Things That Will Be the Death of Me

• Netflix
• Sending out resumes
• Cleaning my room-- and my apartment
  
• Staying awake during NDS working hours
• Keeping up with my Bloglines list
• A possible membership of the Internet Writing Workshop (anyone want to join me?)
• The parakeet and her impossible demands
• Staying out of PSP business now that I am no longer an active member
• The red tape of graduating

K.

I feel like a teenager again

You know, I'm 22 years old and should be over some of the emo bullshit that I sometimes get into-- including writing posts about said bullshit. But sometimes living at home with three other adults while looking for a career that's supposed to launch you into real life gets so stressful that I snap at small things.

I should be down in the basement with my parents, eating a family meal and watching The Heartbreak Kid (not my choice), but instead I'm sitting on the porch, eating cereal and watching Weeds. Not exactly a heartwarming alternative. I had a minor tiff with my father that got blown out of proportion and the tension got a little much for me. It's better that I don't mess up a meal for the two of them with my pride and bad mood.

What really got me wasn't the argument with my dad-- it was my mom's immediate reaction to it. I wasn't looking for her sympathy, just sitting on the couch with a scowl, and she just bursts out that she doesn't know what's going and on and she isn't getting involved. It just struck me as so attention-seeking; she made an announcement of not participating in the argument when she could have kept to that concept better if she had just not said anything at all.

I've been noticing this more and more with my mom, and I hate thinking about it. I know that she's proud of her business (and she should be-- she built it from the ground up), but hearing about how she sold a scarf that day once every hour makes me want to just cry. It's selfish of me to think that, but that's just how I'm feeling.

Maybe it's the fact that she's doing so well while I'm working in retail and not getting single response to the resumes I send out (not including the India job, which hasn't gotten back in contact with me, by the way). Or perhaps that attention-seeking is really there and I'm getting angry at myself for perceiving a fault in a parent that has often been my greatest supporter.

I'm also wondering whether I should tell her how I feel. It could end up with hurt feelings all around, so that wouldn't be good. On the upside, it would keep me from going postal on her after hearing about her business one too many times. I just don't want to break her spirit. She's paid her dues and deserves to be happy in what she does.

I'll talk to her. The worst that could happen is that I make her cry, then I cry, then I go sleep in the car. I hope that doesn't happen.

Let's all pray that I can stay away from dumb posts like this in the future.

K.

Ed. Talked to Dad instead. Feel a little better.

Scattered Thoughts: Produced by frustration

I had another post earlier, but the formatting nearly killed me. So, for lack of any more brain cells to put together something coherent, another Scattered Thoughts.

• I had my second day of training at National Department Store (NDS), which focused primarily on an unintentionally hilarious workplace harassment video focused on "sweater puppies" and drunk Irish jokes. Then I learned about how you have to "give the customer the pickle." Retail is weird.

• While taking the bathroom trashcan out to the curb tonight, the wind caught a pantyliner wrapper and blew it down the street. I had to chase it, which didn't help my self-esteem.

• I found my parakeet asleep on her side the other day. Thought she was dead for a second, then she sat up and looked at me like I was doing something unnatural.

• Another weird thing-- I saw a chipmunk eating a worm. What the hell is up with that?!

• No news on the career front. I've been told that I just have to keep going, which is obviously true. After all, I don't want to be stuck at my parents' house forever. But throw me a bone, people! I'll work for peanuts!

K.

Scattered Thoughts: The Depths of Despair Edition

• I talked with Time today-- they don't have an opening for me. Mom insists that this doesn't mean that they don't want me, but it doesn't make me less depressed over it.

• Dad has made it quite clear that he does not approve of the India thing, which is an issue if I get sick/arrested/blown up/sold into slavery over there. No support network. Well, it hardly matters-- they have written back to me either.

• Sending out resumes into the void of internet job postings is a thankless task. It's like you just... disappear.

• I have to clear out my apartment tomorrow. :(

Life recently = booooo.

K.

Dad: Making me just a little more paranoid, one comment at a time

India called today.

I'm not sure what I was expecting-- it was really just an exploratory interview over the phone. Luckily, my one fear did not come to pass: that the interviewer's accent would make nearly impossible to hold a conversation. Her amazing English allowed me to escaped sounding like a mouth-breathing doofus. This time, anyway.

