look out Jacksontown

We're getting married in a fever and we're going to Jackson. Moving there! To live. And work. And go to school. And get a dog.

My resolve to blog more this year was sidetracked when I realized I wasn't sure how much of the big changes happening in our lives I should share. Brian made a decision on school and we chose to move a bit ago but he wanted to wait for the right time to tell his work that he was leaving. Brian has a good job downtown as a health care consultant and we didn't want to burn any bridges. But today he gave his letter of resignation and his bosses were great about it, which is a huge relief and really makes the move feel even more legit.

The big plan is to be out of here by May. Which means we are moving 1,422 miles and getting married all in the same month. Which means we might be a little bit insane. But I am SO excited.

So I can finally say that all I've been able to think about for the past two months is:
a) job apps/opportunities/cover letters/etc
b) sweet lil Jackson homes
c) what to put in our sweet lil Jackson home
d) a puppy to add to our sweet lil Jackson home
e) how Penny will interact with our future pup
f) moving logistics
g) wedding planning
h) wedding crafts
i) general crafts
j) how to make money while unemployed
k) the costs of moving, sweet lil Jackson homes, a wedding and a pup

Seriously though, if you stop me at any random moment, there's a 98% chance I'm thinking about one of these things.

I still really love Boston and I'm glad we've had our big city life the past two years. I don't intend to live in Jackson for the rest of my life. When Brian is done with school or residency we'll probably move again - maybe California this time. We really want to live abroad at some point - maybe Dublin. When we have more money we can definitely see ourselves back in a city - returning to Boston or going to NYC or D.C. But right now, Jackson has never felt more right.

The Help, and thoughts on Mississippi

It's hard to categorize a book like The Help. Part fiction, part history, part ethnography, part biography, part autobiography, part coming-of-age story... Kathryn Stockett has put all these genres into a blender, added a liberal helping of sweet tea and pressed blend.

It took a while to get the steam rolling, as with so many books, but by the time the three protagonists – nerdy white girl - slash - (fellow!) journalist Skeeter and the two black maids, hotheaded Minny and motherly Abileen – were secretly meeting to write their book, I was hooked. I finished the entire second half in one sitting.

Stockett writes about the south as only one who is intimately familiar with it can, and (even though I'm not technically from the south) so much of this book hit home with me – from the brief snippets of southern sorority life ("A Chi Omega never walks with a cigarette.") to the distinct drawl to the sometimes old-fashioned, sometimes elitist attitudes.

One thing I was particularly impressed with is that while there are clearly characters you are meant to cheer for and those you are meant to root against, no character is painted black or white (play on words unintended, but appreciated). Even the most loathsome female character, Junior League President and resident mean girl Hilly Holbrook, has redeeming qualities – at least she truly loves and appreciates her children, which is more than can be said for the generally more sympathetic Elizabeth Leefolt. All the characters have flaws as well as worthy traits. They all have secrets and shames that they share or hide.

In the same way, Mississippi of the 60's isn't necessarily portrayed in a glowing light, but nor is it the uncouth, dangerous, uneducated place it can be known as. It is fleshed out, the good and the bad. It's real.

Anyone who is remotely interested in southern culture, race relations in the U.S., the civil rights movement or good storytelling should read this book. We think we've come so far from separate bathrooms, but this book reminds us that, despite our progress, we are still much the same as we were in the 1960’s – for better or worse. In this way, The Help manages to feel both historical and somehow modern.

Beyond the universality of the larger themes, though, I think this book is especially wonderful to read as a Jacksonian or a Mississippian. New York, Boston and L.A. have their books and movies in spades. But to read Corinth, Mississippi and Ole Miss and Millsaps College in a New York Times bestseller is pretty cool.

In the back of the book, Stockett wrote a short essay explaining why she wrote The Help. In it, she puts into words the complicated relationship I think many of us have with our state (I lived there for eight years, I'm totally claiming it). The whole essay can be found on her website, but this is the excerpt I relate to the most:

The rash of negative accounts about Mississippi, in the movies, in the papers, on television, have made us natives a wary, defensive bunch. We are full of pride and shame, but mostly pride.

