Or maybe one of them.

Names have been changed to protect the innocent and naïve.

Not like that will really make a difference to anyone who would happen to know the situation. I thought about being vague and sensitive, and decided…naahhhh.

- - - - - -

I work with a [relatively new] girl, Trudy, who has a problem. No really, she’s handicapped. She has fully functioning use of only one arm, and is mentally handicapped as well. My problem is, I don’t know what her condition is.

I know what she does; I just don’t know why. I promise I’m not always this blatantly rude; I spent every spring break in high school at a home for mentally handicapped adults in TN, and I LOVED it. The thing is, I know special individuals like this are aware of their limitations, and they work with it. It helps me, too, the knowing and all that. It’s so much easier to deal with something when it has a name. But when it comes to Trudy, all I really know is she has no sense of boundaries or protocol.

For instance, she talks, incessantly, at times – over anyone who is talking and regardless of anything that was said. I could be talking to a co-worker about pumpkins, and Trudy will jump in and say, “Oh man, I was sooo busy yesterday!” And then proceed to tell us ev-er-y-thing that happened yesterday.

At other times, she falls asleep while on shift. Really, I do want to give her a little leeway, cause I mean, I fell asleep once. In the three years I’ve worked there.

In her favor, I will say that she is very helpful. Twice today patrons came up to speak to me, and Trudy listened in and quickly rushed to do whatever they asked for before I could move. Very helpful.

- - - - - -

Speaking of other people who are just sooo helpful, I’ve recently been involved in a group project with a middle-aged grad student (I’m sure she’d be flattered if she knew I estimated her at middle-age). Beatrice. She’s very helpful. She likes to delegate, and take charge, and run people over. They have other similarities, Beatrice and Trudy – Beatrice likes to talk over me, too.

Beatrice is also very humble. Anytime she has sat down and completely changed everything we (i.e., the other group members) have done, she’s always said something like, “I’m sorry guys, I’m just so anal!” She always adds a little wince, too, just to make it extra special.

Beatrice confronted me once, out of the goodness of her heart. She asked me if I had a problem with her, pointing out that I had been rude to her. I was so thankful for her courage to do this, especially when she shared with me her initial thoughts that I had a poor GPA and would therefore be an irresponsible, lazy, untrustworthy group member. It was a real bonding moment.

- - - - - -

Ok, so… In general, people have really been getting under my skin lately. I like to think that I’m a patient person –or at least a pushover, but the reality of the situation is thrown in my face… especially after getting all riled (pronounced “rahled”) up from stupid nonsensical cattiness on Xanga and in REAL LIFE, too. I mean, whodathunk.

I’d like to give Trudy and Beatrice the benefit of the doubt, really I would. I mean, they are two very special individuals. Honestly, today Trudy was humming during her entire shift at work. It was almost endearing. She gets a kick out of the littlest things – like when her IE window opened minimized, and she didn’t know why. Bout fell off her chair laughing at that one.

Beatrice is another story.  Grrr.

The title sounds much deeper than the post really is. Know this: I’ve slept for about 6 out of the last 48 hours. There, that’s your warning.

Darkness really has a way of bringing things to light, that you wouldn’t normally realize in the…light. Late last night/early this morning (whichever is glass half-full to you), I was driving home on I-40, then I-65. Let me just say that I love driving, although I am definitely not one of those people who can run on fumes all night. Gotta have my sleep. Me as a walking zombie can be, as Edgar Wright portrayed so well, both a terror and highly entertaining.

You know what else is potentially not-so-fun to be around? Idiots on the road. I don’t say this lightly, because I’m aware that everyone can, and probably has, ranted about idiot drivers at some point. It’s just that, as I was saying, darkness, nighttime, early-morningtime, whatever, has a way of illuminating things in a way we wouldn’t normally see them… During the daytime, for instance, you know that those obnoxious drivers are probably rushing to get to work or school or the candy store, and you know that they probably are taking their driving skills out on the driving world at large because of some other obnoxious driver *they* encountered on the road. Plus, you can see their face. All of this helps us to label them: You, sir or madam, are one heck of an obnoxious driver. Idiot jerk. Pfff.

