Babs Blips: Studying

Ben and I have both been on intense homework benders this past week, and I'm not gonna lie, next week shows no signs of letting up. We went to meet up with J and F in Queens, and both brought textbooks on the subway. We get up in the morning and are reading and writing before the coffee is even ready. It's been rough, but it is making summer "vacation" look THAT much more appealing.

Occasionally, Babs will read a few pages, too. You'd be surprised by the great insights she brings to our discussions.

Happy Friday!

ReMemoirs

I was first introduced to David Sedaris during my junior year of high school. My creative writing teacher photocopied a story of his that she particularly liked- one about strange neighbors and Halloween candy- and read it aloud to us in October. I'm not sure what was funnier- the situation described in the story, or the fact that my teacher laughed so hard and so much that she had to stop several times to collect herself. I went out and bought that book shortly after.

In the years that have followed, I've read dozens of Sedaris stories, and even better, have gotten a hold of recordings of David himself reading them aloud. And I love them. They are clever, they are poignant, they are relatable, and they are just so funny. But here's the thing that I love the most and envy the most about the way that David Sedaris tells a story- the graceful way that he handles situations. Several of his stories deal with times that must be painful to recall- often David feels embarrassed or downright humiliated through the telling of it, and yet the story is still hilarious. He is able to laugh at himself, and so we are, too.

How does he do that?

Often when I think about a time that I've felt humiliated, it is with a twinge of pain and blushing and telling myself , "I don't want to think about that." I know that many of these events have the potential to be humorous, but I doubt that I'd be able to manipulate them so that I thought they were funny, let alone someone else.

Maybe I need more life experience- I could try and cast these memories aside for a while longer, and revisit them when they've had even more time and space. But how long should that take? In some cases, it has been YEARS and still the thinking of it brings a pained expression. I suppose it's worth a shot. I could get a little notebook- maybe in an ironic and brightly- colored pattern, and write down all the things that I don't want to think of now, but that might be funny later. Or when I'm 40. Or after that. Yeah, that might work. But I think that that strategy, however helpful it may seem, is still putting off the inevitable. I think the real secret to finding the humor in painful circumstances deals more with facing those beasts head-on. If I ever WANT to find the good in these memories, I will have to embrace the bad. I will have to re-live the stomach lurches and shaky breaths and the "Mandy, why are you turning so red?"'s. And then I will laugh at it. And let it go. I'm not sure that I am quite ready for that process.

Maybe later. Or when I'm 40. Or after that.

i is organized.

Everybody has some weeks that are better than others. If anybody you know claims otherwise- in either direction- they are lying. For me, last week was a real downer. Aside from the obvious laundry list of horrible things that happened around the country I was not feeling well, and spent most of my free time being totally unproductive and feeling absolutely 100% disorganized.

Not that it would take much, but I have a feeling that this week will be better. I've really organized my time.

Ben likes to organize his time while he's in the shower. I suspect that they majority of the time he's in there is devoted to planning his day. The whole washing thing is sort of an after thought. I wish that my brain worked like that. My bouts of extreme time organize-ed-ness always occur at the worst possible moments. I'll have an epiphany while I'm deep in the weeds at work, or- my personal favorite- when I am comfortably in bed, just hovering between being awake and asleep. I always promise myself that I'll remember the schedule that I should implement one I wake up, but of course I never do.

Except, mysteriously, for this past Sunday night. It was late and I was in bed, trying ti stop my brain from focusing on things that weren't sleep-- i.e. wedding planning, clothes shopping, my mile-long list of chores, and more recently, a case study due in one of my classes. "You know what?" I told myself, "I'm gonna get up early and FOCUS on that case study tomorrow." I wouldn't be surprised if I slept with my brow furrowed in determination. And, sure enough, Monday morning, I DID. I know, this kind of things NEVER happens, but it really jazzed me up for the rest of the day. I organized my time for the rest of the week, working carefully to allow an outing with J and F tonight, AND time for Ben and I to experience his very favorite Star Trek- TNG episode on the big screen. Spoiler Alert: They separate the saucer section of the Enterprise. Apparently it's awesome.

