Life After Graduation

You know, it may be a little late to get incensed about this, but why does everyone assume "University of Baltimore" means "UMBC" (a.k.a. University of Maryland Baltimore County)? If I meant UMBC, I'd say UMBC!

A little under a month ago, I graduated from the University of Baltimore with my MA in publications design. I mentioned this to one of my freelance clients, and he said, "Ahh, you're a CSP!" "CSP?" I said. He answered, "Certified Smart Person!"

That's right. Now that I've joined the ranks of the highly educated, all sorts of new possibilities have opened up. With my advanced degree firmly in my grasp, I've already begun accomplishing great things!

I took on full-time work! (Full time caretaking the bulk foods section of a grocery store...)

I converted 3 men's shirts to women's shirts!

I set up a hook to hang my headphones on so I don't have to wrap them up and stow them in a drawer every time I'm done with them.!

I designed and created 2 new pairs of earrings, one of which is finished and pictured here!

I learned – after a year of thinking it impossible – how to turn on the outdoor faucet, and then procured a garden hose, to enable future washing of my car unhindered by the expensive and frantic process of using the carwash!

I organized my beading supplies--an act inspired by the process of creating the aforementioned earrings!

I repaired the brake on my bike and logged 7.1 miles on the 2-Mile Challenge!

With a flourish of my permanent marker, I labeled all my property in the basement and shed, so as to prevent future incidents like the mysterious disappearance of my stain remover's lid!

Though I had been deeply saddened by the tragic demise of my favorite pair of jeans (the only pair of jeans I ever had that I didn't find obnoxiously uncomfortable) I finally gave them new life by sewing the patched part of them into the shape of a pouch, in which I now carry a set of tableware so I don't have to use a new disposable set every time I eat at work! Later on, I intend to turn the rest of them into napkins.

I moved all my cosmetics into a nice, organized box and rearranged my bookshelf! Again.

I designed a long-overdue new Facebook profile picture! It is pictured to the right. Yes. It is another tree.

Wow! I accomplished a lot of wonderful things! It's amazing where a master's degree can take you!

Cocoa versus Cocaine Or, what a difference a letter can make!

Not too long ago, I helped a customer at the grocery store find some carob products. He was very adamant in his refusal to consume chocolate, and when I asked him what was wrong with chocolate, he looked at me with wide-eyed sincerity and said, "For one thing, cocoa...cocaine!"

"Oh," I said to him. "You know, they're not really the same. Chocolate is made from the cacao plant, and cocaine is made from the coca plant." The customer didn't appear to believe me, and he seemed just a little too firm in his beliefs for me to press the issue, but I would like to make it clear right here and now that chocolate and cocaine do not come from the same plant.

My self-righteous customer does not seem to be the only one holding this erroneous belief. Today, in fact, I read a news article stating that Bolivia was marketing an alternative to Coca-Cola made from the cocoa leaf. The article also stated that cocoa leaves are a major ingredient in cocaine. Now, the article cited a slightly longer article from the Irish Times as its source, so after I had spent a suitable amount of time scouring the Internet for articles about the difference between coca and cacao, and working myself into a fit of didactic rage, I looked for the article on the Irish Times website. I found it, and it said what I knew to be true--that coca, not cocoa, is the base ingredient for cocaine. So, I was relieved that the Irish Times wasn't leading people astray, but it was still too late. The damage had been done.

I must set the record straight. It's time for a botany lesson. Also a culinary lesson and a drug-manufacturing lesson--whee, you're in for a treat!

Let's do drugs first. Cocaine is made from the coca plant.	Now let's have dessert. Chocolate is made from the cacao plant, also known as the cocoa plant. The terms are interchangeable, but some people prefer to use "cacao" for the beans before they have been processed.
The coca plant looks like this: The coca plant is a bush.	The cacao plant looks like this: The cacao plant is a tree.
The coca plant is known to the scientific community as Erythroxylum coca.	The cacao plant's scientific name is Theobroma cacao.
Cocaine is a naturally occurring alkaloid found in the coca leaf, and when extracted and purified, it becomes the addictive stimulant we all know and love.	Chocolate is produced by drying and grinding the seeds of the cacao plant and mixing the powder with sugar, oils, and other good stuff, producing the addictive sweet we all know and love a lot more than cocaine.
For more information on coca, visit: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coca http://www.tni.org/primer/coca-leaf-myths-and-reality	For more information on cacao, visit: http://www.chocolatesource.com/glossary/index.asp#Cacao http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cacao_bean http://www.botanical.com/botanical/mgmh/c/cacao-02.html

There. My desire for the truth has been satisfied. Researching that little lesson was a major effort. Now that you've been educated, please just do me one favor. Never look me in the eye and equate one of my favorite foods with an illegal drug.

Flight school

Signs in the airport gave me a few ideas about how to improve the world. Firstly, if airlines don't want you to fly sick and infect all your fellow passengers, they need to make it easier and cheaper for you to cancel your reservation. Secondly, I think someone could start a great business selling powdered shampoos and cosmetics, for people who are limited to a quart of 3-oz bottles in their carry-on bags.

Recently, I traveled by air from Baltimore to Oregon and back again. While this is not the first time I have been a passenger on an airplane, it was the first time I've been able to experience the flight with 26 years of learning behind me. This trip, I was struck by all the ways in which flying is not just a skin-drying, gravity-defying, ear-assaulting, germ-transmitting, internal-clock-attacking adventure, but it's also a learning experience.

First of all, flying is a sociology lesson. What better way to learn about herd behavior than to observe a bunch of people entering an airplane? I flew Southwest Airlines this time, and unlike all the other airlines I've flown on, which ask you to tell them your seating preferences when you book your ticket, Southwest lets you board in the order you checked in, and choose your seats on the plane. For 3 of my 4 flights, I was among the last people to board, and I watched as all the people in front of me snapped up the seats near the front. The last seat in the plane was always the last to go. What does that say about human behavior? I really don't know--I'm not sociologist! But I do know that it worked out well for me.  Being forced to sit in the back of the plane meant that I was conveniently close to the restroom. I never had to stand in line for the toilet--I could just watch the door and wait for a convenient time to get up. I also got a great view out the window, completely unobstructed by the wing. That never happens to me!

This great view and fairly clear skies gave me ample opportunity to study the ground below, whereupon I realized that flying is also a geography lesson. You never appreciate how mountains ripple out from their central ridges until you've seen them from above! You see how rivers bend and loop, and how the trees cluster more densely around them, and how even when you can't see the water, you know it's there by the branching fingers of green that it nourishes! You see big bloated riverlike bodies of water and you realize they are the reservoirs formed by dams. You can tell where people have been by the geometric shapes they leave behind them! Staring out the window was so fascinating, I wondered how many flights I'd have to sit through before I ever tired of the view of the earth from above.

As I neared the end of my flight back home to Baltimore, I had my third learning experience. Flying, I realized, is also a history lesson! I had seen how the land in the Midwest was neatly divided into gridlike patterns. (And I had pondered long and hard over how I can see circular irrigation patterns so easily from the air, yet I've never noticed them on the ground--but that's another story!) The less-populated areas of farmland were like a patchwork quilt of perfect squares, and (with a certain amount of apropos boredom) I was brought back to my school days, when I learned how the government parceled out land in the West, squares divided into smaller and smaller squares until at last they divided one final time into rectangles (yikes! Now I'm thinking of mitosis! All this talk of school will do that to me). Traveling eastward, the patchwork quilt pattern gave way to a crazy-quilt of fields of all shapes and sizes...roads going every which way...near complete chaos! This being a relic of the time when property lines were defined more by natural features than a grid. It was fascinating to look at, and to realize this distinction, even if it makes finding your way places a lot more difficult here in the East!

This concludes my rhapsody on air travel. Thanks for choosing Val's Galorious Galaxy, and have a great evening!

Going green with Greenie

A year ago in November, my bicycle (Greenie, in case you were curious about its name) was in an accident that scratched its paint job, ripped a small hole in its seat, and disconnected its front brake line. I was content to leave the cosmetic damage as-is (though, now that I think about it, I should probably cover up the holes in the paint before they rust...), and, not being a hardcore biker, I was also content to let the front brake line flap in the breeze. The back brakes worked fine, and I just never could work up the motivation to take it to a shop!

Then everything changed! I joined this biking promotion thingy which I'll tell you about in a minute, and then I received a coupon for 20% off any REI product, and I thought, "Now is the time to take advantage of this coupon to buy a new brake cable, so I can ride my bike more and better to make the best use of my biking promotion thingy!"