I explained the job to my parents afterwards. My dad gave me a look.

"Couldn't you just do that from the US? Like, over the computer?"

"I guess. But then they would have to pay me American wages."

"Kate, you're going to laugh when I say this, but I'm quite serious."

"Hmm?"

"You need to check this out to make sure it isn't white slavery."

??!!!

So, what am I supposed to do? Call my interviewer back up and ask her very nicely if I'm signing up to be put into bondage and would she please be honest with me about it?

Seriously, New York jobs that I have applied for, call me back. It would make life so much easier.

K.

Huh?

Holy crap, India just contacted me to have a first round of interviews. Over the phone.

I can't understand accents over the phone. :(

K.

PS. I also just told my mom about this interview thing and she got this really tight-lipped expression on her face. Not good.

Dear Mom and Dad,

I just applied for a job in India. Please don't kill me.

You see, it's like it was made for me. They actually want a English/literature major who can work with international co-workers all while editing in both American and British English. I've done all of that.

Granted, this company has something to do with finances and I don't know a thing about that (much like I don't know anything about shoes), but knowledge of the financial world was optional, you see.

I'm kinda hoping that they'll call me.

Sorry?

K.

That Most Vicious Disease

It appears that my trip to China is almost a reality. But first I have to get over this horrific case of senioritis that is absolutely decimating my will to go on.

Does anyone have any tips on how to survive for a few more months?

K.

Taken Out of Context

Again, a quick note as I am in the computer lab waiting for my lunch date to show up.

I was in my Power, Politics, and Propaganda class about half an hour ago where we had just received a hand-out about tropes and figures of speech. In addition, we were given Obama's speech that he made in Philadelphia yesterday and told to analyze it for the rhetorical points we had just discussed. After we were given five minutes of reading time, we splintered into groups.

Having read and underlined bits of the speech, I turned around, confident that I would be able to discuss the piece in rhetorical terms. Unfortunately, my group never really made it that far.

"I didn't even read the damn thing," the boy behind me declared, almost proudly. "I can't stand that man." I tittered nervously, hoping to avoid a political discussion at nine in the morning, but the kid continued on, comparing Obama to Kennedy and prophesizing the candidate's clash with Russia. "Mark my words," he said, "we'll be at war with Russia in four years."

Alllllllllllright.

"Well, that aside, it was a good speech," I ventured.

"He's so charming and manipulative." This was said with a grimace of disgust. "And he's only a junior senator. I could be a junior senator tomorrow, if I wanted to!"

"Abraham Lincoln was only a junior senator," I murmured, but he ignored me. He continued on a tirade about the faults of Obama for another minute and a half. Then, as if he had forgotten something, he quickly blurted out, "Vote for Hillary."

Wait a second. Something was not right here. So I sat back, identifying tropes in the neglected speech while training my ears on his one-sided conversation. His politics didn't fit his political endorsement. A wait-and-see attitude about the war, conflicts with Russia, absolutely no mention of Hillary's record or political claims (despite throwing in a plug for her every so often)... this didn't fit the profile of a typical Hillary support, much less a Democrat.

It's my opinion that if I looked in the College Republicans' roll book, I would find this kid's name there. It makes quite a bit of sense that the Republicans on this campus feel that Hillary would not get elected if she fought directly against McCain. Therefore, it would be in their best interest if Clinton won the nomination. Ohhhhh, son, I have your number.

This blatant manipulation irritated me, but not as much as a political shouting match at a time when my brain was barely functioning. So I tried to push him away from politics and towards the speech.

"We can take this thing out of context and just analyze it. Can we please just do that?"

"You can't take it out of context," he huffed. "The context makes all of the difference!"

"No, it doesn't. Look at this part where he is repeating 'we can blah blah blah... we can blah blah blah"-- I just identified it as a rhetorical device without using the political part of the sentence!"

More blustering from him. Long story short, we never did get to analyze the speech.

I'll be so glad when this election year is over.

K.

PS. I'm still undecided, by the way. Pray that I can make a decision before April.

Scattered Thought: Ugh!

