De Liver De Letter

A few weeks ago, when Beverly Cleary died, I was unexpectedly sad.

To be frank, I was kind of astonished at first. In my head, she was roughly my father-i11n-law's age, born in the late 40s or early 50s, hitting her writing stride in the 70s. Finding out that she was born before women could even vote? It was a little mind-boggling.

Then, after the shock of her age wore off, that's when I was sad. Because, even though I forget sometimes, her work had a huge impact on me as a reader.

I only read two of her books that I remember reading, neither one being part of the Quimby-verse. Maybe I read one of the Ralph books, maybe.

The ones I do know I've read, in an amusing way, really tell you all you need to know about my personality:

  • Socks - cats
  • Dear Mr. Henshaw - wanting to be a writer

Socks was a class book we read in 3rd grade. We were assigned to read a few pages that first night. I devoured it and read it all in one night. It's one of my vivid reading memories, finishing this passed-around copy under the yellow glow of my lamp. It wasn't the first chapter book I'd read, but it was definitely one that stuck with me -- an experience that defined how I saw myself: a reader lost in the pages of a book.

I read Dear Mr. Henshaw the next year on my own. It stuck with me so much that I still remembered the poem Leigh wrote at the end of one of his early letters:

De Liver
De Letter
De Sooner
De Better
De Later
De Letter
De Madder
I Getter

It's a poem I think of a lot. Especially if I'm writing out/typing the word "deliver"...
I also really connected with Leigh as a kid -- I wanted to write. Heck, I still do.

I hadn't read either book in roughly 20 years. I'd found a copy of Dear Mr. Henshaw last week at a local used bookstore, but I had to get Socks at Barnes & Noble. I had bought it today, not even realizing until when I started this post, looking to see exactly when she'd been born, that I saw TODAY would have been her 105th birthday.

Which, weird. Very, very weird.

I read them both today, because while my brain has become mush throughout this pandemic, I can still speed through these like I did as a 9-year-old. Maybe a smidge faster.

It was surprising at how much I had retained of the Socks plotline. All the major points, I had remembered. I was more surprised at all the things I had forgotten from Dear Mr. Henshaw. Reading it now was a glimpse into the hope I once had about being a writer. It also was a reminder that some things take time, and you have to work on them for things to get better and actually change.

Beverly didn't publish her first book until she was 34. So there's hope for me yet.

Seeing the Other Side of Things

A few years back, I signed up for NetGalley, a website where you can get ARCs of upcoming books in exchange for reviewing things.

Let's just say I'm not super great about following through on all my grand ideas and leave it at that.

I was good this time around though, and actually read the book I received!

And now, the review...

I'm Not Dying with You Tonight is a young adult book, jointly written by debut authors Gilly Segal and Kimberly Jones. Their novel is centered around two girls, Lena and Campbell, classmates of different races who end up stuck together when a riot breaks out in their neighborhood.

As I began to read, I was really reminded of Sharon Draper's Romiette and Julio. Part of that is because it's based in a major city, where the majority of residents are black. But I also felt the overall tone, where teens quickly end up in situations over their heads, was the same. Considering I read Draper's book multiple times as a teen, it's a good thing.

There were moments where I thought that Campbell, the white girl, was being made into a generic meek white girl character or when I thought Lena was too hard on her. Can't you see she's got problems too?

After remembering that no, Lena can't see into Campbell's head like I can, I took a step back and thought, How much of my defensiveness of Campbell is more defensive of what I see of myself in her? And how much of what I'm defending is worth defending?

Books like this that examine the same racially-charged event through different races' eyes are important; when they're engaging like this one, they're almost imperative for any teacher or school library interested in perspective to have on their shelves.

Rating: 4/5

Saying Goodbye to my Googleganger

As every good Millennial, I learned a long time ago how to Google myself to make sure that anyone else with my name wasn't reeking havoc somewhere that I might have to explain.

Even with a last name such as mine, there were a smattering of other people who had my name, or some variation of it.

There is one, however, that I have felt a kinship with, even if we've never even spoken.

Maybe it was that she seemed (based on some searches) has the same middle initial as me. Maybe it was because we graduated high school in the same year and therefore were roughly the same age. Maybe it was because she went to college and did some writing (for her school's newspaper).

For a while, if you just Googled my name, she'd come up as the first few options. Which was fine by me -- she always seemed to be doing well. Weirdly, her success in life seemed to make me look good by proxy, just by sharing a name.

But now that I'm married and have a truly unique name (since I just added Brett's onto mine, making it a double surname), I'm the only one that comes up. I don't have to see what comes up when people Google my name, because I know it's only going to be me.

So, goodbye, other Samantha Alleman. I don't know you at all, but I still feel a little sad from this goodbye.

Friends: Generally Better Than You

A few years ago, a friend of mine named Kori lambasted a terrible book he'd just read. I had recently bought this book, and his response was to suggest returning it if I could.

Today I read that book in basically one sitting.

I wish I'd followed Kori's advice.

Me and Earl and the Dying Girl by Jesse Andrews came out in 2012, the same year as another YA book famously featuring a main girl character with cancer. While Andrews wasn't directly responding to The Fault in our Stars, it starts from the very beginning by setting itself apart from it:

You may have already figured out that it's about a girl who had cancer. So there's a chance you're thinking, "Awesome! This is going to be a wise and insightful story about love and death and growing up. It is probably going to make me cry literally the entire time I am so fired up right now." If that is an accurate representation of your thoughts, you should probably try to smush this book into a garbage disposal then run away. Because here's the thing: I learned absolutely nothing from Rachel's leukemia. In fact, I probably because stupider about life because of the whole thing.

