I know, I’ll just let that sink in a little, let the gasps die down. I realize it’s a hard thing to believe about sweet, little ol’ me.

But it’s true. I was standing around with a couple guys today and we were all swapping lies and bullshit as people are wont to do. That’s fine. That’s good. But here’s the thing I realized, and I don’t much like it:

I take it too far. Maybe that’s just me. Maybe the people I’m talking to think I don’t take it far enough. Whatever. I feel like I take it too far.

My work is very male-centric. I would say male dominated, but that implies something I don’t mean. I think. In my head it does anyway. It’s a sporting organization, so this is no big shock. I mean, I don’t work for Hallmark or anything. This means a great deal of my work colleagues are male and I just want to be one of the guys. So I think I’m going to prove to them that I’m no shy little violet. By giving as good as I get, I’m going to prove to them that I’m no girl. That’s kinda sad. Right?

Vulgar? I can do vulgar. Profane? Got it covered. Sexual Innuendo? Check.

So I’m standing there talking to these guys and I hear myself say some particularly offensive, sexually suggestive thing. And then I pause. It made me feel kinda creepy. I didn’t like what I heard.

Why do I have to curtail my natural instinct to be one of the guys? What’s wrong with being a girl? I AM a girl, after all. How come I have to put on this act and bluster and is this what it feels like to be a guy? Are they always worried about pulling off the next great one-liner, preferably one that addresses tits and beer? Do they feel the pressure of all this one-upsmanship and testosterone slinging? Bleh. If this is what it’s like to be a guy, no thanks.

I’ll keep my periods from hell and hormone surges. Thank you very much.

That crap sucks. So I don’t wanna do that anymore. I don’t want them to watch what they say around me. I don’t want them to treat me any differently. I just want to stop trying so hard to be accepted by them when I kinda think I already am. And that’s just dumb. Especially if it makes me uncomfortable. I think it’s okay to be a girl. I can cook and clean and do crafts and still like to go out drinking with the guys. Most guys, if they found out how girly I am, I think they would be surprised.

I’m kind of surprised out how girly I am, when I stop and think about it. That’s all. Consider your minds officially blown by that fascinating tidbit of self reflection there. I’ll be here all week. Try the lamb.

Here is also the man with esophageal cancer.

From a selfish standpoint, that’s an unholy bummer. He’s very intelligent and well-written. He’s level-headed and thoughtful. He is tough, but yielding.

From his standpoint…Jesus does that suck? I can’t even think about it. It harshes my mellow to the final degree. How can people even stand knowing? How does the knowledge alone of the thing not kill us?

He writes about his ordeal here, in Vanity Fair. He writes about it so well, it makes me want to call everyone I know and tell them I love them because, you just never know. You know?

Myself, I love the imagery of struggle. I sometimes wish I were suffering in a good cause, or risking my life for the good of others, instead of just being a gravely endangered patient. Allow me to inform you, though, that when you sit in a room with a set of other finalists, and kindly people bring a huge transparent bag of poison and plug it into your arm, and you either read or don’t read a book while the venom sack gradually empties itself into your system, the image of the ardent soldier or revolutionary is the very last one that will occur to you. You feel swamped with passivity and impotence: dissolving in powerlessness like a sugar lump in water.

Bluh. Only read it if you’re in the right head space. Otherwise, it will just blow you out. But do read it. And send good vibes his way.

1892
“I pledge allegiance to my flag and the republic for which it stands: one nation indivisible with liberty and justice for all.”

1892 to 1923
“I pledge allegiance to my flag and to the republic for which it stands: one nation indivisible with liberty and justice for all.”

1923 to 1924
“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States and to the republic for which it stands: one nation indivisible with liberty and justice for all.”

1924 to 1954
“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands; one nation indivisible with liberty and justice for all.”

1954 to Present
“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

Let me sum up: Basically, The Wylie Agency has decided to develop a digital-only branch of their publishing house. They’ve signed an exclusive, two-year deal with Amazon to pimp their stuff.

Think about that a minute. Let this sink in: Authors will write novels and those novels can only be read by purchasing a Kindle from Amazon (currently priced at $189 for the basic model and $379 with all the bells and whistles) and then downloading the book from Amazon’s store (current novel price ranges from $9.99 to $12.99). Seriously? I mean, I know if there’s a way around that by cheating somehow, someone will find it and exploit it. BUT you shouldn’t have to break the law in order to avoid paying OVER TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS MINIMUM to read a book! OH MY GOD! What kind of a dystopian, backwoods bullshit is this??

