tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6180572968379054362024-03-05T02:25:08.415-07:00ClaraficationSometimes the people I know in real life get tired of listening to me talk.Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.comBlogger121125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-46085983574154010262017-05-18T01:14:00.001-06:002018-05-18T14:49:13.787-06:00I'm starting to think that maybe children aren't universally terrifying after all.<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I don’t really know what to do with
small children. I didn’t have to acquire much experience in this department
growing up—my brother is only three years younger than I am, all of our cousins
are older than that, and by the time I reached babysitting age it was already
firmly established that I was not the right teenage girl to ask to help out in
the nursery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Despite having known this fact about
myself since elementary school, I managed to forget it entirely in my senior
year of college. That’s when I encountered the attractive whirlwind of powerful
marketing and well-meaning hubris that is Teach For America.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">For anyone unfamiliar with the
organization, Teach For America (TFA) is a program that recruits brand-new,
maximally idealistic college graduates and enlists them to teach for two years
in severely underperforming schools. TFA specifically seeks graduates who did <i>not</i> study education in college, because the
organization prefers a fresh receptacle for its own systems and values without
interference from clutter such as “years of training” or “classroom
experience.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">After acceptance into the program, TFA teachers
undergo a five-week summer training called “Institute,” which is obviously sufficient
to cover all of the skills a 22-year-old could need in order to manage and
serve a classroom of academically disadvantaged students. The TFA website calls
Institute “<a href="https://www.teachforamerica.org/join-tfa/leading-classroom/training-support/summer-training-experience">a rigorous and intensive experience</a>,”</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> which is presumably the result of
the public relations team reworking their original slogan.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">From Institute (where I learned that
showers are so your roommates can’t hear you cry), I went on to my very own
classroom of first graders in rural southern Louisiana. There it quickly became
clear that those hours of instruction and practice in lesson planning had not
addressed my extreme lack of experience with six-year-olds. My determination to
eliminate educational inequity did not prepare me for the child who brought a
pocketful of playground gravel back to class to throw at me...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">... or the child with surprisingly good spelling and penmanship for a first-grader.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I want to be very clear on this
point: These problems sprang from my extreme lack of confidence and ability in
classroom management, and not from any fundamental fault with these children.
They are almost definitely not evil in their cores at all. And they certainly
didn’t ask to be subjected to the authority of that shouty white lady who kind
of sounds like she might cry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">After a couple of months, it was obvious
to everyone that my ability to explain subtraction was no match for my
inability to get anyone to sit still, keep their shoes on, and stop spitting
sunflower seeds at each other long enough to listen. I left the program early
and came home with more than a little psychological baggage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Fortunately, there have been a few
changes over time. For one thing, it’s been eight and a half years since I left
Teach For America, so I almost never have the nightmares anymore.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">For another, I have recently gotten
to know a few little kids who seem not to mean me any physical or emotional
harm! This experience is distinctly preferable, and in fact I have found that
it can even be </span><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">fun</i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">. For instance, several
months ago I had a graduation party at which the first guests to arrive
included friends of mine with their 5-year-old twins, Lucy and Batman. Also in
attendance was a large and delicious-looking cake. I let the kids know that
there were not enough people present yet to cut the cake, and we would have to
wait until some more arrived. Lucy spent the intervening time making sure that
the presence of a cake in the room remained at the front of my mind.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">By the middle of the
party (during which Lucy got plenty of frosting on her cake), there were <i>four</i> children under the age of six in my
house. I am proud to report that I did not find this situation even a little
bit harrowing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Funny how context can
change your experience. It’s almost as though Teach For America has significant
organizational failings that should not be interpreted as a direct indictment
of children’s character or my worth as a person. Huh. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;"><b>Extra Credit: </b><a href="http://www.theonion.com/article/teach-for-america-chews-up-spits-out-another-ethni-1293">Sure, it<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">’</span>s satire. But it<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">’</span>s true.</a></span><span style="background-color: lime; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></span></div>
Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-5556097543758249522017-04-30T13:15:00.000-06:002017-04-30T13:15:29.493-06:00Difference of Opinion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvcZGmB1DCzMpBRLAdxzPkMWasu5HmckDaH4yAumB1cLVTiQzp15z2pNB9cOArd2_b0Po8M3-jPXcAvc3PmCQUQEuP3fsafbUA8i-z07wr_aG-aX5pE-sZzTgiJY56EXxY28NjPn5lS6d/s1600/Cats+1_6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvcZGmB1DCzMpBRLAdxzPkMWasu5HmckDaH4yAumB1cLVTiQzp15z2pNB9cOArd2_b0Po8M3-jPXcAvc3PmCQUQEuP3fsafbUA8i-z07wr_aG-aX5pE-sZzTgiJY56EXxY28NjPn5lS6d/s400/Cats+1_6.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRh4iSQ8tnciM9RWMCVQvZCExAcqGNbyr1YGcMoux4lvtSegp6HsXgiSRNelEPp_zXlFRWMJX0ztIHIGvN8bcDheBqZTgIU0Ap7p8LGRUHvGbPyIR6ovhj4Xb1AhTpn7nNsdCpzo6hhGkF/s1600/Cats+2_1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRh4iSQ8tnciM9RWMCVQvZCExAcqGNbyr1YGcMoux4lvtSegp6HsXgiSRNelEPp_zXlFRWMJX0ztIHIGvN8bcDheBqZTgIU0Ap7p8LGRUHvGbPyIR6ovhj4Xb1AhTpn7nNsdCpzo6hhGkF/s400/Cats+2_1.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib2V7BnlU8czThHxJqDRVQ-54RV3KZ1rPcfARmMgSccaP2hV1CH_hcl0rdXAcDxkOPc8PLlFmI-ozsnzyeimaUVCwJCk6oDUtG6fjhodSHysBYPdweKB8JhP_DwU7t0rcuEg5gCf8AAP2C/s1600/Cats+3_1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib2V7BnlU8czThHxJqDRVQ-54RV3KZ1rPcfARmMgSccaP2hV1CH_hcl0rdXAcDxkOPc8PLlFmI-ozsnzyeimaUVCwJCk6oDUtG6fjhodSHysBYPdweKB8JhP_DwU7t0rcuEg5gCf8AAP2C/s400/Cats+3_1.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-60660623114846843552017-03-27T00:46:00.000-06:002017-03-27T00:46:30.739-06:00Hi. Hey. Hi. Hi. Hello. Hey.<div class="MsoNormal">
Hi there. So, I went to grad school for three years and just
finished in December. Let’s say that’s the only reason I haven’t been writing
at all, and that sloth and inertia didn’t play any part. Cool? Cool.<o:p></o:p></div>
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-------------------------------<o:p></o:p></div>
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A few years ago, my roommate Petunia gave in to her
grandma’s repeated suggestions and signed up for an online dating site. I
decided to do it too, for moral support—though the buddy system doesn’t really
work on the internet. Unlike when you persuade your friend to come with you to
a party, you can’t just stand in a corner and talk only to each other.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHnKGfJ6de3CQGhfW3giPkiurHxhjd4JCz1zdkeaW215U5naOsA_0enCaFlwoeZ5pynh5CC_1DYWJ390suvShHe1GHBCC-neDtHhG7cXOP5xKGO_RCvWAAgM0wPIRriYlPm7glrnv_2Tiz/s1600/Plenty_1_12.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHnKGfJ6de3CQGhfW3giPkiurHxhjd4JCz1zdkeaW215U5naOsA_0enCaFlwoeZ5pynh5CC_1DYWJ390suvShHe1GHBCC-neDtHhG7cXOP5xKGO_RCvWAAgM0wPIRriYlPm7glrnv_2Tiz/s400/Plenty_1_12.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Petunia was willing to pay for a membership to one of the
classier sites. I was not, and I ended up on Plenty of Fish for free. I can
affirm that this is not the skeeviest dating site possible, though. I know this
because of the other sites that advertise in its sidebar. Here are some helpful
screenshots to prove that I am not making these up:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigjnVK1b4fILM6Er6Tmr0r93sMnFmmgaJEWchMX1UiyuvPk-2ssKH-wcvLjU8gj_REbDyE4P1nbljc3b1PXLMAj6rGehdNhS1tElG-myb1VwzijUTA645djJkWC6je-aPt-WuZYPy7Hxa-/s1600/Sugar+Daddy+ad.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigjnVK1b4fILM6Er6Tmr0r93sMnFmmgaJEWchMX1UiyuvPk-2ssKH-wcvLjU8gj_REbDyE4P1nbljc3b1PXLMAj6rGehdNhS1tElG-myb1VwzijUTA645djJkWC6je-aPt-WuZYPy7Hxa-/s1600/Sugar+Daddy+ad.png" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLEPT8OMMG2ztY9dD7GtBw1PUoTxcIgN1rsy7_Kkc5zBnbQCJs2CExDFCyGfLcummOQs3bZyXAZmcPFpqtCWcD9KeDZiAHcZB9GhXCf9-LEPzI-VYtc_7OdraIdpqA0Cja-eEVlZRvW7go/s1600/Really+Skeevy+Ad.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLEPT8OMMG2ztY9dD7GtBw1PUoTxcIgN1rsy7_Kkc5zBnbQCJs2CExDFCyGfLcummOQs3bZyXAZmcPFpqtCWcD9KeDZiAHcZB9GhXCf9-LEPzI-VYtc_7OdraIdpqA0Cja-eEVlZRvW7go/s200/Really+Skeevy+Ad.png" width="200" /></a></div>
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For some reason these sites do not advertise the number of
lasting relationships they have enabled.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Plenty of Fish allows you to craft a description of
yourself, thoughtfully answer questions and prompts about your personality,
provide information on your interests and the qualities you are seeking in a
match, and then receive insistent messages from people who have read none of
these things.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was not prepared for this attention, and at first I
applied the same flawed strategy I had used for college mail. After taking the
PSAT in high school, I received mail from a number of colleges that had no
immediate appeal or connection to my future plans.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieKGgxeBSwKaRG89bOXtqz1Y-yg8c1csFne0BIAcDeu1lRm5uPWl4CZdOXzOP8mBq2H5byDPGtJnCeAtNrIYQ6JdFTprK4Os-rmaz6G_YVk1aXpUuulpvJfQddJlFZmyuNbzhqN_SICqBx/s1600/Plenty_2_4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieKGgxeBSwKaRG89bOXtqz1Y-yg8c1csFne0BIAcDeu1lRm5uPWl4CZdOXzOP8mBq2H5byDPGtJnCeAtNrIYQ6JdFTprK4Os-rmaz6G_YVk1aXpUuulpvJfQddJlFZmyuNbzhqN_SICqBx/s400/Plenty_2_4.png" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></div>
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They all included a tear-off postcard to send in for further
information, and it seemed reasonable to collect as much information as
possible before making such a big decision. Even if the initial pamphlet looked
unpromising, how could I be sure from first impressions that I wasn’t passing
up the perfect opportunity?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82d8VOyxzVbILFYUv6O5eBinB7j9opHYJruf-IzKpAyi3GQY5gcUj1PShBK1fxoFJ0n_AtMM9GGXxY2Ev8QG_-sbbLbqOozgDfBm4C_ljmLzY-oJRhh4R2FuTTObYoMqY-sY7Oswmx0N5/s1600/Plenty_3_3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82d8VOyxzVbILFYUv6O5eBinB7j9opHYJruf-IzKpAyi3GQY5gcUj1PShBK1fxoFJ0n_AtMM9GGXxY2Ev8QG_-sbbLbqOozgDfBm4C_ljmLzY-oJRhh4R2FuTTObYoMqY-sY7Oswmx0N5/s400/Plenty_3_3.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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I eventually compared notes with friends and realized my
mistake. Unfortunately, I did not learn the lesson in a lasting way.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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When it came to online dating, I initially assumed that it
was only proper to reply to everyone who sent me a message—especially those who
wrote more than just “Hi.” That’s how I got myself into the following mess:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiR7hx9MFEixMrsyQ9I_suTxNDJjeqZPaBKyIMyq_e4NhXJtEx4C5FYJnFcMR64BuUrBHGzEBtat3AZpEN4OFnaJlUwmEB2hMZrtxng9za6DnyuE1Ht29hidUb2emkZD5nmBv6StVzLk7K/s1600/Plenty_p_4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiR7hx9MFEixMrsyQ9I_suTxNDJjeqZPaBKyIMyq_e4NhXJtEx4C5FYJnFcMR64BuUrBHGzEBtat3AZpEN4OFnaJlUwmEB2hMZrtxng9za6DnyuE1Ht29hidUb2emkZD5nmBv6StVzLk7K/s400/Plenty_p_4.png" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkQ9w74fjL3bfP2ECMLo11Bpj-4SYGjHTq5nFVcsMb68JIleFll5zyPNFgRjrY7_4aG7sNA-8-j4UCBnDV_jM7OpkgmOHTfjsRpMQl5RlDDFjip7AMXgnx0BWLoyJo47jsUQe8_nZ509vK/s1600/Plenty_q_2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkQ9w74fjL3bfP2ECMLo11Bpj-4SYGjHTq5nFVcsMb68JIleFll5zyPNFgRjrY7_4aG7sNA-8-j4UCBnDV_jM7OpkgmOHTfjsRpMQl5RlDDFjip7AMXgnx0BWLoyJo47jsUQe8_nZ509vK/s400/Plenty_q_2.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjiW6JoLxNikdnXFgsAESGrgqp909lSSwCODceeQqVhaZReRWK_Mf1QP93JoGyOw1brtBKWYu5lF3Xct7AS1X61xAnLF5hN1sGIETtcrmMDiNS8dDTJ0MDUJOntOLqHqvWBkVKcts-XHk_/s1600/Plenty_r_1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjiW6JoLxNikdnXFgsAESGrgqp909lSSwCODceeQqVhaZReRWK_Mf1QP93JoGyOw1brtBKWYu5lF3Xct7AS1X61xAnLF5hN1sGIETtcrmMDiNS8dDTJ0MDUJOntOLqHqvWBkVKcts-XHk_/s400/Plenty_r_1.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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This sounded to me like a reasonable and fairly self-aware
request. Also, I had one clear reason in mind, and it was something he should
be able to fix pretty easily in order to improve his future prospects.