So. THIS week is looking excellent. now, if I can just keep my momentum. And hey, if my brain wants to do something similar EVERY Sunday night into Monday morning, I'm totally okay with that.

But I won't hold by breath.

Babs Blips: The Gargle

Our apartment is on the 6th floor, and as a result, overlooks the roof of the building next door. It's like a labyrinth of chimneys and steam pipes and bricks, and it seems to be a premier hangout for pigeons and other birds of East Harlem.

Babs loves to bird watch. She was delighted to find that this apartment had not one, but THREE large windows with cat-friendly windowsills. She sits and gargles at them every morning- or some strange mix of meow/purr/growl/gargle. “If I were not in here,” she tells them, “I would EAT you!”



They remain unconvinced.

the world we live in.

I heard about the Marathon explosions through a lunch guest at the restaurant. I changed the TVs to the news station and waited for more details, and when S came in around 4:30, I couldn't help but ask immediately if she had heard about it. She hadn't.

"You know," she sighed, "I feel like I'm not even surprised."

I had to admit that I, too, was concerned by the lack of shock that I felt when I heard the news. Instead of a state of disbelief, I found myself getting angry and upset- that THIS is what our world is coming to- that an event that has long been a celebration of community, of athleticism, of people coming together, has been scarred forever by an act of senseless violence. Marathon Monday would never again exude the same brightness and enthusiasm. Sure, that energy would still be there, but not without the shadow of sorrow from times past. Not without a constant, nagging feeling to look over your shoulder and be sure that everything is all right. Not without children who want to stand close to the runners, but instead must grapple with the fear that they might accidentally stand too close to an explosive.

S was feeling similarly, and suddenly, she was so angry and speaking so quickly that it was difficult to understand. "This is why I feel sorry for my nephews!" she spat, "this is why I don't have children! I feel so sorry about the world that we are leaving behind for them!" I think the dismay on my face must have been too much. S rummaged through her bag and offered me a Twinkie.

Most of the evening was pretty grim. Everyone who walked in wanted to watch the news coverage and talk loudly- "what a shame, so terrible, are there any more details?" New York 1 ran the same clip of the explosions over and over- a clip that appeared to be taken from someone's cell phone. I watched as the tremors from the blast knocked runners over, and- this was really hard- as a group of people sprinted forward into the left side of the screen. I gasped when I saw that they were pushing a stroller. It was rough- the whole thing, just--devastating.

And then I took note of something that I hadn't before. As the explosion played and replayed, I saw the police, the volunteers, the bystanders, all rushing toward the barrier from which it came. They worked together to rip the fence down and get to the wounded. If any of them were concerned about another device, or for their own safety, they didn't show it. The only thing that mattered was getting to those people. I watched as people ran toward the smoke, ran into the chaos, to try and help others. I heard later about runners who literally RAN to the hospital to try and donate blood, about bystanders helping to comfort those suffering from the physical and emotional turmoil of the day. The outpour of love from social media sites was through the roof. And I changed my mind.

It is easy to embrace the anger fueled by this event. I woke up this morning feeling really angry. I shouted several choice phrases that culminated in me wondering aloud "WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO ABOUT THIS? HOW ARE WE GOING TO CHANGE THIS?" And in all honesty, I really don't know. We don't have answers for these questions yet, but I know that they will come. But I do think that a glimmer of hope has emerged from all this. Even in the face of pointless and devastating violence, there is a kindness in humanity that will not soon be changed. That's the kind of thing that gives ME hope. Even in the wake of such a travesty of humankind, it's hard to not feel at least a little optimistic- so many people were there to help. SO many risked their lives to help others and to try and make everybody safe. A terrible act of violence may have occurred yesterday, but we will rally. Marathon Monday will return in all of it's glory. The present devastation is only a momentary low. Humanity will not be held down.

guess I still need work on this whole "consistent" thing...

