Packing

Tomorrow we head out to Atlanta and with all trips I feel like I’ve got a million things I need to do – important things like wash the towels, do the dishes, sweep… That’s how I prepare for a trip by tidying everything up to death. Somewhere in there I’ll get packed. The actual packing will take about 10 minutes tops, so it’s not high on my list. What’s going to bog me down though are the specialty bags I’ll be lugging along.

Normally bag packing involves throwing open the suitcase on the bed, standing by the dresser and doing several lay-ups to get my clothes inside. Since this is a science fiction convention, being wrinkle free isn’t a priority – just wad and go. Ok, since we’re talking about me, being wrinkle free is never a priority, which probably explains a lot about my life. Anyway, for this trip I have to pack a new camera bag and then a Myth Wear bag (as strongly recommended by Lynn in her survival guide to conventions in Sequential Tart http://www.sequentialtart.com/archive/aug04/art_0804_7.shtml - Lynn, you think I don’t pay attention). Both of the bags have lots of little pockets – little pockets that demand attention and filling and which is what’s going to slow me down. See, your average suitcase has a little pouch on the inside and a couple on the outside. I use the outside compartments for things I need to display to check-in type folks – my “immediate needs” pockets, the inner compartment for things that I don’t want rolling around and that big space for the aforementioned wadded up clothes. This new Myth Wear bag has spaces for sketchpads, pens, and a cell phone and must accommodate everything I would keep in my purse. It’s big enough and flat enough to keep autographs safe (I’m coming for you, George Takei) and it can hold two drinks. Of course, I won’t be packing those before I get on the plane, security might fear I’m carrying a “bumb” (do an internet search, I’m not giving you that one). Then there’s the camera bag – places for film, my strap and the manual that HAS to make it there and back otherwise we may have trouble. Then there is the dilemma of whether I put the canisters into the camera bag or do I insert the film into my strap now? Do I even want to remove the strap? These are my special issues that will trip me up for hours. This is truly why I love my purse. Like my suitcase, there are few pocket choices; I just dump everything in there and go.

The next thing that is going to kill me is my traveling anxiety. I don’t mind going places or going by plane, I just get extremely anxious about leaving. I know tonight I’ll set the alarm clock only to find I haven’t slept and then I’ll feel like a train wreck the rest of the day. Did you know sodas do not contain enough caffeine? And the little sugar high won’t last long enough? We won’t even mention the sugar crash that follows. Honestly, on trips like these, I wish I could stand coffee. Who am I kidding, on trips like these I wish I could stand espressos. In fact, I wish I could main line espresso. Let’s go a step further - I’d like to mainline some espresso right now.

I guess I’ll run off to make my to-do list and enjoy the longest day ever. Oh, in case you’re trying to figure out what to get me for Christmas (aka my birthday) something I know you’re all concerned about – I want an iPod (the one with the video) and a laptop (one that was built in the last year – not the Compaqs people lugged around in 1987 and that some of you are wicked enough to try and unload on me). You can pool your cash! Let me know who wants to coordinate and I’ll exchange your e-mails. Hey, it’s the least I can do. Shucks, it’s the least YOU could do. I’m fairly certain those items would make my trips that much more enjoyable and I know each and every one of you would be happier knowing how happy I was. Honest! Right, off to make the to-do list and my “I love you Ghost Hunters and Myth Busters” signs.

Just an FYI - noon isn’t for 4 hours.

No Respect

Last night Jay got home and walked into our computer room to find me hunkered down diligently checking off boxes.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm taking a test to see how geeky I am."
*cackle* "You're taking a test to see how geeky you are?"
"Yep!"
"I think you know the answer."

HEY!!

(Psst Jonathan, I'll be sending you the test later.)

Geek Press Pass

Since I’m on a roll about all things nerd, I’m going to go back to the t-shirt collection. My Sci-Fi t-shirts are not only great for laundry day, but they also serve as my press pass into the not-so-hidden-don’t-you-wish-it-were geek underbelly. Once I know I’m going to hit one of those spots, I whip out the t-shirt, push open their doors and people nod in acknowledgement. My t-shirts act like a bar code – geeks scan it and make sub-conscious mental notes about what category of nerd I fall into.