Still, I got out of there. I moved to New York City when I was twenty-four. I learned that the first question anyone asked anybody, in a town so transient, was “Where are you from?” And I’d say, “Mississippi.” And then I’d wait.

To people who smiled and said, “I’ve heard it’s beautiful down there,” I’d say, “My hometown is number three in the nation for gang-related murders.” To people who said, “God you must be glad to be out of that place,” I’d bristle and say, “What do you know? It’s beautiful down there.”

Once, at a roof party, a drunk man from a rich white Metro North-train type of town asked me where I was from and I told him Mississippi. He sneered and said, “I am so sorry.”

I nailed his foot down with the stiletto portion of my shoe and spent the next ten minutes quietly educating him on the where-from-abouts of William Faulkner, Eudora Welty, Tennessee Williams, Elvis Presley, B. B. King, Oprah Winfrey, Jim Henson, Faith Hill, James Earl Jones, and Craig Clairborne, the food editor and critic for The New York Times. I informed him that Mississippi hosted the first lung transplant and the first heart transplant and that the basis of the United States legal system was developed at the University of Mississippi.

I was homesick and I’d been waiting for somebody like him.

I wasn’t very genteel or ladylike, and the poor guy squirmed away and looked nervous for the rest of the party. But I couldn’t help it.

Mississippi is like my mother. I am allowed to complain about her all I want, but God help the person who raises an ill word about her around me, unless she is their mother too. 

I love this. It can't be said much better.

Although I seriously doubt the movie will top the book (no offense any of the filmmakers, I simply believe the book is better than the movie in 98% of all cases), I am really looking forward to the film version. Not only because it stars my current girlcrush Emma Stone, but also because I can't wait to see Jackson and Stockett's characters brought to life on the big screen.

I read that the filmmaker directing the upcoming movie version is a friend of Stockett's from way back and also grew up in Jackson, MS. She insisted that the movie be filmed in their home state and told Entertainment Weekly, "We dumped, like, 17 million bucks into a very poor county in Mississippi.”

I'm proud of that too. Because Mississippi is my mother too.

"underage" and engaged

Being 22 and engaged in Boston kind of feels like being 16 and engaged in the south. A lot of people here seem to think I'm crazy and young and crazy young to be getting married. Sure, I know a few married folks and one engaged folk in my BU program, but they are all either a few years older or from Texas.

On the other hand, there is this:

Out of the seven things on our fridge, four (FOUR!) are save-the-dates for weddings this upcoming summer alone and one is a thank-you note from a wedding we attended on New Year's Day. Plus, last summer Brian and I attended no less than three weddings in four weeks. Every single one of these nine couples are people we know from Millsaps, all who hail from below the Mason-Dixon line. The brides and grooms are all between the ages of 20-26 and the weddings are scattered across Florida, Mississippi, Tennessee and Louisiana.

Welcome to the south, y'all.

Marriage, and the age people get married, is a huge cultural difference between the south (and other parts of the country, like the midwest) and the north. And obviously there's no hard and fast rules here, but there are definitely geographic trends. In big cities here up north, it's completely normal for people to date ten years or more before deciding to tie the knot. A thirty-five year old woman is by no means an old maid like she might feel in the south. Everyone up here is so busy working on their careers (and paying sky-high rent) that getting married often gets put on the back burner for a while. 

Whereas southern people loooove to get hitched. Or at least feel that it is more important to do earlier in life. There is more of a family focus in the south, more of a traditional (although some probably say old-fashioned or backward) family structure and lifestyle. Senior year at a college in the south is like proposal-palooza. One year, a sorority at my school had over half the girls in its graduating class either engaged or married. 

Of course, both of these trends lend themselves to stereotypes – the frigid Yankee workaholic vs. the Southern sorority girl who came to get her MRS degree. 

As someone who has lived in both worlds (plus partially grew up in Utah*, a world of its own when it comes to family structure and marriage), I find myself appreciating aspects of both. I would never have thought I would be engaged at 22 years old, but now I can't imagine it any other way. It should be all about the right person and the right time – not rushing to marry simply because you've been together the allotted amount of time (southern people!)** and not staying unmarried because you feel too young and/or just want to make a bunch of money (northern people!). Sometimes I do feel young to be doing this, but usually it feels just right. 

