Being a Pedestrian

Isn't that a cool picture? I didn't take it. But I like the fog, and it makes me happy that I get to live downtown. I love downtown. I love walking downtown. It’s amazing the things I take note of as a pedestrian. As a driver, I’m more focused on the road and traffic lights. I’ve learned a lot walking to and from work this past year. I feel very comfortable with my surroundings and more aware of the people, buildings and events downtown. The following is a list of things I've learned walking to work:


The Christmas lights on Temple Square start going up in September.

The "holiday" lights at the Delta Center start going up in October.

Seeing how fast you can run down the steps at the Delta Center is fun.

It takes me exactly 17 seconds to cross a city street.

Judging from the plastic bags they carry their lunch in, all of the Temple Square missionaries do their grocery shopping at Wal-Mart.

If I wear a long, black skirt and walk towardsTemple Square, people mistake me for a missionary and wonder where my companion is.

Hardly anyone uses those orange flags to cross the street. And those who do look really scared.

A huge flock of fat seagulls like to congregate in the parking lot just west of West Temple around 8:50 AM and strategize for the day.

I think the space below the Dakota Lofts is haunted because no one has wanted to lease it for the past two years. The last business there was Ruby Tuesdays and they lasted about two months.

Ever since LDS Business College moved down to the Triad Center, the number of people making their way down North Temple has increased significantly – especially the skateboarders.

One out of five people smile back. And they’re usually convention-goers.

They can tear a building down overnight, but it takes years to grow another one in its place. UNLESS it's that Fidelity building on South Temple across from the Delta Center. They threw that together in a weekend, I swear. I try to step lightly when I pass it.

There are five sculptural reliefs of Olympians carved on a concrete wall along 400 West across from the Gateway. Only one figure has blue lips and I don't know why. I hope she's OK.

The employees at the Ford Building take a smoke break every morning at 8:55 AM.

The Rio Grande Hotel has got to be the trashiest hotel in town, but the proprietor is out there at least three times a day sweeping the walks.

"Papyrus" is the favorite font to use for signs on store windows.

The beggar just outside Temple Square did not need money for her surgery. She needed it to buy supplies for a new poster that reads, "Need money for hungry children. God bless."

It gets real windy along Main Street once you hit 200 South.

If there is a sign on Nordstrom's store window that says "Sale" I will go in.


You know what I’m beginning to accept? My remarkable attention to detail. I decided this on Wednesday when an email from Tickle encouraged me to take the “How your brain works and learns” test. I took their IQ Test several weeks ago and learned that I am a “visionary philosopher”. The fact that I can see the future is a power I was somewhat mindful of, but I have committed myself to take on this responsibility to further the advancement of mankind and not abuse it for personal gain.

Anyway, the test results explained my in-depth linear and analytical brain ability. I am undeniably left-brained, which is a little disappointing because I always considered myself a creative person, and creative people are right-brained. Oh well. I probably developed more left brained skills as an art history student. Left-brained people see tiny details within a large picture and see how they work together to form the larger picture. And that’s exactly what art history students are trained to do. We're trained to notice colors, texture, expressions on people's faces, reactions to their expressions, their stance, their gestures, how they relate to their surroundings and what that means in a larger context. I wonder if I would make a good spy. Probably not. The last time someone made me hold a gun I was so devastated I wanted to cry. I’ll stick to analyzing paintings.

I miss spinach.

I went to Wild Oats today to get my big salad at the salad bar and the only lettuce available was boring green leaf. Granted, it’s better than iceberg, but I loved having that spinach there to mix in with my “spring mix” greens which are also not available right now because of the E. coli O157:H7 scare. And earlier this week I went to Macaroni Grill and their “spinach salad” was made with romaine lettuce. Don’t pretend to be spinach. Sad.

I like spinach. I like spinach salad. I like quiche with spinach and spinach on my sandwiches. It was an easy vegetable to incorporate into my diet that lacks the recommended daily allowance of vegetables already. I need my beta-carotene. I don’t really like carrots. I bought a bunch of potatoes, but that’s not a real vegetable.

P.S. what is up with Google? I typed in the search box, “When do we get spinach back?” and in big red letters it asked me, “Did you mean, when do we get punch back?” What the? No, that’s not what I meant. Not even close. Get a clue.

I can feel my vitamin A levels dropping. Does a vitamin A deficiency make you quick-tempered?

You know, on KUTV news the other day they were talking about how E. coli has creeped its way into other stuff like carrot juice. But all we need to worry about is the organic stuff that isn’t processed. If it says, “pasteurized” we’re okay.

