Well, here's a funny little tidbit from the world of publishing for children: you get a lot of promotional mail for online games and new picture books and stuff. Mostly it's books and catalogs that I find when I open the mail (one of my more glamorous duties, let me tell you). In the past couple of days, though, it's been like CHRISTMAS at HQ. Yesterday, we got the largest box of Tinkerbell paraphernalia known to man. We wanted to reuse the box to send submissions to first readers, just to weird them out, but it was goo big. I got a water bottle, a sticker, and a beach ball, all decorated with Tinkerbell. Today, we got a (slightly more reasonably sized) box of ToonTown stuff! This was far more exciting because I got a tee shirt with a slightly angry looking duck on it.
Now, I have no idea what these boxes were trying to get us to buy, but I would like to give a shout out to whoever sent them to us, because you've never seen so many 20+ year old young ladies lunging for such silly objects.
One of my seriously glamorous new jobs has been to test drive arts projects before the editor puts them in the back of the magazine that's directed at kids ages 6-9. Luckily, I have the artistic ability of a 6-year-old, so we all know that whatever I come out with will be a pretty realistic Catastrometer reading of the age group. I tell the editor each place where I feel the project is too hard or any snags I might find (snag number one: I cannot use scissors, glue, or paper).
A couple more bits of friendly advice that have occurred to me as I open mail, read submissions, pound my head on my desk, etc.
1. Well, I don't know what other publishers would actually say about this but ESPECIALLY when we don't take queries and you are sending us a manuscript, you really don't need to start with "To whom it may concern: Have you ever wondered what you would do if you were babysitting and thought you heard a man upstairs but when you called your dad and he came in with a gun to look around he found out there was no man upstairs? This is my humor submission." Because, funnily enough, I have not, but you've just told me your whole plot and it's dumb and I don't want to read it. But I have to.
2. Try, just try, to figure out exactly to whom you're addressing yourself. I know it's confusing when there are eight magazines to choose from, but I admit to having a little chuckle every time you get it wrong. Of course, you should really be addressing it to "Lowly Intern, esq." but, on the off-chance someone else should open the mail, let's just stick to not addressing yourself to an editor who does not exist.
3. On the subject of the above, please do not send the same story to every editor in the hopes that it will get into ONE of the magazines. Check the address: we all work 5 feet away from each other. And it is actually me (Lowly Intern Esq.) who makes the first recommendation as to which magazine you'll be best for, regardless of which one you're submitting to. ... I lied, it's the first reader. I'm so lowly!
4. Okay, see, today I got a book query (which we don't actually accept, but the lady did not include a SASE so I could not tell her this) asking us to read a manuscript of a memoir of a Burlesque dancer. Apparently, they were the first strip tease ever in something-or-other Alaska.
Don't get me wrong. This is fascinating. I would totally read this manuscript. But (and I'm looking at all the people who have sent in gory, violent, or intensely confusing submissions) PLEASE look at who you are submitting to and if it is a CHILDREN'S publishing company, maybe just...don't.
Today the editorial assistant (hereafter EA) and I decided we were going to reorganize the science books in the library. This was by far the silliest thing I have ever agreed to do in my life because I am not content with vague organization. I must have it perfect or die trying (which I almost did. An archaeology reference book the size of Burkina Faso tried to behead me not six minutes into the process). I was actually late for our library date though, due to: I stupidly thought it was safe to wander into an office supplies store because I was early finishing lunch. I told myself "I'm not going to buy anything unless I REALLY need it" but of course that degenerates into "unless I WILL really need it EVENTUALLY" which slides to "unless it's not TOO expensive and I REALLY like it" which eventually splats into rock bottom "unless it's pretty."
I stopped myself at $20 though, for three totally recycled notebooks that are nice colors and smell good and a planner that I hope to God I actually like because usually I spend all summer deciding what planner I'm going to get.
This is all really irrelevant, I just wanted to tell you about my new boyfriend.
Well, see, his name is Brad and he works at some salon or other and he did not LOOK like one of those ambush-you-on-the-street-and-hold-you-hostage-for-twenty-minutes types (I can get by those easy, because I've found that listening to music, pretending to talk on the phone, and running does not work (because they run after you yelling "DON'T YOU CARE ABOUT CANCER/CHILDREN/THE ENVIRONMENT/PUPPIES?" [yes, yes I do, I swear. It's just you scare me.]), but if you sort of look down and look like you're about to cry they figure you just got dumped and leave you alone). Anyhow, Brad got me with "Can I ask you a question about your hair?" which I was like "um what?" and then I was hostage.
As it turns out (did you know?) I can get something done with my hair and nails and something else all for some low, low price. Somehow, my new boyfriend Brad was very confused by the fact that I have never been to a place like this. I'm not sure when I started giving of the I-do-more-than-run-a-brush-through-my-hair-at-least-once-a-week aura. This whole thing ended with us bonding over how he got carded trying to go into a rated-R movie and the metra man tried to give me a high school discount on a train ticket (and when I said I was 20 he said 'girl, you don't look a day older than 15.' Muh.) and then he gave me his number so I could let him know if I ever had fifty dollars on me and really wanted to get something or other done to my hair. Or for a hot salon date. It wasn't really clear. Then I was late for my library date, and then archaeology tried to kill me. End scene.
I got my own shiny copy of C D B today because we didn't know where in the library to put it.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Oh, hi there.
So it's been more than a week. Ooph. I would start off with some long, boring lecture about Fatigue and its Effect on Life and about the Dazy Hazy Lupus Brain but, see, no. Plus, the real reasons I did not update last week were:
1. I am lazy (dazy hazy) and preferred to watch soccer and West Wing and basically be the biggest couch potato ever to avoid walking the earth (40% of my excuse)
2. I am not settling into this whole 9-5 job thing well at all, hence the Fatigue (blah blah blah) (10%)
3. I think of things to say all day long and then I sit in front of my computer and have NO CLUE HOW TO START (50%)
I should be used to getting over this due to my (big, useful, career-starting) creative writing major. But, alack, no.
While we're not on the subject of Hazy Dazy Lupus Brain, I thought I would start with an exciting experience I had getting a call from someone or other in the pediatric rheumatology (that being...holy shit, guys, I don't know what rheumatology is. Lupus and arthritis? I mean, I know I go to them. Okay, here. Devoted to the study of rheumatic diseases. Hope that cleared it up for ya.)Right, as I was saying. I got a call from someone or other in the pediatric rheumatology department saying ohhh hiiii will you take a survey about how rheumies talk to girl-children with lupus about pregnancy and birth control and its effect on lupus and lupus' effect on it?
I was watching the world cup and could not possibly have been less interested, but said sure! anyway. Then she did a vocal double-take when I told her I was twenty. I really need to back slowly away from the kid-rheumies but, really, I'm too lazy. I don't like my doctor at all either, I'm seriously just too lazy to switch.
So actually, my Rheumy has never even touched on the subject of pregnancy with me, and the only time she's mentioned birth control was to get mad at my obgyn for prescribing it to me. This is all a little annoying, for the following reasons:
1. I have had soul-numbingly painful cramps since I was about 16. Like, cannot-walk-across-the-room-to-get-the-Advil level pain. Like, repeatedly-miss-school-and-stay-up-for-36-hours-straight level pain. And my rheumy was kind of like well, whatever, try not to take Advil it'll hurt your kidneys.
