So my computer ate my first chapter. That is my excuse for not finishing the writing sample and submitting it for the Writers' Workshop last week. And it happens to be the gospel truth.
Last Saturday, I got on the computer to edit the first chapter of my long-awaited-unwritten-as-of-yet-first-novel. My intention was to submit an initial draft of the first few chapters for a local writers' workshop application. Everything was going fine until I switched gears to complain about a the pathetic MLK day parade that I just saw on TV (a piece I plan to back-date and post very soon). After an hour or so, I wanted to get off the computer for a bit, so when I went to save both documents, I got this weird error message that my MS Word was not responding. After several tries, I had to exit the program, but since there is a little miracle called auto-save, I crossed my fingers in hopes that I could retrieve my documents.
This is where the whole story gets crazy. As I suspected, the auto-save had indeed retrieved both documents, and even though it was an earlier version of the chapter, I was not worried, because all I needed to do was to save the changes and then exit out of the program as I had initally intended. Simple, right?
WRONG!!! The same error message kept popping up, and then I started to panic. After an hour, I still could not save my documents. And I could not open any of my other documents. And my web browser would only direct me to Microsoft sites. And I was losing my mind.
I called tech support, and lets just say that I am really unhappy that these jobs continue to get exported out of the country...I gave up after being placed on hold for more than 30 minutes. I turned the computer off again and resolved to try again the next day.
Same scenario. This time, three hours down the drain. But at least a successful call to the Microsoft tech support and a promise that they would follow up.
Which they did several times, only I had to make other plans and spent most of the week on campus. When I finally spoke to the tech support people, it was Thursday and I had not turned on the computer in days. Of course, when I did turn it on, it was as if the whole thing never happened. The program did not freeze up, I could open and save my documents, and I was able to use the internet.
Alas I was not able to finish my draft. The guidelines requested 10 to 15 pages. Last Thursday, the day before the entry was due, I had only completed 4 pages. As of today, I'm up to 7.
So that is how the computer ate my chapter, chewed it up a bit and spat it back at me. It was all too convenient given the fact that I was working against a clear deadline and had resolved to make it. In the end, I could not make up for the days I lost. I was disappointed because I really wanted to get this done. However, the one bright spot in this little story is that I am still working on the piece. I am committed to working on the novel until it is completed.
No matter how long it takes.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Friday, April 14, 2006
Death, Taxes and Passwords
There are three things that this life guarantees:
- We will all die someday.
- We have to pay taxes every year at the same time, but people like me will always wait until the very last minute.
- At the most inconvenient time, you will forget your username or password. If you don't forget, the website you are trying to log into will.
I had to log into my blog, again, because I assume that after 10 days or so, Blogger decides to automatically reset the cookies on my computer. Why not just make me log in every time, instead of getting me to check that box that says "remember me" only for the site not to remember me?
But Blogger is not the reason for my foul mood. I am trying to file my taxes, it is after 6pm on April 14, and there is one teensy bit of information I need to make this process less painful. But the website that contains the said information is denying me access. TO MY OWN DAMN ACCOUNT WITH MY MONEY IN IT!!!
Add to this annoyance the fact that I just received one of those generic auto-response emails informing me that they will address my concerns on Monday, after I've just spent over an hour trying to get access to this information today...which is too late to do me any good for filing my taxes tonight.
Thanks.
I blame it all on computer passwords. Life would be much simpler if there were no computer passwords to remember. I propose that there should be one universal password, given to all of us at birth, that never got rejected. I know, it is called the SSN, but this one universal password would satisfy the different requirements of every website that demanded a word that is either case-sensitive, has both numbers and letters, or is otherwise "unique" in some way.
Mine would be TallGirl5
(legal disclaimer: that was totally made up for the purposes of this post only).
------------------- *
The only thing I did accomplish today is to finally finish the first chapter of the book I've been to writing for three years now. Yup, only the first damn chapter...
