite books, so it's not like my feelings are hurt.

Don't take this to mean I only read great literature and all the old classics. I did just finish A Wrinkle in Time and the sequels (personal favorites), but now I'm reading Gail Carson Levine's Two Princesses of Bamarre, which has "Ages 8-12" on the back.

Last night, I went over to Jessi's, because she was going to be all alone with her eccentric dog and wanted company. She was determined that I was going to watch this movie called "Quest for Camelot", which evidently every '90's kid should see, but of which I'd never heard.

First off, it took me about half the movie to adjust to the old style of animation. Second, it was on VHS and the sound quality was whacky, so I couldn't enjoy the music numbers because I didn't have a clue what was being sung. Third, Cary Elwes (Westley from "Princess Bride") played the main guy, who was blind, had awesome Jedi moves (See? Star Wars), and had a silver-winged falcon for a best friend. Fourth, the main girl made a huge show of being adventurous and independent, but leave her alone for two minutes and she was so incompetent that she almost ruined everything. Fifth, I was again reminded of how of much those old kids' movies were actually cheap comedy to keep the kiddies interested and didn't add anything to the storytelling. Looking back at all my old favorites ten years later, I have to wonder why I loved them so much. This is why I can't write children's stories.

Jessi did warn me in advance that the movie wasn't spectacular, but she built it up as this epic thing I simply couldn't miss. Ha!

But it was fun anyway. Nothing like dorky, harmless entertainment to laugh about while we eat pizza and tackle the dog. We followed up with "Race to Witch Mountain", though I fell asleep half-way through. Some nights we have deep discussions while trying to dicipher things like "Inception", and other nights we snack and avoid boredome only by commenting on all the silliness, having put aside all expectations of being blown away by epic storytelling and visual effects. It's all good. I still think A Wrinkle in Time is a must read for everyone, no matter how much they like or hate reading, and for Percy Jackson, The Lord of the Rings, and all the Chronicles of Narnia, the books are better than the movies. As far as Princess Bride, however, I prefer the movie.

Storm Warnings at Midnight (or: how I handle stressful situations)

In case you missed it before, I can be very fretful. Embarrassingly so. And about everything. I hate it, I try to fight it, but I still worry too much. My mind always runs to the worst-case scenario in any situation. And my brain is pretty creative.

Anyway!

After a very long day yesterday (including a nap after which I felt even more tired than before) I was ready to settle down when the family gathered in our room to watch a movie. (Dolphin Tale, which I'd never intended to watch but actually enjoyed.)

We'd had bad weather all day and had kept on the watch for tornado alerts, but nothing had come of it thus far. Lots of thunder and rain and very heavy, dark clouds, as well as wind.

Half-way through the movie, I asked Mom if she'd heard the noise I'd heard. My ears were tuned for the sound. Mom said it was only the movie, but at my insistence, she paused the movie. Immediately the sound was clear: tornado sirens.

My stomach lurched and dropped like a roller coaster. Snap. I grabbed my pillow, blanket, and Bible and hurried downstairs. Mom was fiddling with the radio and Aunt Trudy was checking the computer. We'd been in the watch box all day, but now we were in the warning. They were mentioning locations just miles away. The wind was dead, the lightning was constant, and there wasn't rain, which scares me more than hail and driving winds.

I won't even pretend I tried to be brave. I didn't. I just gave way to the fear. I don't see the point in fighting it, because it only confuses my stomach more. Any more knots and it would take all the next day to sort them out so I could eat.

Eventually Allenna and I retreated to the basement, where I sat down on a box and hugged my pillow. Mom and Aunt Trudy stopped by to try to ease our minds as the sirens went back and forth between on and off. Aunt Trudy started rummaging around for supplies. We had a jug of water, a box marked "candles" that didn't seem to have candles, a lighter, and lots of reading material. Grand.

Meanwhile, we could hear the wind chimes from the house across the street and the sound of cars speeding by. We could hear the floors creaking and the faint sound of the TV. 

Finally the alert was over. I crept back upstairs, stopped shaking, and breathed. We went back upstairs to finish the movie, and then turned on the air conditioner and crawled into bed. I kept hearing phantom sirens in the whine of the AC and the noises of the storm outside (it had started raining hard). But I did manage to fall asleep eventually.

Today is a windy but cloudless day (well, cloudless now), as if nothing had ever happened, which is how it usually goes. Aunt Trudy and I agreed that an upside to traveling during bad weather means we don't have much stuff to worry about, which helps matters, if only a little.

