"Thanks for taking me out mom and dad," I said, beaming at my parents while my brother and sister looked on at the table at my favorite steakhouse. "I know it took me awhile, but I finally figured it out. I am going to be..."
It was nearing the end of my sophomore year of college at the University of Toledo. For the first year and a half, I had decided not to declare a major because, well, I didn't know what I was going to college for. But I had a bunch of basic classes to take and figured I'd take some time to figure out what it was I wanted to do for the rest of my life.
I've always been good at writing, but didn't know what I could do with a degree in English besides teach, which I knew I didn't want to do. So I floated around for awhile hoping the answer would eventually come to me.
And it did in the form of Ed Whipple's Introduction to Journalism course.
I. Loved. That. Class. Maybe it was the way my 113-year-old teacher sarcastically taught the class or maybe it was because the subject matter was simply fascinating. Plus, being the lover of words that I am, I reveled in the way words could be misconstrued if you used them the wrong way ("High Photographer Shoots At Crowd" headline about a photographer on a very tall building taking photos of the people below, anyone?)
At the end of each class period, I'd go to a common area and start on my homework for that class, ignoring the fact that I had other homework due days sooner. I loved weaving the facts into a story and coming up with creative story leads so much that after a few weeks of class, I made the decision and added "Communication with a focus in journalism" next to my English major declaration. I knew I wouldn't touch it again until I accepted my diploma for the dual degree.
And since my parents were paying for my education, I thought they should be the first to know. So I asked them if they wanted to go to dinner because I had a big announcement to make.
"I know it took me awhile, but I finally figured it out. I am going to be...a writer," I said, anxiously waiting to see their immediate reaction to the news.
They laughed. A lot.
"You needed to take us out to dinner to tell us that?" my mom managed to sputter through her laughter. "Come on, Erika. We knew that already. You've always been a writer. Did you think we were going to be surprised or something?"
"That's what I'm paying for?" my dad good-naturedly ribbed. "For you to do something you've been doing since you were little?"
"Well I didn't think that Life As A Fish (the "book" I wrote in first grade about my brother turning into a fish somehow and discovering - shockingly, apparently - that a fish's life is boring) was destined to be a bestseller, but maybe something else I write could be," I said defensively.
"I have no doubt that it will," my mom said, turning serious with a nod of agreement from my dad. "You're so talented, honey. We already knew you would be a writer. You already are one."
Looking from one to the other, it was obvious that they were serious and not even the slightest bit surprised at what I had thought would be a huge revelation. It doesn't happen very often, but it was that moment that I just knew that this decision was the absolute right one, even if it was an obvious decision.
"Well, fine, then," I said, stabbing my steak. "Don't be surprised at my news. I'm just going to take satisfaction that at least I got a good meal out of it!"
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Day 57: If I Ruled Lichtenstein... There'd Be A Network of Caves
Sometimes you just need to be alone. Maybe you had a crummy day at work, maybe you need to cool off from an argument, or maybe you just need to feel sorry for yourself for awhile then get over it.
The problem is, it always seems like there are people around when you just want to be alone. It's not personal, but you just sometimes need "me" time to decompress or think.
Therefore, every citizen of Lichtenstein will have their own designated "alone" space. No one else is ever allowed in this sacred space, which will be available to every citizen whenever they need it. It will be a simple space - not one designed to go and spend hours in with hobbies or activities - just somewhere you can go to be by yourself.
There will be no knocking on the door of this space or hollering into this space, and you will be free to spend as much time as you need to get your head straight without retribution.
Alone time keeps us sane, and will be given the focus it deserves in my country.
The problem is, it always seems like there are people around when you just want to be alone. It's not personal, but you just sometimes need "me" time to decompress or think.
Therefore, every citizen of Lichtenstein will have their own designated "alone" space. No one else is ever allowed in this sacred space, which will be available to every citizen whenever they need it. It will be a simple space - not one designed to go and spend hours in with hobbies or activities - just somewhere you can go to be by yourself.
There will be no knocking on the door of this space or hollering into this space, and you will be free to spend as much time as you need to get your head straight without retribution.
Alone time keeps us sane, and will be given the focus it deserves in my country.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Day 56: What Did Batman Say To Robin... About Bop Shu Boppin'.
Holy invented words and strange lyrics, Batman!
Who put the bop in the bop shu wop shu wop? Contrary to the song lyrics by The Platters, it was not, in fact, a man who put it in there. It was a woman.
The singer wants to know who put the "bop" in the song because it made his baby fall in love with him.
Women, by nature, are much better matchmakers than men. They would know best what would make another woman fall in love with a man that they had set them up with. And of course, the women would have set up their friends with men the old-fashioned way - in-person introductions, as this song was released in the early '60s long before eHarmony, OKCupid, or Match made dating impersonal and anonymous.
