you are what you love

On Sunday, we took winding side roads in the mountains searching for abandoned houses to photograph. I must have climbed eight fences; trespassing is such a thrill. The most difficult part was determining which houses were abandoned. There was one sprawling white house that we thought must surely be deserted, but as I peeked in a cracked window, I noticed that fresh spring water was sputtering into a rusty sink. The water didn't bother me, though; it was the smooth blue bar of soap next to it. (A bar of clean blue soap seems to be a definite sign that a person is living in the house.)

Someday I would like to find an entire neighborhood of abandoned houses. Wouldn't that be lovely? You could find all sorts of forgotten treasures and interesting windows.

This semester, I've begun to question what I really enjoy photographing, and I've recently decided that nature photography (at least, traditional nature photography) doesn't interest me. It's been done before and it is exactly what it seems. I prefer narratives, documentary - something with a story. Like windows. It bothers me to think I've spent so much time photographing nature when it doesn't interest me at all.

I've also been thinking about conversation lately. I've been taught that asking questions is the best way to engage someone, but I'm not sure that I agree. Some days I have really good stories to tell, or something interesting to say, but I don't want to launch into a story about myself, so I politely wait for a question. And, if the right question never comes, I just don't talk about what is on my mind.

(Some people deal with this by asking a question that they want you to ask them -- "Have you read any good books lately?" they will ask, not caring at all, but just dying to tell you about how terrific they thought The Fencing Master was -- but that seems like using the other person.)

I met a girl named Helen a few months ago, and she really impressed me because she volunteered stories and information about herself. Although she definitely asked open-ended questions and made an effort to engage others, she didn't quietly sit there waiting for someone to ask her a question. She spoke up. I wonder how many good conversations I have missed out on because I didn't ask the right question. I think that I need to be more comfortable just speaking about myself instead of waiting for someone to ask me what I think or what classes I am taking or what neat things I am doing. I know that I appreciate that in other people: not having to drag something interesting out of them. (And, of course, there is a balance. No one likes a person who dominates the conversation.)

This weekend, I received a letter in the mail that I had been expecting for more than three months. It came in a red envelope (as promised) and had Christmas stamps and a December postmark. I felt a little bit like Madeleine Wallace. (Twenty points to anyone who catches that reference.)

In other news, I am pleased to announce that David & I are collaborating on a photography project. On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, we will post independently taken paired images to The Geminus Project. (We compromised on the name, and I'm just grateful that it doesn't reference space ships or the year of David's graduation.) So, you should probably look at it. And if you're really hip, you should subscribe via Google Reader.

all secrets sleep in winter clothes

My latest photography assignment is my favorite yet. In class, our instructor asked us to write a short statement about something that we strongly believed. The statements ranged from ridiculous ("pink is a terrible color") to serious ("capital punishment is morally wrong"). I wrote that literacy is necessary. When we all completed our statements, we were given the rest of the assignment:

"You must now create an artwork that promotes the exact opposite of your statement. You must find a visual way of communicating your position. You must have a minimum of ten images in your visual campaign. No text may be used."

So now I must support the statement that literacy is unnecessary. This is actually far more exciting than my initial statement, and it ties in well with The Vanishing Word, which I read several weeks ago. There are so many ways that literacy is irrelevant, primarily in the spoken word and in imagery. I've outlined a list of things that I want to photograph, such as sign language, visual instructions at fast food restaurants, and television. Also, I think I am going to take the plunge and begin shooting in RAW + jpeg. I would like to have this project printed into a book (ironic, hm?) and I want better quality images.


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currently loving: eisley's cover of "in the aeroplane over the sea", this bumper sticker, and robert mcg thomas jr.

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oh! and Facebook is so helpful. I didn't sign up for this, but they regularly send me little emails informing me of my current popularity status, as voted by my friends. Last week I even got an email informing me of my weaknesses: apparently I'm not very famous or funny, and no one has ever voted me "would rather have dinner with". Thank you, Facebook. It's good to know someone is watching out for my social status.

stay with me, go places

I'm back from my pageant! As most of you probably know, this past week I competed for the title of North Carolina's 2008 Junior Miss. In just ten days, we learned all of the choreography for the opening number, the self expression number, the fitness routine, and the closing number. We also had interviews, two dress rehearsals, and a tech rehearsal. It was a lot of work, and a lot of days were emotionally and physically draining, but I had a wonderful time.

