Words Underground

I have found a lucky bookstore. "Mac's Backs" in Cleveland Heights, Ohio. This used bookstore has a super fun upstairs, but unfortunately that is where the science fiction is housed, so after I've admired the architecture I usually head back downstairs. I've had more luck in the basement.

The first time I went to Mac's I found a hilariously sarcastic postcard involving a beauty pageant contestant. I can't remember what it said (Nick, do you remember? Or Jordan, if you're reading this, do you still have it? What did it say?). Something along the lines of "you're not that special." It was funny, I promise.

Anyway, the basement. I also found a book called Roommates by Max Apple that day in the basement of Mac's. (Interestingly enough, after I read it, I also sent that to Jordan to read). The basement is not carpeted, almost creepy but not quite, well lit, and surprisingly not as cold as it looks. The basement has most of the store's nonfiction, so clearly I hang out down there. Roommates is about Max Apple's grandfather, who lived to be something like 104 years old, and Max always lived with him; they were roommates when Max was a little boy, and after Max was married his grandfather still lived with him. It was a very touching story, and the part I remember the most was when Max chaperoned his daughter's Girl Scout field trip and took his grandfather along. Grandpa fell asleep on the bus ride home, and one of the Girl Scouts came up to Max and asked if his grandpa was really 100 years old. He told her he was, and she gave him a piece of paper with the instruction to please ask for his autograph when he woke up. My heart skips a beat every time I think of that. The precious enthrallment of the girl just crushes me.

I went back to Mac's this January when I was visiting Nick, and I made him, Emily, and Beth wait while I explored the basement. It was there that I found Girl Meets God, which I just finished today; I've been savoring it because I loved it so much. Girl Meets God is a memoir about the author, Lauren F. Winner, who grew up as a reform Jew in the south, converted to Orthodox Judaism in high school, and then while a student at Columbia University, converted to Christianity. I found such a story incredibly intriguing, and I loved everything that Lauren had to say. She's an unabashed intellectual, who, rather than being fickle as you might gather from all her conversions, is incredibly honest about her feelings, beliefs, and doubts. She's also insanely smart and even more insanely well read, a poster Scholar, and were it not for her open cynicism (which I so love in people, reminding me I'm not the only bitter person who's willing to admit it) I'd probably be pretty jealous of her academic resume. But she's somehow incredibly likeable, approachable.

Needless to say I look forward to my next visit to Mac's. I'm not superstitious, actually believing there is luck in its chambers, but I do plan on visiting that basement a few more times. Look at that, I've developed a tradition! A pilgrimage.

Forward Motion

I have officially received my first acceptance to a graduate journalism program.

!!!!

One of the top in the country, I might add, but I am not bragging (okay maybe a little bit), only in awe that I should be so blessed to be accepted.

To celebrate, the fam and I had pizza and beer, and we watched an episode of WKRP in Cincinnati. Significance? Little known fact: I was named after the character Bailey Quarters on the show, who just so happens to be a journalist herself. In tonight's particular episode Bailey was not present (Craig Ferguson quote: "I know!"), but Andy received mouth-to-mouth resuscitation atop Bailey's desk, so she was certainly not forgotten, and there were a couple good cameos of her name placard. As viewers we also took note of the rainbow sticker on Bailey's desk, and decided that perhaps I should adorn my own desk with a rainbow sticker. I wonder where Bailey was during this particular episode. Out on a very important assignment, no doubt.

Perhaps to get her Master's degree...

:)

Female seeking Androgynous Man

Annoyance of the day: big trucks. Not 18-wheelers, I'm actually okay with those and do not have anxiety when it comes to merging onto the interstate with them. No, I am talking about your everyday (stereotype): cowboy truck drivers in the greater Kansas City area. If memory serves correctly, a total of four trucks pissed me off today. One cut me off, another was flying around a corner in a parking lot and then gestured his irritation with me for being in his way.

Ugh.

If you are a male reading this who drives a truck or a Jeep, please present your individual case to me so that I can attempt not to judge, but for the most part, Jeeps and trucks are a huge turn off for me. Granted, I am seeking a sensitive man for my life partner, not a macho man, so a Jeep or truck generally indicate a rugged, outdoorsy man behind the wheel, who may not be so likely to discuss books and crafts and just how green Dibby's eyes are with me.