If that paragraph made you roll your eyes so far back they began to hurt, I have news for you.

It doesn't get any better.

Let's begin.

==================

The Good Stuff

Non-Narrator Characters_
Earl is a young black man from Homewood, a neighborhood described by Greg as "non-affluent". It becomes clear what that means is poor. Earl's home situation is not great: dad lives far away and doesn't seem to be involved, mom has sequestered herself upstairs and doesn't seem to be involved, and the six children, all boys, seem to fend for themselves. Earl seems to use his friendship with Greg as a temporary escape from his homelife but sees his long-term trajectory as one that can't involve hanging out with Greg all the time.

I was trying to figure out what to eat first when Earl suddenly said, "It's a good thing, man, because I can't be making films no more. I gotta get a job or something. I gotta make some money and get outta my mom's goddamn house."

Earl sees things realistically, and it's jarring when we see Earl and Rachel together, because Greg's lack of general awareness about what is actually happening clouds everything. A scene in the book that highlights this intensely is when Greg and Earl go to visit Rachel the day before she starts chemo. Rachel and Earl don't know each other at all. Greg is accidentally high.

"I wasn't sure what your text message meant," she said. She was eyeing Earl warily. I had the queasy feeling that was mistrustful of him because he was black, although I also felt terrible for thinking that, because that would be accusing a girl of racism who is about to lose all her hair, and then probably die.
"Earl's the man," I said, as it this explaine anything.
"Yeah, you guys send gross text messages to each other."
It took me a long, uncomfortably silent time to remember that this was the only thing I had ever said to Rachel about Earl, and by the time I remembered that, Earl had already taken some initiative.
"Sup."
"Hello, Earl."
Silence.
"I like your room."
"Thank you. Greg thinks it's too girly."
I knew I had to say something here, so I sort of yelled, "I do not!"
"Of course it's girly," said Earl. "My room doesn't have no James Bond [Daniel Craig] in no..._thong "
{some discussion, veering to her impending chemo}
"It sucks a little bit," said Rachel.
"Yeah, but it's exciting."[said Earl]
"I guess."
If you get it early enough, you've got a good chance," said Earl, staring at the ground.
"Yup." Rachel was also staring at the ground.
Probably racist silence.

I'm sorry, but what? Yes, meeting someone from a completely different socio-economic and racial background is awkward. Especially when they're in your teenage girl bedroom, where you have posters of actors you find attractive on your walls. Add to that you could be dying, and death is uncomfortable.

The first time Greg thinks Rachel is uncomfortable because Earl is black is okay, understandable. The second time? Just obliviousness.

Greg says a few times that Earl is a better person than him. And it's true: Earl is better. As a person who understands how the world really works and as a fully-developed character.

Rachel
I feel for Rachel, I really do. Because this is all from Greg's perspective, we only get what he sees. And the biggest character we lose out on because of that is Rachel.

When Greg is visiting her after her diagnosis, he's the one doing all the talking. And she sits and listens drone on and on.

We learn little to nothing about her. Later, when Greg and Earl are making a movie as a tribute to Rachel, they try talking to Denise, Rachel's mom, about Rachel's life. [Noting that this quote is in screenplay format in the book, so the formatting for here is a bit different. Text is all the same.]

GREG (offscreen) : So, Denise. Can you tell me a bit about Rachel's birth?
DENISE (distractedly): Oh, Rachel's birth.
GREG (offscreen) : Yes.
DENISE: Rachel's birth. What an ordeal.
(inexplicably loudly) She was never much of a fighter. She's always been a quiet girl, just so sweet, never wanting to fight, and now I don't know what to do. I can't make her fight, Greg.

From then on, we learn that the chemo isn't working, so Rachel is "giving up".

That, to me, is the intriguing question. It's of course one never asked. And we can't answer it, or even attempt to answer because we don't know Rachel hardly at all.

It's clear that Rachel isn't the main character in the story, but she's used more like a prop piece than an actual person. She's there to highlight Greg's general crappiness and push him to do better. Like a motivational quote in human form.

I mean, her name isn't even in the title. Sure, Earl and girl rhyme. And in the conversation in the back of my edition, the name Rachel wasn't solidified for a while. But think about this as a title: Me and Earl and Rachel (the Dying Girl). It names her, it maintains the rhyme scheme, and we have something that matches Greg's voice.

[Side sad note: not only is she not in the title, her last name is Kushner, a surname that has not aged well.]

Vivid and/or Relatable Pieces
There were small portions that I found really enjoyable.

  • Chapter 7—The Gaines Family: Summary
    This early chapter really is what pushed me forward to keep reading. The descriptions of his family members were wonderful, highlighting their weirdness perfectly and really developing parts of their characters quickly.

Incidentally, you may have noticed that all of our names [Greg, Gretchen, Grace] begin with GR and are not at all Jewish-sounding. Oe night Mom had a little too much wine at dinner and confided to us all that, before we were born, and after she realized her children would have Dad's also-not-Jewish last name, she decided she wanted all of us to be "surprise Jews." Meaning, Jews with sneaky Anglo-Saxon names. I know, it makes no sense.

