I could never be on a reality show that focused on any kind of competition because my family would never make and sport cutesy t-shirts like "Marcy Rocks!" or "Team Marcy!"...

Sad but true.


"Be ashamed to die until you have won some victory for humanity." - Horace Mann

As I sit bleary eyed in front of my computer screen, attempting to write a tidy, yet impressive, 1,000 word summation of my life and times, I am reminded of the aforementioned Mann quote. And then, subsequently, reminded that I am screwed.

First some context.

I suppose it's only right that a Graduate School essay be hard. A little intellectual curve-ball right out of the gate to set the tone for your next two years and weed out those easily spooked by a little cognitive strain. But there is a difference between challenging and unreasonable, and BU is tilting towards the latter.

Write a narrative about your life. This should include information about your accomplishments, family, education experience, and outside activities. Be creative rather than philosophical. Remember you are writing for a reader who knows nothing about you or your background.

Well...damn. As an English major I have grown amazingly dependent on focus of thesis. My papers have connections, overarching themes, and most of all, a uniform point. But what the fine (if not devious) people at BU admissions are asking me to do is scatter-shot my essay - Something I paid a large tuition bill to learn how not to do.

It doesn't help matters that it's an essay on my life, which is about as exciting as
calculating a Fibonacci series (as in NOT at ALL). Right now my bio reads as such:

I was born at a young age and will presumably die at an older. In the middle I did some stuff, most of which is not noteworthy. Except, of course, for the time I met Whoopi Goldberg and high-fived her. In conclusion, buy American.

Hardly edge-of-you-seat material. I've got no monkey on my back. Fought zero odds. My arsenal of anecdotes - which is fine for parties - hardly rates on the collegiate-scale. I'm actually tempted to take up a vice, simply so I can overcome it.

So if anyone has any advice or ideas, or is willing to threaten my life and livelihood in some way (like with, say, a bat) so that I can turn it into an epic tale of bravery and ingenuity - aid away.

In the meantime, I'll just be taking inventory of my hum drum life.


Better than a quaalude.
  • Current Music
    Dance Hall Crashers

Target: Epicenter of White Supremacy?

I hung out with Zim today - we went to the mall to finish X-mas shopping and then went to see Walk the Line (which I highly reccomend). But I wouldn't be updating this here Livejournal if something random and jarring hadn't happened. It went as such:

Zim and I were walking around the Target, browsing the kitchen appliance aisle as I regaled her with the story of my brother's car accident the night before - the 3rd in the past two years. So, I'm going on and on about how he claimed it was black ice - just like the last two - and how my dad thinks that it must have been something more or he has the worst luck with black ice in the world (of automotive vehicles). So my narrative comes to a close, and I pick up a can opener and idly wonder if it would be a good stocking stuffer for my mom.

And then, a woman walks up to us.

Woman: Oh my God. I was listening to your story and I finally figured out what you said!
Me: Umm, huh?
Woman: I thought you were ranting on and on about black guys!
Me: Black ICE.
Woman: I know that now! But I was just standing over there thinking, "God! Lighten up about the black guys!". I'm from California.
Me: *awkward laugh* (Inner monologue: Why is she telling me she's from California? Is she implying that she's not used to racism because she's from a progressive state? But this is Massachusetts, not Kentucky. Is she suggesting that I have a thick accent? Because I really don't. Maybe she's contending that, being from California, she's never encountered black ice. Well that would only be true if she were from a southern most part....)
Woman: Yeah. Can you believe it?
Me (turning to Zim): Great! Now people at the Target think I'm a racist!

Here's what perplexes me most about this encounter. It's not so much that if the woman had really been listening to my story, she would have understood that in context "black guys" made no sense. My brother keeps hitting patches of black guys? No. The real puzzler was why she felt the need to inform me of her great discovery. Why she would be compelled to run over and tell me that she had finally Nancy Drew'd the clues, deciphered my (allegedy) thick accent, and come to the relieving conclusion that I was, in fact, not a member of the Klan.

Part of me also wonders what would have happened if she hadn't made that deductive leap. Would she have asked me to step outside? Called the NAACP on my ass? Gone home and cautioned the citizens of California about the evils lurking under the polite veneer of Massachusetts ("They say they're a blue state, but they're necks are all red!")?

It makes you think...

Incidentally, I probably could have taken her.
  • Current Music
    Escaping Flatland - Scamper

We Be Literati

Where's my Chris Kringle
And where are you on Christmas night
And most of all
Where the fuck are my presents?
- Letters to Cleo

Lis had her annual X-mas bash last night. Fun and paperbacks were had by all (except those lame-o's who opted out of the book swap portion of the evening - I'm looking at you, Sara.)

I've got 90% of my X-Mas shopping done - Friday was spent braving the holiday hustle and bustle to pick up some gifts at the mall. On a quasi-related note, what is it about Christmas-time that makes me want to steal? I mean, normally I am a law abiding citizen - 335 days of the year I harbor no inclination towards theft (Shoplifting is hardly a victimless crime - resulting in cost inflation). But there is something about tinsel and Bing Crosby pumped in stereo that makes stuffing things in my pockets such an attractive prospect. Maybe it's the fact that I'm flat broke. Maybe it's because I don't need to be a psychic to foresee credit card debt in my future. Maybe it's my eternal quest to 'stick it to the man'.

For the record, I've never stolen. But Christmas makes me feel like an AA member in a giant liquor cabinet.

Oh well. I'll just sit back, watch a little True Life, and sip my eggnog.
  • Current Music
    "Where the Fuck are my Presents? - Letters to Cleo

Shark Attack

"Everytime an old couple grinds, an angel gets its wings" - Me
"The true meaning of Christmas" - Kara

God bless Thanksgiving vacation. The Essex crew was all back in town (or, rather, the tri-city area) so the moonsharks reunited for some Gloucester bar fun. I picked up Lea and we met up with Kara, Linds and Jessie and hit the Blackburn. The rest of the clientele had a good 10 years on us, and the house band had designs on our eardrums, so we split for Jalepeno's where we were joined by Zim and Lis. From there we walked a frigid couple of blocks, courtesy of the cold snap, down to Cameron's.

Specifics are a blur, but one point stands out. Life is always better when the sharkies are together. With our powers combined, good times are had by all. It's kind of like the Planeteers without the mystical rings. Maybe we should look into those...

  • Current Music
    "Get Away" - Limp

Desperate Housepainters

I think my four years of higher education are slowly being eradicated by paint thinner. Customers' penchant for oil based paints and poor ventilation have conspired to make me a total headcase. Luckily the other day Lis and I were on spackle duty - and while tedious -it affords a nice break from the "hallucinations". In related news, Alyssa still can't hear the word 'caulk' without losing her shit.

I have a week left with one of my tutoring students. Apparently we had been spending a ton of time on expanded form when we should have been concentrating on division. Now to play uber-catch up, I have to work the day before Thanksgiving and the day after. Dag yo.

So my Scamper CD came in the mail yesterday. They were on FNX the other night - I called in, chatted with the band, and they sent me an autographed CD. They also included a little note. Awww - I heart you, Scamper.

Looking forward to Monday and the Leslie and the Ly's concert. If only I owned a gem sweater...
  • Current Music
    Mad Caddies