Dream a Little Dream of Me

The mental health experts would have a field day with this one... 

Scenario: The dear cat of the house encounters the crazy about 5:30 a.m. and begins running suicides across the house, ending each one by slamming against my bedroom door.

Subsequently, I have a vivid, memorable dream that I am attempting to recoup, among other things, a dozen or more loaves of sliced white bread, and I am being attacked by a gang of middle school boys brandishing sticks.

I win.

Look out, ALN.  :)

This is August, Y'all

So...the beach photos? They like to drag their feet. Walking in sand, you know, is very slow going.

However, this happened:



Then I had a brief love affair with a bag of potato chips. Or several. (The relationship may have been polygamous.)



Returning, I became an at-home professional in a new "office":



The world ended.

Just kidding. It's August, y'all. I'm not in school. This is weird.

That's all.

This is August

I'm back.
This is me.

(This is also an open letter of apology to any human being who encounters me today.)

My beverage of the morning is a venti dark roast from Starbucks. Black.

Kindly ignore the fact that I haven't shaved my legs. I moved yesterday.

My nose is blue, and I'm not a Smurf, nor am I being abused. I play Ultimate Frisbee. The sequence of a committed, if unsuccessful, dive is this: knees, hips, elbows, nose. My injuries correspond.

I spent the evening listening to Bon Iver and alphabetizing my books. That's how I unwind. (English major.)

So buy wine from me today. The wine will be excellent. My ability to form a cohesive sentence about it may not be. Have pity.

Thank you.

Beach photos to follow.

In Shakespeare’s Company

I’m sitting in a narrow hallway outside a coffee shop and bookstore called Shakespeare & Company. The door of this coffee/beer/wine/book/cooking supply shop has not one but five Christmas jingle bells hanging from the knob, to be certain the proprietors don’t miss a guest’s approach. (The bells’ effectiveness is undermined somewhat by the fact that the other half of the double doors is propped open.) They needn't have worried.

This endearing spot is located in Kernersville, North Carolina, in a delightfully confusing building that once housed the Hooker Furniture Factory. The outside of the complex (so named in a most literal sense) is rustic, variegated brickwork with cast iron balconies, climbing vines, and a selection of succulent bushes lining the base. A fountain, surrounded by white rose bushes, trickles over moss-covered stone in the center of a small courtyard paved in meandering circular patterns.

The inside combines industrial brick and heavy steel supports with renovated woodwork and matte cast iron. Vague signs direct you to one boutique shop after another, with descriptive names like Not Just Teapots, Splurges, and Paper Sassy. Sadly, for every occupied storefront there are four empty ones: some actively under construction and giving off a powerful odor of sawdust and hot drill bits, others dark and quiet.

But for the music playing in the eerily empty halls, I would expect to see Scooby Doo and the gang sneaking around a corner in pursuit of a masked villain. The scene before me has the same muted palate of colors that characterized the old-school version of the cartoons I watched as a child. The low-ceilinged hallways and odd assortment of levels, staircases, and exits only adds to the air of mystery about the place.

In the time that I’ve been sitting here, I have seen perhaps three or four people pass by, each with the same wondering look in their eyes. Like me, they are explorers venturing into the unknown: somewhat baffled in the absence of a map, oddly reverent of the echoing corridors, and generally uncertain what they will find around the next corner.

Granted, it is 1:30 on a Wednesday afternoon. Not everyone has the freedom to carry her job with her. Besides, this isn’t really a place for laptops and power cords, WiFi hotspots and Bluetooth. Here, there should be nothing but battered paperbacks, poetry recitations, craft classes, and farmers’ markets.

I sit back and take another sip of my Midsummer’s Frap (caramel, hazelnut, and cinnamon)* as I turn to page seventy-five of Metalogicon, John of Salisbury’s twelfth-century treatise on logic. He’s quoting Vergil now, from the Georgics: “Happiness comes from understanding the causes of things, / And nonchalantly treading under foot all fears”. Treading under foot all fears. I like the sound of that.

The more I think about it, the more the combination seems appropriate. Shakespeare’s formal education, what there was of it, would likely have been informed by John’s ideas about classical learning, Latin, and logic. As the saying goes, it’s all connected.

After a brief and self-satisfied pause in honor of my own epiphany, I wander downstairs to a dimly lit wine shop affiliated with a local North Carolina winery. While I sample Semillon and Malbec, the manager and I chat for an hour about viticulture, wine judging, economics, the job market, age discrimination, retail service, grape varieties, merchandizing politics, education, and health care. We don’t resolve any of the world’s problems, but when I leave I feel the sense of pensive well being that only comes from establishing a genuine connection with another human being.

All in all, a productive afternoon? Perhaps not. A soul-satisfying one? Without a doubt.