But it does! It completely does.


  • Moms in High School
    While my mom wasn't super overbearing like Marla, I did recognize some of the behaviors. For example, I once got a ride with a guy to the local little league park. My mom asked who he was, and I gave a typical, avoiding answer, as he was a friend of so&so (a true statement). While we had been talking (aka texting to get to know each other), it quickly died off, because I found him kind of boring. Months later though, I was getting a number from my mom's contacts in her cell phone, and there was an entry that stood out, because the last name was where the guy was from, rather than an actual last name. Turns out my mom had gotten the number (or gotten my sister to get the number) from my phone and logged it in her contacts.
    All of this is to say that moms can be overbearing on high-school children and do things in a misguided attempt to be helpful.
  • Humor
    Andrews says in the back that his mission was "to write something funny about something that wasn't funny at all, and to try to do it in a way that didn't feel chep or cruel."
    And there were some funny moments in the book. I'll get more into my reactions in a bit.

============

The Bad Stuff

Greg
Greg in general is a really annoying guy. I get that I don't have to like all my main characters, that's fine. But geez, man, he got tiring, fast.


The entire book is written, as I mentioned, from his perspective. Mostly it's first-person, but he changes to screenplay format here and there, which is done in the third person. Even then, Greg's perspective of the situation at hand is still indicated, mainly through the directions for the lines (see above with him describing Denice's emotions.)
He's a kid, and he doesn't know how to write. He has a flawed view of the world around him. But, true to his world in the beginning, he doesn't seem to learn anything.
I just don't see any type of growth. At all. Nothing. And it doesn't seem that he will change.


One other literary character I could see a similarity to was Holden Caulfield. But I adore The Catcher in the Rye, so I thought, What makes Greg different than Holden? I think it's because Holden seems to want things to be better, whether that returning to a childhood without as much responsibility like his sister or for the world to not be such a phony place. He knows the world sucks, but he still has the spark of optimism that says that there is good somewhere. Greg's solution is to just blend, become invisible, skate through everything so people don't get to know him. He sees the world, particularly high school, as a sucky place to better off avoiding. We see a glimpse of his overall insecurity when the idea of college comes up. Rather than seeing it as an opportunity to find a people of his own, he sees it as a larger-scale high school. He sees life as an overall thing to avoid.
I just didn't feel for him like I did Holden.

"Humor"
So, up there in the Good Stuff Section, I mentioned revisting my reactions. My general reaction to the funny moments were those dismissive nose laughs. You know the ones--you blow air out of your nose as an acknowledgement of you recognizing it has some type of humor, but not funny enough to laugh.


That's it. Most of it was just not really funny. And normally, I would say, Okay, that's not my cup of tea, that's cool. But time and time again, people are non-stop laughing at Greg's absurdist riffs. After a line or two, the joke has been played. But another page at least follows, of him riffing off this one tiny joke.
Take, for example, when he goes over to Rachel's house to hang out, after her diagnosis. She's not interested in a pity friendship, but he manages to convince her to him a shot. What does he do?
Makes a long riff on masburating on pillows.


I am not joking.
Look, I don't need my humor to be sophisticated. I can laugh at crude jokes; I even tend to have strange, entirely too long joke rants with Brett on a regular basis. But I just didn't find this book funny. When that's set to be the major draw of why to read it, it becomes a problem. Fast.

=================

Conclusion

I was able to read it in one go, so it kept me engaged enough. But I don't see myself reading it again.

My Own Worst Enemy

It's that old song and dance:

  • I start a blog/project and set off on some new idea.
  • Life happens, and I get behind a self-imposed deadline.
  • I feel discouraged and lame, and the pile of abandoned ideas grows.

I know many have trouble with this. It's really something we don't talk about; I know my own reasons involve shame and self-degredation, always feeling like a failure.

Last weekend, and early into the week, Brett and I were cleaning up the apartment thoroughly. It was time for our yearly inspection, and I wanted to make sure that we presented a good front of stability and neatness. As I sorted through one of my many bookshelves, this one with notebooks, I looked to see how many of them were blank versus how many had an idea or two near the front that had been tossed aside when I hadn't visited it in a while. The answer: more than I care to admit.

If you hadn't guessed, this is all to premise that no, I had not written all the reviews of the books I've read so far. And I currently a little behind on keeping tracking with my goal to read 52 books this year. But now is the time to stand up and dust off the shelves, and getting to reading and writing.

If I'm going to ever stop standing in my own way, I'd better learn that it's okay to not be super on top of everything 100% of the time.

Nourishing the Soul [Book Review of Voracious by Cara Nicoletti]

I came across this book on a list of recommendations by Off the Shelf, as a book for "the bookworm who loves cooking".

That sounded right up my alley. I love books, and not only do I love eating food, but I love cooking. I was sold.

From the moment I began the book (yesterday), the title described more than the author's hunger for good food. There's a search for meaning in the meals she read about it books from her childhood, for finding truth in those small moments of memory. Nicoletti then takes that meal from the pages, or her interpretation of it, and transforms it into an actual recipe for the reader-chef to create on their own.