So today I grabbed my REI card and my purse and a pair of pliers, and pulled Greenie out of the shed so that I could take off the old, broken brake cable to bring to REI as a guide for buying a new one. Upon some examination, I realized the brake cable wasn't actually broken at all--part of it had just slipped out of its notch. It took me 10 seconds to put it back together.

Oops. I spent a year and a half riding a bike with no front brake when I could have fixed it in 10 seconds. Well, the good thing is my coupon for 20% ended up saving me 100%! What a bargain!

Now, are you curious about this mysterious biking promotion thingy?

Consider this. 40% of urban travel is within 2 miles, and 90% of those trips are by car! 25% of the US carbon dioxide emissions come from motor vehicles! I had no clue about these statistics until I lifted them from the promotion thingy website – and I will probably forget them tomorrow, since numbers go in one of my eyes and out the other – but I can comprehend this little equation:
 
More bike travel + less car travel = happier planet!  See? -->

So how do we achieve this end? By riding our bikes instead of driving on our day-to-day travels? You betcha! And there's a certain biking promotion thingy that will make it easy and fun and will not only make the earth smile, but will also support your favorite bike-related nonprofit!

It's the Clif 2-Mile Challenge! If you have a bike, I encourage you to register and join a team (I'm on the Gold Team)! If you don't have a bike, they even have a tool that will help you custom-make one of your own! Get cracking now! It will encourage me not to get distracted by other things. Later on, when I don't have a vacation to get ready for (and assuming I don't get distracted with other things), I might even send you a challenge.

It will be fun!

Yep. Still Famous.

I am proud to announce that I have found more of my clip art floating around on the Internet. Like the question mark stock photo that appeared on a Russian site on international driver's licenses and the graphic of bottles and cans a retail/food service website used on a page that no longer seems to be working, I not so long ago found my trusty "bottle pile" image (seen below) on someone else's website (you have to click on "give away" or "find" recyclables and then pick a state before you can see the image in use).

It's kind of an awesome website, by the way—it connects people who have recyclable materials to get rid of with people who collect recyclable materials. If you ever hoped to get a little money for your massive collection of old newspapers (annoying housemate, I'm talking to you!), I recommend visiting this site – ecycler.com – and trying it out!

Woohoo! My graphics are being used to such a noble end!

Portfolio

Well, the great Procrastination Project is finally finished (I do not recommend trying to do in two weeks what you should have been doing the entire semester), but I have to say that in spite of all the agony that it's caused me, I like the way my portfolio came out. My professor even complimented me on it when I brought in my display board--ooh, I could have just melted--such a welcome change from the days when I was always being told my work needed to be more "polished!"

But hey! Relentless cheeriness is no fun! Let's take a look at some of the lowlights of my creative process.

• January 27: Delighted to learn that I could do a digital portfolio (getting designs to print right is my constant Waterloo). Promptly proceeded to suffer creative block.
• March 3: Was told I was behind in my work and I needed to start designing things (excuse me! I was setting up the perfect architectural framework! Function before form!)
• March 10: Had to nix glorious plans for interchangeable layouts (à la CSS Zen Garden) when I learned that my digital portfolio and all printed collateral (résumé, business card, etc.) had to have a consistent "identity."
• March 11-April 26: Worked at a leisurely pace and took frequent breaks for computer games and shopping.
• April 27: Suddenly realized that I had a week left before the project was due, and I still needed to build 4 web pages; write and design and print a resume, cover letter, business card, and CD cover; update all the descriptions in my database, move the site from my local machine to my Web host, purchase a new domain, set up the new domain, take screenshots of the website and put them on a CD, mount the resume, cover letter, business card, and CD cover on mat board, come up with a catchy catchphrase, repair all my broken JavaScripts, and other things that I have blocked from my memory.
• April 28: Became very crabby.
• May 2: Finally finished with printed collateral; took printed collateral files to Fedex Office and had printed. Got home and realized I needed 2 copies each of resume and cover letter and I had only printed one. Also realized I had not printed the text on the business card.
• May 3: Took files to Fedex Office again and had printed. Received parking ticket. Went home and learned that documents were full of typos and needed to be printed again.
• May 4: Took subway to DC to purchase mat board. Walked half mile in search of Fedex Office but never found. Walked another half mile to Staples. Was obliged to purchase a 10-pack of black folders even though I only needed 2. While paying for excessive quantity of folders, learned that I had left my debit card at ATM on the previous evening. Walked to art store and then back 3 blocks to bank to cancel debit card. Got blister on foot. Put on band-aid which promptly fell off. Returned home. Prepared documents for taking back to Fedex Office again, then tried printing on home printer. Finally, a highlight! They printed without the ugly lines that I had previously believed my printer put on everything! Cut out business cards, realized text was positioned wrong. Printed again. Mounted everything on mat board, then realized I needed to mount the CD cover as well. Rearranged everything on mat board, leaving glue marks in inappropriate places. I think this ends my litany of lowlights.
• May 5: Delivered portfolio collateral to University. Received compliment. Rejoiced.
  Returned home. Ate ice cream. Obsessively recounted everything I had done, waiting for another lowlight to present itself. It didn't.

And your reward for reading through that protracted tale of portfolio? Behold!

www.valeriehoy.info.

If you find a typo, please break it to me gently.

I'm too busy to blog, so here's an old blog entry about blogs!

Are you tired of reading about loneliness? I am. But I'm also occupied (read:overwhelmed) with finishing my portfolio in time for graduation. So I don't have time to write a new entry. Fortunately, the blog I wrote for the class that started me out on this journey towards my neverending portfolio development project has my back. Let's see what I had to say about blogging in the golden days of 2007.

December 4, 2007
On Blogging

I'm delighted that we're going to be talking about blogs this week. Blogs, I think, are one of the most wonderful inventions of the modern era. They're a convenient way to stay informed, entertained, and in touch.

But it wasn't always so, and I wasn't always so enthusiastic. Blogs have come a long way in just a few years. My first experience with blogs came in the form of friends' LiveJournals. I read a few, found them boring and full of Internet English [editor's note: I'll resurrect a post on this linguistic phenomenon later], and quickly decided they were not worth my time.

When I first encountered the word "blog" (I think some article referred to them as the next big thing), my only real thought was, "That's an ugly word." From what I read, blogs sounded like a fad best ignored.

The first time I heard the word "blog" spoken was in a class in my last semester of undergrad in 2005. My professor, new to the concept himself, wanted us to participate in his new blog. "I got a blog," he said to us in our first class. He said it in the same way one might say, "I got a slimy creature that looks like it might spit acid at you if you touch it." The next class, he informed us that his superiors had decided blogging was too much work for undergraduate students, and the blog assignment was nixed. So I narrowly escaped the blogosphere for a little while longer.

Later that semester, I student-taught a bunch of mostly uncooperative, malevolent high school students. All student teachers were required to keep a daily journal and hand it in to our supervisors once a week. I was a terrible student teacher, but my journal was impeccable. It was the one thing I enjoyed about the whole experience—and it was my initiation into the system of regular public updates that blogging entails.

It was only that summer, facing eternal separation from my friends, and a complete lack of a future career (I certainly didn't want to become a teacher!), that finally, out of loneliness and boredom, I got a blog of my own. Of course, then, I refused to call it that. "Blog" was still an ugly word and a fad best ignored. So I called it my online journal and wrote in it increasingly regularly and at increasing length.

But now, two and a half years later, blog is a household word. If you still think of blogs as slimy creatures from the great unknown, you're officially living in the Pleistocene. Now it seems that anyone who's anyone has a blog. And anyone who's no one—they have one too.

I've got one! I'm still not crazy about the word, but one syllable beats out four any day, so I guess "blog" is here to stay. While my blog is of the lowest sort - the kind in which plebeians with no credentials ramble on about nothing in particular and have a Google page rank of zero - it is, nonetheless, a blog. And one of these days, when I'm not so busy trying to write in this blog trying to graduate, I'll actually post a new entry.

Sitting in my room, analyzing social phenomena with professional disinterest

Only 2 days after writing my last little thesis on loneliness, I ran across this highly relevant article about renting friends by the hour. While that idea's pretty creepy and ultimately stupid (No matter how desperate you are, why pay for companionship when you can find it for free on Craigslist?) the article had all sorts of interesting things to say about being lonely, most of which were things that I was going to say the next time I decided to write about the subject, which I guess is now.

They say that loneliness is a feedback loop. Yes, just when I'm feeling the most unhappy with my own company, that's when it's hardest to seek out the company of others.

