When I first started college I learned many new things: how to format a paper in Turbian, how to read Greek, how to discuss rhetorical argumentation, explain Wellhausen's hypotheses, and how to check a girl's finger for a ring.
Ring checking is the simple, sly practice of determining whether a young lady is married or not. First, you approach the female and say, "How you doin." Next, check her left hand quickly and inconspicuously for that diamond. If she does have on a ring, you turn around without saying another word. If her hand is bare of any sparkly objects, then proceed to say, "Like I was sayin,' How you doin.'"
This is something I never did before. At first I thought my friends were dorks for even going to the trouble of ring checking. However, I soon found myself searching a girl's hand for that shiny, monthly-installed paid, Marilyn Monroe approved, diamond ring that said in loud, flashy gleams, "Too late Loser, I'm taken."
Eventually, I quit checking a girl's finger for a ring. I figured that at my age, I better first check for a pulse.
Recently, I have been scanning fingers for rings once again. This time I have not been determining whether the woman is single or not, but comparing her ring to my fiance's ring. With each comparison I determine that Amy's is much more beautiful. It might have something to do with the fact that Amy is much more beautiful than all other women, but I check for cut, clarity, carat and color and still still determine that Amy's ring is superior.
Often I will catch Amy ring checking her own hand. I will smile at her and say, "That's a pretty ring. Where did you get that?" She will smile back and say,"My fiance gave it to me."
That's me!
Monday, October 6, 2008
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Orientation
It was a new start, yet it all looked and felt familiar. I tried leaving part of my past, yet it was there with me. I was there to study writing, but I was confronted by my previous studies--theology. I was there to pursue an MFA, but orientation took place in what was once a Baptist church.
I entered the church, which was now being used for the university's night program, and found my way to the sanctuary. They did not call it a sanctuary, it was now the "art's center," but you could not disguise its previous function. There were neither a crucifix, nor a baptistry, but you felt reverent walking in.
I silently and respectfully found my seat. My seat was not a desk or a table, but a pew. Some were talking, some were reading, but most had their heads down in a stationary position as if in meditation. We were there to study and learn, but all would have easily transitioned into a state worship, given the right cue.
The dean ascended the stage and stood in front of the lectern. It was not a lectern. It was a pulpit and he was not facing an audience of students but a house of worshipers. We listened to each of his words, noting down the most important points. We laughed at his jokes and imagined his stories. It was not a speech. It was a sermon and it had points, and it was persuasive. We were moved by his words and motivated to become better students. Not better students, but better believers.
There was a place in the pew in front of me for a hymnal, A Bible, and a cup of communion. Communion was not served, but we were all invited after the speech to come forward and receive our free university coffee cup. We got in a line and waited our turn to receive the cup. Then we departed with a, "Have a good day." No, not "have a good day," but: "Peace be with you." "And also with you."
It was orientation. Or was it church? I can not escape the church. It has followed me into a Masters of Fine Arts program. It was there during orientation and later in class to let me know where I came from. It will continue to be there with every story or poem I turn in for class. It will be there in my journal entries and my free writing. It will be there with topics I explain, argue and discuss. It will be there in my notes and in the margins. It is everywhere I go.
It is here with me now.
I entered the church, which was now being used for the university's night program, and found my way to the sanctuary. They did not call it a sanctuary, it was now the "art's center," but you could not disguise its previous function. There were neither a crucifix, nor a baptistry, but you felt reverent walking in.
I silently and respectfully found my seat. My seat was not a desk or a table, but a pew. Some were talking, some were reading, but most had their heads down in a stationary position as if in meditation. We were there to study and learn, but all would have easily transitioned into a state worship, given the right cue.
The dean ascended the stage and stood in front of the lectern. It was not a lectern. It was a pulpit and he was not facing an audience of students but a house of worshipers. We listened to each of his words, noting down the most important points. We laughed at his jokes and imagined his stories. It was not a speech. It was a sermon and it had points, and it was persuasive. We were moved by his words and motivated to become better students. Not better students, but better believers.
There was a place in the pew in front of me for a hymnal, A Bible, and a cup of communion. Communion was not served, but we were all invited after the speech to come forward and receive our free university coffee cup. We got in a line and waited our turn to receive the cup. Then we departed with a, "Have a good day." No, not "have a good day," but: "Peace be with you." "And also with you."
It was orientation. Or was it church? I can not escape the church. It has followed me into a Masters of Fine Arts program. It was there during orientation and later in class to let me know where I came from. It will continue to be there with every story or poem I turn in for class. It will be there in my journal entries and my free writing. It will be there with topics I explain, argue and discuss. It will be there in my notes and in the margins. It is everywhere I go.
It is here with me now.
Monday, August 25, 2008
And the List Grows...
