Ha. I just looked at my last blog and realized that this is going to be repetetive.

Last night, I went to Cornell with Angela to visit Nathan one last time before he graduates (congrats, my brother my brother!).  We weren't there very long; we got there at like 7:30 and left at 8:30 this morning; but I had a great time despite my deathly illness and lack of sleep because I ran into so many old friends!  Actually, the first people that I saw that I know are from Naz, so that was random and weird.  But then I saw my second cousin Jenna, and the Kelseys (Julie & Jenny, there for a bachelorette party), Katie, Andrea, Barbie, Jessica, John, Becky, and I don't even know who else!  And even though the majority of the night was just me and Ang hanging out together and talking (I am so excited that we are living together again next year!), with the occasional interruption from an old friend, I was just reminded of how much of a history I have with so many people.  Ang had no idea that that world even existed; that I knew that many people from all over and for so many different reasons.  I guess it is pretty cool.  Totally rad, if you will.

Anyway, Angela was amazed slash amused by the whole "farm culture."  Apparently, I had forgotten to warn her that this was an Ag frat and that everyone that lives there is a farm boy.  So I kept referring to everyone by the county they came from, and Angela was like, "do you call me Angela from Cayuga County?"  Heck no!  So then I was explaining that in all the dairy events, you compete as a county, so that's what you're associated with.  Kindof like you would refer to people on sports teams as so-and-so from such-and-such school.  And then we were explaining Ang's amusement to Andrea, and she was like "oh, from the second largest dairy county in the state!" and Angela was amused even more that someone would even know that.  And that every person we talked to was pursuing a career in some kind of an agriculture related field.

All my friends at Nazareth are so far removed from my "cow friends" that it's ridiculous!  It 's weird that I like them all so much; that people who are so incredibly different could all be so awesome to the same person.

So I guess this goes back to me needing to find a farmer husband! Dang.

Driving back from White Water Rafting today, I was once again hit with a pang of sadness--as has become routine for me lately--as we drove through the rolling hills and fields and by countless red barns with harvestore silos reaching to the sky.  I love my life so much right now; am so excited about the hundred million things I have going on; but can't help but miss the way things were when I had Holstein Club activities every weekend, Dairy Leader farm tour trips, and cow shows in the summers.

My old self, the self of the "farm culture," is still very much me--ask any of my roommates, and they will wholeheartedly agree.  They would probably tell you I aspire to be a redneck more than I do a Spanish teacher.  But, while the sentiments and the roots are still there; the new experiences just aren't, and it makes me sad. 

Last fall and winter I had the opportunity to attend several dairy/agricultural banquets for various reasons, and began to realize just how out-of-touch with the agricultural community I had become as well as how much I love being a part of it.  At Sammy's State Dairy Princess Pageant, I felt it again.  And ever since then, the mere sight of a farm whizzing by while I cruise along on the Thruway or even a calcium commercial on the radio sends my mind into memory mode.

I can't imagine how my life would be had I not grown up on a farm. It is very much a culture of its own; with its own language, its own customs, and its own attitudes.  But even more so, I can't imagine how my life would be not living on a farm forever--and I don't want to imagine it.  How I plan to accomplish that with my Spanish Education major from Nazareth College of Rochester is a mystery to me, but by golly, I've got to think of something! 

Maybe I'll take Nathan and Dad up on their offer to be their translator when they hire Latinos after their hypothetical herd expansion.  That's likely.

I guess I've just got to find me a farm boy.  So God, if you're reading this: if that guy you designed for me isn't going to be a farmer, can I make an exchange?

A couple of weeks ago, I read the book The Man Who Liked Slow Tomatoes by K.C. Constantine.  Overrall, it was really good (although the swearing hurt my eyes!) and one of the things that I liked most about it was that it had these random deep conversations (well, deep-ish).  So one such conversation was between Mario Balzic, the main character, and this bar-owner named Ripulsky:

"Hey, I been watching the Steelers since they were using the single wing.  I had season tickets since 1947.  I ain't on no bandwagon.  I watched the Steelers lose football games every way you could think of and I never b****ed.  And I ain't no gambler neither.  Never bet a penny on a footaball game.  I just used to go to old Forbes Field every Sunday when the Steelers were home and it just brought out a lot of emotion in me I couldn't get rid of no other way.