Providing this sort of advice—when someone specifically asks for it—is clearly
the kindest and most helpful thing to do, right?</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0fmxTlFt68YG9vu-KrQ2XD7ryNU8Zr9qHu5EiRj43kLc9NXcFdXpLaRSz0HBIf5f25qYLpOtisoUhGGSz3chr9d5qKw1vLCJu8FJjeP4q2sS2jx4HT-X18jtZHYo1WoEtJ9MulTWtfHyK/s1600/Plenty_s_1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0fmxTlFt68YG9vu-KrQ2XD7ryNU8Zr9qHu5EiRj43kLc9NXcFdXpLaRSz0HBIf5f25qYLpOtisoUhGGSz3chr9d5qKw1vLCJu8FJjeP4q2sS2jx4HT-X18jtZHYo1WoEtJ9MulTWtfHyK/s400/Plenty_s_1.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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To my surprise, he did not appear to consider this a helpful
response.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVL9S6Ge1iIwDb54bwE06j7Y43I2teI-dmsx7Q-9GAKM2QwBJ6qs4-KaLvC2qvixfUSIM1XKHpBHjArIvGP9s332toAab4rUVO_oDO0ssoJQmTRl0ZvbjtS4Dqng378VqiEBrDTlX9R0z9/s1600/Plenty_t_3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVL9S6Ge1iIwDb54bwE06j7Y43I2teI-dmsx7Q-9GAKM2QwBJ6qs4-KaLvC2qvixfUSIM1XKHpBHjArIvGP9s332toAab4rUVO_oDO0ssoJQmTRl0ZvbjtS4Dqng378VqiEBrDTlX9R0z9/s400/Plenty_t_3.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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By this point, I still had not begun to suspect that he was
not actually interested in my suggestions for improving his approach. I
helpfully tried to explain.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmxnNt7a_uHGu1wUvtkl9GdVxJ-1Iv2PamwXlaY8zJtgRRsRM6QEVMMlwDgONDhn2iwZxmBuKXainzm882K62fRbXHpf62pvJaCDKxAxCOIYx5Vsqh1XsUjue9hMHSjX8p34eHi3hqsvmg/s1600/Plenty_u_1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmxnNt7a_uHGu1wUvtkl9GdVxJ-1Iv2PamwXlaY8zJtgRRsRM6QEVMMlwDgONDhn2iwZxmBuKXainzm882K62fRbXHpf62pvJaCDKxAxCOIYx5Vsqh1XsUjue9hMHSjX8p34eHi3hqsvmg/s400/Plenty_u_1.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJK2KYgnDkEfutPunvPNr8-NNISV_V63nf8dcJah-hGeeXTA0L3QAt_xIFPvbyUplMtSDEuGZ1iHhnJlAJXTesHgWJKUQPx193mMoNZTY0OHPoYssDRm9TJe1zR0_PxDSO_TFTIAWijmcj/s1600/Plenty_w_1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJK2KYgnDkEfutPunvPNr8-NNISV_V63nf8dcJah-hGeeXTA0L3QAt_xIFPvbyUplMtSDEuGZ1iHhnJlAJXTesHgWJKUQPx193mMoNZTY0OHPoYssDRm9TJe1zR0_PxDSO_TFTIAWijmcj/s400/Plenty_w_1.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Having learned a lot about the norms of online dating
messages from this exchange, I then wisely…repeated almost exactly the same
conversation with a different guy the next week. Optimism and stupidity often
share surface characteristics.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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In the end, I deleted my profile after reaching my limit for
people coming on way, way too strong.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSLtevCjyLDoXpccWbvfZh2jepcdG-HJxSi0h7iUfzuyqh9MSxdegaMPVn0LF2rEebk4P3k8HGlSTbeElG-pb-OVNZVIgyeyoXxZwCrm1h8yRpH5hAmOjgdjK3ZmXvNyby7zYO69duHxO9/s1600/Plenty_n_10.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSLtevCjyLDoXpccWbvfZh2jepcdG-HJxSi0h7iUfzuyqh9MSxdegaMPVn0LF2rEebk4P3k8HGlSTbeElG-pb-OVNZVIgyeyoXxZwCrm1h8yRpH5hAmOjgdjK3ZmXvNyby7zYO69duHxO9/s400/Plenty_n_10.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Whatever approach Petunia took worked noticeably better. She
steered clear of Well-Meaning Pedantry traps and managed to avoid the fecally
inclined, and I got to be part of her wedding last summer.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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As for me, I'm thinking of starting my own site:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim7yikDeIOmROk3Z4MWa_EQgmF_kvook6HhWzSRuEpDlY4wmZdjviWYpj2geRsrenvwLmMQ-xDDlbavDbZMJQFk6gdPOp8iRnvn7MbpYKjv9V40Iol_qmGXXCZg1dzphUamESq6SvLAh2m/s1600/Plenty_x_6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim7yikDeIOmROk3Z4MWa_EQgmF_kvook6HhWzSRuEpDlY4wmZdjviWYpj2geRsrenvwLmMQ-xDDlbavDbZMJQFk6gdPOp8iRnvn7MbpYKjv9V40Iol_qmGXXCZg1dzphUamESq6SvLAh2m/s400/Plenty_x_6.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Extra credit:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://weknowmemes.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/relationship-sure-there-are-plenty-of-other-fish-in-the-sea.jpg">Thoughts on the supply of fish.</a></div>
Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-57826599998779784312013-12-27T23:50:00.000-07:002013-12-27T23:50:22.098-07:00InertiaAstute readers will have noticed that I haven’t posted anything recently. I haven’t posted anything not-all-that-recently, either. It’s all part of my demanding new routine:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJNCVBVCfceMps0Je_2GYkBRW6VY9fzFOgntB5rQlPKrjryIAXb2a1Pt660pBqIA8sajvcII3l4Y8tULt6vAWo8t5d1_oPzDPSEKw25y4mVW1pqHMhdIpSN9mA1EmgpZocB8cBeoeOpZSv/s1600/Distractable_4_7.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJNCVBVCfceMps0Je_2GYkBRW6VY9fzFOgntB5rQlPKrjryIAXb2a1Pt660pBqIA8sajvcII3l4Y8tULt6vAWo8t5d1_oPzDPSEKw25y4mVW1pqHMhdIpSN9mA1EmgpZocB8cBeoeOpZSv/s400/Distractable_4_7.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I do not have a dramatic explanation for this lapse. I have not been traveling to Antarctica. I have not been stricken with Ebola SARS. I have not been starring in a play, composing a symphony, or writing a book. I’ve barely been reading a book, for that matter. I <i>have</i> been sort of regularly practicing becoming a small amount less bad at playing guitar, but that isn’t exactly an all-consuming pursuit.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp7hB5Aodmh4SNNFtwK45OahVODpul3-NEVbZSTjyQm4pXo4shEKTqIIWfMYnqHqG1QdX-rq0Cl2UK9n4spGbfhKncmxU8UHImmUHIZ8fE5FxyvFZHYB3-wcf_EQFf3Iai3RjwKGo5P40b/s1600/Distractable_5_6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp7hB5Aodmh4SNNFtwK45OahVODpul3-NEVbZSTjyQm4pXo4shEKTqIIWfMYnqHqG1QdX-rq0Cl2UK9n4spGbfhKncmxU8UHImmUHIZ8fE5FxyvFZHYB3-wcf_EQFf3Iai3RjwKGo5P40b/s400/Distractable_5_6.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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The thing is, once you put off doing something long enough, it is just so easy to keep on not doing it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHJiRBqrhIssLnSUHirP7RkCPSbHiRCnszPb-zyQBQj47-DNdKnw9KxXHt8uvFW3V_XnzJplCyZhXzY3rZ1tfRrmhFoIPfPJx9jwBKoUADa0iq66Nxom78AdCR46Z3XsXKe9HjqwtURkT2/s1600/Distractable_1_4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHJiRBqrhIssLnSUHirP7RkCPSbHiRCnszPb-zyQBQj47-DNdKnw9KxXHt8uvFW3V_XnzJplCyZhXzY3rZ1tfRrmhFoIPfPJx9jwBKoUADa0iq66Nxom78AdCR46Z3XsXKe9HjqwtURkT2/s400/Distractable_1_4.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2C6iRCWG7rPH2babcgamRcdmAlHikXzg_jys7zk8kWu0A8lHaYAj8xFJFuJilhwEF8PvmlGhX_r26HYX2ZWB9LXVAZixx6RlPyi94TnPLgj-iMFT5kSObq3zTi3NU_px5BKarGmTEJWZK/s1600/Distractable_2_3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2C6iRCWG7rPH2babcgamRcdmAlHikXzg_jys7zk8kWu0A8lHaYAj8xFJFuJilhwEF8PvmlGhX_r26HYX2ZWB9LXVAZixx6RlPyi94TnPLgj-iMFT5kSObq3zTi3NU_px5BKarGmTEJWZK/s400/Distractable_2_3.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
