Snip and Tuck

"I thought they said tutored!"

This is the phrase my friend Vicki uses when she imagines what a cat is thinking after waking up to discover he's been neutered. It's as good a guess as any. It's not likely to be something like "Oh, thank God!" or "It's about time!" Yet, getting spayed or neutered is probably one of the best thing to happen in a cat's life.  

I recently began volunteering with a group called Operation Catnip that neuters and vaccinates feral and occasionally friendly stray cats. These cats are nobody's pets. They arrive at the vet school in the humane traps in which they were captured and probably will be released again in the same location. This is a Trap Neuter and Release program, considered part of a "no-kill" philosophy, in which the main object is to reduce the number of cats out there reproducing at an unbelievable rate. Now, believe it or not, TNR programs are somewhat controversial--we'll come back to that in a minute. For right now, let's focus on the part where there are incredibly generous people out there who serve as "colony caretakers," doing their best to make sure colonies of feral cats have enough food and are as safe as possible. That being a hard job, they'd like to do it for as few feral cats as possible, so trapping these guys and getting them neutered so that there will be no little ones to continue the tradition is an important part of the job. Through a combination of veterinarians, vet students, and volunteers all donating their time, feral cats are quickly being neutered and the feral cat population is being reduced.

But let me back up a moment. The last thing I need at the moment is any more cats--the one I've got is quite happy being the only princess in the house--so what in the world am I doing with these people? And their cats? Wanting to find a way to get involved in my new city, I began exploring groups with which I might be able to volunteer. Since I've got experience working with cats and know more than the average person about kitty health and medicine, it seemed logical to find a cat rescue organization of some kind with which to spend my time. Also, I just like cats. Since the last time I worked with a cat rescue work I ended up with five cats living at my house and refusing to leave ("Oh, we're just way too comfortable here," I could practically hear them say), I chose Operation Catnip as the group offering minimal opportunities to bring a new cat home. Feral cats, by definition, are essentially wild, and more importantly, have no interest in sitting in my lap while we read or watch a movie together. Working with Operation Catnip is the perfect solution and is Sasha approved.

So exactly what am I doing with them? It's sure not feeding a feral colony. I'm pretty sure they don't have a key card to get into my gated community. And it's not transporting. Please. I just got away from driving a minimum of 68 miles every day just to get to work. Do you really think I'm going to offer to play James the Chauffeur to some cats I don't even know? Instead, I'm volunteering at the monthly clinic at which many of the neuters take place (some take place during the course of the month depending on availability of vets and vet students). Hundreds of cats are brought to the vet school on a Sunday morning to be snipped and tucked, vaccinated, and have their ear tipped (it indicates to others down the road that the cat has already been neutered so it doesn't have to go through the stress of being trapped again). They are picked up by their caretakers (or, at least, someone who was willing to trap them long enough to be neutered) in the afternoon and returned to their colonies. It is hoped that they will live out their lives safely and without any more contributions to the overpopulation problem.

Perhaps you're confused at the reference to Sunday mornings. Anyone who knows me knows that they will not find me anywhere but under the covers on a Sunday morning. No, I seem to be settling into an afternoon schedule, primarily monitoring cats completing surgery to ensure they're coming out from under the anesthesia without a problem. It's rare, but occasionally someone has a bad reaction, so it's important to watch these guys as they recover so that they really do leave better off than when they came in. It's interesting to see the different reactions. Kittens, who you might think would return to their normal personalities fastest, what with being young, healthy, and generally quite busy, often take the longest to wake up. Their little lungs can't handle the anesthesia as well, so they stay groggy longer. Some cats will wake up so confused and disoriented that they actually hurt themselves thrashing around the trap (which they're returned immediately after surgery, before they've even woken). Then there are tummy troubles and respiratory issues that can pop up. All this is why volunteer monitors are needed. Having us watch the kitties wake and become alert allows the vet students and veterinarians to focus on the surgeries and any true issues that come up. Today, I began singing to the group I was monitoring (one tabby was WAY too interested in this), and a passing vet student commented "You know, that's probably the kindest thing anyone's ever going to do for these guys." I disagree. Getting them neutered surpasses my soggy soprano by far. But I leave knowing I've contributed to an effort to keep any more cats coming into the world who are likely to experience pain and suffering in a difficult and sometimes destructive life.

Not everyone feels this way about TNR programs. Opponents of such programs believe that it supports the lifespan of the feral colonies that are responsible for the deaths of many native species from birds to mammals and reptiles and other indigenous wildlife. They believe it does not really solve the problem and that it can in fact encourage illegal dumping of unwanted cats in areas known to be monitored by caretakers. Let me stop here and say I am no expert on this subject. There's some really great stuff on the internet about TNR programs, and I hope you'll take some time to at least read the Wikipedia article about it and form your own opinion. But I've seen too many cats in need of homes and heard too many stories about cats being euthanized simply for existing not to advocate for this kind of program. May I tell you why? The thing is, opponents are not wrong in their concern about wildlife and destruction caused by feral cats. However, it seems to me that the best way to resolve this problem is to reduce the number of feral cats. TNR programs certainly are not the only way to do this. Should you care to, you can read a lot about relocation efforts (moving colonies to places where they are less detrimental) and even deliberate eradication (which is exactly what it sounds like). But studies are showing that these methods are not nearly as effective at reducing the feral cat population as TNR programs. Move a colony somewhere else (we won't even discuss eradication), and you've taken away its knowledge of food sources, safe havens, and security, very possibly bringing on a difficult and painful death.
The problems feral and stray cats cause will not go away until their population does, and TNR makes that happen in a safe, effective, and humane way.

In my ideal world, there would be SO many fewer cats, particularly those forced to fend on their own, living uncomfortable lives and causing destruction to other animal lives. Instead, it would be rare to find cats living on their own in the wild. People will adopt from a shelter. Shelters will all be "no-kill" because they will not have to euthanize for lack of space. Owners will ensure their animals are spayed and neutered so that there will be no unexpected surprises and little lives about which to make difficult choices. Oh, and as a slight aside, we will not de-claw them and take away their main defense if they ever ARE forced to take care of themselves. We domesticated these animals. We must now take responsibility for ensuring they are safe and cared for...and that there aren't more of them than we can do that for.

Authors Are My Rock Stars

The lobby of the Random House offices

Last month, I was lucky enough to get to attend Book Expo America in New York City. For those of you who might not be addicted to books, BEA is a conference of what, at one time, was primarily booksellers and publishers but has come to include librarians, educators, and other supporters of reading in its various forms. Now, if you couldn't care less about books and the people who write them, stop reading, because you're just not going to get this at all. Someone like me getting to go to a conference like this is the equivalent of going backstage at a concert featuring all your favorite musicians with a  bunch of other people who love them as much as you do.