I really love to write, but I can never devote the amount of time needed. I barely get enough time to blog. I keep wishing for a clear schedule, but then I waste the time with crossword puzzles, Brit-coms, and other people's problems. Finally, today I decided that enough was enough and I banged out that first chapter. Of course, the only reason why that happened is because I want to get accepted into a writers' workshop and it would help to have a work in progress...
------------------- *
More on my pathetic writing output:
My Blogger counter says that I have written 98 posts. That is technically inaccurate. At least ten of those posts have never been published. Have they changed the rules and I was not informed?
If people read my profile and start reading my old posts, will they feel short-changed when they realize that the counter is wrong? Does anyone even care? Yes, I am descending back into self-absorbed panic--that no one reads my writing and couldn't give a damn if I filled this space with names copied the from the phone book.
-------------------- *
I saw the movie "Closer" and it is so hard-core that I forgot that I had to teach that night and watched the whole thing in the middle of the day. Why can't I write a story that intense? I know that I don't think on that level (sex is not my writing forte) but damn, it was so deep and I was so involved. In the words of a young teenager I once knew, "That movie went hard!"
Gheesh, I sound like a 10th grader.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
What a Crafty Mess!
I saw an article in the Washington Post a few weeks ago and it has sparked another obsession--t-shirt reconstruction! I altered three old t-shirts and I have several more waiting for their chance to become something new. I feel like a teenager again.
Except, when I was a teenager, this is probably the last thing I would have done. I had very little interest in being unique--we were all too busy trying to look like each other. I won't even go into detail except to mention that I was a teen in the late 80s and very early 90s...basically the style nadir of the 20th Century.
I got the itch to get more creative with my clothing back in November after I saw "Flashdance" again and got inspired emulate Jennifer Beals. I have so many big shirts, leftover from the days when everything was worn baggy and boxy, so I had several candidates for alteration. To make sure that my vision was properly realized, I experimented with some of Rick's old undershirts. After two attemps I got the look I wanted, and then put the scissors to one of my old Cat In the Hat shirts.
I wear it all the time now. Before, it was at the back of the drawer.
There was also an episode of What Not to Wear that got me thinking about cutting my tees a few years back. There was this woman who had nothing in her closet but old tees and jeans that she wore to work everyday. Stacey and Clinton dumped her entire wardrobe, and she cried the blues. Then they surprised her by saving a few of the cooler t-shirts and altered them for her. They took a very boxy one and made it into a sexy baby tee.
So this Washington Post article rekindled my interest in this little craft, but now I can't find the paper or the article anywhere. I found some other cool designs on the internet, but none of that has satisfied me. I am on the hunt for the perfect t-shirt alteration. I need something that will allow me to look young and carefree, but not so much so that I look like a woman trying to act and look younger than she really is. I also need some ideas that will minimize the amount of sewing I need to do (afterall, I am not that crafty).
Of course, my fear is that this will go the way of scrap-booking, quilt-making, gardening and many of the other crafts that I've attempted to cultivate. I abandoned scrap-booking because it felt silly to set aside time to cut and paste like a kindergartner. I realized quilting was another temporary interest because I was just not that into sewing. And as for gardening--well I still haven't given up on that yet, although my disastrous attempt at blogging about it only made me more indifferent to the weeds and wild animals that were taking over my yard. The result of all these attempts is the ever-growing clutter that has consumed my house.
I've gotta go. Now I feel the need to do some housework. Ciao!
Except, when I was a teenager, this is probably the last thing I would have done. I had very little interest in being unique--we were all too busy trying to look like each other. I won't even go into detail except to mention that I was a teen in the late 80s and very early 90s...basically the style nadir of the 20th Century.
I got the itch to get more creative with my clothing back in November after I saw "Flashdance" again and got inspired emulate Jennifer Beals. I have so many big shirts, leftover from the days when everything was worn baggy and boxy, so I had several candidates for alteration. To make sure that my vision was properly realized, I experimented with some of Rick's old undershirts. After two attemps I got the look I wanted, and then put the scissors to one of my old Cat In the Hat shirts.
I wear it all the time now. Before, it was at the back of the drawer.