These are all snap judgments based on generalizations, I realize this.

But. Just sayin'. When a man hops out of a Jeep and all the nearby women begin to swoon and say things like, "Ooh, hottie, gettin' out of the Jeep," I am definitely the girl rolling her eyes looking for a guy in a Kia with a cup of coffee and a book.

Bailey & Riley read the Newspaper

We conquered the crossword in approximately 4.5 minutes (clearly we were not reading the New York Times). My favorite clues were a 7-letter word for "cleaned between teeth" and a 3-letter word for "unhappy." Hmmm...

Then we did the Jumble. When Riley unscrambled the word "tyrant" and I made a sassy response of "well aren't you so smart," we decided that, as an aspiring journalist and soon-to-be English teacher, i.e. a little obsessed with linguistics, we probably should not do word puzzles together. While otherwise relatively docile, the puzzles cause us to become a little more competitive than team-oriented.

After we declared the No Word Puzzles Treaty of 2010, it was only natural that we move on to the comics. Riley read one in particular that annoyed him and scratched out the entire strip. We then proceeded to say farewell to all of the less than worthy comics in our local newspaper. "Bye Cathy." "Bye Garfield," we said as we scribbled with gusto. Zippy received extra X's and dark ink scratches, for it is extra bad. We especially enjoyed putting to rest Marmaduke, Brenda Starr, and Mark Trail. Riley got pretty excited about ending Family Circus, and I let out some long pent up angst towards Marmaduke, yelling, "Oh, what's gonna happen today, Marmaduke? Let me guess, are you gonna sit on the couch again, covering the whole thing with your huge, dumb body?"

This whole activity was quite stress relieving. Perhaps my current bout of acne will disappear soon as a result.

Halfway through our little editing project, I said, "Mom and Dad are probably going to get mad because they haven't read these yet," and then scratched out Stone Soup and its disgruntled divorcees. There were only eight surviving strips, among them Get Fuzzy and Bizarro. There were no survivors on the page to the right of the centerfold.

Dad came down in the midst of our scratching and said, "Hey! What are you doing?! I haven't read those yet!"

"I told you we'd get in trouble," I mumbled to Riley.

We immediately represented our case, holding up the paper for him to see that we were doing him a favor, and he quickly simmered because we salvaged Zits and Baby Blues. He then remained to observe as I calculated the percentage of good comics in relation to all those that are published, and presented the Funnies with a 25%. A failing grade.

Slick

Have you ever noticed that school yearbooks are like vortexes? Be honest, yearbooks are not that interesting, unless perhaps you have been out of school for 30+ years and you are reminiscing and laughing at old hairstyle faux pas. But otherwise a yearbook is kind of like a really long, black and white magazine with lesser-known high school celebritites.

No offense to yearbook editors/writers/photographers, I think that your work is very well done. I just think that a yearbook is more of a formality that needs to be created for records and out of tradition. Perhaps all the yearbook staff youth of America would rather work on another journalistic endeavor, given the option. I'm just saying, school papers are usually a little more entertaining, and if nothing else they have a crossword to pass the time. Maybe they should add crosswords to yearbooks to spice them up...

But you pick up a yearbook to look up one thing, usually, like when you're hanging out with some girlfriends and you say "What was that guy's name, who wore flannel and smoked during lunch?" and then go on a search party in the hard bound pages. Today yearbooks are even more advanced, plus student bodies are huge and require more sophisticated organization than they used to, so the books often have an index. So if you can remember that Mr. Flannel played the bassoon, then you can look up the band, flip to page 132, and Bam, you've found him. Done, close the book, right?

Wrong.

Vortex. Before you know it you're reading about the homecoming queen, the speech team, looking at pictures of kids not even in your class; after a couple of hours of page turning you know some of their names, recognize them on another page. Then you look at the clock and realize you've missed your lunch date. Don't agree with me? Go pick up your eighth grade yearbook right now. Here is your assignment: Find the page with your middle school crush. And then immediately close the book and walk away for a full 24 hours. Ten bucks says you can't do it. And don't hold me responsible if you don't get a lot of sleep tonight--it was your fault for assuming you could prove me wrong.