And also, if I may say, the talent. James has an MFA from Pitt and he taught rhetoric at the college level. I took a high school creative writing course and I have an English degree, so I know where to put commas, kind of. Unfortunately for all of us, James decided that blog-writing is not for him at this time in his life, so he gracefully bowed out. Even so, I am determined to give it a shot on my own, which I think will be OK because I have writing talent to spare.
Not to toot my own horn, but I have won many awards for my writing, so let's talk about that for a bit. I can't remember all of them, but here is a brief list, not in chronological order, to give you the general idea:
My Many Writing Achievements
I won the "David Gotmer English Award" as a senior in high school. I don't know why. I don't know who David Gotmer is. No one told me and I didn't ask, but they gave me a plaque. I think that Diablo Cody, when she went to my high school (many years after I graduated, I suppose I should add), also won this award. Or I may be making that up. I'm not sure. I should IMDb that before I go spreading rumors about Oscar-winning screenplay writer Diablo Cody. I'm kind of afraid of that one. She might sue me. Or show up at my house and injure me with her black fingernails, sharp wit, and startling stripper moves. Incidentally, they say that some or all of the members of the hit rock band Survivor also went to my high school, as well as D.B. Sweeney, of "The Cutting Edge" fame ("Toe pick!"), but I have always been skeptical of these claims. Every time I hear Survivor's double platinum-certified 1982 mega-hit "Eye of the Tiger" in my car, which, let's face it, isn't nearly often enough, and I give a little
(By the way, take a look at the commas in that last sentence. Not everyone can do that. That's totally Strunk & White-approved comma-usage right there, so you should be getting the sense now that you're in good hands.)
Going a little further back, when I was in 7th grade, my paper comparing the effectiveness of various mnemonic devices was selected as one of the top five research papers at the Illinois State Science Fair. My mom took me down to Champaign where I presented my paper and received a ribbon, all while wearing floral-print, cotton, M.C. Hammer pants, and a teal, off-the-shoulder sweater. A black-and-white picture of me and the other four "winners" was included in the science fair program. After forfeiting the entire 12th year of your life to science, sharing your science fair award with four other people is very satisfying.
Speaking of the science fair, I note a trend. My writing achievements in the early years were scientific-y. I was once invited to brunch at Fermilab to read a piece of fiction that I had written about aliens coming to Earth for a visit. My story was about how strange earthlings must seem to space creatures, especially how we walk around after our dogs picking up their poop. I have since heard this joke many times. I think Seinfeld or maybe Dane Cook does this bit now, but I came up with it first, in the mid-80s. I know it was the mid-80s, because the sleeves of my dress were really puffy, and there is a picture of me reading my story and my head is kind of being closed in on by these massive sleeves. So anyway, I read my story to a bunch of nuclear physicists. They laughed. I mean, I really had these scientists laughing. I don't know if they were laughing with me or at me, but my mom and dad said I did a good job. So that's kind of like a writing award. I'm not sure if they will note it in my Wiki profile, but it should be included. I mean, seriously -- I'm practically Vonnegut over here with the sci-fi component and the speech-giving to raucous laughter. Let's agree that even if it isn't an award, giving a reading at Fermilab is really fucking cool, for a 12-year-old.
Even though I was into sci-fi writing as a child, when I was a senior in high school, my mother let me drop physics so that I could take a second writing class instead. Brother Charles was against this, so my mom went to the school and fought for my right to not learn physics! As a result, I am proud to say that I am a full-grown adult with 19 years of formal education, and I have taken 1.25 science classes in my life. I still believe that a piano falls faster than a feather in a vacuum, and I have it on information and belief that I can only get pregnant if I have sex when I'm married.
Getting back to my writing achievements: The Daughters of the American Revolution seemed to like what I had to say about "What the American Flag Means to Me." I got a $25 prize for my essay one year, so I submitted roughly the same essay the next year and won a prize again. So we'll just count that one once.
I booked Legal Writing in my first year of law school. Or rather, my law school roommate tells people that I booked Legal Writing, but this is unverified, because it is not true. Since he keeps telling people that it happened, and I now kind of like to believe that it did, let's just put it in the mix of things for flavor, and worry about the fact-checking later.
Also, my undergraduate writing professor repeatedly asked me to come over to his house for dinner. And sometimes I went. He told me I was beautiful and that my writing was beautiful (I should have suspected that a better writing professor would have known more than one adjective), and that I made him want to write poetry. This wasn't a writing "award," per se, but it was writing-related, if not wholly creepy, so I thought I would mention it in this portion of the introduction rather than spring it on you some time later on when it might seem out of context.