In the past week, I had two major assignments due for separate classes. Now, before we all go assuming that I procrastinated until the very last minute, I want to assert that my newfound grad-school self doesn't do that. I had finished the paper due Tuesday on Sunday, and the lesson plan for Wednesday even earlier. However, while my newfound grad-school self does not procrastinate anymore, she does something even worse. Monday came, and I had the entire day at work to consider the rubric of my paper against what I had actually written. I went home absolutely panic-stricken: my paper was all wrong. I would have to start over.

And so I did. Two or three times, actually. I wanted to make sure that I had addressed everything that my professor would assess and that it was as perfect as possible. I didn't drink any more coffee than usual, but if someone had told me that I had actually woke up Tuesday morning and smoked crack, I would have believed them- my energy was off the wall insane. After my fifth or sixth time reading my paper over (which, by the way, was eerily similar to my first draft..), I decided that enough was enough. If nothing else, I would be awarded points for the obvious time and effort that I had put in. I went to the coffee shop on the corner and tried to concentrate on regulating my heart rate and keeping my eyelid from twitching. I'm sure that my pupils were about twice their normal size. BUT the most important thing is that I handed my paper in. I can only hope that the extra time and worry that I put into it will not result in it's downfall (e.g. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Chrystal Skull...).

When class was finished, I suddenly realized that I was starving, grabbed some takeout from the Indian place on 95th, and headed home to transcribe my lesson plan from the page to the computer. Then I got a glimpse of a portion of the assignment I hadn't seen before- TWO EXTRA pages of items that I hadn't begun to think about. And I might have had a meltdown. But I was miraculously able to pull myself together and actually READ the items. No big deal. However, when I got to class the next day (a day that was also spent wondering if my coffee had had crack in it), I saw that almost everybody in the class must've had a similar moment. I walked in to the sound of my professor yelling over the buzz in the room, "LOOK, I DON'T WANT TO READ ABOUT WHAT YOU DON'T KNOW. IF THERE WAS SOMETHING YOU DIDN'T UNDERSTAND, WE WILL GO OVER IT TODAY AND YOU CAN RE-SUBMIT. THERE IS NO REASON TO PANIC." Everybody was so freaked out that I had to laugh a little. You know, I'd imagine that all grad school classes ARE like this, but it is just so funny to have a bunch of people (mostly women) with VERY similar attitudes, personalities, and organizational styles all in the same room, all trying their best to over-achieve.

As a reward to myself for finishing the two giant projects of the moment, I went on a Kindle shopping spree. I usually use my Kindle to buy four types of books; 1) free downloads/vanity presses, 2) books I'm interested in reading that are less than $3 in the Kindle store, 3) books that I would like to read but are so embarrassing that I would be too ashamed to actually bring them to a cash register/check out desk, and 4) Agatha Christies. "I'll just read one chapter of [shameful harlequin romance title here] before I go to bed," I told myself. Chya. Fast forward to 2am, when I decide that it REALLY is time for bed. I learned a valuable lesson that night: do not start a book so close to bedtime. Especially if you are feeling particularly cracked out. Results can be dire.

I bounced out of bed on Thursday, feeling crack-eyed and ready for the day, but it was short lived. After a brief observation of a local classroom, I crashed. Hard. And yesterday was decidedly devoid of that cracked- out feeling and instead full of laundry. OH, and a trip to Babbo with Ben and his friend, Alex. But that's another story.

And I guess that brings us to today. I usually spend Saturday mornings moping around and griping about how I don't want to go to work, but this weekend, my boss is out of town AND I get to work a double with a co-worker that I much prefer over the usual one. So I guess I'll survive. OH. and a best friend is in town and we have plans to get together tomorrow. So if I can somehow make it through today unscathed, I'll be incredibly pleased with myself.

I'll probably need more crack. COFFEE. I'll probably need more coffee.