This is great because people trying to hock Yu-Gi-Oh or Pokemon trading cards won’t mistakenly think I’m some kid’s mom and try to approach me. It’s bad in that I sometimes get the wrong attention. The wrong attention being that people feel they need to talk to me. Now this can potentially happen despite the shirts because I’m female. Most of these guys couldn’t expect their own sisters to hang out with them and certainly have never been on a date that wasn’t arranged by their parents. So, a female in a comic book store sets off all sorts of alarms. Fortunately, these misfits keep their heads low while giggling to themselves, “girls”. The braver of the bunch will occasionally work up the courage to approach.

I once spent 30-45 minutes talking to a guy I like to refer to as Colostomy Bag Ron. Don’t ask. Ron regaled me with stories of his mighty character in some role-playing game he was involved in. Dirk the Daring, the amazingly handsome, chivalrous, incredibly strong knight did many an amazing thing – stormed castles, saved damsels and made me want to poke my eyes out, choke on my own tongue, slash my wrists with the soft edges of my purse. “… and can you believe, the party just had to disbelieve in the chasm and it would have gone away? HAHAHAHAH!” No. I also couldn’t believe that I wasn’t capable of making myself spontaneously combust.

Now mind you, the store’s clerks were now staring and laughing. It turns out, Colostomy Bag Ron had been kicked out of the stores numerous times for bugging females. He also had a habit of kissing hands something I’m glad he’d been broken of by the time he ran into me. They had rescued Kendra 15 minutes earlier, but since I knew them personally, they were standing back and laughing at me while I chanced shooting them nasty looks. With most male geeks, you can do this in their presence and they’re either completely oblivious to it or not particularly bothered.

A young boy approached hearing these “wonderful” tales and tried to work himself in the conversation. To him, it was like getting your mom’s attention. Colostomy Bag Ron shot down the kid’s stories. “Well, did you take into consideration that going through the sewers, you would have exposed yourself to many bacteria. Son, did you roll for…” He was actually competing with a 12 year old. Eventually, I broke free, hissed and spit at the store staff that were all in the throes of laughter and left. (Kendra, remind me again why you couldn’t come to my rescue? AHEM.)

Since then I almost always have Jay with me as a shield, but a few months ago I got approached again. This time it was because I was holding a Previews catalog. Previews has everything any geek could ever want from kitschy items, t-shirts, comics… if it’s geek, it’s in there. It’s a great catalog to keep by the toilet. No reason. Anyway, the guy who came up to me was a “reporter” for some obscure magazine. Obscure meaning I’ve never heard of it. He wanted to talk to me about comics and was just positive I would have something to say. Sadly for him, I wasn’t in the mood. He jotted down some of my information, whipped out a digital recorder and asked, “Do you read comics?” “No.” “Umm… why do you have a Previews catalog?” I batted my eyes and contorted my face so I resembled Amy Sedaris in “Strangers with Candy” and replied, “I like all the pretty pictures!” Click. The interview was over. Buh Bye. See, I typically just like to go to the stores and conventions just to absorb the geek vibe. I rarely want something from them. The shirts open those doors.

Of course, sometimes at the end of our excursions Jay will say “let’s go have lunch” and there I am, in the geekiest of shirts staring down someone named Tiffy whose cuter than a basket full of puppies and fuzzy yellow chicks. I groan and it makes me realize I seriously need to bring a change of clothes.

Deposed/Disposed Rule of Thumb

Mess Rule: Don't read anything I write before noon of any given day. In fact, don't read this for 5 more minutes.

SG:1

I mentioned yesterday that I have a “Stargate” t-shrt, which was a promotional shirt for the movie. The only reason I have the shirt is a friend of mine passed it down thinking, “It’s science fiction, Beth’s a nerd, I’ll give it to her!” True, I’m a huge nerd and if goaded can giggle and snort at the same time, a feat that takes some concentration on my part. However, just because I’m a nerd doesn’t mean I like all things nerdy. For example, Stargate. I hated the movie, I tried to watch the TV show and couldn’t take it, and the shirt… well, you have to wear something when you’re doing the laundry in most communities.

