Julie R. Neidlinger: Lone Prairie Art Works (via Mowser)

You can follow the summer's blog posts here.
You can read my experiences trying to learn to fly, which is here.

Hookah gang.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 2 comments link this post

What does it take to get a bunch of grown men to act silly for a photo on a missions trip?

Not much.

Basically, it takes this: "Hey, you guys should pretend to smoke Elias' hookahs and then we'll take a photo and I'll add smoke to the photo when we get back home and then email it to you."

Yes, we were on a "missions" trip. And I have "proof" that the leadership was unfit. And that our host was overly generous in letting his American guests make use of his facilities.

See the photo here.

I have mad Photoshp skillz.¹

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¹Yes, the photo is fake. No one smoked anything. Granted, they laid on the floor and acted like junior high boys, but it was all posed. You can see some of the cartoons dealing with the hookah here.

Labels: friends, humor

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A recipe for supper.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 1 comments link this post

This is what I had for my evening meal. I'm providing you with a recipe because I'm nice like that.

1/2 bottle of spring water
1 Airborne tablet, citrus flavor
Perrier water

Break the Airborne tablet in half and drop both halves into the bottle of water. Fill the reminder of the bottle (but leave about an inch or two at the top, since there is a fizzing factor) with Perrier. Let the magic begin. When the tablet is dissolved, drink.

You're on your way to a vitamin-y treat.

It's also pretty cheap. You know, "watered down" and all.

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Labels: food, my life, summer 2008

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Vagueness.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 5 comments link this post

July is the time of year where the crop duster supersedes the alarm clock.

I woke up this morning to the buzzing of the yellow spray plane as it growled over the house, and then back and forth a few times. Time to get up; I had to drive back to Bismarck today, so no sense sleeping any later. I arrived in Bismarck, promptly slicing up the back of my heel because the screen door on the house in which I rent a room is broken and has what I would call an "aggressive return policy." But it was good to be back.

I love being home in my room on the farm. My bed. My TV. All my 800+ books around me. My stuff. Kitchen just downstairs. Piano to practice on. The country road beckoning me to go for a walk or run without having to deal with traffic and stop lights and other people.

But I was looking forward to getting back to Bismarck, and back to flying.

It has nothing to do with wanting to be away from home, but instead, has to do with vagueness.

Vagueness, in life, is destructive. Vagueness in purpose, direction, and self-identity -- not knowing who you are, where you are, and where you should be going. Having only some small bit of information to go on. Floundering. Sort of water-witching your way around, hoping whatever you're using as a stick knows more than you do.

With what I'm doing now, even if it's only for a few more months before going back home, even if it's a lot of work, even if it doesn't sense to others as to why I'm doing it, even if I sometimes feel a little lonely down here -- at least it kills that vagueness.

I can tell you, at least for now, where I am and what I should be doing and what my next step will be and what I need to do for the day. I have a specific goal and understand what it takes to get there. I go to bed with a set of things to do right away when I get up in the morning.

That's no small thing.

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Labels: my life, personal, summer 2008

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Genuine plain.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 3 comments link this post

"I read what you wrote about being plain, and it bothered me. That's not what we meant...not plain," a friend said at church yesterday. "We meant...um, what's the word...genuine. That the way you are is they way you are, that you don't change how you are in any situation."

This is in reference to an earlier post, which was about learning second-hand that someone said they liked me because I was plain and simple which was, as I alluded, probably because of mis-picked words to describe instead of an intent to insult.

"Genuine, huh?" I said. We laughed about it; I know that that was what they were trying to say in a sense, though what I wrote in the post wasn't made-up, either, coming from experiences more than just the one on the plate in front of me.

Regardless, I had a little fun with this person about it.

"Look," I said, holding a cup of water during the fellowship dinner in the church basement after church. "I have a cup of genuine water."

"Look," I said, holding up the plain potato chips on my plate, "I have genuine chips."

I went about looking for ways to use the word "plain" and then substitute it with 'genuine."

