pressing questions of a word nerd

I want to run something by you guys.

Months ago, I read an article on PRdaily.com called How to improve your writing in 15 minutes. I read articles like this because they keep my wordcrafting muscles toned and agile, and sometimes there are good tips. (Tip for my fellow writer friends: PRdaily has a lot of good articles about writing, so if you want to stay sharp, check out their writing exercises and word-nerd features.)

Anyway, leave it to me to get more out of the example than out of the article itself. I got hooked on the example topic: "How to become a better communicator." In particular, the third talking point under step 1, "Read often so you're able to speak confidently about a number of topics."

At the time it struck me that I OD'ed on this in college, being able to speak confidently on tons of different topics, because at any given time I was taking 3-4 classes in which that was how we spent our time: reading (or in my case, "reading") lots of books and articles, and talking about them.

Actually, I've been doing this my whole life. My lifelong book addiction hooked me up with a love of language, an outlandish vocabulary, an atrophic social life up to age 14, the most random pockets of expertise you can imagine, and something to contribute to almost any conversation. The difference has been mainly what I read. As a 6-year-old, it was Babysitter's Little Sister; at 8 I devoured Encyclopedia Brown; the summer before middle school I burned through the juvenile fiction and into the YA section at my local library, and then housed Harry Potter interspersed with the entire bibliographies of Madeleine L'Engle and Philip Pullman, and the misadventures of Georgia Nicolson, until I graduated high school. In college it was a lot of heavy academic stuff, philosophy and social theory and ethnographies (a genre I still get jazzed about even though most academic literature makes me gag and pass out).

Now? I read PRdaily meta-articles about writing. I read post-grad and travel blogs. I read vampire novels bought as a ploy to get me to go on dates with coffeeshop crushes. I read Facebook terms and advertising guidelines, New York Times and Huff Post articles about the impending apocalypse, and interview tips. And I read the nerdiest book you would have never heard about if Borders hadn't gone out of business and madly sold their entire inventory for $2.

It's called The Great Typo Hunt and it's about two dudes who go on a Pan-American road trip documenting and correcting typos in the name of better communication across the nation.

Yes, I'll be the first to admit what a honking big word nerd I am.

So a few weeks ago I was sitting in my car on my lunch break, reading this book, and I thought, "This is pretty good for a mediocre book." And then I realized what I had just thought and my head snapped up. I am loving this book. It makes me laugh out loud on a fairly regular basis, and I've actually had to close it a few times on something that blew my mind so I couldn't focus on reading anymore, and I needed to process it for a few days before picking the book back up. Also, I kind of love travel writing. Holy Cow!: An Indian Adventure, for example, or Eat Pray Love, in spite of all the criticism. (Yes, those are Goodreads links. Feel free to friend me.)

So why would I file it away in my mind as "mediocre"?

In that moment, I decided I put it there for its obscurity. The fact that I didn't hear about it through the grapevine, and in fact I had never heard about it before, and didn't know anyone else who had read it either. I couldn't talk about this book. It would be complicated to reference in conversation because I would have to explain the whole principle, or give a synopsis and include a link to its webpage if I wanted to mention it in a blog post.

Is it prior text status that takes a book from mediocre or good to great? Does the shared experience of having read some 300 pages, the shared familiarity with characters and plotlines and settings, make a book a favorite? Is this why we recommend books to fellow lit-lovers? So we can talk about them, and thus bump the book we enjoyed into greatness, among the monuments of our formative experiences?

Tell me what you think. I'm dying to be back at school to be around people that like talking about such things, but I'm not. So PLEASE hit me up with thoughts and comments.

"There's 2 parties in here, and us.
...We're a party. Let's be honest."

Meanwhile, I will mention that I spent Sunday in Philly's Chinatown in search of flaming drinks, lotto tickets, fortune cookies, and a great birthday for my girl Kristy. We found all of those things. Like a boss.

Also, my phone (i.e. my life in device form) decided to go swimming in the cat bowl on Monday, and I've just now turned it on after a 2-day rice bath. It's just graced my ears with a symphony of message alerts, so here's hoping there will be photos in future posts.

