Shout out

I'm still here, dear loyal fans.

Busy, tired, but happy.

The dust will settle soon, and I'll be able to round up some of my scattered wit for you...

Thanks for tuning in.

In the meantime, here's something fun to mark the start of the academic year.

Later, freaks.

Against Texting: A Polemic

If you recognized my title as biting off acknowledging Kipnis' work, then Good for You, hee hee. If not, that's ok. It's not that relevant here, it's just a good title.
Maybe this won't turn out to be as controversial to some, however, there are those that would roll their eyes. So roll them and enjoy the sensation, cause you're about to get schooled, bitches. I say this with love of course.


First, let's get some things straight:


I don't abhor texting.
I can appreciate its usefulness in a variety of situations, like, for example, when you're in a loud environment and it's hard to hear, or when you're in an audience and can't talk and you need to communicate with someone outside the venue, or just generally when you need (and need is a relative term here) to communicate with someone, and calling them and flapping your gums is just not a good option. I've done it. I do it sometimes.

I'm admittedly not very good at texting.
Part of the reason is that we don't have a text plan, and my phone does not have one of those tiny keyboards made especially for easy texting, so I don't get a lot of practice. Sure, I've received and sent texts, but the whole process is time consuming and dumb to me, unless calling is simply not a good option.


I am not a luddite. Yea, I know my last name might have you think otherwise. Ha-ha. But seriously, I love progress and change and I love new technology. I have a significant on-line presence. Goodness, I like to go into the Mac stores just to cry, people...and, finally, I get paid to work in an on-line environment. OK? Just so we are square.


Since I'm not coming from a place of ignorance or anti-tech, and I do not necessarily subscribe to some of the recent whining out there, I hope you can be open to my forthcoming rant.
Let's start with two situations in which texting is completely and utterly unacceptable:




Texting while driving.
Really, you can call me old or a nervous nelly or whatever, but texting and driving is probably about the stupidest and most irresponsible driving related thing a person can do besides driving under the influence. I can deal with taking calls, or even making one...but texting while driving is Reckless. I don't care if you're an expert stunt driver. Just freakin talk. What's the big emergency? I mean, it's SO important, it came via a text that you have to check while you're going 75...and text back. It's kind of juvenile. You may as well crack open a beer. Hell, why don't you just whip out your laptop and blog?
I have been in cars with drivers checking and sending texts. Constantly. I was so offended, so freaked out...and yes, their driving was pretty damned scary as a result. I didn't say anything, and now I regret it. I don't plan on riding with these particular people anymore, and unfortunately, am not impressed with them.


Texting when I'm fucking talking to you.
I'm not sure I got all the feeling across here...what do you think? It has happened to me. It's offensive. I'm not talking about a casual check...that's not really a big deal. And if you must stop our conversation and excuse yourself? Fine. No problem. I'm talking about someone in my physical presence that is actually reading and actively texting back while purportedly listening to me, saying, "No, go ahead, I'm listening [click-click-click]" Are you kidding me? Inevitably they gloss over with the "uh-huh" and, "I'm sorry, what was that again?" Fuck you, that's what I said.

Phew, that felt good. I apologize for the F-bombs, gentle readers, but they help this girl sometimes.

And now onto the more philosophical argument:

I can understand the temptation to check your phone a lot, especially if it has all the latest apps...but I don't understand the need to text and practically have a side texting conversation when you are with people and the group is talking. Even if no one is talking to you, specifically. You can't wait till you get home? Or until you can step away? Maybe this is the case sometimes...but really? Honestly? You're not the President, and your friends and family aren't either. If you must, just excuse yourself, just as you would if your phone actually RANG and you were going to talk to someone. Let me stress that I am not talking about a quick read/reply, I'm talking about sentences.

To me, the person engrossed in texting is totally checked out and will never pick up on nuances or subtleties of the given situation. Never. And really, that's what it's all about a lot of times, right? How do we get instincts? How do we build trust? Respect? Understanding? We engage and listen to one another, even if we don't want to be there. It's about subtlety and eye contact and nuance. That's how humans relate. It's about being present, as trite as that sounds.

The same argument could be made about someone being on the phone...but there is a difference...people typically know you are on the phone. They can hear you, see you holding it to your ear...there is a consciousness and understanding among others that you are not fully engaged. With texting, it's often kinda sneaky, for example, someone says something rather important, and you realize that a person that's supposed to be part of the situation has been looking down, texting and pretending to listen. It's a little gross. It irritates me and I want to stab them.