Accidents and mistakes I have blamed on having low-blood sugar.
1)Fell up the stairs.
2)Fell down the stairs.
3)Fell out of the shower.
4.Burned myself on hot tea.
5.Spilled a glass of tea at a restaurant.
6.Left a size tag on the side of my pants.
7.Called a woman by her recently dead sister's name.
8.Cut myself with an exacto-knife.
9.Flipped off my history professor.
10.Dropped an f-bomb in front of little children.
11.Dropped an f-bomb in front of the board of directors of my grad. school.
12.Shaved my head.
13.Bought a Nelly Furtado c.d.
14.Cut my finger on a copier.
15.Cut my finger on a door handle.
16.Cut my finger with a lady's razer.
17.Ripped my messenger bag on a spiraling stairway.
18.Sent a mother's day card to my mom on her birthday.
19.Voted for Ross Perot.
20.Watched Joel Osteen for 20 minutes.
21.Broke my glasses in half while cleaning them.
22.Googled my name.
23.Mistook "intimate" with "Entenmann's".
24.Overfilled the gas tank.
25.Burned my arm on a pizza oven.
26.Slipped and fell in dog urine.
27.Left an ink pen in my pocket during a wash.
28.Cut my foot on a broken piece of casserole dish.
29.Dropped Moby Dick in a toilet.
30.Dropped an heirloom down a sink.
31.Dropped my back pack on a power-strip cutting off a speaker's microphone.
32.Opened a door I shouldn't have.
33.Memorized the words to the Llama song.
34.Tripped over a garden hose falling on concrete.
35.Tripped over a floor fan in a restaurant.
36.Stepped on a four-year-old's head.
37.Plugged my laptop's power cord into an outlet with wet hands.
38.Almost impaled by a jagged tree branch during a wind storm.
39.Almost decapitated myself on a wooden roller coaster.
40.Thought my fiance would find the song, "Like a Parasite," romantic.
41.Trial subscription to Time.
42.Mistook hazard lights on a pickup for a right turn signal.
43.Bought a fiddle.
44.Weed eating for twenty minutes without the string.
45.Stepped on the sharpened eat of an arrow's head.
46.Mispronounced Fuddruckers.
47.Cursed at the end of a prayer.
48.Walked up to the stage in high school to receive an award I was not announced to get.
49.Walked into a closed door.
50.Posted a blog full of my faults, mistakes, and accidents.
My sugar's low. I need a snack.
1)Fell up the stairs.
2)Fell down the stairs.
3)Fell out of the shower.
4.Burned myself on hot tea.
5.Spilled a glass of tea at a restaurant.
6.Left a size tag on the side of my pants.
7.Called a woman by her recently dead sister's name.
8.Cut myself with an exacto-knife.
9.Flipped off my history professor.
10.Dropped an f-bomb in front of little children.
11.Dropped an f-bomb in front of the board of directors of my grad. school.
12.Shaved my head.
13.Bought a Nelly Furtado c.d.
14.Cut my finger on a copier.
15.Cut my finger on a door handle.
16.Cut my finger with a lady's razer.
17.Ripped my messenger bag on a spiraling stairway.
18.Sent a mother's day card to my mom on her birthday.
19.Voted for Ross Perot.
20.Watched Joel Osteen for 20 minutes.
21.Broke my glasses in half while cleaning them.
22.Googled my name.
23.Mistook "intimate" with "Entenmann's".
24.Overfilled the gas tank.
25.Burned my arm on a pizza oven.
26.Slipped and fell in dog urine.
27.Left an ink pen in my pocket during a wash.
28.Cut my foot on a broken piece of casserole dish.
29.Dropped Moby Dick in a toilet.
30.Dropped an heirloom down a sink.
31.Dropped my back pack on a power-strip cutting off a speaker's microphone.
32.Opened a door I shouldn't have.
33.Memorized the words to the Llama song.
34.Tripped over a garden hose falling on concrete.
35.Tripped over a floor fan in a restaurant.
36.Stepped on a four-year-old's head.
37.Plugged my laptop's power cord into an outlet with wet hands.
38.Almost impaled by a jagged tree branch during a wind storm.
39.Almost decapitated myself on a wooden roller coaster.
40.Thought my fiance would find the song, "Like a Parasite," romantic.
41.Trial subscription to Time.
42.Mistook hazard lights on a pickup for a right turn signal.
43.Bought a fiddle.
44.Weed eating for twenty minutes without the string.
45.Stepped on the sharpened eat of an arrow's head.
46.Mispronounced Fuddruckers.
47.Cursed at the end of a prayer.
48.Walked up to the stage in high school to receive an award I was not announced to get.
49.Walked into a closed door.
50.Posted a blog full of my faults, mistakes, and accidents.