A lot of you have been sending me information about the upcoming series finale of SG:1. To you I say “YAY!” and “THANK GOD!” Maybe that time slot will now be open for a decent show to take its place. Oh, don’t you whine, you Lexx, Cleopatra 2525, and Farscape lovers. (Farscape… it had a MUPPET. Do you know what else had Muppets? Fraggle Rock. What other series featured an alien puppet? Alf.) It doesn’t follow that just because it has “science fiction” written in its description I am going to like it or that I have to watch it. There’s not some nerd mandate that says “to wear the nerd taped glasses, you must like EVERYTHING science fiction/fantasy”. If there is, I didn’t sign it so stop trying to sell it at my door or to my e-mail account.

Good science fiction/fantasy in my world: “Lord of the Rings” (the movies, outside of The Hobbit, the other books make me want to take a long nap), “Aliens”, “Terminator”, “The Fifth Element” and almost anything inspired by Phillip K. Dick. Bad science fiction/fantasy “Krull”, anything with Mark Singer, “Aeon Flux” and almost anything that says Star Trek. Although, it still holds a special place in my heart and I’ll watch it despite itself. I may even leap the desk to hug George Takei at the convention. I would also be remiss to leave out the last three Star Wars movies. Jar Jar – just another Muppet, albeit a digitally rendered one, in my world, but don’t you dis Yoda. That Muppet has chops.

Now I have been known to watch some bad science fiction/fantasy, but what seems to separate me from a lot of hardcore nerds is that I can recognize and admit they’re bad. Mutant X – bad, Beastmaster – bad, Buffy the Vampire Slayer – bad, and I’m sorry but the 4400 – BAD. Sure, I’ll watch them every time, but I’m not going to try and force them on anyone.

There were some shows I initially wouldn’t give a chance like Firefly. I’d seen Joss Whedon’s work with Buffy and Angel so the thought of watching a space western of his just sounded painful. I was completely wrong and was grateful that someone forced me to sit down and watch. The same was true for Battlestar Galactica. I was against a remake and against human looking cylons (what was wrong with the metal toasters with the red light?). I was wrong again, BSG is simply a fantastic show. Like Firefly, I can pop in one of my DVD’s of BSG and be in nerd-vana.

The way I feel about television shows and movies also applies to Science Fiction/Fantasy writing. I don’t care for the vast majority of it. I love a select handful of authors whose names begin with William Gibson. Of course, Terry Pratchett makes me laugh, but his whole Discworld series mocks fantasy writing and features characters like Cohen the Barbarian – an 80 year old, hunched over, decrepit hero who wears dentures but still manages to get the girls. There’s also a particularly vicious set of luggage made of sentient pear wood that has hundreds of feet and likes to attack people. The bulk of Fantasy stories seem to be a retread where the deposed would-be leader returns to power after much hardship and having confronted his over-the-top evil uncle, brother, cousin, etc. It’s a romance novel wrapped in a Conan cover.

What I’m trying to say, and am taking the long way around, is simply – I don’t care that SG:1 won’t be making any more new shows. Good riddance. Oh, and something about how you shouldn’t pigeon hole my tastes because I’m a nerd who occasionally goes to Science Fiction conventions, blah, blah, blah.

Dragon Con 2006

I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that I will never be cool. Try as I might, I’ll never be a Kerouac clone and no one will ever read On the Road with Beth unless I threaten my friends, prop their eyelids open with toothpicks and hold their pets hostage. Of course, when they say, “oh yes Beth, that is great – worthy of publishing – can I please have Mittens back?” It will all sound empty and forced and some of them will doubtlessly call law enforcement.

I cope with my un-coolness daily. Every time I start humming the Peter Gunn theme while trying to obtain an objective. Every time I direct my friends with a “stay on target, stay on target” and they refer to me as “red leader”. From my jeans to my t-shirts with things like “w00t!” “Stargate”, “Enterprise” and “Kabuki” emblazoned on them to our sword collection and tribute to action figures at home. Don’t make fun of my Arwen sword!