They say that looking for comfort in online interaction is like "eating celery: 'It’s better than nothing, but there’s no long-term sustenance.'" And yes, I was going to say that I I think having so many online friends actually contributes to my loneliness. Hardly a day goes by that I don't spend a good portion of my time chatting through the internet. I'm hardly isolated from the world, but having all these people to chat with sometimes prevents me from actually trying to be around them. Conversation is great, but sometimes you just need a warm body in your general vicinity--and by "warm body," I mean something other than a nicely heated CPU.

What I wasn't going to say, however – which the article does – is that loneliness is contagious. Oops. Just by blogging about it, it looks like I have infected my entire readership. Sorry, guys, I'll pause while you weep silently in a corner.

...

Pity party over? OK, we'll move on.

The article also didn't quote Britney Spears, which I was most definitely going to do. But oh, no! It's time to go to work! We'll have to continue this discussion another time!

Give me a knight with a white horse, shining armor, and the ability to arrive before he's called.

I really look forward to my days off. Today was one. This past week I worked three full days in a row at the store (whoa, I know...), so I was feeling burned out on groceries and eager to get back to my cozy room where I can edit websites in my pajamas. Strangely enough, though, while leading people to the honey all the time and making endless amounts of coffee burns me out quickly, it seems that working all by myself in a chair burns me out quicker.

Usually, after just a single day of e-freelancing, I begin to feel this creeping sense of sadness. It's a little bit lack of motivation (which I admit is pretty easy to feel when you are surrounded by all the paraphernalia of your life that have nothing to do with work), and a little bit restlessness (but you'd think that wouldn't be such an issue when I take exercise breaks every time I get too cold or antsy), but mostly, I think it's just loneliness.

I have that much-touted ability to see eternity in every moment. Unfortunately, for me, this means that when I'm happy, I think it's going to last forever and am devastated when it doesn't...and when I'm lonely, I can't help but think that's going to last forever, too, hence the creeping sadness, despite all the logical self-admonition I can muster.

I often wonder why, when I've been around people for a while, I start to crave solitude so much, knowing that only a few hours of it will turn me into a tragic figure that sits silently in shadows, leans wistfully out the window, and dreams incessantly of her white knight. However, putting it in those terms, I realize exactly why I feel lonely.

It's not that I don't need lots of alone time. I do. I'm a certified introvert. But even the most die-hard hermit needs other people occasionally. And I see that moment coming from miles away. Long before I've reached the point where I feel desperate for companionship, I'm worrying about the time in the future when I will reach that point. I worry because I know I am powerless to prevent it. The difference between a person who is lonely and one who is not, is that the un-lonely person knows how to not be alone when they no longer want to be.

That esoteric knowledge is inaccessible to me. I truly am at the mercy of whatever white knight may appear to rescue me from my solitude. For I know not how to summon one. Or, if I were not so inclined to speak in terms of fairy tales, I might say that social phobia keeps me in my lonely tower – no, no! Must dispense with the fairy tale imagery! – that the effort of reaching out to people stresses me out so much that it pretty much negates any benefit that I might gain from having company, in the event that my attempt is a success. I might also say that I don't know how to connect with people, and when I try, I end up looking like a total fake.

So I just don't try. I think it would be easier to stab myself repeatedly with a pushpin than start a conversation that might embarrass me.

Believe it or not, this hasn't been a sloppy wallow in self pity. It's just an insight. I don't think it has the power to turn me into Miss Congeniality, but knowledge is power. Maybe there's enough power in it to drive me to call up an acquaintance and see if they'd like to get ice cream with me! Then again...oh, look! Pushpins!

Love your broom.

It is a simple enough request: love your broom. It has served you well. It has lifted dust from places you'd otherwise have had to clean with your hands—ugh. It has – well, I don't know – everyone's relationship with their broom is different. But surely your broom has done great things in your life, even if you are not a witch.

There is little that pains me more than to see a big crate full of brooms, jammed on top of and next to each other, bristles sticking out every which way. That's not love! That's certain death to your faithful cleaning implements!

I get frustrated that, where I work, when we get a new broom, it lasts for about 2 weeks before it's ragged and nigh unusable. If you've ever wondered why your brooms always end up lopsided and curved, why the bristles stick out to the sides like whiskers – and why they end up this way so quickly – it could be because you've been jamming it into places too small for it. But it probably has more to do with your storage style.

When you sit down, you don't sit on your fingers! So why rest your broom on the delicate appendages that it needs to do its work? Don't store your broom on its bristles on the floor! Get a wall bracket and hang it up! If your workplace *ahem* is too cheap or complacent to make the effort to purchase a wall bracket, don't try to stuff 5 or 6 broom heads into a crate along with the dustpans, shovel, and whatever other cleaning implements are being stored there—just turn your brooms upside-down! You'll find they fit into their storage space much easier, and they live a lot longer!

This has been a cleaning tip by Valerie.

Graphic Defender

A blast from the past
In my last post, I mentioned a blog entry from way back, which I wrote in defense of the fonts everyone loves to hate: Comic Sans and Papyrus. Today I share with you the entire post (edited somewhat).

November 12, 2007

This entry has been a long time in coming. This is my objective look at the whipping boys of the design world: Papyrus and Comic Sans.

Consider for a moment. Do you despise these typefaces? Do you do so because there is something fundamentally abhorrent about their design? Do you do so because you are tired of them? Do you do so because professionals, professors, and classmates have wagged their fingers and said, "No, no, no"? I'm fairly new to this business, and I'll admit, a prejudice against these fonts was instilled in me early. Mostly for reason number 3 above. So I decided it was time to make an objective study of my own.

I've looked at these fonts, I've even interacted with them, and I am convinced they are not the devil incarnate. While I wouldn't set a book with either of them, and I wouldn't recommend them for anyone trying to project an air of sophistication, they are not inherently evil.

The problem with Comic Sans and Papyrus is that they are 2 of the very few fonts with "personality" that come in the Windows font set. And since they are the only interesting fonts that most people have easy access to, they are the only interesting fonts that people regularly use. And things that are interesting when they are fresh and new, become trite and annoying when they are old and used.

But let's not blame the victim here. Let's blame the software distributors who are too miserly with free, quality fonts. Rather than chide them for being silly and overdone, let's give these typographic workhorses the praise they so richly deserve!

Comic Sans says:

Let's take a closer look at Comic Sans. What is it good for?
Its name says it all. It's comic! It was designed to represent the speech of adorable Microsoft help characters. For that kind of purpose, it works. Don't use it on your resume, but don't ostracize it either. That's not nice. (Sure, there are lots of other "comic" fonts out there that we haven't seen 3 million times before, but again, don't blame the victim--blame the overusers who don't know when to say enough's enough.)

Papyrus says:

I have to say Papyrus is one of my favorites. Long before I ever stuck my foot in the design door, I was using Papyrus in my AIM profile. (Actually, both of these fonts are splendid for on-screen use. Other "interesting" fonts that I've known become pretty much illegible at 10 points, but Comic Sans and Papyrus? No way! They rock an IM window like nothing I've ever seen!) At small sizes, Papyrus looks stylish and elegant, and I was rather disappointed when I once blew it up to a larger size and saw that it was all raggedy-looking. I think designers think it is tacky because it's been distressed, and what good is an elegant typeface that's shredded around the edges? Almost none. The field of legitimate uses for Papyrus is very small, but people like it. So it gets used, over and over again. Poor Papyrus. I feel sorry for it. It's been used and abused.

I will sum up today's musings with yet another variation of the NRA's famous slogan: Typefaces don't ruin designs; people ruin designs. Rather than banning popular typefaces with limited uses, OS vendors should include new fonts with their software, schools should teach students the basics of typography, and everyone should remember that variety is the spice of life, but too much spice is nauseating.

With values like these in place, I'm sure the world of design will be a much better place.

There. My work here is done.

Best use of Comic Sans ever!

Even if you have never studied typography, you're probably aware that the design community - and a good portion of the general public - hates Comic Sans. Actually, for a class, I once wrote a blog post in defense of this much maligned font (and some day I will let you see it!), the essence of which was, it's not the font that's the problem--it's people using it inappropriately.

A classic real-life example, the likes of which I never thought I'd have the opportunity to share: A company - a rather respectable company that you all have heard of - which sends monthly donations to my organization, contacted us by mail to let us know that they would be making all their future donations electronically. The whole correspondence - the letter, the form we were supposed to complete, and even our address - were composed entirely in Comic Sans!

I had to do a double-take. Then a triple-take. My disbelief was so great, I forgot how to laugh. My mouth is still hanging open.

