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 |  Nothing like a fortune cookie to make a year intriguing. |
  Many thanks to kiyasama for the lovely image gracing this blog! A huge thank you to GabriellaR45  for the shiny yellow awardicon to bring the new year!It was a simple crack of an ancient fortune cookie that sparked the courage to keep writing on the eve of the new year. This is a test to see what a tiny slip of white paper can do for someone who was ready to hand in the towel, allowing every self-doubt and negative thought to take control. May this mark a beginning; a fresh start for the potential of something messy, dented around the edges, and absolutely all mine. Here's to blogging in 2011 (and 2012).   |
"Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all." - Emily Dickinson Currently listening to: "Bohemian Rhapsody" - Queen Currently reading: "Side Jobs: Stories from the Dresden Files" - Jim Butcher Just call me Snicklefritz. My mother does. Granted, I'm not the only one she calls that. It was one of those nicknames as I kid when she felt like being cheeky and wanted what ever was happening to go over my head. I always felt special by the name, though. Kind of like being called princess without the frill. She called me Snicklefritz this morning after at least a decade absence of being named such. I felt five again, in a good way. There were big smiles and dreams of ponies and days where I thought tutus and cowboy boots looked pretty together. Suddenly, it became my word-of-the-day. Soon everyone I knew was Snicklefritz: my parents (mom - amused, father - annoyed), my guy (extremely amused), my friends (confused as all hell), random people on the street (ranging from tickled pink to downright hostile). Even my doctor who thought it was a hoot. Here's a thing: I have no idea what it means. After the day was almost complete I finally got the bright idea to look up the word. Here is what I found using the Urban Dictionary. Snicklefritz was originally used in Pennsylvania Dutch Country, where Snicklefritz is an affectionate name for a mischievous or overly talkative child. "Schnickelfritz" was the name of a somewhat popular comedy band in the 1930s In 1953 Billy Wilder both directed and co-wrote the Oscar winning war drama "Stalag 17" About a WWII PoW accused of being an informant within the camp. One scene in the film involves the PoWs betting on mouse races for cigarettes. one race involves two mice named Snicklefritz and Equipoise. Snicklefritz loses to Equipoise when it stops to chase its tail during the race. From 1992-2006 a Canadian children's television series called "The Big Comfy Couch" about Loonette the Clown and her doll Molly, who solve everyday problems on their 'Big Comfy Couch'. In the Show, Snicklefritz is the character Granny Garbanzo's scallywag cat. The 2008 Comedy "Pineapple Express solidified a whole new definition of the word within the Marijuana Subculture. Snicklefritz is referred to in the movie as a very low grade of marijuana. This exact translation has weaved seamlessly throughout the subculture's dialog as to still be used to designate the lowest grades of marijuana or any random strain. This is widely accepted throughout the U.S. as the most common and popular definition of the word. So there ya go. Word-of-the-day. I dare you to try it out...Snicklefritz.  |
"Of all the things I've lost I miss my mind the most." ~ Mark Twain Currently listening to: "I Can See Your Tracks" - Laura Veirs Currently reading: "Indulgence in Death" - J.D. Robb Out of everything that has happened over the past week, I've been trying to keep my mind from going to those dark places. You know, those places where there's nothing but the deepest, most abysmal thoughts of circumstances that are completely out of your control. I've been there a few times...not a place you want to stick around in. So, in cases such as this I turn to things that entirely unnecessary except for the entertaining/hilarity factor. Here are a few places that I visit on this wide web of internet to help pass the time.  I found this website a couple of years back, courtesy of my doctor father. This forum is a place for doctors to complain about unruly patients with insane medical conditions. We're talking about sticking things in places where things should not be placed. We're talking about behavior one would think would be common sense not to do, but they do it anyway because common sense is not something in their vocabulary. Having grown up with such stories told at the dinner table (FYI - intestinal parasites on spaghetti night is not a good idea) it is somehow comforting to hear doctors and nurses bitch. Next is a video game trailer that makes me giddy. I got this from an Ireland trip friend on Facebook. If you knew in person, you would understand why this is such a hilarious video. I'm a very literal person. There are stories, which I won't torture you with, but I take to a level that's a little scary. Anywhoozle, the