"Those aren't high school kids down there; those are men.  Giants.  And they're down there strugglin' and sweatin' and bleedin' and doin' a little war right there between those chalk stripes on the grass and I just found out I could whoop and holler my guts out and nobody would think I was nuts.  It didn't make no difference to anybody else what I was really hollering about.  People around me were all hollering too.  I mean, it really helps you, brother, to reach down to your toes and pull out a yell you been keepin' bottled up inside you for Christ knows how long.

"And I'm telling you the truth, that's why I started going'," Ripulsky said.  "Just do holler my a** off.  And then a funny thing happened.  I started to really like the game.  And the less I needed to whoop and holler, the more I liked the game.  And nobody here believes me when I tell 'em, but I don't give a sh** who wins.  I only cared about that when I first started goin', cause then the Steelers couldn't win for losin' and I really liked to go watch guys struggle their a**es off and still get whipped--which is what they used to do then.  All the time.  I felt like one of 'em.  Like one of the g*****n linemen, nobody knows their names, they'd work their a** off and no matter what they did they'd still get beat and, oh, I used to holler.  I used to scream and a lotta people thought I was screamin' at them.  But I wasn't.  I was screamin' for how they must've felt 'cause that's how I felt."

"You still scream and holler when you go to the games?"

"Oh yeah, every once in a while I reach down and bring one up, but now it's just 'cause yellin' makes me feel so good.  I tell you, yellin' is almost as good for you as laughin'--there's nothin' as good for you as that, no sir, laughin's the real elixir, but hollerin' comes close."

"I never heard it explained like this before," Balzic said.

"Oh, it's no big deal.  I just sat down and figured why the h*** I was payin' good money to watch twenty-two guys knock at each other a** over elbows, and that was it.  But when you get around the so-called fans, why, you have to talk all the bull**** about statistics and point spreads and how come the Steelers did this on third down and how come they didn't do that, and if you're goin' to get along with the people that sit around you, you have to go along with 'em and go through the words.  I never understood that, but then I figured they were talking all tat strategy for the same reason I was yellin'.  It was something they had to do--it makes 'em feel something that they don't feel every day in what they do.

"But, s***, all I watch is the struggle down there in the pits.  Those f***in' elephants down there with no names.  H***, half the time I don't even know what happened to the ball.  I just watch 'em bullin' up their necks and takin' off at one antoher...Boy, I really been beatin' your ears about this, huh?" Ripulsky said, blushing.

"That's all right. I understand," Balzic said.  "Besides, I never heard anybody talk about football that way."

Constantine, K.C.  The Man Who Liked Slow Tomatoes.  Boston: Davind R. Godine, Inc. 1983. pp. 89-91.

When I finished reading that, I just sat back in my chair and thought, "Wow!"  I mean, I had never heard anybody talk about football in that way either!  But mostly, I felt that that Ripulsky had just discovered the reason why I love NASCAR so much.

I love the fans.  I love the teams.  I love the commentators.  I love the drivers (most).  I love standing in front of the TV or track with Steph, screaming at the top of our lungs on qualifying("GREEN, KASEY!" "RED, ROBBY!" "IS THAT A TURTLE ON THE TRACK OR IS IT JEFF GORDON?") and on race day ("KASEY GET AWAY FROM THE WALL!").  And the screaming is therapeutic. 

But, like Ripulsky, it's all about the struggle.  I mean, we watch all the behind-the-scenes NASCAR shows, and we watch all the interviews, and we get to know these guys.  We get to know what they like, what they don't like, what makes them laugh, what sets them off....and what kinds of weird things they say/do on a regular basis (ex: Michael Waltrip's entire life).  And then you  see them on race day, knowing all the stuff that they are going through, and all you can do is will them to win. 

There they are; sweating, straining, swearing (tsk, tsk), and shouting; just trying to make it to the end alive.  They sneak by on the bottom, they blow by on the top.  Their pit stops are too slow, their speed on pit row is too fast.  They are over-agressive, they're being too meek.  They don't just have one thing on their mind--the win--but everything from where they need to finish to get enough points to make the chase, who they need to be helping out on the track, what sounds their car is making, and what they can do at their next pit stop to make everything run its best.