Picture this now:

Please give us your bank account number.

Nothing like cartoon lettering to inspire confidence in a financial transaction!

Did this really happen? Or was it just a strange typographic dream?

No one respects my poor old grammar.

I think it's funny--nay, it's sad--that the Internet--which is only made possible through a complex syntax of semicolons, commas, periods, and parentheses; and only navigated with the help of colons, slashes, periods, and the occasional question mark--is so unfriendly to punctuation when used in content.

A few days ago, I posted a question on Yahoo! Answers, and a notification popped up: "Whoa! You used a lot of punctuation. Try revising your question." I was right miffed! I needed that punctuation! I wasn't about to sacrifice my good syntax to the whims of some Internet robot, so I simply ignored the warning and posted the question.

But it made me curious. I came back today and tested various questions. I get the notification when I use as little as two double quotes and a comma. I don't know how that qualifies as "a lot," and Yahoo! was not so gracious as to actually explain to me what's wrong with offsetting a quote according to the rules of grammar. Or how it can have an exclamation point as an integral part of its identity and still be so prejudiced against punctuation.

Shortly after the Yahoo! Answers debacle, I learned in an email marketing tutorial that using excessive punctuation in your email subjects is more likely to get them flagged as spam. Now, this I can understand, after receiving enough messages along the lines of "CHEAP VIAGRA!!!!!!" to be unsurprised that exclamation points might be the kiss of death. But commas? Quotation marks? Properly articulated sentences?

Punctuation is essential to meaning! You can't just do away with it because some people misuse it! Consider the classic case of the koala who eats shoots and leaves, versus its evil twin who eats, shoots, and leaves (we won't go into how that miscreant of a koala acquired a firearm).

I foresee a day when all communications revert to pre-Medieval standards:

WESHALLWRITEINALLCAPSANDNOTWORRYABOUTSILLY
THINGSLIKEENSURINGTHATOURWRITINGISUNDERSTOOD
OHANDALSOWEWILLTYPEINBLACKLETTER

Dance Dance Reloaded

For a clever title that ingeniously combines a whole series of movies and a video game into just 3 words, look above. For a continuation of last post's delightful discussion of dance music, look below.

As I mentioned last entry, I've been hearing some dance music on the radio lately. Unfortunately, the dance music I hear on the radio tends more toward house and less toward the trance that I prefer, and – much worse – seems limited to insipid lyrics about one very limited subject. Why is it that every dance song that makes it onto the pop charts has to be about dancing—Hey, dance music! Get over yourself!

Two songs that are big now are "Evacuate the DANCE floor" [capitalization my own] by Cascada, and "TiK ToK" by Ke$ha [capitalization her own], which is an unflattering account of her clubbing habits. Add that to the fact that Ke$ha has annoying voice and an annoying habit of using symbols for letters and capitalizing in inappropriate places, and you have a recipe for disappointment.

Lady Gaga does somewhat better. Of her four dance hits of which I'm aware, three of them have nothing to do with dancing, and one of them is a personal favorite of mine. But the other one? "Just Dance"? Come on, Lady! Buck the trends a little! I thought you liked to live on the wild side!

Anyway, since the pop charts won't allow me to get my dance on to anything but self-congratulatory tales of girls going clubbing or behaving badly or usually both, I'm forced to search elsewhere for my kinesthetic fix.

Did you know that on Monday, I went to my first concert ever? I'm not talking about the kind where you sit in an auditorium and sedately page through your program. I'm talking about the kind where you stand in a room with flashing lights and cheering humans, and dance around while the bass thumps through your feet!

After 26 years of living, I have finally arrived!

The concert was a performance by VNV Nation, which is described variously as "Industrial," "Synthpop," "Futurepop," and "Electronic Body Music"—or, by those who wisely choose not to classify the unclassifiable, "Electronic." Technically, theirs is not "dance" music, but at the concert, there was still a whole lot of dancing going on. Top that off with a delightful LED light show and lyrics that had nothing to do with the music, or DJ's, or the dance floor, or the club, and everything to do with...well, actually I don't know, because I wasn't paying attention. But I hear tell the lyrics are thoughtful and smart. Which wins them points in my book, should I ever choose to drag my attention away from the spine-tingling synthesized basslines and actually listen to the words.

All in all, it was a good choice for my debut into the world of contemporary concert-going, and a good way to forget the agony of idiotic party girls "trying to get a little bit t...i...p...s...y..."

Dance Dance

Yesterday morning, inspired by hearing two dance songs back-to-back on the radio, I had the brilliant idea to devote an entire blog post to my favorite genre of music! That's right--lounge! ......... Haha, that was funny, wasn't it!? Hahaha!

Okay, sorry, I'm just having trouble finding a good lead-in. Let me try again.

I recently renewed my subscription to eMusic. It seems like a pretty good deal--24 DRM-free mp3's  for 12 dollars. But eMusic caters to obscure artists and minor labels, and thus doesn't have any of the music that you already know you want, and you have to use all your downloads within a month! The 30-second samples that they provide are wholly inadequate for helping you decide if you like a song enough to spend 50¢ on it.

Case in point: once upon a time, when I had some free downloads--they might have been from eMusic, or maybe some other source, I blew one of them on a track that I'd never heard before (except the 30-second sample) but had a promising name: "Uhn Tiss Uhn Tiss Uhn Tiss."

Excuse me while I digress for a moment. Being a fanatic about both dance music and linguistics, I spend more time than your average Joe thinking about the proper verbalization and transliteration of the classic sound of electronic dance music. Thanks to Pandora, I now have a name for this sound: a "four-on-the floor drum beat (four quarter-note kick drums per measure, usually associated with an upbeat high-hat)." Unfortunately, I still don't have a word for the sound itself. Ever since I first heard it spoken (at summer camp, when one of my fellow counselors decided to sing a verse of a song "techno style"), I've been spelling it in my mind, "Nn-tsuh, nn-tsuh, nn-tsuh." Recently, browsing eMusic in a futile attempt to use up my remaining 17 downloads, I saw an editorial that introduced itself and the entire genre of electronic music with the phrase, "Oonce. Oonce. Oonce. Oonce." Which I guess is a fair way of spelling it.

But apparently you should not trust the people who spell it "Uhn Tiss Uhn Tiss Uhn Tiss," because their song about it is boring. So boring, in fact, that after downloading it, I deleted it from my computer--something I never do. Even the most boring of songs, once on my hard drive, get relegated to a public folder where they may, perchance, enrich the lives of others who might like them better than I do. But not Uhn Tiss. It is gone forever. Except on YouTube.

I think I'm not done talking about this subject. But I labored long and hard over this post, and I'm tired of writing. I shall take a break. And listen to some lounge. Haahaha!

Asterisk

The punctuation mark as a design element: It's a phenomenon I've been watching curiously over the years, and I decided it was finally time for me to try my hand.

My punctuation mark of choice is the asterisk, because the curly brace is overused, the exclamation point is overwrought, and the ellipsis was already appropriated by the person who denied me the opportunity to register dotdotdot.com. Technically, an asterisk is not a punctuation mark...but it is used semantically in written material, and everything I do must be star-spangled (see this blog's subtitle), so I figure it's good enough.

When I set out on my mission to use an asterisk, I had to think about all the different ways this character can be rendered and find the perfect one for my needs. Should I choose round-edged and splashy, or crisp and geometric? More difficult to decide on: Five arms or six?

Take a look at all the different asterisks we have to choose from--Below is a sampling of commonly used fonts and the asterisks that come with them:

I was overwhelmed with so many choices! Eventually, I went with Gill Sans. I wish I had chosen Perpetua.

Your sea of stupidity bears an uncanny resemblance to rancid milk.

The nice thing about this blog is that people actually read it. Unlike signs that I hang up to communicate with others when I'm not there, it functions as more than just an apparent decoration. This blog has an almost-captive audience. And because of said virtue, I'm going to use it as the means by which I vent all my angst at the parade of morons who make my life difficult.

Because the morons won't listen to me, you'll just have to do it instead. Thank you. Your sacrifice will not go unappreciated.

Today's topic: Basic sanitation in the workplace and respect of your fellow workers.

Let's imagine for a second that you work in a grocery store. And in the course of your daily duties at the store, you run across a product that is unsellable due to damage or spoilage or expiry. Being the conscientious employee that you are, you remove the product from the shelf. But you can't just throw it away, because the store needs to make sure its demise is properly documented in order to maintain an accurate inventory. But since the store doesn't trust just any old employee with its inventory, it has designated a holding area (a few shelves and a crate) where this and other sub-par products can repose until such time as a  properly trained and authorized employee is able to catalog and dispose of them.