Plus, as most women were housewives during this time period, they would have had the time to think about who they could pair up with their spinster sister because heaven forbid she remain single into her 20s while their husbands were at work.
Therefore, it must have been a woman who put the "bop" in the song because women trust other women's matchmaking abilities and intuition and if that's how a woman fell in love with a man, you can bet it was a woman behind it.
My partner in crime weighs in: Life has many questions. Why is the sky blue? Why did the dinosaurs die? Why do hipsters wear pants so tight that I can count their pocket change? How did Zack Morris get involved with every girl, break it off, and there are absolutely no hard feelings? Why in the fuck does traffic go from 80 mph, down to 40 mph, then back up to 80 mph, and there is no apparent accident or sun glare?
Who put the bop in the bop shu wop shu wop? Contrary to the song lyrics by The Platters, it was not, in fact, a man who put it in there. It was a woman.
The singer wants to know who put the "bop" in the song because it made his baby fall in love with him.
Women, by nature, are much better matchmakers than men. They would know best what would make another woman fall in love with a man that they had set them up with. And of course, the women would have set up their friends with men the old-fashioned way - in-person introductions, as this song was released in the early '60s long before eHarmony, OKCupid, or Match made dating impersonal and anonymous.
Plus, as most women were housewives during this time period, they would have had the time to think about who they could pair up with their spinster sister because heaven forbid she remain single into her 20s while their husbands were at work.
Therefore, it must have been a woman who put the "bop" in the song because women trust other women's matchmaking abilities and intuition and if that's how a woman fell in love with a man, you can bet it was a woman behind it.
My partner in crime weighs in: Life has many questions. Why is the sky blue? Why did the dinosaurs die? Why do hipsters wear pants so tight that I can count their pocket change? How did Zack Morris get involved with every girl, break it off, and there are absolutely no hard feelings? Why in the fuck does traffic go from 80 mph, down to 40 mph, then back up to 80 mph, and there is no apparent accident or sun glare?
The most pressing question today is; Who put the “bop” in the “bop shu bop shu bop?” The answer to the most complicated questions is usually the simplest of answers. The person who put the “bop” in the “bop shu bop shu bop” is probably the same person who put the “ram” in the “ramalama ding dong.” Furthermore, upon further inspection the person that committed this act also most likely stole the cookie from the cookie jar. All signs point to one person; the infamous Carmen San Diego.
She is the probably the most elusive criminal this world has ever seen. She sneaks around the world from Kiev to Carolina. She's a sticky-fingered filcher from Berlin down to Belize. She'll take you for a ride on a slow boat to China. Tell me, where in the world is Carmen San Diego? Steal their Seoul in South Korea, make Antarctica cry "Uncle!" From the Red Sea to Greenland, they'll be singing the blues
Well they never Arkansas her steal the Mekong from the jungle. Tell me, where in the world is Carmen San Diego?
shu bop shu bop? Why would she be on the run if she were innocent of these crimes? Guilty parties act guilty. Hence, being on the run simply does not do much to prove her innocence now does it? The answer is no.
So who put the bop in the bop shoo bop shoo bop? The woman Carmen San Diego.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Day 55: Never Have I Ever... Followed Someone Stalker-Style
It was totally an accident. I didn't even know I was "following" the guy until we were almost at our shared destination after leaving our shared departure building. It wasn't until then that I actually went into stalker mode mostly out of curiosity.
Let me back up.
After punching the "down" button one morning last week, I stepped onto the elevator of my apartment building in Arlington Heights next to a good-looking guy about my age dressed in business casual clothes. Never having seen him before - which isn't unusual, as I've only lived in this apartment building for two months or so - I nodded an unspoken hello, and then busied myself with checking my mail from my cell phone.
I then speed-walked to the train station across the street from my apartment building and went to join the group of people I always stand with at the usual time to wait for my usual train. After grabbing my book from my bag, I glanced around and noticed Elevator Guy standing right next to me.
This might seem a bit weird, I thought as I moved a little ways away from him so he didn't think I had been following him.
Elevator Guy was then promptly forgotten about as I lost myself in the second installment of The Hunger Games. In fact, I didn't think about him again until the last leg of my mile-long walk to work, when I spotted the khaki pants, brown loafers, and pink-and-blue-striped shirt belonging to Elevator Guy walking just a few steps in front of me.
That's really weird, I mused to myself. I didn't even see him the entire way here. I wonder where he works.
Turns out, I needn't wonder too long, as Elevator Guy walked across Michigan Avenue and right into the entrance I always use to get to my building.