My sugar's low. I need a snack.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Say My Name, Say My Name
My great grandfather's name was William. His son, my grandfather, was William, Jr., but they call him Billy to distinguish him from his father. My father's legal name is Billy, but they call him Pete to distinguish him from his father. My legal name is Billy, Jr., but they call me B.J. to separate me from William (Billy) and Billy (Pete). Then there is my mother's father, whose name is William, but they called him Bays. I don't even know why.
So when I have children there will be no Billys, Willys, Williams, Bills, Wills, or Wilhelms. If I have a boy his name will be Pierre, Gustave, or Orson. I will put an end to the Billys!
I have never been known as Billy. Since birth I have been called B.J., which makes me wonder why they even bothered to name me Billy. I've known people who have had only single letter names. I would have been fine with first name B and second name J, but instead I have this burden of a legal, first name that I don't use and no one calls me. The only person who knows me as Billy is the government and we are not on first name basis.
Now that I have turned 30 and am getting married in less than a year I wonder is it time to drop the B.J.? Should I go with something more mature sounding? But Billy? Billy is the kid with a Gameboy in his pocket and a melting Popsicle in his hand. The narrator of Slaughter-House Five kept Billy as his adult name because people always trust a "Billy," but I already have people's trust--I have a baby face and glasses.
I could go by my middle name, Wayne, but do I look like a Wayne? Wayne is the guy who changes the oil in your car. I can't even pump gas properly. Also, Wayne is Batman's last name and I am not about to put on a cape and have sidekick with green tights beside me.
Throughout my life I have gone by many names: B.J., B., J., J.B., J.B. Hog, B.J. the Bear, B.B., Bee Gee, Beejoreeno, Beelee, and on some crazy occasions Billy. My personal favorite nickname for my nickname is Beej. My fiance also has petnames for me, but no need to list those here. Her mother is reading.
Soon I will be starting my new job as a pharmacy technician and I will have a name tag. My dilemma is what should be on that name tag: Billy or B.J. I'm torn. Should I go with my legal, less juvenile sounding first name or the name that everyone knows me and loves me by?
I don't know. What do you think?
So when I have children there will be no Billys, Willys, Williams, Bills, Wills, or Wilhelms. If I have a boy his name will be Pierre, Gustave, or Orson. I will put an end to the Billys!
I have never been known as Billy. Since birth I have been called B.J., which makes me wonder why they even bothered to name me Billy. I've known people who have had only single letter names. I would have been fine with first name B and second name J, but instead I have this burden of a legal, first name that I don't use and no one calls me. The only person who knows me as Billy is the government and we are not on first name basis.
Now that I have turned 30 and am getting married in less than a year I wonder is it time to drop the B.J.? Should I go with something more mature sounding? But Billy? Billy is the kid with a Gameboy in his pocket and a melting Popsicle in his hand. The narrator of Slaughter-House Five kept Billy as his adult name because people always trust a "Billy," but I already have people's trust--I have a baby face and glasses.
I could go by my middle name, Wayne, but do I look like a Wayne? Wayne is the guy who changes the oil in your car. I can't even pump gas properly. Also, Wayne is Batman's last name and I am not about to put on a cape and have sidekick with green tights beside me.
Throughout my life I have gone by many names: B.J., B., J., J.B., J.B. Hog, B.J. the Bear, B.B., Bee Gee, Beejoreeno, Beelee, and on some crazy occasions Billy. My personal favorite nickname for my nickname is Beej. My fiance also has petnames for me, but no need to list those here. Her mother is reading.
Soon I will be starting my new job as a pharmacy technician and I will have a name tag. My dilemma is what should be on that name tag: Billy or B.J. I'm torn. Should I go with my legal, less juvenile sounding first name or the name that everyone knows me and loves me by?
I don't know. What do you think?
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Erudite Locutions (Smart-Sounding Words)
These are five words I would like to use more in casual conversation, but it would sound like I'm trying to sound smarter than I really am.
1.lugubrious
mournful, dismal
How I would like to interject the word in conversation.
"Yes, Charles is looking quite lugubrious today. It is a shame, really."
What I normally would say.
"Chuck looks bad."
2.coquettish
A woman who endeavors to without sincere affection to gain the attention and admiration of men.
How I would like to interject the word in conversation.
"That gentlewoman appears frighteningly coquettish standing there twirling her parasol in our direction."
What I normally would say.
"Pretty."
3.audacity
shameless boldness
How I would like to interject the word in conversation.
"I cannot believe sir that you would have the audacity to suggest such an accusation to my personage!"
What I normally would say.
"You wanna piece of me!"
4.bombastic
pompous, overblown
How I would like to interject the word in conversation.
"My analysis concludes that this paragraph is full of bombastic pretension and needs to be revised to reflect a more reasonable observation."