So, when you, non-properly-trained-and-authorized peon that you are, remove some offending item from the shelf, what do you do with it? The obvious answer is, it depends on what the item is. If it's a small carton of yogurt, you place it in the bottom of the crate. If it's a gallon of milk, you hurl it on top with great force, to ensure that it crushes the small carton of yogurt and splatters its contents everywhere. If it's already leaking, so much the better! That way, you can carefully arrange it leak-side-down and let it work its magic all over the area one drop at a time.

Now come on. I'll grant you, maybe you're too illiterate to read the signs all around the designated area that said, "No leaking items," (and I'll grant that if you are new to the business, you might never have seen them, since I removed them after they got covered with splattered yogurt after months of being ignored) but are you also totally lacking in common sense and empathy? When you remove a container from the shelf because it's leaking all over the place and it can't be sold, do you think it magically stops leaking when it hits the holding area? Do you know who is the trained and authorized employee that has to slosh around in the mess you leave? It's me! Why are you doing such a thing to me!?

Ode to Dude

Another term that has passed its prime but still warms my philological heart: The bomb diggety! This phrase should be used, but used with care. I see great potential for its use in adding comedic effect.

When you need a generic interjection to express some sort of amazement, surprise, distaste, etc., what do you say? Zoinks? Jinkies? Holy smokes? My interjection of choice these days is "Dude!" And though I not too long ago jumped on the Dude wagon, I'm glad I did. It has brought joy into my life.

How long has "dude" been around? According to Etymology Online, it was used in the late 1800's to describe a city slicker, and by a century later, surfer culture had turned it into a generic word for a male person. Based solely on my own perceptions, I believe that "dude" came into use as an interjection sometime in the late 90's, and enjoyed the height of its popularity when it played a seminal role in the classic film, "Dude, Where's My Car?"

Of course, at that time, I was way too uptight and snooty to use such a bohemian slang term, and although I warmed up to it as the years went by, its popularity with the general public slipped just as its popularity in my own mind increased. It got to a point where all I really wanted was to holler, "Dude!" but had to settle for words like "Wow," and "Boy," since I considered my word of choice passé.

All that has changed. Thanks to the relatively recent acquisition of a few friends who use "dude" in everyday conversation, I now feel confident enough to proudly exclaim this four-letter word for all sorts of situations requiring a little verbal punch. Occasionally I even use it to address a male, in such exchanges as:
"Hey, girl!" "Hey, dude!"

This concludes my happy tale of linguistic liberation. Dude, you rock my socks.

I'd like to call this post "Talking Trash," but that gimmick has been recycled too many times.

Remember when I mentioned my "list of things to blog about?"

Lately, I've been looking through it and all I can find are notes about ecological sustainability--mainly regarding the topic of consumer waste.

Yes, I know I'm a tree hugger, but I used to have a fairly varied repertoire of things that I thought worth writing about--lately, I do not. Lately, all I can think about (other than broken hearts, but we all saw how well that went over...) is whether I can find a scrap dealer that would like my broken office chair, what to do with my broken toaster oven, what to do with the rags that are too unwearable to sell at a thrift store, and whether it's better to buy leather shoes that will kill a cow but last a long time and ultimately biodegrade or pleather shoes that are not directly responsible for any animal deaths but will fall apart after a year and perhaps contribute microscopic bits of themselves to the Great Pacific Garbage Patch after the bulk of them has been relegated to a landfill where they'll languish, wasting valuable space and resources until the time eons in the future when humanity is long gone and some silicon-based organism has become the new dominant life-form on Earth.

I could write blogs and blogs on these topics. I come up with a new environmental conundrum every couple of days! However, I fear that by doing that, I will transmogrify Val's Galorious Galaxy into something that is not necessarily worse, but is not what it was intended to be--primarily a source of entertainment for you, and secondarily an outlet for me when I want to gripe about something. I think it would be delightful if some legitimate publication would take me on to write about the environment so my Galaxy can remain star-spangled, sparkly, and essentially frivolous.

Until that time, though, I just can't resist broaching the interesting topic of "plasphalt."
Plasphalt is a trademarked term for paving materials incorporating recycled plastic--which I heard about for the first time just a few days ago. While it sounds really exciting, producing paving material that's more resilient and lighter to transport, it makes me worry. Whenever we hear about a new earth-saving technology, people always get really excited, go overboard in trying to implement it, then later on discover it might not be so great for the planet after all (e.g. ethanol, which requires so much corn input that the food industry suffers, or bioplastic bottles, which can't be composted at home, produce greenhouse gases when composted commercially, and contaminate recycling when recycled in large quantities). What kinds of problems are plastic-infused roadways going to present for our planet? Let's think about this now, before we do something we regret!

I changed my mind

All right, let's end this uncomfortable silence. No more talk about broken hearts. Let's talk about my car. Again!

As you must surely remember from your faithful reading of my blog, in January, I named my new car "Axolotl." However, after several weeks of referring to the vehicle as such and feeling strangely dissatisfied, it occurred to me that I was wrong! Axolotl is a great word, but just because it's a great word doesn't mean I have to use it gratuitously!

A few weeks ago, a new name popped into my head. I thought about it. I turned it over and over in my mind. I looked out my window and mentally superimposed the word over my retinal image of the car. It looked right.

This word, fortunately, does not conjure up mental images of frilly-gilled amphibians. It sounds solid. Boxy. As a bonus, it's only one syllable, making it much easier to pronounce than the tongue-twisting name that I gave my car last month. (I suppose, now that I think about it, renaming the car every month is an interesting option...)

I worry sometimes that I will hurt my car's feelings by consigning it to an identity that emphasizes its plainness. But the new name has another side to it that's highly flattering. My identity-challenged car will almost certainly like its new name, because it has that sort of underground appeal, and it is associated with the coolest stuff in the world--electronic music!

Is the suspense killing anyone yet? The car's new name, at least until next month, is:
Korg.

What becomes of the broken hearts?

Hearts are breaking every day. The remarkable thing about them is that they almost always recover. And so last night, while I was in bed half asleep, (having my new recurring nightmare about receiving strings of very important instant messages but being unable to comprehend them, and alternately) thinking deep thoughts, it occurred to me to wonder, what happens when hearts break? And what is the mechanism by which they heal?

Judging by my obsessive ponderings, the answer to this abstract and thoroughly metaphorical question is apparently crucial to know, so let's consider a few possibilities.

When hearts break, do they shatter like glass? Scattering in all directions, leaving shards to injure anyone who touches them? Must you repair them by hand, laboriously gathering up the pieces one by one, fitting them back together only with intense concentration? A broken glass can only be glued with special resins, and it will always bear visible cracks. Is a heart, once broken, also doubly fragile and riddled forever with the marks of its past ordeal?

Being of biological nature, perhaps a heart does not so much break as "suffer," exhibiting such symptoms as oozing blood, cell necrosis, and neurological pain. In that case it would heal all on its own, over time, but it would never be the same afterward. Are broken hearts like wounded flesh, disfigured, scarred, still working but crippled?

Broken bones are biological, too. Maybe hearts break like bones do--screaming agony followed by months of dull aching. Properly treated, a broken bone can't be detected from the outside, and I suppose the same holds true of a broken heart. But however undetectable, a broken bone is always broken. A little too much stress can fracture it again. And I suppose that holds true of a broken heart as well.

Wouldn't it be nice if hearts broke like Silly Putty? Stretch them to their breaking point, and they snap, with a satisfying little popping noise and crisp-looking edges that are so fun to poke at. But put the pieces back together, warm them up, and, voila! Brand new heart! Like nothing ever happened to it!

I guess any of these analogies are possible. It's all in how the heart's owner looks at things, and how selective their memory is. In any case, now that Valentine's Day is over, you can be spared any more of my depressive ponderings and my relentless search for the perfect metaphor for everything. Next post, back to your regularly scheduled facetiousness.

That four-letter word

Guess what's coming... it's every single person's favorite holiday! In honor of Valentine's Day, let's talk about love.

There are many types of love in this world, including the type that's a many-splendored thing and the type that makes the world go round, but the type I would like to talk about today is the type that's like a cocaine addiction--you know, the type that you keep pursuing even as you see it steal your appetite, tear you away from your work and everything else that used to be important, and generally destroy your life from the inside out. When you want it, you'll do anything to get it, and when you can't have it, you go stark raving mad. Ahh, love--it's so beautiful!

