Hydrangeas
Spring is coming and today was one of those incredibly confusing days where it was too warm to wear a jacket but too chilly to be outside without one. With a glass of water and a 100 calorie Vita-Brownie, I ventured out to my backyard to see what was left behind for us by our home’s previous owners.
Upon first exiting the kitchen, hobbling down five crumbling poured cement steps lined by a rickety old wooden railing, I come to a tiny bordered garden, topped with fat white stones and harboring three not-yet-bloomed hydrangeas. A hydrangea is easy to spot, even in the winter, and I have to admit that I’m less than thrilled to have so many of them in our yard. While I hate the idea of having these bushes on my property, I’m not keen on tearing them up, either. After all, they are living, healthy, and I’ve even saved three from a vine that had wound itself up and down them for what had to have been years. I spent one Sunday afternoon about two weeks ago unwinding the vine from these hydrangea bushes, which I claim to hate, and felt satisfied that I did it. I even uprooted the unwanted vine, but for what? The hydrangeas are coming out just as soon as we buy a birdbath and set up my herb garden. Birdbaths and herb gardens are much more appropriate off-the-kitchen things than hydrangeas, after all.
So what is it about hydrangeas that I dislike so much? I know it comes from my childhood, and while I can’t be sure, I think it was my first encounter with the physical manifestations of pollution.
Along the back corner of the house I grew up in, we had a hydrangea. In the springtime, its stalks grew tiny little leaves that bushed into large green leaves while simultaneously flourishing globes of pink petals that remained through to the end of summer. While watering the Japanese cherry blossom and rows of impatiens and marigolds, I also took great care in watering this hydrangea. I had my sister’s boom box playing Spice Girls and No Doubt and never thought twice about the bush I would come to despise.
One day it occurred to me that more petals in nature, on any flower, seemed to be pink than blue so I asked my parents why our hydrangea was pink and the many hydrangeas along the side of our neighbors’ house were blue. They informed me that it was the level of acidity in the soil that determined if a hydrangea would bloom pink or blue. But there was no more than what…a ten foot difference across our shared driveway from my family’s pink hydrangea to their blue hydrangeas.
Then it started to make sense. My neighbors were never the most social but they were plenty friendly and we had many lengthy conversations post-grocery shopping and other accidental encounters. But one day when I was out watering the flowers, I found a dead fish skeleton next to our pond. I’d had trouble seeing the coy fish in our backyard pond for some time but attributed that to their being so hot and needing the shade of the plants. They had to have been fine—after all, the food all appeared to have been eaten every day within hours of sprinkling the surface with these tiny pellets. But that day when I found the fish skeleton, I suppose enough had been enough.
“I’ve spent so much God damn money, those filthy people need to clean up!”
That was my Dad and he was referring to my neighbors’ infestation of skunks and raccoons. It was a raccoon living under their unkempt house that was pawing through our pond at night and feasting on the inhabitants: countless coy and I’m not sure if the frog hopped away to safety or if it and its tadpoles also fell victim to the nocturnal killer.
Over the next year or so our puppy, Macks, came to enjoy relieving himself on our pink hydrangea. As time went on, the pink hydrangea turned a purple-blue color, and my parents’ point was made.
The level of acidity. My neighbors’ dirty house with windows that were never opened, a lawn not cared for, and rodents who ate our beloved fish, also bred hydrangea bushes that were blue, while a slab of pavement away was my family’s single, pink hydrangea. Until my dog peed all over it.
Maybe I’m nervous to see what color our hydrangeas will be. What if ours bloom an acidic blue? Is it better to rip them out before finding out of offering these innocent plants a chance to thrive with new owners who rescue them from killer vines?
PANGEA DAY
For those of you who missed out on learning about Pangea in middle school, it’s basically the idea that Earth’s seven continents were once one large land mass, and this was named Pangea.
In an attempt to fix our cultural differences back into one, Pangea Day was created and today is the day to celebrate. All around the world, people are observing together. Check out the following sites and enjoy! World peace may one day happen afterall…
And finally, if you want to attend an event, please follow this link and there’s bound to be one near you!
Happy Pangea Day!
“Everyone Deserves A Lifetime”
You know her…or you knew her. The special woman taken too soon because the most beautiful physical feature God endowed to her, her breasts, turned on her.
Over President’s Day Weekend (October 17-19, 2008), a group of friends and I are walking as team “Meet Me Halfway” with the Susan G. Komen for the Cure 3 Day walk in Philly.
The name of our team came from a childhood memory, growing up in Glen Rock–a small town in Bergen County, NJ. Sidewalks lined every street, so when we wanted to see a friend but didn’t want to go to each other’s houses, we would “meet halfway” between our homes and sit down on the sidewalk and chat, no matter if halfway was infront of someone’s driveway or on the corner of a busy intersection. Halfway was fair and halfway was what we did.
