Day 99 (How exciting)
Usually when I wake up and roll myself near my computer to check facebook with half open crusty eyes there are no notifications for me or there are only notifications from friends having their own conversations on one of my pictures. I start the day with a dash of loneliness that can't be scrubbed off in the shower while I weep. Ha! I am kidding dear reader, it is not that bad (I don't actually cry in the morning I save that for the evenings). But, today was different.
Today I checked my facebook to find that the famous-y author I had written to had written me back. I had asked him for a Steinbeck recommendation as I am willing to give that descriptive coot one more chance, considering that this author (the famous-y one I'd written to) liked him. The author I wrote to shares many of the same favorite books and movies as I do well, except that he loves Steinbeck. Anyway, there were three interesting things about the message I receieved in response:
1. He wrote that he loved The Replacements and has loved them since he was young. I too loved them and gave him a chronological history of my love for them in my reply to him.
2. He knew how to properly punctuate titles. He knew that song titles should have quotation marks around them and book titles should be in all caps. Well, I am assuming these things are correct. I usually just pretend like I know (which is a VERY bad thing considering I was a writing tutor for years). I made sure to use his punctuation when I wrote my reply.
3. He used the word, "Booyah" in closing his letter. Had I eaten before reading I may have had to use the warranty on my computer and have to write an accompanying letter saying that yes this is puke. The only bad part would be that I can't fully explain why "Booyah" makes me want to hurl.
Anyway, he recommended THE GRAPES OF WRATH (I think that is proper punctuation, it looks good). He instructed that if I could get past the turtle in the beginning that it would be worth the read. Turtle, hmm. Was telling him in my reply that just as soon as I finish your "giant book" (511 pages) I'll get right on it rude? Who should I send my bill for eyeglasses to the famous-y author or Steinbeck's estate holder?
This afternoon a friend and I went to the high school we went to last week to hang out with some nerdy writing kids. Which would've been cool, had they shown up. Instead we spoke to the English teacher. He is a harried man who is eager to please and has a classroom stocked with YA books and desks from the 1970's. My friend had told him that she loved school as a child after he had commented on how wonderful she was with teaching kids. I brought up my background of skipping school to read scandalous novels. I can't help but wonder maybe teaching is like being a cop. What?! I wonder if the best teachers are not only the ones who always loved school but often (and sometimes more so) the ones who were the naughty kids like me. The best cops (if you can say such things about cops) are the ones who were naughty kids. Almost makes me want to be a teacher to prove this theory. But, not right now I've got to finish Paris Hilton is My New BFF before I get a teaching degree. A girl has got to have her priorities straight.
After our talk with the teacher my friend and I grabbed a Cuban supper. I am not quite sure what is Cuban about a Chicken Wrap sandwich and Pesto Linguine but there was writing on the walls just like every other (the only other) Cuban restaurant I've been to. That must be the Cuban part. After that my friend dumped me on a street corner and I found a coffeeshop to kill some time. I often write in coffeeshops, Harriet-The-Spy style. I opened my notebook wrote the date and the time but realized that I had been sitting in a coffeeshop that I didn't know the name of but that didn't stop me from carrying on. I sat next to two guys (boring) and two girls (not so boring). The guys were talking about the Olympics. And, the women's topics ranged from the struggle of being young school teachers to, "Seriously, how hideous do I look right now?" After that comment one said to the other, "Just imagine if someone was recording this right now." I smiled.
So, when you start going to school for Creative Writing nobody tells you that you will be required to participate in readings, which is fine it's not that hard. What is hard is having to sit through them. This was my task tonight. I am not saying my colleagues didn't read exciting things about nude beaches and grape rape and teenage girls. But, it is terribly hard to pay attention when you are sitting next to shelves filled with glossy books you want to read and you look off to the side to see that there are people staring into the window watching you like you are captive lemur. Those must be the types of people that never get embarrassed by anything. What didn't help was the hard cider you could purchase by the can for 3 bucks. Being slightly drunk you'd think would numb you but really it just makes you have to pee AND it doesn't make poetry sound any better.
I got a ride home from the boyfriend of a friend. Not only was his ride a truck, it was also a manual. The best kind of truck. We talked about how truck radios never really work. I wonder why that is. I make a mental note that when I buy a truck (someday when I am a whole lot cooler than I am now) it should have a broken radio. He told me that the only car he'd ever seen catch fire was a Fiero. I told him I had a Cavalier that lit up under the hood one day. I left out the part that it happened in the parking lot of the restaurant I worked in at the time and nobody believed me until they could see huge flames and the fire department. All in all it was an excellent night AND he didn't get pulled over for a missing headlight. But I did impart on him the skill of stupidity just in case he got pulled over. "Oh really officer my headlight is out? Oh my, I had no idea." A skill I have learned from my mother. Her line is, "I was going 92 miles per hour! No! Oh, that is dangerous. I was just on my way to work and I--wow, 92 I've never gone that fast!" This works even better now that she looks like a little old lady, I guess she leaves out the part about owning a corvette and driving her kids to Sunday school in it going 100 miles per hour.
So, I am off to watch a little Paris Hilton and be reminded what sort of entertainment my homeland produces.
-Canadian Castaway
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