I'm cheering for Kasey; I'm cheering for Michael.  I'm cheering for Mark, who has just this one last chance to become the Nextel Series Champ; and I'm cheering for Ward, who isn't even on the track because no one will give him a ride.  I'm cheering for Robby Gordon, that he crashes; and I'm cheering for Jeff Gordon, that he gets near Robby so he is taken out in the crash that Robby causes.  I'm cheering for Kenny, who is ecstatic to have even qualified for this year's Daytona; and for Dale Junior, who is just trying to live up to his father's legend.  I cheer for DJ, for Vickers, for Jimmie, for Elliott, for Tony (yes, even Tony...who saw that one coming?) for Kevin (when he's not being an idiot), for Rusty, for Sterling, for Carl the back-flipper and Kurt the Keelber Elf, for Bobby and Jeremy and Gaymie McMary, for Ryan and Ricky, for Boris and Brother Schmears.  I'm cheering for 40 out of the 43 drivers down there on that track, willing all of them to have the best run of their career and finish in the top ten. 

When any one of my drivers blows a tire or heads into the garage, I'm not sad for me; I'm sad for him.  It's not my dream that just went up in smoke and debris; it's his. 

He can't hear my screams; he can't see his face on my shirt bouncing up and down as I put all of my energy into my cheers.  Maybe, if I'm lucky, some of that energy will float through the screen or down the stands into his engine, and my thoughts will race down and surround and protect his car. 

I scream for both of our dreams to come true.

So I attended a lecture about the Supreme Court case about whether or not the Ten Commandments should be posted in public, and it was really interesting and informative and complete and stuff, and I am sure I could write a whole blog about it, but there was one thing that one of the two speakers said that really struck a chord with me.

It goes along with something that Diana Hayes said in her lecture here a couple of weeks ago.  Tonight's speaker was talking about the guy, something VanOrden, that brought the case against the State of Texas in the first place because of their monument thing with the Ten Commandments on it. 

Mr. VanOrden identifies himself as a "non-practicing Methodist."

A non practicing-Methodist?&nbs p; If you aren't practicing, how are you a Methodist?  Seriously!  If I were to say I am a soccer player who doesn't play soccer, I would be a liar--how is it that people can claim a faith but not put it into practice?  It is the practice that makes the faith.  You can believe all you want, but until you act on that faith--be it through prayer, reading the Bible, acting in a way in accordance with your faith, attending church, whatever--you are not that faith. 

Like Diana Hayes said, I have a problem when people say things like, "Well, I'm a Catholic, but I don't agree with (insert a long list of tenets of the Catholic faith here)."  If you don't agree with the faith, then that isn't what you are!  Why bother with the Catholic part?  There are so many branches of every religion out there that no one should have difficulty finding a religon/faith that suits their needs and with which they agree wholeheartedly.  I am a Presbyterian BECAUSE I agree with the teachings of the denomination in general and of my church specifically. 

If you aren't happy or don't agree with some aspect of your religion, quite wasting your time and find one that you do agree with!  Faith is a life and death situation, and you had better be sure that you are right in what you are practicing--or not--so you end up where you want to for eternity.

I hate being sick.  I think that it's because I'm so uncomfortable and I have no control over it and no way to remedy it.  Last night I threw up at least once every half hour (yum, I know) and my throat was really dry, but if I drank anything, I would throw it up.  But if I didn't drink anything, I couldn't sleep because my throat hurt.  A lose-lose situation.  I can kindof drink stuff now but not eat.  And smells keep making me nauseous. 

And since I didn't go back to school today as planned, everything is a mess.  Say a little prayer for me!

Just kidding, tryptophan is not working.  I think our friendly P&C cashier sold mom a faulty turkey.  So now it's 1:47am and I can't sleep, and since I read somewhere that you aren't supposed to stay in your bed if you can't sleep (something about how your body stops realizing that beds are for sleeping), here I am again.

Actually, I have used this sleepless period to be quite productive.  First, I finished reading part I of the Sunflower for Auschwitz and After, and read some of part II.  I worked out my thesis and outline for the Celestina paper--it rots but at least it's something.  And in writing so much Spanish, I remembered that Julia had sent me an email a couple days ago to which I had not yet replied.  So I did.  And now I am going to check my email obsessively for the next few days until I receive a reply. 