Arguments could be made that people who daydream or doodle are not present as well, but this is not the case. Doodling can actually help a person stay focused where they may otherwise drift off. Daydreaming takes you away, but it uses your other capacities, not your left-brain...you're not locked into looking at a small screen, typing and focusing upon another entirely different situation, conversation, and person. And daydreaming doesn't make you look rude.

I am closing this abruptly. No conclusion. This post was exhausting. I wonder how long it would take me to text it.

It's a good gag story

I made a tasty dinner tonight. This is not a food blog, so no details. I'm a self-declared, self-taught, queen of lazy pan-cookery and the sauces that come of it. I also have generally good coordination and timing in the kitchen. I can take on that no talent screaming disaster any day and I'll shove her embarrassing kitchen Italian right down her raspy gullet to boot.

Moving on: Dinner involved chicken. While we go through our fair share of poultry, I have a problem with raw chicken. It's a little embarrassing and silly, but the gist of it is that handling and trimming the yellow fat makes me gag. Badly. I have to take regular 'breaks' and walk away from it so I don't throw up. It was awful just typing that, I almost heaved. So tonight, unfortunately, I had the word gag on my mind, reminding me of a special gagging memory. I also owe my recollection in part to Lippe - her recount of a cream cheese laden bagel balanced on a subway seat made me relive that starry eve.

College, mid-nineties. I was at some sort of lame reception following a play. This chick my roommates and I made fun of regularly was there. Mean? Meh...she brought it on herself, read on. She was really a special one. Her name was April. She believed she was a vampire. Yep, one of those. Wore fangs sometimes. And cloaks. She feigned intensity and brooding depth, but really, it was just pitiful, and therefore, funny. Do I even need to go on? Makes sense that she was at a play though - the theatre brings everyone together.

I'm in the women's bathroom, on my way to the sinks, and I notice the unmistakable hem of her gauzy witch skirt peeking out under a stall. I froze in my tracks, not sure why. Maybe I thought she might really be a vampire and a bat would fly out in her place. Then something amazing happened. I heard some rustling (presumably of her complicated robes and talismans), followed by a huff. Then, she lowered her hand and gently placed a chocolate chip cookie on the floor. No plate. No napkin. No tissue or handkerchief or even a piece of freakin toilet paper. On the floor, directly on the grungy teal squares. I stared at the cookie. It was from the tray at the reception, of course. Not that it mattered. Even if that cookie was from her coffin, she still laid it on a public bathroom floor. I heard her pee - it shook me out of the stare, just as my roommate came through the door. I gestured her to hush and waved her over so she could see. We both stood and stared at the cookie. The toilet flushed. The hand soon reappeared and picked up the cookie. We quickly turned to the sinks. April opened the stall, walked past the sinks (of course) and put the cookie in her mouth before she opened the door and disappeared back out to the reception.

Hall of Fame

Thursday evening we took Sam to O-State's community Halloween event - they invite local families to a kids oriented carnival and then escort them through a number of residence halls for trick or treating. Since Tim and I are obviously familiar with campus, we went off on our own, unescorted. We're crazy like that.

I wanted to visit Ford Hall, where I was the director from 1999-2001. It was renovated shortly after I left (that's always the way it goes), and I was curious about the changes. Apparently we were the first family there; as we approached the entrance, a group of students showered us with attention. They discussed who would escort us around, and were having some difficulty deciding on the best route. "Should I tell them?" I asked Tim. He just shrugged. I cleared my throat, "I used to be the hall director here, I know my way around - we can go on our own." Blank stares. A half nod in the back. I think someone said, "Aw." Aw? That's it?? Did they hear me right? I was once virtually Numero Uno in this place...hello? Don't you want to know about all the stories and wisdom and observations I have to impart on you? Why are you not all buzzing around me?

A bespectacled girl came forward and preceded to lead our way. She was pleasant enough, but I wondered...is she just waiting to get me away from the group to ask me all about my past tenure?

I made observations as we walked through the building. The layout was actually a little more complex than I remembered, but of course I didn't admit that. Shh. I asked her if she was a Resident Assistant in the building, hoping to flatter her, to make her feel like it was now ok for her to show her regard for me..."Nope. Hall Government." She chirped happily, and went on to explain how Hall Government helps to plan out the event. As if this was new information to me.
"The sisal on the wall is nice." I said. Wow, at least Sam is having a good time.