It’s the justifications that cause the real trouble, though—that thick layer of self-deception assuring me that slacking off is really the more responsible thing to do.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3DIBbGyXt7boWANy-oi1Nvu0S4_ge33NxP01IGkr0oYqBALrlhifgXaw3Oz6-Dk71OY9egp5QNO9nke2zZ5Zus6pSpBjIIDM7NKkpcJPW_kRjJZk9nN3sfWBqeF1rRD5mBPUdHB_B9FBQ/s1600/Distractable_3_2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3DIBbGyXt7boWANy-oi1Nvu0S4_ge33NxP01IGkr0oYqBALrlhifgXaw3Oz6-Dk71OY9egp5QNO9nke2zZ5Zus6pSpBjIIDM7NKkpcJPW_kRjJZk9nN3sfWBqeF1rRD5mBPUdHB_B9FBQ/s400/Distractable_3_2.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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What I’m trying to say is…I don’t know. Maybe ’90s TV should stop being so enjoyable?Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-10265495443954829972013-09-21T15:06:00.000-06:002013-09-21T15:06:19.401-06:00Hooray, it’s another story with barfing in it!<div class="MsoNormal">
Taboo, in addition to being the vehement objection of a society
to a forbidden behavior, is a word game that you probably have in your closet. Either
one can be fun at parties, depending on the guest list.</div>
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In the version less likely to involve grave-robbing or
ritual banishment, the object of Taboo is to get your teammates to guess the
top word on a card by giving verbal hints. You have to do it without saying any
of the other words on the card, though, which leads to sounding like you’ve
recently discovered how to use a thesaurus.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtDdeuEuSvtxqYFkZpwj0HfJ_VjelT_sl6CVwCJ9l_cs2qdKNs4uWoeknCHWRNi-z0r0rQC1dyVA4W-6xDRvdmvRG1o0SX8_NBmBe6ipxo0Jr9X-RQMcpL5TwpRiYTyyzhuALVsosXWQxQ/s1600/TaBarf_2_2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtDdeuEuSvtxqYFkZpwj0HfJ_VjelT_sl6CVwCJ9l_cs2qdKNs4uWoeknCHWRNi-z0r0rQC1dyVA4W-6xDRvdmvRG1o0SX8_NBmBe6ipxo0Jr9X-RQMcpL5TwpRiYTyyzhuALVsosXWQxQ/s400/TaBarf_2_2.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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One really sound way to succeed at this game is to own an
older copy that has not taken into account the last fifteen years of pop culture
and technological innovation.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzwSMCsoRdPIus1gYZxiotpfFcGGyWx2p3eL0zlub_dOfpvpR1uae5S_nJm74x2vkjB4VW9mANMPoxkHWawqKROGiqOaoOwjlHifZyWXNQOFxzdcX4B7PsV7ooks9DjIK9kSc-D3HQUsG-/s1600/TaBarf_1_5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzwSMCsoRdPIus1gYZxiotpfFcGGyWx2p3eL0zlub_dOfpvpR1uae5S_nJm74x2vkjB4VW9mANMPoxkHWawqKROGiqOaoOwjlHifZyWXNQOFxzdcX4B7PsV7ooks9DjIK9kSc-D3HQUsG-/s400/TaBarf_1_5.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Probably the most effective method, though, is just to have
a lot of inside references and shared knowledge with your teammates. It doesn’t
take a lot of rounds to figure out which couples, siblings, and roommates
shouldn’t be allowed to play on the same team.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEJsm92nuNcDcwZvIhDeVl-Ro-yNMYAyg9emyWSyD1SPns1d04I7srz5R9jEgkkZ6ycZTsPxaKJwqYRJerYFBbMtvf4KFvcGWKS407or7s1cgoALCCRCAYIF5T066we-by8NivJgRLO2mD/s1600/TaBarf_4_2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEJsm92nuNcDcwZvIhDeVl-Ro-yNMYAyg9emyWSyD1SPns1d04I7srz5R9jEgkkZ6ycZTsPxaKJwqYRJerYFBbMtvf4KFvcGWKS407or7s1cgoALCCRCAYIF5T066we-by8NivJgRLO2mD/s400/TaBarf_4_2.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTgykbcV9OrUa1Eji_fZ2bZsMztrGLFd5VpG4sWTjoVRZd9ecaOFvckZ4JRNI-MRbpZolZL7RyDmTLemLrQYQ9y6m_WlJOcpfU5L0GiFqhGuCE8aPvrFAkyPaYIx9GdB8OpNwKGvL3ryi4/s1600/TaBarf_5_2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTgykbcV9OrUa1Eji_fZ2bZsMztrGLFd5VpG4sWTjoVRZd9ecaOFvckZ4JRNI-MRbpZolZL7RyDmTLemLrQYQ9y6m_WlJOcpfU5L0GiFqhGuCE8aPvrFAkyPaYIx9GdB8OpNwKGvL3ryi4/s400/TaBarf_5_2.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIdoWCM-WuA3cnIIIq2A0pjZGVGfDibLwOZA_Cfm8EW-CLisJ2Hv-qYLFFDCBGWSrT0SLHXtaUYMNNaVmkEEz_ywHqanUVrRbnuBvYOZozgPQfiwDuV_ez6SqqZlFSSB1Q1VSwCUwDrNId/s1600/TaBarf_6_2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIdoWCM-WuA3cnIIIq2A0pjZGVGfDibLwOZA_Cfm8EW-CLisJ2Hv-qYLFFDCBGWSrT0SLHXtaUYMNNaVmkEEz_ywHqanUVrRbnuBvYOZozgPQfiwDuV_ez6SqqZlFSSB1Q1VSwCUwDrNId/s400/TaBarf_6_2.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Shortly before we fine-tuned the separation rules, one of my
friends pulled off an impressive play with her roommates that ended up
derailing the game while the rest of us demanded to hear the full story.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit5jX4s7Rq6Tt3lTuSVdPbge5UdDkEEQ6hd_dqi5cXoauF-uY0soVhIBhYIr2Xxz7n-ZsoJ8oyRnNdRQLbYpdH4G8IOeUqaSeKXp4v6cNbL0coLRnk2oCgqBmZvDFxqtEkV9w43dr6mEEV/s1600/TaBarf_7_5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit5jX4s7Rq6Tt3lTuSVdPbge5UdDkEEQ6hd_dqi5cXoauF-uY0soVhIBhYIr2Xxz7n-ZsoJ8oyRnNdRQLbYpdH4G8IOeUqaSeKXp4v6cNbL0coLRnk2oCgqBmZvDFxqtEkV9w43dr6mEEV/s400/TaBarf_7_5.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPa7Uisx2emMLsp2uYoknnPTeFHZgPgguv-sA-nyKEDY0eFqnyKikHLpjUYT7tqr3uSlawBXsOwShUExGLwA6ZcgsoynKVg3Pi8Zk6ruwSN6PGffcCZGvkxkVKDuwtl-G9cGrJtQutfGXi/s1600/TaBarf_8_4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPa7Uisx2emMLsp2uYoknnPTeFHZgPgguv-sA-nyKEDY0eFqnyKikHLpjUYT7tqr3uSlawBXsOwShUExGLwA6ZcgsoynKVg3Pi8Zk6ruwSN6PGffcCZGvkxkVKDuwtl-G9cGrJtQutfGXi/s400/TaBarf_8_4.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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It seems that she had recently experienced an unfortunate
run-in with the kitchen hygiene hazards of communal living.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0g5CUvB6pdBgnM4J1mKH85rVF4XfxMUBie5m67RfYhFUs654qc66WIJLaqbSHDdZ2ZEWcs6I8jTMfeiughGwZrP9x0C_7tY0AqhmSNHs9ghFmH8pMpsHccxFA9EG49vQDrpluj9SJZQFb/s1600/TaBarf_9_4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0g5CUvB6pdBgnM4J1mKH85rVF4XfxMUBie5m67RfYhFUs654qc66WIJLaqbSHDdZ2ZEWcs6I8jTMfeiughGwZrP9x0C_7tY0AqhmSNHs9ghFmH8pMpsHccxFA9EG49vQDrpluj9SJZQFb/s400/TaBarf_9_4.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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The roommates in question agreed that they had not harbored
any plans for sponge-sniffing escapades, but it was thoughtful of her to take that risk so selflessly on their behalf.</div>
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Of course, success in Taboo is all about personal context.