When we are married, Brian and I will have been together over five years (and known each other almost six). We will have survived a year of long distance and a couple years of living together. We have a cat! We share all our financial responsibilities. Marriage will just be a little bow on the life we are already living. 

A shiny little bow with diamonds, of course. 

* I'm not Mormon. EVERYONE asks that when they find out I'm from Utah. Literally. Everyone. 
** I'm definitely not saying any of the aforementioned weddings are doing that, but I've seen it happen. And probably had it wondered about me up here in the north. 

a weekend at Mother Millsaps

It's funny what lends itself to a good blog post. We just got back from one of the best (albeit shortest, in Brian's case - thanks a lot, airlines) weekends in a long time. I laughed so hard I nearly peed. I did possibly irreparable damage to my body in the form of a Cool Al's cheeseburger, Julep chicken, OEC fried rice, two Cabot free happy hours and more. In fact, I am literally scarred from the amount of fun I had this weekend.*

But trying to blog it up is nearly impossible. There's too many things that, while hilarious in real life, don't translate well to reading off the screen. Or they only make sense to such a small group of people it would just sound weird to put it out there to the rest of the blogosphere (like that list of foodstuffs in the paragraph above that anyone not familiar with Jackson probably stopped reading after). Blogging about extremely fun, personal things is weirdly self-indulgent. Actually I think all blogging is pretty self-indulgent, but writing about something fun is even more so. It's enjoyable to the writer, but perhaps not so much to the reader.

A random moment or two might float up through the crawfish-filled memories the weekend that will hit the blog, but in general I'll suffice it to say that a) it was extremely weird returning to a campus that is more my home than anywhere yet I haven't stepped foot on since May, b) I have the best sistah family in the entire universe, THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE OKAY, c) the weather in the South is epically beautiful right now and it was especially cruel to return to a 20 degree day, and d) I love my friendys so much and don't know what I would do without them.

We are all so spread apart now, across so many cities and states and even countries. But no matter the distance or the time, some great things never change.

ANYWAY, if you made it through this self-indulgent post (especially if you don't know me, Millsaps or what in the world I've been talking about), I have a reward for you:

That is ED HARDY BEER.
It exists. And surprisingly doesn't taste as much like Jon Gosselin as you'd think.

please excuse my heinous posture, which is giving me
an awesome physique in this particular shot

*Don't operate a hot straightener while under the influence, kids. 

Brian and Kathleen's Big Redneck Wedding

Brian and I are watching bits of "My Big Redneck Wedding" during commercials of the AFC championship game - specifically the "Tamzen and Kevin" episode, if that means anything to anyone. Mainly you just have to know that the bride is a 27-year old, 300-pound country girl and the groom is a 40-year old, 105 pound "dripping ass wet" man and they both love mud and trailers and mullets.

Brian just said, "This show kind of makes me miss Mississippi."

WHAT. Okay, just so y'all know, we are from a place where people do NOT regularly act like this. Or at least, not everybody acts like this. Brian clarified his statement by saying, "I mean people that are unique like this."

But still, WHAT.

Mississippi holds such interesting connotations for me. I have run the full gamut of emotions in my relationship with that state, and yet I know living there absolutely made me the person I am now. It is a place of both complete ignorance and total openmindedness. It is a place of bigotry and acceptance. I suppose, in a way, it is just like any other state, because you will find both terrible judgmental people and awesome, tolerant people. You will find selfish people and philanthropic people. You will find the Tamzen and Kevin's of the world (I'm sure they are very nice people), but you will also find crazy Millsaps professors cussing at their students and hosting classes in bars - and crazy Millsaps students who are the best people I've ever met in my life.

Brian and I will (most likely) be married in Jackson, Mississippi. I will take on a new name and a new role there. It seems fitting - I guess Mississippi isn't done making me the person I am yet.

P.s. Somehow I don't think our wedding will be featured on CMT, however.

club Corinth: membership not granted

Every time I come back to Corinth, Mississippi, I always end up avoiding the "Corinthness" of it in one way or another. I choose to stay in and drink wine with my parents, or spend time with Brian and his family or party with other Millsapians who are also avoiding the Corinthness of our town.