I met some incredible girls. Not only are they talented, but they are intelligent, friendly, and kind. I enjoyed being around them: riding the bus early each morning, stretching before each rehearsal, singing backstage, curling hair and applying makeup each night, laughing over inside jokes. They each took it upon themselves to help me, because as a homeschooler I was sadly out of touch. By the end of the week, though, Sarah patted my knee and said, "We've really done a lot for you."

The theme for the two-night competition was Jammin' In Jamaica. We wore Captain's hats in our opening routine, which was set to two different songs: "Holiday" by Madonna (if we took a holiday/took some time to celebrate/just one day out of life/it would be, it would be so nice) and "I Like To Move It". Our closing number was to Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds (don't worry about a thing/cause every little thing gonna be all right/singin: don't worry about a thing/cause every little thing gonna be all right).

The actual competition was judged on five different categories.

I. Academics

We each submitted our highschool transcript. I didn't win an award in this category, because homeschoolers don't get credit for AP classes and they can't be class president or valedictorian. But I don't feel badly at all, because I got into Grove City, and that is all that I ask of my transcript.

II. Talent

I performed talent and self-expression on Friday night, and fitness on Saturday night. Because of my contestant number (17, which looks like LT upside down if you write it correctly), I was the first one to perform on Friday night. A kind man took me by the arm and walked me to center stage, my introduction was read, the curtains opened, the spotlight came on, and I sang "I Could Have Danced All Night" in front of seven hundred people. I was really pleased with the way it went. Let me tell you - I've come a long way, baby.

III. Self-expression

Our self-expression routine was set to Bob Marley's "Don't Worry, Be Happy" (in every life we have some trouble/but when you worry you make it double/don't worry, be happy). We wore evening gowns, elegantly walked across the stage, did some fancy footwork, and answered a question that we were given that morning. The question for our group was: "When was the happiest time in your life, and why?"

IV. Fitness

This was the area that required the most work on my part. Almost all of the other girls had cheerleading or dance experience, and so I was a little bit behind, but I'm really excited at how much I've improved. Once thought to have muscle atrophy, I can now do full push-ups, V-sits, and - are you ready for this? - a pretty decent heel stretch!

NCJM was one of many reasons that I began running, and I've now run in a couple of 5K races. It is also the reason that I began taking group exercise classes at the YMCA. I have done the grapevine with middle-aged women, posed in downward dog to obscure folk music, and spun with a group of hardcore road cyclists. I've taken classes with names like "Pump and Burn", "Stability Sculpt", and "Upper Body Blast". I've met all kinds of fascinating people and I've loved every minute of it.

The actual NCJM fitness routine was eight minutes long. We wore hideous green patterned shirts and black Bermuda shorts. And I made it through the whole thing without collapsing, which was my goal.

V. Interview

Although I scored high in my interview at the local level and in mock interviews, I absolutely bombed this one. It was tragic. For example, one of the judges asked me to fill in the blank on the following sentence: "North Carolina needs more ______". My mind went blank. I should have said water, I should have said job opportunities, I should have said conservatives, I should have said anything but flowers. I do not even know where I pulled that from but it was the worst possible answer. Flowers!

Then the judges asked me to tell them three things that I knew for sure. The other girls later told me that they said things like "Jesus Christ died on the cross for my sins", "my mother will love me no matter what I do", and "whoever wins this competition will represent North Carolina well". Well, I wasn't thinking that way. I said: "Giraffe have seven cervical vertebrae. Helen Keller grew up and became a socialist. The recommended daily allowance of trans fats according to the FDA is less than one gram." Your face should be blushing for me.

Other questions I was asked:

-If you were a cheeseburger, what part would you be? (I said the bun.)

-Finish this sentence: My school needs more ______. (I said students.)

-Tell me one thing about you that would surprise me. (I actually told them my story about the fish hatchery.)

-Pretend that we are best friends in highschool. My boyfriend is pressuring me to have a sexual relationship. How would you convince me not to do this? (That one was pretty awkward.)

The judges didn't do a particularly great job asking questions that would help them get to know me, but I didn't do a particularly great job answering the questions that they did ask. So, to no one's surprise, I did not place in the interview category.