Depending on your lifestyle, that same clue could potentially work for at least
half the deck.</div>
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Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-22482898161431902092013-08-04T16:28:00.000-06:002013-08-04T16:29:34.889-06:00A Word on GrammarCheck<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-63014718671105915302013-07-31T20:57:00.000-06:002013-08-13T23:30:05.807-06:00Have I mentioned that I enjoy being good at things?The human brain has some impressive mechanisms for revising unpleasant memories. That’s how I manage to try V-8 again every couple of years.<br />
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This same phenomenon also dulled my recollections of middle and high school P.E. enough for me to take a volleyball class one semester in college.<br />
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The early days of class, however, showed several areas in which both my memory and my technique could use improvement.<br />
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After a few sessions on basic skills, the instructor broke us into teams for in-class tournaments. He asked us for team names to fill out his roster, and my group quickly ceded our naming rights to the one member who seemed excited about it.<br />
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We changed teams every couple of weeks after that, but for some reason the coach stopped asking us to make up our own names.<br />
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As the course progressed, our positive, encouraging instructor did everything he could to help us all improve our individual skill levels. It wasn’t his fault that my existing level was in the negative numbers. He also had the perfect attitude for an intro-level course, which he shared with us at least once a week.<br />
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(I don’t think I’m the only one who heard the subtext to his start-of-class pep talks, though.)<br />
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The semester went on with very little change, save for rising frustration levels on all sides. In between missing the ball, ducking the ball, and miscommunicating with my more skilled teammates, I started feeling compelled to defend my personal worth. I wanted to stop the game and declare, “There are things I’m good at, I promise!”<br />
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By the end of the term, though, thanks to the coach’s superhuman patience, I had transformed into a person whose overhand serves cleared the net at least 15% of the time. I may even have discovered one of those non-athletic lessons that ragtag kids learn in sports movies: I’m trying to hold on to that feeling of utter and ridiculous volleyball helplessness to reflect on in moments when it’s my turn to be shocked by someone else’s colossal incompetence.<br />
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Of course, that kind of thinking can lead perilously down the slippery slope toward self-betterment. Thank goodness I’ve developed a workaround.<br />
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Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-37343023258163753912013-06-15T21:06:00.000-06:002013-06-15T21:06:43.549-06:00Kerrville Folk Festival 2013I recently returned from the Kerrville Folk Festival in the Texas Hill Country, which I attend pretty much annually. I’ve mentioned it a <a href="http://ineedclarafication.blogspot.com/2010/06/i-cant-hear-you.html">couple</a> of <a href="http://ineedclarafication.blogspot.com/2011/05/im-on-vacation-including-from-my-hobby.html">times</a> before.<br />
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It’s a phenomenon that’s not very easy to explain to people who aren’t already familiar with it. This time I tried a new variation on my standard description.<br />
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I got a new response, too.<br />
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This was a fair question, as I had left out an important part: I love aging hippies. All my festival friends are aging hippies. I’m afraid of the ones in my age group, who are much more cool and tan and alternative than I am.<br />
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It’s intimidating.<br />
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Generally, the previous generation suits me a lot better.<br />
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I’m not sure how I managed to become simultaneously forty-five and eight years old, but there you have it.<br />
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Come to think of it, I know exactly how this happened. It’s clearly caused by the genetic material inherited from my two favorite aging hippies.<br />
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Thanks, guys.<br />
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Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-18727696526630856422013-05-14T02:15:00.000-06:002013-05-14T02:16:35.268-06:00The Tough Coughs as he Ploughs the DoughMy Intro to Linguistic Analysis professor explained that older dialects of English used to pronounce the “k” and “gh” sounds in words such as “knight.” We sadly lost them over time, and their absence hit Dr. Pangolin hard. He spoke of these sounds as if remembering them fondly from his own youth in the twelfth century.<br />
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His nostalgia reminded me of the fading words my friend Wendy and I had sworn to preserve in middle school, at a noticeable cost to our already tenuous social standing.<br />
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Outside of Dr. Pangolin’s class, though, I reverted to the impoverished modern pronunciations of “knee” and “know” and “Knott’s Berry Farm.” Then, two years later, I learned the hard way that she who <a href="http://ineedclarafication.blogspot.com/2012/01/word-to-wise.html">forgets</a> her history is doomed.<br />
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I needed to speak with a Student Activities administrator about arrangements for a campus organization, and not offending her would have been a really good way to start. Brimming with responsibility and foresight, I visited the department ahead of time to determine her office hours and pick up a business card.<br />
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Everything was going swimmingly until I arrived for my appointment the next day, loudly wielding my knowledge of contemporary pronunciation.<br />
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Dr. Pangolin would have been deli-gh-ted.<br />
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<b>Extra Credit:</b> Further lessons courtesy of <a href="http://seuss.wikia.com/wiki/The_Tough_Coughs_as_He_Ploughs_the_Dough">Dr. Seuss</a> and <a href="http://www.schooltube.com/video/8d94448e0ba3a3f756b9/">Desi Arnaz</a> (from about 2:45).Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-15127663365142358662013-04-30T23:54:00.000-06:002013-04-30T23:57:41.990-06:00You better listen to the radio<br />
There’s an amazing weekly <a href="http://thisamericanlife.org/">program</a> on public radio that is consuming my life.<br />
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I discovered it about eleven months ago, and since then I’ve listened to all seventeen years of archived episodes. The show made it into my Christmas letter as one of the six most notable features of my year.<br />
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Every week on the program they pick a theme and present a variety of different kinds of stories on that theme, ranging from personal <a href="http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/116/poultry-slam-1998?act=4">essays</a> about Israeli poultry to investigative <a href="http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/430/very-tough-love">reporting</a> on the juvenile drug court system to <a href="http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/371/scenes-from-a-mall?act=3">interviews</a> with embittered professional Santas. It’s difficult to convey the show’s huge range, though my attempts to do so can be measured in the number of people who now run away when I start sentences with, “I heard on the radio….”<br />
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The subjects jump back and forth from public figures and major events to ordinary people who just happen to be fascinating. Naturally, since day one I’ve been imagining future episodes in which I could feature.<br />
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It doesn’t hurt that the show has helped launch the careers of essayists such as <a href="http://barclayagency.com/sedaris.html">David Sedaris</a>, <a href="http://authors.simonandschuster.com/Sarah-Vowell/1558688">Sarah Vowell</a>, and <a href="http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/472/our-friend-david">David Rakoff</a>, all writing frequently in my preferred genre of “I’m rather awkward; here’s how that’s working out.”<br />
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For months, then, the voice in my head has been host Ira Glass asking insightful, journalistic questions to turn my perpetual internal monologue into an intriguing radio story.<br />
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These self-congratulatory interviews don’t stop at illuminating my creative process, of course. Frequently they spill over into examining the compelling intricacies of my everyday activities.<br />
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It turns out that imaginary journalists shadowing you, just like real ones, can bring uncomfortable truths to light. All the hard-hitting nonexistent reporting is leaving me less and less sure of my own striking newsworthiness, and gradually I’m adjusting my vision of episode themes that might apply to me.<br />
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Searching the show’s contributor list for comparisons indicates that I am not among the philosophers issuing expressions of such shattering profundity that the only possible reply is a muted monosyllable.<br />
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Instead, I’m one of the people who keep eating foods they know will trigger their <a href="http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/462/own-worst-enemy?act=0#play">severe allergies</a>, or at least the guy moved to <a href="http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/426/tough-room-2011?act=4">tears</a> by an American Express commercial on an airplane. The appropriate journalistic response to my statements is, “Wait, what?”<br />
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Luckily, like I said, this show tackles an amazing range of topics. They made an hour of compelling radio from an all-night interstate <a href="http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/388/rest-stop">rest stop</a>. Maybe there’s hope for me yet.<br />
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<b>P.S.—</b>If you would like to cultivate your own informative, entertaining, and potentially self-doubt-inducing radio habit, you can stream every episode ever at the This American Life <a href="http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives">web site</a>. If you need more cool stuff to do, I also suggest giving them <a href="http://www.thisamericanlife.org/blog/2013/04/please-donate-to-support-our-free-podcast-and-streaming">money</a> for being so awesome.Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-54775926337290877982013-03-24T19:31:00.000-06:002013-03-24T19:31:44.622-06:00I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves<br />
In the tenth grade, my Great Books teacher mentioned that she enjoyed telling ridiculous stories to extremely gullible people.<br />
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Hoping to provide her with more material, I promptly explained why songs get stuck in your head: Certain radio frequencies resonate well with human tissue, and those snippets of music get trapped inside your skull and bounce around on their way through the air from the local soft rock station.<br />
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My teacher was so enthralled with this new piece of scientific knowledge that I felt bad having to suggest that maybe she should reconsider throwing around the phrase “gullible people.”<br />
