absence makes the heart...

Hm... grow fonder? Not really so much growing fonder but the absence allows for the burgeoning resentment to recede. I'm talking about the blog, of course.

That 30-day blog-a-thon was rough. I'm not going to lie- at the end, I was really getting to the point where I dreaded having to get on here. I wrote each one live that day- so there was no backlog when I didn't feel like writing. When I couldn't get to my computer and it was more stressful than fun or insightful. It was this total pain in the ass. But in the end, I'm glad I did it. Actually, the day after the last post- I was still staying at my parents' house, the computer was still broken, and I got home from a very long, stressful day, and the idea of trying to figure out a way to get the blog done was more than I could bear. I didn't care one way or another. The next morning, I looked at my calendar and realized that was day 31. Like, I had written on it every day for 30 days (including my lame-ass one from Dave's BlackBerry at the Bengals' game). So, I had made my goal and didn't even realize it. I felt like I was still only 2 weeks in.

A commitment completed, so to speak. I guess I might eventually become a grownup after all.

i am my beloved's and my beloved is mine

We all know that I fear commitment. Besides my 11-year relationship with Verizon Wireless and the same phone number, I can't stay in the same apartment, job, neighborhood, et cetera for longer than a year or two. Relationships envy the 1-year lease I will sign to an apartment.

I pride myself on my flexibility- not physically (because I'm not), but emotionally, mentally, and socially. I have a wide variety of friends, interests, and I'm pretty comfortable most everywhere. Except funerals. I am the person at funerals making unfunny puns or trying to ease tension with a joke that is neither appropriate or humorous. But people are often surprised to meet my circle of friends. There are tomboys and metrosexuals, good ol' boys and high maintenance ladies, young and old, gay and straight- there is nobody missing from my spectrum of friends.

While I'm generally not the type to feel like I have to have an escape route- I'm not going to leave town tomorrow. I can be spontaneous, but it's usually more of a lackadaisical/ooh, you're right- that would be fun than a case of cabin fever. But I also like to know there isn't too many things or people that I have to have around. I can go with the flow. I can not answer my phone while out with friends. I can eat most anything or anywhere. I can sleep in any position. Besides a strong aversion to porta-potties and a complete revulsion to going to the bathroom outdoors, I can hang with most situations for at least a while.

Ain't nothing gonna hold me down, oh no, I got to keep on movin'...

Sort of.

I came disastrously close to not making my blog post today. I'm at my parents' house, and their computer has apparently been sleeping around, because it's got a nasty virus (I told them to cover it with a rubber sheet at night). I got to the local library 7 minutes after close. Panic was setting in. I realized I had no way to access the Internet. The Internet, where I communicate, where I work (sort of), where I pay bills and make sure they're paid. I need you, Internet. I don't want you, but I need you.

Do you need me? Probably not. But like some kind of evolutionary mutual parasitism, you can't exist without the Dales of the world. Is the Internet my only contact with humans? No. I could get by without it. It would be difficult, but it seems like even America managed to scrimmage around for a couple hundred years without it. I remember looking at Prodigy on my friend Maggie's computer in the late 80s and thinking, "this is the dumbest shit I've ever seen. Why sit in a room by yourself, talking to people you'll never meet?" And tonight, I'm sitting at my parents' little computer desk with a borrowed laptop (thanks Katrina!) in front of their temporarily useless monitor, pecking out a little blog that probably nobody outside of my social circle reads because if I didn't- well, I don't know what would happen, but I prefer not to find out.

It's an unequal relationship I have with the Internet. But it is a commitment, and that's a good first step.

paper or plastic?

More and more I have been considering my actions and the effect they have on the environment. I was big into environmental issues when it was fashionable in the late 80s- all about saving whales and rain forests and that jazz. Some habits stuck- I still turn off the water while brushing my teeth. Other habits gave way to convenience or finances or just a general lack of awareness.

But over time, I returned to giving notice, in no small part due to the resurgence in popularity of environmentalism. I have reusable grocery bags (and then run out of poo bags for my dog). I recycle everything the city will take away, and bring batteries and other hazardous recyclables to the appropriate drop-off. I try to be fuel-efficient. Even small things, like declining a paper receipt or mailed bank statements have become routine.