There was also an episode of What Not to Wear that got me thinking about cutting my tees a few years back. There was this woman who had nothing in her closet but old tees and jeans that she wore to work everyday. Stacey and Clinton dumped her entire wardrobe, and she cried the blues. Then they surprised her by saving a few of the cooler t-shirts and altered them for her. They took a very boxy one and made it into a sexy baby tee.
So this Washington Post article rekindled my interest in this little craft, but now I can't find the paper or the article anywhere. I found some other cool designs on the internet, but none of that has satisfied me. I am on the hunt for the perfect t-shirt alteration. I need something that will allow me to look young and carefree, but not so much so that I look like a woman trying to act and look younger than she really is. I also need some ideas that will minimize the amount of sewing I need to do (afterall, I am not that crafty).
Of course, my fear is that this will go the way of scrap-booking, quilt-making, gardening and many of the other crafts that I've attempted to cultivate. I abandoned scrap-booking because it felt silly to set aside time to cut and paste like a kindergartner. I realized quilting was another temporary interest because I was just not that into sewing. And as for gardening--well I still haven't given up on that yet, although my disastrous attempt at blogging about it only made me more indifferent to the weeds and wild animals that were taking over my yard. The result of all these attempts is the ever-growing clutter that has consumed my house.
I've gotta go. Now I feel the need to do some housework. Ciao!
Thursday, March 30, 2006
In the End, Death is Unbecoming
I was browsing in the local bookstore and a strange book cover with what looked to be a smiling dead woman caught my attention. I picked up the book (which had no title or wording on the front cover) and began flipping through the pages. On each page there was a photo of a dead black person laid out on a black sheet.
I am not making this up.
These were not autopsy photos, but photos that had been taken after the bodies had been prepared for burial. The book was arranged with the photo on the right and a caption on the left that gave the person's name, when and where they were born, and then the date of their death. The subjects ranged in age and were equally representative of gender. For the most part, each person appeared to be dressed in their finest--one woman had on what was probably her wedding dress. Each person wore the same self-satisfied expression, as if they knew the punchline to the joke about human existence:
Apparently the photographer is someone who lives in Harlem. Three years ago, she took a photograph of someone's recently departed 101 year old great-grandmother and was awestruck by her "beauty". She took 30 more photos at the same funeral home and somehow determined that this would make a great coffee table book.
For the life of me, I cannot imagine that the "models" would have appreciated being photographed and cataloged like artifacts in a museum exhibit. Furthermore, I can imagine that most of them (especially the women) would have hated the way they looked. No matter how attractive they might have been in life, in death they all had the same eerie, bloated look. If not bloated, then ashen. Or plastic. Grotesque.
Death may be a natural part of life, but there is nothing natural about the preparations we pay morticians to perform on our dearly departed loved ones. We believe that by participating in these elaborate funereal rituals, we are restoring some sense of dignity to our lost loved ones. If a person was ill, we place the emphasis on who they were in the vibrant days of their life. We ask for the extras to camoflague the weight loss, cuts, burns, bruises, etc in the hopes that the final glimpse will represent what we believe to have been the person's essence. In the end it always seems that those efforts cross the line from the sublime to the ridiculous.
Years ago in Jet magazine, there was a photo of a man who was to be buried in a custom-made casket that had been fashioned into a car. He was seated in the driver's seat, with his stiff hands arranged around a steering wheel. His relatives reasoned that he liked to travel in style. In the book, one of the young men was dressed in a new Sean John sweatsuit, and in his hands there were crumpled dollar bills. Several of the women were buried in their Sunday hats.
I am not sure if any of this is particularly dignified. Death is the ultimate state of vulnerability, the ultimate loss of control. After they slice you open, remove your organs and stitch you back up again, I wonder if it really matters that whatever remains gets buried in your favorite suit.
In the end, death reveals more about us than we ever knew about ourselves.
I am not making this up.