Now this is getting weird, I thought, as I hadn't ever seen this guy before, and here he was leaving from my apartment building, getting on the train, and going into my office building 30 minutes away from where I (or we, I guess) live.
Maybe he even works in my building, I thought, as I followed him from one of the three connected buildings that make up my office complex to the other two. I'll be really weirded out if he gets in the same elevator bank as me, given there are three in my building alone.
But instead of turning right toward my building, Elevator Guy continued to go straight to a neighboring building.
Hmm, I wonder where he's going, I thought, as I continued to follow him past the McDonald's toward Houlihan's Restaurant at the end of the corridor in the third building of my complex.
And just as Elevator Guy turned 180 degrees to hike up the stairs that lead to that third office building, I spun the same amount to walk back toward the way I came, having my curiosity somewhat satisfied.
OK, so we work in the same office complex. That isn't that much of a coincidence, is it?
I haven't seen him before or since, and probably don't have a private investigator career calling, but it was fun to have something to occupy my mind before work, and even more interesting to play detective for awhile.
Let me back up.
After punching the "down" button one morning last week, I stepped onto the elevator of my apartment building in Arlington Heights next to a good-looking guy about my age dressed in business casual clothes. Never having seen him before - which isn't unusual, as I've only lived in this apartment building for two months or so - I nodded an unspoken hello, and then busied myself with checking my mail from my cell phone.
I then speed-walked to the train station across the street from my apartment building and went to join the group of people I always stand with at the usual time to wait for my usual train. After grabbing my book from my bag, I glanced around and noticed Elevator Guy standing right next to me.
This might seem a bit weird, I thought as I moved a little ways away from him so he didn't think I had been following him.
Elevator Guy was then promptly forgotten about as I lost myself in the second installment of The Hunger Games. In fact, I didn't think about him again until the last leg of my mile-long walk to work, when I spotted the khaki pants, brown loafers, and pink-and-blue-striped shirt belonging to Elevator Guy walking just a few steps in front of me.
That's really weird, I mused to myself. I didn't even see him the entire way here. I wonder where he works.
Turns out, I needn't wonder too long, as Elevator Guy walked across Michigan Avenue and right into the entrance I always use to get to my building.
Now this is getting weird, I thought, as I hadn't ever seen this guy before, and here he was leaving from my apartment building, getting on the train, and going into my office building 30 minutes away from where I (or we, I guess) live.
Maybe he even works in my building, I thought, as I followed him from one of the three connected buildings that make up my office complex to the other two. I'll be really weirded out if he gets in the same elevator bank as me, given there are three in my building alone.
But instead of turning right toward my building, Elevator Guy continued to go straight to a neighboring building.
Hmm, I wonder where he's going, I thought, as I continued to follow him past the McDonald's toward Houlihan's Restaurant at the end of the corridor in the third building of my complex.
And just as Elevator Guy turned 180 degrees to hike up the stairs that lead to that third office building, I spun the same amount to walk back toward the way I came, having my curiosity somewhat satisfied.
OK, so we work in the same office complex. That isn't that much of a coincidence, is it?
I haven't seen him before or since, and probably don't have a private investigator career calling, but it was fun to have something to occupy my mind before work, and even more interesting to play detective for awhile.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Day 54: Shakespeare's High School Poetry... On Teaching What Is Tough To Learn
A didactic poem is one that is instructional where the poet expects the reader to learn skills, science, philosophy, love, crafts, etc. I wrote one the other day, actually, in typical Erika form: because I was feeling it randomly while sitting at my desk at work; I jotted it down. It is in a modified form of an acrostic poem, but I think it works in this instance as well.
Trust Me
Trust is
Responsibility
Us people
Saddle ourselves with
To not be taken lightly.
Trust is telling the truth
Regardless of the situation for the
Utmost respect from those we love.
Sometimes it's harder
Than lying, but necessary for ourselves and those we love.
Trust is tough, but
Real. And
Until you trust, you won't know the full
Scope of
True love.
Trust Me
Trust is
Responsibility
Us people
Saddle ourselves with
To not be taken lightly.
Trust is telling the truth
Regardless of the situation for the
Utmost respect from those we love.
Sometimes it's harder
Than lying, but necessary for ourselves and those we love.
Trust is tough, but
Real. And
Until you trust, you won't know the full
Scope of
True love.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Day 53: A Picture Is Worth 1,000 Words... On Time
This week's cliche is a tough one, as it may be pretty obscure, but makes sense if you think about it long enough.
Last week's cliche: Faster Than A Speeding Bullet.
Last week's cliche: Faster Than A Speeding Bullet.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Day 52: Stop. Focus. Click... On The Midwest
It's definitely not as stunning a view as New York City, but Chicago suits me much better. I'll always be a midwestern girl.
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