2. I found out WHY when I was seventeen, because of the aforementioned lemon-sized-cyst on my ovary. When they did the surgery (prepare for me to jabber for a bit because this was just SO COOL [that was not even sarcastic, I swear]), they did a micro-somethingorother. That (very technical term) means that there were three incisions: one on either side of my abdomen, right above my pelvis, and one slightly larger on right at the top of my belly button. Basically, one of the pelvic ones was for a teeny little camera, and one was for the teeny little knife. Then they cut the thinger and pulled it out through the belly button one. Okay, point: THERE WAS A TEENY LITTLE CAMERA INSIDE MY ABDOMEN. So when I heard this from my lovely anesthesiologists who came back to joke with me pre-surgery (they were the least obnoxious jokers ever, too), I was like AWESOME DUDE will you take a picture? And they told me they would. What's more, they told me there would be a video of the whole surgery from the inside and they would add music.
They never did.
But I did get pictures!
Where was this leading? Right. Cyst removed successfully, ovary left intact (hooray.) When I woke up, the doctor told me I have a condition called endometriosis, explaining it thus: "BTDUBZ, we found a SHIT TON of endometrial cells basically tying your ovaries to your uterus. There's probably a SHIT TON more scar tissue inside your uterus, probably due to all the chemo you've been on plus the fact that your immune system likes to Munch. That's why you get such terrible cramps. Also why your cramps radiate down your legs. Oh, also, you can probably not get pregnant." And my response was something along the lines of "and you left my uterus in there, why?"
3. So, I found out why I GOT the cramps but still no one told me there was anything I could do about them until a year later when I went for a follow-up to make sure, I assume, that my entire reproductive system hadn't fallen out. THEN my obgyn was like right, birth control, here you go. And it WORKED, ladies and gentlemen.
4. THEN my rheumy got all pissy and told me that birth control screws with your hormones and could make my lupus worse.
It actually made it better. My mom finally pointed out to me that a year ago was about when I started feeling worse - around the same time I went off birth control. While it COULD have sent my immune system into a frenzy, it seems like it actually leveled it out. Result of doctor's appointment yesterday: prescription!
My own personal conclusion from the survey I had to take: Doctors should probably discuss these things with their girl-lupies more. We don't necessarily think to ask when we are young and not dating because we're too sleepy to look at male-types, but let's just say for the sake of hyperbole that my entire high school career consisted of having unprotected sex with every man I saw - it would've been nice to know that screwing with my hormones via growing a baby could have been Bad.
Tomorrow: my career as a test-driver for crafts projects aimed for ages 6-9! (I have skillz, yo.)
1. I am lazy (dazy hazy) and preferred to watch soccer and West Wing and basically be the biggest couch potato ever to avoid walking the earth (40% of my excuse)
2. I am not settling into this whole 9-5 job thing well at all, hence the Fatigue (blah blah blah) (10%)
3. I think of things to say all day long and then I sit in front of my computer and have NO CLUE HOW TO START (50%)
I should be used to getting over this due to my (big, useful, career-starting) creative writing major. But, alack, no.
While we're not on the subject of Hazy Dazy Lupus Brain, I thought I would start with an exciting experience I had getting a call from someone or other in the pediatric rheumatology (that being...holy shit, guys, I don't know what rheumatology is. Lupus and arthritis? I mean, I know I go to them. Okay, here. Devoted to the study of rheumatic diseases. Hope that cleared it up for ya.)Right, as I was saying. I got a call from someone or other in the pediatric rheumatology department saying ohhh hiiii will you take a survey about how rheumies talk to girl-children with lupus about pregnancy and birth control and its effect on lupus and lupus' effect on it?
I was watching the world cup and could not possibly have been less interested, but said sure! anyway. Then she did a vocal double-take when I told her I was twenty. I really need to back slowly away from the kid-rheumies but, really, I'm too lazy. I don't like my doctor at all either, I'm seriously just too lazy to switch.
So actually, my Rheumy has never even touched on the subject of pregnancy with me, and the only time she's mentioned birth control was to get mad at my obgyn for prescribing it to me. This is all a little annoying, for the following reasons:
1. I have had soul-numbingly painful cramps since I was about 16. Like, cannot-walk-across-the-room-to-get-the-Advil level pain. Like, repeatedly-miss-school-and-stay-up-for-36-hours-straight level pain. And my rheumy was kind of like well, whatever, try not to take Advil it'll hurt your kidneys.
2. I found out WHY when I was seventeen, because of the aforementioned lemon-sized-cyst on my ovary. When they did the surgery (prepare for me to jabber for a bit because this was just SO COOL [that was not even sarcastic, I swear]), they did a micro-somethingorother. That (very technical term) means that there were three incisions: one on either side of my abdomen, right above my pelvis, and one slightly larger on right at the top of my belly button. Basically, one of the pelvic ones was for a teeny little camera, and one was for the teeny little knife. Then they cut the thinger and pulled it out through the belly button one. Okay, point: THERE WAS A TEENY LITTLE CAMERA INSIDE MY ABDOMEN. So when I heard this from my lovely anesthesiologists who came back to joke with me pre-surgery (they were the least obnoxious jokers ever, too), I was like AWESOME DUDE will you take a picture? And they told me they would. What's more, they told me there would be a video of the whole surgery from the inside and they would add music.
They never did.
But I did get pictures!
Where was this leading? Right. Cyst removed successfully, ovary left intact (hooray.) When I woke up, the doctor told me I have a condition called endometriosis, explaining it thus: "BTDUBZ, we found a SHIT TON of endometrial cells basically tying your ovaries to your uterus. There's probably a SHIT TON more scar tissue inside your uterus, probably due to all the chemo you've been on plus the fact that your immune system likes to Munch. That's why you get such terrible cramps. Also why your cramps radiate down your legs. Oh, also, you can probably not get pregnant." And my response was something along the lines of "and you left my uterus in there, why?"
3. So, I found out why I GOT the cramps but still no one told me there was anything I could do about them until a year later when I went for a follow-up to make sure, I assume, that my entire reproductive system hadn't fallen out. THEN my obgyn was like right, birth control, here you go. And it WORKED, ladies and gentlemen.
4. THEN my rheumy got all pissy and told me that birth control screws with your hormones and could make my lupus worse.
It actually made it better. My mom finally pointed out to me that a year ago was about when I started feeling worse - around the same time I went off birth control. While it COULD have sent my immune system into a frenzy, it seems like it actually leveled it out. Result of doctor's appointment yesterday: prescription!
My own personal conclusion from the survey I had to take: Doctors should probably discuss these things with their girl-lupies more. We don't necessarily think to ask when we are young and not dating because we're too sleepy to look at male-types, but let's just say for the sake of hyperbole that my entire high school career consisted of having unprotected sex with every man I saw - it would've been nice to know that screwing with my hormones via growing a baby could have been Bad.
Tomorrow: my career as a test-driver for crafts projects aimed for ages 6-9! (I have skillz, yo.)
Monday, June 21, 2010
Let's talk about toilets
Just for a second.