I spend a lot of time being in love, falling in love, being in love with falling in love, being mad at myself for falling in love, and generally ordering my whole life based on how much in love I am at any given moment.

There is, in fact, a song that says, "Thou shalt not fall in love so easily." You should listen to it. It's entertaining. I often think that I should take this song's advice, but I never do. Perhaps that's because my heart is a notoriously bad listener.

Whenever I see it running off on one of its flights of self-destructive fancy, I say to it, "Hey, Heart? I think that's a bad idea..." and it says, "HA! I laugh in the face of danger!"

I say, "Hey, Heart! Come back here and be sensible for once!" and it says, "No way! You're not the boss of me!"

In general, my heart seems to be pretty generous and caring, and would do just about anything for other people, but it seems to have a vendetta against me personally.

One of these days, my heart and I are actually going to agree on something. For now, is anyone looking for a bitter, heartbroken date to cry with you all through your Valentine's Day dinner? Perhaps we can compulsively listen to Christian Brown's "I'm Stupid" bonus remix (with electric organ! Bonus indeed!) together! Or let's get back at our errant hearts by stuffing their arteries full of all the cholesterol we can get our hands on! Look who's the boss now!

'Snow way I'm gonna use one of those bad puns like "snowmageddon"!

I remember the first year I lived in Maryland, all starry-eyed and in love--in love with the climate, that is.

After having spent the past four years freezing to death in Ohio (I spent the rest of my years before that in Ohio, too, but that was before I turned poikilothermic), I was charmed by the Mid-Atlantic's weather. I found Maryland summers to be hot and muggy and long -- just the way I like 'em -- its autumns to be mild and colorful, and its winters to last what seemed like about a week before getting on with the delights of my favorite season, spring.

Apparently my findings were wrong. This winter has been cold and long and snowy. The past week, I have pretty much done nothing but sit at home under a steadily accumulating pile of snow that now equals something like three feet. Twice now, my place of employment has closed due to road conditions. That never happened in Ohio. The street I live on has not been plowed, and since Friday, I have seen 5 separate vehicles get stuck on it. I think in general, Ohio is better equipped to handle large amounts of snow, but I don't remember ever getting 3 feet of snow in Ohio, either.

Hello! I didn't increase my cost of living by 42% for this! Someone turn off the snow and deliver me to Costa Rica!

Misguided strategies for coping with depression

Sometimes, when I'm feeling particularly unhappy, I like to crawl into bed and cry my eyes out. Then get out of bed resolving to do something productive, and sit on the floor for 20 minutes staring at the bookshelf. Then turn around and spend 20 more minutes staring at the window.

Sometimes, when I'm sick to the teeth of feeling beaten down, I get in the fighting spirit, upon which I start compulsively thinking of inspirational quotes from pop culture.

During a particularly extended fit of gritty optimism, I once spent several days in a row trying to remember a song that I thought would be just perfect to describe my newfound attitude. I was absolutely delighted when it came to me: "Ain't nothing gonna breaka my stride! Nobody gonna slow me down! Oh no! I got to keep on moving!" Why don't I ever hear that song any more?

Sometimes, when I am tempted to revert to my usual puddle of grief, I think to myself, "Never give up! Never surrender!" That comes to you direct from Galaxy Quest. Yes, I get my chief motivational quote from a nonexistent trashy science fiction television series played by a bunch of imaginary washed-up actors. No wonder I always want to lie down and cry.

Oh well, sometimes I up the ante a bit and lift my inspiration from blockbuster science fiction instead--Independence Day! Consider this uplifting speech: "We will not go quietly into the night! We will not vanish without a fight!" Oh my gosh! A speech that rhymes! How cool! "We're going to live on! We're going to survive!" Wait, now that doesn't rhyme at all. What are you doing to me, Independence Day? You can't just start rhyming, and abandon it halfway through! Obviously I can't look to you for my moral support!

Oh well, bring me some more 80's pop then! Just don't bring the clothes and hair with it, or I'll never be able to stop weeping.

We know where you live.......

I have an Internet stalker. It's Amazon.com.

The other day, I was on that site, looking at the page for a particular toy. A friend had sent me the link. Two days later, Amazon is sending me emails, saying things to the effect of, "Ooooh! We know you like TOYS! Check out all the TOYS you can get on our site today! Look! We're having a special on these TOYS, but you better hurry, as the deals are today only, and we don't want you to miss out because we know you like TOYS so much!" [This email may have been paraphrased slightly.]

Amazon, you're kind of freaking me out. First of all, how is visiting a single page for a single toy any indication that I have a toy obsession? Okay, I may have actually looked at the page twice, on two separate occasions (how is it my fault my friend has that toy on the brain?), but still -- one toy, two times -- not quite a symptom of toy mania. Amazon's dubious tactics for determining my tastes notwithstanding, they're clearly watching my every move. They're looking for signs of weakness, ready to take me down. They're onto me. Have they bugged my house? Do they have an eye on all my loved ones? Should I be going into hiding?

I think Facebook might be spying on me too. The ads on that site love to flaunt the fact that they know my age and gender. "You're a 26-year-old female? Cool! You're eligible to spend 3 hours clicking through ads, then spend a million dollars completing 400 sponsor offers in order to earn a 200$ gift card to a fabulous store!" [This ad may have been paraphrased slightly.]

Although not quite so paranoia-inducing, the "suggestions" on Facebook operate on a similar principle, and make me roll my eyes in a similar way. "So-and-so only has 10 friends on Facebook! Suggest friends for her!" Yes, I suppose it's not unreasonable for Facebook to know exactly how many friends each of my friends has, and to even want me to help them connect with other friends. I suppose that's what you should expect from a social networking site. However, I think Facebook has enabled some people to take their social networking just a little too far. For the good of humanity, I think Facebook should add the following recommendation to its repertoire: "So-and-so has 1,428 friends on Facebook, and counting! Suggest an intervention for her!"

From Zoot to...

It has been 3 weeks since the arrival of my silver Subaru. It is absolutely imperative that this vehicle receive a name, because otherwise, every time I talk to it, I will call it Zoot. Hauntings and/or identity crises will surely ensue.

So, for the past three weeks, I've been pondering the appropriate moniker for my new car. The process has been going slowly, because I typically only use the car once a week--incidentally, that is also the reason that the battery died, after I left an interior light on for days in a row.

Sometimes, I look at it out my bedroom window, asking it questions like, "Boris?" (No, that was already a fish.) "Wanda?" (No, I don't really want to.)

But in all these ruminations, one name keeps popping back into my head. Axolotl.

Clearly, this is the name for my new car. It makes perfect sense. Since Axolotls look like this:

(Copyright info for this image is on Wikimedia Commons)

And my car looks like this:

See the similarity? I don't.

But you gotta do what you gotta do. Axolotl it is.

Here's to many more months of happy driving and no more dead batteries.

*Edit February 20: I renamed the car again. See the new post about its new name.*

SSDD

I know, I know, it's been a while since I wrote last, but my heart just hasn't been in it since I lost my trusty little sidekick. Also, I'm just plain lazy.

Since I last wrote, I have acquired new wheels. Here's a picture. This is my new Subaru Forester.

Mom just sent me the title this week, which means it's really mine! It also means I am going to have to register it in Maryland soon, a prospect which does not excite me.

As a self-proclaimed tree-hugger, I wasn't too thrilled about driving around an SUV, but you take what you can get. And what I got was pretty spiffy. Sunroof, heated seats, and best of all, storage space, storage space everywhere! If you're at all familiar with my tendency toward compulsive tidiness, you will know that this particular aspect of the new vehicle pleases me to no end. In fact, I was getting all ready to relinquish my bad attitude and fall in love with the car, until I went out this afternoon to put some stuff inside it, and the doors wouldn't unlock. (Electric locks--pshaw--I could definitely live without that little luxury.)

Well, I went around to the driver door--the only one with a keyhole, unlocked it manually, and tried, with some trepidation, the unlock button on the inside. Nothing happened. With a little more trepidation, I put the key in the ignition and turned it. Nothing. Not a grumble, not a click. It seems the battery is completely dead, and I have no idea how it happened.

Two weeks of ownership, and my new car is already incapacitated. It's like having a Neon all over again. Now comes the embarrassing moment when I have to ask strange neighbors if they will give me a jump start. And with me not even knowing how to open the hood.

An elegy for Zoot

Today I bring you sad news. Well, actually, I'd be pretty surprised if it's still news to you, since I grievingly made it known to everyone I talked to in the past 2 days.