Now halfway means a few different things. It means reaching a fundraising goal, a fitness goal–a little effort on our end so that the scientists and researchers can find a cure on their end.
With Spring Semester almost done and a few assignments left to polish and submit, I plan on sharing my journey of preparing for the 60-mile fundraising walk in Philly with you all. It should be fun!
The Art of Unmasking the Odor
If our new apartment wasn’t white on white on white (typical…), it would be green.
My gift to our kitten, Mick, when we moved into the new place was a brand new litter box. It was a gift to him because it was new, clean, and uncut (we mangled his previous box when he was too small to jump in), and a bit of a gift to myself as well because it was triple-layered with an option to sift clumped litter instead of manually scooping it out.
Well, it turns out that this double-priced litter box was not a good fit for Mick. Here’s why:
My kitten likes to stand (on his hind legs) when he goes. Maybe it’s a boy thing. My kitten, when standing, often misses his target. Now I know that’s a boy thing.
The new litter box was double the height, advertised that its tall frame “reduces litter spills.” What it causes, at least in Mick’s case, was a puddle of golden sunshine crusting behind the litter box for only my nose to find.
Lastnight when I got home from school at 9:15pm, eager to get a good night’s sleep before the alarm would go off at 5:45am, I was halted and instead dumped Mick’s old litter, cleaned the box, and started fresh.
Then I get a text message from my boyfriend before I got home from work tonight: This stench is incredible. Something’s gotta be done.
Clorox. Clorox. Clorox. Clorox.
Another late night of cleaning and I’m getting dizzy from all these fumes–I just hope all this Clorox pays off!
Datacloud: Toward a New Theory of Online Work by Johndan Johnson-Eilola
This book–required reading for my graduate course Writing for Electronic Communities at Rowan University–presents framworks of understanding this “datacloud” including articulation theory and symbolic-analytical work. I’m sure my classmates have posted very interesting responses to these two areas (you will find most of them listed on my blogroll in the right gutter of this page), but my response is different. Instead of responding to a text as I do in other blog posts, this one touched me differently and I internalized it more.
It seems that I cannot escape psychology. I don’t know about you, but whenever a theory presents itself or a question is raised, I automatically–and often unwillingly–fall back into psychology to get to the bottom of it. Because theory is not yet fact (please see blog post regarding Ludwig Fleck on what is and is not fact), it’s edges are hazy and the reader must understand this. This is much like the image that Johnson-Eilola draws for us by calling the intangible electronic world a “datacloud.” Cloud might very well be the best word for where our ‘data’ lurks when we are not controlling it.
But where does age come in? When do age and maturity play a hand in how people interact with their technologies?
I couldn’t help but get hung up on the author’s students who seemed to have taken advantage of IMing during class periods. Johnson-Eilola seems continually confused about this, but I don’t think the emphasis should be looked at as individual-to-technology. Instead, I think what would be important to note would be who in the class took advantage, during what contexts, and then theorize as to how this happened.
IMing can be addictive, that’s for sure. And while the author eventually accepts it as a positive–and of course this book is not deeply psychological nor is that its intent–there’s more to it that is not touched on. However, I do commend Mr. Johndan Johnson-Eilola for keeping on track with his thoughts throughout this book, previously his dissertation.
I seriously recommend this to anyone interested techno theory. It just makes too much sense and is too well written to be ignored.
The Art of Retaliation
We’re all basically twenty-two and twenty-three years of age, my friends and I. We graduated college in ’06 and ’07, so we are only now settling into our first full-time, salary-driven, benefits-offering, “real” jobs that may one day lead us into a career. While these entry-level positions may not be where we want to remain for the rest of our lives, we choose them based on what will help us get to where we think we want to be.
For a very dear friend of mine*, her dreams and reality did not work as one. She landed a job with Martha Stewart and was thrilled beyond belief. My friend has always been a dedicated worker. Throughout high school, she played sports and earned As on her report cards. She was admitted into a highly reputable and competitive university, volunteered and interned throughout school, and post-graduation worked 12-hour days to help Martha Stewart continue in success.
Then, one day she and her department were “brought in” and told that they were being replaced by temps, and to please clear their desks immediately.
Now, if I were to ban Martha from my life for that, well, that’d just be silly. But, you see, there’s more to it and here’s the kicker:
Because these employees were laid off on the spot, they had a “choice” of whether or not they were going to receive their two-weeks pay:
1) sign a waiver to not work for any Martha competitor for the next TWO YEARS and receive two-weeks pay
2) do not sign the waiver and do not receive two-weeks pay.
And, along this whole “two” framework–like Martha’s two-sidedness–ex-employees were given two weeks to make up their minds on whether or not they would sign the waiver. My friend, thank the Lord, did not sign.
To retaliate against Martha in my new apartment, I have decided to go the Abbey Smith route while shopping for bathroom towels, rugs, etc. at K-Mart. Sure, MS is cheaper, but could this be part of the reason why? Because she fires full-time employees and replaces them with temps??