See, toilets these days basically run my life. Your lowly intern has not yet been given a key. We keep the door to the meta-office locked (you know, the one that holds the Real Editor's offices and the Lowly Peoples' cubicles, and the lowly intern's shoe-box that, it has been suggested, could be made into a really baller fort if I brought in some old sheets). And somehow, even though your lowly intern unlocks that door before going to the bathroom, the door always seems to be locked again when your lowly intern gets back. Then I have to beg the receptionist to let me in, and she laughs at me.
Also, if I go around lunchtime I get locked out of the whole meta-meta office, and then to get in I have to ring the doorbell. Well, theoretically. The one time that happened, I just went to lunch with the bathroom key.
Lastly, the toilet in the office building is really freaking tall. Like, my toes barely touch the floor. What is up with that? I am short, but I am not THAT short, and there is something really unsatisfying about peeing with your feet off the ground.
This was a long way of saying, I went to the train station to pee today. THAT toilet was an overachieving freak and flushed itself four times in the midst of a 15 second pee break.
I'm done talking about toilets now.
Some Lupie news: Lady Gaga is auctioning off the necklace she wore in her Poker Face video. Proceeds will go to the Lupus Foundation of America. Thanks, Lady Gaga! I liked you before, now I kind of love you! Information
15 blood tests: Mostly normal, or at least in the same place they were a year ago. In the interest of full disclosure, I did not hear the whole message the nurse practitioner left on my phone due to: she mutters, and I kept trying to listen to it outside in the traffic under the El trains. I got as far as C3, C4, ANA are all basically in range (ANA is a big factor in diagnosing, c3 and c4, I have no idea what they are but I know that their refusal to be normal was what led to my being shoved on Rituxan in my 14th year of life and 5th year of lupus), but I have yet to get as far as kidneys in the message.
You will find it strange to hear that this is frustrating to me. I have been feeling off for a year or so, and my blood tests refuse to show any evidence of this, and therefore there continues to be nothing we can do about it. Furthermore, I'm not allowed to take ibuprofin because it's hard on the kidneys. Ibuprofin doesn't work well anyway, since I spent too many years taking 800 mg three-four times a day. But they won't give me anything stronger because my doctor doesn't trust me to take meds like a responsible person and my blood tests do not show any reason for me to be in pain except for 11 years of my own immune system munching on my muscles and joints. I mean, I am not in BAD pain. It would just be nice to have a clear problem with a clear solution.
Pause for riotous laughter at the implication that there is ever a "clear" anything where my body is concerned.
In other news, spiders were fighting outside one of the editor's window yesterday. We were picking contest winners. By which I mean, watching a female try and devour her potential mate, who then fled.
And, there is nothing more fun than being handed a box of submissions and being told "This is our new first reader's audition box. He wasn't allowed to reject anything. I'd go make some copies of your form reject."
51 suggestions, I passed 13 on. Of those 13, I liked 2 okay, 5 were totally adequate, 3 I did not like but thought someone else might, 3 I hated but thought they had a good topic so if they were, like, totally rewritten they could be good.
I did, indeed, have to make more copies of the form reject.
And all this while stalling having to pee so I wouldn't get locked out.
Some suggestions:
1. Do not title a poem for 3-6 year olds "High." Do not, in it, mention not being able to see straight and request something relaxing. I do not care if the end point is that you like music, and music makes you high.
2. I love my grandmother as much as anyone. And I probably love your grandmother too. In general, I am a big fan of grandmothers. However, I cannot think of a single grandmother I would want to see in a Tinkerbell outfit.
Today, before 10 a.m. my dress strap snapped. See, I have this problem where I carry my shoulders kind of high, especially when I am tense which is not, you know, uncommon with me. And so when I have non-stretchy kind of crappy straps, they tend to break. And then they tend to be really hard to tie back together and I tend to spend the rest of my day trying to keep my shoulders down because there are other places on that strap not to mention a whole other strap that's wearing thin. When I went to the train station to pee, I cannot even BEGIN to tell you how attractive I felt.
Emily, since I know you are reading this, you should know that the wallet you made me gets me hit on infinitely more often than my good looks and charm 'round these parts. My good looks and charm: 0. The wallet you made me: 3.
See, toilets these days basically run my life. Your lowly intern has not yet been given a key. We keep the door to the meta-office locked (you know, the one that holds the Real Editor's offices and the Lowly Peoples' cubicles, and the lowly intern's shoe-box that, it has been suggested, could be made into a really baller fort if I brought in some old sheets). And somehow, even though your lowly intern unlocks that door before going to the bathroom, the door always seems to be locked again when your lowly intern gets back. Then I have to beg the receptionist to let me in, and she laughs at me.
Also, if I go around lunchtime I get locked out of the whole meta-meta office, and then to get in I have to ring the doorbell. Well, theoretically. The one time that happened, I just went to lunch with the bathroom key.
Lastly, the toilet in the office building is really freaking tall. Like, my toes barely touch the floor. What is up with that? I am short, but I am not THAT short, and there is something really unsatisfying about peeing with your feet off the ground.
This was a long way of saying, I went to the train station to pee today. THAT toilet was an overachieving freak and flushed itself four times in the midst of a 15 second pee break.
I'm done talking about toilets now.
Some Lupie news: Lady Gaga is auctioning off the necklace she wore in her Poker Face video. Proceeds will go to the Lupus Foundation of America. Thanks, Lady Gaga! I liked you before, now I kind of love you! Information
15 blood tests: Mostly normal, or at least in the same place they were a year ago. In the interest of full disclosure, I did not hear the whole message the nurse practitioner left on my phone due to: she mutters, and I kept trying to listen to it outside in the traffic under the El trains. I got as far as C3, C4, ANA are all basically in range (ANA is a big factor in diagnosing, c3 and c4, I have no idea what they are but I know that their refusal to be normal was what led to my being shoved on Rituxan in my 14th year of life and 5th year of lupus), but I have yet to get as far as kidneys in the message.
You will find it strange to hear that this is frustrating to me. I have been feeling off for a year or so, and my blood tests refuse to show any evidence of this, and therefore there continues to be nothing we can do about it. Furthermore, I'm not allowed to take ibuprofin because it's hard on the kidneys. Ibuprofin doesn't work well anyway, since I spent too many years taking 800 mg three-four times a day. But they won't give me anything stronger because my doctor doesn't trust me to take meds like a responsible person and my blood tests do not show any reason for me to be in pain except for 11 years of my own immune system munching on my muscles and joints. I mean, I am not in BAD pain. It would just be nice to have a clear problem with a clear solution.
Pause for riotous laughter at the implication that there is ever a "clear" anything where my body is concerned.
In other news, spiders were fighting outside one of the editor's window yesterday. We were picking contest winners. By which I mean, watching a female try and devour her potential mate, who then fled.
And, there is nothing more fun than being handed a box of submissions and being told "This is our new first reader's audition box. He wasn't allowed to reject anything. I'd go make some copies of your form reject."
51 suggestions, I passed 13 on. Of those 13, I liked 2 okay, 5 were totally adequate, 3 I did not like but thought someone else might, 3 I hated but thought they had a good topic so if they were, like, totally rewritten they could be good.
I did, indeed, have to make more copies of the form reject.
And all this while stalling having to pee so I wouldn't get locked out.
Some suggestions:
1. Do not title a poem for 3-6 year olds "High." Do not, in it, mention not being able to see straight and request something relaxing. I do not care if the end point is that you like music, and music makes you high.
