Six words

School update: The collage I made, with the scissors and the glue and some provided construction paper, now hangs on my fridge. I showed it to everyone I could possibly show it to, and now I think it's going to start making its postal rounds. Hopefully not before I've scanned it and posted it on this blog. Putting pictures on my blog has not been an ambition of mine, as pictures are most certainly not my strong suit. But I fear this collage may be too good to pass up.

The essay class, on the other hand, has not brought as many smiles. On our first day of class, I had a few clashes with the professor, a man who has told our class that we haven't had enough "recreational experimentation," aka done enough drugs. Anyway, in our very first day of class, I was being my loud, opinionated self. I thought he was joking around, but then at the end he argued my point, and settled the argument by saying that I needed an attitude adjustment, and to perhaps have a drink before class. Hell, he didn't care, I could bring a drink TO class. As I had plans to do heavy drinking AFTER class, I simply shut up. I like him, but the man is a blowhard. Here's my least favorite part of the class - the text. This is an amazing point in time for nonfiction, but this guy has us using a text that came out over 10 years ago. I can't wrap my head around it. (Actually, I can: I think he wants to give us a historical appreciation for the maturation of the genre, but still, ick.) I think I'm back on the ins, though, because the other night, I was the only person in class who knew who Judith Martin was (Miss Manners).

And finally, one of my friends at school directed me to the following: http://www.boingboing.net/2008/02/14/sixword-memoirs-by-w.html

This (blog entry about a book that sprang from a magazine article) focuses on telling YOUR story (memoir, if you will) in six words. Apparently, Ernest Hemingway's shortest story was six words: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn."

Here are some from me:
Swimming head surfaces occasionally for air.
Wrinkled nose leads skinny life astray.
Loud-voiced; hungry girl seeks work. (this one also doubles as a homeless person sign.)

Make a girl happy and post your own six word memoir in the comments section...

Visitors in the Night

This morning, I woke up at about 5am because I thought my bed was moving. “That’s not possible,” I thought, but then it kept doing it... and doing it. It felt like someone underneath it had put his or her feet up and were moving them inches from side to side. So I figured out that there were only three explanations:

A ghost was under my bed, and shaking it around.
A rapist was under my bed, and shaking it around.
I was imagining the movement, or dreaming it.

After freaking out for a few minutes (ok, probably 20), I reasoned myself away from the rapist idea. Why would a rapist wait under my bed for hours after I'd already gone to sleep? I decided to go with the obvious reason (#1) and went back to sleep. I woke up thinking about it, but decided I wouldn’t tell anyone about my ghost because they’d think I was crazy. Then, I got to work, and a friend sent this link:

http://www.cnn.com/2008/US/04/18/illinois.earthquake/index.html

This has been my first earthquake. In the warm light of day (alright, it's cloudy), it seems kinda cool that I could feel it all the way up here in the big city. Plus, this way, if I ever think there are ghost things going on in the middle of the night - something I'm not exceptionally prone to, but as I get older I realize you just never know - I can now blame those strange occurrences on earthquakes. Done and done.

Have a good weekend all!