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I can hardly blame her, though. The mysterious force of song-head-sticking is not to be trifled with. My roommate recognized its devastating contagious properties and finally declared that I am not allowed to tell her what’s lodged in my head if there is a chance she knows the tune. One of my friends at work is bound by a similar domestic edict, so she and I started inflicting the brain virus on each other instead.<br />
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Of course, music carries other dangers aside from relentless repetitions of “Hey Mickey.”<br />
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A few months ago, just before the office radio rolled over to non-stop Christmas music, the awesome power of classic hits suddenly moved me to dance while sitting at my keyboard.<br />
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The woman at the next desk did not heed the call of the same muse. She did, however, notice my arrhythmic jerks and strained humming and spring into action.<br />
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Next time, though, I know just how to explain the situation:<br />
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Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-57901399879848063202013-02-21T22:17:00.000-07:002013-02-21T22:17:43.757-07:00Turkey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-69660800939851344642013-01-26T04:36:00.000-07:002013-06-15T11:50:17.638-06:00I am sure this paragraph has touched all the internet users<br />
I’ve started getting a lot of spam comments on this site. Of course, it’s perilous to assume—maybe I just have a lot of anonymous fans who really want to get me a deal for online casinos and Spanish real estate.<br />
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Most of these comments don’t appear on the blog itself for some reason. Blogger sends them directly to my email, though, and they’re starting to add up.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU9PTLmCRYOaHf52CaryE-qiAHall3VTN7tS7j5yK_zloRFDh4_xffAzzfaHv_u9yjjaJjYeA-zRPykuPLrxFn2olzi-NBrDtb7g7XG3I_nN1X4L2ZMaIAUP06CzvihJt0RNTLpd-fn6h4/s1600/Spam_1_7.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU9PTLmCRYOaHf52CaryE-qiAHall3VTN7tS7j5yK_zloRFDh4_xffAzzfaHv_u9yjjaJjYeA-zRPykuPLrxFn2olzi-NBrDtb7g7XG3I_nN1X4L2ZMaIAUP06CzvihJt0RNTLpd-fn6h4/s400/Spam_1_7.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Of course, now that the election is over, I needed something to fill the extra space in my inbox.<br />
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By far the most popular post among my artificial adherents is <a href="http://ineedclarafication.blogspot.com/2011/01/eeeeww.html">this one</a> I wrote in 2011 about cleaning refrigerators. I never expected my humble message to touch so many lives, but recent responses indicate that I have rendered humanity a great service.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsd8f9Ilea9FvmymSxANZDRfCujyz5X6vCJiFn6uZ_w6skLVed93fm9JQYfhbRFE54D48gL8xFRD8Dg_vmPcMfUM9zhhD5uZ7aDY18FG-7323ybZAvDmhXaBRJ8kST9ie7SX0jJAcAUiwx/s1600/Spam_4_3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsd8f9Ilea9FvmymSxANZDRfCujyz5X6vCJiFn6uZ_w6skLVed93fm9JQYfhbRFE54D48gL8xFRD8Dg_vmPcMfUM9zhhD5uZ7aDY18FG-7323ybZAvDmhXaBRJ8kST9ie7SX0jJAcAUiwx/s400/Spam_4_3.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBbPVwX2pg6aLDLSnl7Y5-MhmDSkws0D6_1CeZj2h7lT-UUUwkQFjtCT5ne3dbiyFryebrKwUWftsP0cJ5CO9FzHH82DqTXSBuJ2LLYikejZhLrAaBpdqT1S6F42EMn6TBSvgEuZbECOZn/s1600/Spam_6_3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBbPVwX2pg6aLDLSnl7Y5-MhmDSkws0D6_1CeZj2h7lT-UUUwkQFjtCT5ne3dbiyFryebrKwUWftsP0cJ5CO9FzHH82DqTXSBuJ2LLYikejZhLrAaBpdqT1S6F42EMn6TBSvgEuZbECOZn/s400/Spam_6_3.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw2yL3ZtMzNm2h_sKwn9BAvteQpTXBvYEq7GqCw5PGagZkhtstm5Ew1pLQr4u2lRZ9mn8hq1uPRS25AxFaHev-C-lIr-_ALg7sB8TOSrj2p6jNFqlfJrSW2rjip3smgJt9ji9MSIxVnbRp/s1600/Spam_7_3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw2yL3ZtMzNm2h_sKwn9BAvteQpTXBvYEq7GqCw5PGagZkhtstm5Ew1pLQr4u2lRZ9mn8hq1uPRS25AxFaHev-C-lIr-_ALg7sB8TOSrj2p6jNFqlfJrSW2rjip3smgJt9ji9MSIxVnbRp/s400/Spam_7_3.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbrU3LD5_PbkiGVuxck-CLsTc5t3hPla79livXKYsTus85M8i4uPeDe-lP_-8QA_Spol51wE2zlJKPfAa_UtXZ4k3m6nS-71sPNi2bWOKEmD3Vgky4ggA2pdgxK1tJlvMimJZginhXhQ72/s1600/Spam_8_3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbrU3LD5_PbkiGVuxck-CLsTc5t3hPla79livXKYsTus85M8i4uPeDe-lP_-8QA_Spol51wE2zlJKPfAa_UtXZ4k3m6nS-71sPNi2bWOKEmD3Vgky4ggA2pdgxK1tJlvMimJZginhXhQ72/s400/Spam_8_3.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Thank you, robots. I don’t know what to say.<br />
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But my vomit-prevention skills are not all that I have to offer. When it comes to frenzied eradication of <a href="http://ineedclarafication.blogspot.com/2011/06/more-powerful-than-nuclear-blast.html">vermin</a>, I live to serve:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdM_6Kl03ML_qnMz-E2NZbAEZWDTQ-5RcI5P2FELhNZuU2ccvySw-9H607VGHnde-wOhBm5jSpmOKyD_mjqwdc8fyQTJgwRglDiJnHMNlxMZpaZhuZZgZjMS3B-DM3y_ij4AofxwMIzRnC/s1600/Spam_9_2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="118" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdM_6Kl03ML_qnMz-E2NZbAEZWDTQ-5RcI5P2FELhNZuU2ccvySw-9H607VGHnde-wOhBm5jSpmOKyD_mjqwdc8fyQTJgwRglDiJnHMNlxMZpaZhuZZgZjMS3B-DM3y_ij4AofxwMIzRnC/s400/Spam_9_2.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Also, my inability to function without <a href="http://ineedclarafication.blogspot.com/2012/11/scrambled-or-fried.html">caffeine</a> could set me up for a major career change:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfBbvNxTy2pmMtrPh2i93gSYZmQXwO_KR8Y1KKjXTcFEU153ySk5xi-3X1THL6qDSR7_87cVy0GIDKWOl87LzNcf3hbktjvvu8lS1ivbXU9Ffyu81pI2A8YLdlgVxxOd2AQqY85HcgcYSV/s1600/Spam_10_3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfBbvNxTy2pmMtrPh2i93gSYZmQXwO_KR8Y1KKjXTcFEU153ySk5xi-3X1THL6qDSR7_87cVy0GIDKWOl87LzNcf3hbktjvvu8lS1ivbXU9Ffyu81pI2A8YLdlgVxxOd2AQqY85HcgcYSV/s400/Spam_10_3.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Not everyone is so congratulatory, though. For example, this fellow doesn’t find my pre-barf noises convincing because I failed to cite authoritative sources.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjqlSB-SqB2SSL4EOtdwrPcOLBmVPONx1hRCqRgwbchLOHU1_wHXMSzBD9PqPCQIY5f41Zhyphenhyphenl-fdQDOBI7tlumR5k3kg9uLcydnybB4oRym8UHIwMJWQsOXX1YDNFUZ-Bzgfi4GKbBEn_S/s1600/Spam_11_3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjqlSB-SqB2SSL4EOtdwrPcOLBmVPONx1hRCqRgwbchLOHU1_wHXMSzBD9PqPCQIY5f41Zhyphenhyphenl-fdQDOBI7tlumR5k3kg9uLcydnybB4oRym8UHIwMJWQsOXX1YDNFUZ-Bzgfi4GKbBEn_S/s400/Spam_11_3.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Despite familiarity with the concepts of spambots, internet trollery, and general sanity, every time I read this post I’m tempted to track the guy down and “unite the ideas” for him.<br />
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Intellectually I know that none of these comments, positive or negative, come from entities that have even glanced at my writing. That doesn’t keep me from reading them, though. It’s a lot like checking horoscopes—if you try hard enough, you can arrange to believe that they actually apply to you.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_eqllP7yBuZ3lchqjylF6Alz2gqrEBuh2CCwUXnfhEvC_1rT7PMg-m0l0VVtChWODbfpSucAXew4IYUebwwkWc6xomrOiSDJPz5Dk4bc12ED53x9_mJ0xsgmtLhW7PzV8cCk4NAr0tPgq/s1600/Spam_3_8.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_eqllP7yBuZ3lchqjylF6Alz2gqrEBuh2CCwUXnfhEvC_1rT7PMg-m0l0VVtChWODbfpSucAXew4IYUebwwkWc6xomrOiSDJPz5Dk4bc12ED53x9_mJ0xsgmtLhW7PzV8cCk4NAr0tPgq/s400/Spam_3_8.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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That’s why I keep clicking on the notifications—because of the possibility that A. Nonymous really does want to give me a shout out from Porter, Texas via his Russian blog.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-tfpQKv1J6uVXg304g0jjLhk6IjxC-dD8v3m3qQ1UclcdFyOMewc2-o2KRHGdD2etBrMejCizxjXNwNn2swxZqA3b-I7cthGMx-sMbqJNPUQDPsESJp36VWmLOPInFLxYhRRGFU9jg04S/s1600/Spam_12_4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="107" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-tfpQKv1J6uVXg304g0jjLhk6IjxC-dD8v3m3qQ1UclcdFyOMewc2-o2KRHGdD2etBrMejCizxjXNwNn2swxZqA3b-I7cthGMx-sMbqJNPUQDPsESJp36VWmLOPInFLxYhRRGFU9jg04S/s400/Spam_12_4.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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It’s also why I’m applying extra vigilance to my spellcheck regimen:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9SAV05-zl5KkRO8f6awF349OLfjITwf7XOCYGARsbfmH35SMopgGZZJZgzDPlpZTu8dSt8X5l_CGdYCQ_cAIvzSw27gQ8BXPCJU0HyB6ODYNtZ2Jm0JSGudF_DprmAsro_5RvEzEmt5n-/s1600/Spam_13_4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9SAV05-zl5KkRO8f6awF349OLfjITwf7XOCYGARsbfmH35SMopgGZZJZgzDPlpZTu8dSt8X5l_CGdYCQ_cAIvzSw27gQ8BXPCJU0HyB6ODYNtZ2Jm0JSGudF_DprmAsro_5RvEzEmt5n-/s400/Spam_13_4.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Yet despite it all, jumbled in with the deceptions and false compliments, there lie a few noble spammers who still believe in straightforward honesty.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCgKIek8YdhBggeMsNmlbudwUSqpcbwERWjBYAdsddf2gJE1OpGNIGijBlpRp0-fDvgDu70px_e1xTLeTzl0kZveEP7Q-48OzO4aWPAjA2QPF2S7TqYLgdOlEtB-U4meWb4OeO-3eZvudH/s1600/Spam_2_3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="117" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCgKIek8YdhBggeMsNmlbudwUSqpcbwERWjBYAdsddf2gJE1OpGNIGijBlpRp0-fDvgDu70px_e1xTLeTzl0kZveEP7Q-48OzO4aWPAjA2QPF2S7TqYLgdOlEtB-U4meWb4OeO-3eZvudH/s400/Spam_2_3.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b>Extra Credit:</b> <a href="http://xkcd.com/632/">http://xkcd.com/632/</a><br />
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Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-35279599366495551822013-01-02T11:53:00.000-07:002013-05-04T11:19:24.585-06:00In Stitches<br />
This is a pincushion.<br />
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The items in it are very useful for sewing projects and pushing tiny reset buttons. They also belong one hundred percent outside of the human body at all times.<br />
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I neglected that vital guideline in November and fell victim to the first knitting-related stab wound to hit Albuquerque emergency facilities in 2012. If you are looking for ways to stand out from the crowd, this is not one that I would recommend.<br />
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My other recommendations include not leaving sharp things lying in the carpet. The whole adventure began with crouching over some knitting materials, soon followed by overbalancing into a nearby slurry of craft stuff that turned out not to be just yarn after all. Instead, it included a straight pin that promptly sunk so far into my shin that the head didn’t show.<br />
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As it happens, self-skewering is high on the list of Things That Can Make Me Faint Again. Since my <a href="http://ineedclarafication.blogspot.com/2012/10/for-faint-of-heart.html">established predisposition</a> toward fainting is connected to a low heart rate, I spent a few minutes lying on my back doing arm calisthenics until the room stopped looking so white and floaty. Then I drove over to Urgent Care chanting energetic song lyrics very loudly in pursuit of continued consciousness.<br />
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After an x-ray, we found out that the pin had broken in half. Emergency was only able to remove the outer piece, which led to some disconcerting conversations with a specialist about the remaining one.<br />
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These discussions alternated with sheepish expository episodes every time I met someone new.<br />
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They sent me home with antibiotics and painkillers, and I spent several days waiting for further developments while feeling like a victim of the world’s most literal voodoo doll.<br />
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My parents, meanwhile, had a nifty time with the whole thing as well. They were driving cross-country during the Great Puncturing, and they did not receive the voicemail I left them from Urgent Care. Instead, they arrived in Indiana where my uncle, who had been following the saga on Facebook, greeted them at the door with, “Is Clara out of the hospital yet?”<br />