2. I love my grandmother as much as anyone. And I probably love your grandmother too. In general, I am a big fan of grandmothers. However, I cannot think of a single grandmother I would want to see in a Tinkerbell outfit.
Today, before 10 a.m. my dress strap snapped. See, I have this problem where I carry my shoulders kind of high, especially when I am tense which is not, you know, uncommon with me. And so when I have non-stretchy kind of crappy straps, they tend to break. And then they tend to be really hard to tie back together and I tend to spend the rest of my day trying to keep my shoulders down because there are other places on that strap not to mention a whole other strap that's wearing thin. When I went to the train station to pee, I cannot even BEGIN to tell you how attractive I felt.
Emily, since I know you are reading this, you should know that the wallet you made me gets me hit on infinitely more often than my good looks and charm 'round these parts. My good looks and charm: 0. The wallet you made me: 3.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
In which I am a Lunatic: a rant, a rave, a bunting, a balloon
Happy noontime in Chicago! I am writing this on my own computer. Yes, that's right, dear young McGillicudy is back, and she says hi.
Actually, Best Buy called me at 8:30 this morning (really, Best Buy? It's Saturday. I don't sleep that late, but really?) to tell me Gill was ready for pick-up. Happy as a Moose with a Muffin, I decide it's a good plan to walk the 1.5 miles to Best Buy even though my knees were sore. See, I figured that Gill and I would need some quality vegging time to celebrate her homecoming. So I figured some good exercise would offset the vegging. (I swear, I'm not that obsessed with my computer, but my mother's is so slow and clunky and I miss all my pretty word documents).
Anyway, as it happens they did not have the parts to transplant Gill's screen, so they refunded me $50 and I got to walk back 1.5 miles with an equally sick computer in 80 degree weather.
Along the way to and from Best Buy, I get to walk over the Chicago River. Between the houses and the Amtrack tracks/river is lots of brushy area where I sometimes see barn swallows. So excited am I to see city birds that are not starlings-sparrows (not even interesting sparrows, just boring old house sparrows)-gulls-pigeons, that I always wish I could somehow climb down there (for reasons I'm not really clear on, I also get this crazy urge to throw my cell phone off the bridge when I walk over it. I like my cell phone.), but that place is high on my list of Places I Do Not Want My Body Stashed because dude, they'd never find it. I did get to see two red-winged blackbirds chasing a crow, which is always good fun. And on my way back there was this indigo bunting just kinda chillin' on a telephone wire. That pretty much made my day. Totally made up for the whole walking three miles for a still-busted computer thing.
Stopped by Starbucks on the way home, read two Eula Biss essays out of Notes from No Man's Land. Begin Rave:
Okay, no, for serious, I know that I have a major crush on Eula Biss and that I am a nutcase who needs to calm down but y'all must buy this book. She writes about race in a way where I can actually read it. I don't have to feel secretly guilty for not being interested in a race-talk like usual. I think she manages to struggle on a personal level but balances her own tidbits with really interesting and more often than not horrifying but unique and interesting facts. Like, I don't feel as though I've already read this, like I usually do when I'm reading semi-impersonal essays about race. I think I slept funny, because I kept wanting to cry. Oh, speaking of crying, though, Eula Biss has the most finely developed sense of timing ever. She runs you almost into the ground with Sad and then makes a wryly hilarious side-comment that bounces you back up again, making you ready to face the next wave of Albeit-Interesting-Sad. Go buy it. I know, it won't be as cool without the barely legible "good luck with your writing" note (sorry, must brag) but it is fantastic. Read. Okay.
So I dragged myself the rest of the way home (actually, fortified with caffeine and Good Book + having sat down for a while, it was more like a slightly-less-than-brisk stroll). My building has three entrances, but I only have a key to get into one. Attached to this one was an overfilled pink balloon.
Why?
Why would you attach an overfilled balloon TO A DOOR?
You are just asking for someone to slam it between the doors, and it will pop, and all hell will break loose. I hate balloons, and could not bring myself to even try to get in that way. When I finally bypassed the door-that-requires-an-actual-key by using my little magnetic thinger to get into the basement and the elevator only to find another balloon in the elevator. Have I mentioned I do not like balloons? Why, why are balloons necessary to indicate things like open houses and baby births? All they do is wave ominously in the wind and then ALWAYS catch on something like a rough brick or a tree branch and then they pop. I hate balloons.
Well. Now that I've spent way more words than should ever be spent on Lunatic Phobias on my balloon issue, I am going to leave this place and watch some more crappy crime shows.
Actually, Best Buy called me at 8:30 this morning (really, Best Buy? It's Saturday. I don't sleep that late, but really?) to tell me Gill was ready for pick-up. Happy as a Moose with a Muffin, I decide it's a good plan to walk the 1.5 miles to Best Buy even though my knees were sore. See, I figured that Gill and I would need some quality vegging time to celebrate her homecoming. So I figured some good exercise would offset the vegging. (I swear, I'm not that obsessed with my computer, but my mother's is so slow and clunky and I miss all my pretty word documents).
Anyway, as it happens they did not have the parts to transplant Gill's screen, so they refunded me $50 and I got to walk back 1.5 miles with an equally sick computer in 80 degree weather.
Along the way to and from Best Buy, I get to walk over the Chicago River. Between the houses and the Amtrack tracks/river is lots of brushy area where I sometimes see barn swallows. So excited am I to see city birds that are not starlings-sparrows (not even interesting sparrows, just boring old house sparrows)-gulls-pigeons, that I always wish I could somehow climb down there (for reasons I'm not really clear on, I also get this crazy urge to throw my cell phone off the bridge when I walk over it. I like my cell phone.), but that place is high on my list of Places I Do Not Want My Body Stashed because dude, they'd never find it. I did get to see two red-winged blackbirds chasing a crow, which is always good fun. And on my way back there was this indigo bunting just kinda chillin' on a telephone wire. That pretty much made my day. Totally made up for the whole walking three miles for a still-busted computer thing.
Stopped by Starbucks on the way home, read two Eula Biss essays out of Notes from No Man's Land. Begin Rave:
Okay, no, for serious, I know that I have a major crush on Eula Biss and that I am a nutcase who needs to calm down but y'all must buy this book. She writes about race in a way where I can actually read it. I don't have to feel secretly guilty for not being interested in a race-talk like usual. I think she manages to struggle on a personal level but balances her own tidbits with really interesting and more often than not horrifying but unique and interesting facts. Like, I don't feel as though I've already read this, like I usually do when I'm reading semi-impersonal essays about race. I think I slept funny, because I kept wanting to cry. Oh, speaking of crying, though, Eula Biss has the most finely developed sense of timing ever. She runs you almost into the ground with Sad and then makes a wryly hilarious side-comment that bounces you back up again, making you ready to face the next wave of Albeit-Interesting-Sad. Go buy it. I know, it won't be as cool without the barely legible "good luck with your writing" note (sorry, must brag) but it is fantastic. Read. Okay.
So I dragged myself the rest of the way home (actually, fortified with caffeine and Good Book + having sat down for a while, it was more like a slightly-less-than-brisk stroll). My building has three entrances, but I only have a key to get into one. Attached to this one was an overfilled pink balloon.
Why?
Why would you attach an overfilled balloon TO A DOOR?
