Mixed Results
My friend instant messaged me this:
“There are bed sheets in your backyard drying in the sun, it suddenly starts raining, the doorbell rings, your baby child is starts crying, and the phone is ringing. Which one do you take care of first? There is nobody else at home that can help you.”
I started putting that in Formspring boxes … then I realized that “is starts crying” doesn’t make sense. I revised the question for another handful of folks. (This is all extremely, almost insurmountably important!) Anyway, here are some results to our situation at hand. I’ll put the linked usernames after each answer; I don’t want to assume that gender or age have to do with the answers.
“I have a child?! Who What Where When How?!
Um.. Well mulititasking of course :) Grab the baby, answer the phone, say hold on one moment then walk to the door answer that, tell THEM one moment, hand them the baby walk to the phone, end that conversation, hang up the phone go back to the person take the baby end THAT conversation then put the clothes in a clothes dryer.. hello ppl 21st century!” - angelibabii52
“We’ll. The bed sheets can just stay out there until it stops raining. And they’ll just dry again. Or I can just wash them again later. Fuck sheets. The person at the door can suck it for two seconds, and so can the person on the phone. If it’s important, they’ll call me again.” - xEternally
“i would take care of my child first. first priority. then the person at the door, - the sheets could dry in the tumble dryer and the person calling me could call back later.” - dizzieeprincess
“i look for the poptarts and have a damn snack right there” - tonyd2121
“The baby.” - boddahfly
“okay, id take down the sheets and wrap the crying baby in them, grab the phone & answer the door all in a matter of minutes. why? because im devon fuckin keenan.” - dkeenan
“wtf” - ashleyshimansky
“This is a retarded question, but first of all I wouldn’t have bedsheets in my backyard? And I’d take care of the baby I guess I don’t really know…” - allierusso
“my baby obviously. than i’d answer the door. cause whoever’s on the phone can call back and the sheets can be washed again.” - minacoogs
“Obviously I would take care of my child first..” - alltimelorraine
“ummm.. depends why the babys crying. like if its crying cuz it wants something, then ill go get the sheets first, then take the baby with me, and go answer the doorbell.. but if the babys crying cuz its hurt, obv the baby before anything.
bro wat kinda q is this? wth” - ballhogz23
“Baby, doorbell, then the sheets.
Bed sheets can always dry again. The person at the door can wait a few seconds. But baby comes first.” - hayyrae
“the doorbell to see if that person can help me” - zak412
“Grab my baby, make sure they’re alright, grab the phone as I’m checking the door, & then the sheets, because I can always wash/dry them a second time! (:” - faaaaith
“ahhh that kind of multitasking is NOT fun.
Get the baby,
sheets,
doorbell,
and then the phone.” - aanastasia
“The Baby.” - DorkasaurusRexx
Primer Bloggers
Ugh! What a terrible week! I’m mostly kidding, but I’m happy that spring break — for my very small sector of northern New Jersey — has finally begun. Notable tokens of the past week include the continued greatness of Kate Chopin’s The Awakening, my school introducing new ultra-specific hall passes, and my (often) good friend Paul helping me out with the complex college process. Hey: last week I was experiencing feelings of indolence and confusion and I didn’t give y’all a Follow Friday list. So let me make that up and also dish out this week’s sweet brothers and sisters.
Make Up for Last Week!
undecided - Who isn’t following our opener on Twitter? And who doesn’t read her lengthy answers to her Formspring questions? I suppose “no worries” if you haven’t consumed any of the MissKimball brand yet — but start … now!
The Sounds They Make - Divine music tumblelog. John’s a terrific discoverer and writer. Also, he makes his own contributions to music. He had a track on an Erefutre compilation which is free and — I’m praying! — still available.
JaredXD - Creator of Zingle’d and upper-class tweeter Jared hasn’t updated his blog in about twelve years but he’s an Internet celebrity who deserves to be addressed formally and affectionately. What? Um, just follow one of stranger chat culture’s leading bros.
Word Journal - Infrequently updated blog about infrequently encountered words. Essential for at least 25% of my followers … who are probably already “rabid aficionados” of Word Journal.
Things I Ate That I Love - I’ve been an Emily Gould fan since my Web Design teacher read us — this is high school, damn it — “Exposed” and made us create websites with content related to that of her article’s. Y’all should follow her Tumblr if you don’t; And the Heart Says Whatever is in stores May 1 … I think.
Lovely Blogs for This Week!
Dead Writers Club - Don’t necessarily agree with its mission statement, but this blog is fun and informative. Ch-ch-check it out!