So what if I know which dice to roll while trying to breach the throne room and avoid the booby traps? So what if I am feared by many a 15 year old boy in on-line FPS’ (first person shooters) despite my Pong background shortcomings? I’m a geek! I figure, why not surrender myself to it since there’s no chance that I’ll be cool in this lifetime. (In the next one, Lori and I have plans on being twin Brazilian super models that also happen to be brilliant, world-renowned physicists. Lori, I’m holding you to this plan.)

With that huge confession, as if a confession needed to be made, let me say I’m super excited about my upcoming trip to Atlanta. Jay and I are going to Dragon Con (www.dragoncon.org - not too late to get tickets) next week. I can’t wait to see the costumes, the speakers, and my favorite room, the autograph room where they corral psuedo-celebrities and force them to sign things and listen to geeks like me drool out our appreciation. Tops on my celebrity list are (and I’m going to go with character name): Firefly’s Wash and Jayne, Star Trek’s Sulu, Battlestar Galactica’s original Apollo/Tom Zarek, Chief Tyrol and Baltar and of course, Hercules’ Hercules because how can you not love the king of cheesy Fantasy/SciFi, Kevin Sorbo? Of course, the people I’m not quite sure how they scored an invitation: Happy Days’ Joanie, Ralph Malph and Pottsy (Pottsie?) and Mickey Rooney. Mind you, I love Mickey and plan to drop by and get an autograph for Mom. I’m just not sure why Mickey is there.

I love that room in particular because it’s surreal to see all of these people you’re used to seeing on TV or in a movie in person that you’re also only used to seeing them as their characters – not these real people who have a penchant for giggling (a lot of the young females stars) and donuts. Some of the people who surprised me were Lou Ferrigno (The Incredible Hulk) he’s a well-built (as you’d expect) LITTLE guy. Trip from Star Trek’s Enterprise (did anyone watch that show?) was very thin and a poster boy for why heroine is bad for you. (Ok, ok, I have no proof but the man looked like living hell – a far cry from the charming, good looking chief engineer from Enterprise. Mind you he was still good looking, but in that “psst, meet me in the alleyway, I hate all Star Trek fans kind of way”). One of the gals from “Too Close for Comfort” was there and I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around that. And then there was the creepy looking guy from “The Hills Have Eyes” that looked exactly the same in person and I couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t being led around on a chain by a big brute handler. In fact, when he was in front of us at the Dairy Queen chatting away with fans, having a grand time, I still had an impulse to bolt out of the building. (I don’t do well with horror movies.)

I love the people watching. It’s amazing how many people come together dressed in elaborate costumes and to top it off, several of them coordinate their looks. You’ll see the entirety of The Lord of the Rings (including the Ents), the cast of Star Wars (honey bun Leias and Jabba Bimbo Leias), and characters from some real obscure Science Fiction shows that had me taking pictures just to take home and say “ok Jay, this character looks familiar, who is it?”

In fact, if you want to see some of the pictures from last year I’ve posted them here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/bigbluemess/ (blame Anna that I have an account)
It’s just a few shots that help me realize that my digital camera and I are not friends. Jay suggested I actually read the manual. Hah! The pictures are from the Con and Zoo Atlanta (sorry, but the panda pictures didn’t turn out well).

Needless to say, I’m excited and can’t wait to be there and immerse myself in geekiness surrounded by fellow geeks.

… and one more thing, a bit of geek truthiness - Stephen Colbert is just as hot as Brad Pitt. I stand by that.

Notes

Anna & Jonathan have teamed up for a new approach to movie reviews. Visit their link to hear the latest from the car.
http://www.bigbluemess.com/blogs/reviews/

Also, for a good read visit:
http://dotopotamus.blogspot.com

Lori has been working away on her own site and has some magnificent entries about her adventures/mis-adventures in Yugoslavia. Be sure to start at the beginning and work your way through.

Hurry! Because I'm certain Lori is going to shoot me for adding this link.

Why? Answered!

From Beth (although, I like to think of her as Tikki):

OK, I was saving this for the next time I can't come into work, but I suppose you can use it to:

Because, while driving to _________ I hit an octopus and had to wait several hours before they could get a tow truck.

(Well now, I've just wiggled you into another "why" - "why were there octopi in the road?", so I'll give the excuse for that one too)

I imagine they were with the penguins.