You are just asking for someone to slam it between the doors, and it will pop, and all hell will break loose. I hate balloons, and could not bring myself to even try to get in that way. When I finally bypassed the door-that-requires-an-actual-key by using my little magnetic thinger to get into the basement and the elevator only to find another balloon in the elevator. Have I mentioned I do not like balloons? Why, why are balloons necessary to indicate things like open houses and baby births? All they do is wave ominously in the wind and then ALWAYS catch on something like a rough brick or a tree branch and then they pop. I hate balloons.
Well. Now that I've spent way more words than should ever be spent on Lunatic Phobias on my balloon issue, I am going to leave this place and watch some more crappy crime shows.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Friday's a Day for Cheese and Sex
Well, this used to be my (hilarious) joke at school while I made sandwiches/smoothies and craved cheese on Fridays. I don't actually have any cheese in the house and I've got no friends, let alone a willing feller, 'round these parts. On the other hand, I will have pizza tonight and I'm still reading the 18th century (seriously, did they EVER get dressed?) so I think the sentiment holds.
Well, I am done with my first week of Submissions Reading, Photocopying, Filing, and Reviewing Kid's Music.
(I can't tie my shoes
I can't tie my shoes
How do grown-ups do it
when it just gives me the blues?
Oh, I'm never so confused
as when I try to tie my shoes.)
I made it through a good 15 "humor" submissions and an enormous stack of ~50 or so January submissions that were sent back from a first reader who quit unexpectedly without sifting through the Crazies. I got to sift through the crazies. A few notes, for anyone considering submitting to a magazine, or, really, anywhere.
1. Loser Boy is sad because Pretty Girl is pretty and Loser Boy does not know how to talk to her. Luckily, Substitute teacher, who is a little bit like Loser Boy because he is like a Loser Teacher and the kids make fun of him, gives Loser Boy 4 paragraphs of life lessons and lots of Perspective. Loser Boy sees the light, recognizes that he will have lots of Regret if he does not talk to Pretty Girl NOW. Talks to Pretty girl. THIS IS NOT HUMOR.
2. Loser Boy #2 does not like sports. Dad likes sports. Dad makes Loser Boy #2 do sports. Loser Boy #2 does not want to do sports. Dad says without sports, will send kid to "Athletic School." Loser Kid #2 sees the light, does sports. THIS IS ALSO NOT HUMOR.
3. People expect to be faced with lots of Rich Infidels in Africa. Instead, find Semi-Human Faceless People, surrounded by Goldfish that Fly. Yeah, I don't even know. This was not a humor submission. I could not even finish it.
4. You cannot stop me from sending you a rejection, I'm sorry. You cannot stop me from sending you a rejection, not even if you
a) include a self-addressed stamped envelope that does not seal (newsflash: we own tape)
b) include an SASE that is empty and sealed (really?)
c) fail to include an SASE
I understand. I understand that humor is hard, and writing is hard. And writing for kids is really hard. I would not attempt it. It is just that "humor" does not mean "nothing terrible happens." All I ask, all I ask is for one chortle. A small one. How about a snicker?
***
Well, I am still on my mother's computer, which has deleted this post once and a half. Best Buy still hasn't called to update me on McGillicudy's transplant (new screen!) Speaking of people who have not called to update my on things, still no word on blood tests. Called nurse today, was politely informed that she is not in on Tuesdays and Fridays.
It's interesting to check out other lupus blogs, by the way. There's the official blog of the lupus foundation at Their Official Site; they have a long list of other blogs on the side. The thing that's always been a problem on my end is hardly any people my age write (an exception). Even those few who do, though, tend to be lupus n00bs. I am a veteran. Lupus and I have passed our tin? bronze? anniversary (what's 10 years?) which is actually longer than most of the adult-bloggers have had it, too.
So I try to make it interesting for any potential blog-followers, but I forget that what is totally un-novel to me is novel to normal people or even Lupie n00bs.
However, in case you were wondering, those IV machines? Fantastic scooters.
Well, I am done with my first week of Submissions Reading, Photocopying, Filing, and Reviewing Kid's Music.
(I can't tie my shoes
I can't tie my shoes
How do grown-ups do it
when it just gives me the blues?
Oh, I'm never so confused
as when I try to tie my shoes.)
I made it through a good 15 "humor" submissions and an enormous stack of ~50 or so January submissions that were sent back from a first reader who quit unexpectedly without sifting through the Crazies. I got to sift through the crazies. A few notes, for anyone considering submitting to a magazine, or, really, anywhere.
1. Loser Boy is sad because Pretty Girl is pretty and Loser Boy does not know how to talk to her. Luckily, Substitute teacher, who is a little bit like Loser Boy because he is like a Loser Teacher and the kids make fun of him, gives Loser Boy 4 paragraphs of life lessons and lots of Perspective. Loser Boy sees the light, recognizes that he will have lots of Regret if he does not talk to Pretty Girl NOW. Talks to Pretty girl. THIS IS NOT HUMOR.
2. Loser Boy #2 does not like sports. Dad likes sports. Dad makes Loser Boy #2 do sports. Loser Boy #2 does not want to do sports. Dad says without sports, will send kid to "Athletic School." Loser Kid #2 sees the light, does sports. THIS IS ALSO NOT HUMOR.
3. People expect to be faced with lots of Rich Infidels in Africa. Instead, find Semi-Human Faceless People, surrounded by Goldfish that Fly. Yeah, I don't even know. This was not a humor submission. I could not even finish it.
4. You cannot stop me from sending you a rejection, I'm sorry. You cannot stop me from sending you a rejection, not even if you
a) include a self-addressed stamped envelope that does not seal (newsflash: we own tape)
b) include an SASE that is empty and sealed (really?)
c) fail to include an SASE
I understand. I understand that humor is hard, and writing is hard. And writing for kids is really hard. I would not attempt it. It is just that "humor" does not mean "nothing terrible happens." All I ask, all I ask is for one chortle. A small one. How about a snicker?
***
Well, I am still on my mother's computer, which has deleted this post once and a half. Best Buy still hasn't called to update me on McGillicudy's transplant (new screen!) Speaking of people who have not called to update my on things, still no word on blood tests. Called nurse today, was politely informed that she is not in on Tuesdays and Fridays.
It's interesting to check out other lupus blogs, by the way. There's the official blog of the lupus foundation at Their Official Site; they have a long list of other blogs on the side. The thing that's always been a problem on my end is hardly any people my age write (an exception). Even those few who do, though, tend to be lupus n00bs. I am a veteran. Lupus and I have passed our tin? bronze? anniversary (what's 10 years?) which is actually longer than most of the adult-bloggers have had it, too.
So I try to make it interesting for any potential blog-followers, but I forget that what is totally un-novel to me is novel to normal people or even Lupie n00bs.
However, in case you were wondering, those IV machines? Fantastic scooters.
Monday, June 14, 2010
In which I am a hazard to the process
Good evening, blogosphere! I write again out of the depths of my mother's computer because, see, the something liquid in the something layer of McGillicudy's screen did something and they had to send it somewhere to have something done...it's $200. That part I understood.
Today was my first day being an Editorial Intern! Actually, it's pretty cool. I basically do exactly what the editorial assistant would be doing if there wasn't an editorial intern to do it for her. Read submissions. Write reading recommendations. File things. Also moderate the web forum so that the kids don't scare each other.