Rainbow Rowell signing autographs

Logic dictates that I would detail this adventure in chronological order, but not being particularly logical, I'm going to start with the highlight of my trip, which was running into Rainbow Rowell in an aisle between booths. Not literally, of course. If I did that, I surely wouldn't be sharing it with you here. No, I caught sight of her as I was walking through the hoards of people and was forced to stop and gush. (I'd like to say that I wasn't being literal here either, but I'd be lying.) Even if you love reading, you might not know who Rainbow Rowell is, but be patient, you will. For now, let's just say she's my current fave author, and so finding myself in conversation with her, live and in-person, is something akin to getting to shake the hand of the President. Rainbow has written two young adult novels and an adult novel, none of which resemble any of the others, and her description of her fourth novel (which will be for adults) sounds so intriguing that I'm already counting the days until I can get an advance copy. She was absolutely as delightful as any of her readers would expect, and she politely overlooked my excessive enthusiasm for the positive feedback about her books. I ran into her the next day (again, not literally) at her publisher's booth, where she was signing copies of her upcoming book, called Fangirl (Huh. Coincidence, that.) Rainbow was charming and gracious and seemed genuinely glad to hear how much her books are being enjoyed. It could only have been more perfect if I'd managed to get a picture of us together. Don't think I didn't consider it.

Which brings me back to the beginning of the trip, which began with a sort of "pre-BEA event" known as Library Journal's Day of Dialog (as in, dialog about all things libraries). It

Caleb Crain, Allan Gurganus, Al Lamanda, Richard North Patterson, and Amy Tan

was thrilling to be in the same room with authors like Richard Dawkins, Richard North Patterson, and Amy Tan. But just as exciting was the opportunity to listen to other librarians speak to current issues in librarianship, from self-publishing to floating collections (once again, if you're not a book lover or librarian, you really should consider a different choice of blogs for your reading material). I listened to a fabulous panel of experienced librarians talking about how their libraries deal with the same issues my library deals with. These are movers and shakers in my world, so while they might not be writing my favorite books, librarians, too, are my rock stars. I also got to put faces to many names I'd known online, libraries whose reviews I've read and libraries I've admired. I felt like I should have brought an autograph book. I would have put it to use immediately, as I got to meet Allan Gurganus (The Oldest Living Confederate Widow Tells All), a North Carolina author who has his first novel in ten years about to come out. It felt a little like home.

That night was the first of several meals at which the company was so spectacular that it was easy to forget I was eating hotel food. My first engagement was the second annual BEA Children's Librarians Dinner cohosted by Association of American Publishers and School

Kendare Blake; not a great pic, but live and in person all the same

Library Journal and featuring Susan Cooper, Jack Gantos, Jonathan Stroud, Cynthia Voigt, and Kendare Blake. "I got into the children's librarian's dinner! I get to meet Kendare Blake!" I enthused to a friend in an email, as we are both huge fans of her first novel, Anna Dressed in Blood. "I think it's funny that you're going to be in a room full of award-winning authors, and you're most excited about the least known of them," she said drily in a responding email. Not to be deterred from my brush with greatness, I made my way to the dinner, poured myself a glass of wine (hotel food is always better with wine), and sat back to listen. It was really fun to get to hear her talk in person, and I emailed the above picture to my co-fan from the dinner table. Afterwards, I stood in line to meet her and tell her how much I enjoyed her work. I walked out with my bag of advance copies (the first of many bags of advance copies I would get over the next few days) and began shaking my hands with the excitement of having shook the hand of Kendare Blake. And while all the speakers were wonderful, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention how much I enjoyed listening to Jack Gantos. The renowned children's author, describing his long and circuitous route to getting published, offhandedly mentioned that his jail sentence was nothing compared to getting a book published. He looked slightly confused at our laughter, giving us a "I don't understand" expression, because he had indeed spent time in jail for transporting drugs into the United States. He even confided to us that he'd buried a stash in Central Park. Some people still think he was kidding. I became so entranced and fascinated that I'm now reading his account of that experience.

But that was just the beginning. Did I mention that I was there with a friend from my old library? Setting aside the whole Rainbow Rowell thing, getting to see her was truly a highlight of the trip. We didn't stop talking the entire time (that might just have been me). Janet and I set started out the conference with, what else?, an author breakfast. Sponsored by Random House and held in their offices, this morning we would breathe the same air as authors Jo Baker (Longbourn), Marisha Pessl (Special Topics in Calamity

Jamie Ford; not taken by me :-(

Physics), Janice Clark (The Rathbones), Elizabeth Silver (The Execution of Noa P. Singleton), and Jamie Ford. Here's what you need to know about Jamie Ford. He wrote Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet and has a new novel coming out called Songs of Willow Frost, he wrote a great blog entry about his time at BEA, he's half-Chinese, he's totally charming, and he's hilarious. The accompanying picture is one of the few I didn't take myself, but you have to agree with me that it would have been a crime not to include a picture of this adorable guy in my blog entry. In a stroke of serendipity, they had to make my name card at the last minute and ended up using the back of a duplicate card for none other than the collection development manager of another library in North Carolina who I was hoping to catch up with. She was indeed there, so somewhere between the food and Jamie, we caught up a little bit.

All this, and we hadn't even actually made it to BEA yet. Thanks to the VIP passes we were lucky enough to land (thank you, thank you!), we zipped right through registration and made our way onto the exhibit hall. It's hard to know where to look in a place like this. It's loud, crowded, bright, and totally overwhelming. And wonderful. I could spend a long time talking about the vendors I stopped to talk to, the conversations I had on the floor with librarians and authors alike (insert Rainbow incident here), and the many, MANY galleys I hauled around on my back until I could unload them into a box for shipping back to my library. I'll spare you those details (oh, it might be too late for that). I do have to say that my one regret is that I was so caught up that I neglected to make it to Library Family Feud, which I understand is hilarious. 

Louise Penny

Bill Bryson

The next notable event, naturally, revolved around yet another an author/food event, a luncheon again sponsored by AAP.  This time we munched (what was actually a pretty good sandwich) while listening to such fantastic authors as Bill Bryson, Louise Penny (who knew she was so funny?), Lee Smith, Jayne Anne Phillips, and Koethi Zan (Koethi is a debut author, but the others have written too much to try to name here). These folks were absolutely wonderful speakers, and they genuinely seemed pleased to have a roomful of librarians and other book lovers celebrating them and their work. I was honored to get a spot at the NetGalley table (thanks Robin B.!), a table reserved for librarians participating in online discussions of upcoming books for which they've read the galleys. Lee Smith is from the part of North Carolina from which I recently moved, but I never tire of hearing her speak. I made a point to go introduce myself after the luncheon, and I was pleased to have another lovely conversation with a rock star author.