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,207545,00.html

April had one, too that went into my nasty meth habit that I was driven to (I might have the habit wrong - so many habits, so very few brain cells)

Don't forget, it's never too late to submit your answer to "Why?"

The Way They Are

A gal came up to me last week and confessed. She had enough of some guy the week before and she let him have it, which is pretty atypical of her. She’s a walking, living, breathing doormat when it comes to men. She wanted to let me know because I am not a huge fan of the feller and this was a long time coming. I cheered as she spilled the details of how he’d said one thing and she’d strategically countered with a barbed sentence or two, then he’d said another and she slapped him down verbally. It was a beautiful story. I was so proud of her that I nearly had to break out the Kleenex because this is not the kind of gal that has it in her self to stand up to anyone. Sure, she gets mad about being taken advantage of, but it doesn’t go beyond the occasional low grumblings and general unhappiness. As I was saying my, “good for you’s” and “atta girl’s” her face lost its liveliness and she uttered a sentence that still makes me twitch, “Well Beth, you don’t understand, that’s just the way he is.” In that sentence she had undone all the progress she made. She turned the villain of her story into someone who should be understood and accepted for their quirks and asking that I be sympathetic.

As most stories do, I was reminded of another story. When I worked for PBS one of the people I worked with had cystic fibrosis. It’s a horrible disease that usually takes people before they reach the age of 20. This girl was luckier than most and has survived to 40; she’s one of the oldest people with cystic fibrosis. She also happens to be one of the nastiest people I know. Although she’s hysterical on occasion, she’s truly a vile individual. I remember we all went out to a local festival along with her mother and some friends. Her mother was enjoying one of those large turkey legs and was making happy noises about when this girl erupted, “SHUT UP, MAMA! Ain’t nobody care whether you like that drumstick!” Alrighty. In fact the rest of the afternoon we all got showered with a string of, “SHUT UP, MAMA!” and “ain’t nobody care…” I had enough and my small group left them there. We luckily enjoyed the same tirades at her mother’s birthday and at every other occasion where we got to be around both of them. I was appalled and told this girl’s close friend who said, “you know that’s just the way she is around her mother. Her mother isn’t very educated and says dumb things.” Well, Lord help us, something dumb was said – no one has ever done THAT before.

A classic example of this gal’s behavior was at PBS. One of the staff used the company Suburban to pick up a donated piece of art. The Suburban was old and the back window wouldn’t stay up when you were trying to unload items. Unfortunately, the person unloading the art wasn’t familiar with all the quirks of the back end of the vehicle so when she went to get the item, the window slammed down causing her to drop the art. The glass frame came apart and the pane of glass crashed down on her foot slicing it open severing several tendons. I was horrified. The gal with the mama wasn’t. In fact, she chewed her out for being an idiot and then chewed out her boss just in case the newly disabled girl didn’t quite catch on that she was an idiot. This was her fault. She deserved it and shouldn’t get workman’s comp was this gal’s battle cry. Again, I was appalled, again I complained to this gal’s friend and this time he said, “Beth, that’s just the way she is. You know she’s dying.” Oh, I see. You can be a complete asshole if you’re dying.

See, I just don’t accept “that’s just the way they are” as an excuse. I don’t see it as some blank check that allows you to run roughshod over other people. Sure, I don’t like people to talk to me unless I’ve been awake 2-3 hours. That’s just the way I am. I don’t like my telephone to ring. That’s just the way I am. I can make a sailor blush. Again, that’s how I am. However, I can still manage to function without frothing at the mouth if there’s a kink in the pattern of my daily routine and it’s amazing, I can even keep a reasonably civil tongue. No one gets a big slap upside the head of Beth if they hand me a Coke instead of a Dr. Pepper. And “That’s just the way I am” isn’t my personal crutch my friends let me lean on when I don’t get my way.

“That’s just the way (s)he is” seems to excuse a lack of adaptability. Sure, there are quirks that it can explain away, but we don’t say “Jeffrey Dahmer likes preparing his own human snacks and storing them in the fridge. C’mon guys, that’s just the way he is.” That phrase seems to be whipped out whenever someone is being a complete ass and their personal champion is begging that the way you are doesn’t rear its ugly head in the hopes that you don’t lash out at the offender. Trust me, they usually have it coming so your part is to get out of the way and stop making excuses.