During the nighttime (I’m just gonna go with that, since I never went to bed and then got up to embrace a new day) though, things change. When I was going 80 and pulled up next to a truck going 70, why did he speed up to 85? This isn’t really that unusual, but what I really want to know is why, for the love of all that is holy, did he feel the need to rapidly speed up and then switch from his 4 am traffic-free lane to my 4:01 am traffic-free lane, in front of me, and then slow down to 70 again? In the nighttime, this takes on a whole 'nother feel. This guy bypassed idiocy and went straight to crazy. Things are different at night.

Speaking of crazy and darkness and light, it was pitch black while I was driving. The kind of black and the time of night that makes you earnestly follow the little white reflectors marking your lane, because you don’t want to actually turn your brights on since you’ll only have to turn them off in a second when you pass another sporadic semi going the opposite direction. Since it was so dark, I noticed at one point that the sky started getting lighter. I figured I was approaching a town, but as I kept driving, the sky kept getting lighter, with an orange and pinkish tint to it. This forced me to remind myself that the sun does not rise at 4 am, but still, I wondered. I think I definitely went crazy for a minute. Finally I learned that it was not the sunrise when I came upon some humongous truck stop with a billion halogen lights.  No hyperbole. You can choose whatever moral you want to for this one (Don’t mistake a fake for the real thing? Industrialization isn’t all it’s cracked up to be? Peanuts make for great energy food? I thought of some really good ones while on the road, but they're all gone now...). I don’t know what would fit best, I’m simply amused by my moment of disillusionment.

So in 1934, something new happened. It was part of what President Roosevelt decided to call “New Deal.” More specifically, something new happened for American artists: they were funded, for the first time ever, by the federal government. At the time, Roosevelt had said, "A hundred years from now, my administration will be known for its art, not for its relief.” I question that at this point, although it is to his credit that Dorothy Lange’s 1936 Migrant Mother was photographed. Nearly anyone today would recognize the photograph as being “iconic” of the Great Depression.

FDR’s influence on American art is hardly making the headlines his policies are, however, despite Obama’s attempt to emulate it. In this spirit, the Obama administration has siphoned off $50 million of the recent economic stimulus package to the National Endowment for the Arts. FDR did say “a hundred years from now,” though. I will grant him that. Let’s wait the remaining 25 years and see if then, people say “art!” every time FDR comes up in the word-response game.

The director of the American Art Museum, a Ms. Betsy Broun, would like to summarize the effect of this deal on artists by saying that “they gave us back to ourselves” (dirty thieves in the first place, apparently). Figure that out if you can. Perhaps she was trying to express the way the artists of the Depression era attempted to redefine the American, attempted to instill pride in who we are, despite our circumstances – or maybe because of them. In another move to remind us of who we are and where we’ve been, the Smithsonian is sending out for tour a new show, aptly and creatively titled “1934: A New Deal for Artists.”

Some at this point would like to say, what’s the point of that? Why is our ‘economic stimulus’ money going to fund art?! Well, they can’t say that, because the die has already been cast. I suppose they could actually, but it would only serve to again do what art does best in our society: entertain. Don’t get me wrong, I love art. I do, however, think we need to redefine a few things as a society. To anyone who thinks the art of yesteryear is important to us anymore: Go hang out with Christie’s and China. To everyone else: Join the Americanized world of today. If Obama wants to fund “art,” I dearly hope he’s investing in film, animation, or the online realm.  

Don’t want to join today’s Americanized world? Well, as McDonald’s used to say, “We love to see you smile.” Ok, that’s a lie. Get over yourself and recognize the world is changing, and most of us are rapidly falling behind (this is especially what I would like to say to the new administration). War has changed. When was the last time we engaged in a 'traditional war' and employed large-scale warfare? Probably WWII. Art has changed. What is the most current artist Joe Blow from the street can name? Probably Warhol, possibly Pollock. Things just aren't the same anymore.

Me? What’s the most current artist I can name? Eric Carle, Chris Van Allsburg, and Brett Helquist. I, ladies and gents, spend all day immersed in children’s books. Now that’s the place to be.