It was at this point that I could have used a nap, but Janet, being the organized one in the pair, had arranged appointments with the library marketing reps for most of the major publishers. I have to say that I was incredibly grateful to get a chance to meet with these folks. They were gracious, helpful, and interested in our perspective on what libraries and readers are looking for. Once again, I was meeting people who I'd only known by name, movers and shakers in my world, and it was fantastic to get to share information with them.

Fast forward a bit, as much of the next day or so looked quite a bit the same with the exception being that Janet had an even longer and lovelier conversation with Lee Smith in the lobby of our hotel. Okay so this is the one other picture I didn't take myself, but it's such a great one that I have to include it.

Janet and author Lee Smith

One of the fun things about such an event is sharing it with other book-lovers. We spent a

Jeffrey Deaver

good bit of time tracking down advance reader copies and other swag for friends and colleagues back home. I decided to go after an author signing by Jeffrey Deaver, as he now lives in Chapel Hill (oh, how I miss you!) and is a favorite of a librarian friend of mine. If you've ever seen the back cover of one of his books, you know that he's, well, as creepy looking as his books. But it turns out that he's really quite normal in real life, and he showered his fans with smiles as he signed his most recent release (turns out the advance copy of his upcoming novel wasn't ready yet). Authors are normal people, too. 

Tracy and Chelsea: Separated at Birth?

While Chelsea Handler probably isn't the first person who comes to mind when you think of your favorite authors, she has indeed written some very funny books and was in attendance at BEA in advance of another hilarious collection of true and not-so-true tales. Like Jeffrey Deaver, the ARC of her book was not ready in time for the event, so the creative response of her publisher was to offer pictures with Chelsea. Gee, if I'd known that, I would have prepared better.

There would be one other author rock star sighting before my time in New York was over. On the last morning of the conference, we took a cab to the conference center and stepped out, gathering our bags in haphazard fashion, finally closing the door and turning around only to find ourselves looking straight at Neil Gaiman. Alone. All by himself. Standing on the sidewalk with the wind blowing his hair around. Oh my God. Oh my God. Hands full, I began digging in my bag for my camera phone. Why do I not walk around with that in my hand? By the time I'd dropped my stuff, found my phone, opened it to the camera, and aimed, his agent/publisher/handler had arrived, and he was being scurried away quickly. Which is why the photo you see here is of them walking away. Janet got much better pics when she saw him speak later in the day. But the photo of the back of his head is mine, all mine, and you can't take that away from me.

Janet's pic, if you really need to see his face

Neil Gaiman's back

  










 


There was one author interaction that I found puzzling. Most of those food events I went to were specifically for librarians, so the authors spoke to the things they loved about librarians and libraries. One author, however, had the group rolling its eyes a bit with her description of libraries. She was, no doubt, trying to be express her appreciation for the many wonderful things libraries offer, when she described libraries as quiet places of respite. We looked at each other, trying to hide our smiles. Had she BEEN in a library recently? Libraries continue to be extraordinary places, but in today's world, quiet, they are not. This author may be a fantastic writer, but she clearly has not stepped foot in a public library full of computer users with cell phones, children's programming, reader's advisory interactions, and teen spaces. Not recently, anyway.

And so it was finally time to leave New York. It was extraordinarily exciting to have all of these authors, whose writing I love from afar, surrounding me on all sides in one huge, packed conference floor. The last generation had Woodstock. Mine has BEA.

Sasha's Day

Crap. The alarm's going off. Now she's going to start moving around, and I'm going to have to change my spot. Wait, she's going back to sleep for a few more minutes. Fine, be late to work. See if I care. I can out-sleep you any day.

Oh, that was a good stretch. Now that she's gotten up, I'm just going to scoot over into the warm spot she left. No need to let it cool down. Wait, it sounds like she's pouring fresh food into my bowl. Why does she make me get down to eat breakfast? Would it not be just as easy to pour that food up here where I already am? Now I have to climb all the way down the stairs and go eat out of a bowl like a dog. Do I look like a dog? 

I do love to drink out of my water bowl, though. This new waterfall thing is just like the bathroom sink I used to be able to drink out of. Better even, since it's at my height. As long as she keeps it full, we'll be fine. I wish I could figure out how to drink out of it without getting water all over my mouth. Let me just shake my head a few times and get the water onto the walls and off my whiskers. There, that's better.

She's not moving fast enough. I'd better go sit by the door so she remembers where it is. I don't understand why it takes her so long to get ready. I just lick my coat a few times and call it done.

Thank goodness. Finally, I can go back to bed. Wait, I forgot I don't have to wait for late morning before any light comes through the window. Now that we're in Florida, there's light all the time. There's that perfect spot on the floor next to the bed where the light is coming in directly from the window. I think I'll just stop here for a while before getting back up into bed.

Ugh. I hate that climb up onto the bed. At least now I have my choice of spots. I don't know why she stays up here a the top of the bed and doesn't even cover her head with all these sheets and blankets. I'm climbing way down underneath the comforter to the end of the bed. I just need to make sure I make a noticeable lump so she can find me when she gets home.

Geez, she's loud. What do you mean, where am I? Where am I almost EVERY day? Right here under the comforter. I'll just wiggle a little bit and let her know I heard her, but I'm not sure I'm coming out yet. Well, okay, I guess I'm a little lonely. I'll just go greet her. But I'm going to be just as loud as she is. I still don't know why she asks me how my day was. Do you really think one day in my life looks any different from another? I'm just going to yell a little louder and see if she'll get out the Fancy Feast. Maybe if I look pointedly at the pantry long enough, she'll get a clue. 

Okay, she's either not terribly bright, or she's deliberately ignoring me. I want my egg carton full of Fancy Feast! Alright, I'm pulling out the big guns. Let me just climb up into her lap and see how fast she runs for the Fancy Feast. Oh, even better, she's got the laptop out. I'll just snuggle up on the laptop. She'll get so irritated that she'll get me that Fancy Feast before the next commercial is out. Ha! I knew it would work. At least I've gotten faster at this than I used to be. I finally figured out that all I have to do is flip- the egg carton over, and all the Fancy Feast pieces are on the floor. Crack for cats. Meow.

What now? She's coming at me with that plastic syringe again to stick in my mouth. Is this really necessary? It's so humiliating. And it tastes bad. I'm only letting her get away with it because of the Fancy Feast.

Are we ever going to go back to bed? I think I'll just curl up on my head next to her on the couch. Then I won't miss it when it's time to get up. Look, and here are some socks I can sit on. One more thing that can smell a little more like me.

