On Happiness

I'm a horse person. I was the 11 year old girl that spent her weekend at the barn mucking stalls to earn riding lessons, but the lessons weren't as important as spending the time with the horses. Horses make me happy, no matter how I spend my time with them. I am not currently riding, but I still spend hours keeping up-to-date on current events and riding and training theory. I'm still that 11 year old dreaming about owning her own horse. I read this article, "Nice Ass!" in Slate, and realized that for most of us can't explain why things are important to us, they just are. If you're a horse person, a dog person, a donkey person, etc . . . there is no way to explain that. Rarely do you get anything tangible back from the relationship that someone who doesn't share your passion can see and understand. There is no way to explain the why of a passion, it makes you happy, that's all the explanation that can be offered.

Stupid Emily Tricks

Here's the thing--I'm a reasonably smart person, I'm not being conceited to say I am, but I routinely perform what I like to call "stupid Emily tricks." Case in point: at home, I have two dogs, a large Rottweiler (really my brother's dog) and a small Schnauzer/Poodle originally meant to be my mother's, but who decided he was mine (or I was his). You can't really argue points of ownership with a dog. The small dog Zoe (yes, the poor thing is a male) curls up with me whenever I happen to be in lazing in bed. Well, I'm not at home, I live in a college dorm. Having recently moved to a single room, and arranged my two twin beds into one large king sized bed, I was lounging around reading (honestly, it was for class). For whatever reason, I thought Zoe was behind me on the other side of the bed and started patting the bed trying to get him to come next to me so I could snuggle and pet and all those other things people like to do to annoy their dogs. Well the bloody animal was ignoring me, and I was getting irritated. Just as I was about to yell at him to come over next to me, I turned around to look for him and of course couldn't find him. And still it took me several seconds to figure out that the dog wasn't there. Like I said, stupid Emily tricks.

Reading and Hair

I'm an avid reader. A 1+ book a day, reading is my Alpha and my Omega (and that lightning bolt was too close for comfort) reader. I am a reader with a dirty little secret: I don't read highbrow literature or nonfiction that often. Sure I read it, it's my duty as a human with a brain and it gives me something to throw at idiots, but in the reality of everyday, I read genre fiction. And what could possibly be worse than that? I don't just read any genre, I read ROMANCE! We aren't talking Jane Austen here folks. But really I have to ask what's so wrong with the genre--sure the authors write to the masses, but then the masses are who pay their bills. I'd write to them to. It's happy escapism at its best. Do I think a romance reflects reality? No. Do I think it comes even close? No, but it's fun. And the writing isn't always bad. Any genre has its flops. Find what you like and read it. Sometimes you just have to ignore the embarrassing cover.

Since the subject is romance novels, and romance novels invariably describe their heroine's hair, I had the interesting experience of actually seeing someone with hair the color of which I have seen described in multiple novels-chocolate brown. Yup, for some reason, authors like using this description. Up until the other day, I thought the term to be about as accurate as, say, honey blond (have you ever looked at honey? It's vaguely orange--if my hair was that color, I'd dye it). But, no I saw a living, breathing person, with natural hair the color of melted Scharffen Berger milk chocolate. It was shiny to boot. Made me hungry. I make a killer flourless chocolate cake. Mmm . . . . At any rate, I can't say I never now. (I also once new a girl in high school with mousy brown hair--honest. Same color as a mouse's coat. I had a teacher that was altogether rodent-like, but that's another matter.)

"A book is a version of the world. If you do not like it, ignore it; or offer your own version in return."

-Salman Rushdie