video below is a literal translation of Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood. Never played the game. Not sure I want to now that I have these audio memories to go along with it. It has spawned two catch-phrases I try to use on a regular basis. I've passed it along to friends across the country and into Canada. It'll go global. World domination is in my sights. Another site I like to visit on a regular basis is a place called Overthinking It. This is a time-suck website where you can get lost in things like "The Neuroscience of Consciousness in Battlestar: Galactica" or "Why Pillars of the Earth should have been a medieval The Wire, and wasn't". Where, at one time, you thought you were only one thinking about these things, now there is a place where other like-minded people have lengthy conversations about why something doesn't live up to its potential, or the awesomeness of something that hasn't reached the mainstream, or how something that might, just might, have a latent underlining of racism/sexism/elitism/something-ism and here are forty-one reasons why someone else thinks this. It's geeky, kooky, and slightly out there. Love it, love it, love it. Where do you go to get lost on the net? Is there a place out there that you find funky but can't live without? Please, come and share.  |
"The healthiest response to life is joy." - Deepak Chopra Currently listening to: "After All" - Bebel Gilberto Currently reading: "Fantasy in Death" by: J.D. Robb It's funny but I've found that Ireland is never really far from my heart nowadays. The 3 o'clock in the morning walks with my less than sober friends down the empty streets of Belfast; the open green fields and smell of fresh rain as we drive by. Everywhere I go, I find something to trigger memories of the wonderful moments. Today was no different. Searching through my messenger bag I found a small silver piece - a five pence left over from Ireland. The sight of it in my palm made me smile. I have a vast collection of coins from the trip, kept in a small ceramic cup I made forever and a moon ago. Having the five pence in hand made me forget everything I was doing and just think back to those times. Those glorious, anxious times. Maybe it was the timing or simply a twist of fate, but I found my thoughts going to my grandfather. His health has taken a decline for the worst, and my grandmother follows close behind. It is amazing to see how in sync they are with each other, and it is harrowing how frail he has become. Sitting in the kitchen with them, the television blaring some horrible news from around the world, I see him staring off into the distance and I cannot help but wonder what he's thinking. Does he have any regrets? Does he go back to the good memories like I do with my six pence? Does he wish he had just a little while longer before the curtain are drawn on his mind? They call it "The Long Goodbye". It seems more like a fading smile than any goodbye we have spoken to one another. What chills the bone and calms the soul is that he knows what is to come. My grandfather with a mind of brilliance and optimism and charm is slowly fading like that smile. We suspect the cancer has come back or something is wrong with his heart again. Nothing is certain but everything is frightful. It makes me hold onto that five pence a little bit tighter. By the time my thoughts have circled back to reality, I've lost thirty or so minutes of time. Time that will not return. Was it worth? Will it be worth it again, these flights of memory and sorrow and long goodbyes? This I cannot answer, but I stick the five pence in my jean pocket all the same. |
"I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work." ~Thomas Edison Currently listening to: "Progeny" - Lisa Gerrard Currently reading: "Poison Eaters: and Other Stories" by: Holly Black ...better known as "The Day That Could Not Be Crashed". Today I attempted to crash a couple of classes. This was a failure of epic proportions on my part. However, like any good tale, I'll start at the beginning. This last Friday I emailed a few professors to see if I could petition into their full classes. Sometimes this cuts out rising early in the morning and attending a class you have no hope of getting into. Sometimes you get in without even trying simply for asking the question. And sometimes, if the college gods are looking down favorably at you, this greases the wheels when you do go to that crack-of-dawn class because it shows you were trying. Not so much today. The first morning class I couldn't make it to because of transportation reasons. However, in great hubris, I thought I could get into the same course on a different day. More on that later. Rearranging my schedule, I met with my Anthropology professor I went to Ireland with to discuss getting credit for my work there. I had taken the prescribed course already and was hoping to earn my units elsewhere. Unfortunately, after making a very large goof that cost me twenty minutes