Finally, Nichols Library chose my report on Harriet Tubman as the best essay about a black person, and they put my picture in the "Naperville Sun." In case that last sentence sounded not very PC, the caption actually says: "Julie D-, St. Raphael's, 5th Grade, wins the library's contest for Best Essay About a Black Person."
Yes, I know. All of my writing achievements appear to have occurred during or very near to the first decade of my life, and maybe you don't want to read a blog about black people from outer space that is littered with scientific untruths because of my limited exposure to that area of study, but my point is, even without James or the fancy degree, I have the one qualification you need in order to have a blog:
I know how to type.
What is your blog about?
I'm not sure.
Really? What can we expect?
First of all, please keep your expectations low. I may write some essays or tell some stories or post some pictures, or maybe I'll take suggestions. I wrote a lot of essays in high school about Barbie dolls and meatloaf and the hermaphrodites that can be found in magazine ads for Calvin Klein fragrances, and most of these early works will be reprinted here out of sheer laziness, and also so that you may judge for yourself how little progress I have made as a writer since I was 15. Also, I wrote a lot of "poetry" when I was a teenager, like, thousands of poems of the really lovesick, "I'll stick my head in this fucking oven! I will do it! I WILL DO IT!!!" variety, that can only be conjured in the mind of a white, privileged, private school girl growing up in an affluent suburb of a large American city. But let me tell you, I was heartbroken and despondent and a recreational bulimic, and you would not believe the sorts of things a kid like that will write. We'll give you a taste of it here so you'll know what to expect from your daughters.
I have kept a diary since I was in 5th grade. I will post excerpts as needed to fill space. Most of the entries will be about hot dogs.
Did you see that one day when I posted a picture on Facebook of a body heaped up on the floor in my hallway? I had stuff to say about that! But there wasn't enough room on Facebook, and since I didn't have this blog at the time, you'll never know what happened to the carcass. Sadly, there won't always be dead bodies in the hallway for me to write about, but I'll look for them! For you, I will look for the dead bodies!
My Promise to You:
The idea to have a blog did not begin with me. It began in other people's heads and has been suggested to me now and again. Each time it has been suggested, my gut reaction has been that I am not nearly interesting or important enough to have a blog that anyone would bother reading. However, reading other people's blogs has confirmed for me that leading an adventurous and exciting life is not a prerequisite for having an interesting blog. Things happen every day that I think to myself, I could write about that! And then I do. And it goes in the notebook and the notebook goes into the tub and the tub goes into the closet, and so on ad infinitum, until one can no longer own clothes because the closets are full.
The other part of my reluctance about blogging is that you cannot claim that you are not a narcissist if you write a blog about yourself. And the thing is, when I talk about myself, which I often do, I am always saying how I am not a narcissist.
When I decided to go ahead with it, I thought, if I am really going to do this, then it will have to be for real. It will have to be "THE BLOG TO END ALL BLOGS!"
RAWR!!!!!!!!!!
My blog has claws and fangs and is blood-thirsty and it uses less significant blogs as dental floss. I put on "Eye of the Tiger" and I got really pumped up. I probably tore my shirt a little bit, or dislodged some of the buttons on my pants or something. But the point is, I disheveled my attire in a brutally sexy way and I felt very hungry and energized, like an actual tiger. However, I wouldn't want to be a male tiger, because I'm a lady, and lady tigers are not as fancy as male tigers. Or is that just lions that are like that, the males having the big manes and the ladies just looking like house cats? In that case, maybe I would be some other kind of mammal that is more accessible than a tiger? A lemur, perhaps? Or a marmet? What's a marmet? Is that a monkey?
Well, you get the idea, I hope, that I am very excited, for there to now be a place where I can do my writing exercises. But even so, I have come to understand that having a blog that intimidates and destroys other blogs is an unreasonable goal. It's OK to shoot for the stars, but you have to keep your feet on the ground. So here is my promise to you:
I invite you to read this blog while you are eating your 6-inch Subway meal at your desk during your lunch break. My blog will be good enough for that. If you will accept it, I will settle for a blog that pairs adequately with the 15-20 minutes it takes you to eat a value meal consisting of three components from any fast food restaurant chain (except Chick-Fil-A, because I've never been to a Chick-Fil-A and I don't understand it. Do they sell chicken or cheeseburgers? Why aren't they open on Sundays?). This blog takes into consideration that you just want the work day to be over and you are looking for something to kill time because you got stuck on that Sudoku you're working on.
... P.S. I offer one final disclosure: I will write a lot about my ex-boyfriends. Like, really, a LOT. Sorry in advance, ex-boyfriends. But seriously now, you had to have seen this coming. You saw the closet with the notebooks piled up. What did you think that was all about?
And, come on now. What man in his right mind gives up on a girl who has been asked to speak at Fermilab?
Yeah. I have some things to say about you.
Stupidass.