I appreciate things of an organic nature. I'm trying more and more to get local and organic food (if and when I can afford it). In an odd way, I feel like everything that is synthetic is just plastic. To me, there is no essential difference between Twinkies and Tupperware- and I figure you could break all of it down to something explosive and flammable at some point. I realize that this is inaccurate, but I'm not a chemist or physicist and I'm not even sure what branch of science this argument falls under. I'm okay with that. The gist is that I try to take care of the planet and show concern for it.

There is, however, an arena where I am unable to go paperless. As environmentally conscious as the Kindle may be (and as far as my chemistry knowledge goes, it could take x-rays for all I know), I can't let go of books. I need them. No matter how long I can be on this computer, I can't read the same thing for longer than 5 or 10 minutes. Oh, this article has a link I need to click to get to the next page? Hope there was nothing important, because I don't have the attention span for that. But a book. Oh, there is something beautiful and romantic and sentimental about a book. And I'm not reading beautiful, romantic, or sentimental books, in general. I read sports books and essayists and a lot of non-fiction. But I can't go anywhere without a book in my bag. I went to the library today with 3 or 4 books in mind that I wanted to check out. The online catalog was down (and of course, no real card catalog... damn technology), so a librarian checked their backup system for my books- none of which were available. So, none of those books were there, and I couldn't really look up anything else. I wandered around for a bit, checking out the new books section and the library's recent "popular items" section. A recap:

1. They did not have any of the 3-4 books I went to get.
2. The card catalog was down, so I couldn't search the locations of any books.
3. I browsed probably a total of 10-12 sets of shelves between the two sections.

I left with 11 books, including Twain, MLK, Tim Gunn, and Perez Hilton.

I'm going to go plant a few trees now.

wheel of fortune

It started innocently enough. Back in 1938, 40 years before I was born, a show came on the television called Spelling Bee. It was the very first television game show. Like the Colorado River making the Grand Canyon, that first game show resulted in an entire cable network devoted to game shows, past and present.

Not only do game shows keep appearing (and reappearing- thanks a lot, Howie Mandel), but at some point, a television producer realized that people loved when the contestants were bat-shit crazy. The more emotional and out-of-control the contestant, the more the viewers watched. It wasn't just being able to guess prices or answer trivia or avoid whammies. It was people acting a fool at the chance to win a freezer and a mid-sized sedan. Reality television was conceived.

Reality television preys on the unstable, who sign up to participate, and the schadenfreudeian nature of humans to take pleasure in the suffering of others to account for viewers. What began with things like American Idol became Survivor and then Rock of Love and so on. There is now a cable channel devoted to reality shows. There is a show where someone is locked in a room by themselves to see how long they can last. That's it. No other premise than trying to drive someone insane.

There is a reason why reality television is so popular, and it's not because viewers like it. They do like it, but they also liked Seinfeld and Cheers and The Simpsons plenty of other scripted shows. The main reason is they are moneymakers. Major moneymakers. It's all economics.

On a scripted show, the producers have to pay writers and actors in addition to the stage crew. Writers and actors who belong to unions and guilds. Writers and actors who, if the show is successful, will be there for years, getting raises and new contracts.

On a reality show, they throw out about a million dollars in prizes (money, goods, contracts, whatever). They spend more than that on lawyers who can make sure every contract is ironclad. The insurance takes up some cash, but it still doesn't compare to the total for a scripted show. And these shows are getting a LOT of advertising money. Some finales are scoring ad revenue that only the Super Bowl can dwarf. People watch, they vote, they go online and discuss. American Idol takes in ad revenue, and then shows those kids around the country while selling tickets and merchandise that would make Miley Cyrus green with envy.

I don't really watch reality shows (does Iron Chef count? what about House Hunters?). I don't really watch scripted shows either. Some HGTV and Food Network, Daily Show and Colbert, and sports. I'd always prefer to live life than watch it. I have cable, but not DVR, and the idea of having to be home to watch something instead of spending time with friends.

I guess you'd say I prefer reality.

a rose by any other name...

Could very well smell like shit. Names are important. Not just in how one is perceived by others, but how one perceives oneself.

