A Meditation on Word Counts

This past weekend, I curled up on various comfortable surfaces to write my last major assignment of the semester. The required word count was 2,000-2,500 words, or around 8-10 pages, double-spaced, Times New Roman size 12. I try not to think about length when I write, because I only procrastinate when I am intimidated by the apparent size and difficulty of the task before me. So, in order to prevent the hysteria that ensues when I am down to the (barbed) wire of a due date, I am forced to trick my own brain. Somehow, this is much easier than it sounds.

First, I type my name, the course title, and the date. "Haha, I have words on the page," I tell myself. "Good job, Alicia. Jolly good show." And then I come up with a suitably impressive-sounding title. This title must include a colon. For example:

Small Stories and the Postcolonial State: The Portrayal of Liminality and Identity in Midnight's Children and Between the Assassinations

Classy, isn't it? It helps when you read "postcolonial" with a snobby British accent. I never fail to do so.

Now that I've wasted all of my creative energy on the title, I save the document and close it. The real writing comes a day or two later. Armed with coffee, baggy sweatpants, and a couch, I do battle with my short attention span. Because I am far more wily than accident-plagued Wile E. Coyote, I have learned how to trick my mind into thinking that I am not working nearly as hard as I actually am. And it involves TV.

I wouldn't recommend multitasking to the faint of heart; many people have spouted facts about the detriments of multitasking, but I have twenty years of anecdotal evidence that it works for me. This habit led to my being dubbed "The Homework Ninja" by the girls of First Timmer my freshman year. The real trick is not the multitasking itself, but the choice of TV show. Usually, I choose action shows. The dialogue isn't fascinating enough to thoroughly distract me from the task at hand, but there's usually a nice explosion or two to lighten the mood.

For my Postcolonial Literature paper, I continued my marathon of 24 with my across-the-hall neighbors. I watched Jack Bauer save Washington D.C. whilst I pounded out 2,497 words of a paper exploring the role of multiplicity in the identity of both individuals and postcolonial nations in Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children and Aravind Adiga's Between the Assassinations. (Both are fantastic books, by the way. Consider them recommended.) 

There was also much hat-wearing in honor of Queen's Day, or Koninginnedag

Normally, I find myself comfortably in the center of the necessary word/page count-- just enough length to satisfy the assignment description (with some wiggle room), but not too close to the upper limit to repel stressed-out and possibly vindictive professors. This time, however, I found myself abridging my conclusion immensely (and I am the queen of lengthly conclusions, as well as the great land of Denial) in order to fall within a reasonable interval around 2,500. Maybe it's the topic I chose, or maybe it's because I actually enjoyed the books I had to write about, but it was especially difficult to leave my paper with such an anticlimactic farewell. But sacrifices must be made for the sanity of all involved, so I saved my work (for the 200th time) and closed Microsoft Word with a sigh of contentment and relief.

And then cheered as Jack Bauer saved a metro station from a biological attack.

Aren't we all under the weather?

West Michigan is known for its spastic weather. Known, at least, within West Michigan. Three years ago, as a young freshman hailing (sort of) from the thick red clay and saturating humidity of North Georgia, I was completely unprepared for the mood swings of a temperamental Mother Nature.

The past few weeks have given us sun, snow, rain, hail, thunderstorms, tornado warnings, wind, giving both body and wardrobe an aching whiplash. One day, I pull on my daisy-covered rain boots, the next my hat and gloves, and the next we're opening the patio door for some refreshingly sweet air. And as I fight headache after headache with caffeine, heating pads, Excedrin, and naps, I am humbled (and slightly annoyed) by the power weather holds over me. A single sunny day after months of gray can send me into a tizzy of energy and optimism, while a coming storm can turn me into an hurting, groggy beast of a being.

While I'm sure there is some medical explanation for my responses to the changes in barometric pressure and whatnot, I enjoy my bizarre connection to nature. Because even when I am overloaded with turmoil and stress, wishing that I didn't have to stare at my computer screen for another second, it reminds me to look outside.

An Unintentional Cliffhanger

So, in my haste in writing my last post, I neglected to mention my hard drive. For those of you holding your breath, you may now exhale.

Last semester, my Mac died a sudden death. Because it was in the middle of midterms, I was understandably distressed. (Read: hysterical for nearly a week). What was more heart-breaking was my abrupt loss of pictures, including many from my semester abroad in York, England. However, thanks to the work of some IT help, they were returned to me.

On a tasty note, I made curry chicken pasties today. And they were delicious.

Though I was loathe to share any of my precious pasties, how can I resist that face?

Hopefully, my next post will include a picture of me without a nose splint, and the nose I asked for at the doctor's. I brought in a magazine clipping of Angelina Jolie to make sure they knew exactly what I wanted.

Just kidding. But the idea of bringing a magazine clipping to a doctor's office like you would do for a hair salon is bizarrely humorous to me.  

Fractures and Hard Drives

I have returned safely to Calvin and to the daily grind of being a boring co-ed. Lots of time has passed since my last post, and I'm sure you're thinking: If she's so boring/bored, how can she not have found the time to write a measly blog post?

Mitigating circumstances, my friend. That's what. Because, over a week and a half ago, I found myself staring at a softball. It was coming closer and closer and all I could think was: "Oh shit." My friend took me to a walk-in clinic, and the x-rays confirmed that I had, indeed, broken my nose. And I'm sure you're wondering: How can this simple procedure of rectifying a broken nose have taken a week and a half to resolve?

