Jed was giving me the daily political rundown last night, one highlight of which was Bush’s refusal to stop his vacation to address the flame-up in Gaza, and all I could say was “Dude, it seems like this entire year has been nothing but a farce.” Seriously. From my enrolling in and subsequently dropping out of beauty school, to Sarah Palin giving a Thanksgiving interview in front of turkeys being slaughtered, this year has been pretty ridiculous on so many levels. Farces have their place, though–They’re entertaining, at the very least. At the most, they’re an opportunity for players to showcase a broad spectrum of talent.

With that in mind, I look forward to 2009 and look back on 2008 with a smirk. Thanks for the laughs. I just about killed you, though, so don’t push it next year, alright?

Now, I don’t have any creative control over the script for politics and celebrity behavior (now that Britney’s made her comeback, there really aren’t any blonde twenty-somethings to worry about besides, well, ME) so I’ll have to resort to hoping for the best for everyone else and making resolutions for myself. Here they are:

Nyco’s Not-So-New New Year’s Resolutions

1. Dust off the Calorie Journal and start keeping track of my nutrition again.
2. Be on time.
3. Quit biting my lip.
4. Stick with the chopsticks.

What’re yours?

Happy New Year, everybody! I hope you are safe and warm this evening as you participate in 2008′s finale. See you in 2009 for the next episode of this strange comedy of life.

People.

It’s not like I’ve given up blogging.

But.

Okami.

OKAMI!

I’d take the time to write about it, but that would be time spent NOT playing OKAMI for Wii.

Smoochies. See you when I’m either stumped or have beaten the game.

Don’t worry, it can’t be too long.

In the meantime, enjoy some Photos.

Happy Merry Ho Ho Auld Lang Solstice!

When you step into freshly fallen snow. That soft crunch–that is my favorite. Everything about snow, from the brisk air that accompanies it to its ability to completely transform a landscape, is awesome. Snow inspires me to play, to laugh, to dig, to make memories. I’m willing to say that snow is essential to the holidays. Without it, they’re just not as merry as they could be.

As a little person growing up in the mountains of New Mexico, I came to expect blustery sub-zero conditions just after Halloween. Before the first snowfall, my family would go woodcutting in a nearby forest to secure fuel for our iron stove (the only source of heat in our house). To stockpile enough to last the entire season, we made three consecutive day-long trips. Our mission? Search out an old felled tree, saw it into round pieces, stack them in the bed of an old brown pick-up, and use them to assemble a wall of wood next to our driveway. Sometimes we needed only one big tree to do the job; other times we used up more daylight searching than we did cutting.

Once the temperatures dropped, Dad went outside every morning and brought in an icicle each for my sister and me. Everyone got up before dawn in my house, mostly because the Bozo Show came on at 6am and Dad liked to get a head start on his day at the particleboard plant. Did I mention that we lived on a reservation? That’s kind of an important detail, and hopefully helps to explain the close proximity of our home to the mill and a dense mountain forest. Anyway, while we were licking icicles Dad built a fire in the iron stove, which was located in a corner of our living room. Conveniently, the television was nearby. He stood with his heavy coat spread out in front of our home’s only heat source for awhile, and then off he went. When no one was looking, Latice and I put the remainder of our icicles on top of the stove and watched them sputter and slide all over.

Snowy days were spent in our back yard, for the most part. Latice and I dug labyrinths with kid-sized shovels and garden hoes, rolled gigantic snow balls, attempted to dig out the swing set so we could play on it, and other insane kids-in-winter activities. I don’t ever remember getting frost-bitten, or at least I don’t remember caring. We were too busy. When my cousins lived down the road from us, we all made a ruckus together around the neighborhood. Then someone usually fell on their nose and everyone retreated home to have soup.

Fast-forward to Sunday morning. I dragged out of bed after an insane travel day and found myself surrounded by white powdery awesomeness. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: This is the best holiday season I’ve had since moving to Portland. And you know I’m stomping, digging, rolling, and laughing my way all over this town. Of course, there are lots of photos for your enjoyment. Happy Snow Day, everyone!

I may not be the best at GIMP, but that doesn’t mean I love you any less.

I’m actually writing this entry mid flight to Houston. There’s nothing better for reminiscing than being stuck in a seat for three and a half hours. All is calm, all is bright, save a blonde hair-flipping college athlete sitting one row in front of me, with all of her “like” and “drama” and “totally” chatter to her seat mate. On a different day or trip I’d be irritated that she can’t keep her voice below bar level. Today? I’m flying high in all senses, so she’s off the hook. Then again, I’ve only been on the plane for about 30 minutes.

And now a baby just started screaming.

Ah, the holidays!

