Haiku in honor of my Old English midterm

Why must nouns decline?
It's so unnecessary
Scip, scipes, scipum

Haiku for delicious political scandal

He is not gay
Larry Craig of Idaho
I’ll use the ladies’

Loyal factotum
Poor Alberto Gonzales
He cannot recall

Haiku for my new cell phone

Technophobe tamer
Motorolla, sleek and black
Your bell tolls for me


Three haiku on Microsoft Excel

Microsoft Excel
Why do you lose my data?
This isn't working

So many errors
I try not to lose patience
I'm pushed to the brink

The data I want
You just can't seem to find it
It's over for us


Haiku for my electric kettle

Melita Express
You boil my water so fast
No need for patience

Dear Cathy,

My mother pointed out that I’m one of a rather select group that you asked to participate in the little “8 interesting things about me” project. Not only am I flattered, I’m also sufficiently self-involved to really enjoy a guilt-free opportunity to write about myself. This isn’t to say that I don’t usually write about myself, just that I’m less likely to feel embarrassed about it in this context.

And so, without further ado, I present you with eight things about me, which will hopefully provide at least a little amusement:

1. I’m not one of these people who have a slew of neat little party tricks. I can’t touch my nose with my tongue, I definitely can’t do a standing backflip, and, to the best of my knowledge I’m not double-jointed anywhere I shouldn’t be. I do, however, have one little talent that either impresses people or causes them to look at me like I’m Linda Blair in The Exorcist. I’m a lefty who also has an odd ability to write backwards nearly as easily and as neatly as I do normally. I don’t think I ever learned how—I just looked at the letters and instinctively inverted them. I’m told Da Vinci, a fellow lefty, also did this, which is, not to put too fine a point on it, flippin’ sweet.

2. When I was about seven, I developed a series of rather unusual habits, some of which have stuck with me. When I take a shower, for example, I always kick the tile just above the drain plug six times. For about two years, I had to go to bed at exactly 9:17. Walking down the hallway at my father’s house, I try to step only on the bumps in the carpet. Sometimes they take the form of games or challenges: If I reach the stop sign before I can count to thirty, I win. I’ve always thought of them that way, as games, although I’m told by people in a position to know that they’re more along the lines of tics or compulsions. I suppose some people would advocate medicating them away. I’ve never wanted to. They are so much a part of my mental landscape that I think I would miss them if they went away.

3. I misspelled the word “occasionally” on a spelling test in ninth grade, ruining my perfect spelling record. My asshole English teacher announced this in front of the entire class, and I’m still bitter about it.

4. When I was seventeen, I wrote an essay that was selected for broadcast on KQED’s Perspectives series. The essay was about why I was a vegetarian, and why I continued to struggle with the temptation to eat meat. A year after it aired (about six and a half years into my vegetarianism), I caved. I secretly fear someone will call me out on it.

5. Some kids go through a shark phase. Some go through an astronaut phase. At ten, I went through a serious Eleanor of Aquitaine phase. I read anything I could get my hands on, and would parrot everything I learned to anyone who would listen. My father jokingly remarked that I was the world’s foremost eleven-year-old scholar of Eleanor of Aquitaine. What’s frightening is that he was probably correct. Once I entered middle school, however, I realized that a small-scale obsession with a relatively obscure monarch of the twelfth century would do little to advance my social standing. This began my long career of trying to be liked and yet not sell my soul, an unhappy compromise I have yet to fully master. Ultimately, this all became fodder for my Stanford admissions essay. Writing is a strange kind of alchemy, transforming bad experiences into good essays.

6. I once locked my keys in the car. With the car still running. For an hour.

7. When I’m really and truly deadlocked on a paper, there’s only one thing that undoes the writer’s block: Broadway musicals. I can’t lie, there’s something about the original Broadway cast recording of A Chorus Line that always pushes me through those last heinous pages of a truly wretched paper. In general, I have fairly decent musical tastes, but Broadway musicals are my tragic and colossal downfall. Sure, they’re cheesy and bombastic, but I’m a sucker for a sweeping melody.

8. I fondly wish that Clinton Kelly of “What Not To Wear” was both straight and my boyfriend. But then, who doesn’t, really?

I hope you feel enriched by this newfound knowledge.

Cheers,
Susie

Dear Cathy,

I learned recently that Avril Lavigne is entangled in some sort of copyright dispute. It's alleged she stole the song "Girlfriend" from some 1970s band. I don't really care whether she did or didn't. Mostly what worries me is that there is more than one person that actually wants to take credit for that crap pile of a song. You'd think it would be hard enough to get one person to own up to it. What's next, two dogs going to court over whose shit is on the carpet?

This has really been bothering me recently.

Yr. most humble and obedient servant &c.,
Susie

P.S. On an unrelated note, do you ever grow out of the thing where you always manage to say something really dumb when a cute guy from work is around? I really hope so.

Dear Cathy,

I have decided to resume blogging so as to amuse you during your period of convalescence. I fear that you may try to do work again for want of distraction, and we can’t have that. I’ve also decided that this should be an epistolary blog, as it’s both classier and removes the illusion that anyone will read this other than you and Lumpy.

After looking over your high school reunion ephemera this weekend, I’ve made some observations about life after high school:

• There’s at least a fifty percent chance of finding Jesus post-graduation. (In Soviet Russia, of course, Jesus finds you.)
• Some of those that find Jesus are interested in turning out “Christ-like athletes.” When crucifixion becomes a sport, we’ll talk. Feel the burn!
• Girls that used to be hoe-y (1) become schoolteachers with exceptional penmanship and attractive daughters. One can only assume such daughters have skanky ambitions of their own.
• To be an adult, you must like hiking, yoga, and wine. Failure on any of these count results in expulsion from the club. If you think wine tastes like ass, I imagine you’re obliged suck it up and pretend.
• Wanting to discuss one’s ailments isn’t just for the elderly and infirm anymore!
• Folks, however much you’d like to believe it, dogs are not biological offspring. Fido’s affections are strongly linked to his stomach, if you catch my drift.
• Everyone tells you that after high school, the smart girls do better than the pretty girls. No greater falsehood has ever been propagated. One or two smart girls might beat the odds, but the pretty girls always win.
  

It’s strange for me to think about these things, as I’m still very much in the process of trying to figure out what, if anything, high school Means. My strongest memory of high school is that overwhelming sensation of waiting for something to happen. It wasn’t an altogether unpleasant sensation, just an odd one. Ultimately nothing ever did manage to happen. Maybe it’s best. In my experience, when things happen in high school, they’re usually bad…or involve pig’s blood.

Go Vikes!

I remain, madam,
Yr. most humble and obedient servant &c.

Susie

(1) If you think "hoe-y" isn't a word, you're probably just imagining it.