I have a weird name. It's gender-ambiguous as well as being uncommon. People remember me because my name is Dale. When I entered sorority rush, everyone remembered me or knew me because I was "that girl named Dale."

It's a family name. Not only do my father and late grandfather share the name, I have a female cousin named Dale as well. We are either a sentimental family or an unoriginal one. I suppose there's no reason we can't be both. I was going to be named Dale if I had been a boy, although I would have had a different middle name and been the III. I've never understood why I didn't still receive my dad and grandpa's middle name; it's Avery, which is a gender-neutral name as well. But I have Marie (my grandmother's middle name- our unoriginality knows no ends). My mother tells me the only other female name they considered was her grandmother's name- Greta. If you know me, you know that the idea of me as Greta is as bizarre as if I had a third arm. I am not a Greta, or a Tiffany, or a Rebecca. I'm a Dale. People even say that it seems to fit me perfectly.

As a child, I wasn't that thrilled with my name. I wanted to go by Bebe, which is the nickname my entire family uses for me. At age 30, everyone from my parents to second cousins twice removed call me Bebe. I wouldn't even turn my head if my sister called me Dale. Likewise, if my friends called me Bebe, I would continue to daydream.

It's not just my own experience which reinforces this theory. Studies have been done where teachers are given random essays which are assigned names that are considered "desirable" and "normal," i.e., Michael, Katie, Amy, Joe and some that are less desirable- Bert, Elmer, Agnes, Dorothy (sounds to me like those are just old people names, but I digress). Regardless of the essay, the students with normal names received significantly higher scores. A similar study conducted a faux election where some candidates had standard all-American names and some had names that conferred a more ethnic vibe. Again, respondents voted for the all-Americans... regardless of their own backgrounds, remarkably.

More recent studies have shown that young men who have uncommon names or unpopular names (especially ones with a feminine undertone) were more likely to commit crimes, be violent, or get into trouble in general.

I knew a girl in college named Amber. She said she hated her name- she called it a stripper name. She didn't like her middle name either (I think it was Jean?), which she called an old lady name. I know people who refuse to tell middle names because they find them so repellent. I used to be annoyed with my last name, only because it is consistently misspelled and mispronounced. It also sounds too similar to pants and putz. But now, I'm the last of the line, and I wouldn't change it for the world.

Many American Indian tribes gave temporary names to children until they reached adolescence, when they would choose a name for themselves. Generally part of the naming process was a vision quest- figuring out who they are and what they want to be, and name themselves accordingly. Seems like those tribes didn't even need the research.

Maybe a rose would smell as sweet if it was called a turd. But I don't see people taking their chances on naming their sons Elmer and Herbert.

the universal language

Music is so freakishly universal that it must be part of our DNA. There is a survival instinct to it. There is no culture that doesn't have it (I majored in communication, not English, and therefore I will use double negatives to my heart's content). It's used to mourn. It's used to celebrate. It's used to communicate in myriad ways. It soothes. It energizes. It is art, but in a league of its own, because it's so accessible and so essential. We have music playing in the car, at parties, even in stores. We can go without reading literature. We can go without sculpture. But music is integral to our being, whether we can create it or not.

I love to dance. Dancing is like my religion. I feel closest to God when I'm dancing my ass off at a club, sweating like crazy, eyes closed, nothing but me and music and movement. I was at a volunteer event where I had shoveled mulch for about 6 hours straight on about 2 hours of sleep. I was exhausted, sore, dehydrated, and more than a little cranky. And then the DJ at the happy hour put on "Groove is in the Heart" by Dee-Lite. And the empty dance floor (which was really just where some tables had been moved away) beckoned me. I told the person to whom I was speaking, "I'll be right back." And I danced. For over 5 minutes (it was a true DJ, spinning vinyl, and he had a dancer, so it was on), I wasn't tired, I wasn't sore, and I wasn't cranky. I danced until the final echoes of the mix were done, and then I came back and resumed my conversation. The guy I'd been talking to said something like, what the heck? Where did that energy come from? How did you even do that, we're all so beat? And I said, "I like to dance."

Blues originated out of slavery. Hymns originated out of persecution. Rap originated out of the ghetto. Art comes from suffering, but only in music does it truly heal. It's an ointment, a salve. It is aloe on the burn.