These were not autopsy photos, but photos that had been taken after the bodies had been prepared for burial. The book was arranged with the photo on the right and a caption on the left that gave the person's name, when and where they were born, and then the date of their death. The subjects ranged in age and were equally representative of gender. For the most part, each person appeared to be dressed in their finest--one woman had on what was probably her wedding dress. Each person wore the same self-satisfied expression, as if they knew the punchline to the joke about human existence:
"Why are we here?" we ask. "Hell if I know!" they reply.The average person would have felt like a creepy voyeur after viewing the first two photos, but as I have a fascination for most things morbid, it took a bit longer for my brain to process the appropriate gag reflex. Mine finally kicked in when I was about about halfway through the book, but it still wasn't instense enough to make me put it down. Instead, I flipped to the back to see if there was any credible explanation.
Apparently the photographer is someone who lives in Harlem. Three years ago, she took a photograph of someone's recently departed 101 year old great-grandmother and was awestruck by her "beauty". She took 30 more photos at the same funeral home and somehow determined that this would make a great coffee table book.
For the life of me, I cannot imagine that the "models" would have appreciated being photographed and cataloged like artifacts in a museum exhibit. Furthermore, I can imagine that most of them (especially the women) would have hated the way they looked. No matter how attractive they might have been in life, in death they all had the same eerie, bloated look. If not bloated, then ashen. Or plastic. Grotesque.
Death may be a natural part of life, but there is nothing natural about the preparations we pay morticians to perform on our dearly departed loved ones. We believe that by participating in these elaborate funereal rituals, we are restoring some sense of dignity to our lost loved ones. If a person was ill, we place the emphasis on who they were in the vibrant days of their life. We ask for the extras to camoflague the weight loss, cuts, burns, bruises, etc in the hopes that the final glimpse will represent what we believe to have been the person's essence. In the end it always seems that those efforts cross the line from the sublime to the ridiculous.
Years ago in Jet magazine, there was a photo of a man who was to be buried in a custom-made casket that had been fashioned into a car. He was seated in the driver's seat, with his stiff hands arranged around a steering wheel. His relatives reasoned that he liked to travel in style. In the book, one of the young men was dressed in a new Sean John sweatsuit, and in his hands there were crumpled dollar bills. Several of the women were buried in their Sunday hats.
I am not sure if any of this is particularly dignified. Death is the ultimate state of vulnerability, the ultimate loss of control. After they slice you open, remove your organs and stitch you back up again, I wonder if it really matters that whatever remains gets buried in your favorite suit.
In the end, death reveals more about us than we ever knew about ourselves.
Monday, March 27, 2006
My Latest TV Obsession
I've pretty much gotten over most of my old TV obsessions. I don't watch soap operas anymore, and my court shows have lost their allure lately. I've generally moved on from Cosby Show and Different World reruns. Although I still appreciate the earlier episodes of As Time Goes By, it depends on my mood. I have totally lost my enthusiasm for the countdown shows on E! and VH1.
We recently had an HBO preview, and I have to say that it was not at all as exciting as it was the first two times. We stayed up half the night trying to cram in episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm, but now that we have Showtime, The Movie Channel, Encore and Starz, it all seems so redundant. I am just not all that interested in Six Feet Under marathons.
I am getting hooked on makeover shows again. The premise is so simple and presented in just the right amount of time. Who wouldn't want to have a complete lifestyle change occur in one hour? I am so addicted to What Not to Wear.
I am actually becoming more attached to these women's lifestyle networks, although that does not include those crappy Lifetime movies. I am becoming a fan of Bridezillas on WE, and I still like Whose Wedding Is It Anyway? on the Style network.
I'm also a big Keith Olberman fan. His is the only countdown show I can stomach these days. I like anyone who dispenses daily disses to Bill O'Reilly (so I also like Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert).
Finally, my most embarassing TV obsession is A Baby Story on TLC. Last week, I watched at least six episodes. I am not at all excited by the "miracle" of childbirth, but I have to admit that I like the back stories that come with the arrival of the new babies.
Most of all, I like having a remote control that can go through 150+ channels in under 5 minutes. When I add in the movie channels, it means that at any given point in the day, I can either discover something new to watch or choose to rely on an old stand-by.