What happened? It's dark. Did she go to bed without me? How did that happen? Let me just make a quick stop at the potty before I climb back up there. I'd better scratch a few more times just to be sure there's plenty of dust in the air and no one can smell anything. Litter dust is so much better. 

Oh, good, she's on her back. Let me just knead a little and push everything around to make the softest sleeping spot on her tummy. There we go. Backside up by her face, looking straight out to the end of the bed. Perfect. What a lovely day.

Drive-Through Window

All restaurants are drive-through if you try hard enough --unknown

One of the many tasks that must be undertaken when relocating is to renew your driver's license. Sadly, they do not care that the man who took your last driver's license photo got you to laugh at just the right moment so that your current picture has you smiling, your head tilted slightly, your eyes open. Or that you were having a good hair day. Or that you finally remembered to put on lipstick before stepping in front of the camera. Nor do they care that you have not entirely detached from your old locale and would just as soon keep one last remnant of the address you had for thirteen years. They also do not care that you have a million and one other things to be doing during their convenient hours of 8 to 5 Monday through Friday. Just so you know. No, your new state requires you to go through it all again, and then they charge you $56.50 for the privilege. Even though you have a perfectly good license already that's hardly ever been used and practically right out of the shrinkrap.

So yesterday I put on my big girl panties and hauled myself over to the tax assessor's office to take care of this dreaded task, made even more daunting by the fact that it was a hot Florida afternoon, and my office is already a little on the warm side. The good news is that I only had to walk two blocks. Florida DMV, or at least Alachua County, has an agreement with the tax assessor's office to provide driver's license and car registration services, and much to my (albeit reluctant) satisfaction, the county administration building is just up the street from my work. Even better, I walked in to find that there was no line. At least this would be over with quickly. Or so I thought. That will teach me to think so much.

Let me stop here a moment to say that the folks at the Alachua County Tax Assessor's office are fabulous and offered excellent customer service. I truly went in expecting to find staff who didn't particularly want to be there and would be as cranky as the day was hot. I was delighted to find that this was one of the few times in my life when I was proven wrong. The events that followed are no reflection on the staff's efforts to assist me. I don't think.

I had not yet reached the check in desk when I was greeted by a cheery woman who appeared unnaturally tall. Being as short as I am, this is not an unusual occurrence, so I quickly dismissed it as unimportant. I might have stood on my toes slightly. "Welcome to Florida!" she clapped when she heard I had just moved her from out-of-state. I thought I was the only one who clapped when excited. Nevertheless, she seemed genuinely pleased that I was there, and I was feeling a bit like company come to call. She sent me over to a nearby counter where another clerk called out "Come on over!" I was starting to wonder if I should have brought a covered dish.

As I handed over my current license, a customer at the next station gathered her things and prepared to make her way to the exit, pausing to speak to my clerk. "Thank you so much, Holly, you were very helpful," she called on her way out. The clerk gave her a big grin, waved, and responded that she was glad to help. She continued waving until the woman was out of sight, then she leaned towards me conspiratorially.

"I don't know where she got that, 'cause my name's not Holly," she confided. 

This was fine by me. I didn't care what her name was as long as we got this done with minimal fuss and muss and a picture that wouldn't force me to accidentally lose my new license and need to have the whole thing done again with a new hairdo. Funny, this woman seemed rather tall, too. Do they just grow them big here in Florida?

I rustled my bag of paperwork and documents and said I hoped I had everything she'd need. "Oh, don't worry, we'll get you set in a jiffy," she assured me. The smile fell from her face a bit when she looked at my current license, which she was now holding in her hand. "Well, not too long, anyway," she amended. Florida has quite the complex system for getting driver's licenses and car registrations, made more difficult by the fact that, evidently, the folks in here Florida don't trust the folks up in North Carolina. They won't accept my NC license as valid ID. Ironic considering there's great discussion in Raleigh at the moment about just what kind of identification is necessary to vote. In any case, this necessitated my bringing my social security card, birth certificate, and several pieces of mail to prove that I am now living in their hot, dry, flat state. As though I would want a Florida driver's license for any other reason. I held my breath as she thumbed through my mail, finally putting it down on the counter and beginning to type.

I pulled out my wallet and laid my fingers on my debit card, expecting to be asked to cough up some funds for this little piece of plastic any minute. The request didn't come. Instead, after watching the person at the next counter explain that she's not responsible for the crack across the center of her license which is now preventing anyone from seeing the expiration date, I began drumming my fingers. It was warm in there, but then, I've found it to be warm about anywhere I go now that I'm in Florida. I knew things were not going well when my clerk, AKA Holly, leaned forward with her chin in her hand and stared at her computer screen. 

"Well, Hon," she sighed, "why don't you go ahead and take your vision test. We can do that while we wait."

Wait? Wait for what? Not wanting to slow the process down any further, I moved over to the machine that looked like binoculars on some kind of game station and read off the requested line. I was feeling rather proud until AKA Holly asked me to read the next smallest line. I blinked a couple of times but tried to sound more confident than I was as I rattled off the next row. Congratulations, I was told, I have 20/20 vision with my glasses. Well, of course I do, I thought. I paid a lot of money for that vision. And quite stylish vision, at that.

Holly continued to stare at her computer screen, but now she was making faces. Hoping to move things along somehow, I brightly asked "So, it doesn't like me, huh?" She smiled at me and apologized, saying that her computer was stuck in some way. At least we couldn't blame it on my picture, since we hadn't taken one yet.

It was when Holly called her colleague Nicole over (and I'm pretty sure Nicole was really her name) that I realized these folks were standing on a stage. That's what I needed in my life. A stage to stand on wherever I went. Holly and Nicole poked at the computer for a while before Nicole said "You're going to have to call Tallahassee." That sounded ominous.  Holly apologized again and went off to make her phone call.

Nicole and I chatted a bit before I asked if she knew where a Coke machine was. This was clearly going to require caffeine. "You want a Coke," she asked. "I"ll get you one." I began politely refusing, but I'll only protest a free Coke for so long, so eventually, I graciously accepted. Minutes later, Holly had returned, and I had a Coke in hand, though I was beginning to think that Coke was going to be my lunch. 

Holly was finally able to bring up a completed record for me. She began squinting at my current driver's license, then turned to squint at the computer screen. "Shoot. Tallahassee misspelled your middle name." Resisting the urge to say that a city can't spell or misspell anything, and that I highly doubted everyone in the city of Tallahassee had made this mistake, I took a bigger swig of Coke. "They spelled your middle name Genne--what in the world is that?" I silently asked the same question, since my middle name is Jeane. But I was glad for them to call me anything they wanted at this point.