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Eventually, the doctor and I determined that it was best not to continue carrying the shrapnel from my hazardous life of yarn working. On December 27th they went in to retrieve the other piece—a process that involved many uncomfortable terms such as “anesthesia waiver” and “dissection,” but made up for it with pre-warmed blankets.<br />
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Hospital sanitary regulations wouldn’t let me keep the pin, which is too bad. I kind of wanted to make macabre jewelry now that it’s worth as much as several varieties of gemstone.<br />
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It’s not all bad, though. Primarily, I no longer have a sharp piece of metal lodged in a major moving part. As an added bonus, since stabbing myself via handicrafts, I’ve accomplished roughly five times as many needlework projects as in the entire preceding year. That means even more of my recovery time has been spent on the thing that attacked me than on <i>NCIS </i>reruns.<br />
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I’ve been trying to work out ways to harness this power of irony in my future injury planning. Maybe I can arrange for a concussion while doing sit-ups or something similarly productive.<br />
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Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-78390416143279228372012-11-25T00:23:00.000-07:002012-11-25T00:23:09.900-07:00Scrambled or Fried<br />
I started drinking coffee occasionally a couple of years <a href="http://ineedclarafication.blogspot.com/2011/06/super-powers-part-iii5-not-liking.html">ago</a>, and the habit has been picking up steam ever since. Until recently, though, I managed to stay firmly in denial about the chemical dependency aspect of regular caffeine consumption.<br />
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A few months ago we hired a new morning receptionist, and I was excited to train her on the desk and get back to my regular morning job in another part of the office. She arrived early the first day—having already drunk her own coffee—and I didn’t want to abandon her up front while I prepared my usual cup. It’s not as if it mattered. I could always pour some later in the day if I still wanted it.<br />
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About an hour into Sadie’s training, my headache started. Along with it came a cloud of foggy exhaustion that muddled my ability to explain the more involved office procedures.<br />
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I blamed Monday morning for my mental malfunctions, but the confusion only worsened as time went on.<br />
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By a quarter to one, I only had fifteen more minutes to hold it together before training was over for the day and I could address the pressing caffeine situation. I was babbling unnecessarily about some obvious reception process…<br />
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…while another part of my brain fantasized about breakfast foods.<br />
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Meanwhile, a woman headed toward the lobby doors from outside. I couldn’t tell at first if she was a new visitor or someone who had already checked in, and this dilemma was enough to overload the circuitry. Instead of offering Sadie advice for either situation, I pointed toward the entrance and shrieked the first thing that came out.<br />
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By the time the woman reached the desk, I was desperately feigning normalcy.<br />
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I was impressed that Sadie showed up the next morning for another day of working in a confined space with me. She did take precautions to avoid a repeat performance, though.<br />
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<b>P.S.</b> To anyone looking for the story of how I got a sewing pin lodged in my leg: It’s coming. I have to sharpen it up a little—improve a few points, sew up the gaps, take another stab at one or two things.<br />
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Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-69206026784334856192012-11-10T00:59:00.000-07:002013-01-21T00:52:19.788-07:00Gimme Five<br />
High fives work best if you focus on the other person’s elbow.<br />
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I learned this bit of wisdom a couple of years ago, and just a few weeks later it proved to be spectacularly true. A friend and I achieved, thanks to elbow sighting, a perfectly formed forearm arc culminating in a flawless <i>thwack</i> that rang out around us.<br />
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I stood back for a moment to reflect on the beautiful thing we had created.<br />
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Just then, someone else bounded across the room to congratulate us on our technique, which had impressed him from twenty feet away.<br />
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The Elbow Trick: It can’t lose!<br />
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Of course, solid fives also require situational awareness.<br />
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A few weeks ago, a client called my office with a problem that eventually took me, a department manager, two off-site staff, and half a dozen phone calls across three cities to solve. Later in the day, I was upstairs delivering mail when that manager spotted me.<br />
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Then she extended her hand at an angle right between “handshake” and “low five.”<br />
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I assessed the interpersonal factors involved as quickly as possible…<br />
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…and opted for the five. We made contact with a satisfying, elbow-targeted smack.<br />
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Then the person standing behind me placed the cell phone that the manager had been waiting for into her still-outstretched hand.<br />
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The Elbow Trick: It can still lose.Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-31150006299875079852012-10-28T20:55:00.001-06:002012-10-28T20:56:25.220-06:00For the Faint of Heart<br />
You know what is really a good move? Pumping enough blood to your brain. I recommend doing it as often as possible. If you can’t manage that, though, the next best option is failing at this activity as dramatically as possible.<br />
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The first plan fell through for me last month, but I made good progress on the second one by passing out backstage during a performance of <i>Pride & Prejudice</i>. Conveniently for the show but less so for achieving maximum attention, I didn’t have any more lines or appearances for the night.<br />
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Instead, I woke up to the ministrations of Mr. Darcy’s housekeeper from the great Pemberley estate, who also happened to be a retired nurse. We were shortly joined by a collection of extremely quiet paramedics, while the other actors balanced between concern and not missing their entrances for the last half hour of the play. The ambulance team seemed a little disappointed that they didn’t get to remove me directly from the stage, so there’s room to improve for next time.<br />
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Shortly after we arrived at the hospital I remembered that no one knew I had come straight from Regency England without a chance to change, so I began introducing myself to every approaching staff member.<br />
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One of the techs had already taken it all in stride.<br />
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The wardrobe situation also resulted in a sheepish call from the stage manager to my parents, who arrived at the hospital shortly after I did.<br />
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In the end they diagnosed me with “high vagal tone,” which basically means that various situations can set off an involuntary nervous response that slows down my heart rate and limits blood flow to my brain. Several of the triggers are related to neglectful self-care, leading back to the whole “stop doing dumb things and you’ll be fine” principle that gives me so much trouble.<br />
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It turns out that my central nervous system is a lot like <a href="http://kidshealth.org/parent/growth/growing/spells.html#cat10007">one of those kids</a> who hold their breath when they throw tantrums. Its motivations don’t match the average toddler’s, though.<br />
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Now I have a list of potential triggers to watch for, including overexertion, dehydration, emotional stress, and my favorite item as explained by one of the ER personnel, “prolonged standing, sitting, or lying down.”<br />
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Thanks to this experience, I can begin giving more credence to my body’s signals and the advice of medical professionals and make the healthy choices of a responsible adult. Or there’s emotional manipulation.<br />
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Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-15255967107434766152012-10-15T01:56:00.000-06:002012-10-15T01:56:09.129-06:00Painted Lady<br />
Until very recently, all of the makeup I owned was purchased for my high school prom, Class of 2004. I take that back—there was one set of eye shadow that my grandmother gave me after cleaning out her bathroom drawers.<br />
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As you may have gathered, I hardly ever wear makeup. It’s not that I have naturally radiant skin or a point to make about the true nature of beauty; I just really enjoy waking up about thirty minutes before I leave for work.<br />
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I’m also a little too unrefined for cosmetics, in the same way that my hands are not a safe place for nail polish for longer than an hour. Occasions for wearing makeup—weddings, graduations, etc.—typically start out as a lot of fun. The preparation is fun. Arriving and being pretty and excited is fun for about ten minutes. But then life continues to happen, and I remember that thanks to beauty I can’t scratch my chin or blink too much or eat or drink or cry or sweat or touch anything.<br />
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You can only run away for so long, though. Last month I was in a <a href="http://ineedclarafication.blogspot.com/2012/09/universally-acknowledged.html">play</a>, and live theater requires cosmetic enhancement unless your role is “very pale and somewhat flat person.” Small community theater also requires doing your own makeup, which is where the real problems start.<br />
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The other major factor in my cosmeticsless existence is a practically nonexistent understanding of how the stuff works. In a desperate attempt to learn what I missed in middle school, I threw myself on the mercy of the people at the Clinique counter in the mall.<br />
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I started by forgetting the common-sense rule of picking an associate whose look you would like to match. It’s like remembering to take cooking lessons only from people whose recipes you actually enjoy. This error made it difficult to explain what I wanted.<br />
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After using up my weekly allotment of the word “subtle,” I risked trying some other descriptions…<br />
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…but the terminology was too much for me.<br />
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In the end, though, Ms. Clinique did figure out some things to sell me that worked for the theater and also made me feel extremely fancy.<br />
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The best part is, with a few simple tools, I can recreate the look myself anytime I want.<br />
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Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-80351299624515101442012-09-01T01:11:00.001-06:002012-09-01T01:11:36.817-06:00Universally Acknowledged<br />
I’m currently rehearsing for a play. On an entirely unrelated note, if you are in Albuquerque between September 14th and October 7th, you should go see a show at the <a href="http://www.adobetheater.org/">Adobe Theater</a> in the North Valley. I have it from scrupulously unbiased sources that their upcoming production of Jane Austen’s <i>Pride & Prejudice</i> is the single best thing to hit the stage in this millennium.<br />
