Accomplice

I haven't quite figured out my writing class yet. We have homework assignments but it doesn't seem like anyone does them, so at the beginning of class people just read what they've been working on. And it's usually really good. So it's the third week of class and I still am too freaked out to read anything I've written (especially when we do in-class writing. Like in ten minutes I'm going to be able to anything other than turn the prompt into a completely horrid stream of consciousness journal entry.) I promised myself last week that I was going to force myself to read the following-- my response to our homework prompt to write about being an unwilling accomplice. The thing I liked about every other writing class I've ever been in is that everyone had to read what they had written.

Disclaimer: There is a reason I didn't want to read this out loud. The reason is that since the class is so supportive, after anyone reads the instructor says, "Now tell her what you like about it" and I just didn't want to put my classmates in an awkward position, like when someone asks you, "Oh did you get a haircut?" And you're like, "Yeah." And then there's kind of a longish silence and the person goes, "Oh, it looks nice."

“Accomplice” is a Hardy Boys word, like “ransom” or “jalopy.” Acquiring the vocabulary of teenage detective stories at an early age, however, was not without missteps. For the longest time I wondered why the makers of Twinkies and other prepackaged baked goods had named their company after a person held to make sure that demands are met. A properly socialized 6 year old girl would have recognized the word “hostess” from her tea party storybooks, certainly not confused it with “hostage.” But there I was, barely in elementary school, scanning the mystery shelves in the junior high fiction section of the library. An older boy, sizing me up, decides I’m in the wrong place. “You can’t even read these books.” I could have proved him wrong just by picking up any of the Hardy Boys or Three Investigators or Encyclopedia Brown books and reading a page out loud. Twenty years later I’m still abetting, letting supermarket clerks, baristas, bosses, restroom patrons get away with misconceptions.

Ducks?

So they finally put up the captain bios on the Ride the Ducks website. As a fun treasure hunt, see if you can find the 2 actual typos, the inaccurate statement, and the part that I obviously did not write myself--all contained in Capt. Quack's 7-line bio! Free quacker for the winner!

I Actually Have a Good Excuse for Not Blogging

Unlike Beta Bravo, my laptop was not forced into shock by being plunged into overly warm water by a well-meaning but retarded owner. However, it has also given up on life, deciding about a week ago that booting up was just too much. While it makes some noises as though it is doing something and the buttons on the keyboard light up, the screen remains blank. So today on my day off I hiked over to the University District (actually I was lazy and took the bus) and dropped off the computer at the repair shop. So let's all collectively think good thoughts about a speedy recovery. Not only is it the most valuable thing I own, but as much as I am enjoying my monastic existence right now (it's amazing how much reading I can get done when I have absolutely no other entertainment options), I just started a writing class last week and am all excited about actually writing more and it's kind of sad how much of a struggle it is for me to write anything by hand.

Anyway, enough complaining. I feel like I should use up my hour of internet, but it only took me about 5 minutes to check all my email, Facebook, Myspace from the past couple days. It's not like I'm actually missing anything except the illusion of being in touch.

The (not so) Living Thing Update

!) Beta Bravo. RIP.

@) My laptop.

Living Things Update

!) The pea plants definitely need to be planted outside, although I do like the jungle effect of having lots of growing green things on my windowsills. I feel like I have been neglecting these little guys lately, though, and now the leaves are withering and the plants are sprawling out of control. (They are standing up nice and straight for the picture, though, because Diana had just told me that I should tie them to the stakes.)



@) The herbs appear to be doing well. They are even beginning to smell like their respective herb smells (chives, basil, parsley).