See, now my brain is working a little better. Yay!

Driver's Ed: as if I needed one more thing to endanger my sanity. (Plus: a rant about superhero flicks.)

I think I may be the only one surprised that I did fine during the first class of Driver's Ed. I'm now also much braver than Heather, because I stood up to bring things to the front two times.

Yeah, I'm pathetic.

I wish I knew why I always get so worked up about this sort of thing. My stomach was a queasy mess, my lips were dry from me licking them too much, I was shaking.... All because I had to sit in a classroom and listen to a teacher tell us how to be good drivers. He isn't even a mean teacher!

Anyway. Heather and I were some of the first to arrive at class last night. We headed to the row of desks furthest from the door and sank into our seats. Except for when I was in my first years of school, this is the only time I've actually sat at a legitimate desk, where the chair is attached to the too-small-desktop and there's a rack underneath to store possessions. I don't like it. But maybe I'm just spoiled.

By the time class began, there were 35 kids in the class and it felt a bit crowded. Not one of the kids actually attends the church where the class is being held. I think that added to the terrible state of my nerves. What was nice is that the teacher turned out to be a friendly guy with a decent sense of humor.

To help me calm down, I kept busy scribbling notes and observations in my notebook. First about some of the books I saw on the shelves next to me; then ideas for one of my stories; a note about how names seem to have a fair amount of impact on personality (and a prayer of thanks for my name); an observation that "people with nice handwriting don't write for fun. :)".

The first hour involved the teacher collecting checks and writing receipts for them, passing out attendance sheets, and having everyone put their information on one side of an index card with a map of the area around their house on the other. (That was fun.) Then we were each give our Driver's Ed "bibles". (Yeah, at one point he said "take out your bibles" and I sat in confusion until I finally realized what he meant by it.) On the subject of losing these, our teacher said, "If you lose it, the state of Michigan has authorized me to beat your with a bag of oranges."

I think I'll like this teacher.

By the last half hour, I'd recovered my usual (though still considerably unstable) state of mind. I also found my humor. While we were learning about the different kind of licenses, the teacher told us that if anything happened to our Level 1 license, we were to get it (or what remained of it) replaced. (His examples being if it was ruined or the dog ate it.) My note for this was "(but if the dog ate it....".

So, despite my doubts, it looks like my chances of survival remain optimistically high.

If we can work out the schedule, Heather and I will begin driving this Saturday. I'm glad I get to drive with her. We can go insane together.

When we got home, we had a movie to watch. Another superhero movie. (We'd watched Captain America on Sunday.) This one was Thor. I'm really starting to get sick of superhero movies.

WARNING: The rest of this post is a brief rant on why I hate superhero movies. You can stop here without missing anything important.

I like stories with complex plots and defined character development. Every superhero movie I've seen recently lacks both of these. (Iron Man was great, but they totally destroyed everything they accomplished when they made the sequel.) The plots are shallow, held together by explosions and terrible beasties and killing off the best friend or awesome black dude. Seriously. I felt terribly unsatisfied at the end of both Captain America and Thor because there wasn't anything important happening. Nothing to cheer for. They didn't spend enough time on the characters for me to be sad when they died. For Captain America, it was a blur of action interspersed with scenes full of empty dialogue or fight scenes or sweaty buff dudes strutting around without shirts. Captain America could have been an amazing character, but they spent more time having him throw around his shield and shoot people than actually watch him develop as a person.

As for Thor.... That's a whole new level of pain. The main characters share a couple of bashful glances and all of a sudden they're kissing? And it's not excusable like Enchanted. And what about Darcy? She was my favorite character and she didn't get the attention she deserved.

By the end of each movie, I sat there wondering what I'd missed, because, at least to me, pretty much nothing had happened. What they showed in a whole 1.5 hours was what ought to have barely been the first three chapters, prologue included.

/end rant/

Sorry. I had to. No one wants to hear me go through it out loud, and I ran out of room in my journal, so I had to share it here. Don't you love me? :)

I suppose it bugs me so much because it's exactly what I fear will happen with my own writing: empty one-plot stories held together with a few good lines, some special effects, and a bunch of flashing lights. It's one of those peculiar phobias I can't explain. I'm sorry you had to endure that, but I did warn you. (Or maybe it made you laugh, in which case I feel accomplished.)

I don't say this to encourage you to avoid any superhero movies. By all means, watch them, if only for decent special effects and the awesome Viking armor. I probably will watch them again.

But meanwhile I have chores to do and my own superhero story to write (if I can ever get past that dreaded first chapter).