Current Valencia memory running through my head...well that would of course have to be our first night out with Raul and the boys.  So, we meet up with them at our favorite bar, Dick Tracy's (which PS what a fabulous name for a bar--and no one there had any idea that they were drinking a bar named after many an American child's hero!).  Ha, side note-once upon a time I got a Dick Tracy shirt in a Happy Meal (so better than the beanie babies, don't you think?  One more reason that the eighties rock my world) and I wore it a lot and it got kindof ratty.  And then one day, I was overwhelmed by the desire to cut the shirt.  So I did.  I took a pair of scissors and snipped a little hole.  I soon realized what I had done, however, and used my sewing genius to stitch it up with neon blue thread.  Neon blue stitches on a ratty white Dick Tracy tshirt with "McDonald's" written on the sleeve=most ghetto shirt known to man.  And with me as the proud owner.  I still have that shirt, but I think I redid the blue stitches with white.  Sigh. 

Okay so back to the story.  We meet up with Dani and Raul and several of their friends: "Jimmy" and "George." Alas, Javi aka Screech was unable to join us as he was probably piloting away to some exotic destination.  He is so dreamy.  So it's the four of us (Me, Sheila, Jess, and Faye) and the four of them.  Ok, now we need to hail two cabs to get to Salamandra, the disco that they say they can get us into free (a likely story).  So as we are standing waiting for cabs to driver by, Raul asks which one of us speaks Spanish the best.  I tell them we all speak it about the same, so he waves me over, away from everyone else, where we proceed to have the best conversation of my life.  Pretty much he had decided that each of us was going to end up "kissing very much and maybe f"""ing" each one of them.  So much for being innocent nerd boys!  As much as I tried to explain to him that Faye and Sheila have boyfriends, and that Jess and I were not interested, he would not listen.  He told me that he surely wouldn't tell the boyfriends, so what's the problem?  Oh Raul, you are so tricky.

So the cabs came, and somehow I ended up in a cab with Jimmy, Raul, and George.  PS how did NONE of my friends come in the same cab with me?  And then when we got there, we couldnt find the others.  So the girls were freaking out thinking that I had been abducted and raped, when all along I was standing about two feet away in the opposite direction that they were searching.  But while the boys and I were waiting for them to show up, I had an enlightening conversation with Raul and Jimmy (notice: not George, because he, for all intents and purposes, is a mute).  It went something like this (but in spanish):

Me: Jimmy is a student too?

Raul: No, Jimmy is carnicero

Me: Is what? (temporary brain lapse)

Jimmy: ::makes sawing motion with arm:: carnicero

Me: OH!  Hey, I live on a farm!  I have cows!

Jimmy: I kill cows (laughs)

Oh, the memories.  I think that was also the night that the "My George" song was born, and the night that Jessica threw out the entire contents of her purse at 6:30 in the morning while looking for the keys to get back into her apartment after a long way back from the discoteca.  THAT is a picture that will live in infamy. 

Oh well, enough reminiscing for tonight.  Time to attempt to sleep once again....ten bucks says it's not successful...

Who am I kidding?  I have no one to bet against.  So not only do I not get to sleep, but I get nothing out of it, either.  My life is a sham. 

So Thanksgiving dinner tradition 'round here is that we go around the room and everyone says one thing they are thankful for this past year.  Or several things.  Anyway, I had to think about two seconds before I knew what I am most thankful...

Ah, Valencia, I can never escape you.  I am so thankful for all the wonderful people I met--from the professors (Alfaro, Supervia, Isabel), to Amy "our mom away from mom," to our family (Julia, our anti-mom, and Carlos and Lucia), to all our American friends (Libby, Jill, Bethany, and the rest...even Tim lol), to our Spaniards (EMILIO!!)--and for the means and ability to travel around, to God for creating such a beautiful country, to my Naz girls for being so fun and wonderful, for the three weeks after Spain and even the mishaps (the devil ATM machine in Venice!), and for my family in Holland, who are so wonderful and I grew to love and just miss so much....*sigh* sometimes it's hard to be home when you know about all the fabulous things that are just outside your little world; reachable, attainable, touchable; yet at at the same time, not.  I can't explain how much my five months in Spain (and everywhere else) meant to me, and how much they changed me, and how much I ache to go back. 