It's not super funny to read about now, but I'm pretty genuine about goading. Between that and the "silence, I kill you!" joking around and then crying in front of the people from church (and I don't like to cry in front of people) during the intense meeting that followed the meal...yesterday was anything but plain. Genuine really is the word, in that case.

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Labels: church life, my life, promotion

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Blogathon 2008.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

The official Blogathon site announced it was taking another one-year break. They did this a few years back, too. Normally, the Blogathon would be looming on the calendar. There is no way I'd be able to do it this year, with what I'm doing in Bismarck.

However, I still think I'd like to do something. I see that some bloggers are kind of doing an "informal" blog-for-charity event on their own. One thing that always disappointed me about the requirements for choosing a charity to blog for during the Blogathon is that I couldn't blog for the organization I'm part of that goes to Nicaragua, the Nicaragua Resource Network - North Dakota. The reason for this was because we aren't set up for online donations yet, and the Blogathon rules required that to be an officially recognized Blogathon participant.

So I'm thinking that maybe, later this fall or early winter, I'll do a blog-for-charity event here at Lone Prairie on my own for NRN-ND to raise money to take to Nicaragua during the February trip. I'd probably keep the same rules: blog for 24 hours, every 30 minutes, no pre- or timed-posting allowed.

I don't know if I'd do another Bob story or not. I've done three of those (Of Rats and Men (2005), a western (2006), and a SciFi space story (2007)). My first year of participating (2003) was easier -- I did a little drawing every 30 minutes.

I don't know. We'll see. Maybe I'll work with some cartoons instead of Bob. I just wanted to make note of the Blogathon fact because right around now I sometimes start getting emails from readers wondering if I'm going to do it this year, and so now you know.

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Labels: blogathon, blogging, charity

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Oh no!

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 2 comments link this post

Alas, I awoke this morning to discover that my "new cell phone" is falling apart.

This is probably because it really isn't so new anymore, and wasn't new when I got it.

But still.

I've been having quite a breakthrough with my cell phone this summer. I've used it tons, as opposed to my previous existence of "here's my number but don't call me because I'm not on a contract but a pay-per-minute plan and it's expensive" which would cause me to rush people through a conversation to keep it under a minute. This also led to me complaining, hypocritically, that "no one ever calls me" because, if they did, I'd tell them to hurry and get to the point in the next 50 seconds.

I've had full conversations on my phone lately!

Despite all the increased use of the summer, it's still cheaper than paying $30+ a month.

But now it's falling apart. The little battery latch thing on the back keeps popping out. I think tape will only work so long.

Dang.

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Labels: my life, summer 2008

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One-pound turkey legs.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 2 comments link this post

Capitol Shakespeare was great. If you live in Bismarck and you have either Friday or Saturday night open, you need to be down on the lawn by the veteran's memorial by 5:30.

The production lasted about 2.5 hours, and I got there about 40 minutes early which meant I was dead center front. I dropped down on my old blanket and read a book until it started. It was a bit of a scorcher for the wait and maybe the first half hour, but as the sun dropped and the breezes picked up, it really was lovely.

The production was fabulous. Twelfth Night isn't my favorite Shakespeare play, but I found myself laughing a lot. The actors who played Sir Toby and Malvolio and Sir Andrew and Fabian -- really, they all did an amazing job. Some seriously funny laugh-out-loud moments. Just excellent. Great comedic timing. Malvolio was put in a burlap bag instead of a "dark room with a slit for light" and the way the actor who played him used the bag and gestures to get laughs...really hilarious. I also appreciated the fencing bouts and the humor used in that. I did fencing in college and it was fun to see the affected mannerisms the actors put on as they "dueled."

I'm glad I went.

I almost didn't.

I had that moment where, as I parked the car and pulled my blanket out of the back and started to walk over, I thought maybe I was tired of always doing things by myself. There's always that brief flash of annoying self-pity when you see people there with picnic baskets and friends, chatting and having a good time with each other. But, I settled down on my blanket, got comfortable, and was soon enjoying myself.

