Emails...

I feel like a disillusioned school teacher, but the folks of Southwest Florida have severely sorrowed me. I created a little experiment one day, posting an ad on that marvelous window to humanity known as "Craigslist" that asked for someone to be an email pen-pal with. I've received a million and one replies to my silly little post, and 98.5% of them have read something along the lines of: "hey r u 4 reall?/ i wud like to talk so hit me up sumtim k" I mean, honestly, if you're going to simply omit letters from some words (which I would assume is an attempt to type faster) then why leave some in? Why make "would" "wud" but leave "like" alone? Is there a rule to this? Must we keep the silent "e" at all costs? Of course, it's omitted in "sometime," as well as two other correct letters. Maybe there's a letter limit? Five letters for one syllable is right out? Maybe that's it. It must be a code... a code among theives of the English language.

Though then you have to take into account the random added letters that are scattered about hither and thither. One could chalk it up to a typo or perhaps a nervous twitch in the fingers, the result of a nasty knife fight accident, but I don't think that would suit the code. I think we must give these monsters more credit. Surely the added letters denote an important facet of the sentence's meaning? Perhaps a word containing seemingly unnecessary duplicate letters is a key word, needing emphasis and demanding attention?

With that in mind, we must take a closer look at the double punctuation and also at the lack of punctuation. Since "?" and "/" are on the same key on a keyboard, this is a kind of duplicate symbol as used in the sentence above. However, there must be a marked difference in meaning between simply typing two "?"s and a "?" and "/." Two "?" would indicate an urgency and pleading in the question, whereas I believe the substitution of "/" for the second "?" denotes that there will be a severe backlash, or repercussion, if the question is not heeded. This is how the thieves can differentiate between the urgency of pleading questions, which would receive two "?," and the threat of demanding questions, which receive both a "?" and a "/."

As for the lack of any form of punctuation in the least, it is obviously a sign of the apathy of the author. Not apathy towards the English language, but apathy towards the reader. In the sentence above, the author has stated his intent on talking with me "sumtim." This would imply that he would like to build a relationship of some degree with another person. As we all know, this is considered decidedly "uncool" for the average young man under the pressures of society. No man is supposed to need a relationship with anyone but fellow gang members, after all, so to hide the embarrassment of the sentiment, punctuation is omitted. This proves that he's just saying it because he thinks it might be a lark, not that he might enjoy a meaningful correspondence with another human. This taken into account, it also gives a double meaning to the double punctuation seen earlier in the sentence. "?/," as we know, is a threat, but use the very same keys without the "Shift" button, and you get "??," the plea. It is important he keep his uber-tough-guy facade in tact, to the threat is made, but just below the surface, we see a cry for human companionship and care.

The final part of the code to look into in the sentence above is the substitution of words with numbers and single letters. I believe single letters to be an efficiency rule alone, but the use of numbers contains a double meaning. I am quite certian times and dates can be secretly hidden in sentences with this technique when using the code properly. If we look at the sentence above, we can see that the use of the "4" is to draw our attention to every fourth character. This would give us: re?uktstpt. Let's break that down.

"Re?" is a plea for a response, using the abbreviation common in emails. The rest is quite simple really. It stands for "U kan talk so terible pretty, totaly" which is why he wants to form a relationship in the first place.

*Sigh* Well, that's my theory, at least.

The Calls...

...I dread while working in the box office go something like this...

"Thank you for calling the Box Office, how can I help you?"

"Yes this is Susan Sampickle from Naples calling, I need seats D13 and D14 this Thursday."

"Sorry m'am, but those seats have already been booked, I could put you..."

"What do you mean booked?"

"I have already sold those seats, m'am, but I could seat you a few rows back in G..."

"You've sold those seats? But those are the seats I always sit in!"

"Oh... do you have a subscription for those seats on another day, m'am?"

"A subscription? No, I don't subscribe! I just want D14 and 13!"

"Ok, well m'am I'm sorry, but those seats are sold and the closest I could seat you would be in row G..."