• I think that I have to accept that my parakeet is a girl bird. She doesn't talk and her cere is brown-- hallmarks of a female budgie. I know that doesn't change her personality at all, but I've already begun being more conscious of the trouble she gets herself into. Pure gender role bullshit on my part. I'm no bra-burner, but I don't want to start treating this bird differently because she now has ovaries. What a dumb thing to worry about when...

• ... I have started the job search, which already has become soul-crushing. I have a list of about 45 publishing companies, but any thought of sending out resumes and cover letters makes me want to break into hysterics. This is complicated by...

• ... the fact that my brother seems to have found a girlfriend. I'm feeling a fair amount of jealousy, which is ridiculous for an older sister, much less a 22 year old. I'm not sure whether I'm irritated that I come home so rarely and never get a chance to see the kid or that he has a relationship and I don't. Again, that's a stupid reason. I've had plenty of chances, but I suppose that it's mainly fear that has kept me single forever. I can venture to the other side of the world by myself, but I can't commit to giving up all of my time and energies to a guy. Speaking of traveling...

• ... it's pretty much certain that I'm going to China in May. My university is offering a class about global health, environmental, and education issues and, well, I need one more class to graduate. And if I can get that done in two weeks and in China, then so much the better. The whole thing, including tuition, will probably cost me up to $6,000, all of which I'll be paying by myself with savings from my birth and bat mitzvah. It's exciting, but a tad scary. Still, I'll probably never get to China on my own and I need something to look forward to. It also helps that my family is going to Israel mere weeks after I return from the Orient (probably the last family vacation we'll ever have), but...

• ... unfortunately, our Israeli friends are dealing with a seriously sick child. The poor kid is five years old and has recently had to undergo a spinal tap and hospitalization. They are thinking meningitis, but it's hard to be certain. I'm not a real believer, but these people are observant Jews and would probably appreciate a few well-placed prayers. If you feel so inclined, maybe ask the Big Guy (or Girl... or Non-Gender-Specific-Being) to consider being kind of merciful on this kid? He's sweet.

Yeah, that's it.

K.

PS. Posts left until 200: 8

Who is Going to China in May?

Oh yeah, it's me.

More information as it becomes available.

K

PS. Number of posts to 200: 9

Crossing One Off

Back in 2007, I mentioned that I would be taking part in the BSF 2008 challenge in an attempt to, as my tai chi instructor tells it, "honor myself." In reality, I just need impetus to get shit done.

Here is the list again:

• Actually attempt NaNoWriMo 2008, not just sign up for it and lose courage before writing a single word.
• Learn enough Hebrew to puttering around in Israel this summer and be conversational by year's end.
• Save money for a Scotland spring break. If I don't actually get to Scotland, then at least I have some money.
• Graduate college.
• Get a temporary job-- preferably with health insurance.
• Send something to get published. Poem, short story, essay, anything.
  
• Lose 10 pounds. Any more would be icing on the cake that I won't be allowing myself to have. :)

As you can see, I've crossed something off. Happily, I did in fact send two things in for submission. One of those is "To the Fruitflies in My Drain" to my university journal. Whether I get in or not isn't important-- I've already begun my Big Wall o' Rejection (Thanks, Image). The point is that I actually got off my butt and sent something. Nothing gets published if nobody sees it.

Wish me luck.

K.

PS. Just a note: You should check out Rachel's blog over at that night. She's been nominated for a 2008 Bloggie Award! So go, read, and vote!

A Broom-Burning Feminist

I am a feminist.

No, I'm not ashamed to say it. Feminism, at its core, is the concept that men and women are equal beings. Neither one is smarter than the other, but there are some physical differences. I accept that-- but I don't accept that men are better than women because they are stronger. Perhaps, at one time, there were jobs that only they could accomplish through brute strength, but the technological advances of the last few decades have made it easier for women to participate in traditionally males jobs. And I think that's wonderful.

It bothers me that feminism has such a bad rep these days, that I have to punctuate my declaration of feminism to explain that I am not a bra-burner or a man-hater. To be honest, it is both sexes's faults for this negative casting. There are men out there who, uncomfortable with being challenged, throw aspersions at feminism and cause it to seem unnatural. Equally, there are women who lack a sense of humor and can't seem to smile at themselves-- they cast feminism in a bad light as well.