Which means that I need to get out of the house more...
We recently had an HBO preview, and I have to say that it was not at all as exciting as it was the first two times. We stayed up half the night trying to cram in episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm, but now that we have Showtime, The Movie Channel, Encore and Starz, it all seems so redundant. I am just not all that interested in Six Feet Under marathons.
I am getting hooked on makeover shows again. The premise is so simple and presented in just the right amount of time. Who wouldn't want to have a complete lifestyle change occur in one hour? I am so addicted to What Not to Wear.
I am actually becoming more attached to these women's lifestyle networks, although that does not include those crappy Lifetime movies. I am becoming a fan of Bridezillas on WE, and I still like Whose Wedding Is It Anyway? on the Style network.
I'm also a big Keith Olberman fan. His is the only countdown show I can stomach these days. I like anyone who dispenses daily disses to Bill O'Reilly (so I also like Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert).
Finally, my most embarassing TV obsession is A Baby Story on TLC. Last week, I watched at least six episodes. I am not at all excited by the "miracle" of childbirth, but I have to admit that I like the back stories that come with the arrival of the new babies.
Most of all, I like having a remote control that can go through 150+ channels in under 5 minutes. When I add in the movie channels, it means that at any given point in the day, I can either discover something new to watch or choose to rely on an old stand-by.
Which means that I need to get out of the house more...
Friday, March 10, 2006
Finish Lines
I'm approaching the end of one semester and the mid-point of another one. Actually, I should rephrase that in terms of classes--one class is ending on Monday while the other class enters mid-term. I am also very close to the end of my tenure as local chapter president. If all goes well, I have a case that may end very soon.
I can clearly see the end of the line, and for once, I am beginning to breathe easier.
I was crazy to take on so many things all at once. I had been a board member for a friend's foundation, and that required so much from me. Even she realized that I was just too busy to focus on her stuff, so she gave me an out by letting me retire. The fact is, I might have held on to the position anyway because of that nagging sense that I could actually juggle so many actitivities.
The truth is, I am not superwoman. I am not even a superwoman in training. I am a woman who can't say no, and who desperately needs to add that word to her vocabulary. Or else...
For example, I used to operate under the assumption that I could get more things done if I were just organized better. Yeah right. The first strike against that plan was that I am NEVER organized. It just isn't in my DNA. Whenever I do get organized, I get confused.
There are aspects of my life that are somewhat well organized, but I still have moments when I have to insert some chaos into the mix. I can keep all of my handouts neatly labeled in folders, and they are kept in a central location where I could find them on a moment's notice. But they are sitting on the floor of my living room in a corner, so I am not sure if that counts as being organized.
Now I operate under the notion that there are 24 hours in a day, and given that I spend at least 8 of them in bed, 2 of them eating, 4 on the computer (I still have dial-up), and 2 in my car, that only leaves me with 8 additional hours in which to get anything accomplished. Well, then I have to factor in my TV shows, my crossword puzzles, my coffee breaks, and dance classes, and that whittles the time down to about 5 hours. I don't engage in all of these activities every day, but they are significant enough for me to determine that on any given day of the week I have, on average 3 good hours in which to accomplish anything of real importance.
Today, that will be grading papers. I probably will not finish them all, so then that project will spill over into tomorrow's time, which includes a meeting in the middle of the day and possibly church in the evening (the hub has found God again because it is softball season). See how easy it is to lose track of time?
Like now, I have spent about 20 minutes or so composing this post. But at least it is now finished. Ciao!
I can clearly see the end of the line, and for once, I am beginning to breathe easier.
I was crazy to take on so many things all at once. I had been a board member for a friend's foundation, and that required so much from me. Even she realized that I was just too busy to focus on her stuff, so she gave me an out by letting me retire. The fact is, I might have held on to the position anyway because of that nagging sense that I could actually juggle so many actitivities.
The truth is, I am not superwoman. I am not even a superwoman in training. I am a woman who can't say no, and who desperately needs to add that word to her vocabulary. Or else...