of wait time and my dignity, he very kindly told me this wasn't going to happen. I did, however, get a letter of recommendation. Not all bad. Now I have the same focus as a Saturday basketball player looking for a pick-up game. I need a class to replace the three units I was just denied. After depositing my tuition check in the bank (really nice feeling, that check in the bank). I head home and jump on my laptop, chattering at my mom about how I'm going to find a magic class to replace those credits. I'm trying to be optimistic. This is not my usual attitude. This is my fallback position. Understandably, I suck at this as noted by the email response I got from one professor I was banking on to get me into aforementioned psychology class. It was a no go. There was no room to squeak by in, and the waiting list is a foot long. Damn it. The focus is now on two pick-up classes. Two classes I need to get me closer to transfer. Two classes where I fill that hole of being declared a full-time students. Two classes that aren't filled to the brim. That means more crashing, more juggling around of a schedule that is as jumbled as a jig-saw puzzle. I can do this. Maybe. Like I said, I suck at being upbeat. Trying to keep bright though. I won two days in the "15 for 15 Contest --- Closed"  . Yay! The grammar I put forth in this blog is pretty scary. Imagine reading my work done in a fifteen-minute scramble to a picture prompt. Not pretty. But if you feel like looking at train wrecks, feel free to read my entries - "Beat The Clock." . Shameless plug, I know, but you can do that on your own blog, right? Right?! Never mind.My goal is to try to enter in one competition a month. "15 for 15 Contest --- Closed" was my January entry. I'm spying "Short Shots: Official WDC Contest" or possibly a couple of others for this month. If I can keep up the pace I'll be thrilled. If I win, I'll be ecstatic. Beat that with a stick, un-crashable classes. |
"Sometimes we will fall, from the light But it shines on us tonight And together we will rise" - Glen Hansard Currently listening to: "Rise" - The Frames Currently reading: "The Queen of Attolia" by: Megan Whalen Turner It started with a jar of coconut curry. No, if I really thought about it, the culmination of the day started the restlessness that started the moment I woke up this morning. It is hard to explain other than the feeling that something unimaginable has crawled under your skin, and the only way to make it go away is to move. Even with that, there was really nothing to do. The laundry was finished. The mail was taken care of. The chores were finished. Anything within walking that might be amusing was closed. Anyone who want to do anything was attending class. I was a girl dressed up (sort of) with no where to go. Then an idea struck me and festered in my brain. I could walk to the Target and get something for dinner. There were things in the refrigerator that could be eaten, but it gave me the excuse to get out of the apartment. Mind you, night had already fallen. This freaked my mom out a bit. Not that anything would happen. Not that I couldn't defend myself. I just couldn't think about anything other than getting gone. I get to Target after walking up the large hill, vastly relieved. (Later, after thinking rationally again, would come to realize I didn't need a destination, I could have strolled anywhere. But having a plan makes me feel like less of a lunatic.) There's a cart at the entrance. I see this as a sign. I stroll through the newly built grocery section and select my prey items - Tomato Basil soup, some lunch meat and bread for a sandwich, applesauce for reasons passing understanding - when I see an "on sale" sign posted under the coconut curry. The possibilities of what I could do with this are astounding. I grab a bottle and roll along. Then, I get a call on my cell, scaring me out of my hide, making me bump the cart. A crash ensues. I flinch. There is now aromatic orange goo floor sandwiched between the yogurt and frozen chicken fingers aisle. My face was probably the same shade as my soup. It is sufficient to say I wasn't the happiest when I answered the phone. Now, as I type this out, I keep thinking of West Wing. Who doesn't? *Crickets chirping* Okay, maybe it's just me. Anyway, there's an episode in the first season where the president is tagged by the press because of a golf joke, in which the Ryder Cup team decides not to attend a White House function. After staff discussion about how to prevent such things in the future, led by the press secretary C.J. Cregg, the president states tells her not to worry so much, stating her tombstone will state "Post hoc, ergo propter hoc." - "After this, therefore because of this". There's a discussion on the fallacy that one thing following another is the result of the first occurrence. This was all a way of stating that he didn't lose the Ryder Cup because of the joke. He lost their approval because when learned to speak Latin. That little show a geek bravado (another line stolen from West Wing) was to state that I don't think I dropped the jar of coconut curry because my phone rang. I dropped the jar the moment I woke up this morning. Some days it doesn't pay to get out of bed. |