Though I will never admit this if you ask me in conversation, my life is never boring.

"toothbrush, wisdom and love."

Back to my roots: I am rockin' the grunge right now.  Thanks to a wonderful, extensive, and somewhat haphazard series of events, recounted here.

*Note: Some important theoretical discussions also went down, and I will skim them in italics at the appropriate chronological narrative moment.

The Plan: Karin would finish work in Manhattan around 10pm.  Audrey would catch the 7:30 train from New Haven.  I would leave Wilmington by car around 8, and the three of us would meet up at Karin's convent-home in Astoria by 11.  We would then head out on the town.

The Wrench: On Monday my oil light came on, so I made a service appointment for Friday and in the meantime poured a few quarts of oil into my engine over the course of the week.  The best part of this is that my designated oil-buying time is approximately 8:45 on weekday mornings, on my way to work...  Which means I'm demanding (politely) a quart or two of 5W-30 and a funnel, declining (also politely) any help or expertise, and pouring oil (delicately) into my engine in heels and tailored trousers.

Despite the unfortunate conditions forcing me to perform this task, the scene never fails to amuse me.

Because we all know I like to make a scene.

Friday afternoon, around 4pm, I find out out my oil pan needs to be replaced, because the entire engine is splashing around in several quarts of motor oil.  The car should not be driven, and if it must be driven, it should only be driven locally in Wilmington, until the pan can be replaced on Monday.

So, feeling somewhat defeated and wildly desperate, I check train tickets: no way I'm going to spend that kind of $$.  The time is ticking.  Greyhound's got my back, but I have to be at the bus station in half an hour, it's 15 minutes away, and I haven't packed yet.

The New Plan: Audrey, Karin and I converge on 42nd Street, Manhattan, 4 hours from ticket purchase, ready to hit the town, with only a purse each.  Thus the grunge.

The Run-down: I saw the lady behind me at the Wilmo bus station get nabbed for check fraud, and fought for a phone-charger outlet as my phone was conveniently and extremely dead.  Love the bus, baby.

After a series of long, mid-sidewalk group hugs, we headed to E. 14th Street for free-pizza-when-you-buy-a-beer at the Crocodile Lounge.  Immediately upon entering Karin disappears from in front of us into a deluge of screaming hugs from none other than Britta and Andrew, notable Jersey City Inhabitants, St. Olaf Class-of-'11-mates, and Good Friends.  (Also Joe McGo of Northfield freestyle fame.)

WWR**. Too excited to make a normal face.

Crocodile Lounge was hot and deafening, so we decided to head back to the street in search of a slightly less overwhelming venue.  Karin had been wanting to check out a place nearby called, what else, Professor Thom's.  As die-hard anthropology grads, could we really pass up a bar kind of named after the illustrious Tom Williamson?  Not a chance.

It turned out to be the best decision ever.  Thom's is a Boston bar, which is probably only interesting to me since my brother goes to school there and I love it.  And possibly interesting to New York City residents who want to watch Patriots or Bruins or Red Sox games.  The decor looks like colonial Boston, brick-walled with red and gold accents, lots of polished wood.  More notably, we took our first round, of Thom's Olde Ale, upstairs to the Loft, where we found a side room full of large couches and a small dance floor pretty much owned by two gorgeous ladies in LBDs and tall boots, rocking out to 80s dance hits.  Needless to say, we eventually joined them.

*Note here the social phenomenon of taking turns buying rounds of drinks for our companions, a theory first introduced to Karin in Professor Tom's Modern Elixirs class back on The Hill.  Sociologically, the proverbial "round of drinks" is a ritual that shapes the social experience of drinking culture.

When things seemed to be petering out up there, we left to find drunk food and found it around the corner at a Taiwanese joint called Baohaus.  To find out what bao are, you are better off just clicking the link and looking at photos, because I really am at a loss for descriptors.  I got an oyster po bao, mostly because I thought the name qualified as amusingly poor wordplay.  It was very oystery, which I didn't mind.