For example, I used to operate under the assumption that I could get more things done if I were just organized better. Yeah right. The first strike against that plan was that I am NEVER organized. It just isn't in my DNA. Whenever I do get organized, I get confused.
There are aspects of my life that are somewhat well organized, but I still have moments when I have to insert some chaos into the mix. I can keep all of my handouts neatly labeled in folders, and they are kept in a central location where I could find them on a moment's notice. But they are sitting on the floor of my living room in a corner, so I am not sure if that counts as being organized.
Now I operate under the notion that there are 24 hours in a day, and given that I spend at least 8 of them in bed, 2 of them eating, 4 on the computer (I still have dial-up), and 2 in my car, that only leaves me with 8 additional hours in which to get anything accomplished. Well, then I have to factor in my TV shows, my crossword puzzles, my coffee breaks, and dance classes, and that whittles the time down to about 5 hours. I don't engage in all of these activities every day, but they are significant enough for me to determine that on any given day of the week I have, on average 3 good hours in which to accomplish anything of real importance.
Today, that will be grading papers. I probably will not finish them all, so then that project will spill over into tomorrow's time, which includes a meeting in the middle of the day and possibly church in the evening (the hub has found God again because it is softball season). See how easy it is to lose track of time?
Like now, I have spent about 20 minutes or so composing this post. But at least it is now finished. Ciao!
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Catching Up
I have several things that I've written offline in the past few weeks, and if I get the time, I may transcribe them for inclusion on my blog. I might as well make them public, since that is what this space is for.
I've been ever busy with my students. Another mini-semester is about to end, so for the next few days, I'll be in a grading frenzy. I often wonder what I look like when I'm sittting in the corner of my coffee house focused on student work with my red pen in hand. Do I look professorial? Or more like a grad student?
I vote for graduate student. Whenever I don't have to go to meet people, I dress like a regular person, so that means jeans, a casual shirt, my favorite clogs and possibly even a hat. To complete the ensemble, I am usually listening to my portable CD player...which upon second thought should actually make me look more like an out-of-touch professor. Who listens to CDs anymore?
Anyhoo, the crisis alluded to in the previous post has passed for now. I still need to be more diligent about the way I handle my business, but overall, I believe that at worst I'll get a slap on the wrist. Of course, it sucks to even be accused of wrongdoing and any punishment or chastisement seems severe.
Here is a bit of advice to anyone reading this: Never make a black woman mad enough to want to kill you. Not only will your ears burn, but every fiber of your being burns--you are damn-near combustable. If I were to even think that the person responsible for all of this was even in my vicinity, he would drop dead. An angry black woman can kill with her thoughts in the same way that everyone else kills with looks.
Enough coded messages. I'll come back to post something normal in a few days.
Ciao!
I've been ever busy with my students. Another mini-semester is about to end, so for the next few days, I'll be in a grading frenzy. I often wonder what I look like when I'm sittting in the corner of my coffee house focused on student work with my red pen in hand. Do I look professorial? Or more like a grad student?
I vote for graduate student. Whenever I don't have to go to meet people, I dress like a regular person, so that means jeans, a casual shirt, my favorite clogs and possibly even a hat. To complete the ensemble, I am usually listening to my portable CD player...which upon second thought should actually make me look more like an out-of-touch professor. Who listens to CDs anymore?
Anyhoo, the crisis alluded to in the previous post has passed for now. I still need to be more diligent about the way I handle my business, but overall, I believe that at worst I'll get a slap on the wrist. Of course, it sucks to even be accused of wrongdoing and any punishment or chastisement seems severe.
Here is a bit of advice to anyone reading this: Never make a black woman mad enough to want to kill you. Not only will your ears burn, but every fiber of your being burns--you are damn-near combustable. If I were to even think that the person responsible for all of this was even in my vicinity, he would drop dead. An angry black woman can kill with her thoughts in the same way that everyone else kills with looks.
Enough coded messages. I'll come back to post something normal in a few days.
Ciao!
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