And would you believe that the above paragraphs were just an explanation for what I am now going to say? Isn't that sad?

Anyway, I've been watching television lately and have begun to notice just how many cleaning commercials there are that solely feature women. Women vacuuming, women scrubbing, women cleaning toilets-- all while smiling cheerfully at the camera. Where are the men? Why isn't there a man with his arm half-way in a toilet, a man unloading the dishwasher, a man scrubbing the soap scum from the bathtub? Just one measly man, that's all I ask!

Don't get me wrong, there are some commercials that seem a little more enlightened. One broom/vac commercial shows a whole party of people rocking out while cleaning up messes, which is awesome. There is even a carpet scrubber that shows an entire family cleaning spots off the rug.

When I have a house of my own, I will do housework as long as I live alone and can't afford a once-every-two-weeks cleaner. If I get married, honey, you know I am not going to be scouring pots and pans. If there are things to be cleaned, we are both cleaning it. I hate housework. I hate the way my knees ache when I clean the tub. I hate that I am all itchy from the bleach. I. hate. washing. dishes.

And if I'm made to do housework for the rest of my breathing days, someone is going to die. Die slowly and painfully.

Because why should I do it just because I'm a XX? I'd rather be slaving away at a desk than don the rubber gloves and dally in the fumes of cleaning solution.

And that's what I have to say about that.

K.

Trying Not to Have a Cow (, Dude)

"Campus Speak"- New York Times

I found this article off of the always amusing Best Week Ever blog. The entry featuring it was so ridiculous that I just had to follow the link, which shows how interested I was, as my computer has been running very slowly lately.

Just like trying to explain humor, analyzing slang is a futile practice. Many people have tried to put both subjects into erudite academic articles and come out sounding like complete idiots. When it comes to slang, describing the college lingo casts university students in a light that is not very flattering. Not to sound arrogant, but take me for example. I'm a fourth-year English major who has studied literature from Chaucer to Roth and everything in between. I'm able to communicate with some scions of academia, perhaps not at the same level, but with some degree of proficiency. Yet, you'll find me using words like "chillax," "fauxhawk," and "sketchy/shady."

This is just a reminder to those that would take this article as another sign of my generation's sad future, remember your own slang, yes? I'm sure that your parents were appalled when you came home with an unorthodox vocabulary, whether you said "the bee's knees" or "far out" or "yuppie."

See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya.

K.

Facing the Truth

I find myself not looking on news sites anymore because I will invariably find something about Steve Irwin.

Yeah, I'm still on about that.

I find that I'm not alone in my odd feelings. As I walk through my dorm hallways, I see tributes to the Crocodile Hunter on white boards. People still talk about it, most of the time with downcast faces.

I couldn't figure out why the death of one man a world away could affect so many people on my campus. I know of one person who met him, but the rest of us only knew him from Animal Planet or his run-ins with the press. The death of the pope caused less consternation. I just couldn't understand.

Then I spoke to my roommate, a paragon of wisdom clothed in giggly, dippy exterior.

"Well," she said, "it was just so sudden and random. And he was young too. You could sort of relate to him."

True.

I guess it's not just that we miss our beloved Crocodile Hunter, we also have our mortality shoved into our faces. College kids aren't used to that. We think nothing of crossing the road in the direct path of on-coming cars or drinking enough to kill a horse, then getting up the next day to do it all over again. What happens if one day that car doesn't slow down? Or if that last sip of alcohol is just too much for our bodies to handle? What then?

Well, then we die. Simple as that.

But what else does our impending death say to us? It reminds us of that old, cliched saying, "live each day like it's your last." Death is coming, people. Everyday, our internal clocks continue winding down and we get a little older. This is all we have. Drink yourself silly. Travel. Do incredibly stupid things. You might not get to do it again tomorrow.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some manifesto-writing to do. No time like the present!

K.

PS. Thanks, Steve.

Time Stops for No (Wo)Man

This morning I received notice that my driver's license needed to be renewed. I stared at the paper for a moment or two, trying to work out whether the DMV was pulling my leg or not. Unfortunately, experience has told me that the Department of Motor Vehicles has no measurable sense of humor at all. So this had to be real.