My beloved Neon, my trusty transport ever since I got my driver's license (that was 10 years ago), has sadly passed away at the age of 15. Zoot was a good hard worker but suffered from mysterious ailments on a regular basis that had him in the car hospital a good deal of the time. Nevertheless, Zoot kept his spirits up and had body art that made his mother (me) proud.

Well, yesterday Zoot blew a head gasket while courageously trying to make it to a dealership where he could have his water pump replaced. When I learned the cost of fixing said gasket, I made the difficult decision to pull the plug on my old buddy, and abandoned him to the capable hands of Roy's Quality Car Care, Inc. Zoot is a registered part-donor, and I can only hope that his bits and pieces (including his brand-spankin' new, 525$ alternator) will be used to help save the lives of other needy automobiles around the nation.

Zoot, if you're listening, I miss you! And I want you to know that even though I may have other cars in the future (in fact, I hope I get one soon, or getting to Baltimore for class this semester will be impossible), you will always be my first.

And now, some commemorative photos:

The Lineup

My Lineup

1. Notepad
2. Dreamweaver
3. Media Player
4. Photoshop
5. Word
6. ZSNES
7. Excel
8. IE Tester
9. RealPlayer

Do you ever wonder what sort of programs people use most on their computers? I do all the time. Think about the things you can learn just from looking at someone's Start Menu--all these facts about what they do, what they find important. Take, for example, my most recently used programs list.

At the top of my list is Notepad--appearing there because I use it to store the ever-growing list of "things to blog about" and refer to it constantly when blogging and write in it constantly when not blogging. I also use Notepad for - surprise! - taking notes! If I have something short and textual that I need to remember, I'll document it in Notepad. Longer, more complicated information gets written up in Word.

Second is Dreamweaver. I like to think that says, "Valerie is a Web designer." Frankly, I can't think of much else it could say! Who could AFFORD to own Dreamweaver without being a web designer? Fourth on my list, Photoshop, is there for pretty much the same reason. Except that it's also there because I'm compulsive. Not content to have my Facebook photo appear as shot, I had to intensify the colors a little and crop it to ensure that the important parts wouldn't be too small on Facebook. That was my most recent use of Photoshop.

But back to item #3. The first program on this list that isn't pure workhorse, Windows Media Player is my tenuous connection with sanity when I'm working on work (in which case I am listening to music of various and sundry types) as well as when I'm working on more artistic endeavors (in which case I am listening to audiobooks). It is also the program I use to play the practice CD's for choir concerts, but I'm done with those for a little while.

Item number 5 is Microsoft Word. Honestly, I can't think of a good reason why this program is so high on the list. I guess sometimes I use it to open instructive attachments from design clients... and I guess I have been using it pretty extensively to check and re-check the choir schedule... But I know for a fact I haven't been using it to write up long, complicated information. And sadly I have had no academic papers to produce recently, either.

After that, ZSNES. Bonus points to you if you know what this program is! If not, I'll tell you. It's an emulator used to play Super Nintendo games on your PC. ZSNES is on my Frequently Used Programs list because my current favorite pastime when I'm too beat to work on work or artistic endeavors is to play Earthbound, which is a pretty awesome little game with a pretty awesome little cult following. Does this mean I'm a cultist? Well, I don't know. I acquired the game from a friend, so I'll lay the blame on him.

Item number 7 is Microsoft Excel. I find this spreadsheet program invaluable for creating invoices for my freelance work. Also, I keep lists in it (such as Songs To Get, with columns for artist, song title, place originally heard, and places where it's available for download). As with Photoshop, this program makes the list because I am both a Web designer and compulsive.

The last two items in the lineup, I consider the "flukes." They come and go, and are rarely the same from day to day. In fact, since this morning, one of them has changed to InDesign (it says I'm a designer) from IETester (it says I'm a web designer, one who delights in the ability to run three different versions of Internet Explorer at once!). The other is RealPlayer, because even though Windows Media player is much better at keeping my stuff organized, RealPlayer is much better at ripping CD's. I have been ripping CDs.

So that's my lineup. What's yours? What does it say about you?

A similar discourse about squirrels

By the way, I plan to make a whopping 5-day trip to Ohio for Christmas this year. If you're in Ohio and want to visit with me, get in touch with me soon! I will be there from Tuesday through early Saturday next week!

One of my readers actually wanted to hear me talk about squirrels, so, what can I do but oblige? Frankly, it won't be too much of a hardship.

If the seagull is the top bird in the collection of "things that make me squeal with delight," then the squirrel is the mammal. The other day, I was riding in a car, looking out the window with a ludicrous grin on my face. No one asked me why I was smiling, but if they had, I would have had to respond, "I saw a squirrel."

Who can resist the allure of squirrels, with those big bushy tails, and the ridiculous things they'll do for food? The way they chatter when they're offended and squall sadly when they're unhappy? Have you ever seen a squirrel in the rain? They huddle with their tails over their heads and make woebegone noises. It's heartwrenching. Like watching one of those commercials for Feed the Children. Of course, wet squirrels don't make any effort to look for shelter, mostly because they're dumb as posts, but still, I feel for them.

I have been likened to a squirrel on a number of occasions. Actually, whenever people try to assign me an animal identity, it's usually some small rodent-like mammal or other. Probably because I'm just so cute! Or is it because I run around stuffing grain products into my mouth? It's true that when it's cold and rainy, I really don't feel like doing anything but huddle with something over my head and make woebegone noises. Whatever the reason for my association with the adorable vermin, I'm proud to be considered among their ranks! In fact, if you are familiar with me on AOL instant messenger, you will know my avatar is a squirrel.

That avatar picture is one of three that I made for a class but never used. One of them has appeared on this blog, but the last one, you might never have seen. Here seems as a good a place as any to share it! I might also share that all three of these images are available as free clip art on Deviant Art.

Speaking of art, let's talk about squirrels in comics! The same friend who mentioned actually being interested in a post about squirrels also introduced me to this cartoon about squirrels, which was done by the artist of a webcomic that actually features squirrels pretty frequently, sometimes in conjunction with incomprehensible science and philosophy. Something for everybody!

And that same friend also introduced me to videos of squirrel fishing, wherein you get squirrels to do amazing feats of acrobatics by offering them a nut on a string. This is a lot more humane than fish fishing and much cuter to watch.

So, seeing all that stuff about squirrels out there on the internet, I have to conclude that I'm not the only one with a soft spot in my heart for squirrels. And with that happy thought, I think this discourse has come to an end.

P.S. If I had a tail, it would totally be a squirrel tail.

More than you ever wanted to read about seagulls

I like what Anonymous had to say about my Wireless Conundrum a few days ago. Unfortunately, I had to delete his or her comment, because it linked to a whole collection of dubious websites. In fact, I don't think Anonymous really cared about my conundrum at all, and it was pure coincidence that his or her comment contained such pertinent wisdom: "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush."

I have a pretty decent cell phone provider already. Why stress myself out about picking a new one? I like the phone I've got, and the only time I'm unhappy with Verizon (Verizon Verizon Verizon! Read my blog!) is when I receive a gratuitous text message. So yes, I'll keep the bird in my hand and forget about bushwhacking for a bigger better deal.

Speaking of birds, don't you just love seagulls? The rest of this post is going to be about seagulls, because it's about time someone gave them the attention they deserve!

I got started on this topic because I was listening to my dance mix CD and noticed that one of the less-listened-to songs on it (Wave, by RAH) has seagull noises! Whee! That made my day! I think I have to modify one of the criteria for my favorite music: Everything's better with a synthesizer, and everything's better with a seagull. After I heard that, I tried to think of other songs with seagulls in them, but surprisingly, drew a blank. I could swear there were a ton of them. The only one that I can think of that comes close, though, is Belfast by Orbital, which does not actually have seagulls in it, but the high-pitched whiny sound in it reminds me of them. Surely there are others! I even found a whole forum thread about songs with seagull noises, but I didn't recognize any of them!

Alas.

Well, the other great thing about seagulls is that, not only do they make cute noises, but they look cute too! Check out the multitude of seagulls that I photographed on my recent trip to California!

And then check out this fun buddy icon I made in honor of a Rolling Stones song that supposedly goes "No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue." Ha. We all know what the real lyric is!

But wait! There's more! There's the Hastily Made Cleveland Tourism Video! Which is not only funny, but features at the end - yes - a seagull! Oh wait! There's one more video on YouTube featuring seagulls. You must see it. It's a true work of art!