And these have been eventful and momentous and all of those grand words that people use to describe big deals. Back in July my parents purchased an airplane ticket for me; the purpose for my journey was to help them make some repairs to the house they lived in at the time. Well, they moved away from South Carolina and I found myself with a two week excuse to cram in some serious sister time, along with quality Herzog hangin’ out. And it was worth every moment, let me tell you.

Latice had a birthday, graduated with her MS from Clemson University, and I got to watch her open a Christmas present for the first time in three years. Heck, Jed and I got to watch his parents open gifts, too (I know! We really made this trip count). All of these things I used to take for granted when I lived, schooled, and worked in South Carolina. Having a retail job in Oregon for three years, during which the holidays were off limits for vacations, made me appreciate such milestones more. I call them the “Life Things”. Life is too short to miss out on the “Life Things”.

So we “Life”-d it up.

I learned a few “Things”, too. Or, more accurately, I remembered. For one, Jed and I are more than blessed with amazing friends. The few that we were able to visit with made us feel like we’d only been gone for a day or two. Also, we had it pretty good while living in Clemson. Jed and I worked in the same office, with the added bonus of fun and caring coworkers. We knew someone everywhere we went in downtown Clemson, and a friendly game of pool was only a block away. And the food! Super Taco, China Wok, Mellow Mushroom… Finally, it was great to live so close to family. Sure, being an airplane ride away has its advantages, but there is something to be said for a short jaunt up or over to the ‘rents. Or the ability to cook dinner with little sister.

But I had my time, so now it’s back to Portland and all of the “Life Things” Jed and I share there. To our friends, our little apartment, our favorite coffee house, our walks into downtown—To our lives that are separate and different from the lives of our families. They will intertwine little in the coming years. But when they can, I’ll be there.

After spending the last week or so at my sister’s place (a couple days of which I was on my tush battling a case of the Clemson crud) I have found a new appreciation for watching pretty people make pretty food on television. I’m talking about Food Network. Oh yeah. You know you’ve watched it. All the cool people are baking now, you know.

I’ve come to realize that the holidays are to bakers what the summer is to surfers. It’s their TIME. Secretly they wring their hands in anticipation of the opportunity to strut their cakepan stuff for their friends, family, and coworkers. Sure, Suzie Officemate may say she only brought in that perfectly presented tin of homemade gingerbread cookies because she “had extra”. But, Suzie’s just being humble. She wants us to tingle from head to toe when we put those confections in our mouths.

And food is an AMAZING option for hostess gifts, office Secret Santa, or that person who’s got everything. Watching Food Network has shown me that it’s really easy to make a tasty treat that looks as good as it eats. So, in these tough times when our pockets are a bit shallow, how about grab some ingredients from the grocery store and gift someone a snack with a handwritten card taped to it? They’ll LOVE it because you made it. For reals.

For you, a homemade link to the fun. Happy making!

Late in my freshman year of high school, my best girl friend came out to me on the telephone. It was mind blowing. Best. Girl. Friend. Was a lesbian–The first one I’d ever known or even met (forgive the naivete… I was fourteen and hadn’t even had my first kiss yet). Clutching the receiver, I grilled her about the nature of our friendship and whether it was based on false assumptions or hopes. At the end of the long phone call I was happy to know her truth and relieved to finally understand the reason behind the tension between her and another girl in our circle. So we went on as before for a little while, until she clued in a loud mouth mutual friend with a penchant for juicy gossip.

Then things changed. They shouldn’t have, but they did. My best friend got scared, felt betrayed and paranoid. And who could blame her? We lived in a tiny town in South Carolina, right in the back yard of an active KKK chapter, so full of Southern Baptists and fundamentalist conservatives that even the Mormons were ostracized at school. So, she naturally came to me, her best friend, for help and support. Know what I did? I cracked. After thoroughly scolding her for telling the town crier her “secret” I informed her that the camel’s back had been broken. In truth, I too was scared, felt betrayed and paranoid. I wasn’t equipped to be the straight best friend of the only lesbian in, for all we knew, the entire shit town we called home at the time. What she did (come out) was very brave, what she did was right, but it was terrifying and potentially dangerous in such a closed-minded place.

I know a lot of you might say “Screw ‘em! Be yourself! It’s your right!” and I’m there with ya, people. But you probably never had a neighbor walk into your house with a poundcake in one hand, a Bible in the other, and a mouthful of words proclaiming that you and your children (“Hello!”) will all go to Hell if you don’t get “saved”. You’ve probably never walked into a parking lot and found your car covered in spit, scrawled with epithets, and the air let out of all of the tires because you color your hair with Manic Panic. And I bet nobody ever brandished a knife at you for wearing a Marilyn Manson t-shirt to school. That’s the kind of crap that happened to people who dared to be different in that small, South Carolina town I called home for over a decade.