I loved Nicoletti's honesty. She laid her memories out, letting the reader know some pretty intimate moments she'd shared with family and friends. They're the kinds of memories that never really come up on their own, but with the right trigger can instantly start replaying in our minds.

Reading of her bookish childhood made me recall my own, though of a different strain than Nicoletti's. Hers was a family affair, with sisters and parents and grandparents and extended family all encouraging this habit and giving her books to read just at the right time. Mine felt like a struggle to keep it alive. My parents encouraged me well enough, especially regarding maintaining a strong intellect and curiousity that reading provides. But they couldn't buy me all the books I wanted, didn't have the ones from their own childhood to pass down. The school library, when we were allowed to visit, left me wanting (we had assigned times once a month, maybe.)

I managed to find enough to around to read: Mrs. Janes's collection in 3rd grade was where I read all the Sweet Valley Jr. High books she had; I saved the extra change from lunches for when we'd get that beautiful Scholastic order form, buying the others I'd circled that my parents said were too much; the old and slowly obseleting storylines of Encylopedia Brown in the local library. It was in that last place, in our town's teeny library that I read those tween-centered puzzlers, ones that followed in the same vein as Nancy and the Hardys, but wanted you to solve it. One of these series printed the answers backwards and/or upside down, to be read in front of a mirror with the book flipped if need be. These books taught me two things--how to think and question all the details that lay bare, and how to read that text without flipping or a mirror. The latter is a great trick for middle school students.

I am digressing though, which to segue back to the review, is something that does show up in Nicoletti's book in just the right amount. Back and forth in time with her is her natural storytelling mode, one I obviously can relate to. But in a much better way than I do, she makes sure the reader is grounded in the purpose of this entry--why this book particularly inspired her to re-create or imagine a recipe.

Speaking of, those recipes! They sound divine! I personally can't wait to try those Brown Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies (inspired by If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, obviously). The selections are not all like that example, a central obvious choice. Her particular humor shows through her recipe paired with Lord of the Flies, Porchetta di Testa. Or "Hansel and Gretel"'s Gingerbread Cake with Blood Orange Syrup.

Another way Nicoletti's particular voice came through that resonated with me was when she included books that she didn't necessarily like but recognized their place in her life.

Some advice for all parents out there: if you have a kid who already overwrought and anxious, Astrid's Lundgren's Pippi Longstocking is not the book you should read to her. Ande [her sister], ever the party girl, was thrilled by the book, laughing aloud and kicking her feet at Pippi's brazenness and spontaneity, but I was horrified. Her unpredictability bewildered me — her life was an unstructured nightmare, a circus! And I hated circuses. Even her appearance terrified me — those untamed flaming red pigtails, that cavernous gap in her garish smile...Pippi's chaotic existence had me stressed.

I love that. Pippi gains no ground in winning Nicoletti's over, but the book was read at a paticularly rough childhood moment. It's one where I felt a kinship with Nicoletti when she shares the memory of her making pancakes with her mother and both of them agreeing on Pippi and her rambunctiousness being too much to bear. Books have a particular poigancy when they also help us connect to the people standing next to us.

To divuge another personal anecdote: my mom loves yard sales. Adores them. When I was four, give or take, we were looking around, and I found a book bound in burlap brown, two boys silouhetted on front below the title pressing the material, The Tower Treasure. Fans will recongize that this is the first entry in the decades long Hardy Boys series, but at the time, I just thought that it looked like it might be good. I knew how to read at the time, and after persuring the first few pages, I knew I wanted it. I brought it to my mom, now talking with the woman selling these items. I still have an imprint of this woman's face, looking down me with a emotion I can only describe as well-meaning condenscension. She then said that might be too big a book for me. Momma, ever the opportunist when it comes to being right, opened the book to the first page and told me to read the first paragraph aloud. So I did. The woman was so impressed that I could read it at my age said we could have the book for free. Looking back, part of me wonders if she just thought I was younger than I was (I have always looked younger than I am). But in this scene from my past, I look back with fondness at Momma's simple response, a thread I see throughout my life and the lives of my brother and sister--Momma and Daddy's pride in all that we three had within our heads and motivation to not let others' expectations dampen our goals.

Because of the way it made me think back on my own reading youth and whetted my appetite both for food and for reading, this book is one I recommend not only to the cooking bookworms like myself, but to all with fond memories of the books they read in the back of their heads.

(P.S. I don't agree with her view of Holden Caulfield, but I love her inclusion of Middlesex and The Little Friend, two of my favorite books.)

The Hope That Sustains

While 2016 was a strange, strange year for almost all involved, one of the biggest personal upheavals for me was the loss of my desire to read.

I've had bouts of reader's block before: from having to read something for school and not being interested, overwhelmed by all the choices on my shelves and unable to choose, or just too involved in other things before I notice the same book has been in my bag for months on end.

Towards the end of the year, when I visited my family for Thanksgiving, I noticed myself falling into old routines from my youth, particularly my ease of grabbing a book when I no longer wanted to continue a conversation. For the first time in months, I devoured two books within the span of a few days. I felt like my old self who could flip pages and take in the content at breakneck speed. Unfortunately, I seemed to lose the motivation again on the flight back to Virginia.

Maybe it was a difference in location once again, but I tore through another book when I went with Brett to his parents' for Christmas, finishing a 300+ page book within roughly 12 hours.