Things I have never done before and are harder than they look: using a letter opener.
Potential disasters:
1. Tearing people's submissions in half
2. Tearing a letter from the publisher's insurance company in half
3. Giving up, opening it by hand, and tearing the top off someone's cover letter.
4. Stabbing oneself
5. Scratching oneself
NOTE: 4 and 5 are different. When you stab yourself, you get a puncture wound. When you scratch yourself it's much more mild.
Other injuries incurred: The welt on my left hand due to one of those heavy duty rubber bands. It had previously been holding a huge-ass stack of envelopes together. Yet, when I tried to put it BACK around that self-same huge-ass stack of envelopes, all hell broke loose. Your sympathy is much appreciated.
Today was a lot of learning the, uh, "ropes" (as the kids are calling it these days), but I did go through a huge stack of "humor" submissions.
I do not fancy myself an expert on the process. I do not even fancy myself an expert on good writing, and certainly not on humor-writing. HOWEVER. I am fairly certain that "not TOO terribly depressing" does not COUNT as humor. Other things that do not count as humor: "Ha ha we thought a murderer broke into the house. He didn't."
Actually I will be honest...form-rejection was scaring the hell out of me. That is the part where I, your lowly intern, try to weed out the obvious "no's" so that the lovely editorial assistant did not have to read them. But, especially because it was supposed to be "humor," I was just terrified that my particular sense of humor was just too picky / not right for the magazine and that I was going to reject what was, in reality, the most vomit-inducingly funny pieces ever.
Well that was an attractive way to put it.
I plan on getting over it, though.
And I read a couple really good stories! Okay, one. But it was really good!
Okay, since we are discussing hazards, remember how I said I had fifteen blood tests done? That amounted to 8 vials of blood taken, which has resulted in a really impressive bruise. Four inches long about that vein.
The nice part of all this is that I have no heard back from my doctor about the results of these tests. Oh, she called, let's not get ahead of ourselves. And she left a message saying basically "Oh, you're not picking up your phone. Cool. Well, I'm leaving town tomorrow. Bye!"
In the meantime, I have these swollen lymph nodes in my neck that have been there for more than two months now. Originally it was assumed I had a mild cold or allergies, then it was assumed I had mono, then three mono tests came back negative and we were about to flip our shit and get the suckers biopsied when a savior mono test came back positive. Backstory: complete.
So, having found what I thought was another swollen node in the groin area and having a freaking panic attack, and having JUST been hit with the fatigue that should have hit, like, when I still had mono, I went to my doctor a few days ago to hear the following phrases that you never really want to hear from your doctor:
"Oh, yeah, you're right. Mono doesn't really work like that."
"Don't worry, that's not another gland, that's just a cyst. Hold up. Why do you have a cyst?"*
"Well we'll do the basic test now. If it comes back wonky, we'll do a more expensive test. Tell your parents, because nothing ever comes back normal with you."
"When was your last kidney biopsy? Really? That long ago? Hmm."
*Been There Done That (Cyst in the Reproductive System Edition): Two years ago, or three, who really knows, I had a cyst the size of a lemon removed from my left ovary. But since my doctor would not say anything besides "cyst, not gland, go see your OBGYN have fun" we may get a repeat of Cyst in the Reproductive System. Which, incidentally, has nothing to do with lupus.
"Your blood pressure is perfect. GOOD JOB." Why thank you, nurse.
Other things I enjoy: Getting an email telling me that CellCept, another "Been There Done That (drug edition)" has been doing well in phase III trials. Hooray!
That is all, friends. Hopefully I will have more interest from the publishing world soon. Oh, did you all go out and buy a Eula Biss book? No? FOR SHAME!
Today was my first day being an Editorial Intern! Actually, it's pretty cool. I basically do exactly what the editorial assistant would be doing if there wasn't an editorial intern to do it for her. Read submissions. Write reading recommendations. File things. Also moderate the web forum so that the kids don't scare each other.
Things I have never done before and are harder than they look: using a letter opener.
Potential disasters:
1. Tearing people's submissions in half
2. Tearing a letter from the publisher's insurance company in half
3. Giving up, opening it by hand, and tearing the top off someone's cover letter.
4. Stabbing oneself
5. Scratching oneself
NOTE: 4 and 5 are different. When you stab yourself, you get a puncture wound. When you scratch yourself it's much more mild.
Other injuries incurred: The welt on my left hand due to one of those heavy duty rubber bands. It had previously been holding a huge-ass stack of envelopes together. Yet, when I tried to put it BACK around that self-same huge-ass stack of envelopes, all hell broke loose. Your sympathy is much appreciated.
Today was a lot of learning the, uh, "ropes" (as the kids are calling it these days), but I did go through a huge stack of "humor" submissions.
I do not fancy myself an expert on the process. I do not even fancy myself an expert on good writing, and certainly not on humor-writing. HOWEVER. I am fairly certain that "not TOO terribly depressing" does not COUNT as humor. Other things that do not count as humor: "Ha ha we thought a murderer broke into the house. He didn't."
Actually I will be honest...form-rejection was scaring the hell out of me. That is the part where I, your lowly intern, try to weed out the obvious "no's" so that the lovely editorial assistant did not have to read them. But, especially because it was supposed to be "humor," I was just terrified that my particular sense of humor was just too picky / not right for the magazine and that I was going to reject what was, in reality, the most vomit-inducingly funny pieces ever.
Well that was an attractive way to put it.
I plan on getting over it, though.
And I read a couple really good stories! Okay, one. But it was really good!
Okay, since we are discussing hazards, remember how I said I had fifteen blood tests done? That amounted to 8 vials of blood taken, which has resulted in a really impressive bruise. Four inches long about that vein.
The nice part of all this is that I have no heard back from my doctor about the results of these tests. Oh, she called, let's not get ahead of ourselves. And she left a message saying basically "Oh, you're not picking up your phone. Cool. Well, I'm leaving town tomorrow. Bye!"
In the meantime, I have these swollen lymph nodes in my neck that have been there for more than two months now. Originally it was assumed I had a mild cold or allergies, then it was assumed I had mono, then three mono tests came back negative and we were about to flip our shit and get the suckers biopsied when a savior mono test came back positive. Backstory: complete.
So, having found what I thought was another swollen node in the groin area and having a freaking panic attack, and having JUST been hit with the fatigue that should have hit, like, when I still had mono, I went to my doctor a few days ago to hear the following phrases that you never really want to hear from your doctor:
"Oh, yeah, you're right. Mono doesn't really work like that."
"Don't worry, that's not another gland, that's just a cyst. Hold up. Why do you have a cyst?"*
"Well we'll do the basic test now. If it comes back wonky, we'll do a more expensive test. Tell your parents, because nothing ever comes back normal with you."
"When was your last kidney biopsy? Really? That long ago? Hmm."
*Been There Done That (Cyst in the Reproductive System Edition): Two years ago, or three, who really knows, I had a cyst the size of a lemon removed from my left ovary. But since my doctor would not say anything besides "cyst, not gland, go see your OBGYN have fun" we may get a repeat of Cyst in the Reproductive System. Which, incidentally, has nothing to do with lupus.
"Your blood pressure is perfect. GOOD JOB." Why thank you, nurse.