We went down another level and she announced the ground floor. "Ah, the Pit," I said knowingly, "or as Res Life would like us to say, the Garden Level." Silence. Come on, that was funny. Tim? Nothing. E tu, Sam? Ugh.

On our way back up I pointed out that they'd re-treaded the stairs. "Really?" she said flatly. I suppose that wasn't so impressive to her. But they really did look better.

Sam did a great job - he said trick or treat and thank you to most of the students, but toward the end, he was more interested in his bounty than making his way out of the building with us.

We thanked spectacles. Oh look, new carpet in the lounge. Sigh.

Back in the car Tim asked me what's wrong with me. That's the dumbest question, isn't it? Nothing and everything, clearly. "Re-treaded stairs, Cristina? Really? Who points that out? Do you think they care?" OK, so maybe he had a point. We laughed. Maybe if I put myself in their shoes, I wouldn't be awestruck by some old dorky director popping in either, as if they were a celebrity. But for a few minutes, I thought maybe, just maybe, I had some kind of a mystical legacy to the residents of a coed state dorm. Everyone wants to be a little bit famous in their own circles.

Back the fig up.

A Freshman Interest Group (or a FIG) used to refer to a sort of living-learning group among college freshmen - they were housed together according to major, participated in the same activities, and so on. They also had sweet, mealy flesh and were often dried. The whole point was for them to bond outside of the classroom in hopes of increasing academic performance and retention, or something like that. Blah blah blah.
During the summer of 99..or maybe 00, my sworn enemy Allison and I were employed, or rather enslaved, by the Residence Life & Housing office to process room assignments. As we were working with the FIG applications, we amused ourselves by using the word fig every chance we got.
Don't fig that up. Where the fig did you go? Oh for fig's sake. And my favorite, back the fig up - as in, quit your talking and get out of the way. now. fool. It's best said with a combination of contempt and annoyance.

If that's not even mildly funny to you, then I'm sorry, you're probably one of those people that finds joy in endless data entry and can't understand the necessity of creative distraction to just get through. You may as well stop reading now.

Spending a summer stamping and filing stacks of cards at a shared desk in a tiny, windowless room bathed in fluorescent light will drive any dynamic duo to despair. We replaced our director's office light switch cover with a comically oversize prop one (we're talking like 10x14). I think it was from a dollar store. They're hard to find, so if you see one, buy it. Everyone should have one.
We strung paper stars with our names on them from above his desk, just to remind him of who the stars on staff really were. The stars stayed because he loved it. Or maybe he was just lazy. Sigh. Why can't work be that fun now? And what does all this have to do with figs? It's a little roundabout, but here's the connection:

Last night Tim noticed that our PC was doing odd things, and in particular, when we used a search engine, it would jump us to strange sites. We finally figured it was a Trojan horse type virus, or a redirect virus. Whatever. I just updated our Norton suite a couple of weeks back (it was expired since 2006!), but apparently, that's useless with this type of thing. I buckled down for the eve and started to back up our pictures and important files and I thought, "I gotta back this all up...Back it the fig up."

And that's how I remembered the beloved Freshman Interest Groups and my budding friendship with Allison.

I tried to download programs to fix the problem, but this particular virus would not let me get to any of the sites like mcafee, trendmicro, malwarebytes, and so on - even if I typed it in directly. The virus would just redirect me to some freak ad site. Aaaargh. I thought we were doomed and would have to call someone. Remember I mentioned that every once in a while Tim is kind of quick and smart? While he was out constable-izing, he dropped into town hall and downloaded four of the most recommended fixes onto his jump drive. We plugged it in this morning and the first one fixed everything. AND, now I have current photo back ups.

"I didn't even have to use my A-K. I gotta say it was a good day."
-Ice Cube

Thanks, Ice. That's pretty much how I feel today.
Oh, and for any old school fans - Ice Cube will be at Magic City Music Hall in Johnson City tonight. Sadly, I won't be. Maybe I'll watch Boyz n the Hood instead.

And Some Love

Top 10 Things I Like About Oneonta, NY

10) It’s pretty from a distance
9) Water Street (I’ll take the good with the bad – regardless, it’s unique)
8) SUNY Oneonta
7) Autumn Café
6) McLaughlin’s Shoes: old fashioned and Gordon is so nice
5) Both diners
4) The birthplace of GL & P, Inc. (Green, Ludden & Partners – telling you what’s hot and what’s not since 2001)
3) The Green Earth
2) Student influence
1) It's where Tim & I met (awwwwww - shut it)