By Corinne Flax

October 19, 2005

Pile Drive Yo Mama

I'm editing the 'additional information' requested by Bank Street. Four additional pages, additional to the four page essay I wrote for them that is. The four page essay which I have still not completely edited because 'polite cough' my friend who said she'd edit it for me hasn't sent it back to me yet. I'm on page two of the additional information, edited by my darling mother, and let me tell you this is not fun. The whole thing has more purple corrections on it then words, and deciphering the changes my mother thinks I should make is not exactly fun or easy. Couldn't I just practice home dentistry or something else painful and dull?

The first page was the worst, now the ink is getting a little bit lighter. I don't mind editing other people's work, but my own, that's torture. For one thing I really begin to dislike myself more and more with each page I reread. I know I wrote the stuff, but why did I have to write so much of it? Wow that second page went by quickly! Probably because my parents got all freaked out about the Museum Studies thing. 

From reading my application essay my parents assumed I wanted to get my masters in Museum Education without any teaching certification, this bugged them out, but they didn't say anything about it to me. My mother kept on hinting that there was something she wanted to talk to me about. "Your father and I are going to have to talk to you soon honey, but not right now." That's what she'd say. I guess I have my parents a little bit scared of me, because I have a tendency to get a little rude and awful when confronted about life decisions. At any rate my mom and I were shopping and she began hinting that there was something she wanted to talk to me about. So I cornered her in a dressing room and beat it out of her.

Well I verbally beat it out of her. She says to me, as she lies cringing in a pile of Old Navy Perfect Fit Silk Thread t-shirts made in the Philippines by tiny impoverished malnourished child laborers, "We're worried you're doing something impractical again. A BA in art history, that's one thing, but an MA in Museum Studies, what are you going to do with your life?" "But mom," I said, "I'm going to get certified to be a teacher too, it's part of the program." 

My mom starts pulling herself up, "You mean certification is part of the program too?"

"Yes mom, it's a dual certification program."

"Oh" she says, then she buys me a pair of corduroys with sequins on the pockets.

So maybe that's why there's so little editing on this section of the essay, or maybe it's just a very good section. 

Here's a question, what's up with contractions, why are they too colloquial? Why do I have to write like a scholar when that's certainly not what I am?

Last night I went into the city to see a friend's play, called "Zastrozzi, The Master of Discipline," it was pretty good. The first act left me cold, the second was a lot better. Part of the issue, for me anyway, was the long windedness of the characters. A lot of the play is about the difference between being blindly happy and faithful and being knowledgeable and accountable for one's own actions. To an extent I liked that, and to an extent I felt preached at. The actors all do a really good job though, and the whole thing is produced by my friend's production company; The 7th Sign. Check them out at www.7thsign.info and go see the play yourself if you want, Tuesdays are half price night, and then you can judge it for yourself.

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October 18, 2005

Stealing Socks

As I write this I have on only one sock. The sock in question is on my right foot, and it has cupcakes on it. As a matter of fact, I stole this sock from my sister a few years ago. (Is it gross that my socks are a few years old? I wash them!!) Since I know my sister reads this blog regularly she now knows I stole her socks, which she probably knew already. Over the years I've stolen a lot of her socks, and I'm sure it won't stop any time soon. 

Today is another absolutely perfect fall day. It's warm enough outside to wear a t-shirt, but I'm sure it'll be hoodie weather later tonight. I love hoodies, and probably own around ten of them. I'm always on the look out for a new one though, because they seem to slip through my fingers. There's a constant flux in the number of hoodies in my closet. Recently I lost a black fuzzy one, but regained a bright blue one. Sometimes I sit around and contemplate all the clothing I've lost over the years, from hoodies to coats, skirts to t-shirts, and hope that someone out there is finding my clothing and appreciating it. 

A few years ago my brand new brown corduroy jacket was stolen from a bar in Brooklyn, and it nearly broke my heart. This May a black hoodie just disappeared while I was at a graduation party. I say just disappeared because I'm sure no one took it and it was in the car when I got out, and not there when I got back. Obviously it was sucked into a worm hole. I left my orange skirt in a bag at a bar, along with a friend's umbrella. I went back the next day and the umbrella was still there, but the skirt was gone. When I went canoeing on the Saco this summer I intentionally left a shirt on a beach because it was so sodden with canoe water I didn't want to take it, but I also lost a pair of boxers. The boxers in question had pictures of goldfish made out of lily pad leaves on them, which made them extremely cool. I cannot even conceive as to how they were lost, since I never wore them out of the tent, but when I got home they were gone.

All this clothing, lost and gone forever. With a little bit of imagination the lost clothing becomes a shadowy figure both familiar (since it's my cloths) and strange (since some of it I haven't seen in years,) following me through my days and nights. This goes far beyond the casual loss of a sock in a drier. This is some sort of malaise that, if unchecked, could spread beyond the scope of mortal comprehension. Imagine if I start to lose clothing while I'm wearing it! What would I do if in the middle of an interview at say, Columbia, my pants suddenly got lost. The mortification I would endure would be unbearable. Hopefully the laws of physics will prevent this problem from bringing me to much stress.

I know this blog is probably irredeemably silly, but I spent all day writing applications and I'm bored. It was either write about missing socks or about the time I ate a piece of candy with bugs in it. I figured the clothing was more intriguing. Thanks for putting up with my idiosyncracies. 