Holly suggested we go ahead and take the picture, and since I was up for anything that would move this along, I moved over to the blue screen. Beginning to smile, Holly and I quickly realized that the purse of a woman standing nearby was blocking the camera. Ever helpful, Nicole gently tapped the woman on the shoulder and asked if she could move her purse. I suggested she could switch places with me if she liked, but no one else seemed to think this was a good idea. As it turns out, Holly is a pretty good photographer, and so a few minutes later, we had a decent snapshot that met with my approval. It still wasn't as good as my last one.

I finished my Coke as Holly went off to battle Tallahassee again and get my middle name changed. By now, my feet and back hurt a little, my lunch period was over, and I could only hope no one got too close to me lest they be able to tell I was sweating to beat the band. Holly returned, a big grin on he face, and reported that everything seemed to be in place. Her computer was still moving slowly, so I began doing leg lifts to occupy myself why she sent the license information to the printer. I was already sweating. I may as well burn a few calories while I'm at it. Finally, she held up her hands in a big victory sign and said "Alright, off to the printer! You're ready!" 

"Woo hoo!" I agreed, trying to look more enthusiastic than I felt. I was a not just a bit tired and cranky at this point, especially considering I didn't even want the thing, but the staff was so nice and trying so hard to get me out of there that it was hard to be upset. At least, that's what I thought until Holly turned to the central printer only to find that the top was off and a maintenance man covered in grease was standing nearby, scratching his head. I looked away. This was not going to be pretty, and I didn't want to see this train wreck.

The train wreck must have been a fairly small, quiet one in which Holly had a serious conversation with the maintenance man because a few minutes later, she was handing me my new license and asking me for my debit card. By this time, I was happy to fork over $56.50. Holly and Nicole thanked me several times for my patience, Holly adding that she'd see me next week when I came back to get my car registered.

I have to go back?

Technology: Friend or Foe?

It seems to be quite de rigueur to frown upon those who spend a great deal of time with technology. Studies indicate that "screen time" is bad for us. Considering how many screens we use on a daily basis, this should probably have me concerned. Computers, phones, iPods and MP3 players, games, video conversations, webinars, television and movies, and general online access to tasks formerly accomplished in other ways make it seem as though it would be impossible to avoid screen time to some extent.Statistics indicate that few of us are without televisions, phones, computers, or Netflix subscriptions. Two years ago, a major study indicated that 76% of all people in the US had a computer. But multiple sources are encouraging us to turn away from our devices. Go outside, get some fresh air. Exercise. Read (these sources seemingly having forgotten that much online work IS reading). Walk a dog (no one has indicated that it necessarily has to be your own dog). 

It's hard to imagine putting away my phone, computer, TV, or iPod, though I've done it before. Right now, these are my lifeline. I'm in a new city, geographically separated from those with whom I'm used to communicating on a regular basis. Having these devices at my fingertips has made the transition so much easier. Twenty or thirty years ago, when you moved away, you had to rely on letters and phone calls (and expensive ones, at that) to keep in touch. You had to change your bank accounts. You had to have a newspaper mailed if you wanted to keep up with news of your former home. You had to become familiar with new local television shows and radio stations. Drive around with a torn paper map and hope you remembered how to get to the grocery store. Have pictures of your new surroundings and activities printed and mailed. 

My technology has changed all those things completely. I not only can talk with friends and family as much as I want without much cost, I can see them in their pajamas on my computer screen while we chat. I'm emailing with friends so much that the distance between us seems minimal. I didn't have to make difficult decisions about what music to bring with me, because almost all my music is on my cute little pink iPod, and I can rock out to the same tunes I always have. I didn't have to change credit unions because I can do almost all my banking online, and so paying bills will continue to work the same way. (Oh, joy.) The navigation system on my phone has gotten me anywhere I wanted to go in my new city (turns out, I didn't need it to help me find Target...I have a personal radar for that). My Netflix subscription is easily portable, so I can continue my obsession with The Good Wife with nary an interruption. And, thanks to my parents, I now have a larger TV on which to watch it.  So the idea of not checking in on my computer, turning on the TV, or recharging my phone seem a little impossible at the moment.

I've rolled my eyes a bit when I hear people say things like "he's always on his computer." What does that mean? I don't understand.  Since you can do an incredibly number of things on your computer,  I can't see how that says much. I could be paying bills, watching a movie, emailing a friend, working from home, buying my hair conditioner at Amazon, clipping coupons for an upcoming trip to the grocery store, or making reservations. If I'm on my phone, I might be talking to someone, but I might be getting directions, checking the movie theater schedule, updating my calendar, taking or posting pictures, tracking calorie or exercise intake (okay, unlikely, but possible), or getting a weather report. I use my computer and phone to keep any variety of accounts up to date, get information before calling or visiting somewhere, and just take care of personal business. I've used my Netflix subscription for everything from movies and TV shows to documentaries about Antarctica and fitness program videos. I finished listening to the same audio books I began back in Chapel Hill. It seems a little unfair to view all of these as mindless entertainment.

That said, as comforting as I'm finding technology at the moment, I'll acknowledge that variety in life is not a bad thing. When some statistic or report indicates that you shouldn't spend all your time in front of a screen, well, isn't it true that you shouldn't spend all your time doing pretty much anything? Reading can be both entertainment and a learning tool, and you'll never find me not reading something, but should I spend ALL my time in front of a book (in any format?). Not that I haven't tried. Regular exercise is vital, but should you spend eight hours per day at the gym? Marriage is a special institution involving commitment to a single person, but does that mean you should never spend time alone or with other people? I love my cat, and probably vice versa, but if I stay home too long, I can practically hear her ask if I don't have somewhere else to be. Travel offers opportunities for developing new understandings of the world and other cultures, but it sure does feel good to go home, doesn't it? (In fairness, that might just be me.) Should you spend every weekend in front of a ball game? Or at the beach? Or with your grandmother? Or working on your house? Or in front of the computer? Some balance is in order here.

Twice, I've shut off my TV for a month, partially just to prove I could do it, but also to demonstrate that there were other things I enjoy doing. I'm in a new place, a perfect chance to start some new habits. I don't think I'll be turning off the TV, computer, or phone anytime soon. I'm extremely grateful to have these for keeping friends and family close and for making the transition from the familiar to the not-so-familiar a little easier. And I'm okay with some heavy technology use for a while. The trick will be to turn to other things as well. My new city has lots of activities and experiences to offer. I might see an ad about these offerings on TV. I can learn more about it on my computer. And my phone will help get me to it. 

