"We have to remember: There is nothing wrong with women writing about themselves, their youth, their indiscretions, their habits and values and personal development. Men have been writing about this stuff for thousands of years; they call it the canon." -Rebecca Traister (Oh snap!)

(Taken from this article... which is kind of awesome.)

This whole Emily Gould blog controversy has been very entertaining this past week.... and the breadth of the reactions she is receiving is mind-boggling. This girl has prompted many a writer and armchair social critic to sum up our entire generation based on her story. And THEN they start bringing in 'Sex and the City' comparisons and tying it all up with a pretty bow.

Word of the day: zeitgeist.

Hey, I'd rather say that blogs and blogging culture and the blogosphere and whatever other crazy buzzwords there are capture a zeitgeist for my generation than say that "Gossip Girl" does. Because I read that somewhere. And a portion of my soul crumbled in to a pile of sand like Wile E. Coyote after an explosive run-in with the roadrunner. The roadrunner here being the mind-numbing, irrelevant garbagey entertainment that people are just lapping up these days.

Just a second, let me just hop down off of my high horse.

Hey, Friday!

And it's nearly June. Remember when June was the best month of the year? When it meant summer vacation was starting. I'm thinking back to elementary school days when your main responsibility was to get sun-burned and come home smelling like a dirty little kid. You know that smell? It's pretty gross, but totally respectable.

Looks like a thunderstorm outside. And there was that unmistakable dirty rain smell this morning. Someone once told me that smell was the smell of worms.... that can't be true. Right?

Damn dirty apes!

I got all spring-cleany last night and rearranged the furniture in my bedroom. Mostly I did it so that I could have a place to put the plant that I took from the library where it could get some sunlight so it could breathe and do its photosynthesizing. How that plant survived in the concrete wonderland of the library is beyond me. But, it is now sitting squat in front of my bedroom window. And it really adds a little something to my room, I must say.

The problems herein lies: when I moved my bed and nightstand, I had to unplug my alarm clock and replug it in elsewhere. I reset the clock, naturally... but not the alarm. I woke up with about twenty minutes to get ready.

Why does my body choose 7:20 to wake up when my alarm isn't set properly? Why not 6:30, the time when I actually do get up each morning? Just wondering. Leaves me just enough time to look nearly pulled together, but with some detail just a smidge off. For example, today I'm wearing a shirt that I have never worn to work before, and because I didn't have time to really examine my outfit, my boobs are hanging out. So. I'll look very professional at my meetings today.

Um, I read this article a few moments ago... it's kind of... rendering me speechless. And I'm not sure why. It's just fascinating.

"Lost" finale tonight! 2 hours. What more can I say?

With my monitor at home not working, that means my speakers aren't working, and that means I can't listen to music while I do things. And this has really changed the tone of my quotidian activities. So yesterday I used the dvd player in my room as a cd player (janky) and dusted off my cds. I found one tucked in to my old cd case that was titled "Summer 2003 Mix."

Now, you may not know this, but I am a fantastic mix maker. It's probably my super power. And because the summer of 2003 was such a strange, puppy-love infused, emotional tornado, I figured this mix would be a good one. Any mix that begins with the sensual guitar plucking of "Dust in the Wind" is bound to pack a punch. Ha.

I realized a couple of things, though. A) I was the worlds largest sap. I should have a certificate or something. And B) I'm so very glad I went through all of that when I did, when it was still acceptable for me be to irrational. Glad beyond words. Because if I was going through that crazy first love stuff now, I'd be making some very poorly informed decisions.

I was ready to get married when I was 17. I thought I knew everything there was to know about love. At 17! I was sure that I would never feel that way again, that I was fated to marry this boy. I was very dramatic and serious about it. And maybe it isn't possible to feel that way again - mostly because I'll never be that uninformed, or naive, or untried again. But heavens to Betsy... I'm watching friends go through it now. And I can't say anything. Well, I could. But it would fall on the deafest of ears.

Big sigh.

I feel like I'm 22 going on 50. I had one of those Dove promises the other day, the ones with the little messages inside the wrapper. It said "don't think so much." I left it sitting out on my desk. It's right under the fortune that I taped on to my monitor that says, "You may end up saving the day."