Other things I enjoy: Getting an email telling me that CellCept, another "Been There Done That (drug edition)" has been doing well in phase III trials. Hooray!
That is all, friends. Hopefully I will have more interest from the publishing world soon. Oh, did you all go out and buy a Eula Biss book? No? FOR SHAME!
Sunday, June 13, 2010
That Time I Frightened Eula Biss with an Over-Abundance of Love
Putting yourself and thousands of books outside in the middle of June is really just asking to be rained on, as the Printer's Row book fair in Chicago has learned basically every year it exists. Pre-rain, however, my lovely friend and I wandered pretty aimlessly through the shelves, discussing what bad readers we are and trying to figure out why we are not in the loop on what's "in" right now in the bookish world. I was of course keeping my eye out for any 18th century I might have missed, but (shockingly) found nothing of great interest on that front. I did buy Bill Bryson's A Walk in the Woods, because on my reading list I had written "Also more Bill Bryson." I also, in an attempt to personally keep Sandmeyer's Bookstore afloat(Chicagoans: buy local!)bought Drown (Junot Diaz); What We Talk About When We Talk About Love (Raymond Carver) and The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver - I had never heard of it before but my friend handed it to me and said "you must." So I will.)
Okay, but. We were wandering around this table that had "all books for ten dollars" which, you know, is good, but my book buying addiction tends to come from Bargain Books in Mishawaka, IN where I can get everything for $5 or less so I was being pretty picky. Just when I was about to leave (in a HUFF. No. Just kidding. Not huffy at all), I looked up and saw a little tab sticking out of a book saying "Eula Biss signing books TODAY" and I look down, and there is Eula Biss' book Notes from No Man's Land, and I look up and there is Eula Biss smiling around. Ladies and gentlemen, I nearly passed out. Well, I jumped. Literally. My heels left the ground. And I went bright red, and I said something along the lines of "ohmygodhiIloveyou." She looked mildly taken aback. If I could remember our conversation I would write it out, but I can't, and plus it was more me babbling at her than a real conversation.
Oh, but, who IS Eula Biss, you ask?
Eula Biss is an American essayist, who teaches nonfiction at Northwestern University. She wrote an essay called The Pain Scale, which I am absolutely in love with for several reasons. 1. I relate to it, it being about chronic pain. 2. It is supremely un-whiny while being at the same time incredibly emotive. 3. Eula Biss takes lots of outside sources and random interesting facts and puts them together to make an incredible essay. I am TERRIBLE at weaving interesting tidbits into my writing. Apart from the article I wrote about lupus where I incorporated Eula Biss. So that does not really count.
You can read most of The Pain Scale here: http://books.google.com/books?id=wKmKh7slk6wC&pg=PA28&lpg=PA28&dq=the+pain+scale+eula+biss&source=bl&ots=TL79_9RPy5&sig=hjT1H7TfKCNiOgnV6pnseu53GP0&hl=en&ei=A3EVTKfwCsKHnQf8-fn7Cw&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=10&ved=0CD0Q6AEwCQ#v=onepage&q=the%20pain%20scale%20eula%20biss&f=false. Now. Go buy a Eula Biss book.
Having received a shiny signed copy of Notes from No Man's Land, I wandered away from the table to find where I was supposed to pay, only to realize, after Eula Biss waved merrily at me while I was hovering awkwardly near where I thought I was supposed to be, that I should've paid the woman who'd been standing next to Eula Biss the entire time. I then went back and assured them I was not walking off with the book. Sheepish look count: over 6 in the course of about 5 minutes.
Point: I MET EULA BISS TODAY!
Now. I really want to tell you all things about my last doctor's appointment, but I am also waiting for the results of 15 (fifteen.) blood tests and, really, all stories are better when they've got some sort of ending (even if it is the "to be continued" sort), so we are taking a Geek Out About Eula Biss Interlude.
Okay, but. We were wandering around this table that had "all books for ten dollars" which, you know, is good, but my book buying addiction tends to come from Bargain Books in Mishawaka, IN where I can get everything for $5 or less so I was being pretty picky. Just when I was about to leave (in a HUFF. No. Just kidding. Not huffy at all), I looked up and saw a little tab sticking out of a book saying "Eula Biss signing books TODAY" and I look down, and there is Eula Biss' book Notes from No Man's Land, and I look up and there is Eula Biss smiling around. Ladies and gentlemen, I nearly passed out. Well, I jumped. Literally. My heels left the ground. And I went bright red, and I said something along the lines of "ohmygodhiIloveyou." She looked mildly taken aback. If I could remember our conversation I would write it out, but I can't, and plus it was more me babbling at her than a real conversation.
Oh, but, who IS Eula Biss, you ask?
Eula Biss is an American essayist, who teaches nonfiction at Northwestern University. She wrote an essay called The Pain Scale, which I am absolutely in love with for several reasons. 1. I relate to it, it being about chronic pain. 2. It is supremely un-whiny while being at the same time incredibly emotive. 3. Eula Biss takes lots of outside sources and random interesting facts and puts them together to make an incredible essay. I am TERRIBLE at weaving interesting tidbits into my writing. Apart from the article I wrote about lupus where I incorporated Eula Biss. So that does not really count.
You can read most of The Pain Scale here: http://books.google.com/books?id=wKmKh7slk6wC&pg=PA28&lpg=PA28&dq=the+pain+scale+eula+biss&source=bl&ots=TL79_9RPy5&sig=hjT1H7TfKCNiOgnV6pnseu53GP0&hl=en&ei=A3EVTKfwCsKHnQf8-fn7Cw&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=10&ved=0CD0Q6AEwCQ#v=onepage&q=the%20pain%20scale%20eula%20biss&f=false. Now. Go buy a Eula Biss book.
Having received a shiny signed copy of Notes from No Man's Land, I wandered away from the table to find where I was supposed to pay, only to realize, after Eula Biss waved merrily at me while I was hovering awkwardly near where I thought I was supposed to be, that I should've paid the woman who'd been standing next to Eula Biss the entire time. I then went back and assured them I was not walking off with the book. Sheepish look count: over 6 in the course of about 5 minutes.
Point: I MET EULA BISS TODAY!
Now. I really want to tell you all things about my last doctor's appointment, but I am also waiting for the results of 15 (fifteen.) blood tests and, really, all stories are better when they've got some sort of ending (even if it is the "to be continued" sort), so we are taking a Geek Out About Eula Biss Interlude.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Hello Blogosphere
I confess myself to be utterly unpracticed in the rules n' tools of blogging (I just made that phrase up). I read a couple blogs...I keep a journal...But I was sitting on my big, fat (useful) creative writing major and thinking, and my thoughts came out something along the lines of "Dude, I'm bored, start a blog already."