There's No Place Like Home

When someone asks me where home is, referring to where I grew up, I often joke that I'm homeless, having been an Army brat with frequent moves throughout my childhood. But as I write tonight, I may be closer to not having a home than ever before (my mortgage holder would vehemently disagree with this, as it is firmly expecting to be paid on the first of the month). Before I go on to explain this, I want to take a moment to clarify that I'm totally speaking with tongue in cheek here, and my clever introduction should not in any way be taken to diminish the difficult plight of those who truly are homeless.

Today I drove away from the home I bought almost thirteen years ago (again, my mortgage holder should not panic; the check is in the mail, and someone else is moving in right behind me). I love that house. Oh, there are times when I hated being a homeowner, but overall, I love that house. Maybe it has something to do with the memories that are now associated with it. It was my first house, a huge turning point in my life. All five of the cats who have owned me have lived there, and I'll never forget the first night they came into their new home and began to explore. It's the house in which I stayed up all night waiting to see if I'd gotten a job as collection development librarian, work to which I've become incredibly attached. This is where all kinds of conversations with special friends have happened. I've never been known as an outdoor person, but this is the yard in which my mom taught me how to take care of some basic plants and learn a little something about landscaping (some of it actually took). My dad taught me the wonders a garage has to offer when, after living in my house for 6 or 7 years, he arranged for me to get a garage door opener that really worked, allowing me to park in the garage and stop scraping my windows for the first time in, well, ever. This is the house in which I hosted several borders who have become wonderful friends. Where my mom and I returned after an amazing trip to Iceland. Where I baked my first loaves of bread. Where I went to at the end of the day to recharge. Aren't these the things that make a home?

But tonight, most of my possessions are on a truck, someone else is moving into my house, and I'm on the road as I make my way to my new apartment in Gainesville, Florida. My lease does not start until tomorrow. Does that make me homeless? Sasha's with me, so if she's part of what makes a home, maybe home is portable. When I move into my new apartment tomorrow, will it automatically become home? My parents will be there to help me settle. It will soon contain my possessions, my cat, and my return address. And a really awesome screened in porch. It will be the place to which I will return each evening. Surely those are the things that makes it home. Or does it? It won't contain any memories for me, good or bad. Yet. But it IS the place where the start of a new job and new goals will begin. Does that make it home?

It occurs to me that one of the biggest changes happening has to do not with the actual building in which I'm living but the location of that building. The Raleigh area is a great place to live, and I've thoroughly enjoyed my time there. So much so that I feel like an NC native, even if only by adoption. Not only do I have favorite restaurants and stores, but I have long time service professionals in my dentist, veterinarian, hairdresser, and doctor. Plus they know me and my favorite sandwich at Quiznos. Does having a history in a certain vicinity make it home? Maybe the Cheers folks had it right. We all want to be somewhere where everybody knows your name. Okay, so it will take a while, but new histories begin all the time, so if having a history in a certain place makes it home, then it's just a matter of time before a new location becomes home, right?

When does something move from being a place where you live to a home? I know people in their forties, fifties, and sixties who still call the place they grew up home, regardless of how long it's been since they've actually lived there. Did they decide not to create a new home, or does that mean that home can't change once it's established? Maybe home isn't even a place, but rather, a social structure of some kind. For some, home refers to the place where they find their family.  Until recently, the place we called home usually referred to some kind of limited geographic region. But in the past several years, communication options have changed enormously, and it's possible to talk to friends and family quickly and easily, even with video, anytime.  Is home where your friends and family are? Am I getting closer to home because I'm moving physically closer to my parents, even though I've never lived in their current house? Can I take home with me because I can continue the relationships that were so much a part of my life in my last home?

I don't have a definition for home yet, and maybe I won't find one. Meanwhile, I'm going to choose to make home be flexible enough (and I'm nothing if not flexible) to encompass not just the place to which I return each evening but the people to whom I turn each day.  No matter where they are. I'd love to hear other definitions!

All Good Things Must Come to an End

but with luck, another one will begin.

It's been a while since we've talked, yes? I have an excuse, though many of you already know what it is. Over the past few weeks, I've been planning a move to Gainesville, Florida, as I accepted a new position there.  It's a dramatic change and one about which I'm both excited and nervous, but ready or not, here I come. 

First things first. The job I've taken is as Technical Services Administrator for the Alachua County Library District in Gainesville, Florida, home of the University of Florida, and about 2.5 hours from my parents. So while I'm still working in a public library, it's a college town. I'll be managing the people who purchase, catalog, and process books for the library. Which is good, because I don't know what I'd do if I wasn't the first person to hear about all the new books. This should be a really interesting system in which to work, as it has its own taxing district and therefore gets money directly from taxpayers rather than from a local government. I'll be doing lots of reports and budgeting and and helping to configure our catalog records and administering of our vendor plans--all stuff I love. I love collection development and acquisitions work, and I'm excited that I'll be in a position where I can direct and lead some of what's happening with it. And if it means that I'm the first person to read the new Janet Evanovich or Mary Kay Andrews, well, then, it's just part of the job.

As much as I've hoped for more responsibility in this type of work, and as much as I've moved in my life, you might have thought I'd be less surprised at all there is to leaving a job, moving, selling a house, finding a new place to live, seeing everyone you can before leaving, and starting a new job. Can I just tell you how expensive movers are? I've always moved myself (translation: my parents have always moved me), so it was a surprise to me. Trosa, an organization dedicated to help people recovering from substance abuse that recently expanded its moving program to include inter-state moves, will be moving my things. My car and eight hours on the road will be moving me and Sasha. Who I hope will be appeased by her new screened in porch after the eight some-odd-hour drive.

Which brings me to my new apartment. I plan to rent for at least the next year. At some point, I'd like to buy again--somewhere where an HOA takes care of many of those maintenance things I hate--but I'm looking forward to not being a homeowner for a while. A non-homeowner with a pool and a fitness room, I might add. I'll be on the third floor, not my favorite, but who can't use the exercise? Plus, it gets me a better view, more sunshine, and vaulted ceilings. If you're curious, here's a video of the model apartment that has the same floorplan:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ac0h1pvElGs
And the best part is that it's only 7.5 miles from work! Woo hoo! Having driven 34 miles each way for years, I couldn't possibly be more thrilled about this. Although I'm having to learn how to stop at lights again.

My house is for sale! Do you know anyone who's looking? Please? Adorable little house in a fabulous location with only county taxes! We've had some good feedback so I hope it's just a matter of time, but I'd really like for it to happen fast. Tell your friends!

