Book #13: Unfamiliar Fishes

Unfamiliar Fishes by Sarah Vowell

So I think I have finally read every Sarah Vowell book I can get my hands on. This, her newest publication, focuses on the history of how Hawaii became part of the United States.

Every time I think about Hawaii, I think about beautiful beaches, surfers, friendly women with lots of flowers, pineapples, Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwo'ole's version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," and hammocks swaying in the breeze. The pretty side of Hawaii. The happy side.

Vowell's book speaks about the uglier side that most Americans don't want to think about - the way that we forced the Hawaiian queen to step down from her throne so we could take over, how the missionaries who brought the Hawaiian natives the gospel also brought American diseases which wiped out entire colonies, and most importantly, the fact that most native Hawaiians, to this day, resent being referred to as "Americans."

I was born in 1980, so I've always thought of Hawaii as being part of the U.S., but it hasn't been that way for very long - just since 1959. My mom was 9 years old, and my dad was 12. Dad said he remembers receiving new textbooks with updated maps of the United States when he was in 8th grade. Fascinating.

Song I'm Digging This Week

It is good to come together, in our friendship to remember all the reasons hope is in our hearts...

I turned 31 on Monday. While my 30th birthday felt significant (and really weird), this year's birthday was just fun. I took the day off work and spent the morning drinking coffee, reading, and watching tv. For dinner, I met my parents, sister and brother-in-law, and Kam and Ashleigh for some seafood (and a completely entertaining waiter). Every gift I received was totally unexpected and given with such great thought. I felt so loved and special.

Sara Groves has an uncanny knack for capturing a moment and an emotion, and this song captures Monday night for me.

31 is going to be a blast. I can already tell.



"Joy Is In Our Hearts" - Sara Groves

Book #12: The Graveyard Book

The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman

My mom bought this book for me after reading it herself, and even though it's technically a young adult book (and I usually shrink away from those books in horror - I will never, ever read a Twilight book, no matter how "Edward looks at Bella!"), it was so, so good.

Nobody Owens (nicknamed "Bod") literally lives in a graveyard with his ghostly adoptive parents. His actual family was killed by the mysterious Jack of All Trades when he was a toddler, and he is now under the protection of the residents of the magical graveyard. Unfortunately, Jack hasn't forgotten the kid that got away, and he's still looking for him.

It's spooky, and frankly, a little too spooky for kids, in my opinion. But it's so well written and the plot moves along at a never-boring pace. I can't wait to read some more of Gaiman's work.

My Prison Tats

I've written about this a few times, but I have two tattoos.

This one:

(not as faded as the sunlight hitting it makes it look)

and this one:

(no matter what angle I shoot from, my wrist always manages to look ginormous)

Most people are surprised that I had the guts to go under the needle twice, but let me tell you - back in the day (as in the winter of 2004), I was totally rebellious, my friends. I even had a nose ring. This did not go down too well with my mom (strangely, my minister father was totally cool with it).

I got my treble clef for my 25th birthday, and my wrist tattoo for my 30th.

I like them. My best friend, Ashleigh, doesn't. And that's totally ok with me because hey, we are two different people (even if most of the time we respond to the name "Mandashleigh"). I know tattoos aren't for everybody.

Which is why I could kick for myself for the way I responded to the horrified question of "Is that a tattoo on your wrist?!" from a forty-ish, blazered dad of one of my church kids on Sunday.

"Um...yes. It is."

Blank stare at me. So I stare blankly back.

"And...'Write.'? What does it mean?"

"It's...you know, a reminder to myself...to be creative. Because...I like to write." So, so lame. I mean, yes, that's the reason I got it, but I feel like writing is a part of my identity and this tattoo is supposed to be indicative of that passion. Just like the treble clef on my toe. Inexplicably, this man is making me so uncomfortable that I'm fighting the urge to shove my wrist in my armpit, a la Mary Catherine Gallagher, just to get him to quit gawking at me. It isn't helping that his 12-year-old daughter is listening intently to our conversation.

"Hm," he says. That's it. "Hm." And in just that little non-word reply, judgment came raining down on me. I felt myself get red and I said "You know. I got it in my younger, wilder years." We both fake laughed and I moved on.

Ok. First thing - younger, wilder years? Try last July.

Secondly - why in the world did this dad make me feel guilty about something I really don't feel guilty about? Why did I feel the need to all but apologize to this guy who has never ever before spoken to me until yesterday?

I have no idea. Well, I have a little idea, but I don't like the conclusion it brings me to. I'm trying so hard to not be "That Amanda."

So I have two tattoos. Yep. Two. And I didn't get either of them when I was drunk, 18, in prison, or trying to impress a guy. And guess what, Judgey Judgersons?

I like them.

Song I'm Digging This Week

"Although my dream was overdue, your love made it well worth waiting for someone like you..."

Everybody needs a little Dean Martin sometimes, don't you think?


"Everybody Loves Somebody" - Dean Martin

Another One Bites the Dust

John Krasinski got married last year. I grieved. I really did. Not that I actually thought we would ever meet, but one never knows, right? I mean, I could have conceivably ended up in the same restaurant/at the same concert/at his window in black clothes and binoculars at some point, right?

Emily Blunt beat me to him. Well played, Ms. Blunt. Well played.

So now, apparently, Donald Miller also has a girlfriend.

And now my next-to-last last celebrity backup husband is taken.

I say next-to-last, since Ryan Reynolds has recently been returned to us. The dream is still alive.

Unless Sandra Bullock gets there first. Darn her and her likability!

Book #11: Take the Cannoli: Stories from the New World

Take the Cannoli: Stories from the New World by Sarah Vowell

Every time I read one of Sarah Vowell's books, I am always struck by the same thought:

"Someone in a church has hurt her badly."

Take the Cannoli, her first published book, is in turns hilarious, poignant, and thought-provoking, just like her other books. She relates stories about her family, her travels, her thoughts on government and American history, books and music - all with a deadpan humor that makes me laugh out loud. But underneath it all, there's a tinge of bitterness about all things religious. Well, not really a "tinge." More like a running theme.

Vowell talks at length about being raised in a pentecostal church and how she has subsequently abandoned all things do with faith and religion, and considers herself an atheist. It just saddens me. It makes me want to go and have a cup of coffee with her and find out what that's really all about.

And also talk a lot about all three "Godfather" movies. I think she would agree with me that the third one was just a travesty.