"Well I don't want that! That's too far back! I'm not sitting in the back!"

"M'am, row G is only the seventh row back..."

"Exactly!"

"Ok, m'am... well would you like to pick another date?"

"How about next Thursday?"

"I'm sorry, m'am, but the show closes on Sunday."

"Then why did you offer me another date?!"

"Well I just thought I might be able to get you closer on Friday or Saturday night..."

"Well I can't come on those dates! Are you sure D14 and D13 are taken on Thursday?"

"Yes m'am."

"Ugh... well I suppose I just won't come then."

"Ok, m'am, I'm sorry we couldn't accommodate you."

"And just whom am I speaking to?"

"My name is Jenn."

"Jan?"

"Jenn."

"Gwen?"

"Jenn, J-E-N-N."

"Thank you, I should like to speak to your manager."

"Ok, I can put you through to his line but he is out of town at the moment and you'll need to leave a voicemail."

"What?!"

"He's out of town at the moment, m'am."

"Well who IS there?"

"Um, I'm not sure who else is around upstairs at the moment, perhaps the Managing Director..."

"Don't you know anything?"

"I'm sorry m'am... I don't have a way of knowing who is upstairs, but if he's not around, simply leave a message and I know he will call you back."

"Oh don't bother, it's useless."

"Alright, m'am."

"I have made a donation there every year you know!"

"We appreciate that, m'am."

"Yeah well, I can't even get seats to see the show!"

"I can give you seats, just five rows behind row D."

"But that's not what I want! You're not listening to me!"

"I'm sorry m'am, that's all I have available."

"Ugh, I don't believe it, I just don't believe it!"

"I'm very sorry m'am."

THEN SHE JUST HUNG UP... finally!

Worst. Day. Ever.

So here's what I'm up against today:

I'm sick. Like sick as a dog. My head hurts, my throat is numbly raw, I've thrown up a couple of times and when I move around, I feel like I'm floating. I'm just horribly blugh. So why did I come in to work? Well, it's a funny story really...

My neighbor, Andy, works with me, and he was supposed to work with me today. So last night, knowing that I wouldn't survive a day at work, I tried to tell him that I wouldn't be coming in. In the end, he wasn't home, so I left him a note on his door saying that I would come in, but only until someone else came in to cover for me.

Well when I got to work, Andy wasn't there and neither was anyone else. So I rushed to get the Box Office opened... when I realized I didn't have my keys. I went upstairs, got the spare keys, and then opened up the Box Office and made do with the first wave of calls. Then Jason, the business manager who sacrifices himself to help out with the Box Office, showed up and told me that Andy called in sick. Poor guy was sick himself! Argh!

Well, I was already here, so I figured that it was smart just to stay and work... it's not a remarkably strenuous job now, is it? Besides... I'd forgotten my keys! I couldn't get back inside the house. Still, I knew Lee was gonna stop by on his way to work to check on me, so I'd just let him know I needed the house key from him and then it would all be fine.

But when Lee stopped by, I was on the phone and then Jason was talking to me and Lee was fussing about my being ok... and I forgot. That's right. I forgot to tell him I forgot my keys. I didn't realize I forgot until a good ten minutes after he left... and he hasn't got a cell phone. So yeah. That was a great moment. All the world seemed to stop spinning and all I could think about was that I was going to be stuck for six hours when I should be sleeping in bed...
...and the dogs! They would just mess everywhere!!! Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!

Thankfully I had the presence of mind to call my parents. They might be able to save me by going to Naples and getting the house key from Lee. We'll see how it goes.

I just feel like crud. And my tea is way too hot to drink. Ugh. Blugh.
This is just the worst day.
Worst. Day. Ever.

Saying Good-Bye...

...sucks. Not all the time. Not when you're saying farewell to an old roommate who never picked up after themselves or an ex-lover who done you wrong (say that with a strong southern accent... it sounds better). But when you're saying goodbye to a dear family member or two who are going to fly across an ocean to return home and you know you might not see them for a year or two...

...it sucks.