Be the way you are but with the realization that you aren’t the center of everyone’s universe despite what your misguided mama taught you. Surprise, there are other people here, too! I’m not suggesting you lose your identity. By all means, dance naked in virgin moonbeams if the mood strikes you, but don’t dance naked in my yard in broad daylight because that’s the way you are. I’m not going to make up a clever excuse for you when one of the Julie’s “handles” the situation.

Accountability

I was listening to NPR yesterday morning on my drive to work and one of the headlines briefly touched upon had to do with professional wrestling – specifically that girls who tended to watch it were more likely to take it seriously and re-enact what they were seeing. Well, that’s what I got from it, but I admit to my brain almost immediately shut down while loudly singing Mary Had a Little Lamb followed by a la-la-la-I’m-not-listening-to-you chorus (if you’re Anna, you cover your eyes and not your ears for this, but that’s an inside joke). It was a defense mechanism to protect my brain from idiotic research produced by people short on mice and desperately in need of a dissertation topic. Later on I was reading MSNBC looking for the latest cheery news about Hezbollah and the headline “Raunchy Song Lyrics Can Prompt Early Teen Sex” leapt out at me instead.

I was reminded of the documentary “Dream Deceivers” that came out in 1992, which told the tale of two Nevada teens who attempted suicide after receiving the subliminal message “do it, do it” from a Judas Priest album. Who knew “it” was really code for “commit suicide” and not “join the Peace Corps”. Armed with that knowledge, I think we should now cast a wary eye towards Nike and their “Just Do It” mass genocide campaign. Doesn’t it make you wonder what exactly it is that your IT department is up to? That’s a capital “IT” in case your naïve eye didn’t catch on. Are these truly harmless, anti-social misfits? HAH! I contend they are modern day technical jihadists who will readily sacrifice you on the altar of indirect answers for a barely noticeable bump in speed to their CPU. Try to overclock that chipper!

About the only thing I’ve even been tempted to do after viewing a movie or hearing a song was to leap off the jungle gym holding an umbrella at the ripe old age of 6. Hey, it worked for Mary Poppins! That was the same day I learned one of my first lessons about physics, wind drag and umbrellas. My parents were able to keep a level head and didn’t seek damages against Disney or Julie Andrews. There was another embarrassing incident involving vitamins, being told I’d be stronger and thinking that I should slam back a couple of those before carrying on with my fist fight. I learned a valuable lesson about which pharmaceuticals won’t help you in those situations of course, later I learned which would.

I guess I’m getting a little tired of these types of headlines. I’m tired of hearing society make excuses for people’s behavior and pointing a nasty finger at the entertainment industry. Sure, I believe that the entertainment industry can have an impact and influence a society socially and politically, but I see it having a broader impact and not singling out troubled teenagers with the message, “y’know, today would be a good day to grab up the family’s shotgun, head down to the park and see what you can do about redecorating the playscape with your gray mater.”

Of course, I’m coming from the viewpoint that Nancy Griffiths “Making Pies” has never inspired me to bake, Iron Chef has never made me want to go to Kitchen Stadium, slap down a turtle and challenge Morimoto, or take the blue pill to see if I can jump up in the air and freeze in place. About the only thing a movie has convinced me of is that bad things live under your bed or in your closet and my next door neighbors are all part of a relocation program, sexual deviates and serial killers. I mean c’mon, what are the chances that 50 people named Julie live in one neighborhood? That’s an exact figure, honest! John Nash helped me arrive at that figure.

I guess I want people to take credit or blame for things – to own up to them if they did them and not say “well, Michael Eisner said I should… not directly… but he implied it Aladdin. Can I have my magic lamp back?”

In the future I’ll hit on my other excuse peeve, the phrase “that’s just the way he is".

I Don't Know Why: The Contest

My mother has always been the curious sort - the type of person who wants to really understand what's going on around her. She's especially interested in people's motivations.