True to CAKE-in-New-York form, we made it back to Astoria roughly around 5am.

Also true to form, we headed over to the nearby Brooklyn Bagel for breakfast the next morning.  Now New York is famous for its bagels, and Brooklyn Bagel's mindblowing array of creamy, any-flavor cream cheeses and fresh bagels does not disappoint.  They also have one of those fresh orange juice machines, which I love.

*Enter the Cream Cheese Theory.  If, hypothetically, Karin went to Brooklyn Bagel on Day 1 and had a whole wheat everything bagel with lox & scallions cream cheese, and fell in love with it, should she try some of the other delicious options on a later occasion and risk dissatisfaction?  Or should she continue to enjoy her old standby, lox & scallions?  Analogically, should we settle at this early point in our lives in a place, or with a person, that we love, when the theoretical maple walnut could potentially be our new favorite if we only tried it?

Next stop, Central Park Conservancy's Tavern On The Green ice sculpture exhibit.  This was a cool stop, and as a matter of interest you can become a member of Central Park Conservancy kind of like you can become a member of public radio, old-school-crowdfunding-style.  The free hot chocolate was a major perk.

We didn't stick around too long because the Chelsea High Line was calling our collective name.  This former elevated train track has been turned into a park, like a raised greenway popular in cities like MSP and Boston.  Audrey was excited to catch a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty off in the distance, and a rather extensive glimpse of Jersey across the river.  Actually, the High Line provides a pretty sweet vantage point of the big city.  (In the future, keep an eye out for a photo of the building-side Diane Von Furstenberg ad featuring tons of lips, which it turns out I love with a weird intensity.)

Feeling hungry, and in search of a restroom, we descended toward the Chelsea Market, where one can find the impressive Amy's Bread, started by an Ole grad like ourselves!

Let me just say that Valentine's Day weekend was a fantastic time to visit the city.  Audrey and Karin were somewhat taken aback by my uncharacteristic displays of emotion at the virtual cornucopia of flowers saturating the city.  Also at the babies and little kids all bundled up in their tailored New York best.  A few quick vignettes: A flushed, apron-clad server at a Queens diner dashes out of a florist two doors down with a single rose clasped behind her back.  A sort of nondescript grey-haired man emerges from a subway station with an explosive bouquet in hand, emanating distracted determination.  A little girl in a perfect black pea coat and matching beret flounces along before her parents holding a bright yellow tulip over her heart.  Beautiful.  There is no other word.

Lunch break hugs. I LOVE these girls.

Back to the Market.  I was most excited by a stall boasting "Craft Beer To-Go!" but my sighting of it was poorly timed.  We hit up Hale & Hearty Soups for three-lentil chili and a delicious Tuscan white bean soup with spinach, and talked about our professional ambitions as though we are real, live adults.  Our real-life adult alter egos also hit up a wine & chocolate tasting of wines and chocolates I somehow managed not to write down, but the chocolate had lip prints on it (!!!) and was filled with rosé champagne cream.  The tasting also featured a beautiful, rich port, which I would love to drink again but alas, I am remiss in my name-jotting.

Quick aside: I am a sucker for shoes.  Another enthusigasm I had (haha, see what I did there?) was a direct reaction to a Chelsea store called Shoegasm, where I got stuck on a delightful pair of bright purple Dolce Vita "Notty" pumps.  Today, between Chinatown and SoHo, I was hypnotized into a store called Necessary Clothing by a gorgeous pair of red Breckelles Kansas-12 boots.  Step 1: I wholeheartedly own the fact that I have a problem.  Step 2: I have retained my willpower and bought neither pair of shoes.  Kind of a sad victory.

Now, Shoegasm happened while we were vaguely en route to meet Andrew, Britta and Joe for happy hour, and we ended up stepping into and back out of several West Village bars before we found The Slaughtered Lamb in Greenwich Village, on W. 4th and Jones Street.  It caught my eye because of the Slaughtered Prince in Stardust, and also because I'm super into that dark-windowed pub exterior with neon beer signs in the window.  The embellished nameplate was a successful kicker.