DAN METH - This is a profoundly talented man we’re dealing with here. I remember watching Channel Frederator shorts on my iPod a few years ago, laughing out loud at this man’s content. Oh, you must follow Mr. Meth!
Art/Music: Indie - I have an obsession with album art and this blog — which the cool Staff promoted eleven days ago — supports my fixation. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart have a new single coming out … heck yes!
catroulette - Please visit this site now. It’s finally “wearing thin” … and it’s one of the few single topic blogs I enjoy. Thank you. Meow.
Direction? - Stumbled upon this blog in a James Joyce frenzy, and it’s quite good. Lovers and dissenters, follow Hannah and enjoy her posts.
As I enter the weekend — and, let me rub it in your narrowed visages: spring break — I feel some malaise. Let’s brush it off and attack our surroundings, though. Time to study for the SAT and read a few novels. Relax and drink many cups of coffee. Express love for those people that commonly convert indifference into passion. You know? Have a wonderful weekend/life, followers!
Anonymous asked: ur icon is creepy.
and the artist name goes before the song
if ur wondering why...
it just is and it just does.
Ha! Can’t tell if this is sarcasm, so I’ll just respond as if you’re legitimately concerned about those two things:
- Maybe I’ll change my icon, but I’m sorry that my 0.001 x 000.1 photo appears [R.I.P. 1825-2010].
- I like putting the title of the song first because it’s, well, the title of the song. But I suppose the artist is usually placed first. Hey — this ain’t no professional blog. I want better complaints!
Bullet Points
Come follow me on my inquest via the following:
- Twitter (check my ratio and IRL-quotable tweets)
- Blogger (fictional blog which is essentially one narrative over 56 posts, followed by a fake summary and an unrelated tale)
- Formspring (86 questions is not sufficient, and too many members of the non-Web sector have invaded it)
- Stereogum (feel fancy now that Stereogum has adapted the WordPress platform)
classyliving asked: favorite gun and why?
Huh? I don’t like guns. But I’ll go with Alexander Supertramp’s rifle … because it killed a moose …
Not Sure
According to this, it should be obvious — but truthfully I’m not sure whether I should write for a living. (Also, whether it’s possible.) So: I wrote a list of reasons for and against your narrator going into the (creative) writing field professionally.
Reasons Supporting!
✿ I enjoy writing. The topic and restrictions are unimportant. Not copying or typing. Like … translating scenes and ideas into words.
✿ I love transcribing. When two people are talking I think about how their conversation would appear in a book. I argue with myself over the proper punctuation. (Ha, that may be an exaggeration. I have fun with it. I don’t lose my shit when I can’t decide whether a semicolon or an em dash would be appropriate.)
✿ I generally enjoy everything I read. Sure, The Scarlet Letter was more entertaining than Message in a Bottle. Reading Sparks’ atrocity, though, was easy and gave me the opportunity to explain why bad literature doesn’t work. (It taught me that terrific novels possibly offer more pleasure, but are definitely harder to describe.) Reading anything is important and exciting.
✿ I obsess over certain words and phrases. I repeat them over and over in my mind and — annoyingly — out loud. I really can’t wait to take a linguistics course in college.
✿ Honestly, I feel like it’s my calling. Every other field that I partake in — tennis, drawing, acting — seems like something to be written about.
✿ I really like grammar and the technical aspects of written work.
Reasons Opposing!
✿ I struggle with transition sentences, overly-formal writing, staying on topic, and keeping my audience in mind.
✿ I misuse words — often purposefully. I continue using sardonic, dissonant, pedantic, and didactic just because they’re aurally pleasing.
✿ I overuse the exclamation point!
✿ It’s difficult for me to write nonfiction — to document events without assuming certain things.
✿ I think in adjectives too often. I’d like to describe people or surroundings without alluding to their aura or the feelings they emit.
✿ As per “staying on topic”: my fictional blog. I often write in circles, deductively, and without regards to my goal. It’s funny: I’m extremely organized in my physical life, but I can never sort my thoughts out. Ugh.
Just squatting. Take care, my beloved tumbleloggers.
Linked In
I have my contact info scattered throughout this tumblelog. But: here it is, y’all, organized like a champ …
- Offer me an e-job at trogdorandstrongbad@yahoo.com
- Promote your band, criticize my prose, and ask me whatever you shall here
- Same crap; unlimited questions
- Celebrate minimalism at my Twitter account
- Vote, comment, and “Report Abuse” at my fictional blog
- Send me your latest dabble with stop-motion
- Send me your latest retarded vlog
- AIM at me (☹): chipmunk65d
Personal Divulgence
Last year, when I was a high school sophomore, I took an art class. Because of the generality of the course, kids from all four years composed it. Art was distinct from all my other classes — I kind of felt a wave of freedom in it as I sat boringly and moved around slothfully. Then, there happened to be this one girl.