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Since most of the setup in Jane Austen’s stories takes place at country balls at the turn of the 19th century, the cast is learning a few vaguely Regency-era dances for the party scenes. As a result, the women are asked to wear skirts at rehearsal so that we can practice moving correctly.<br />
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Several of the actresses possess varied collections of flattering sundresses; I, on the other hand, have been bringing the same ankle-length skirt to every rehearsal and adding it to whatever blouse I wore to work that day. It usually makes me look like a colorblind Puritan.<br />
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I’ve started doing my grocery shopping after rehearsal without changing. It’s fun watching the checkers try to decide from my purchases which fundamentalist sect I belong to.<br />
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It probably doesn’t help that the grocery store is my <a href="http://ineedclarafication.blogspot.com/2011/03/you-borrow-my-brain-for-5-seconds-and.html">favorite place</a> to talk to myself out loud.<br />
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There may also be some dancing around.<br />
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I even got stopped at my car last week by a sixteen-year-old Albertson’s parking lot monitor. Apparently they frown on exuberance after 10 p.m.<br />
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The poor guy seemed kind of disappointed when I started obediently pointing out the items on my receipt. Next time I’ll have to make more of an effort.<br />
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Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-51565662195063380292012-08-18T01:03:00.000-06:002012-08-18T01:03:20.707-06:00Three Times Fast<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Repeat after me:</div>
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Cinnamon</div>
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Cinnamon M&Ms</div>
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Cinnamon M&M anemone</div>
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Cinnamon M&M anemone enemy</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjct3_XjbAv57tOgQNQcMIKpI_AzTw2cmCDFskt0kWAYl9pSpOKB9ifKMc4ctw5PZ9n6hdceNFnwYuZblHGQFM_U8arRGmSw5nXEsik3wg8kNSqlMjQr2UXHerVSuRUMWrCwI23hnP3NY4-/s1600/Anemone_5_2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjct3_XjbAv57tOgQNQcMIKpI_AzTw2cmCDFskt0kWAYl9pSpOKB9ifKMc4ctw5PZ9n6hdceNFnwYuZblHGQFM_U8arRGmSw5nXEsik3wg8kNSqlMjQr2UXHerVSuRUMWrCwI23hnP3NY4-/s400/Anemone_5_2.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Cinnamon M&M anemone enemy ended!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZnDwYklJAvZkbFMilR4KeTZtHkGJtPpdb9ZamZTpbCRl_XlvIEDGmkTbBclBBpptwW5P1BL4i6gi7NNYNd_OrYRc_-hKlHZSMFUoBxKjIiOqU_TpRHFYB3zqnPmDjc-k2u7o-GJjKZLy9/s1600/Anemone_6_6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZnDwYklJAvZkbFMilR4KeTZtHkGJtPpdb9ZamZTpbCRl_XlvIEDGmkTbBclBBpptwW5P1BL4i6gi7NNYNd_OrYRc_-hKlHZSMFUoBxKjIiOqU_TpRHFYB3zqnPmDjc-k2u7o-GJjKZLy9/s400/Anemone_6_6.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Celebrate!</div>
<br />Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-66904479432197173962012-08-06T00:34:00.000-06:002012-08-06T00:37:16.782-06:00Goes Great with Circuses<br />
Bread is pretty much the greatest thing. That’s why no human advancement is ever “the best thing since sliced turkey.”<br />
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I was reflecting on this starchy truth while making toast the other day, and I realized the proof was heating right in front of me. We have an entire, omnipresent appliance dedicated not even to <i>making</i> bread, but just to <i>toasting</i> it. This item has been produced and improved for nearly 120 years—not counting the pre-electric days—to do <i>just one thing</i> with bread, and it’s so fantastic that everybody everybody everybody has one.<br />
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I realize that today the Bed Bath & Beyonds of America are full of single-dish appliances for everything from cake pops to cornballs, but do any of those have their own screensaver-based merchandising empires?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioM985HS2VkaYFWc00ly5B1VXaIGmGYjvR7-h-YIo9Jma_mA3ZagKX51-KBoW4-n1aA_QSc1TjTAYuxyDTis9poixodyDhU2avQohFD9MTfOR6HOzJ5X-fbMXQaN8OTsTfwXTnOzXIciUx/s1600/Toast_1_11.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioM985HS2VkaYFWc00ly5B1VXaIGmGYjvR7-h-YIo9Jma_mA3ZagKX51-KBoW4-n1aA_QSc1TjTAYuxyDTis9poixodyDhU2avQohFD9MTfOR6HOzJ5X-fbMXQaN8OTsTfwXTnOzXIciUx/s400/Toast_1_11.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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(<a href="http://www.invodo.com/KitchenArt-Ham-Dogger/p/F4EZVQUM">Here’s</a> a video of that one, though. Anybody hungry?)<br />
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<br /></div>Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-80957604797385500702012-07-29T02:45:00.000-06:002012-07-29T02:46:40.739-06:00I Do Not Think It Means What You Think It Means<span style="background-color: white;">I overheard one of the older ladies at my office taking down an email address over the phone a while ago. She did the best she could with her existing knowledge base.</span><br />
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It reminded me of many, many conversations in which my brother and I were operating in entirely separate universes of understanding.<br />
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In middle school, I considered myself to be exceptionally brilliant at interpreting these communication disconnects. As proof of my powers, I pointed to my own masterful understanding of an incident that unfolded in my 6th grade World History class.<br />
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Our textbook included little historical fiction introductions to each section as a way to bring students into the moment.<br />
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When we got to the chapter on European feudalism, the introduction detailed a ceremony in which a medieval landholder granted a fief to an underling:<br />
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<i>“I will be faithful to you and defend you,<span style="background-color: white;">”</span><span style="background-color: white;"> the kneeling vassal declared. The lord then placed a clod of earth in the man’s hand. The earth symbolized the vassal’s right to use this land in exchange for his service to the lord.</span></i></blockquote>
This story did not help my classmate Annabelle dive into the 12th century. One word in particular tripped her up.<br />
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Our history teacher did not pick up on Annabelle’s concerns about the separation of church and state in our classroom. Instead, he gave her a helpful and informative explanation of the historical structures involved.<br />
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Personally, I couldn’t wait until we took geometry.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><b>Extra Credit:</b> <a href="http://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/e-mail-addresses-it-would-be-really-annoying-to-give-out-over-the-phone">Email address it would be really annoying to give out over the phone</a> (from McSweeney</span>’<span style="background-color: white;">s) </span><br />
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<br /></div>Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-69812356600667783842012-07-17T23:29:00.000-06:002012-07-29T02:50:26.251-06:00Every Time You Go Away<br />
I’ve been drawing pictures for work again.<br />
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They’re very logo-centric illustrations, though, and I’ve been keeping the name of my employer off of my blog in case the organization is not especially thrilled to be represented by this advanced level of neurosis. For literary purposes, then, let’s all assume that I work for that renowned charity, the Yellow Circle.<br />
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We’re throwing a potluck at my office later this week, and the party announcements called for a certain amount of fanfare.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgALID9XTF1cZuhapMYpv_u_pu3o59A9VFWFlgexP-Lzdy3dKdcujv0wCVPN9FVTcqDF4_wyenWsrGiPD4t-XUIoqSzVL_eLANydvqk3PSKBErA9g6PDscwQpF8wUF26_exSXDRDQW9z0To/s1600/Party+Hooray+YC_1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgALID9XTF1cZuhapMYpv_u_pu3o59A9VFWFlgexP-Lzdy3dKdcujv0wCVPN9FVTcqDF4_wyenWsrGiPD4t-XUIoqSzVL_eLANydvqk3PSKBErA9g6PDscwQpF8wUF26_exSXDRDQW9z0To/s400/Party+Hooray+YC_1.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Everyone is a little emotionally conflicted, though, because the event is a going-away party for four likable people all at the same time.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9_B284EUtqMqcvqB4IUe_PuQbie6y5vCdpsp6afgqr8mvtbLhc0r-_jKB3Vn5KmD9yeWrIELHE9bu2FrO13oJAihdO0qw6xO0aOOeNNFr4XUkYP_U29sPNCPiVgYDIcONis0__OQelaTC/s1600/Party+Boohoo+YC_1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9_B284EUtqMqcvqB4IUe_PuQbie6y5vCdpsp6afgqr8mvtbLhc0r-_jKB3Vn5KmD9yeWrIELHE9bu2FrO13oJAihdO0qw6xO0aOOeNNFr4XUkYP_U29sPNCPiVgYDIcONis0__OQelaTC/s400/Party+Boohoo+YC_1.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">In addition to general motivational efforts (“Sign up to bring hotdogs or we will be stuck with just salsa and cake!”), I’m also in charge of signage for the event itself. There’s a standard, thoughtful banner, of course…</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmM3HbvYlhwPDn5y9IVzXYk3Mjsbxk7MsLQ16VfNc8cEILZaZVKlzABdVvmvmeF0iqWmsADWymUnrHghi56C4oeVTtPjhE9eLsM962vIMXKXT3kWXLL5yd-CNvwyyBUtKnn05JSBh9xRou/s1600/WeMissYouAlready_7.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmM3HbvYlhwPDn5y9IVzXYk3Mjsbxk7MsLQ16VfNc8cEILZaZVKlzABdVvmvmeF0iqWmsADWymUnrHghi56C4oeVTtPjhE9eLsM962vIMXKXT3kWXLL5yd-CNvwyyBUtKnn05JSBh9xRou/s400/WeMissYouAlready_7.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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…but I felt like the occasion called for some graphics as well. It turns out that “We are sorry to see you go but really hope you all enjoy your new jobs in four completely different locations and industries!” is not a very tidy sentiment to illustrate, so I went with something a little simpler:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyF_p92W2dFDxlscdnWcyl2LQH9449_sF7qN9a02BDcLAmrOacfyCYosfKfsnXPidt5pfGPXl_bPXW_fYUaM8BtyCA8IxPecDdgewektEtAPTwEKGBW5AQ0b9BBV7rw0ae4e_i47fvzBOq/s1600/Sad+Yellow+Circle_2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyF_p92W2dFDxlscdnWcyl2LQH9449_sF7qN9a02BDcLAmrOacfyCYosfKfsnXPidt5pfGPXl_bPXW_fYUaM8BtyCA8IxPecDdgewektEtAPTwEKGBW5AQ0b9BBV7rw0ae4e_i47fvzBOq/s400/Sad+Yellow+Circle_2.png" width="343" /></a></div>
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Unfortunately, I forgot to pick up my Mournful Circle from the printer tray until the next morning. That’s when I found Emmet carrying it around the office and making sure that he didn’t need to stage a workplace intervention.<br />
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After that, I decided to go in a different direction for the party decor:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZifCESOxjwwwe2qBY6aioAur0Nv8FbO34PDpauQpcCovIbwdxUewcwCTS9uwYAZNKMtIwVMWLesu9t53U2hxU5LZfdHR-iZlyIz_6Y2LVeqVUcD3WmhlFWyjp_H48-rpih0-UY0NyXGQR/s1600/Balloon+Yellow+Circle_3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZifCESOxjwwwe2qBY6aioAur0Nv8FbO34PDpauQpcCovIbwdxUewcwCTS9uwYAZNKMtIwVMWLesu9t53U2hxU5LZfdHR-iZlyIz_6Y2LVeqVUcD3WmhlFWyjp_H48-rpih0-UY0NyXGQR/s400/Balloon+Yellow+Circle_3.png" width="316" /></a></div>
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Everyone had better watch out, though. The next person who throws away recyclable paper is going to meet up with Mournful Circle.<br />