As 2017 moved from future to now, I was reminded by Goodreads to set my reading challenge for the year. I fell woefully short in 2016 (a mere 27 of my 55 goal). I seem to do better in odd-numbered years, oddly enough. So, in an effort to not lower the bar to be too easy, I set my goal as 52—a book for each week.

Yesterday, though, I was looking through one of my many listicles bookmarked with potential "to-read" additions to my list, and I came across a book that I thought, I know I have a ton of books at home, but man, that one sounds really really good.

Another New Year trope is to read organizing and how to de-clutter one's life articles, in an attempt to stave off my inner hoarder of all things printed and bound. One of the suggestions I recently read regarding books, courtesy of everyone's favorite "less is more" guru Marie Kondo, was that the best time to read a book was that initial reaction period when you first had gotten the book, before it was placed on the to-be-read-at-a-later-date-aka-when-I-win-the-lottery-or-inherit-enough-money-to-never-need-to-work-again. She then advised that if you haven't read it within that introductory excitement period, it's best to go ahead and get rid of it.

While I won't heeding that last snippet any time soon (sorry, Brett), I thought of that in the seconds after I had read this book's blurb. Conbine that with yesterday's weirdly rough morning, and bam! I spend my lunch going to Barnes & Noble to pick it up and start reading it before I return to work.

Now, just over 24 hours later and finished with that same book, I feel invigorated in reading again. To try and capitalize on it, and to fulfill some of those goals to myself about writing more, I'm taking on PopSugar's 2017 Reading Challenge to inform which books I read and reviewing them in individual posts.

I know oh so many of you are clamoring to make sure that you don't miss a moment of my book reviews, but don't fret, dear readers. I'll aggregate them on a single special page that I'll link with the appropriate entry as the year progresses.

I feel really hopeful right now, as I usually do after finishing a book. (Usually. I'm looking at you, Bel Canto and Super Sad True Love Story, for being the exceptions to that norm.) I hope that this feeling continues, throughout the year, for all things. But I'll have to remember: this hope came through effort, through action. I can't just sit by idly and expect hope to fall down. I have to make it happen.

Dear Harry: A Love Letter to Books

Lately, I've had the urge to reorganize my books, to put the ones I haven't read towards the front, where I'll read them before the ones I've already read and enjoyed (or not).

Many of my fellow bibliophile friends are sticklers for well-kept books: no creased bindings, no dog-eared pages, no major damage to the book. I'm of the opposite camp: while I am saddened by some damage, especially to vintage tomes, those marks of a well-digested read are as much of an harbinger of memories as the story itself.

In this foray into my hundreds of books (not hyperbole), I came across my copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. The one I actually read from back in 1999. This book is the best example I have of why I find well-worn books so enjoyable.

The cover itself is fairly intact, considering its age and the distances it's traveled:

Oh, Harry. So young and naive and hopeful.  

Oh, Harry. So young and naive and hopeful.  

I first heard of this orphaned British boy from my 5th grade homeroom teacher. She read various books aloud to us from time to time, to make sure that we were hearing stories outside of the textbooks we read. I recognize now that it's because her background in elementary education made this second-nature to her, even if it seemed to us "baby-ish" at the time. To be completely frank, it's the one thing I can say I liked about her (she is one of my least favorite teachers, for various interactions we had that pivotal year.)

But I digress. She read to us, chapter by chapter, the exploits of this boy who discovered this secret magical world that he was a part of. Her reading schedule was inconsistent, so it could be weeks before we could read more. As someone who read books often in five sittings or less, this was unbearable for me. During spring break in March 2000, my sister, brother, and I were staying with our MoMo (maternal grandmother). She brought us to visit her sister NanNan and NanNan's longtime boyfriend Harry (that's a whole other ballgame, y'all). As a grandmother, MoMo was also very good at the game of spoiling grandchildren, so it didn't take much to get her to stop by the Books-a-Million near NanNan's house. I knew myself well enough that I got both The Sorceror's Stone and The Chamber of Secrets. (I was right; I finished SS before getting home to Mississippi later that week.)

The back of the book shows what happened after:

I promise, Officer, it was an accident! 

I promise, Officer, it was an accident! 

I have always been a lender of books. Even now, when there are more than I want to remember that never made their way back to me, I am willing to lend someone books without limit (as long I know how to reach you to remind you to return it...) So I lent the book to others who couldn't wait either to learn of what Harry would do next. This wavy set of pages in the back should be familiar to my fellow clumsy people--the aftermath of a spilled Coke. My memory tells me it was my fault on this one, but that it happened at school, so I think it was after someone returned it to me. The missing chunk of backcover? I needed to write something down.

As I grew older and really began to dive deep into the images and ideas that reading can evoke, I even became okay with writing in books. Harry isn't exempt from this. Notes from a young adult lit course I took senior year of undergrad:

Dumbledore gettin' deep.  

Dumbledore gettin' deep.  

The people have questions, Rowling! 

The people have questions, Rowling! 

I am always available for snarky commentary. 

I am always available for snarky commentary. 

This is why I love books with all their scars intact: they show the reader fully ingesting this work rather than treating it as some unattainable object. Interaction with it, letting it inform your life rather than idolizing it.