*Here I went on a passionate rant about intelligent design, or better intentional design.  (Here Karin chimes in, "Purposeful design!"  And Audrey adds, "Conscious!"  Context being the heated disbelief of a person this summer who insisted that intelligent design couldn't be possible if we consider all the ways our bodies break down and stop working, and all the individual imperfections in our bodies and in the natural world.  My argument is that intelligence does not presuppose perfection, but that the flaws and failings of what I call Creation make it all the more beautiful, that I, intelligent though I may be, could not begin to create something that works better.  That the intricate workings of our bodies are beautiful and I prefer to imagine someone bent over them late into the night, working out the kinks, putting pieces together with agonizing care.

The Slaughtered Lamb boasts over 100 bottled beers, the world's smallest bathrooms, the world's best whiskey sour, awesome music and ambience, and a weird larger-than-life spinning statue of a werewolf biting a young maiden on the neck.  We were sitting in its shadow, which really freaked out Audrey and Karin, but we had a good time there anyway.  Even though the water tasted like liquid plastic.

The water at Veselka, though, where we went for supper, was delicious.  The guy who refilled our water glasses was also very skilled at aiming the pitcher stream straight into the glass from a substantial distance.  I was impressed.  All of us were impressed with the pierogies, which come in about 9 different delicious flavors.  The arugula & goat cheese, sweet potato, and sauerkraut & mushroom were favorites.  The place was packed, so we were kind of rushed out, but we took a piece of cheesecake to go and ate it on the subway back to Astoria.  It was divine, and all the more so because of the setting.  I admit we made a bit of a splash with our savoring antics.

We ended up staying in and watching YouTube videos on Saturday night, so we could get up early and head to Chinatown's Jing Fong Restaurant for dim sum--Chinese brunch in a HUGE banquet hall where we sat at a table with a small Chinese family and chose delicious delicacies off carts pushed by staff through the hall.  Let me just say that eating out with vegetarians is consistently an interesting experience, especially since I was craving meat for a lot of the weekend.  I'll sum it up in a quote from Karin: "This is great because we can just pick whatever looks good, and Clara can be our garbage disposal for all meat!"

Awesome.  I am a garbage disposal.  For meat, no less.

Feeling well-satisfied by this traditional Chinese brunch, we set back out on the street, which had filled up with cherry vendors.  I LOVE cherries.  And they were so cheap!  So we bought a pound and pretended like we weren't going to eat them as we walked along.  We didn't pretend like we weren't going to practice tying knots in the stems with our tongues, though.  Never gets old.

We were going to try and cram a Staten Island Ferry and a mysterious "cute thing" Karin had planned into the day before I had to catch my bus back to Wilmo...  But I voted we put off the ferry 'til next time, and we headed up toward SoHo to Openhouse Gallery, currently Park Here: The Indoor Popup Park!  Basically, this open gallery has been landscaped with fake grass, trees, bushes and flowers, and even a little gazebo.  We parked it on the ground and sat to chat for awhile, watching the Mommy Morning turn into hipster afternoon, full of trendy twenty-somethings reading poetry and drinking coffee.

We didn't fit in at all, not our skinny jeans or several days' worth of greasy hair.  We decided to hit up the Grey Dog on Mulberry Street (inspiration for the childhood favorite, And To Think That I Saw It On Mulberry Street? I don't know) for "lunch."  "Lunch" being Mexican hot chocolate for Karin and hot spiced wine with almonds and raisins floating in it for Audrey and I.  Oh, and we split the world's biggest brownie.  Wholesome, I know.

Also, the host kept frantically changing his mind about which table we would be sitting at, finally settling on "The Ideal Table for you guys, it just opened up.  There've been some people sitting there but they just left...  So you're going to be up in the back corner."  Turns out it was The Ideal Table, a little round one nestled in the corner of the bench wrapped around the whole café, which featured a surface map of Philadelphia.  The way the table was oriented, Wilmington fell right into Karin's lap.  Not a bad place to live, I'm sure.