It is one of the hardest things in the world to say goodbye to my grandparents when they finish their visit to the states. Papa knows it's best to keep it short and sweet, I think. He gives you a really big, strong hug that warms you and makes you feel so secure and just says "Goodbye, Jenny, take care." But Nannie's a different story. You can see her bright eyes welling up, but you know she doesn't want you to see her cry. Her hankie comes out, dabs at her nose with a little sniff. She chuckles to blow it all off, but you can still hear the waiver in her voice.

And when she hugs you, you can't feel anything but her sorrow. She clings to you, practically digging her fingers into you. There's a soft sniffle by your ear and you feel your cheek moisten with a tear drop. Yours or hers? She holds you there, so tightly, until you are certain you will openly cry yourself, and then she lets you go. You smile, awkwardly, shrug your shoulders and say "Ah well." She grins a little, her lower lip quivering ever so slightly. You stand there, looking at her, wanting to hug her again and tell her it's all alright and everything will be fine and you'll see her soon...

...but it's in these moments you notice how old she is now, how frail. You feel yourself frantically praying to see her again soon. The tears are welling up in your eyes now too, and you need to go... but how can you? How do you just turn around and walk away now? You look over to Papa and notice his eyes are red with sorrow now too. It hurts. It cuts you so deeply. You have to leave. One more hug? One more hug and you'll really cry. You can't let Nannie see you really cry.

So you go. You numbly turn around and march out of the door, get into the car and go home. You know tomorrow, at three o'clock, as their plane takes off, you'll feel a fresh stab at this wound, but there we are.

Papa always used to say "A good thing must end so a better thing can start" when we were children. I used to cry openly then. Now I'm grown up and I don't. Maybe it would feel better if I did, but not if it made them cry. And maybe it would feel better for them if they cried openly, but not if it made me cry. So we pretend. There's plenty of time for crying once they take off.

The Holidays in Review...

Phew! They're over! There is a slight sense of sadness, but admittedly there is also a massive sense of relief. Holidays are absolutely brillig, but they can be dizzying too... and after eating all that food, getting really dizzy is a potentially messy move. So how were my holidays? What did I learn? What's the New Year got in store?

Well, for starters, this was perhaps the best Christmas I've ever had. Christmas day was simply perfect, in every way. Some who know me well might question if a past Christmas had not brought me more joy... but I remind them all that Santa is a crappy match-maker and there are many different forms of joy. The joy I had then was childish, really, which has only been exposed to me in the light of a major life-change. Childish joy seems fitting at Christmas time... but not when it makes life decisions for you. It's better to leave childish joy to children.

No, the joy I had this season was simply staggering. I think the tradition of gift-receiving improves with age. When you are young, you know what you want, and you're not really too afraid to throw a fit if you don't get it. But as you grow up and become an adult, every present is so valuable. You don't expect anything in particular from anyone, and so everything you receive is just a blessing and a treat. And that's where mature, honest and pure joy comes from. Looking at the set of ice-trays and feeling so happy that someone remembered your new fridge doesn't have an ice-maker. Finding someone bought you a new bag that matches that old pencil case you always carry. Unwrapping little tree-presents that make you grin or giggle, like a tube of chapstick of an interesting flavor or a silly little toy.

And let's not forget the joy of gift-giving! I had no money in my budget for Christmas presents, what with moving and repainting the old house. So I sat down and created art for everyone in my family. I was blessed enough to have my grandparents join us from over the pond, so I wanted to do something special. I made them all caricatures. They all match in style, and instead of using their physical appearances, I used their emotional character as my subject. My brother was the "performer," my father was "ambition," my mother was the "nurturer," and so on. I even made one for Lee.

Lee added a new element to that Christmas. Unlike others who have been by my side before, Lee didn't look at the affair as someone else's Christmas that he was visiting for... he was like a child. His eyes were wide and his heart was open. He was so grateful for every minute he got to share with the family... and it showed. Everyone had gotten him a little something, and he was deeply and honestly impressed and touched by their thoughtfulness. I know it sounds mushy, but seriously, the love around the ancient, fake, spindly, ornament-bedraggled tree in my parent's living room was simply... well it was indescribable.