---

*The cinnamon must be Puck’s doing; the first sip of reddish powder sends me into a coughing fit from which it takes a good ten minutes to recover.

Wrinkles and Laugh Lines

It's hard to believe that it has been a full year since I graduated with my master's degree. Looking back at my recent posts this weekend, I've realized that I write far fewer funny entries than I did in the early stages of this blog, or even last year. 

If you started reading when I was regularly turning out poetic commentaries on my filmmaker-nemesis, writing New Year's UN-resolutions, raving about the misbehavior of my computer Marvin, developing software to increase grad student productivity, anthropomorphizing my thesis, rapping about my thesis defense, or pondering alternative careers for grad students, you might find this version of Jen's Write Side a little more "Debbie Downer" than you expected.

I tell myself that one reason is the dearth of readily-available comic material: I'm not in grad school surrounded by sleep-deprived twenty-somethings, my computer functions relatively well (knock on wood), and I'm not writing a 150-page document about obscure topics from the 1500s.

Then again, if I were looking for those moments, I suspect I would still find plenty of them. David Lynch had one thing right at least: life is full of absurdity.  When I encounter it, instead of taking the time to write about it, which involves some analytical processing as well as the rhetorical canons of invention and arrangement, I take the easier alternative and post a brief comment on Facebook or Twitter. The problem, then, is not lack of content; it is lack of motivation on the writer's end.

As I continue to transition away from my longstanding linear track to a Ph.D. and into a scatter plot of lives unled that may or may not produce a valid regression line (Andrew Miller and statistics: what a combination!), I think the truth is that I'm not wearing my quirky writer glasses all that often. They don't fit as well as they did before. They need new frames, and the lenses have gotten scratched a few times. 

I like to think I'll get new ones eventually.

By re-posting some of my favorite comedic entries (I know, the subliminal message encouraging you to read those posts is thinly veiled at best), I'm trying to remind myself that I can do funny---have done it in the past and will do it again in the future. 

My hope, if I may be corny for a moment, is that the ornery wrinkles that have sprung up around my eyes this year will eventually be overwritten by laugh lines, whether that happens this coming year, or the following year, or the year after that. I don't think that's too much to wish for.

Happy Anniversary, graduate friends. See you in the funny papers.

A Look Back at 2011...

10...typically causes one to crash into 2012 with unfavorable results.

[and other bits of wisdom I've garnered in the past year]

9...A cough should not last a month; however, repeating the refrain, "I'll get it checked out tomorrow" for 29 days is likely to produce this outcome.

8...Remembering to take a picture of the odometer at 99,999 miles may decrease, rather than increase, the odds of remembering to photograph the odometer at 100,000 miles.

7...Typos happen. They happen even on the first page of a many-times-proofread thesis. They often wait to reveal themselves until the document in question has been published and bound.

6...The Coffee-Drinker's Catch-22: until you've had your morning coffee, it is practically impossible to drink coffee without spilling it down your shirt or splashing it on your computer.

5...Pre-coffee tea drinking does not bypass the Coffee-Drinker's Catch-22. Even if it's caffeinated.

4...Don't mess with the warty pumpkins. They will destroy you, one jot of self-worth at a time.

3...Whether in writing or in life, transitions are a beast.

2...The plague of "lasts" is unavoidable. For that reason...

1...Whether you have two years or only 300 words, make it good.

Goodbye, 2011!
Hello, 2012!!
Happy New Year!!!

Open Letter to DrP

You know what, DrP*? If you're going to play this commercial every five minutes on Hulu, there are some things you should know.

I am a woman.
I enjoy action movies.
I do not drink diet soda.
I dislike most rom-coms.


You know what else?

You can keep your DrP10.

That's all.





*And by refusing to type out your name, or your product's name, I am refusing you that 1.5 additional hits you might have gained from this post. Then negating my own refusal by linking to your video. Irony. I get it.
**Maybe I have lost my sense of humor. Blame it on repeat number 10.

Keep Breathing

Dearest lungs of mine,

Please know that in this I mean no offense. I know you are doing your job, and I greatly appreciate your efforts to clear out the remains of my Thanksgiving illness.

I just wanted to let you know that I'm very much looking forward to the moment when I can take a deep breath without a murderous fit of coughing that leads me to believe that you are trying to escape my body.

I'm really not the jealous type. Just a bit possessive. That's all.

Love,
Jen

It is now officially December

Which means...it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas!


(and it's finally permissible to listen to Christmas music)

Symptoms

Do you ever have those days when you just feel incompetent, no matter how many things you do well?