A brunette with half-closed sparkling eyes and lame, pedestrian vocals … she seemed to symbolize modern youth culture. Once I looked over her shoulder and saw her iPod — terrible stuff. Also, she never had anything interesting to say. What else?
She is appallingly gorgeous.
We didn’t talk much in the first few months; she sat at a different table. Something bordering on dialogue happened when, in my oral critique of her pottery, I starkly said that her work looked “like a dead plant.” It was odd — I never meant to hurt her. I thought her creation was wonderful! (It was an accurate portrayal of a decaying flower.) Either way: I was a little taken aback when she told me that she was offended.
In about February, I began a weird semi-tradition of following her after Art ended. Because my seventh period was reserved for lunch — I used it for this 80% of the time — I had the ability to peer into the life of my crush — if only for a few minutes. She was aware of this and smiled as I trailed, preceded, or walked beside her on those lovely occasions.
Although she always knew I was walking near her, there was only one time when I’d claim that we truthfully walked together. That day — for those pristine three minutes — I felt a surge of confidence. As we went down the Language Hallway I half-kicked a few of my acquaintances for her entertainment. (I’ve always acted my basest when trying to impress girls!) She laughed — that laugh was so knowing and intelligent. It understood everything I did.
During March and April we talked more. More, in this case, represents about a couple sentences per week. One day I handed her my rap notebook and she stood and read one of my inappropriate exploits in rhyming. She smiled the whole time. Afterwards, she praised it. Her enjoyment of my rap was more satisfying than my best friend’s loyalty to all of my written endeavors.
On an angry May day I was walking home and noticed her standing with the dork-stoners. (I knew she smoked weed — it was evident in her facade, speech, etc.) We were separated by the street. We made eye contact; it seemed like some author was directing me to cross and speak to her. Predictably, I didn’t. I let out a self-aware chuckle and continued walking towards my house.
As per that school year: one more memory stands out. It was another lazy day in Art; school was almost over; the sun’s rays crawled through the windows. There this girl sat, absentmindedly painting her utilitarian wreck. And, for about ten minutes, I stared at her vicinity. Life didn’t need to be anymore than what she stood for at that moment — doing something one doesn’t necessarily want do to with the same passionate carefulness that may characterize one’s more “important” moments.
Summer brought me to methodical fantasies. I considered each of my eight new courses for Junior year — maybe she’d be in a few of them! Just one would be cool, though. In a specific July lucid dream, she was in my Forensic Science class. We sat at the same table and talked. In circa two weeks we were good friends. But hey: I’m way too analytical for lucid dreaming! As you’d expect, that led to me thinking about each of my eight future classes and the potential for her to be in each. Whatever.
September 2, 2009 may have been the funniest experience of my life. First period — Gym — that’s annoying! — guess what! — the object of many summer meta-reveries sat there on the bleachers. Although, as a senior, she had a different teacher, I was very pleased that I might be able to talk to her during the opening minutes of a lot of first periods.
As the late-bell for fourth period rung, I was content. I sat with an attractive senior and my old pal Dom in Forensic Science. Cool kids; cool teacher; cool class. A minute later, though, the Queen of Sloth barged in. Not only that — she sat at our table.
Not only that — she started talking to me.
Thus: I awkwardly attempted to face my crush while she complained about the new cell phone policy and listen to our new teacher explain how the year shall go. Then, after thirty minutes, the pre-arranged seating took its course. But … Miss S mentioned that we would eventually get to choose lab partners!
On the third or fourth day of school, my flame was absent. Yeah, and I guess I supposed she was sick. Criminally ill!
And on some late September morning I saw her in the Cheerleading Hallway. I asked her why she wasn’t in Forensic Science anymore. (Neither was she in first period Gym, but I wasn’t sure she knew I was, so I left that out.) She didn’t hear me. I repeated myself. With a note of calm surprise she told me that she had to change her schedule. And I’m not sure why, but I felt really happy after I bounced away from our non-conversation. Maybe because she politely closed a door that was shouldn’t have been open. Maybe because I always felt happy when I spoke to her. Not that it matters.
The end.
[I forgot to mentioned that, to my knowledge, she had a boyfriend during all of this. Also: I could care less if anyone reads this. I’m simply happy that it’s here and I didn’t say her name. I’m sad that I liked someone who is probably not worth a second thought. I’m also sad … that there’s sadder story — which will be longer and more embarrassing — to be told. Same school year. Similar results.]