Too bad Oprah's empire is crumbling at the feet of power lesbian Ellen DeGeneres

My mom is convinced I should work for Oprah. In the past 24 hours or so, she has sent me 7 emails imploring me to apply to work at Harpo studios in Chicago. She is under the (obviously inaccurate) impression that I'm qualified to be an Associate Producer for Oprah's talk show.

I just got this email from her:

"HMMM....I can already see you working with Oprah. If you go on the website and don't put in a specific career and hit search all of the jobs will come up. I know you wouldn't have been able to figure that out...I am the only one that is smart enough to do that. Love ya"

What a wise-ass.

In other news, I'll never find a man if I keep farting. Dang. You know, of all the double standards I have to deal with, I think that is the most infuriating. Maybe I'll never earn an equal salary, but for the love of God, I hope I live to see the day when I can rip a little ass and not be judged for it.

Home, home on the lake

I'm writing from my mom's house, on Lake St. Clair. Since she moved here during my freshman year of college, away from my hometown and everything that mattered to me at the time, I've teetered on the edge of hating this place.

But it feels like home base now. Right on the water, it has become impossible to hold on to my dislike. It has always been beautiful here. My resentment for this place always had more to do with the varying degrees of misery I felt while living here - no of which, of course, had much at all to do with this actual place.

But I sat out on the dock today, reading. I spent a whole summer doing that once, and I never thought I would feel nostalgic for that terrible summer of getting dumped and spending the consequent months pulling up my socks. But at least then, while I was so sad, I was getting a tan and not working, living like a child. My life will never like that again, I don't think. So, I miss it.

The shallow water off the dock like chocolate milk, the expanse of the lake spreading out all around the peninsula dock, with little specks of Canada or Michigan (I never was clear on which it is) out on the horizon. And my mom's refusal to live anywhere that doesn't offer her a clear view of the lake. She'd rather stay here forever in this tiny house - renting, for Pete's sake! - than move inland. She knows what she's doing.

And my nephew is sitting behind me on his potty. Ha. How drastically a place can change in just a year or 2. Let it all out, little man.

When I was somewhere right in the middle of my awkward middle school years, a couple of friends and I went to blockbuster and rented a random movie. We couldn't think of anything in particular that we wanted to see, and we recognized Lisa Kudrow on the cover on one, so we grabbed that.

Well, the movie was "Clockwatchers." Being that we were pre-pubescent and workplace humor was the exact opposite of what we found funny, the movie stank.

That movie just crossed my mind, probably because I keep looking at the clock and willing minutes to shorten.

I'd probably rather enjoy that movie now, actually. How lame. It's all coming full-circle here, folks...

It was about 40 degrees outside when I walked to work this morning. It's May 23rd. I recognize that me commenting on the weather is so very pedestrian. But come on. My toesies were freezing.

I spent most of yesterday feeling jealous of each and every student I saw tapping away at their laptops, textbooks open, notes sprawled across a table. Oh, to be a a student again. I, on the other hand, spent the afternoon locking horns with the most difficult woman in the world, who I will refer to as Miss Swan. It was an epic battle. And re-established my desperate desire to get far, far away from this job.

This day just needs to pass.

I just read this article on nytimes.com that warns of the perils of blogging. But this article did nothing to discourage me - in fact, it made me fantasize about being a professional blogger, just like Emily Gould, the subject/author of the article. Sure, she mangled a few personal relationships and ended up suffering through near-daily panic attacks as a direct result of her job. Sounds kind of great to me.

(How sad is it that the terrible, sad details of her life are appealing to me?)

Mistake number one of the day: wearing a tube top to work. What was I thinking?

I have my performance evaluation this afternoon with my boss. Sometimes, comparisons between my professional life and 'The Office' are what get me through my days. That, and spending the first 90-120 minutes of my workday drinking coffee that my boss made and playing on the internet.

I think that maybe I'm a bad employee. But, I suppose we'll find out for certain this afternoon on an official human resources document, won't we?

I'm going to Detroit this weekend for the Jason Mraz/Matt Nathanson/Some Other Random Dude concert. The English language lacks the words to describe how stoked I am. The human vocal chords are unable to create the excited squeals that could convey my joy. And it's general admission. Meaning we will arrive much too early and then get the best standing spots in the house!