"Salvation, like car keys, is found where and when you least expect it." ~Anon~ Currently listening to: "Running in the Deep" - Adele Currently reading: "Altar of Eden" by James Rollins Well, I'm at it again. Maybe not fully at it, but I've gathered enough of me to write the introduction to this new blog...about three weeks late. Wonderful start, don't you think? The past few weeks have been crazy. I'll be adding to that crazy soon as most of my classes begin on Monday! Nothing but good times ahead, I'm sure. If you read my last blog, not that you would have, but on the off chance that you did, you would have noticed I kind of disappeared right before I left for Northern Ireland. No, I didn't stay. Though, there are times where I think a part of me is still there. It's a beautiful place full of rolling green hills, old cathedrals turned into convenience stores, a tragic history covered in gallows humor, and some of the nicest, nuttiest people you will ever meet in the world. One of my most peaceful moments in life was walking down the streets of Belfast after seeing a movie, picking up a decent burrito from a little Mexican cafe, right after a five minute storm. To do a brief recap: there were miles of walking, enough pound pizza to make your stomach rot, being the only person around while a professor had a heart attack, bi-polar weather, romantic shenanigans (not mine own, which made it amusing to watch), exploration into the world of alcohol (I, seemingly, can't get drunk), getting lost a few times, becoming a regular at a pub called Fibber Magees, stood on the edge of one Earth's mightiest place (Giant's Causeway), earned a couple of nicknames, danced a few gigs, fell in love with a sandwich, visited one of the most beautiful college campuses in the world, and made a few friends that'll probably stick around until the end. Coming home was a realization. People tell you that trips like Belfast change your life - it did. I didn't feel it at first, didn't feel anything different. It was the feedback of others that really got me to think about how things had changed. I went a bit nutty there when I got back. It was like trying to fit a round block into a small, triangular hole. My life as it was didn't fit the person I had become. It took a while, almost failing a semester in college and many sleepless nights tearing out my hair, before I was able to find my feet again. Granted, "finding my feet" was about two weeks ago. The beautiful thing about the entire experience was how my family reacted. My mom, one of the most brilliant, compassionate people in the world, held on with only the will of a mother can. It was rocky. It was disastrous at times. However, we realized in the end that we were changing together. Mighty experience, I'll tell you. My guy and I went through some rocky times. I came home to a mess within my family. He was going through the same thing. We tried to come together, had three weeks of loveliness that I wouldn't change for the world, time to just hold each other and be a real-live couple, instead of two long-distance people yearning for more. It didn't end in the most happily of endings...yet we survived. Against the odds, that's us. He's my best friend. It's amazing what you can accomplish if you remember the reason why you're together in the first place. Every time I think about it, I can't help but smile. So...what does all of my blabbering mean? There's more to write and more to say. So much has changed since becoming a member on WDC. For better or for worst, I've been able to vent in this place of friends and fellow writers. WDC gave me a virtual home to feel accepted when I didn't think that was possible. Now, almost three years later, things have changed. I have changed. It only seemed fitting to chronicle my continuing misadventures here. Here's an idea of what's to come... I have a couple more semesters before I hopefully transfer into a four-year university. Scramble time. There's an out-of-state move in the works for the beginning of June. New state, new shenanigans. I'm currently trying to write a novel made completely of short stories. (I stole the idea after reading Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven. Thanks Sherman Alexie!) I'm also making many train commutes to my father's and grandparent's over the next few months. Leaving is never easy. Neither is watching the people you love go through Alzheimer's. I hope to come to grips with both over the course of the next year, all while trying to stay moderately sane. So, in closing, if this your first time here - welcome. If you've been here before - nice to see you again. And to all, although rather late, Happy New Year. |
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