Symptoms of one of those days:

• Failing to check off one of the two items on your to-do list
• Being late to a tutoring session
• Spilling tea on your pants
• Handing the wrong exact change to a cashier
• Opening a box of Christmas ornaments too quickly and spraying glitter all over your face
• Hitting yourself in the face when slamming (palming, Allen Iverson-style) the lid of an industrial recycling bin
• Jamming the tape dispenser five times in a row
• Getting a hand cart stuck on the door sill, ramming it into your shin, then running over your foot with it
• Tossing empty boxes toward the recycling area, only to have the wind pick them up and fling them all over the parking lot
• Dropping handfuls of neatly stacked papers all over the floor
• Having to look up the terms "hand cart," "door sill," "palming," and "recycling bin" because your brain refuses to think of them on its own

All purely hypothetical, of course.

Right.

Making a list, checking it concurrently

Sometimes, getting through Monday involves a little creative finagling of productivity tools.

Rather than making a checklist, I'm making a list of all the things I have already accomplished this morning.

Today, I:

• Heard the alarm clock.
  
• Got out of bed.
• Made the bed.
  
• Did something with my hair.
• Cleaned my room, including the stack of birthday cards on the dresser.
• Paid bills.
• Killed a cricket that jumped from the closet ONTO MY FOOT.
• Ate breakfast.
• Sent an email.
• Opened the blinds in the house.
• Watered my plant.
• Washed dishes.
• Gathered laundry to wash.
• Made a revised budget.

Not bad!

(The things I have not accomplished are on another list, one that has a far less cheering effect.)

Departing Boston, Epic-Style

A perfectly epic trip to Boston last weekend ended in what was, for me, a perfectly ironic flight home.

Ladies and gentlemen: exhibit A.

Flying from Boston to a stopover in Washington, D.C., I found myself sitting beside a vivacious and precocious middle schooler.

Now, ever since I tried to color a Snow White cartoon while riding in the back seat of the car on the way to visit my grandmother when I was seven years old, I have known that moving vehicles are a special trial for me. As an adult, I no longer live in fear of car sickness, but motion sickness nonetheless returns at the occasional inopportune moment to haunt my steps.

This was one of those days.

Motion sickness typically affects me only at takeoff and landing in small planes, or occasionally in the mid-afternoon when the plane goes through pockets of turbulence. This was a large plane, but it was full, and the sun was acting as an impromptu heating lamp on my window seat. My usual strategy is simple and effective: 1) lean against the window 2) close eyes 3) avoid conversation 4) focus on breathing.

Not this time.

We were taxiing down the runway, and no sooner had I bunched my coat into a makeshift pillow, but I became aware that my seatmate was straining to see out the window around my head. Courteous seatmate that I was, I slid up the blind on the window in front of mine (halfway between my seat and the one in front of me). "You might be able to see out of this one," I said.

Big mistake.

My simple comment triggered a rush of conversation that did not cease for the duration of the two-hour flight. Topics included, but were not limited to:

-The perils of flying over the ocean, however briefly.
-Which would be worse, crashing on land or in the ocean.
-Refueling overseas planes in Iceland.
-Antarctica.
-Careers in marine biology for those who fear the ocean.
-Swimming with sharks.
-Swimming with dolphins.
-Alternative careers in veterinary medicine for those who fear blood.
-Which is worse, snakes or spiders.
-Bee stings.
-The length of the danger zone on stingrays.
-Haircuts: specifically, bangs.
-Hair products that speed growth.
-Hairy legs: the commonality between boys and spiders.
-The function of airplane tray tables.
-The Midwest.
-Ports of departure for international air travel.
-Beaches in the Midwest; or, the lack thereof.
-The advantages of waiting to disembark until the plane empties.
-Layovers, and the worst airports for them.
-Metal detectors.
-The age limit at which one ceases to be ineligible for full-body scans.
-The efficacy, or lack thereof, of full-body scans.
-The construction of hairpins: that is, their hollow character.
-The pure metal hairpins that defy this typical characteristic.
-The likeliness of setting off metal detectors with hairpins.
-The distinction between "girly-girl" and one who wears girl clothes.
-Swimming.
-Volleyball.
-The reason behind, "Be sure your seat-backs are in their full upright and locked position."
-The benefits of sitting over a wing.
-Flying with small children.
-The economics of providing a whole can in the beverage service.
-The president.
-Property taxes in the Midwest.
-Renting versus buying a home.
-30 Rock.
-JCPenny sales.
-The White House.
-Beaches.
-Immunity to typical anxieties about travel.
-Being an experienced, unfazed traveler.

All this, while eating a burrito, procured in the airport. All this, while I fight down the nausea and realize that I cannot put my head down. I cannot close my eyes. I cannot avoid conversation. And I cannot focus on breathing.