Then, Memorial Day Weekend. At my mom's house, on Lake St. Clair. The weather is supposed to be warm and sunny, but we'll see if that pans out.

Adventures in Premeditated Vagrancy

As spring is crawling towards summer, the feeling of impermanence in my life is amplifying. I have been saying for a couple of months now that I'm probably leaving Ann Arbor at the end of the summer when my lease runs out. And the amount of time between present day and that abstract end of the summer keeps getting smaller and smaller. Now that my imminent move feels more real, I am so much more aware of the fact that my time here isn't going to stretch on into eternity - which is how it has felt, particularly during slow days at work.

But I feel better now, and stronger, than I have in months. Knowing that I'm leaving has lent me this sense of 'I'm leaving anyway, so nothing I do now is all that important'. It's a kind of freedom. Like when you accidentally go home with a guy that tells you in the morning that he has a girlfriend. You know that nothing will develop between you and this profoundly terrible person, so you are free to be yourself without the fear of rejection or judgment. Not that I know about that sort of situation. Merely hypothetical.

I've noticed this with other friends, too. Two of my close friends got in to serious relationships within weeks of graduating from college, when they had spent their entire undergraduate careers not getting close to anyone. Something about having a distinct end in sight changes us. It's heartening. It allows us to cast off the little anxieties that keep us in our holes.

Anyways.

I spent my walk to work this morning thinking about Portland. I know I will be there until at least Christmastime. But after that, well, I could be anywhere. I am, therefore, looking at this move to Portland as a working vacation. And I feel great about that.

Basically, I'm ready to being my stint as a vagabond. This still will last until further notice.

But, I have to make it through a 3 hour committee meeting this afternoon regarding the future of libraries on central campus. How am I qualified to make decisions about not only the library I work in, but libraries on campus and how they will combine to form one coherent library infrastructure? Well, frankly, I'm not. But I'll spout off my unqualified opinions if asked. I'm leaving! They can clean up after me when I'm gone. (What a team player.)

Boring day at the library...

I know, it must sound like quite the oxymoron.

First of all, my boss isn't in today. The cat is away. Thus, this mouse feels obligated to play. I'm taking it easy today. Mostly just messing around on the interweb.

I went on a date last night. For the first time in, oh, 3 years. And the few boyfriend dates I went on don't count - but even if they did, those were quite some time ago as well. I met someone at a bar, we talked about literature at said bar, and then he asked me out on a date. So we went and drank delicious (and potent) martinis at a fancy little bar and talked about books and authors and what-have-you.

I didn't even realize that people still did that. Went out on dates. But it's a totally different scene. Sitting, face to face, and just talking. It's like a job interview, but worse. And it didn't help that I was totally nervous and felt the need to fill every little gap in the conversation with anything that came to my mind. At one point I was speaking and I could hear that I wasn't even making sense, not even to myself.

He probably thought I was obnoxious and lame, being that he is an incredibly smart PhD student. But, at the very least, I got a couple of good drinks and a few hours seriously nerdy but really great conversation.

Dating, man. What a crazy thing.

In other news, I have all but made up my mind to move to Portland. Which is scary and huge and exciting. And gut-wrenching.

To $1 burger/$2 pint happy hour after work with Workfriend and his girlfriend. $1 burgers?! Are you kidding me? Can't wait.

2.5 hours left. That feels almost unfathomable and infinite right now.

Going Off the Rails on a Misery Train

I would have said 'crazy train', but that doesn't quite capture how I'm feeling.

Early meeting that starts in an hour? Eh, I could take it or leave it. But the home-baked delicious treats and coffee that will be there? Yes. Double yes. My boss's husband always bakes for our staff meetings, which I find seriously awesome - because he doesn't have a job and she makes six figures and she asks him to bake for meetings and events so he 'feels needed'. Ha. And the man makes a mean cream cheese brownie. But sometimes he switches it up and makes muffins for morning meetings. Which actually, on second thought, are kind of better than his cookies and brownies.

Wow. I feel like such a grown-up right now.