Don't get me wrong. I still find plenty of beauty in a book that is well-kept and bound and make sure to keep those books safe and secure--I have a Longfellow collection from the 1900's I keep in a showbox to protect it. It's more, for me at least, of an appreciation of the past and what is irreplaceable while knowing that part of reading without abandon means there is risk of harm to the pages. It's a small price to pay to potentially change how we see the world.

But, They're Wrong!: A Guide to Handling Misinformation on the Internet

I have this habit of coming off as a know-it-all. When we were younger, my sister, brother, and I were known around "the smart kids." I had a ton of self-esteem issues related to other parts of myself, but how smart I was? Overconfident in my abilities, to say the least.

You know that kid in your class who would correct the teacher? That was me. I would correct my mom as well (my siblings did too), and when she responded with how it annoyed her when we did this, I usually responded that she shouldn't have encouraged us to be so studious.

Basically, I was a top-notch prat Percy Weasley would have been proud of.

After some tumble-down-to-earth moments and a boyfriend who calls me out when I need it, I don't correct others as often when talking.

Enter: The Internet. Where false information easily researchable spreads faster than the flames on gas-soaked wood.

If you're like me, this particular political season is trying, at best. At its worst, it's downright unbearable. But I'm here to share some of my tips on how to not stress yourself and maintain relationships:

1. First, verify the information.
If you see information you're not sure about, look it up. It's always important to consider the source, and any bias it potentially has. For example, meme images with super-imposed text can be quickly checked out by searching for keywords in the text. Is it pu

2. See if it's timely information, or referencing old information. This happened recently with a tweet I saw on my feed, stating the DNC showed an image of a Russian boat in a video for US military. I clicked on the link, to read the article and saw it was from the 2012 election. While it did happen, it's not exactly the best information to reference for their argument (which was against this year's DNC).

3. See if the information is based on contextual magic.
Here's the thing about numbers: they can be manipulated to read whatever you want given the right criteria to filter on. Same goes with quotes. Is someone picking and choosing what words to highlight, or did they stop too early?
In short, the information you're reading might be true, but within what context?

4. Ask yourself, "Do I need to say something?"
This is arguably the hardest step. For me, I feel like if someone just knew they were wrong, then they would see my side of things and say, Oh! My bad! Because that's how I would respond (and have). It's a hard lesson I'm learning, that not everyone would do the same. There are people who don't care if something's true or not, and it's not worth the effort of arguing it on the internet.

5. If you do decide to say something, there are three options:

5a. Put it out there, but not really put it out there.
This one is a longtime favorite of mine. I have written many emotionally charged responses, and by the time I finished, I said, Forget it, and deleted it all. It's cathartic to get my feelings out there, even if I never do actually send those words along. I also verbalize frustrations with mis-information with those I know who will understand--aka I rant outloud to my boyfriend. And he doesn't always agree with me, but it helps to get it off my chest.

5b. Be as succinct and fact-based as possible.
This is the tactic I use with family and friends that I know will not change their minds. Just a quick line of how an image has been photoshopped, or how the blog they link to isn't correct because of xyz, with appropriate links for all. Get in, get out. It can even be as short as, "That's been debunked," with a link to the Snopes article. (I recently used this exact line for the oft-shared false Donald Trump quote about Republican voters being dumb. You know the one.)

5c. If you are emotionally driven, say so!
There are a lot of negative connotations with the term "millennial", usually relating to how we're "an entitled generation". As someone who freely identifies as such, it riles me up when someone paints all people born in a certain generation with a wide brush, especially one I'm a part of.

6. Know when to walk away.
You can tell when you're punching a brick wall. It's good to know your limit of what your sanity can take. Sometimes, that means putting down the phone, and removing yourself completely from the situation for a bit.

Overall, I feel that misinformation can be stopped, that we can bring truth and understanding and perspective to debate.

Then again, besides being a know-it-all, I've always been an optimist.

Ta-DA!

If you've found yourself here, congratulate yourself on finding my little corner of the internet.

I've always like the idea of having my own website. For years, most of those were blog-based platforms, such as Blogger/Blogspot, Wordpress, Tumblr, or even Xanga, for back in the day.

But because of my current podcast obsession, specifically with great shows like Reply All, Criminal, Serial, et al., I get constantly bombarded with ads for awesome stuff. In this case, Squarespace.

After months of thinking, and getting a free trial, I finally bit the bullet a few weeks ago, and just bought my domain and the service.

And I gotta say--I'm digging it.

Now, if you, lucky reader, continue to scroll, you will see more content by yours truly, directly imported from my Blogspot. Feel free to read. Learn ALL about me. (Well, not all. I still have some secrets.)

And The Story Continues

If you know me, you already know these few facts. For others, let me get you up to speed:

Since 2009, I've been on a long, arduous journey of losing weight, trying to keep it off, and struggling to get down to what is considered healthy. I understand that while my goal at the moment is to be considered "normal" by BMI standards (something I don't believe I've ever been, to be honest), I also know that BMI isn't inclusive of all factors that affect weight, and that when I reach my visual "I am happy with how I look", it might not be within the normal range, persay. However, I'm digressing.
The point is that I'm an overweight person by physical standards. My mental state still sees me as obese some days, which is something that I know will probably always be there to some extent.

The other major point to this story is my boyfriend of the last 8 years [technically it isn't 8 years yet, but 8 days short. Close enough for me]. When we met, and for the majority of our relationship, he's been a rail, so to speak. Tall and skinny, and losing weight unintentionally. Since I already had self-esteem issues related to my weight, I projected some of that onto our relationship.