#) And now for something completely different . . . FISH! Yes, I now have actual pets, two betta fish (pictured left), thanks to Diana. If it is possible, I am even more excited about the fish than I am about gardening. Because I can watch them swim around. And I can talk to them and feel somewhat okay about it. And they have names. The red one on the left is Beta Bravo Fish. And the purpley one on the right (don't be confused by the orange fish picture on the bag of gravel behind the tank) is named Alpha Alfa Fish. I call them both by their middles names. Unless I'm really serious, like when I'm trying to coax Beta Bravo to not spit up his pellets, and then I use the first and middle name. You can just barely see the screen dividing the tank, which I like to call the beta blocker. This prevents them from fighting to the death. There is also a light on the top of the tank so I can illuminate the aquarium and lie in bed and stare at it.

$) So, yes, the aesthetic of my room has changed from the spartan clean and spacious (well, for a one-room studio) to the clutter of plants and animals and bikes and other assorted inanimate knickknacks. Generally it is a complete mess, as well, with clothes and bike parts and dishes stacked up on the floor and every available surface. I made a really good curry the other day. My grandfather always complained about cooking for one.

"It's not a state of mind. It's a city of peanuts."

This was me objecting to the Snickers wrapper defining "Peanutopolis" as "A state of mind making you feel very strong and powerful, almost mayor-like." And I stand by my position on that one. It is only reasonable that a word made up of "peanut" and "polis" (Greek for city) would mean "Peanut City." I would love to take on the Snickers ad men in a game of Balderdash.

Believe it or not, this was not the first quotable exclamation containing the suffix "-opolis" uttered during the less-than-two-hour car ride.

"What? Are you anticipating the expansion of your future metropolis?"

That was Becca objecting to rural towns having 115th Avenues.

The trip not only included quips, but also some nature.

And while we did not make it to the end of the trail, the trip was a success because Becca did not fall in a hole. I fell in a hole, but I did not dislocate any digits. And we both made it back.

Coming soon: Have you ever noticed that crazy cat ladies also have really cluttered houses? (You know they do.) I now understand why. (Have you noticed that I have a theory for everything?) All this and more in tomorrow's Living Things Update.

Kenya Dot

Nice work, Kenli.

April 2nd

Apparently (and somewhat ironically) I am not very good at April Fools jokes. But the night before last at around midnight, I was inspired by Google's hilarious spoof. (For those of you who missed the link in your Gmail inbox yesterday, they announced a new feature that allowed you to send emails from the past.) I thought it would be fun to have an April Fools blog post. Of course, it had to be something believable with a somewhat ridiculous aspect to it.

I think the problem was that it was too believable; it just didn't happen. The only impulsive thing I have done recently is get drunk and order a drum set online last week. And since it appears backordered indefinitely (they just changed the estimate for when it would be in stock from 3/31 to 4/30), it kind of takes the fun (and risk) out of the impulse buy.

The ridiculous part being, in my mind, that I chose to tattoo a bar code on my shoulder, unfortunately is also too believable. It probably was the first thing that popped into my mind because sadly I have always kind of liked the aesthetic of the bar code, despite hating all that it represents.

So Kate left me a message saying that she did not believe me for one second. Pam almost killed me via text message. And it looks like maybe I should get a tattoo before June so as to have something to show off. Perhaps I will get "I am not a blogger" tattooed on my arm.

Guess What

So every so often I'd think about getting a tattoo. And anyone I ever mentioned this to would ask me if I'd thought about what I'd want as a design. Of course I hadn't, which struck most people as a horrible idea. But I've always thought it would be a fun spur-of-the-moment kind of thing best left up to chance, fate and whim. So this afternoon after work (ok, after work followed by a pretty intense happy hour) I decided the day before I turned 26 was as good a time as any. Call it a stereotypical quarterlife crisis response. Anyway, you're probably semi-curious to know what I decided on when I got there. Ok, this is going to sound dumb, but don't worry, I actually really like it (and it's on my shoulder so it'll be covered up usually anyway). I wanted something abstract, so I picked a funky looking bar code. (For some reason, I've always thought they look kind of cool.) So I know it seems kind of random, but it looks a lot cooler than it sounds. Really. I'll post a picture as soon as the swelling goes down.