One of the librarians quit while I was in Guatemala. Well, he 'resigned', and it was completely unexpected. My boss isn't legally allowed to tell us what happened... and believe me, I tried to find out yesterday. I pulled the old "It was such a surprise that he left, I couldn't believe it when I saw the email." Then I paused and waited for her to give me the details. She said that she couldn't say anything, because it's personal, blah blah, and I said, "No, I figured. I wasn't even going to ask you about it." The old 'ask about it by not asking about it' trick. Good for him, though. There are probably better ways to quit than doing it without warning and leaving everyone else in the lurch. But it's good to see someone get out, that it's possible.

I must have turned my alarm off this morning. I woke up at 7:22, and I have to be ready by 7:30 if I want to get to work on time. So I look cute today. And I have one of those slow developing terrible sinusy colds. Which I'm willing to bet is some sort of Guatemalan stray dog flu or something.

I'm reading "The Journals of John Cheever" again. I bought my own copy this time. He's such a good writer. And it reminds me so much of the last semester of my senior year, when I was studying him in the best class I ever took in college - my senior seminar taught by Michael Byers (cue the angelic choirs). I would get so in to what he was saying and the texts we read, that I almost started crying at least twice in that classroom. Michael Byers... what a brilliant guy. And it's a good thing I didn't read his novel and his stories until after the class had finished. I would have turned in to a serious stalker. I would recommend him to anyone - particularly his collection of short stories.

I thought I saw him walking on campus the other day. That happens quite often, actually. Ah, wishful thinking. It was just another tiny, well-dressed, dark haired man.

I'm still thinking about Portland. With every free moment I have. I think I need to just do it. I know that going out there will give me the kind of life that I want. And there's a chance that in a few months I would end up going to Italy for a while with Marge. And that possibility is really what's pushing me onward.

A little work, then meeting/muffin time.

It turns out that cheesy 80's American rock lives on in the Guat

I heard "It Must've Been Love" by Roxanna 3 times whilst in Guatemala. Needless to say, I was excited each time.





What an amazing trip. And it didn't fly by, either, because we were working hard each day. But I wasn't ready to come home - quite the opposite, actually. As our plane took off from Guatemala City, I was ready to sign my life away to Habitat for Humanity. Because in light of the work we did and the people that we helped, my life in Michigan feels pretty purposeless and inane. But, because there were no life-signing-away documents at hand, here I sit.





We spent our first night in Antigua, a beautiful old city with cobblestone streets. You can't swing a Guatemalan street dog without hitting a tourist. But the abundance of tourists meant that there were nice little restaurants and shops, so it was a nice way to ease in to (and out of) the trip.

Yeah, that's a volcano in the background.

After our first night in Antigua, we spent our first full day in Guatemala hiking up Picaya, another local volcano. The few people who I have told about this trip have not really been impressed by the volcano hike, but I assure you, it was insanely difficult. It was an hour hike, I think, and it was uphill the entire way (obviously). I was panting like an asthmatic donkey. No, panting is too mild of a verb. I was heaving, or choking, or something equally as painful sounding.

But I made it. And it was worth it. Once we got as high as we were allowed to go, we climbed over piles of hardened lava so that we could get right up to the lava flow. It looked like the end of the world, with the crags of sharp black rock completely surrounding us, the gray sky and the rain. I got right up to the lava flow and poked at it with a large stick, and it was probably one of the coolest things I have done.

We drove to Escuintla after that, and the next day we started building. There is no way that I can explain the experience of building a house with my own hands that will soon shelter a family and become their home. It gave me a satisfaction that I honestly didn't believe I would ever feel. And I won't ever forget the people I met and the things that I saw.

I couldn't really ask for more out of a trip. I made some new friends, had a lot of laughs, and did some very meaningful work. But it's hard to come back to everything that I have. It doesn't feel right. I know that I can't help the fact that I was born in America and that I don't want for anything. But I don't want to be selfish anymore, and I don't want to lose the perspective that I gained.

Time to get back to work. Only 2 more hours in the day.

This will sound heavy-handed... but when I let myself think about what we did last week and the people who were so grateful for our help, my heart aches and I feel like my chest is about to burst. So I have to get through the day and only let my memories of last week come to me in bits. Our team leaders warned us a little about this feeling... and when they did, I knew it would hit me as soon as I got back.

-JZ

T-minus 13 hours 59 minutes

The anticipation is killing me. As if being productive on a Friday afternoon wasn't already a monstrously difficult task.