But I am also thankful for things here at home.  I praise God every day for keeping Grandpa alive just one more day, and for taking care of him while I was in Spain.  I was talking to him today (he came home from the nursing home to have Thanksgiving dinner with us) and he was complaining about how the nurses never let him do anything on his own because if he hurt himself, he would be much worse off than he is now.  And he said "but I've been gambling my whole life!  I plant a field of corn in the spring, and expect to have a harvest in the fall.  The weatherman says that there will be good weather tomorrow, so I mow a little extra hay.  And it rains.  So I lose a little.  That's part of farming.  It's all a gamble."  I get really sad listening to him because I can tell how unhappy and frustrated he is with his condition, but I am just so thankful that he is holding on and fighting as much as he is.  I just love my grandparents :)

And I'm thankful for my parents and siblings; ridiculous though they may be.  Ha, Daniel and Sammy Jean came up with this handshake that makes me pee my pants every time we do it.  We are insane.

More things to be thankful for this year...my job at church this past summer.  I am so totally thankful that God put me in that position and worked through me like he did.  I am frustrated with myself because I know that I didn't seek His counsel enough and things probably didn't go quite as well as they could have.  Stupid humans!  But I really got to know so many people from our church on another level, and now I have so many adults who are there for me all the time.  Mrs. Fox and Sherry are awesome, and are helping me right now with Auschwitz & After. 

The Step Kids have certainly been a blessing in disguise--although they have brought all kinds of stress and problems into my life, they have taught me more than any one else this year and have really made me excited to be a Christian and share Jesus.  I still pray for them every day, that they will keep hanging around the church and that some will maybe even come to Joshua Revolution with us, so that they can see that the love God has for them is so much bigger and better than the love the world has to offer.  God is so great.  Yay.

So much to be thankful for, so not able to keep my eyes open.  What's that stuff in turkey that makes you sleepy?  Big shopping day tomorrow (ugh, I hate crowds--but if I want a say in my Christmas presents, it's a must) and it's getting down to cruch time for my Celestina paper.  I'm think I have a thesis kindof...something about how Fernando de Rojas being a converted Jew is responsible for the religious hypocrisy of his characters...or something.  We'll see come Sunday night.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Hello my pretty girls,

How are you? I am pretty fine, working so hard for saving money to visit you. Recently I m gonna have dollars this week, and I only will need the ticket of the plane from Valencia to NY.

You now Libby is here, and we are planning go together to NY in April, I will try going around the 19th of April, I don’t know why. Someone knows?

I will tell you more news. One kiss very grande.

PS EMILIO...why didn't you write the email in freaking Spanish?!  It would have made a lot more sense!  Aw, I miss him.  Sadness.

Right so already going through off-season withdrawal, and I don't think it's even officially off-season yet!  Wonder what Kasey's up to in the Bahamas...probably wearing dark sunglasses and a huge hat to hide from Michael Waltrip, who also happens to be there ("if i'm a girl, i'm gonna follow him around"). 

Track Smack today talked about Kurt Busch and his post-win composure.  The guy seriously kills me; he tries to be so intelligent and I don't think he really is.  Man, I wish I had been a NASCAR fan when he did the "Kiss my a**" thing at whatever that race was after he crashed.  I would have been a fan for sure--hilarious!  Personally, i think he should have stuck to that personae; it was much more personable and entertaining.  

Marty and the boys also commented on Tony Stewart and his dummy black flag move.  But am I the only one who thinks it sucks that he was able to serve his penalty under caution?  They had black flagged him like five bazillion laps earlier, and we thought he was just being a dorkface and ignoring them, but then they let it go under caution.  Ridiculous.  Favorite Tony Stewart moment of the season: when he pooped his pants at Watkins Glen and Steph and I called it about two laps into his discomfort.  Shouldn't have been stalking us, that's what he gets for that!  Oh Tony. 

I think the reason I miss NASCAR so much already is that my Celestina term  paper is kicking my butt and I am running out of excuses to not work on it.  If only there were a race to watch!  My biggest problem right now is figuring out my thesis.  Unfortunately, every time I sit down to write my thesis, I start thinking about Valencia and how much I miss it and then I start crunching numbers to figure out when I can afford a return trip.  And oh!  Emilio emailed me and the girls today, and it is just so funny that I have to post it.  But not right here because I don't want to...next post!

