Archive: About

It may be old news to those who are keeping track (heh), but this here entry is my 300th! I’ve used past centennial entries to indulge in the more gimmicky posts, so let this be no exception.

Back in my early days of blogging, I thought that bloggers with FAQ pages were automatically Very Interesting People. What must it be like, I wondered, to be so widely-read that people would ask the same things over and over to the point that one would be compelled to compile the questions into a quick reference? Over time, I let go of this criterion of greatness once I realized that a blogger could simply — gasp — make up the questions. Ah, naïveté.

In homage to this assumption of yore, I solicit your questions, burning or otherwise, for answering in future posts. What’s that interview question you like to pose? Do you need a book recommendation? Would you like clarification on anything? I am an open book.*

There’s no harm if any of the Qs turn out to be F A, right?

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* Well, to a point. I’ll answer what I can to the extent that I deem appropriate, and I reserve the right to respond via e-mail. Keep it clean, kids!

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In a serendipitous connection to these questions and answers, I’ve signed up for Citizen of the Month’s Great Interview Experiment, and I am excessively excited about it.

From my 100 Things:

3. I have one sister who is four years older than I am. She and I are eerily similar in regard to mannerisms but vastly different in terms of fashion.
We both have super-straight black hair, and we are exactly the same height. We wear the same size in clothes, although my torso is longer, and her legs are longer, so sometimes we have to swap if the fit isn’t quite right. We sound the same over the phone, according to our parents. We call each other “zeester,” and we both throw our heads back when we laugh. We both talk really fast. We both drive 2004 Civic LXs. We both love the color green. I shop at Ann Taylor Loft; she goes to Anthropologie. She always has on nail polish; I never do. I look for classics that will last me a while; she hunts for tops with trendy details. She loves argyle; I prefer solids. I play it safe with black accessories; she goes for flash. She owns a pair of skinny jeans; I shake my head when I see them.

26. I am addicted to used book stores; it’s almost impossible for me to pass one without at least going inside.
After I got my hair cut yesterday, I passed my favorite used book store on the way back to my car. I knew that I should resist the gravitational pull of the shop, but I just couldn’t do it. I greeted Harry, the manager, and immediately found two Pearl S. Buck books (The Good Earth and My Several Worlds) from the classic literature section. I headed to the trade paperback fiction shelves, where the books are $3, at the most, and I snapped up The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. I had heard good things about this book, but I really didn’t want to pay full price for it. With such good luck, I had to stop myself before I ended up with an armful of books, so I brought my finds up to the register, and the total came to a whopping $6.50. Score!

49. On the first anniversary of our engagement, JG and I found out that the offer we made on the house we wanted was accepted!
The original plan was to go out and celebrate our engagement anniversary, but friends called us up and asked if we could watch their three well-behaved kids. Normally, we would have said no, but we had given this couple a gift certificate to a restaurant and babysitting services as a gift at one point, so it seemed low to bail on them. JG and I had an easy time with the kids, and we were surfing through all of their luxurious cable channels when our real estate agent called with the news that our offer had been accepted. I was about to shriek with glee when JG wisely shushed me up because the kids were asleep. I think it’s funny that we were babysitting when we received the news about our first real estate purchase — isn’t that odd? It seems to me that we should have been doing something very grown-up at the time, like investing in something or going to a wine tasting.

94. For the most part, I am a very good speller, except for a few recalcitrant words that always seem to end up with red, squiggly lines underneath them.
Vaccum? No, vacuum.
Inadvertant? No, inadvertent.
Commemmorate? No, commemorate.
Accomodate? No, accommodate.
Influencial? No, influential.

100. I am horribly nearsighted.
These days, I can’t see a darn thing without my glasses or contacts, but I was eight years old when I first got glasses. My parents told me that I had to get them because I was reading too much, but myopia runs in our family, so I’m not sure which came first in that situation. The optometrist held up two pairs of glasses from which I could choose: one was a plain pair of red frames, and the other was red, but with a fashionable pink, paint-splatter effect. I knew immediately that I wanted the paint-splattered pair, but before I spoke up, my mother warned me, “The plain ones are cheaper.” I hesitated, then said boldly, “I like the painted ones better!” As though to console her, the optometrist told my mother, “They’ll last her for a while…” For the next five years, I believed that I had the coolest glasses in town.