This can't be right, I thought, digging through my wallet for my license. I'm not old enough to need a license renewal!

And yet there it was, a glaring declaration for all to see:

"Under 21 until: 10/19/2006

Valid until: 10/20/2006"

Good Lord and in the name of all that is holy, I'm going to be 21. I'm going to need to trade in my lovely vertical license for a standard horizontal license. I'm not old enough for all of this!

I suppose I really wasn't all that upset about my need to visit the DMV (though the picture on my current license is rather nice and I am loathe to change it). It was the 21 thing that had me in a tizzy.

I always pictured that I would be a different person when I turned that magical age. I would be tall, pretty, have a significant other, own a car, live in an apartment, have published something of some merit... That other person, that 21 year old, wasn't me. She was everything that I wanted to be. She had done everything that I wanted to do. She was wiser, more secure, and more sophisticated than me. She understood people better, held better conversations, regularly dazzled the writing world with essays of intelligence and deep truths.

And here I am, less than two months away from my 21st birthday, and still very much a kid inside and outside. I'm not sure whether I'm supposed to be disappointed with myself or not. After all, having a young mentality isn't necessarily a bad thing. My overlord at Jew Camp always says that an effective counselor needs to be child-like and imaginative. You have to be careful, however, not to cross the line into childishness. I believe that I managed to giggle at stupid jokes and play silly games this summer without losing myself to the kid inside. I managed to stay the 20 year old.

So while I still split my sides laughing at "your mom" jokes and find pleasure blowing bubbles for a family friend's Israeli children, I guess I'm headed irrevocably towards physical adulthood. No helping that. But, as long as I keep my inner child happy, I guess I always have a job at summer camp.

K.

PS. That post went nowhere. Guess I haven't reached that 21 year old writer yet.

Signs of the Apocalypse

I admit it; I'm jumping on the bandwagon. Today is June 6, 2006, otherwise known as 6/6/06. Many Christians and "Revelations" analysts maintain that the number 666 is the mark of the Beast, otherwise known as Satan. The coming of the Greatest Scapegoat's favorite day has spawned at least one movie premiere, endless Satanist parties, and-- the most evil event of all-- the arrival of Ann Coulter's new book. Now, it would be completely irresponsible if I didn't comment on an event that only happens once a century, even if every other blogger has already had a whack at it.

Since I am not an expert on numerology or New Testament theory, I cannot give anyone a fact-laden essay about 666. Therefore, I decided to do something different.

Inspired by Sports Illustrated's weekly quote, I present...

Signs of the Apocalypse

• Brought to you by Dave Barry's blog, here is The PhotogenicMask. Leave it to the Japanese to think of one of the creepiest things imaginable. I'm sure the end of days will include souless people with souless faces walking around. (Don't worry, you can press 'cancel' if they ask you to install a Japanese language pack.)
• A man, sure that invoking the name of G-d would protect him from danger, was mauled by a lioness. Before the fire falls from the sky, G-d will definitely ignore the pleas of the faithful, especially if the faithful are stupid enough to CRAWL INTO A LIONESS'S CAGE!! G-d don't hold with no idiocy.
• I had an article from MSNBC about people finding eight heads in a box in Iraq, but the article magically disappeared from the site. Apparently, MSNBC knows that the Devil's house-warming gift before the end of days begins is a nice set of heads in a box. Here's a different article about it, anyway.
• After examining a jarful of rainwater, scientists have concluded that the red cells within the water are aliens. "Revelations" has got to have something about killer red aliens falling from the clouds, right? Anybody?
• CNN is now teaching children how to rob banks. Clearly, Satan has contracted Ted Turner to turn our kids into sinners in order to counteract Hell's population drop after the Baby Boomers move through.

And there you have it, folks. These are just several signs of the impending apocalypse! Do you have your Homeland Security-issue duct tape and plastic sheets? Good, you should be alright. then.

Good luck!

K.

PS. As lawsuits have a habit of flying about on the internet, I totally credit Sports Illustrated for "Signs of the Apocalypse."

PPS. Don't take this seriously. That makes babies cry.