Now, I know there are many whose Christmas follows the pattern of get up, get breakfast, get presents, get dressed, get eating, get playing, get eating, get undressed, get sleeping... but my family is a little more complex. Christmas is a time for everything to be taken slowly and appreciated. This was annoying as all get-out as a child... but as an adult it's lovely.

So we begin the day with a lovely breakfast, and you must understand that in my family, we compliment food to no end. My grandparents, being gardeners and eating a lot of what they grow themselves and having lived through some tough times, inspire this in us. Papa will cut up some banana to put on his cereal, drizzle a teeny spot of milk on it, take a bite and then relate to you the quality of the banana. "This is a terrific banana, Jenn. Gorgeous and sweet, really lovely." And then I am stuck thinking about bananas. Isn't it wonderful that there is a fruit like the banana? Creamy and sweet, simple to eat, so easy to combine with so many flavors... you can really get lost in the contemplation of how delicious different food are. So we do that for about an hour and then...

Clean up time! No pj's here (though it has been done in the past, when we were little) We get dressed nicely, make-up is applied, everyone looks prim and proper. Then we assemble, with our coffee and tea, around the tree and we begin. The order is always oldest to youngest, so first I find a present for Papa. The labels are usually always riddles as to what the present is, so I read the label aloud, give the present to my brother, Chris, who delivers it to the lucky participant. The present is opened, we all oooh and aaah for a bit, hugs are given in thanks, and then we move on to Nannie... then Dad... then Mum... then Lee... then me... then Chris... round two!

This year, it took us a goodly 3 or 4 hours to empty the underside of the tree. Bums were flat, tummies were rumbly... it's really quite a clever way to make the end of present-unwrapping not such a sad moment on Christmas day. We all stand up and stretch, Mum and Nannie vanish into the kitchen to "check on the bird," and the rest of us clean up the wrapping paper that my parent's dog, Tess, has shredded all over the house and then we lay the table. A full English roast emerges from the kitchen, steaming and flavorful. We all coo about the beautiful feast before us as we try to check our salivations. My God, it was a most heavenly meal. Nannie and Mum outdid themselves. I think all we talked about was the food. And not "Mmm, this is good," but full-out debates about what made the Brussels sprouts so sweet and why the parsnips were better off a little crispy and how massive and light the Yorkshire puds were.

Well the meal was exhausting, but somehow we all managed to trundle over to the couches again. Then begins the next part of our Christmas tradition - tree presents. Many of you are raising an eyebrow thinking, "but you already opened the presents under the tree." See, tree presents don't go under the tree, those are called "big presents," no matter their actual size. Tree presents are little silly or thoughtful treats that are actually hidden on the tree itself. They are the chaser to a full meal and the precursor to an amazing dessert. Tree presents are always from "Santa," though in our tradition of riddling the labels, they are now from the likes of "Santa Sweet," "Santa Smelly," or "Santa Toothy," depending on whether the gift is candy, body spray or tooth-picks. You get the idea. However, this year there were so many, and some were of obscene size for tree presents, that they actually became "next to the tree in a bag" presents. Nonetheless, they were opened and enjoyed.

Now dessert was ready to pop out of the kitchen, but Lee had received a much expected call. His kids were ready for collection. So off he went, while we cleaned up the next splattering of wrapping paper Tess had gotten her jaws on. Argus, who always comes down to Mum and Dad's on holidays, seemed quite happy to watch the little mutt as she chased down the cast aside wrapping paper. His long face propped awkwardly on a skewed limb, one brow raising slightly as if to say, "hey, whatever makes you happy, girl."

Wrapping paper shreddings collected and trashed, we now hurried to prepare the tree for the kids' arrival. We stuffed presents below it, buckets of presents. Some were mailed in from Ohio relatives and friends, others were unloaded from my parents' closets and still others were tagged and tucked under from a crate Lee and I had brought down with us. By the time we were done, the bowels of the tree looked just as laden as they did five or six hours earlier!