It’s not because I don’t love Corinth, I do. Where else can you take ripped jeans into a little old lady and pick them up, patched wonderfully, less than 24 hours later? Where else can you go to a restaurant where the owner, chef and all the waitresses not only know your name, but also what you are going to order as soon as you walk in? Where else can you get a huge breakfast of homemade biscuits and sausage and eggs and coffee and more for under five dollars (as long as you have cash)?

Small town life in Mississippi definitely has its perks.

But it contains an interesting paradox. People here are the nicest you’ll ever meet, but they still won’t accept you as one of their own if you aren’t. There is a subtle yet overriding sense that we are outsiders here, even after almost nine years. We'll never quite escape the "You're not from around here, are you?" questions, the comments on our accent, the snubbing of honors that ended up going to less deserving, but Corinth born-and-raised, people (yes I still hold a small amount of bitterness from high school).

We’re not the right religion, our grandmas don’t live down the corner, we didn’t go to elementary school, high school and college with the same group of friends from birth, and we don't like collard greens. 

Who knows, maybe if we had made the decade mark we would be let into the mafia inner circle. But since I now call Boston home, and my parents are moving out of Mississippi in the new year, I guess we won’t find out.

Corinth has been a great place to live during high school and come back to from college. I made great friends, many of which I’ve sadly lost touch with over the years. I wouldn’t change living here. But when my parents move away and I no longer have a reason to call it ‘home,’ the feeling of being an outsider here won’t be anything new. 

hibernation nation

Well, here we are. It’s officially that time of the semester where the weather, my motivation level and the time change all intersect, causing my urge to hibernate to skyrocket.

Living in Mississippi for the last several years, my hibernation instinct never really came out due to the weather staying absurdly warm (on and off at least) until January. But last fall I spent the semester in Ireland and it emerged full-force. I would leave an afternoon class in the pitch-dark and all I could do was retreat into my little room in our apartment to eat special k and watch tv on my computer.

Here in Boston I find myself succumbing to it again. November rolled around, the temperatures dropped, it started getting dark at 4:30 (thanks a LOT, daylight savings) and now all I want to do is stay home and hide with Pennycat under the fluffiest comforter I can find.

It’s just so much WORK. Getting dressed no longer involved throwing on a cute dress and Toms and running out the door with wet hair. Cute dresses would cause my skin to freeze and possibly shatter like ice. Toms must be worn on top of thick woolen socks, largely altering their entire fit. Wet hair will cause me to immediately contract pneumonia and spend the next (and last, obviously) 48 hours of life sneezing and coughing and wishing I had taken time to put a hat on… Put away is the sorority uniform of Nike shorts and large tshirts. Put away are the strappy sandals and jorts and tank tops and other things that can be described as "easy breezy."

Instead I must take the time to blow dry my hair, find approximately 43920480 layers to put on until the only skin visible is from my eyebrows to my chin and shuffle out, alternating between sweating inside and shivering outside. It's MUCH easier to just remain in my jammies, moving as little as possible to avoid allowing any of the warmth in my little cocoon to escape.

Here’s the thing... I really do like cold weather. Growing up in Utah instilled in me a love of crisp, snowy days where everything is blanketed in white and kind of soft and muffled. A snowy winter wonderland is one of the most beautiful sights to me.

But until I see some snow on the ground rather than this wind, cold rain, bluster and general dark/damp depressingness, you can find me under the covers, eating toaster waffles to fatten up before falling asleep for the next three months.

Note: I wrote most of this post yesterday when it was dreary and rainy and somewhat terrible. Today it is sunny and almost even warm (almost) and I feel kind of dumb posting this even though my overall opinion hasn't changed. Mother Nature is laughing somewhere, like "You want to bitch about ME on your blog?!? Suck on this! And tomorrow its going to be 40 degrees and sleeting! And then perhaps the next day I'll send some 90 degree weather and you can sweat to death in your  non-AC-equipped apartment!! Hahahahhaha! You SHOULD feel dumb!"