While the house is for sale, Sasha is staying with her Auntie Vicki, and evidently they're having a high old time together, as Auntie Vicki is threatening not to return her.  I'm madly trying to pack the many things I own, slightly embarrassing after having insisted that I only have a 1200 square foot house and couldn't possibly own very much. In my defense, a good bit of it belongs to Sasha. I'm still trying to figure out what to do with the stuff that I won't need any more. And just how do you pack a breadmaker, anyway?

All of this makes it sound like I'm anxious to get out of here, and I will be glad when this is over, but it's not about leaving. It's about arriving somewhere else (I sure hope so, anyway). I'm going to miss this place more than I even know how to say. I love my house, even as I've entertained the idea of burning it down so I won't have to mow the lawn. The people I work with, well, it's hard to imagine a better group. They may never know that I've learned so much more from them than they could ever have learned from me, but either way, we provided great books to readers together. This is fantastic area in which to live, with everything anyone could ever want in entertainment, education, and resources. Oh, and basketball, don't forget the basketball. And I have friends here that I have no idea how I'm going to manage without having nearby. Skype and email, I suspect. But it's time for something new. Doing the type of work I love in more responsible capacity for an organization that supports my continued professional development; less time managing my house and more time playing. And lots of sunshine. What's not to love about sunshine? I'm looking forward to what the next phase brings.

Blog entries may be a bit sporadic for a while, but I promise I'll be back to it soon. Please keep in touch!

Doing my Duty

The NEW Durham County Courthouse

I've always found it interesting that many people dread receiving that notice from the county courthouse to serve jury duty. Until recently, I had served twice, once even being placed on a four-day trial jury. I raised my hand high when one of the lawyers asked "Who likes the TV show The Practice?" during juror screening. I think it's kind of exciting, and if I can pretend like I'm a character on Law and Order and serve my country at the same time, all the better.

So when I received that envelope from the Clerk of Courts in November summoning me for jury duty, I was fairly excited. Excellent. Maybe I should scan the newspaper to see what kinds of interesting trials are coming up. Or are you not supposed to do that? Oh, what if I get on a jury they end up sequestering because it's big time and makes national news? This could be the highlight of my year. Except that the date on which I was supposed to appear was the day before I was due to leave town for Christmas. While I was more than happy to grace them with my presence, I was going to be enormously unhappy if my trip was delayed because I was needed longer than one day. The $12 per day they pay was far from enough to make up for THAT inconvenience. This just wouldn't do. 

Within days, I called the courthouse to inquire after my options. "I truly would love to come in," I assured the woman on the phone. Please, please, I thought, just don't make me do it on this date. I also didn't want to take the chance that they might just let me off entirely. I really wanted to go, just at a time that better suited my schedule. "Would it maybe be possible for me to serve on another day?" In my advanced years, I have found that honey does indeed work better than vinegar.

And so it did. "Oh, sure, when do you want to come in?" was the breezy response. Oh, well, okay. This was more than I'd hoped for. Not only did I not have to go on the worst possible date, nor was I being told not to come in at all, but I could pick the BEST possible date. Surely this was a sign that I'd end up on the jury for some kind of fascinating case. Maybe it would be a murder. Or some kind of financial shenanigans. Should I start reading upon civil versus criminal trials?

"Well, how about sometime in January or February. I can make about anything work," I answered amenably. Quickly settling on February 19, I hung up, satisfied that I was doing my civic duty. 

I had no idea at the time that this change in date was going to mean the difference in serving jury duty at the old courthouse or the new one, which was set to open on February 11. As it turns out, Durham had begun building a new Durham Courthouse and Justice Center back in 2010, and it was finally about to open. The eleven story, 318,000sf building sits in downtown Durham at the corner of Magnum and Dillard Streets and virtually shines with newness. The three story staircase mural includes hundreds of photographs from Durham history (including pictures of the infamous former Durham County District Attorney Mike Nifong). 

February 19 turned out to be a nasty day, cold and rainy and full of gloom. I easily found my way to the parking deck and followed some equally lost folks to the third level of the deck and the pedestrian walkway over to the courthouse. Three lines had been formed for a security check. The employee's and the sheriff's lines moved efficiently along, but evidently, the visitor's line seemed to be full of people with pockets full of metal. Deciding that the alternative was riskier, I patiently waited in line to move through the security gates. Making my way to the third floor, home of the jury room, I found myself rather impressed. This was a huge room! Bright, with lots of windows, the room included comfortable chairs, televisions, electrical and network outlets, tables and chairs, and vending machines. Someone had even put out Reese's Pieces on the counter. Now here was a place I could be comfortable. 

I made my way to one of the cozy chairs and waited for the standard introduction to jury service starting Charles Kuralt to start on the televisions. I was looking forward to this. Who doesn't love Charles Kuralt? Okay, you might have a bit of an issue with the affair and second family that came to light after his death. Nevertheless, the journalist is held in high regard by many North Carolinians.  For more years than I know of, Charles hosted the video that describes the importance of jury service to all potential jurors throughout the state of North Carolina. It's tradition. Imagine my surprise to find that Charles had been retired (or maybe I shouldn't have been surprised, what with him being dead and all). Instead, we watched a new video that assured us our time and service as jurors would be valued. Oh, modernization.

The attending clerk shared some logistics, including the fact that there were three trials being seated that day. Chances seemed good that I'd at least be interviewed to be placed on a jury. All I had to do was wait. And wait, I did. After I finished my first book, I began playing with my new iPhone, a recent upgrade from the 4 to the 5. I caught up on email, read twitter posts. and added the book I'd just read to Goodreads. I was just pulling out my second book when the clerk began calling names to go into a courtroom. Holding my breath, I waited. Interestingly, in her attempt to offer some privacy, she couldn't decide whether she should call out first or last names, so there was some confusion when John Jones and Mary John both arrived at the front. By the time she was done, neither my first nor last name had been called. 

I had gotten a few chapters into my second book when the clerk called lunch and said to be back at 2:15. Startled, I looked up at the clock. But it's only 11:15? Really, a three hour lunch? No wonder it takes so long for a case to get through the courts. Not wanting my hair to frizz, I'd brought enough food with me to keep me from starving and stayed in the lounge. However, before long, I was incredibly bored and began walking the building. It really is beautiful, quite spacious and very clean. There are three different "circulation systems" so that the public, the staff, and the prisoners only see each other in the courtroom. Because it's a secret there there are prisoners in the courthouse, I guess. I made my way back to the lounge. 12:30. It was going to be a long day.

The people who had gone out for lunch began filtering back in around 1:30, and by 2, we were ready to go again. I chatted a bit with the lady next to me. I closed in on finishing my second book. I waited. Shortly after 3, we saw the TV go off and heard the clerk begin to tap the microphone, a sign that she had news to impart. After a minute or two, we all began to look at each other. What was taking so long? We were ready for the next trial! It soon became apparent that the delay was due to an animated conversation taking place between the clerk and a sweet old couple who seemed to have stopped by to, well, I don't really know why they stopped by. I hope it was important, because it was another 10 minutes before the clerk actually started speaking. 