I got to see a great band last night. It was one of those, "my friend's friend's band is playing- wanna go see them?" kind of things where it might be great or it might be the worst experience of your life. When this guy took out a cigar box banjo and plugged it into the amp, I knew it was going to be great. In the little parlor area of a smoky bar in northern Kentucky, we slid the tables out of the way, put down the whiskey and beers, and danced.

I'll go to church tomorrow, but I'm not going to get any closer to God than I did last night.

i'm just not that into you

I love boys. They are pretty much my favorite thing. If I don't have some crush, I will find one. I need someone to daydream about, because otherwise I might end up thinking about less fun things like my future or my bills. My junior year of college (and maybe my sophomore year too), I had an entire wall of my dorm room papered with pages from the Abercrombie & Fitch catalog. Come to think of it... I should do something like that again. I liked it.

I am also a major flirt. Flirting, to me, isn't so much a sexual thing as it is a relational thing. Being friendly. Flattery (as long as it's genuine). Making people feel good about themselves. Flirting isn't something I do as a matter of courtship but as a matter of interpersonal communication. Because it's not par for the course, people get confused with me wanton flirting. Men (and women) think I'm flirting in a wooing way instead of a friendly way. They think I'm interested in them beyond being friends. But I'm not.

In college, a (male) friend told me that guys were afraid to ask me out because nobody knew who I was actually interested in because I flirted with everyone. I'm thinking that's not such a bad thing. Even the guys I did like, I never liked them enough to get too broken up over any one of them. I like to refer to them as crudites on my platter. Maybe the celery looks a little brown, so I grab a red pepper. Someone else loves broccoli- they are welcome to it.

The problem comes when the object of my disinterest becomes convinced that I am in love. Trust me, even the most obsessive of crushes fades as easily as it blooms. I lose interest like a kid with ADD in algebra class. But there is no telling the person that they aren't the object of my affection. Hell, I can't even tell them there is NO object of my affection. Ergo, I lose friends that think I'm love when I'm merely a gushy, flirty, boy-crazy silly girl.

When one of these folk do convince themselves that I am the one monitoring their comings and goings via Google Earth, I'm tempted to throw myself at them- ironically, of course. But since I'm not a hipster, I'm afraid it will go over their head. It would be fun though.

I was in love once. It totally sucked in every way, but I'm not opposed to giving it a go at some point. Before the love and after, though... boys were something to keep me amused and still are. So, apologies, but:

I'm just not that into you.

let's agree to disagree

Ordinarily, I would not discuss politics on the internet (I especially hate getting caught up in a comment war on Facebook). Actually, I don't really like to discuss politics in general. People get fired up, and the chances of us changing each other's minds is slim to none. Especially now that people think that they have to defend their opinion at all costs- regardless of any new information being presented. I would venture to say that this is a result of cable news channels. There are two that are especially polarizing. The other viewpoint is presented so much as ridiculed. The remaining major news network relies on viewer emails and random tweets to fill the supposed 24/7 news cycle. I don't really like to watch either network. I prefer to have my news without such an overt agenda. I watched the presidential debates on C-SPAN. Yes, it's kinda boring to watch the video when people are randomly walking around before the debate, but it's still better than listening to a pundit explain why the candidate they favor is so obviously superior and their opponent is maybe not the evil incarnate, but pretty damn close.

I am fairly certain that part of the journalism ethic is to not have a personal bias. Naturally, that's impossible. But it is possible to avoid blatant endorsement. It's possible to provide experts on both sides of the argument. It's possible to research what the real story is. It's possible to not engage in sensationalism. It's possible to find people who know what they're talking about instead of just what they want to say.

I'll admit that I fall on the more liberal side of the spectrum. Okay, all the way on the left side. But I don't watch MSNBC either. As much as I love Jon Stewart, I sometimes wish that he didn't let his liberal leanings to affect how he "reports." We aren't doing ourselves any favors by doing the same thing as Fox News, just on the other side. You aren't going to inform, you're not going to convince, and you're only going to contribute to the growing divide.