Sunday Scribblings #95: Miscellaneous

Over the weekend, JG and I set off for a pick-your-own pumpkin patch — the same farm where we got our Christmas tree — to find good specimens for carving this year. We showed up as soon as it opened on Sunday morning and had the place to ourselves. The sky was super-saturated with blue, the air was chilly enough for me to wear a jacket and a scarf, and I loved being outside on a perfect fall morning for a classic fall activity. It was the first time I’d picked a pumpkin from a farm, so the whole experience was quite the novelty. We took a bumpy, tractor-pulled hayride to a field littered with gourds and began the hunt.

I tramped through the vines and thumped on different pumpkins to find that elusive “solid but hollow” sound (isn’t that an oxymoron?) that marked a winner. I spied a nice, round guy with a whimsical vine trailing off the stem and pounced. “Don’t forget,” JG cautioned me, “you have to pick a pumpkin that you can carry.” Hmph. We gave my pumpkin a once-over for mushy spots, thumped the sides, and pronounced it a keeper. JG soon found his own jack-o’-lantern victim and we trotted back to catch the hayride on its return loop. Now, all that’s left is to pick or make a pattern to carve. I think I want to go geeky this year…

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Last week, Audrey challenged readers to guess which statement, out of three, was not true in the fashion of the classic ice-breaker game, “Two Truths and a Lie.” Well, in my years as a freshman dorm mentor, camp counselor, and youth group worker, I have played this game many a time. I love it. It’s such a good way to get to know people and allows them to choose what they share, rather than being interrogated. For lies, the trick is to choose statements that could be true, but no one knows for sure; for truths, the statements need to be outlandish enough that people might not ordinarily ascribe them to you. That said, I am not very good at this game. I am completely hopeless at identifying people’s lies and only slightly better at choosing lies for myself. Apparently, I have a “tell,” to lapse into poker speak, but no one will fill me in on what it is. Darn.

I made a guess and shared three facts of my own over at Audrey’s, but I thought it might be fun to play here, too, before revealing all. For this round, here are my two truths and a lie. Which statement is the lie?

1. I was a cheerleader in high school, a flier.
2. I love roller coasters and I try to ride at least 3 times in a row before switching to another.
3. If not for the bad breath, I would eat dill pickles all day long.

Take a guess and check out the answers after the jump!

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I am kind of a snob about fall. Every year around the end of September, I go on a tirade every few days about how in New England, fall came when school started and you could actually wear your new fall clothes instead of wearing shorts for another month and the leaves would change color gradually and have time to stay on the trees, whereas around here, you blink and miss the fall color before you have to rake it all up and what is it about the mid-Atlantic and their short falls when it’s the best season ever and then we just get plunked right down into winter right away and there is no reason for it to be so hot right now and I hate being hot so why can’t fall just get here like it does in New England, where fall came when school started…

JG just rolls his eyes at me, tells me I have a rough life. “I know,” he says, mockingly unsympathetic. “Fall is so much better in New England and I’m sorry that you have to put up with what we have here in Pennsylvania.”

Hmph.

A part of me misses New England all the time, but in the fall, I really feel the twinge. I feel cheated out of a good, solid, cool fall in this area and even more so when I have to sweat through August, September, and even into October. I have been waiting for rusty treetops, cheerful chrysanthemums, and rattling leaf skeletons. I have been longing for brighter-than-blue blue skies, blustery gusts, and snappy morning chills. I have been straining against heat and humidity for the fresh, invigorating nip of cold air on my cheeks, the chance to inhale deeply through my nose, and the promise that — yes, and soon! — allergies will be gone for the year. I have been craving excuses to wear corduroy, my red scarf, light wool sweaters, and slippers, though not necessarily all at once. I have been eager to carve a jack-o’-lantern, decorate with miniature gourds, make a pumpkin cheesecake, and dig out my costume tiara. I have been hungry for stew, roasted chicken, bratwurst, and candy corn. I have been sniffing the air for the aroma of apples, dry leaves, bonfires, and hot chocolate. I have been ready, even if my favorite season wasn’t ready for me.

Fall has been a long time coming, but today, it is finally here and I hope it sticks around long enough for me to enjoy it properly. At the very least, JG will be spared the Rant of Mid-Atlantic Fall this weekend because I’ll be out under a saturated blue sky, crunching on leaves, and sipping apple cider. Cheers.