I get the appeal. I do. Print is a dying industry and it’s expensive and can be bulky and a pain in the ass to store and transport and if a digital reader can give you an entire library in the palm of your hand –why wouldn’t you jump for joy!? When we order letterhead for our office it ends up costing us an arm and a leg and that’s to say nothing of all the trees we use up in the process. Then we have to store it properly and take care that it’s not too hot or too cold or too moist or too dry — lest we end up with wrinkled, crinkled, useless letterhead. It’s an expensive hassle. And that’s just in my teeny little 10 person office.

BUT WE DO IT ANYWAY. Cause you have to. And look, we’re talking about books here. BOOKS! Books — you don’t have to. You shouldn’t! I love the idea of the Kindle and I’ll probably end up with one eventually, but I hate to think of us going down that particular rabbit hole. It scares me.

I love a good book. I love the feel of the spine against my fingers. I love turning the pages in anticipation, love the feel of the thin sheets between my thumb and forefinger. I love to bury my face in an old book, to breathe in its heady aroma. I love libraries with stacks and stacks and row upon row of booky goodness. I like to walk down the aisles at Powell’s and caress the books as I go.

Can I walk into a Kindle? Can I run my hands across the backs? Can I smell an old favorite in a Kindle??? How the hell am I supposed to do that with a Kindle? You tell me that much right here and now. Yes, I will probably get one. NO, I don’t want that to mean you take away my current option. Why can’t I have both? A kindle, light and sexy for the plane. A big, fat, epic book for my bed and bunny slippers, hair up in curlers?

We’ll see. There’s a lot of missing details in that article and I’ve got some questions begging for answers. I’m going to be watching this to see where we go. I know a lot of publishers and authors are pissed right off, so maybe there’s hope yet. Maybe. I’ll keep you posted!

I hate it when there’s a blog I really like to read and I go there on a regular basis and then one day I go there and they’ve been noticed. Maybe it’s media attention. Maybe it’s Reddit or Digg or whatever. The point is, they get popular and then they get bought and then they suck.

Every time I go there now there’s ads all over the place, they’ve changed the look to make it more sterile and boring, they completely stop swearing and most of their blog posts are blatant sales pitches.

Gah. That sucks so hard! Stop doing that, internet!

Jacob found out about it first, but he didn’t really know the boy that well. The news was delivered to Caleb rather callously, but not on purpose. He just didn’t realize the boy and Caleb were good friends.

I saw a cloud pass over Caleb’s face as soon as he heard. I was sitting next to him and he slumped a little in his seat. I could see him wrestling with it. He said nothing. He just stared out the window. But his breath caught a little in his throat and I got a chill. He turned only once to look me in the eyes, almost imploringly. I studied his face.

“Did you know him, Caleb?”
“He was my friend.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“He was really nice.”

This exchange was drowned out by the ruckus of 6 boys all vying for the floor. Then he turned his head away again.

He cried a little. Only a little. His face was turned away because it wouldn’t do to be 15 and crying in front of your older brother and your 4 cousins — all boys, through and through.

It stung me that I was driving when it happened. It angered me that I couldn’t help without making it worse. I said nothing. I drove on and tried to radiate waves of comfort his way.

When we got home later that night he got on the phone to a mutual friend to get the full story of what happened. He got the story and then came into the kitchen.

“It was meningitis. He had a seizure and just died.”
“I’m really sorry buddy, do you need a hug?”

He scoffed at that and said, “NO!” as if it were the most ludicrous thing he had ever heard. The very idea!

So I said, “Then….can I have one?”

He looked at me for half a second, a mixture of hope and suspicion stamped across his face. Then he stepped toward me and wrapped his arms around my waist and hugged. He hugged hard. He hugged me as if he were the only thing tethering me to the earth. I responded in kind and whispered that I loved him. I have to tilt my head up to do this now. My boy is growing up so fast.

She said with a heavy heart.

Still, at least he is growing up. I simply cannot imagine what that boy’s family is going through right now. My heart goes out to them and I hope against all hope they have some peace soon. For some moments in life there are no words.

Also: What is the deal with this?

I can’t even make that stuff up.

Oh, and also download the full video podcast from NPR’s website that shows the making of the song. (Or watch it online.) It’s a really interesting look at the construction of a song from conception to completion. Moby did it astoundingly fast with awesome results, and time to spare so he recorded another couple versions. He was given nothing more to work with than a collaborator, a photo and a choice of two or three “concept” words. From that he extracted this. Lyrics and various music tracks, everything. AND he had to do it all in one sitting. So. Yeah. I feel real good about the filing I managed to accomplish today.

“Somewhere there’s a Sunday in the Fall,
Where everything you love is safe and warm.
Where everything was right.
But I’m never going home.

The sun is down, the lights have gone to sleep.
I never knew the dark could be so deep.
Somewhere you are warm.
But I’m never going home.”