Then the children arrived and we repeated steps one and two, only in reverse... and the meal wasn't another roast, it was dessert. They kids wolfed down jello and strawberries and ice-cream while the adults relished in Christmas pudding with homemade brandy butter and custard. Holy crap. Words cannot describe to you how marvelous it was. It probably had more calories than letters in this blog per bite.. but it was Christmas and nobody cares.

Then the children began unwrapping their big presents, and due to time constraints, Chris began to help me find the presents and I began to help him deliver them. This did prove almost catastrophic at one moment, when he picked up a present and claimed "Oh... this is a tree-present." I realized he must have assumed it was a tree-present as the tag read "love from Santa." I shook my head at him to indicate it wasn't, but he continued, "Yes it is, it's from..."

"I know, Chris!" I nodded towards the children who were expectantly awaiting the next present. He raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Chris, they still be..." I froze realizing what I was about to say.That's when the light clicked on for Chris.

"Oooooh, right." Crisis averted. When the kids had finished with all 9,000 of their big presents, we took a little break from it all and did something different. Chris played wildly imaginative bowling games with the children that involved dinosaurs, bowling pins, plastic fruits and veggies and foam hop-scotch pads, while the rest of the grown-ups sat down for a game of cards. Yup, after sitting to open presents, sitting to eat a massive meal, sitting to open more presents, sitting to eat dessert, and then sitting to watch more presents be opened, we sat to a game of cards... with snacks. Again, it was Christmas, and to celebrate the birth of the Lord and Savior, we chose to sit. A lot. Hey, we walked around a bit in between sitting sessions... that was exercise.

Anyway, after I lost all of the money I had borrowed from my Mum in a ruthless game of New Market (you Americans will be clueless. More's the pity.) we got the kids ready for their tree presents. My brother and I had managed to fit all of the children's tree presents on the tree, for the sake of the name, and we were rather proud of ourselves. However, we discovered that there was a great deal of chocolate left by "Santa Sweet," most of which had melted in places thanks to the 800 lights on the tree. Oops. The kids didn't mind, however, and they were simply silly with excitement about all the extra presents.

Then there was a light dinner, because we needed more food, and then finally, we all headed home. What a Christmas. What a remarkable Christmas. However, I had to work the next day, and it was rather haunting, really. I was all alone in the theater. There wasn't another soul. It was... a little creepy, really. All that silence.

Anyway, in the blink of an eye it was New Years Eve, and I had laid no real plans. Lee and I had met with a neighbor in the courtyard of our new apartment who was in a band that would be playing right next to the theater on New Years. He drunkenly begged us to come and see him play, and we tipsily agreed it sounded like a good idea (we were getting to know several of our neighbors through wine and tequila and such...) but come the eve itself, I didn't know what I wanted to do. Mum and Dad were just planning on staying up with Chris, Nannie and Papa... and though I love them dearly, it all sounded a little dull. Living downtown makes you crave action and excitement, you see. Lee and I could hear the party starting but a few blocks away and hemmed and hawed about it for a good half hour. I wanted excitement, but a crowed of 15,000 drunk people might be a little much...

Eventually, we just got dressed and headed out. The plan was to scope it out and just head home if we didn't like it. Well there was no call for that. Two beers in, we saw The Drunk Monkeys, our neighbors band, ascend the stage. They rocked. Any band who covers the Beatles, Queen, the Monkeys, Tenacious D and Flight of the Conchords in the same set is just fine and dandy with me. We were dancing about (in one spot so as not to look as drunk as that guy over there... what is he even doing?) and shouted out all the lines we knew and just had a grand old time. The ball dropped, we cheered and kissed, and then, eventually, we followed the crowds as they leaked down the streets and avenues towards cars, apartments, the weary ones to their beds, the drunk ones to others'. A historic evening for me. The first time I really celebrated the new year.