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P.S. I just noticed that this is my 100th post. This one is already written and drawn, though, so instead of publishing any landmark-related material, I’m planning to celebrate by myself with 100 Oreos.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZLSpzE4eDc85Z5EsufrtWcvJEoDtyew8b09yz0KRpCWvI_w5s0I0bSO-R2ZyEP_bwGodjhYEKbXsgtQr2g2JfxMZcCrNckKHVKUHGeYm_l5RxX6ztTr9kfTts9AoLK5gNxNSxugmXprj/s1600/Going+Away_2_5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBZLSpzE4eDc85Z5EsufrtWcvJEoDtyew8b09yz0KRpCWvI_w5s0I0bSO-R2ZyEP_bwGodjhYEKbXsgtQr2g2JfxMZcCrNckKHVKUHGeYm_l5RxX6ztTr9kfTts9AoLK5gNxNSxugmXprj/s400/Going+Away_2_5.png" width="400" /></a></div>Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-2249159848344472292012-07-11T02:58:00.000-06:002012-07-11T19:26:28.804-06:00Object Lessons<br />
I talk to inanimate objects a lot.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpmUUIZLakttrG55mjWin01yzXqXGwBokZ0bdwMGByL6Ap-_5IP1Ptde_0xz1CBbtEwShpzHXN2EHEsiUlq3Us65RsI4eQRJ-v92gOiqjssGKbX9dbt3nzHhZgt9pZTLnq1NUoLd9Axx-M/s1600/Inanimate_4_7.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpmUUIZLakttrG55mjWin01yzXqXGwBokZ0bdwMGByL6Ap-_5IP1Ptde_0xz1CBbtEwShpzHXN2EHEsiUlq3Us65RsI4eQRJ-v92gOiqjssGKbX9dbt3nzHhZgt9pZTLnq1NUoLd9Axx-M/s400/Inanimate_4_7.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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These are typically not the most thrilling conversations.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1graJbF-D7HT7ulMtErfjmsAV2XDcmKhVUfsY__5yPUKZMZ9egLzGnoGucroeBERtkvrRyDjeutK4cMbZb159nEMTk259IDnvJsMTXN7j-9F0UG35rBrpg39WLt6yO8XQp5LyiOT8I6i9/s1600/Inanimate_5_5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1graJbF-D7HT7ulMtErfjmsAV2XDcmKhVUfsY__5yPUKZMZ9egLzGnoGucroeBERtkvrRyDjeutK4cMbZb159nEMTk259IDnvJsMTXN7j-9F0UG35rBrpg39WLt6yO8XQp5LyiOT8I6i9/s400/Inanimate_5_5.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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They hardly ever respond to me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF3QbtnBO8KcAEKvlqubjy4XucuY3EphyphenhyphenpyS3SaZv13Al3p1EWvc5tD6yC-nVD1KegbM6GfrYC608adMW3wDXEakEXpcHVIn0v8UYShsA_Y3ZKsiaWR1OBk6UsfohrJEzLM0UH-K9zUG_E/s1600/Inanimate_6_5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF3QbtnBO8KcAEKvlqubjy4XucuY3EphyphenhyphenpyS3SaZv13Al3p1EWvc5tD6yC-nVD1KegbM6GfrYC608adMW3wDXEakEXpcHVIn0v8UYShsA_Y3ZKsiaWR1OBk6UsfohrJEzLM0UH-K9zUG_E/s400/Inanimate_6_5.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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In fact, sometimes I think they aren’t even listening.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZl7y419QBQo3vDTt_B9MJUMVQLDB_MYVhtoIkwCslOKe7YjeyuboSu368cVbQCGJEn65_frwNQo-pl6frNWfAQdZqZ3zWhyUeOY-Mrl741tLBNwlfd8P6dYBWSAjbPPetwG8sHIt-Wi_b/s1600/Inanimate_3_1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZl7y419QBQo3vDTt_B9MJUMVQLDB_MYVhtoIkwCslOKe7YjeyuboSu368cVbQCGJEn65_frwNQo-pl6frNWfAQdZqZ3zWhyUeOY-Mrl741tLBNwlfd8P6dYBWSAjbPPetwG8sHIt-Wi_b/s400/Inanimate_3_1.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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I hadn’t realized just how often I talk to things, though, until my brother started answering on their behalf.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8qetKKo1Nyetbzwk4CPYT9J5Eo0zmDBAZsVV3zhggRuRTFsgaQvxKYbg1Xqm_vPkjQpp6bbDmvW_hMzqY-VY4BnrHE_W1RNYzydu5lJRP146HPlXFNUmTSgcARpEtAZLRqws-wIwnw060/s1600/Inanimate_8_6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8qetKKo1Nyetbzwk4CPYT9J5Eo0zmDBAZsVV3zhggRuRTFsgaQvxKYbg1Xqm_vPkjQpp6bbDmvW_hMzqY-VY4BnrHE_W1RNYzydu5lJRP146HPlXFNUmTSgcARpEtAZLRqws-wIwnw060/s400/Inanimate_8_6.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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That was also when I realized that the objects may have a fair reason not to obey me:<br />
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I’m not giving them nearly enough positive reinforcement.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMj6XLZ445c2Wit2kGiagF_5dlYVx2y-4X_Nu0bT5qpy2a6iPwcr0p5PLfQnaGr8GEpTmFBaDRZwbcRqfXoUrQ6aM5U6A12Pv_TPMliCqoKEqhpXgHpIlRec8dgk3RdeNjD98dRPUpKoQk/s1600/Inanimate_10_3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMj6XLZ445c2Wit2kGiagF_5dlYVx2y-4X_Nu0bT5qpy2a6iPwcr0p5PLfQnaGr8GEpTmFBaDRZwbcRqfXoUrQ6aM5U6A12Pv_TPMliCqoKEqhpXgHpIlRec8dgk3RdeNjD98dRPUpKoQk/s400/Inanimate_10_3.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Their work environment can get downright hostile.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEJD4dQlCgpBh4qFf9hRTIWoqJh5GjFOM5Bh4uqspaZVIXQntKfx9ozRs30Bri7LFVEbwUoWOAzkX8irnWstHW2Ebjotfs0xioV8irjB7VpDwLQlLdWJdZD7uBRZyAyz6bY_a52PYIzzR3/s1600/Inanimate_11_5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEJD4dQlCgpBh4qFf9hRTIWoqJh5GjFOM5Bh4uqspaZVIXQntKfx9ozRs30Bri7LFVEbwUoWOAzkX8irnWstHW2Ebjotfs0xioV8irjB7VpDwLQlLdWJdZD7uBRZyAyz6bY_a52PYIzzR3/s400/Inanimate_11_5.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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So I’ve got a new plan of action. I’ll keep you posted on the results.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgArZPE49K5IZxvJxNxQjM48mGpJeZ54DX9dGyWUh8t7DQY-jo5A-zWmwQ5T46dwdLoWjJc6Wqz87mvMRRwPsznsJ7eEQPJctKsqUrhdkum6gCxE1uHaT7Jbs7RE80jaCl0bz02t6z0A_EA/s1600/Inanimate_1_11.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgArZPE49K5IZxvJxNxQjM48mGpJeZ54DX9dGyWUh8t7DQY-jo5A-zWmwQ5T46dwdLoWjJc6Wqz87mvMRRwPsznsJ7eEQPJctKsqUrhdkum6gCxE1uHaT7Jbs7RE80jaCl0bz02t6z0A_EA/s400/Inanimate_1_11.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju0XiUiSFDLtr20yND4ivA_aCuvRphzJYnKJ-s3lbrb4S0hjOVfxUQma4-pYnDtrE-83DFkX2UUc6w59_D4OBy8D1548VTAxRPCmErtk22QtQayuMSP4AeegTGAqK2SuPFkLz20L5TkYib/s1600/Inanimate_2_4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju0XiUiSFDLtr20yND4ivA_aCuvRphzJYnKJ-s3lbrb4S0hjOVfxUQma4-pYnDtrE-83DFkX2UUc6w59_D4OBy8D1548VTAxRPCmErtk22QtQayuMSP4AeegTGAqK2SuPFkLz20L5TkYib/s400/Inanimate_2_4.png" width="400" /></a></div>Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-618057296837905436.post-4270451287100818402012-07-01T05:26:00.002-06:002012-10-15T22:43:34.368-06:00Crime of the Century<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My car is pretty distinctive. It’s a late-1980s, white stripe–tired, Elderly Gentleman Land Yacht. In sky blue.</div>
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This instant recognizability makes me feel extra bad about doing stupid things in traffic, because I know I can’t hide. If I cut somebody off on the way to work, then every day on the commute he can see me driving a wide-turn-radius blue sign that says “Remember me? The jerk?”</div>
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Of course, dumb driving moves make me feel horrible anyway because there’s almost no way to apologize afterward. Shouting out the window tends to get misinterpreted, oddly enough, and the rest of the world still hasn’t mastered reading my thoughts. I just need a bumper sticker that says “I’m so sorry” and a neon sign to switch on in my rear window.</div>
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<i>(<b>SPECIAL NOTE:</b> The aforementioned situations are, naturally, completely hypothetical. I have of course never committed and would never entertain the notion of any irresponsible activity that could jeopardize my own safety or that of others while operating a motor vehicle. Hi, Dad!)</i></div>
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Being really eye-catching also means that my car and I should probably stop hanging around security-patrolled abandoned buildings.<br />
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Let me back up for a second and point out, in case you were unaware, that derelict shopping malls are <a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=dixie+square+mall+dead+mall&hl=en&prmd=imvns&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=YTzvT4_sK6X62AXhnengCg&ved=0CFEQsAQ&biw=1024&bih=653">extremely cool</a>. I am not the only one who feels this way, as evidenced by a large and moderately disturbing <a href="http://deadmalls.com/index.html">web community</a> and the delicious term “<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dead_mall">Dead Mall</a>,” which is coincidentally also the name of my emo poetry collective.</div>
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Old things are pretty nifty in general, for that matter. I agree with hipsters on this point, as difficult as it is to admit. Actually, I might be swayed by aspects of hipsterdom were it not for my natural mantle of crippling self-consciousness. For example, I don’t believe that all ironic fashions are necessarily stupid or unappealing—</div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">—i</span>t’s just that I know that they are decidedly stupid on me.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwi-wyoF-zo4kUcvZjH9iwRaBo28-v_8KzXebmLPaU1SiOx-shW4VCC35jo4lJ-wVfpNed-n5OAo6jYk1ARTEes9vRiNRM-gTYy5X5sMkWFRRqU3OOlf9piceH5szVgGF7ZP0aiavlHdKa/s1600/Distinctive_2_5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwi-wyoF-zo4kUcvZjH9iwRaBo28-v_8KzXebmLPaU1SiOx-shW4VCC35jo4lJ-wVfpNed-n5OAo6jYk1ARTEes9vRiNRM-gTYy5X5sMkWFRRqU3OOlf9piceH5szVgGF7ZP0aiavlHdKa/s400/Distinctive_2_5.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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My enthusiasm for decaying structures is similarly hobbled by unrelenting fear, this time of trespassing arrests and/or hobo molestation, so personally exploring boarded-up retail carcasses is not in the cards. Thank goodness there’s the internet.</div>
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On the other hand, we’ve got a mall in Albuquerque that has been mostly dead for years, and it’s attached to a feral cat wonderland of a long-abandoned hotel. You can drive right up to the perimeter fence and stare at all the places where copper wiring used to be, and it’s beautifully landscaped in broken glass and 1960s parking lot fixtures. </div>
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Recently, though, they actually moved a bulldozer into the site to clear the way for new construction. The last time I needed some kitchen gadgets from one of the three stores still operating out of the mall husk, I suddenly realized that all the fabulous creepiness could disappear at any time and be replaced with something unromantically safe and operational. </div>
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Seizing what could be my last chance, I drove a really slow arc around the hotel and took some nausea-inducing jittery video. After that I pulled into the front parking lot for a few still photos of the desolation. </div>
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Then a mall cop in a golf cart whirred up to tell me not to take pictures. </div>
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I spooked like a first-grader in <a href="http://ineedclarafication.blogspot.com/2011/03/buckle.html">trouble</a> for talking in the library and slunk home as shamefaced as possible. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRcqZcaezJgxHJdo7mf0WexVtB2FUkm_4GV31a5zw8WO7wS2r3tX6fGT0N7piUZa5XxVPAxLHI_HGYo2dmgJ-EBmRkgislnBbji3gubJN4PL9HHb4EQlBPuLJNQH7dPVs_fSwsdy6PWg7w/s1600/Distinctive_3_11.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRcqZcaezJgxHJdo7mf0WexVtB2FUkm_4GV31a5zw8WO7wS2r3tX6fGT0N7piUZa5XxVPAxLHI_HGYo2dmgJ-EBmRkgislnBbji3gubJN4PL9HHb4EQlBPuLJNQH7dPVs_fSwsdy6PWg7w/s400/Distinctive_3_11.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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But then I realized that all of my pictures were really cool…</div>
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Two weeks later I went by the mall again to see if the bulldozer had moved, and OH WOW THEY PULLED THE OUTSIDE WALLS DOWN AND NOW YOU CAN SEE INSIDE THIS IS THE NEATEST THING EVER! I was busy gawking at the peeled-open hotel when I drove right past the same golf cart guard, who wrote down my license plate number as I made my getaway at a parking lot–mandated 15 mph.</div>
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I felt like such a wild hooligan that it made me cackle all the way home.</div>
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I haven’t monitored the demolition situation in weeks, and again I’m nervous that all of the enticing decay is about to be replaced with something dull like progress. Also, I’d like to give the security guard another opportunity to get nervous about my intentions. Presumably he has no idea that I am too skittish even to get out of my car, and I really hope that he’s imagining my vast potential for breaking, entering, and wreaking havoc. Part of me is way too excited about the possibility of being suspected by law enforcement. It’s probably the same part that wants to wear tiny hats.</div>
Clarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03159116843329750731noreply@blogger.com2