I cannot do any of these things, because I am actively and almost aggressively being schooled by a twelve-year-old not only in knowledge of the economics of property taxes or the anatomy of the stingray, but in the ability to fly the friendly skies of United Airlines without succumbing, in shameful weakness, to air sickness.

Motion sickness is not pleasant. Being shamed in your motion sickness by an unflinching twelve-year-old is more than any twenty-something with a master's degree should have to endure.

I mean, really.

In fact, I blame that experience both retroactively and proactively for causing me to re-watch the entire seven seasons of Gilmore Girls in a single season.

Yeah. It was that bad.

Happy Halloween!

Finally, a year with trick-or-treaters!!

I know what made the difference.

This guy was really bringing them in.

Saturdays Off

...should end like this:

Bumpings-into

In contrast to the theme of August, ("Tumblings-apart"), I am so grateful for a weekend full of "bumpings-into." :-D

Listening (to snakes?)

On this beautiful late summer afternoon, I decided to take a hike around a local lake. It's about a 7 mile walk, but the trail is shady and smooth, with a few gentle hills and lots of families walking, biking, or running on it.

I was reminded, along the way, how peaceful it can be just to listen.

After approximately a mile of walking, I stopped to sit on the rocks beside a small creek flowing into the lake. As soon as I sat down, a woman approached with two dogs (both off the leash, both with the variegated-cardboard look that half-dry hair tends to produce). One was a lanky black and white mix; the other was a shorter, stubbier brown and black. Sort of a "Bert and Ernie" of dogs.

They immediately splashed into the creek in front of me. All I said was, "Looks like they've enjoyed a swim."

That phrase initiated a 20-minute conversation that covered the entire gamut:

--the draining of the lake
--therapy dogs (her smaller dog is registered and works mainly with Alzheimer's patients)
--the AKC's recent decision to permit mixed breeds to compete in obedience trials...
--which enabled her dog, now highly successful, to compete after two years of being ready but unqualified
--the judge whose Australian Shepherd her dog beat in his own breed show
--the term "sharp pencil" judges
--the animal therapy test and reasons why dogs fail it
--her dog's knee surgery for a roving kneecap
--animal insurance policies.

During the conversation, I asked maybe 3-4 questions and made some affirmative noises. She seemed eager to talk, to show pictures of her dogs, the show facilities where she had competed, and the ribbons they had won. In the meantime, her dogs ambled around us, sniffed, shook water on both of us, and let me scratch their ears.

Then we all moved on.

About mile 4, I had a somewhat shorter conversation with a small snake named Hermann Benvolio. He agreed to keep his older siblings out of the path, and I agreed to stay out of his way while he crossed the trail. We parted friends, in mutual sadness for the animosity between our kin.

It was lovely.

Tremor Tuesday

Just felt this.


I'm already imagining the local news headlines...*

• Krankies' Chill Atmosphere Unshaken by Earthquake
• Traffic Reporters Hopeful, But Gain No New Stories from Quake
• Social Media Surge Causes Its Own Earthquake for Time Warner Cable
• Harold Camping Announces Imminent Relocation to Richmond Area
  

In all seriousness, I'm gratefully checking "experience an earthquake" off my bucket list, and I hope injuries/damages in other parts of the east coast were not too severe.

---

*Except that there would probably be more typos and grammatical errors.

The Rest is Silence

One of the pitfalls of working from home is the challenge of resting. I'm not talking about unexpected fall-asleep-at-the-table-and-drool-on-your-laptop resting (not that I've ever done that) -- I'm talking about intentional, waking rest.

Although I did cheat and do some work this morning, I spent an entire afternoon resting. I read a book (Her Fearful Symmetry), wandered around the house, browsed a used book store with friends, played Frisbee, and then ate frozen yogurt and read some more. It has been delightful.

It's also been really tempting to take just a few minutes to knock out some editing or plan tomorrow's schedule. So far, I'm holding out.

Having a job that permits me to work from multiple locations and to set my own schedule is an enormous blessing. The challenge is to turn off the blinking screen, close the computer (or at least the document), and take time to rest in the silence.

Silence.

What a novel concept.

I think I like it.

The Lure of Deliciousness

The promise of frozen custard was too much. I have succumbed to Groupon.

Use my referral link to get your own, and I get a bonus!

11 hours left on this offer.

Shall We Salsa?

Jen: Eyes, why do you hate me so much?
Jen's eyes: Maybe because you made super-spicy salsa and then touched us?
Jen: Ah. Yes. I can see your point.
Jen's eyes: How ironic. We no longer can.


Jen: Thumb, why do you hate me so much?
Jen's thumb: Maybe because you cut me with a knife while de-seeding a jalapeno pepper.
Jen: Ah. Yes. I feel you.
Jen's thumb: How ironic. I no longer can.


But it's so delicious.