Actually, I didn't place in any category. I'm not at all disappointed, though. I was with some really fantastic girls, I had a wonderful week, and I grew in a lot of ways (none of them involving interview skills). Plus, I have new excitement about Grove City. After this experience, I'm really looking forward to dorm life.

Three good stories from the week:

1. When I was having a particularly rough day, the Ozments sent me a gorgeous arrangement of lilies, tulips, and roses. When Mrs. O read the note that she sent ("To the most beautiful girl in the world, and a darn good wenus [the skin on your elbow]"), Ansley protested, "But I thought we were the most beautiful girls in the world." Mrs. O replied, "Oh, you are. We're just saying that because she's in a pageant."

2. One day, we went to an inner-city elementary school and gave presentations on how to "Be Your Best Self". My roommate, Paige, and I spoke to a 5th grade classroom. After playing a game, I asked them to write some of their goals on notecards. When I had a chance to look at what they had written down, it was so neat. Some of them were kind of sad ("I want to be the first in my family to go to college") and some of them were cute ("I want to make up cheers for homeless people so that they will feel better").

C'Krete's (pronounced like secret) goal card reads: "My goals are to be a singer and to get good grades. Also to go to a good college and to have my wish come. Next I want to get out of 5 grade as fast as I could."

Also, look at what Demaria drew for me:

3. On the second night of the program, my grandparents came to cheer me on. An actual conversation:

Grandmother: I hope we'll be able to see Lauren.

Mom: You'll be sitting on the front row.

Granddaddy: Well, I brought my binoculars just in case.

Finally - thanks to everyone that prayed for me, wished me luck, came to the program, or wrote me an encouraging note. NCJM was a great experience, and I still have dozens of stories that I want to tell you all - about the girls, about my host family, about my elementary school kids, about everything. But for now, thank you.

cats let nothing darken their roar

I adore this 2008 Noa Bembibre calendar.

Christmas break so far:

1. I read Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis, A Girl Named Zippy by Haven Kimmel, and part of The Cost of Discipleship by Dietrich Bonhoeffer. I purchased The Vanishing Word: The Veneration of Visual Imagery in the Postmodern World by Arthur Hunt, The Dead Beat: Lost Souls, Lucky Stiffs, and the Perverse Pleasure of Obituaries by Marilyn Johnson, and She Got up off the Couch: And Other Heroic Acts from Mooreland, Indiana by Haven Kimmel.

2. I went on an organizing rampage, again. My desk drawers are perfect. It is easier to throw things away knowing that I'll be sharing a tiny room in Pennsylvania with a stranger next fall. It kind of feels like playing the game "If there was a fire in your house, what would you try to save?" in that you realize how much you don't need.

3. I was invited to sing the National Anthem at a Carolina Speed pro football game. Not sure what I'm going to do about that yet.

4. Mrs. W and I drove to McAdenville to see the famous Christmas lights, and we discovered a drive-in movie theater that I'd like to visit sometime soon.

5. The Engs came over for a tea party, and I made scones. Wonderful people that they are, they gave me Pepper Shield: "One shot to the face causes instant panic and extreme discomfort." (While I was in Tennessee, Uncle Keith the corn farmer from Nebraska recommended very seriously that I carry hair spray and a lighter, so that I could make a blow torch if someone tried to attack me. I think Pepper Shield is both safer and more conventional.)

7. I tried to register for classes at the community college. Spanish 212 was empty and Digital Photography was full, so I am currently taking only AP Biology this semester. Although I am still hoping that Spanish will be offered and that someone will drop out of Photography, I realize that there is not much that I can do. When I was praying about it, I was convicted about considering it "pure joy", so I've been finding good in my potentially empty semester: more time to prepare for NCJM & NCNATS, more time to spend with my family, a more flexible schedule, and at least we don't need the crutches.

Happy New Year, folks.

let me tell you a story

This is the story of How I Committed My First Federal Offense subtitled: My Incident With The TSA.

Today we flew to Tennessee to be with family for Christmas. At the security checkpoint, I removed my shoes and placed my jacket in a tray and arranged my backpack and purse on the conveyor belt like I always do. Barefooted, I stepped on the mat in front of the scanner and was summoned through. I made it through without incident, and I began walking toward the conveyor belt to pick up my belongings and go on my merry way. Before I got too far, I realized that seven or eight people had suddenly swarmed around the security screen and were staring in astonishment. One of them let out a low whistle.