Maybe that’s why all the carrot juice was on sale at Wild Oats today.

Showers

I love October and today is a perfect October day. I love a little rain. Some people think this weather is gloomy, but I like to think of it as cozy. This is a picture of the leaves at Pioneer Park this morning.

Again, I’m at a place where I want to update my blog but I don’t really have any current events to write about. So instead I will insert a flashback from February 8, 2002. I came across this in one of my journals this morning as I searched for an email from my friend Ilene. If someone says something I like in an email, I keep it, print it out, shrink it down to journal size and save it for reference when I want to remember exactly what they said.

What I found first is actually an email I sent to Ilene about a baby shower I went to. Her inbox was kind of my journal for a while, so I would print out a lot of emails to her and paste them in my journals to avoid writing them all over again, and to avoid the hindsight that comes with rewrites. It made me laugh pretty hard this morning because it just attests to how I really didn’t fit in with my circle of friends. Of course, when you’re really little, it doesn’t matter all that much, but when you get older, it becomes more apparent.

Let’s begin with a brief description of our cast of characters.

Me: You know who I am.
Amanda: Blonde, way into working out. Says “cute” without pronouncing the “t”
Amy: Best friend growing up, super smart, but you wouldn’t be able to tell by looking or talking to her necessarily. You know what, she doesn’t even have a speaking role in this excerpt, even though it is her shower.
Connie: One of my mom’s friends in the ward. Her lines make her sound like an out of place drunk glued to the couch. She’s the best. I think I sat by her the whole night.

Note to reader: my reactions to what is being said to me are in parenthesis as little asides.

From: Laura Durham
To: Ilene
Date: 2/8/02 9:38 AM
Subject: Amy’s Baby Shower

So last night my friend Amanda hosted Amy’s baby shower. It was a shower where all the ladies from our ward were invited. I haven’t seen Amy for like two years and I haven’t seen Amanda for maybe three or four. Both are extremely pregnant. These were some of the conversations that took place:

Amanda: “Laura!” I haven’t seen you for like three years!”
Me: “I know.”
Amanda: “You look so cute and thin! (did I used to be fat?)
Me: “Thanks, you look kind of fat.” (she’s pregnant so it’s ok to say that)

Connie (my mom’s friend from the ward) is sitting on the couch and says,

“Laura, c’mere. My daughter says you’re dating this guy really seriously.”
“Really? Cause I’m not.”

Amanda’s mom brings me a plate of food and then Amy’s mom grabs a camera to take a picture of me while I’m eating because I’m “so cute” she says.

This one lady from the ward doesn’t recognize me (nor I her, because she’s new in the home ward I guess – or at least new in the past five years) so she comes up to me and says.

“Hi. Did you used to be in the ward?”
“Yeah, we all grew up together.”
“And what’s your maiden name?”

Amanda: “Laura, I can’t believe you’re not married yet.”
Me: “Yeah, I know. None of us can really figure it out.”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA – I flinch as hoards of laughter come from the gallery of ward ladies that I barely recognize from my Young Women’s days.

Me: “Sorry I’m running out of reasons as to why I’m not married or dating anyone right now.”

Connie: “Just tell’em you’re gay. That’ll shut’em up.

Me: “So Amanda, when are you due?”
Amanda: “Two weeks.”
Me: “Boy or girl?”
Amanda: “A little girl.”
Me: “Do you have a name picked out?”
Amanda: “It’ll be either Tasia or Ashley.” (Please name her Ashley).

About an hour passes and the crowd has died down to just me, Amy, Amanda, their moms and a couple other ladies who stuck around. I stuck around because I was having so much fun reminiscing and having people tell me how wonderful they think I am. This one lady says,

“Laura, you look so pretty. You have such beautiful skin.”
“Oh, thank you.”
“So what are you doing these days?”
“Just moisturizing and getting plenty of sleep.”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA –hoards of laughter. Man, these guys are an easy crowd.

Amanda: “Laura, you seem a lot more outspoken than you used to be.”
Me: “Yeah, I lightened up a lot during college.”
Amanda: “Good.”

I was kidding, but whatever. I need to go to these things more often. They treat me like I’m this powerful, smart, and independent woman who has accomplished this tremendous feat by being single, doing my own thing and being happy at the same time. I guess I’m just different compared to Amy and Amanda who both got married when they were 19 or 20 and never wanted to graduate from college.

...end of email...

Yeah, that was funny to read several years later. Man. “And what’s your maiden name?” I love that. The assumption kills me, EVERY TIME.