Why do I bring this up? Well, one of my things I'm trying to get better at in 2016 is to actually read all the shit I bookmark and note on my Todoist as "To Read Later". One of the articles I bookmarked sometime last year, or maybe even before that, was an article about being in a mixed-weight relationship and how others' expectations for what type of person you "should" date can affect your view of the relationship you're in. 

Don't get me wrong; it's a legit article. And mentally, I do need to work through some issues.

The main thing, and I have to keep reminding myself, is that's not us anymore.

I've lost weight; he's gained some. As of each of our last weigh-ins, respectively, we were less than a pound apart. And for a few days, he actually weighed more than me, which was kind of mind-blowing for my inner fat chick.

Which is where the title comes in. The Boy and I are no longer that trope of "fat chick and skinny guy." And while I'm thankful for our history, I'm really excited about the future that lays ahead--one where we both are trying to be healthier, for each other and ourselves.

Sorry Not Sorry

So, I read this article just a bit ago. And the idea that women need to police their own language to become effective communicators?

That's ridiculous.

 The pledge they put out as a tie-in with the app really burns me up:
In 2016, I will be a more effective communicator. I will not use "just" or "sorry" in emails, which undermine my message. I will talk about what I know, not what "I think".

 Why is the use of "just" or "sorry" undermining my message?

I used sorry last week in an email, when I had forgotten to attach a stamp to something. It was returned, ergo delaying that paperwork. So I apologized. Because I had made a mistake. Therefore, I said sorry.

I use just a fair bit. Because I often have to give context to an issue I'm having or a question I need answered, I sometimes use "just" to indicate the main point of my email. Or say, here's what I need now. Sure, I could say "All I need to know is ..." or "The main point is...", but you know what? That's not how I talk regularly. It's not my voice.

That last line is the worst one of all. Why can't "I think"? That's part of contribution, and giving feedback. It's part of verification. "I think so, but let me check and get back to you," is an entirely different message than "I'm not sure,..." or "I don't know..." It shows that I need to verify what I am remembering to make sure it is right. It's more positive sounding than "I'm not sure" for sure.
Also, considering my position as a lower-tier employeed, "I think we should..." rather than "We should..." shows the respects to higher-ups as necessary. I often don't have all the information, so I'm indicating that with what I know, this is what I think. I'm not overstepping my boundaries, and communication is all about understanding how to create bridges over those boundaries to mutual understanding.



This app is specifically geared towards women. And it's just another attack on the way some women choose to communicate. As if it's not good enough.

Sure, I'm a more passive person. I use "just" and "sorry" and up-speak and "like" and "so" and lots of filler words. But that's because I prefer to go into a conversation indicating that how I think is most likely different than how you think, and I want to make sure that everyone is on the same page. So my language is more conciliatory. That's how I roll.

And there shouldn't be anything wrong with that.

Full Disclosure

While I talked a bit about this in an earlier blog post, I feel that this is the time to fully 'fess up to all of it.

I have narcolepsy.

If you're wondering what narcolepsy is, the definition is "chronic sleep disorder that causes overwhelming daytime drowsiness." Usually, people think of this when they hear the word. And while some people do react, I don't immediately just fall asleep. Not while standing, anyway.
The best way I can explain it? Imagine your Awake vs. Asleep as Sun vs. Moon. I often live life going through a late afternoon, early evening level of awakeness. Some days are harder than others, and I'm almost immediately in nighttime mode, 2 hours after waking up from a full 8 hours of sleep the night before. There are certain triggers that make it harder to stay awake: rain, being comfortable and cozy, not using active focus, or doing things that come naturally. Driving is a really hard one for me.

And telling me to just walk around, get some water, etc. doesn't instantly wake me up. My brain is fighting for sleep every step of the way. And more often than I care to, my brain wins. And it sucks, because I want to do more in my evenings after work than eat, sleep, work-out, sleep. It's frustrating knowing all the amount of time I've slept away due to this.

This diagnosis has been a long time coming. Honestly. If you have taken college courses with me, I'm sure you can vouch for this.  I could go into tons of times it's embarrassed me, or has put me (and really, others, too) in harm's way when I'm driving.

I've come up with methods to cope in the past. Just napping is the easiest, but not most effective, solution. For long drives, I always have something to listen to, or eat sunflower seeds to stay awake, or take lots of gas station stops. More often than not, it's a combination of the ones above. I've told a lie or two, in fits of denial (that cone that knocked off my right side window a few years back wasn't too far in the road; I was starting to nod off behind the wheel and had started to drift right.)

For the last few months, it's been a trial trying to get appointments and get my insurance to okay a sleep study, when come to find out I couldn't afford one right now anyway [anyone got an extra $3000 lying around? I'm only half-joking].

But today, I got a prescription. Today (or rather, tomorrow) I begin taking modafinil. Hopefully, this will work. Hopefully, this will be the beginning of not taking a nap almost every night.

If you have any questions, let me know, and I'll be glad to talk to you about them.

Trucking through the Digital Muck

Trying to get my email inbox in control. A few weeks ago, I bookmarked this article. And it had some good ideas.

However, I still couldn't do the very first thing: declare email bankruptcy. I know, I know--there's no way I'll get through all those thousands of click-baity articles that intrigue me. But damnit, I'm nothing if not stubborn!