In a horrifying moment of clarity, I realized exactly what it was that they were looking at. Normal people would have thought, "Drats; I must have forgotten to put my four ounce bottle of shampoo in a plastic bag" or maybe "those must be my fingernail clippers" or even "I should have left my pocketknife at home!". Not me. I knew that the reason that eight TSA people were gathered around a security screen was because they were looking at brass knuckles.

Mom was slinging her purse over her shoulder and beginning to leave when she glanced over and saw that my face was a furious red. She hurried over and I whispered, embarassed, "I left my brass knuckles in my purse. I just forgot to take them out." One of the TSA guys heard me. "Those are yours?" he asked, stunned. When I nodded, eyes wide, he called all of the other men to come over and look at me. Most of them were amused. One of them thought it was particularly awesome, and said, "Give me some knuckle!" He even reached his teal-gloved fist over to me so we could exchange one of those male-bonding knuckle punches. "It's just a paperweight, right?" and he winked at me. For just a moment, I thought maybe everything would be okay. I had brass knuckles, but the TSA would just throw them away and I could go on to my gate and board my plane and fly to Tennessee.

Or not. A big black man looked at me gravely and said, "You know, in the real world, you would be arrested for having these. This is an Illegal Concealed Weapon." At that moment I realized that I was in deep trouble. By this time, the entire security lane had been closed down because a Very Big Thing had happened. The whole place was in a tizzy, like an ant pile that had been stirred with a stick. The man in charge got on a walkie-talkie and made a few very serious calls. Within minutes, two law enforcement officers were at the scene.

Officer #1, a slender man with red-gold hair and a tiny mustache, was clearly in charge. "Is this yours?" he asked, holding up my brown purse.

"Yes, sir," I said meekly.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Well, let's have a look." Unzipping a pocket in my purse, he inspected my brass knuckles carefully.

Meanwhile, Officer #2 asked for my driver's license. From his walkie-talkie, he called and got a license check. "She's clear."

Officer # 1 pulled me aside. Crossing his arms, he asked me sternly, "What's with the brass knuckles?"

Stammering, I told him the truth. They were a birthday gift from a friend, a joke because I'm afraid of dark parking lots at night - a tiny bit paranoid, even - and I didn't know they were illegal, but I did know that they did not belong on airplanes and I meant to leave them at home and I was very sorry and embarassed and not at all a criminal.

By this time I was almost in tears. Scenarios were running through my mind: handcuffs, interrogation rooms, withdrawn college acceptance letters, prison.

Not unkindly, the officer asked, "You thought it was a belt buckle, right?"

"No, I - "

"You misunderstood me. You thought it was a belt buckle, right?"

"Ohhh..." I understood. "Yes, sir, of course I thought it was a belt buckle. Perfectly correct, Officer."

"Alright," he said. He escorted me over to a group of security people who were snapping pictures of my brass knuckles next to my driver's license and filling out pages of paperwork and interrogating my parents. Officer #1 took charge, "Let me explain what's going on here. A friend from school gave them to her as a gag gift for her birthday, and she did not know what they were. She thought they were a belt buckle. See this little gold piece? I have decided not to press charges, so this incident will not go on her permanent criminal record, and I'll write the whole story in her file and I'll add that she was very cooperative."

Turning to me, he said, "You learned a hard lesson today. Even though this will not go on your Permanent Criminal Record, there has been an incident report filed with the TSA. The TSA will know who you are from now on, and if you ever pull anything like this ever again, you will really be in trouble and I will book you. And you know this was a federal offense, so you will be mailed some paperwork from the TSA within thirty or forty-five days."

He confiscated my illegal weapon, and that was that. I walked around the airport despondently for a while (I'm a criminal, for goodness' sake) but my parents were too great for me to just mope around. "I'm going to call Congress and have this taken off your record," Dad said indignantly. (He is very big on Common Sense.) Mom just cracked jokes: "You're not grounded, but you are on probation" and "You have the right to bear arms, but not hands" and "I asked you if you had liquids in your purse, but I should have checked for weapons".

So, all is well. I'm one step away from a permanent criminal record and I am without brass knuckles and I almost died of humiliation, but I made it to Tennessee and I will never do anything like that ever again. And at least now I am assured that flying is a very safe mode of transportation.