It is a shame that I based this blog and my domestication aspirations on someone like Martha Stewart.
*For privacy reasons, my friend’s name, job title, and location have been omitted. She is not aware that I am blogging about her story, hence the omittance of this information.
Containment.
My Writing for Electronic Communities graduate course, taught by Dr. Bill Wolff, required we read for this week Color Monitors: the black face of technology in america. (No, I did not mess up capitalizing–the author, Martin Kevorkian, was being creative!!! Imagine.)
There’s been a lot of talk about this being a racist book, or a “why are we making issues where there are none” etc., but I’ll let you devise your own opinion, as I am confused as to what I’m allowed to feel towards this subject as a white person.
What I will say, is this: containment. It makes sense, ya know? We are always containing things, and when we find a way to contain, we find new ways to contain.
Look at the array of choices of containers you can purchase at The Container Store. We’re not just talking the cardboard boxes you get from the back of the liquor store when you’re moving–this is the big leagues.
Sturdy containers (drawers) for your containers (cabinets)!!
Containers to keep things fresh!!
…to keep things orderly…
and organized!! (ohhh, marketing marketing marketing…)
playful
protected.
Contained.
We choose to contain.
We choose to be contained.
We create when forced to be contained.
Containment does not have to be such a terrible idea.
WIRED writer Bob Garfield writes, “It’s said that if you put a million monkeys at a million typewriters, eventually you will get the works of William Shakespeare. When you put together a million humans, a million camcorders, and a million computers, what you get is YouTube.”
Containment on internet sites such as YouTube only strengthens this idea that containment can lead to good. However, I think the greater issue is whether we are containing ourselves or if we are being contained by others. The latter–ugly.
The Art of Change of Address
Never rely on anyone but yourself is an important lesson, but what if you let yourself down too often for reliance?
I budgeted myself to have $68 when I received my paycheck today, Tuesday, April 15, 2008. The only problem is that a certain department of this company told me to set up my own direct deposit, failing to mention that the cutoff was over a week ago, just three short days after the notification. I found this information out today and so here’s the problem:
I never changed my address. I was told that I had to do this in person, and because I work six days a week during post office hours, I failed to do it. This would not have been as great of a problem if I knew that my paycheck was being mailed to my old address. My company doesn’t know I moved. No one lives in the old address and we already turned in our mailbox key.
What’s even better is that I discovered I could change my address online! However, in order to submit it online I need to give them credit card information for verification. Another problem: my billing address is still at my parent’s house, as is my driver’s license.
I have officially screwed myself. I have six more slices of bread which gives me lunch for the next three days. (Unfortunately I ran out of all my meat today thinking I’d be going grocery shopping on my way home, so now I’m back to PB&Js.) Dinner on school nights will have to wait until I get home at 10pm. Snacks are a no-go. Gas for my commute is questionable.
I just should have changed my damn address. At least that was in my control but I took my sweet time with it.
Multimodal Discourse: The Modes and Media of Contemporary Communication by Gunther Kress & Theo Van Leeuwen
In this short and sweet book, chock full of anecdote after anecdote, authors Kress & Van Leeuwen tackle the teaching of multimodal discourse via three elements within the discourse itself: design, production, and distribution. Despite all of these playing a vital role in creating a multimodal discourse, I truly feel that the cornerstone supporting multimodal discourse is the design element.
If I could interject my own anecdote from book publishing, the developmental editors (discourse: production) and the production team (discourse: distribution) cannot proceed with their jobs until acquisitions transmits their full manuscripts (discourse: design).
Hence, in the world of book publishing, acquisitions is most important because it takes thoughts from bustling genius brains and finds the way to make these thoughts tangible. Without mutlimodal discourse design, everything is intangible and then, not relevant. (Or as Kress & Van Leeuwen would say, not abstract.)
The Art of Moving, Part II
We’re officially out and I am truly impressed with our efforts in leaving our apartment (ex-apartment now) just as it was when we moved in. While I didn’t get to clean the refridgerator and oven like I wanted, the carpets were sprinkled and vacuumed and the countertops were wiped down with Clorox.
It’s hard to say goodbye. This was our first apartment together and now we’re sleeping on a couch in the new condo.
Bed in first apartment…couch in new condo…
Dresser in first apartment…floor in new condo…
Walk-in clost in first apartment…tiny closet in new condo…
I’ve had zero time to unpack so every morning is a panicked, “Where are my shoes?! Where’s the scoopy thing for the kitty’s litter box?! Where are my hair elastics?!” You know, the basics.
I don’t even have internet, so every day I post my blog from work (please see Domestication Hiatus page), hence its lack of interesting links/videos/pictures.
Please forgive me. I will get back into my Journey Towards Domestication within the week. Thanks!!
A Post-Grad's Journey Towards Domestication 