I am in favor of health care reform. Not just because I am a liberal. Not just because I haven't had health insurance in over 2 years. But because I know how messed up health care and insurance is- even without watching Sicko. You can be dropped from your insurance if you get sick and rack up too many bills (actually, most plans can drop you for whatever reason they see fit). If you don't have insurance, you can go to the emergency room- by law, they can't turn you away. But, the hospital still wants to get paid. And if they don't get paid by the government, they are coming after you. They can wait until you get a job and then garnish your wages, just like any other creditor. And remember that whole "ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure?" It's true. It's much cheaper to provide preventive care than to try to cure someone once they are already sick.

But whether you agree with the reform or not, whether you are conservative, liberal, or moderate, try to find a news source that gives all sides. Not just the one you with which you agree.

a topic assigned to me by my mother

My mom had offered to come up with some topics for me when I started out on this 30 (now 31) day adventure. I'm digging into them for the first time... so today's topic, or assignment, is:

"My Favorite President and Why"

People who know what a freaking crazy liberal I am are going to expect me to say FDR or Clinton, or even Obama, despite the fact he's been president for less time than babies gestate. But, no. My favorite president is likely not a favorite of anyone, because he's just kind of... forgettable.

For one thing, he was early on in the line. After the first 3, everyone kind of forgets until Lincoln, and then again until Kennedy. There are other presidents, but once you pass 8th grade civics, you pretty much forget about them.

Because I am a dork, I read all the time. I read even more when I was a kid. I read cereal boxes. I read my mom's Family Circle magazines. I read under the covers, I read in the shower. I couldn't leave the library without at least a dozen books (I still can't). One of the books I happened upon (a librarian may have recommended it; I don't remember) was a biography of James Madison. Perhaps it was because it was written so vividly, or because Madison had a great story, or maybe some identification, but I loved it. I read it at least 4 or 5 times. But it's not just that biography that makes him my favorite.

James shouldn't have been president. He shouldn't have even survived his childhood. He was a sickly little thing. Even as an adult, he topped out at 5'4". He was quiet. His voice was high, shrill, and whispery. He was painfully shy. But somehow, he ended up being the 4th president, taking the nation through the War of 1812 (also known as the war that officially made England our bitch), getting his White House burnt down, while his wife dragged out the portrait of Washington that still hangs in the House today.

Speaking of Dolley, what an awesome chick she was. Opposite of James in most ways- she was big, boisterous, vivacious, and outgoing. She charmed everyone who met her. As shy and averse to human interaction as James was, Dolley was the party hostess of D.C. The White House became the Delta House- parties and teas and socials and galas. Opposites attracting and a great love story to rival George and Martha or John and Abigail.

Why is Madison my favorite? He defied the odds. He didn't really even think he could. It wasn't necessarily ambition that helped him along. Just a belief that he had to do what he thought was right, to do what would help people and the country, and do what he must. Our system of government, as flawed as it is, is still a testament to the greatness of compromise- between central and state governments and between Madison and his co-writers of the Federalist Papers, and between the federalists and anti-federalists. Madison didn't set out to change history. He didn't try to found a country or government. He had no want for fame or even attention. But he had to do what he thought was right. Which is pretty freaking awesome.

taking a personal day?

One of the things I'm learning with this writing experiment is kind of what it would be like to be a writer. It's gone much better than I've expected- I've surprised myself with my own tenacity. I've also enjoyed it more than I thought I would. It's great to get people making comments (whether through blogger, email, or facebook) and finding out people enjoy it.

But with every silver lining comes a cloud, and now that I'm close to three weeks in, I'm finding that there are no vacations with writing. I know that I'm writing one blog a day, which the actual writing of takes anywhere from a half-hour to an hour. Ooh, one hour a day. Tough shit.

But it's not just that one hour a day. I am thinking all day about what I'll write about. Even as I write this, I'm not sure what I'm going to say next. I have a headache. I'm tired. I'm stressed out. I'm tired of worrying about money and getting to a doctor and a dentist and getting new glasses. So the idea of trying to be creative when I am really freaking out.

So I am thinking that tomorrow or whenever I can put some thoughts together and churn out the creative juices (or butter, if it's churned), I'm going to rack some up and use them on nights like this. When my brain needs a personal day. Or a sick day. Depending on how you look at it.