Oh yeah! And if you visit The Silly Side, you might just read a story about a seagull or two! And after that, you will probably be tired of seagulls. I will never get tired of seagulls, but I will understand if you want to call it quits. I'll let you rest until tomorrow. We'll talk more about squirrels!

Microsoft for the win!...dows

My last post on cell phones really brought in the traffic. Let's see how many comments from total strangers I can get when I start dropping these big names: Microsoft. Apple. My excuse for this experiment in keyword-stuffing is the surprising regularity with which I surprise people by my choice of platform.

Yes, folks, that's right! I do not use a Mac! I am a creative professional, and yet, I use Windows! I draw pictures like this

on my PC! I design websites and write illustrated fiction, and I do not own a single Apple product. Nope, not even an iPod!

One time someone told me, "You look like you'd use a Mac." It was because of my penchant for long flowy skirts. Dude, I'm completely over my long flowy skirt phase. Now I'm into short twirly skirts. Besides, is it really obligatory that every creative type be bound to some stereotypical love affair with Apple?

Hey, remember those ads from back in the 90's? When Apple's tagline was "Think different"?

I don't either, but I do remember the slogan. And, by golly, I'm gonna co-opt it for my own subversive purposes! I'm gonna think different and defy all the expectations that are laid out for me! I'm going to be an artist and I'm going to proudly, confidently wave my Microsoft banner high, because even though I won't get to see a spinning beach ball when my computer freezes up, I also won't be paying several hundred dollars extra for the privilege!

And oh, did I mention? Windows. Apple. Microsoft. Windows. Apple. Read my blog!

The Wireless Conundrum

Alert! Before you begin, be aware that this entry is very long, and consists mostly of me vacillating about issues that are of no interest to anyone. I put it here mostly to help me make a decision, and (so altruistically!) possibly help any other poor decisiveness-challenged soul in their search to find the perfect wireless provider.

The past 2 months, I've received notifications from Verizon, beginning, "You are trending to incur high text messaging charges..." This is not because I have a texting problem, but rather because the rest of the world is textier than me. See three posts ago.

For a long time - even before Verizon started sending me its subtle upgrade nudges -  I've been contemplating possibly changing my service provider, since the ads that I keep running across are so convincing ($25 for unlimited talk and text! 50$ for unlimited everything!). I can not make up my mind, so why don't you just sit back and relax as I drag you into my agonizing decision-making process?

This whole thing got started early last spring, when I first noticed the ads for Cricket Wireless, touting some really low rates for cellular service (they're even lower now). But I quickly rejected that provider when I saw how abysmal their coverage is outside of a few select metro areas. As someone who spends several days a year traveling between Maryland and Ohio (and dreams, longingly, of a leisure trip to somewhere else), I knew I would be unhappy relying on such a feeble network.

Now, you should know that my current cellular plan (which includes talk minutes that I never exceed) costs 40$ a month. Taxes and fees bring it up to something like 48$ a month, and text messages are 20¢ each. It usually ends up being just about 50$ a month.

Shortly after the appearance of Cricket, Boost Mobile came around, with their very tempting offer of 50$ a month for unlimited nationwide talk, text, and web. I even went so far as to purchase (for 10$) a phone that will work with their SIM cards (which cost 20$), mostly to test out the reliability of the signal (because they have a decent pay-as-you go option as well). I haven't bought the SIM card yet, because it occurred to me after I got the phone that if I switch providers now, I'll have to break my contract with Verizon, which will result in a disgustingly high early-termination fee, so I might as well take my time making this decision. The other catch with switching to Boost is that they do not provide you with free phones, which Verizon does as long as you renew your contract every 2 years. Now, Boost claims that taxes are included in their monthly fee, so let's assume that miscellaneous other fees bring the bill up to 54$ a month. And then we add in the cost of a new phone--say 120$.  Spread out over two years, that would come up to approximately 60$ a month.

Now, with Verizon, I could add on unlimited text messaging OR 25MB of data transfer for the same price (that's text OR web, but not both. So Verizon has a slight disadvantage, but actually, I really can't see myself using my phone much to surf the web. After all, I spend most of my time with my laptop). So, really, when you get down to it, Boost isn't such a great deal. Rats. Now what am I going to do with that 10-dollar piece-of-junk phone I bought?

So we've concluded that Cricket is out of the question, and Boost remains only a remote possibility to consider sometime in 2011 when my Verizon contract runs out. Thus, you can pretty much ignore all the preceding paragraphs. But here is where the true dilemma appears. A few days ago, I received an email from a new provider, Credo Mobile, which has just one offer that looks pretty good: 1000 minutes and 1000 texts for 50$ a month. Plus, they'll use part of your payments to donate to nonprofit organizations. Plus, they'll throw in a free phone. Plus, they'll buy out your contract! Sounds like it's irresistable.

Just two questions: How reliable is their network? and Are the free phones any good? And a third: How much does it cost after taxes and fees? To answer question 1, Credo uses the Sprint network. I looked at the coverage map, but it is not very helpful. To find out for sure, I'd really just have to use the service for a while. But unlike Boost, Sprint does not use SIM cards, and I'd have to purchase a contract in order to test how well it works. Also, this special offer is only available until December 18, which doesn't leave much time for experimentation.

So, assuming I'd be willing to take a chance on signal strength, and assuming that fees are negligible, the decision really comes down to whether I'd be happy with the phone itself. Being the charmingly OCD person that I am, I am extremely particular about the features of my cell phone. It must have a built-in MP3 player. It must not have its primary screen on the outside (because I carry my phone in a purse along with things like emery boards, which are deadly weapons to shiny plastic, and besides, it is inevitable that sooner or later, I WILL drop the phone. And it will be on some surface like rough pavement that will cause irreversible damage to the exterior). Ideally, it would not have buttons on the outside, but my current phone does, and it's not unbearable. It must have a headphone jack. It should probably have a camera, but I might be able to live without that. It must not be shaped like a Blackberry (those things are the phone equivalent of trolls) nor have that blobby figure-8 shape that was so popular in flip phones a couple years ago. 

Unfortunately, none of the phones available from Credo meet my exacting standards. They do have some nice flip phones, but if my primary motivation for changing my plan is for text messaging purposes, then I'll feel pretty sad to trade in my QWERTY keyboard and go back to finicky ol' T9 input. They have 2 QWERTY phones, but they both have huge beautiful exterior screens with no means of protection. Oh, the irony, that my current phone is perfect for texting, but my current plan is worthless for it--and that by switching to a plan that's perfect for texting, I'd have to settle for a phone that's worthless for it!

Well, if you're still out there, and your eyes haven't glazed over and your fingernails are still short enough to type with, I'd appreciate your input on this matter. If you're not still out there, then I guess there's no point in saying goodbye now.

Every Time I Hear that Song

If you don't know the country song that inspired the title of this post, I highly recommend that you don't listen to it. It's probably one of the most boring songs in the history of music, but now I've got it stuck in my head because I stupidly decided that I needed a clever title that used the lyrics of a song that's about songs that take you back to some time in the past. Because that's what this entry is about.

Like "Temptation Eyes," which reminds me for some reason of brown couch cushions and fires in the fireplace at my old house on Eversham Court.
And this Weezer song called "Buddy Holly," which reminds me of candy corn and the forest green minivan pulling into the driveway at my old house on Crissey road. "Breakfast at Tiffany's" has kind of the same effect.

Numerous songs remind me of sitting in some living room or other, listening to my Dad's band play them: "Jenny (867-5309)," "Bus Stop," "Wasted on the Way"... One of them ("Allison") strangely enough, does not remind me of these mini-concerts, but rather a party held by a friend (whose father was also in the band) at a hotel's pool, at which I ate Bugles and got a small plastic bag full of candy.

I really could go on like this for quite a while, because I've got most of these songs sitting right in front of me. Usually when I hear a song that reminds me of days gone by, I make a point of adding it to my digital collection--not always because I like it, but because these songs are the closest thing I've found to a personal time machine.

However, I don't own all of them, and occasionally I'll hear something that gives me a pleasant anachronistic surprise. Recently, I was listening to Internet radio and got a blast (pretty literally) from the past, when they played the James Bond theme song. As soon as I heard it, I was transported to my dad's basement, eating Wheat Thins and blowing my brother to smithereens by way of the Nintendo 64. Or possibly Slapping him silly! Or maybe Klobbering him! Haha! These stupid terms are amusing only to me, but to me, they are the means to a cheerful jaunt down Memory Lane, complete with warm sun shining and happy birds chirping! Wow, who would've thought I'd be so sentimentally attached to a video game that usually ended with my character collapsing in a pool of blood?