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=101275990

I've been on campus and in school for a few weeks now, and I've begun to notice something about our greetings. There's a new head nod in town. I, for one, am not old enough --or addicted to late night TV enough-- to remember when all the Seinfeld episodes came out and classified such trivial things like the "close talker." (A handy Seinfeld Glossary can be found here: http://www.stanthecaddy.com/seinfeld-glossary/) I have been, however, fortunate enough to watch a few episodes, courtesy of the lovely new technology known as DVDs. So I do know that somewhere, in some episode, even though it's not in the glossary, there was a reference to the head nod. It's a known greeting. Trust me. It's been verified.

If you don't accept Seinfeld as good authority on greetings, fine and dandy. You know it's true, anyway. You pass someone on the street, tilt the head at a 45% angle (if you're feeling generous), and continue on your way, all silent "hi"s and acknowledgments exchanged for the day. This has been around for ages (since Clint Eastwood anyway...or was he just the originator of "The Glare"?), yet was recently revived; but now, ladies and gentlemen, now, I am here to tell you it's become passe.

I had been suspecting this for quite some time now, and I was jazzed the other day to be proved right when someone gave me The Tight-Lipped Smile. This is accomplished when passing someone, you catch eye contact and then (either because you feel obligated due to said eye contact or because you genuinely want to acknowledge their presence) you smile. Not a big smile -- passing people on the street is not an occasion fitting an open-lip smile. No, keeping the lips closed, you pull the corners of your mouth slightly upward, resulting in something resembling a smile. This can, at times, also resemble a grimace, but this doesn't matter. If it was returned, your job is done, and you have acknowledged that person today.

Tips on how to accomplish The Tight-Lipped Smile:
1. Make eye contact
2. Begin to pull the corners of your mouth backwards
3. Keep your lips closed
4. At this point, you choose exactly how far you want to pull the corners of your mouth back (full smile? half smile? grimace-ish smile? It's your choice.)
5. Hold this facial expression either until eye contact is broken or an appropriate amount of time has passed (usually about 1-2 seconds).
6. Congratulations, and welcome to The Tight-Lipped Smilers.

There are voices that keep coming out of my TV... and no, they're not from movies. It does happen when the TV's on, but also --as I discovered this morning-- both when there are movies playing and not playing.
Ok, first, a little bit of backstory.
This isn't actually my TV. I'm living in an apartment that belongs to a friend of mine who is now overseas. He left his TV here, which is understandable, because who would actually spend the time, energy, and money shipping quite a large TV to Jordan? Obviously not him, and I agree with his decision. Especially since I get to watch it.
The TV is located in my 'room,' which is located above the kitchen. The apartment itself consists only of two fairly large rooms, both with very high ceilings. It's a bit drafty. It's a bit drafty because it's a bit old. And because it has high ceilings, but that's also because it's a bit old. The room I'm located in is split between a small kitchen area and a small dining area. In the dining area, there's a ladder, which leads up a good 8 ft or so to a loft built above the kitchen. The space is maybe 6 x 8, and it's all mine. So in the highest room of the tallest tower... is  essentially where the TV's located.
So this is the second time I've heard the voices. The first time, it was about 2 o'clock in the morning. Everything was quiet, inside and outside. I had finished a movie not too long before, the screen had settled to its familiar blue, and I was talking on the phone to my boyfriend, when suddENLLYYY... I heard a voice coming from the TV. This was no high or magnificent voice; I'm quite convinced God is not speaking to me through my TV. Especially because it had nothing remarkable to say. It was preceded and followed by a beep, and the voice talked about pulling over at a certain street.
After I got over the shock of hearing a voice come from the TV, I managed to calm my heart enough to get to a point where I could think calmly and rationally about it, and concluded that the voice must have been from someone using a CB radio.
This morning, I heard the voice again. I was watching Kung Fu Panda, and the voice came on while the movie was playing. There was much more mumbling and beeping this time than before, but I did manage to make out a reference to Malibu Barbie.
I don't know whose radio I'm picking up, I don't know why they're talking about Malibu Barbie at 9 in the morning, and I wish they would stop. I wish they would stop talking about Malibu Barbie and I wish they would stop driving close enough or whatever so that this TV would stop picking up their signal.
I'm feeling a little bit of trepidation about my day. This was a very weird way to start it. I hope things become a bit more normal from here on out today...
Who ever heard of a TV that picks up CB radio? I mean, what the heck.