The event sold roasted turkey legs for $8, or chicken drummies for $3. I didn't have either, since I was broke, but the sight of people eating those turkey legs was humorous. The point was to have a Renaissance thing going on, though I'm not sure if the vultures circling high overhead where the grilling was occurring was part of the plan or not.

On Saturday, there will be Renaissance-fair kind of thing happening a few hours before. I won't be in town, and I probably wouldn't go to that, anyway. People in capes creep me out.

Capes are a clothing device that look dashing and handsome on men and women in movies or onstage, but the moment a Ren-Fair devotee decides to bring it out into daily life on the street, it comes off as creepy.

Besides, I can only take so much themed activity. I was at a Scottish festival in Minneapolis while I was there for college, and while it was rather exciting the first 20 minutes, by the time the 12th clan came in and did their bagpipe routine, I was ready to throw my meat pie at someone. I couldn't take the sight of plaid anything for half a year.

But definitely take in the production here in Bismarck if you are able. I'm telling you, I had a wonderful time tonight. Even if I was by myself.

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Labels: my life, north dakota

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No habla.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 2 comments link this post

Tomorrow evening I shall be sitting on a blanket at the capitol, enjoying the work of the bard.

I am hoping no one comes up and tries to talk to me, since I am socially retarded and won't have more than an "um" and "uh" to respond to them.

Once in a while, I have a breakthrough. As you may have read in my journals from my June trip to Nicaragua, I actually talked to a random stranger sitting next to me on the airplane.

I'm not sure how it happened, really, though I suspect foul play on a cosmic level. After all, seating me next to and expecting me to intelligently converse with a fellow who was a mechanic for NASCAR driver and on his way to some massive country music festival...I don't even have the same language. I don't know anything.

"No, I'm sorry. I don't recognize the name of the NASCAR team and driver you mentioned."

"Really?!!"

"I'm not really into NASCAR."

"But women love him! They all go nuts over him!"

"Hmm. Well, I've never heard of him. I'm sure he's very nice-looking. I just don't know."

It was a difficult segue into talking about classical music, and a short-lived conversation at that, but I managed it.

That made him quiet down.

I'm no dummy.

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Labels: humor, my life

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Things you can yell during traffic that won't affect the equation.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 6 comments link this post

1. You idiot!

2. I know changing lanes in an intersection is against the rules but since YOU ARE ALL BUT AT A STANDSTILL AND THE GREEN IS GOING TO YELLOW you force me to do it. Idiot.

3. Thank you, Bismarck street department, for putting down fresh oil and enough gravel to rival the Appalachian mountains, since it seems that CITY DRIVERS DON'T KNOW ENOUGH TO SLOW DOWN AND NOT CHIP EVERYONE ELSE'S WINDSHIELD!

4. It doesn't get any greener!

5. Do you need some kind of instruction manual on how to use your turn signal? IT'S SO COMPLICATED.

And this was all just in the short drive from the airport back to where I live.

I am tightly wound. There's a line from the movie Ferris Bueller's Day Off that comes to mind...

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Labels: humor, my life, rant

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I hate July.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 6 comments link this post

I know that hate is a strong word. I now direct that towards the month of July.

July is extremely hot.
Buggy.
Overgrown with plants and weeds and pollen.
Sunblock must be slathered on.
Sweat.
Wild weather.
Hot.
Hot.

In fact, July's only saving grace that keeps it one notch above August is that it has a holiday, a holiday marked by trips to the local burn unit and processed meat product scorched on a grill. That, and the fact that some people continue to insult me by spelling "julie" as "july" which makes very little sense.

And, now that I think about it, August is when all the kids go back to school which I like to see, since it gets them off the street, out of the library, and out of the stores.

So maybe August is pulling up closer to July here in the backstretch.

I suppose "curmudgeon" would be the word you're looking for, right now.

Maybe it's time for some more of my great poetry, dedicated to July.

Ode to July
And its many points of disgust.
Or, at least one point of disgust.
by Julie R. Neidlinger

I hate you, July.
I really do.
You convince old men
that its acceptable to wear Speedos
at the beach.
Gross.

Labels: poetry, rant, summer 2008