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October 17, 2005

Use What You Can

You learn about yourself as you get older, you remember the past or you are forced to repeat it, now that I've started with this self centered pomposity I guess I'll continue. One thing I've learned about myself is that I like to have an event as a catalyst for big decisions. For example; I've broken up with a boyfriend on Valentines Day and my birthday, I've quit jobs on the fourth of July, quit smoking cigarettes for my college graduation, and that's not the end of the list, it's just the end of what I'm going to share.

Maybe it's just October, maybe it's that deadlines are creeping closer and closer like wolves around a dying campfire, or maybe it was my birthday; but I'm feeling ready to get down and dirty with the work ethic. It's probably the creeping lupine deadlines that are making me feel so buttoned down, but I'd like to think it's some self motivated inspirational moment of personal epiphany, dammit. 

So my birthday totally rocked, in case you were wondering. There were a couple of flies in the ointment, but you've just got to look at stuff like as an auxiliary source of protein. At least that's how I try to deal with it. My friends are absolutely mad, and I swear there was dancing and singing in the streets, with some extra-curricular silliness at various bars and restaurants. On Sunday morning I tricked AA into making me his famous torta, and let me just say, that was a well played move on my part....mmmm...torta....

I'm actually at the Norwalk Public Library right now, because I thought it would be good for me to get out of the house. Honestly I find it really hard to work on anything if my parents are home, or at least I keep on telling myself that. It was so pretty today the thought of sitting inside staring at a computer screen and trying to formulate a resume creeped me out. I opened the store this morning so my mind is kind of fried on the whole creative thing anyway. Anthony and I did a late brunch and then sat on the porch enjoying the light. Then we went to Valvoline and I got my oil changed...truly exciting. After various other errands I went for a walk along the river, checking out the scenic sites like the Norwalk Asphalt Company, and a huge pile of spent fire extinguishers. Truly a day well spent. 

Tomorrow is all about writing the tough stuff, doing the good editing, writing the lame resume. Today has been about easy stuff, keeping up with emails, pretending to be a freelance writer, and of course writing this blog. I'll be taking out a book on resumes before I leave, but then what? I feel like I'm getting sick, so the best thing to do would be to just go home and eat some soup and go to bed. I've got the complete "Jane Marple" mystery selection by Agatha Christie, which is pretty good reading for me when I'm feeling punk. There's something about having a cold that reminds me of college. I was probably sick 3/4 of the time I was at school, which is three out of four years. So much time spent snuffling in front of a computer screen. I wonder if having a clogged nose clears my mind.

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October 14, 2005

It's My Birthday!

Well well well, it's my birthday! Ya-fricking-hoo. I spent an hour this morning icing cupcakes, and it felt good. The cupcakes are for the second grade class I volunteer in, and also for my coworkers at the Bux. I made mini cupcakes for the baristas and full size ones for the second graders, isn't that funny? You'd think I'd make tiny cakes for 8 year olds, and full size ones for nominal adults, but no! I say those kids need a full size dose of birthday cakery, adults don't really care for cupcakes. I don't even care for these cupcakes all that much. Pretty as they are I made them from a mix and I could smell the chemicals rising out of them as they baked. The chocolate ones just taste brown, and the vanilla ones taste like sugar, the icing is pretty though, and it just felt awesome standing in the kitchen with a butter knife and a tub of icing.

I recommend that more psychiatrists start incorporating mundane household tasks into their treatments. Just imagine, you feel alone and unhappy, your life isn't worth the breath you take. So you decide to go see a therapist. They make you do their ironing for them. You feel better! If you don't feel better they have you rake leaves, and then you feel really good. The ironing made you feel warm and cozy, like you were hanging out in the laundry room at your grandmother's house. The raking brings the color into your cheeks and burns calories. A win-win situation!

So, to get back to the point, it's my birthday. The party is actually tomorrow night. Tonight I'm doing a quiet dinner with that special someone at some French bistro that was in a Woody Allan movie. I've actually never seen an entire Woody Allan movie, but I'm willing to believe he knows a thing or two about French bistros. Tomorrow night there's going to be a big dinner out in Brooklyn at this awesome restaurant called Savoia. I had a birthday dinner there a few years ago but I'm hoping this one will start off better. When I went there for my 22 nd birthday I had just gotten laid off that very day. Then I had to drive to Manhattan to pick up a bunch of people and bring them to Brooklyn to go to the restaurant. There were seven people in my two door Honda, and it was not pretty. Once we got to Savoia everything was great though, and I'm hoping this year will be similar in its greatness if not stress content.

The plan for Saturday is that after Savoia we're (as in this random bunch of people I've cobbled together with the help of Aa,) going to go out and party like rock stars. By that I do not mean we're going to have sex with groupies, or throw TVs out of windows. I also don't mean that we're going to go take Kabala classes or publicize our pregnancies. No what I mean is we're going to drink a whole bunch while laughing, singing, and dancing. We might go to a party at a friend's brother's house, or we might just go to bars. I'd like to see what would happen if we all go to the party at my friend's brother's house, if only because I've never met him.

On Monday I open the store, which means I'll be up at four, and smiling sweetly at customers by 530. Reality will come crashing back to me when the alarm goes off, but until then I'm going to try and force my head up into the clouds. I feel like I'm always telling myself that things are going to get serious in just a couple days, so I won't be saying that here. The fact is I've got three weeks to get out those applications and there's a lot to do still. Until then....cupcakes all around! So for the very first time I'm going to post a picture that is specific to my topic: my birthday and my cupcakes.

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