I won't say I almost missed my bus, because I really didn't, and I did a pretty amazing job not getting anxious about it.  But they shut the doors about 2 minutes after I boarded, and I was so stoked the whole way home that I didn't even try to sleep.  Really the bus is the best way to go, and I plan to get up there wayyy more often from now on.

Seriously.  Spending time with Audrey and Karin was so refreshing, so intellectually stimulating, so much like coming home.  Considering that New York City has often been a source of stress in the past, this is saying a lot.  But I appreciate our shared prior text, and how utterly and unconditionally comfortable we can be together, and how they take for granted all the parts of my personality I struggle to convince my new friends of.  Plus, we got reallllly grungy together.  (A true St. Olaf flashback!)

The day before I left I texted Karin asking her what I needed to bring.  She texted back,

"toothbrush, wisdom and love."

yesterday's counterbalance

My too-abstract last post left me feeling unsettled and highly dissatisfied, probably because it was really an awkward love-child spawned by my reactions to Lizzy's most recent "realtalk" post and Bundl's most recent philosophical musings.  I decided to post it anyway because I learned at college that unfinished or unpolished thoughts can be just as valuable as polished ones.  That "choose your own adventure" concept has a lot of potential.  Maybe it will be the key someone -- a later version of myself, perhaps -- was looking for to open a door to adventure, or Pandora's Box, or something.

So I'm going to go in a different direction.  Please enjoy the following numbered list of things I'm excited about right now.  (I love lists, and you secretly do too.)

1. This morning I stumbled across an incredibly cool living-history project: A grad student at Oxford is tweeting WWII in real time over 6 years.  Most likely I will phase it out before the end, but maybe I will get emotionally invested as if I was living through the war myself in 1939-1945.  Either way, I'm impressed at his commitment to six years of what sounds completely exhausting but will most likely prove very personally enriching for him...  And the concept of this project completely titillates me.  On the ground, modern re-created history!

2. I have achieved official Regular status at Bishop's.  I now chat and joke with every person that works there, and half of them know me by name.  #Coffeeshopcrush must remain anonymous until the right moment.  I'm not really sure why, but it seems like an unspoken rule of interaction.  I know, I know, rules are made to be broken, but we all know I like the intrigue.  Yesterday he told me that Adele smokes, which I somehow managed not to know despite loving her music, and which disappoints me; and also that Train once came to Wilmington.  My hope is restored that important things do happen here.

And then he called me "Hon," which is just funny.  I should just legally change my name to Hon in this state.  Because that's pretty much my name now.

3. Christmas is coming.  Well, more importantly, Thanksgiving is coming FIRST, and then my birthday...  For some reason I feel like turning 22 will constitute my admission into REAL adulthood, because when I consort with the over-21 crowd hereafter I will no longer be the "new biddy on the block" since I have obviously been showing my legal ID successfully for over 365 days.  I may very well be deluding myself, since adulthood, like marriage, is probably just a widely-believed urban legend.

What is actually exciting about my birthday, though, is that I'm determined to do something to celebrate it.  I'm afraid to jinx my ideal plan by talking about it until things are set in stone, but I have an ideal plan and I haven't been this jazzed about something in such a long time that the excitement alone is noteworthy.  I'll give you a hint: it involves me actually playing in the 4th Annual Turkey Bowl -- my first EVER.  Happy birthday indeed.

Also, I love stuffing, butternut squash, and pecan pie -- all Thanksgiving dinner staples.  Immmmmpending food coma GO.

4. Christmas is coming.  I'm not looking forward to it in the I-wonder-where-Mom-and-Dad-hid-my-presents kind of way.  I'm looking forward to it because I have some sweet gifts planned out and although it's not yet the last minute I've already started pulling things together!  I'm also feeling ambitiously crafty, and I have a few awesome projects under way.  Most of them must remain a mystery for the time being, but I will say that I might actually finish my big cedar trunk by the end of the year!  Lofty goals, I know.  But I am a woman of action, and I do, in fact, get things done.

Except my NaNoWriMo novel.  But we don't have to talk about it.

5. Holiday says it all.  (I'm a Saggitarius -- what's YOUR sign, boy/girl?)