Having been told to wait until the swelling had gone down before having it fixed, I was forced to wait. I was also forced to fight the bureaucratic system known as military insurance. There were tears, appointments, phone calls, and much begging for rides. But finally, on Thursday of this week, I went into surgery.

Nose broken before surgery...

...and now repaired, held together with spring's hottest new accessory.

So, between that and homework, quizzes, midterms, papers, friends, gym, fun, etc... I found little time for a post. But here it is. And on Thursday, I'll have the splint taken off, and we'll see how it looks. Until then, I try to remain not cross-eyed.

It is also unseasonably warm today. Everyone is in skirts and shorts and T-shirts and tanks-- I haven't seen this much skin since August! It was so nice, in fact, that after church I went for a walk in the nature preserve with a future roomie. I also had a dance party with present roomie Heather and continued my descent into obsession with 24. Kiefer Sutherland will soon be on our Man Wall, hopefully alongside President David Palmer. 

With no motivation to do any more Statistics homework, I will now go work on my opus magnum, my sword-and-sorcery masterpiece. Whatever will my characters do next?

-Momo

Some Photos

Southside Seaport, with some blessed sun!

We made it on the Forever 21 billboard in Times Square.

Outslay Way

Outslay Way. That is the name of one of the streets in Midland Park, NJ, hometown of my roommate Heather. You may now commence your moment of silence in condolences for her, poor, unfortunate soul...

...and now we're back. It is spring break for Calvin, and, instead of going somewhere warmish and sunny, I am outside of NYC, where it is currently hailing/raining. But c'est la vie, and I go to school in West Michigan. A little gray weather isn't going to get me down. We went to The Late Show with some friends, Wonderland on Broadway, the Metropolitan Museum, and, because I am a complete child, the Central Park Zoo.

Some tidbits...
At the Met, as Heather and I marveled over a wondrous Roman mosaic transported from Israel, there was a sudden clatter. What could it be? Oh no! A preteen girl has dropped her camera! But what has happened? Oh no! Behold: a Duracell battery rolls across the ancient tiles, settling in a blemish caused by the ravages of time. "Mom?" she asks. "Should I go get it?" Thankfully, the security guard prevented the klutzy tween from walking across the priceless mosaic to retrieve a AA battery.

A man trying to raise money for homeless shelters also attempted to hook either Heather or I or both of us up with our friend Arnold. By calling Heather and I "hot babes" and Arnold "big guy," and having us link arms, he definitely earned some money for his cause.

When shoe shopping, the saleswoman commented that I need a tan. Yes, I am rather pale. Ghostly, even. Translucent, luminous, what have you. I am readily aware of this. I'm not particularly offended by people's judgment, but it's rather odd to hear it from a complete stranger. Especially from someone trying to sell me something-- isn't she supposed to be buttering me up or something?
I did buy the shoes, though. I guess the joke's on me.

Anywho, that's about it. It was a 12 hour drive back from New Jersey, and I'm tired. But it's good to be back.

The winds, they are a'changin'

Well hello, ephemeral, invisible, and possibly non-existent audience. A good day to you.
This has been quite a week. So, because I like lists, I shall sum it up for you:

1. Had a blast at the Writer's Retreat 2011. Despite fighting a nasty cold, I managed to whip out a sentence for our "worst first sentence of a novel" contest, also known as a Bulwer-Lytton contest. George Bulwer-Lytton is famous for the cliche "It was a dark and stormy night..." More specifically, he began his novel Paul Clifford like so:


It was a dark and stormy night--the rain fell in torrents--except at occasional intervals, when it was      checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating that scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.


And here is my contribution to the contest:


The relationship ended, she realized, the day he had shaved his beard--oh that magnificent beard, which preceded him with proud protuberance, putting the bushy tails of sleek squirrels to such a shame that they brought offerings of winter-aged nuts while weeping over their inadequacy--and every time she looked upon the balded chin bereft of the masculine, yet tender, homage to Sampson's strength, she was overcome with a poignant pain that overshadowed her once all-consuming love.


Which one is worse? You'll be the judge, but remember: mine has squirrels AND beards AND a Biblical allusion. 


2. Got a 99 (yes, out of 100, Dad) on my Japanese midterm. I wasn't particularly worried about it, but it is nice to prove to my new professor that I am a capable, intelligent young woman that my chronic lateness might not suggest. Or my doodling. Or my habit of checking the clock every five minutes. She doesn't know that she's teaching a schoolwork ninja!


3. We got our housing issue worked out, so I will be living with some lovely girls next year who like hugs, respect English majors, and like watching movies. And there's the potential of maintaining proximity to the Conundrum that is my crush. But a lady doesn't not-kiss and tell.


4. I am (drumroll please...) GOING TO ITALY THIS SUMMER!!!! I apologize for the capitalization and exclamation marks, but really, I got a scholarship (which means hopefully zero or little money out of my pocket) to study Italian for a month in Perugia, Italy. Alicia's No Carb Left Behind tour (forget Eat, Pray, Love-- it's going to be Eat, Eat, Eat!)


So, another list of Extra-Concentrated Joy. The sun is out, the temperatures are up, and I am smiling!
--Momo