We leave for the airport at 3:30 am. I don't think I'm going to even attempt to sleep. Considering I didn't do any sort of packing yesterday, I'm not sure there will be any time to actually sleep. No, I did line all of my toiletries up, so that's a tiny bit of pre-packing.

Instead of packing, I went to the bar, and then to a house party. One of my housemates is moving out this weekend, which is very strange. She's the first to go. This is all very reminiscent of when I was 18 years old and everyone was leaving for college. I was a sucker for all things sentimental then, and I still am. Beneath this prickly exterior I'm a terrible softy. Ask all of my student employees who get away with murder.

So, I had to go out for one last drink before she moves away. One last drink turned in to a 1/2 gallon of sangria and another 1/2 gallon of the always delectable 'constant buzz', which is basically the strawberry daiquiri's sauced up, slutty step mom.

Flash forward to me miraculously waking up without an alarm (thank sweet baby Jesus for my internal clock) about 20 minutes before I had to leave for work. I certainly look a fright - such a lovely image to leave my coworkers to just chew on while I'm gone all next week.

Bugs are amazing. There is a little beetle-y looking guy sitting on a piece of paper on my desk right now. I just picked up the paper to get a better look at him, and then shook the paper to try to make him fly away. But he just held on! How do they do that?! Their tiny little bug feet can just hang on. Fascinating.

I will probably be singing a different tune about bugs when I'm lying awake in whatever bed I will be occupying in Guatemala, with a bedsheet pulled up to my eyeballs, imaging the juicy Central American bug species waiting to strike, the likes of which the Midwest could never even dream up.

Hasta luego! If I come back.

Went to Kate Nash Concert; Want to be British

Hola.

Oh, just brushing up on my Spanish.

Why? Beacuse I'm leaving for Guatemala tomorrow night. It's a funny thing, looking forward for so long. Because when what you've been waiting for finally nears arrival, it's almost impossible to imagine not waiting any longer. In 48 hours I will be there. Not here. There. Basically in a different world.

I think this trip is going to have a profound effect on me. Sometimes just reading news articles about food shortages and poverty and terrible realities of our world is enough to make me feel very ridiculous in my own shoes. And ashamed, and undeserving of what I have. Why should I be where I am, and not everyone else in this world who struggles and works so much harder than I do?

But I've never been faced with these things before. I can feel these things, but then return to my life. This trip is going to be eye-opening and I think it will change me. And it won't be a moment too soon.

I went to see Kate Nash perform at St. Andrews Hall last night. It was pretty good, but I have to admit I was a little disappointed. I like her music very much, but for some reason it wasn't all that I expected it to be.

The opening band, however, was totally friggin sweet. They were this little family trio, who I dubbed "The VonTrapp Family Emos" when they pulled up in front of the venue and poured out of their filled-up minivan. There was little 12 year old Rachel on the drums, the dad on keyboard and vocals, and the mom on back-up vocals and slide projector.

They go to flea markets and garage sales and buy old slide reels that belong to strangers. Then they look at the slides, and make up carefully rhymed songs to go along with the slides. It was hilarious, and totally original, and probably the most perfect embodiment of my sense of humor that I have ever seen. Oh dear, it was some good stuff.

We were right in the front. We were those super cool kids who got there way too early. Sarah and I were the first people there, about an hour and a half before doors opened. But, ironically, when we arrived the doors were open and Kate Nash was doing her sound check. So we strolled on in and had a listen. Hey, show me clear boundaries or I will take advantage of the situation.

After we got kicked out we thought drinks were in order, so we skipped across the street to a corner bar. Bottom shelf tequila shot for me, cause apparently I needed to put some hair on my chest. We then stood in line and waited for doors for a long time, but it was a nice day and there was some really great people watching. Random street crazies + hipster/poser kids = good times had by all who are not busy leaning up against things and pushing their lame hipster bangs out of their eyes.

Good lord, I cannot wait to be away from here for a week. Words cannot describe the shiver of loathing that runs through me when one co-worker in particular clears his throat (incessantly) but not just quietly coughing, but by grunt-yelling as loudly as I imagine any human body can possibly manage. It's just awful.

Wonder if I need to unwind at all?

Adios. Hasta la vista (damn, my spanish is bad).