Why I’m a nerd… And proud of it. November 29, 2009

Because I read a lot, I can hardly say what my favorite book is. It’s even harder with movies, though I read more than I watch movies. I think, however, I may have narrowed it down to two: one fiction, one nonfiction. In the fiction corner, it’s Still Life with Woodpecker by Tom Robbins.  Many of Robbins’ books are among my top… oh… 20 or so due to their humor, but Still Life is number one.  I’m happy it was my first of Robbins’ books because it is undoubtedly the best in my mind, but it has made it hard for subsequent books to live up to the standard of Still Life.  (And a big thank you to Patrick at Milkweed Editions for recommending Robbins to me; I am forever indebted.)

In the nonfiction corner is, without a doubt (mostly because I’m not a huge nonfiction fan), Eats, Shoots, and Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation. There’s a few things I love about this book.  1. I get to read about punctuation in a humorous way, and understand that I’m not alone in caring. 2. I get to learn about the differences between British and American usage, and I find that infinitely interesting.  I will be the first to admit that I don’t get punctuation perfect–not in chat, and not in blog, but I try my damnedest when I write technically–but I definitely am a stickler for what I consider the very basics: comma usage and apostrophe usage.  I expect people to know the difference between “they’re,” “there,” and “their.”  I expect people not to write “I’m leaving home, and arriving there on Friday.”  And silly me, I expect them to know why.

However, the most awesome thing about Eats, Shoots, and Leaves–the #3 on my list of why I love the book–is that it introduced me to the interrobang.  “What is the interrobang,” you ask?  It’s something you use frequently without ever knowing what it was called.  To demonstrate interrobang usage, I invite you to rephrase your question.  Try “What the fuck is the interrobang?!”  There!  Did you see it?  That little twist in the sentence that signifies surprise as well as question.  But, did you know there is an actual symbol for the interrobang?  ‽ POW!  Wait, that didn’t have enough oomph….

‽

That, kids, is the interrobang.  And in hopefully just a few days, I will be the proud owner of these amazing interrobang earrings. And you can’t have them.  Neener.

Past lives November 16, 2009

When I was in 7th grade, I lost all my friends from 6th grade.  You know… new school, bigger, scarier…  Some of them moved to different parts of the state, some to different schools…  That old hat.  And I managed, with the help of my neighbors and a cassette called Not Just for Sundays Anymore, I found God.

And for three to four years I kept God.  Or, I should say, I kept Christianity.  It was a friend, somewhat, when I needed a friend.  It was something to think about in bed at night.  It was also a source of major contention within myself and, to some extent, with my parents.  For those three or four years, I also attended a week long camp called Summerfest.

The camp was a non-denominational Christian camp exactly like you’d expect a non-denominational Christian camp to be.  It was loads and loads of fun, with games, singing, dancing, classes, and college food (as it is always held on a college campus).   There was this band that always played during the singing/dancing portion of the shows, and this band had a drummer.

And the drummer’s name was Bobo.

Fast forward to a week ago.  I’m sitting in my sign language class, waiting for it to start, actually. A girl in my class explains to our teacher that she needs to have her cell phone on because her best friend is expected to die within the next couple of days.  She goes on to mention that is name is Bobo.

Eine minute bitte.

“I think I know him!” I say.  “Drummer?  Summerfest?” she says.  Yup.  I knew him.  And he was dying.  And die he did, Thursday evening.

Let’s go back a bunch of years.  Like nine.  Nine (and a half) years ago, I sat at camp during prayer time and did math in my head.  Sometime before that summer, I decided I didn’t believe in Christianity.  I realized I felt more guilty than anyone should because I didn’t pray enough, didn’t read the bible enough.  I thought it was stupid that someone would only get into heaven because they believed someone died on a cross for them.  So I became agnostic.  And there I’ve sat for the last decade.

So what does one do when someone that had a major hand in her past religious life is passing away?  I still believe there could be a god or gods.  So I wrote on his Caringbridge wall “God bless” (among other things).  At the time he was a huge inspiration.  If he were still available to talk to, I’m sure he would still be an inspiration.  But I don’t think I could ever be convinced back into Christianity.  Not that I have anything against Christians, it’s just no longer for me.

However, even though he was no longer a part of my life, I will miss Bobo now more than I ever did before (and I did often think back on him with nostalgia).  So, Bobo… Take us out one more time, and let me see you Boogaloo.

Seven years ago… November 12, 2009

So…. John Allen Muhammad was executed on Tuesday (and all good killers go by their full name, natch).  Not a proponent of the death penalty, myself, but it brings up a lot of… stuff for me.  Not emotions, really.  I’m pretty much over the fact that I was living in VA during the DC Sniper incident and that two people were shot in the city I was living in (The Hippy reminds me that people are shot in the city I’m currently living in “all the time,” but I maintain there’s  difference).

Completely unrelated, I’ve been going through my iTunes in order to refresh the music on my ipods (yes, pods… whether I’ll change both of them or not is currently being internally debated).  In order to do this, I’ve been going through the list alphabetically and adding certain songs to an iPod folder.  I’ve been discovering songs I didn’t remember I had.  I’ve also been reminded of certain feelings that songs evoke for me.

It wasn’t until today that I realized why I feel uncomfortable when I listen to certain songs.  Certain songs that I used to love and used to listen to all the time.  Today I realized that there is a certain set of songs–songs I acquired roughly seven years ago–that sounds like fear.  These are the songs that I would escape to when I was safely back within my dorm, hoping my roommates wouldn’t turn on the news.  Some songs have been immune to this, either because I was listening to them long before the sniper incident (although there were two snipers, it’s ingrained to speak of them as a single) or because they are simply pure awesome.

They say that smells provoke the most memories, but I think for me it’s often music.

NaNoWriMo…? November 2, 2009

A couple weeks ago I had a dream.  It was kind of a crap ass dream, and I mentioned it on facebook.  A friend, who is far more of a writer than I am, told me it sounded like the basis for a great story.  I got to thinking she was quite right.  Then I realized November was only a few days away, and maybe I’d consider the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month).

Then I realized that’s not at all possible.  At all.  For starters, I have a hard time focusing on anything.  Secondly, I’ve got a costume to make, because I’m suddenly obsessed with Steampunk, and it gives me a new excuse to make stuff.  But this story refuses to die, which is fine.  I’m not sure I’m the person to give it life, but I did dream it, so I figure I have to try.

Therefore, I’ve decided to rename November for myself: AtToWriSoMo: Attempt to write something month.  And so it begins.  Maybe.  If I can remember how to write.