So, on Friday, I started with one of the later steps: take away those darned Gmail labels. That shot up my unread count into the thousands.

It may sound odd, or counter intuitive, but it honestly has helped. I'm in the process of going through my Inbox, and sorting everything. Trashing the crap I don't like, moving the stuff that interests me into a newly made "To Read Later" folder, archiving others, and moving any things that need to be kept track of to "To Keep an Eye On". And! To make sure that they stay towards the top of my list of too many labels, they have asterisks near the front.

So, drumroll please for the current count....

Inbox has 994 emails in it, 850 of which are unread. Ta-da!

Right now, the newest thing in my inbox is from July 7th. So I'm here to tell you--yes! It can be done! With enough willpower, I think I can get through the rest of this crap by the end of the week. Huzzah!

#justSouthernthings

These are things I have noticed myself doing lately that are just indicators of my upbringing.
  • Knowing how to be courteous and sociable, even if you're awkward or introverted as hell.
  • getting new wrapping paper for a gift you need to wrap, because the wrapping paper you currently have isn't fit for the occasion
  • Offering food recommendations to major Southern city unprompted

Aaaaaannnndddd Breathe In

I get fairly stressed out at work. I let things get to me that I shouldn't, taking off-handed comments personally and getting overwhelmed by the ever-growing stack of papers beside me.

So when I read yet another article about how to deal with the daily struggle, I have the unfightable urge to read it.

And for some reason, today's selection inspired me. Mainly because I like the idea of having mantras and word stuffs right in front of me, but I can't really have that, as I "am the face of the company" [read as "have to keep your desk straight"].

I'm not one to give up though. A solution!
Here, we see the cabinet I have behind me.
And sure, it's not *right* in front of me.

But it's a start of a something. And that counts for more than nothing, in my mind.

Baby steps, y'all.

Quanto Somnum Nimis

Lots has happened in the past few months:
  • I got a second job. Still in training, but I'm teaching pre-college test prep for Kaplan.
  • Went to Texas back at the beginning of May to visit the family I used to babysit for. It was nice to just relax.
  • Went to two concerts in the last month, which is something I rarely do. 
The last thing isn't a bad thing, necessarily. It's what the title is referencing; I most likely have narcolepsy.

No, I'm not joking. I literally will fall asleep against my will, and I have done it. A lot.

It's not officially diagnosed yet, but I met with a doctor of sleep medicine on Friday, and he really seems to think I have it. I'll take the official sleep tests in August, so we'll see then.

I'm really optimistic. Why? One, it'll prove that I'm not crazy--I really can't control this sudden urge to sleep. Two, it will help me feel less guilty. I have fallen asleep in places that I really shouldn't (the back of a classroom while mentor-teaching, for one). I really felt shame each time it's happened. Like, why couldn't I just get up and go get water? Did I have that much of a lack of will-power? Three, it will help me in my relationship with the boy. There have been many arguments over me just "being lazy" and napping all day on a weekend. Which, after this consultation, he did apologize for. To be honest, though, it's not his fault for not understanding. It did look like laziness, like giving in to just relaxing. The official diagnosis will help us understand each other a little bit better.

Lastly, it's just make me feel better. I've thought that something was wrong with me for so long. That wanting to sleep so often was indicative of an underlying mental instability. And while that's what it is technically (chemicals that keep us awake versus asleep are quite right in my brain), this explanation tells me, It's okay. You haven't been in control about this for a while, but there are resources and options for you to take that control back. 

That is the most encouraging thing. That the life I want to live might become more of a possibility.

A Rose By Another Name Is Not What I Ordered

So, a few months ago, I ordered flowers for a co-worker from the office, as she had lost her mother. The florist called soon after and said, hey, we don't have that exact set of flowers because of weather (it was the day after a snowstorm in the area), do you want to substitute or wait a day?

I made the decision to go ahead with the order, as long as they included the butterfly decorations (something personal for the co-worker). The flowers were a hit and looked great.

Now, yesterday I ordered flowers for my boyfriend's family. His grandmother, one of the sweetest ladies I've ever met, passed away on Monday. I wanted to get them something that was nice but with a memento. So, I picked a white lily arrangement that included a nice silver vase with a cross.

This morning, I found out they didn't have the vase in stock. Alright then.


Just now? No white lilies apparently.

So I have no idea what I ordered, honestly.

Step Right Up! Feast Your Eyes!

So, I have things I need to get rid of in my life. I've had a box o' clothes to be consigned or dropped off at Goodwill together for a few months now, but haven't gotten around to actually getting it out the house.

One of the areas in my life that I've been meaning to cut back on is the amount of books I own. [I can almost hear your gasps right now.] It's just, I believe that books should be read. And while I'm slow to get through all of mine, there are some in my collection that I have read, and that I will probably never read again. And if I do want to read it? Well, they have libraries for a reason.

I just don't see the point in keeping a book if I've read it and really didn't feel a connection to it.

So, in a fit of "Enough!" and a bit of "Why the hell not?", I now technically have an Amazon Seller Shop.





















Ta-da! It's slightly underwhelming at the moment, but hopefully I'll gain the momentum to get the ball really rolling soon. Keep an eye on it, and you should totally buy something ;)

Here's the link, yo.