What I normally would say.
"Arrogant bastard."
5.acquiesce
to accept, comply
How I would like to interject the word in conversation.
"I resignedly acquiesce to your demands, but never believe for one moment that I have readily capitulated with a reposed moral conscience."
What I normally would say.
"Okay, I'll do it."
1.lugubrious
mournful, dismal
How I would like to interject the word in conversation.
"Yes, Charles is looking quite lugubrious today. It is a shame, really."
What I normally would say.
"Chuck looks bad."
2.coquettish
A woman who endeavors to without sincere affection to gain the attention and admiration of men.
How I would like to interject the word in conversation.
"That gentlewoman appears frighteningly coquettish standing there twirling her parasol in our direction."
What I normally would say.
"Pretty."
3.audacity
shameless boldness
How I would like to interject the word in conversation.
"I cannot believe sir that you would have the audacity to suggest such an accusation to my personage!"
What I normally would say.
"You wanna piece of me!"
4.bombastic
pompous, overblown
How I would like to interject the word in conversation.
"My analysis concludes that this paragraph is full of bombastic pretension and needs to be revised to reflect a more reasonable observation."
What I normally would say.
"Arrogant bastard."
5.acquiesce
to accept, comply
How I would like to interject the word in conversation.
"I resignedly acquiesce to your demands, but never believe for one moment that I have readily capitulated with a reposed moral conscience."
What I normally would say.
"Okay, I'll do it."
Won't You Come and Sing With Me?
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Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Not Like Writing Your Name in Snow
Yesterday I got familiar with a plastic cup--I peed in it. I have a difficult time urinating in public; especially when there is a long line behind me. I can feel the eyes on my back, looking at the time, tapping their feet, clearing their throats as I try to finish. Many times I have given up and sat uncomfortably in my seat awaiting a second try.
Yesterday was worse than having to go in a public restroom because I had to go in a cup with nurses waiting behind a closed door. I had to take a drug test for a new job I am starting soon. I have nothing to worry about; I don't do drugs, but I am insecure. I'm sure they make a drug for that.
The nice nurse handed me the plastic cup and showed me the line I was to go past. She asked if that would be a problem, and I said yes. So I went into the waiting room and downed two cups of water very quickly and watched the Olympics. Unfortunately, it was indoor volleyball and not swimming, diving, or some other kind of water-related sport that could have helped along the process.
I'm diabetic, so having to go to the bathroom is usually no problem. All I have to do is swallow some spit and I will have to go five minutes later, but this day I could not go. I waited a few minutes, made a phone call, and watched Japan and America spike volleyballs back and forth at each other like they were reenacting World War II. Then finally I felt something!
The nurse led me into the little bathroom with the plastic cup. This was a first for me because I have never had to go in a cup before. I've gone in a toilet, against a wall, in the snow, in a stream, on a small fire, in a diaper, and even in the pool, but never in a cup. I'm used to drinking liquids from a cup, but not dispensing it into a cup.
Finally, I was able to go and I was overjoyed. I successfully went past the line without dripping any out. I was always good at coloring inside the lines. I proudly presented my cup of warm, yellow, urine to the nurse as if it was a gold Olympic medal. As I left the office I think I heard the National Anthem play and I too felt victorious with a cup full of my kidney juice. USA! USA! USA!
Yesterday was worse than having to go in a public restroom because I had to go in a cup with nurses waiting behind a closed door. I had to take a drug test for a new job I am starting soon. I have nothing to worry about; I don't do drugs, but I am insecure. I'm sure they make a drug for that.
The nice nurse handed me the plastic cup and showed me the line I was to go past. She asked if that would be a problem, and I said yes. So I went into the waiting room and downed two cups of water very quickly and watched the Olympics. Unfortunately, it was indoor volleyball and not swimming, diving, or some other kind of water-related sport that could have helped along the process.
I'm diabetic, so having to go to the bathroom is usually no problem. All I have to do is swallow some spit and I will have to go five minutes later, but this day I could not go. I waited a few minutes, made a phone call, and watched Japan and America spike volleyballs back and forth at each other like they were reenacting World War II. Then finally I felt something!
The nurse led me into the little bathroom with the plastic cup. This was a first for me because I have never had to go in a cup before. I've gone in a toilet, against a wall, in the snow, in a stream, on a small fire, in a diaper, and even in the pool, but never in a cup. I'm used to drinking liquids from a cup, but not dispensing it into a cup.
Finally, I was able to go and I was overjoyed. I successfully went past the line without dripping any out. I was always good at coloring inside the lines. I proudly presented my cup of warm, yellow, urine to the nurse as if it was a gold Olympic medal. As I left the office I think I heard the National Anthem play and I too felt victorious with a cup full of my kidney juice. USA! USA! USA!
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