Anyone else think Kurt Busch is the original Keebler elf?  I love the guy, but man.  It's all I could think about during his little acceptance speech interview thing.  That and the fact that he needs to spend his off-season building up arm muscles so if he wins the championship again next year he won't almost drop the trophy again.  eeps!

To the tune of moxy fruvous' "king of spain"

Once i was a NASCAR driver (now i live in a tree)/I'm telling you i was the nextel champion (now i make yummy treats)

Yeah so it sucks that we havent finished the lyrics yet; my life is a sham, i know, i know.  We also (we being steph and me) redid lyrics to the Tony the Tiger song about Tony Stewart pooping his pants at Watkins Glen.  Maybe someday I will be motivated enough to put them on here for your reading pleasure.

so ends my very first season as a NASCAR fan. It has been unforgettable and I will be forever grateful to steph for getting me interested. My friends and family, however, will forever hate her for the very same reason. After the three hour car ride today back from Clarkson with Ben, he was plenty ready to stop playing the NASCAR game. Our conversation was punctuated by "Exit 42 Jamie McMurray" "Speed Limit 55 Robby Gordon Busch Car *spitting sound* and "NAPA autoparts Michael Waltrip Flames" Half the time he thought I was talking to him, and would just grunt and roll his eyes when I repeated myself. The best part was when he said "But I only know one driver's number--Jeff Gordon 44" HA! Imbecile.

I was reminiscing with Steph last night about the beginning of my NASCAR fanship. It was Watkin's Glen and I was determined to learn who some of the drivers were before we went. I had no idea. I remember beign there and Steph telling me "Oh look it's Robby Gordon signing autographs. So I looked and saw three guys up there, and had no idea which one he was. So silly.

At the beginning of the season, Kasey was my favorite driver because he was good and he was cute. I guess you could say I had a crush. But soon thereafter, as I realized that we would never work out because Kasey is so darn serious and shy on camera! Steph and I need to just be his PR people and tell him to act a little more alive up there. I no longer look at him as a love interest, but more as my son. I get so proud of him whenever he is doing well, like leading laps (Charlotte *cough cough*) and so upset when things go wrong (Hm, Charlotte *coughcough*) I am appalled when I hear him swear (he's just a baby! he shouldn't be saying those things) and laugh so hard whenever a TV reporter tries to talk to him about anything non-NASCAR and he just goes blank. No idea how to respond. So while I still think that he is the most attractive driver out there (even more so than Gaymie McMurray lol), and i would be stupid to deny it, i'm now a kasey fan because of how excited he is about racing and how fabulous he is doing. And while I cannot say that I am an "original" kasey fan because I didn't notice him 10 million years ago when he was in dirt cup racing like half the 10 year olds on his message boards, I can say that he is my original favorite driver, and that I have liked him ever since i first started watching NASCAR, and in that sense, I am an original fan. Which makes me really proud, too.

So pretty sad about Homestead; especially after watching NBS 24/7 and hearing him say that he was so ready for this season to be over. Meaning the Busch season of course, but I can't help but feel that that translates over to Cup. Although he has had more success than he probably ever dreamed of before Daytona 500 last February, there have certainly been some disappointments. To end the season like he did was certainly one of them.

I was thinking on Sunday night that it sucks that we can't just call up our favorite famous people and tell them what we think, especially when we know that it's something they need to hear. If there were celebrity hotlines, I can think of three celebs that I would call off the top of my head:

1. Kasey Kahne, to let him know that his fans are just so thrilled that he had such an amazing season, and that it must be real discouraging to nto have gotten that win and to have almost not finished the last race of the season, but think about how much more successful you are than any of the other rookies. All in good time, kase, all in good time. And God loves you, man :)

2. Michael Jackson, to tell him taht I don't believe anything they say about him and that he is so the best singer of all time. But just in case that stuff is true, i would say to stay away from little children, you sicko.

3. Whitney Houston, to say LEAVE BOBBY! Dude, he ruined your life. You so totally had the best voice in the history of the universe and you were so beautiful and now you are just a pile of waste. Girl, you deserve so much better than that! We know you love Bobby, but we all do things we shouldnt. God loves you girl and has something so much better in midn for you! Bobby is the devil!

So big thanks go out to Kasey and Michael for making this season so very memorable. Michael freaking Waltrip makes me pee my pants every time he opens his mouth and i want his job so bad!