So what have I learned? What are the tokens of wisdom I am carrying from 2008 onwards into 2009? Well, I have learned that a year is both a very short and a very long time. It seems to fly by as you laugh through the merry moments you make in it, but it passes slowly and gently, giving your wounds are scars time to heal. 2008 has been like a swim in the ocean. I was at first desperate to get into the waves and wash away the sweat and tears that 2007 had slushed upon me. The salt burned for a while, but it felt good, really. I stayed at the shore, just wading really, and then with my move to Lehigh, I was able to swim out a bit. I met with friends further out, and we saved each other from undertows plenty of times. I swam back to shore often, enjoying the ability to relax and feel the warmth of the sun. Still, my adventure was in the waves. I learned new ways to swim. I found new places to swim. I found philosophy in the deep blue of the water and the brilliance of the sky. But eventually, I realized that I didn't need to be out in the water to feel free. Eventually I saw there was a ton of things to discover and places to go in other directions. So I came to shore, picked up my towel, dried off the salt water, and was awfully pleased to find there was only saltwater left on me from the ocean. No sweat. No tears. Just experience. And now begins 2009, with me walking in a new direction.

*Sigh* And there is your dose of sappy to cap off the evening. It's been a really wonderful year. I've had more fun than I know what to do with, and it's gotten me over what I once thought was the end of me. Silly me. It's as if I forgot that I am Jenny Jet. I just keep flying.
~Jenn~
Happy 2009, everyone!

I have found a new passion!

LOLCats are, and always have been, super cool. However, I've always just found them in passing somewhere on the internet and been slightly amused... but now?
NOW I'M ADDICTED!

This is why you haven't heard from me for several days - Iz bean makin' teh lolz. God help me! Think of my last post, my utter rant on typos, and consider that I have spent days sitting on my ass formulating witty and entirely misspelled quips on pictures of cats. (Truth be told, I'm into LOLDogs more... I'm a dog-mom of 4, what did you expect?!) I am the biggest hypocrite. Woot.

Argus, my faithful greyhound, features in many of these. I know he's not big on the idea, but I am sharing one with you all now. Excited much?

http://mine.icanhascheezburger.com/view.aspx?ciid=2568111

Yup... that's m'boy. This is a more correctly spelled one... but yeah. COMMENT ON IT, DAMN YOU!

There are typos, you'll live.

When the creative muse is upon you, who gives a flying foot about typos? You type like a whirlwind, fingers moving like a machine, barely able to keep up with your wonder-spewing mind. Oh yes, you are magnificent...
...and you have no time for typos.

Typos. Even the name points to their being a mistake, an accident brought on by hitting a wrong key or whatnot. Typos don't render your creation any less magnificent - they are the flaws by which your character is revealed. If anything, the reader of your masterpiece should embrace your typos, celebrate them! Let the plebeians revel in the fact that even those bewitched by muses have flaws enough to make error in their work. This train of thought would never survive in the corporate world, I know, but among those who are artists, let typos roam free!

However... that is only in the creation. Come the moment of completion, there begins the stage of editing and my opinions on typos go through a transformation. I become a typo-Nazi. I suddenly forget that typos come about in those hazy moments of creativity wherein nothing but your thoughts matter. I judge the creator based on how many flaws have been made. I mock usage of the wrong "there," I scoff at "effect" and "affect" errors, I scowl every time I see a "d" where an "s" should be, and I crow out about my superiority in grammatical matters. I am a destructive goddess with a red pen, laying all before me to critical waste.

"Atrocity!" I cry out, "Blaspheme!" How can he who pens such butchered work possibly be worth his spit? How dare he write when it is so clear he has no mastery of the language? Who writes "know" when they mean "no?!" It takes more effort to make the mistake! What nonsense! What rubbish! What a calamity!

Imagine my surprise when I take pause to remember it is my own work I am editing.

Ah well, I am a hypocrite, or so it seems. What is to become of me? Allow me to offer you the following link. This is a simple story I wrote around Christmastime last year. Nothing special... BUT it hasn't been edited yet. I grant you permission to mock. Mock, red-pen, edit and scoff...
...as a hypocrite, I bloody well deserve it.
The Story of Barry Blimpkin