Only to report that we were being released from jury service. The last case (never did hear what happened to the second one) had pleaded out, so we were no longer needed. Well, for Heaven's sakes. I could have left at 11:15 if I'd known that! I would have been thrilled to serve on a jury, but if that wasn't going to happen, I'd just as soon be at home taking a nap. My experience was over for at least two years. I'm disappointed that I didn't get to do anything but hang out, but it sure was a lovely place in which to do it.

The Silver Linings Playbook

If I could give this book 10 stars, I would. It's unusual for me to have seen a movie before reading the novel on which it was based, but that's what happened here. The movie, if you haven't seen it, is fantastic and totally deserving of all its Oscar nominations. Yet, as with most books made into movies, the novel is so much more and equally fabulous in an entirely different way. Even more amazing, it's Matthew Quick's (known to his friends as "Q") debut novel.

The premise revolves around Pat Peoples, recently released from some kind of mental health institution in Baltimore into the custody of his parents in his hometown in New Jersey, outside Philadelphia. During his time at "the bad place," Pat became convinced that his life is a movie in which God wants him to see the silver lining in everything and that he needs to practice being kind and not right. He's sure that, if he does so, the "apart time" being imposed on him and his wife will end and they can get back together, despite the restraining orders currently in place. Soon after returning home, he's introduced to Tiffany, his friend's sister-in-law, who turns out to be as emotionally damaged as Pat, and much of the book follows their relationship and their journey from worlds of their own making to accepting reality.

There's so much to love about this novel, and it goes beyond what can be covered in a movie. Easy to overlook but oh-so-important is the setting that Quick evokes. You can hear the autumn leaves crackling, see the tree-lined streets, feel the enthusiasm for Eagles. I love a town that loves its team, even though I'm no sports fan. Pat's family and friends are big Eagles fans, and the ups and downs of season during which this takes place mimics Pat's recovery as he regains his mental health. While he's somewhat confused over what has happened while he was away, he is certain that his perseverance will result in reuniting with his wife. Pat being determined to find the silver lining in everything makes me feel hopeful that all of us can do the same. Pat does not remember a lot of what's happened recently to bring about this alone time from his wife, and a lot of the novel follows his discovery of the kind of person he used to be and the kind of person he is now, giving the impression that we have some control over the person we are. Everyone around Pat wants him to succeed, to get better, even though they all have lives and problems of their own. He doesn't appreciate this early on but learns to do so over the course of the novel.
 

Jennifer Lawrence and Bradley Cooper  in the movie

Much of joy in the novel comes from watching Pat reluctantly become closer to Tiffany. Pat does not particularly see himself as damaged or emotionally unstable, so he doesn't immediately recognize this as something he and Tiffany have in common. The reader is viewing Pat's world strictly through Pat's first-person eyes--we're all living in Pat's imagination--and he sees Tiffany as pretty much nuts. I loved that even so, he is able to see beyond that to Tiffany's other qualities, beyond her problems to the person she used to be and might be again. It's possible for him to see beyond someone's issues to a person he can love. This is a slow build relationship that almost sneaks up on Pat, and it would be possible to enjoy the book just on the level of watching Pat and Tiffany get together.

Bradley Cooper and Robert DeNiro in the movie

Each of Pat's other relationships are fascinating on their own, particularly that between him and his father, a complicated man who uses their shared love of the Eagles to find common ground with Pat. Yet I was most intrigued by Pat's therapist, Cliff, who turns out not only to be an unusual counselor at best but a fellow football fan who seems to know just what Pat needs at the right time.  Pat is someone who tends to compartmentalize, so seeing his therapist in other surroundings first puzzles, then inspires him.

Quick wrote this novel from the basement of his in-laws house during a rather dark period of his life. He is a former English teacher, which goes a long way towards explaining Pat's interest in reading the classic novels his wife teaches her high school classes (and his ongoing query as to why classics always seem to have depressing endings when God's promised Pat a silver lining). His wife convinced him to follow his dream of actually being the one to do the writing, so after a lot of soul-searching that included a ride down the Amazon, backpacking around southern Africa, and forming a two-man literary circle, he landed in his in-laws basement. Three years later he emerged with Silver Linings Playbook, and now none of us will be the same.

Silver Linings Playbook reminds me a bit of Quick's later novel, Sorta Like a Rock Star, in that both protagonists have every reason to see the world as a terrible place but choose to see it as a world of opportunities. I wanted Pat to see things as they really are, yet the fact that he was wary to do so is what made me love him.

Dirty Words

Lake Superior State University in Michigan recently released its 38th annual List of Words to be Banished from the Queen's English for Misuse, Overuse and General Uselessness. Now, I'm not saying I talk like an English professor or nothin', but I've long thought it time to banish some words from polite conversation. Some of them used to be perfectly lovely words, but their overuse and misuse by the general public has gotten to the point they need to be banned from the English language. Below is my own list of words that need to go (and I'm sharing my list with you before I even look at LSSU's list). Let's review.

1. Literally--This has literally become the most irritating word I have literally ever heard. Literally.

2. Irregardless--Okay, you do know this is not really a word, right? Unless you're referring to the (no doubt fabulous) restaurant here in Raleigh, don't use it. The word is "regardless." But you knew that.

3. Like--This is a case of needing to say what you mean. I can't stand to hear someone say "And I was like, ...." You're not, like, anything. You said something. You thought something. You did something. You're not like anything.

4. I could care less--I couldn't care less if you keep using this phrase in correctly, but if you think about it long enough, you might realize you're saying the opposite of what you intend.

5. My bad--Your bad what? I need more information.

6. Basically--Ironically, this term that should mean you're breaking something down into its simplest parts seems to lead to long, drawn out explanations. Don't mislead me. Just jump into it.

7. Sick--This is the appropriate term if you're describing someone not feeling well or something that isn't working right. Using this term to describe something you're actually trying to convey is really good, exciting, fabulous, or otherwise wonderful is, well, sick.

8. Epic--Really, you can't be more original than thata?

9. It is what it is--Well, of course it is what it is. What else would it be? Why are you telling me something I already know? This isn't illuminating at all.

10. Deets--The word "details" is only two syllables and really should not require much in the way of abbreviation. Besides, it sounds like the name of a robot. 

Honorable Mentions:
fiscal cliff, trending, and occupy 

So I'm not trendy. Sue me. Now, what word of phrase do you think is overused?