Oh, it’s horrible. But it’s real. And my best friend opened that door on both of us. See why we were scared?

I knew that she had hopes of her admission making our friendship all the stronger. At first I had those hopes, too. In retrospect, I was a dumb, scared teenager who didn’t have any clue who I was or what I stood for. The circumstances in which I chose to sever ties were awful. And I grieved for years, not only for the death of our friendship, but for the fact that I failed my best friend when she needed me most.

Know what I want now? For people to find acceptance no matter where they are. For girls like my teenage best friend to not fear when their “secret” gets out. And for her to enjoy the same rights I, the person who couldn’t finish that journey with her, enjoy now. She deserves them.

I have forsaken the fork.

You read that right–No more forks for Nyco. As of the beginning of this month, it’s a spoon or chopsticks. The knife comes out during food preparation only, or to spread condiments on sandwiches. And I can still use my fingers for appropriate fare. Just no stabbing, shredding, or twisting. No cheating with sporks, either, awesome though they are.

Eating is too easy when a fork is involved–Just load that puppy up and shove the food in. When using chopsticks I consume more slowly, take smaller bites, and get to know the textures and aromas of the food as I’m choosing the pieces to separate and grasp. Also, I’m more likely to converse with the people at the table because I’m not constantly chewing and swallowing and stuffing forkfuls in. While I manipulate the morsels on the plate I talk, and because the bits that go in are smaller I can chew them more thoroughly in a shorter span of time. That way, the momentum of the conversation isn’t broken. With chopsticks, a meal is truly a meal; not simply eating.

There are health benefits worth mentioning: Increasing the time between bites means giving your body an opportunity to gauge fullness more accurately. The risk of becoming overfull is reduced, and eating less means potential for weight loss (or at least stabilization). Smaller bites mean more thorough chewing, which aides digestion. And, personally, I’m more likely to sip fluids, which helps me meet my hydration goals. Aside from looking a bit strange sometimes, there are absolutely no downfalls to using chopsticks, in my opinion.

I’m going to see if I can make it all the way through 2009 fork free. So far, December has been a piece of cake (as long as I remember to bring my own set of chopsticks with me). Chunky stew, mac ‘n’ cheese, fish fillets, mashed potatoes–all normally forkable foods haven’t been any trouble at all. Mostly, the challenge lies in my manual dexterity and hand strength, which is naturally improving. And I have to admit that figuring out how to eat the halved potatoes in Jed’s stew was an exercise in creativity. How often do you celebrate actually getting a bite of food up to your lips without dropping it? Yeah.

I’m sitting in the library, realizing that in my five years here at Clemson I never noticed the ceiling. Did I just never look up? Or was I too busy doing library-ish things?

Back when it was constructed, I’m sure this place was state of the art and considered very beautiful. It’s a huge building, crammed completely full of books and periodicals and other media. At this moment exhausted and stressed students are trickling in to do their last bit of work before the semester ends. It’s finals week. Also known as the week of no sleep, freaking out, and denial.

The last time I was here Alex was alive, many of our friends hadn’t yet given birth to their second child, and I was still working retail. Back then I felt just close enough to student-hood that I couldn’t appreciate this place and its people–I was trying to find a way to differentiate myself, so I took that “I feel so old” tact. In truth, I didn’t feel like I’d come very far at all from being a Clemsonite, and for some reason that was unnerving.

A year after my last visit, I’ve dropped the act. In a lot of ways I was the one in denial of how important and beautiful this place is. New memories have been made, new experiences had, and the passions I felt while a student here have attached themselves to more recent things. So, as I sit comfortably in the library at Clemson University I feel like I see through clear lenses for the first time. And I’m proud of this place.

“His momma done raised him up right,” as they say.

At Backstreets on Friday night, the bartender said “Thanks for comin’ in, Beautiful,” when he handed me my tab. “Beautiful”?! Know how long it’s been since a complete stranger has used a pet name when addressing me? Loooong time. In fact, I gave him a very perplexed look in response because I had no idea what to say back to him.

Thursday, while helping Latice load boxes off of a platform and into her vehicle, a guy rolled down the window of his van and shouted, “Ya’ll are doin’ too much there” and sent his sidekick to our rescue. The boy (I say “boy” because he was not older than 20) arrived just as Latice was taking the last box from me, so there was nothing left for him to do. Still, I thanked him for trying and his response was, “Of course! I only wish I’d gotten here sooner.”

Those are just a couple of examples that illustrate a good ‘ole Southern value: Give special consideration to the ladies. On one hand, it’s seen as sexist and presumptive of women’s inability to take care of themselves. On the other hand, it can be enjoyed as a privilege of being born female. I take the latter attitude, thus have been enjoying the hell out of being out and about in Clemson.

Pssst! Photos.