Barbie’s Right…
Math is hard.
Discouraged from vet school…long before blog was a word…I emerged from the journalism track with no direction, leads, or desire to become acquainted with newsrooms. I was a stress case clutching a diploma and wondering what to do with it.
So instead of enduring entry-level office jobs, I escaped to London instead. Working, some, and racking up debt in scandalous, wicked ways. For the first time ever, I paid no attention to schedules, except when clubs were opening and closing. Definitely the thing to do.
Vagabond living is an invaluable exercise for the inherently uptight (me, previously) and recommended in general for cloistered Americans. I wrote not a single word that year, but figured out that exploration (tinged with fear and uncertainty) is the spark that propels me forward. Well, good, because that’s what writing is all about. A blank page at every plateau. The Sybil of career paths for the perpetually restless. Also, it doesn’t involve decimals.
And so a career revolving around words began to take shape. From video scripts (foot in the door) to non-profit crusades (this is getting interesting) to life-altering investigations (I had no idea), writing’s rarely been dull for more than a minute. Being able to do it from anywhere? Pretty priceless. Epiphany-wise, reporting on global nutrition studies probably takes the cake. Man, there’s a lot of good news about vegetables. And, yes, I will go on and on about it whenever I get the chance.
Even the contemptible art of copywriting can be stimulating, especially working alongside talented designers. (Notice how fragments? No longer affect me?)
The only down side to daily word immersion–insufferably high standards for boyfriend email. “LOL” me and you may as well show up in tapered khakis. Give good email and I’ll love you forever. And ever. (I’m going to regret that sentence. And plenty of others, no doubt.)
And Some Sites Worth Seeing
The Onion: Strictly tears of laughter.
Just Do It: 13 tips to trigger some typing.
Grammar Bytes: Guerrilla grammar games.
I love Tim Kreider: I think you might, too.
One Look: Word of the day and so much more.
Grammar Girl: Bite-sized grammar tips, served fresh weekly.
Live from New York: Sometimes, a good laugh sparks the next line.
Writer’s Market: My first freelance gig, all thanks to this vital volume.
Arts & Letters Daily: The entire world in a website from The Chronicle of Higher Education.
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Dare I ask… what’s wrong with tapered khakis?
No immediate answers are popping forth, so maybe nothing. Perhaps I’ve matured since I wrote that post.
No such luck…
Visually: Pleats are like the shoulder pads of menswear. Unnecessary. Puffy in all the wrong places. The worst ones look like they’re concealing a diaper.
Professionally: I just spent a few weeks onsite at a mega corporation, and its “campus” was filled with…you guessed it…pleaty, tapered, tan-pants as far as the eye could see (sometimes attached to cell phone holsters). The conformity of dress mirrored the conformity of thought. Here’s a box: stay in it.
Ethnically: They’re a favorite of middle-aged white male Americans, the last demographic we should look to for refined aesthetic sensibilities. Besides, middle-aged white male Americans have other things to do. Like controlling how we eat, drink, work, drive, live, think…
Globally: The EU is full of diversity, but it almost never shows up to the meetings in khakis. Or white sneakers. Or baseball caps. There’s a reason Europeans giggle when our people board their trains and buses. Namely, khakis, white sneakers, baseball caps.
Politically: Lord knows I love me some Southern folk, but a lot of them look like they were dressed by Jesus himself. Perhaps it was my time spent in South Carolina, where khakis went hand-in-hand with Republicanism and all things churchy, but I’m scarred for life. (Thank you, god, for allowing Zara for Men to flourish in our nation).
And thank you, Josh, for some Sunday morning silliness. I’ve neglected the blog b/c I’ve moved three times in the last six months. I’m happy to report my new neighborhood is 85% khaki-free, with just enough Southern charm to still be dignified. Enjoy your day of rest.