I dislike blogs that act as journals. If I wanted you to see my whiny side, if you needed to appreciate how dramatic and hormonal I can be, I would hand you my Cat in the Hat diary (made from an old library book; feel free to be jealous) and let you go to town with it. To air my personal trouble across the "tweet-scape" (Jon Stewart) would be, what's the word...obnoxious? Uncalled for? Boring? So I fell to thinking, in my usual eloquent way, "durrr...but what would I blog about? The internship I have this summer publishing children's literary magazines? My really exciting chronic illness? My slightly unhealthy obsession with the 18th century? My writing? My dorky love of birds?" For sure, my inability to choose a headline for this blog was what delayed this blog's existence for so long. It was solved, as so many things are, with a pun. Oh, the puns. So, since my internship is in the Loop, and I have Lupus, and...and the 18th century is Loopy, and birds...birds fly in loops? Okay, the idea runs out there. Those first three are probably going to take the lead in my blogging, at least until I go back to school. Because I also tend to dislike the idea of talking about my writing on the "tweet-scape," because I feel that that will just lead to excerpts and there's nothing more annoying than excerpts unless, of course, something is being published (oh, the hopes, the dreams, the delusions) and then I would be all "doesn't this sound fantastic you should buy it here's an obnoxious excerpt." ("my friend wrote a book and all I got was this lousy excerpt"? Pause for groan.)
I have a tendency to ramble.
Now, I have been sitting in front of this computer for about 5 minutes trying to think of a decent segue from "well, here's what I guess I'll talk about" to "blah blah blah talking about it." I have failed, and you have my most sincere apologies. Since I am at least mildly using this space as a way to spread awareness (I hate that phrase, but I'm having trouble coming up with a better one. It's just that spread seems to imply a gooey and spreadable substance and I don't want y'all to have to shower post-blog) about lupus I will give you a brief overview because "In a nationwide poll of 1,000 adults conducted for the LFA, 38% said they are somewhat or very familiar with lupus, while 39% have only heard of the name of the disease and 22% have never heard of lupus" and "While 65% of respondents to this survey claimed awareness of lupus, only 20% could correctly answer basic questions about the disease." (Information off Lupus.org). I'm just sayin', don't think I'm insulting your intelligence or anything by teaching at you for a moment. A brief moment. You'll hardly notice it happening.
First off, a lot of people who know someone with lupus but do not know about the disease think that lupus attacks the immune system, because you'll have noticed your aunt (when I tell people I have lupus, somehow they always respond "wow, I'm sorry, my aunt has that...") is sick all the time. In fact, lupus is an attackING immune system. Now, I'm no immunologist (Hi. Creative writing major.) so I cannot tell you much about the why's and the how's, and I gather that neither can the immunologists. The immune system gets confused and a civil war breaks out: body's own immune system vs. body's own muscle tissue. In my case, I was diagnosed when I was 9, which is quite young, and I had what my doctor called "galloping lupus" for years n' years. Most visible symptoms: a 'butterfly rash' on my face, swollen (really swollen) fingers, and a general inability to move with anything like agility. Invisible symptoms: soul-crushing fatigue and slow kidney failure.
I'm bored of this description now, but should probably add the explanation of the paradox: Hulk immune system and always sick? They treat lupus using immunosuppressents which means that while I'm on meds I do not have an immune system, and, therefore, the immune system can't attack me. Good plan, except for my freshman year of college I contracted 3 sinus infections and pneumonia. To wrap this up (seriously, I'm bored.) when I was 15, out of sheer desperation, they shoved me on this chemotherapy called Rituxumab which is really for b-cell lymphoma. It wiped out all my b-cells and herded the galloping lupus into a, uh, pasture or something.
Moving on, and I hope that was fascinating. Well, my computer (McGillicudy) is having some issues with her (yes, her) screen for the past few weeks. It is time for a check-up, and also for me to get caffeine. Lots of it. Next time: things you do not want to hear come out of your doctor's mouth, and, if you're lucky, a brief rant about Daniel Defoe.
I dislike blogs that act as journals. If I wanted you to see my whiny side, if you needed to appreciate how dramatic and hormonal I can be, I would hand you my Cat in the Hat diary (made from an old library book; feel free to be jealous) and let you go to town with it. To air my personal trouble across the "tweet-scape" (Jon Stewart) would be, what's the word...obnoxious? Uncalled for? Boring? So I fell to thinking, in my usual eloquent way, "durrr...but what would I blog about? The internship I have this summer publishing children's literary magazines? My really exciting chronic illness? My slightly unhealthy obsession with the 18th century? My writing? My dorky love of birds?" For sure, my inability to choose a headline for this blog was what delayed this blog's existence for so long. It was solved, as so many things are, with a pun. Oh, the puns. So, since my internship is in the Loop, and I have Lupus, and...and the 18th century is Loopy, and birds...birds fly in loops? Okay, the idea runs out there. Those first three are probably going to take the lead in my blogging, at least until I go back to school. Because I also tend to dislike the idea of talking about my writing on the "tweet-scape," because I feel that that will just lead to excerpts and there's nothing more annoying than excerpts unless, of course, something is being published (oh, the hopes, the dreams, the delusions) and then I would be all "doesn't this sound fantastic you should buy it here's an obnoxious excerpt." ("my friend wrote a book and all I got was this lousy excerpt"? Pause for groan.)
I have a tendency to ramble.
Now, I have been sitting in front of this computer for about 5 minutes trying to think of a decent segue from "well, here's what I guess I'll talk about" to "blah blah blah talking about it." I have failed, and you have my most sincere apologies. Since I am at least mildly using this space as a way to spread awareness (I hate that phrase, but I'm having trouble coming up with a better one. It's just that spread seems to imply a gooey and spreadable substance and I don't want y'all to have to shower post-blog) about lupus I will give you a brief overview because "In a nationwide poll of 1,000 adults conducted for the LFA, 38% said they are somewhat or very familiar with lupus, while 39% have only heard of the name of the disease and 22% have never heard of lupus" and "While 65% of respondents to this survey claimed awareness of lupus, only 20% could correctly answer basic questions about the disease." (Information off Lupus.org). I'm just sayin', don't think I'm insulting your intelligence or anything by teaching at you for a moment. A brief moment. You'll hardly notice it happening.
First off, a lot of people who know someone with lupus but do not know about the disease think that lupus attacks the immune system, because you'll have noticed your aunt (when I tell people I have lupus, somehow they always respond "wow, I'm sorry, my aunt has that...") is sick all the time. In fact, lupus is an attackING immune system. Now, I'm no immunologist (Hi. Creative writing major.) so I cannot tell you much about the why's and the how's, and I gather that neither can the immunologists. The immune system gets confused and a civil war breaks out: body's own immune system vs. body's own muscle tissue. In my case, I was diagnosed when I was 9, which is quite young, and I had what my doctor called "galloping lupus" for years n' years. Most visible symptoms: a 'butterfly rash' on my face, swollen (really swollen) fingers, and a general inability to move with anything like agility. Invisible symptoms: soul-crushing fatigue and slow kidney failure.
I'm bored of this description now, but should probably add the explanation of the paradox: Hulk immune system and always sick? They treat lupus using immunosuppressents which means that while I'm on meds I do not have an immune system, and, therefore, the immune system can't attack me. Good plan, except for my freshman year of college I contracted 3 sinus infections and pneumonia. To wrap this up (seriously, I'm bored.) when I was 15, out of sheer desperation, they shoved me on this chemotherapy called Rituxumab which is really for b-cell lymphoma. It wiped out all my b-cells and herded the galloping lupus into a, uh, pasture or something.
Moving on, and I hope that was fascinating. Well, my computer (McGillicudy) is having some issues with her (yes, her) screen for the past few weeks. It is time for a check-up, and also for me to get caffeine. Lots of it. Next time: things you do not want to hear come out of your doctor's mouth, and, if you're lucky, a brief rant about Daniel Defoe.
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