If you've spent any time around my Mom you've likely been asked, "Why?" "Why did that happen?" "Why did they say that?" "Why did you do that?" Of the 5 W's "Why?" is her absolute favorite. Now as her daughter I get asked "Why?" a lot. My "why's" typically have to do with the past preferably something that happened 25-30 years ago - back when I relied more heavily on my primitive brain functions. You know, back when your synapses were barely making links and they were lucky to send messages like breathe, sleep, eat, throw something at that Richard kid next door - c'mon, you know you like him, nothing says love like a rock, and don't drag your knuckles, try to walk upright, stop drooling - simple commands.

To be quite honest, I've run out of answers as to "why" I might have done something and here's where I really need your help. I need you to channel your inner 5-10 year old Beth and write an excuse. Why did you do whatever it is you (posing as me) did. Not only will I post my favorites, but I'll honor you by using your excuse the next time I'm questioned.

Aim for humor and keep it clean. (That means you, Lynn.) If you don't have a real address for me, you can send your answers to june at bigbluemess dot com.

I look forward to reading them - don't ask me why (insert obligatory rimshot).

Depth

I’ve been stumbling down memory lane lately thanks to the reunion, recently having lunch with my 4th grade teacher and trying to empty out boxes from the move. A few of the boxes haven’t been cracked open in years. In the process of sifting through the mess tossing Xeroxed pages of Encyclopedia Brittanica entries on falcons and years worth of German homework I found some of my college blue books, my high school transcript and a list of my national achievement scores along with a book called Autographs which had you fill-in-the-blanks.

I started with the Autographs book because it seemed harmless enough. I learned that I thought “Firebirds” were the neatest cars because “they are neat”. My favorite sports team was the Dallas Cowboys and I really enjoyed “the time they won.” (That doesn’t say much about the Cowboys season that year.) I even put in an area called “Special notes about me:” that “I can write.” I’m not sure if I was trying to say I had the capability or that I actually thought I had some talent. There were some bits about friends and crushes and I managed to fill those in with my own brand of brilliant logic: My friend “Tammy” likes “Marco”. I know because “she said so.” Well, there you have it. I picked this little gem up, showed it to Jay and just laughed then I moved on to my blue books.

The couple of blue books I had came from my political science class on Western Political Thought – basically Western philosophy. I scanned the first one; it was bad and then I looked at my professor’s remarks (the professor I worshiped, the professor whose teachings made it all clear that I should be in political science) and it read, “… your answer lacks depth…” Oh. I opened the next blue book, flipped to his comments and read again “…your answer lacks depth…” and then I sat there stunned. My whole college career was obviously one big mistake. All the problems in my life come from this tremendous character flaw that no one told me about and were obviously having a good chuckle about behind my back. My college professor was the only one with the courage to reach out through the decades and confront me.

Suddenly the Autographs book seemed less humorous and only provided further proof of my weakness. The transcripts where my English classes only rivaled my PE classes for poorest grade, the achievement tests where I didn’t score the perfect score – in fact, the whole foul little box was one blazing neon sign screaming “you have no depth.” I looked back in at it and sat stunned. Among the treasures were my college creative writing papers. I re-read those and re-read those of my fellow classmates (part of the class involved editing their writing). What they wrote far surpassed what I wrote and it taunted me.

I began to brood, which drew Jay’s attention, “what’s wrong?” “Nothing.” He frowned at me and asked again, “what’s wrong?” “I lack depth.” “What does that mean?” Well, I obviously can’t answer that question because of this whole shallow thing I’ve got going on. “It means, that this is why I’m a failure.” Try as I might, I couldn’t convince him that this box was the big fortune cookie, my life’s Magic 8 ball that when questioned came back and said, “You lack depth.” This box said that Terry Gross, the host of Fresh Air on NPR was never going to call me up and try to solicit my opinions. This box said I was destined to be a low level clerk. This box did not say that sometimes I didn’t like to do my reading in college or that not all professor’s are fooled by lame attempts to conceal the fact that you didn’t do the reading. This box was my albatross demanding that I travel the world telling my story in an attempt to redeem myself in the hopes of finding deeper waters.

Sometimes a box is not just a box.

Anyway, my 10 readers, that’s what I’m thinking about this week. I’m sure some bright shiny object will distract me and lull me back to that oblivious state I’ve enjoyed for years. I hate it when my brain wakes up to destabilize my goofy existence.