Books!

One of the many things I absolutely love to do is read. I read a lot of things—blogs, news articles, nonfiction, comics, trilogies, YA, classics, and so on. But nothing, in my opinion, beats sitting down and relaxing with a good old fashioned novel. And not those kindles or nooks or whatnot. Although they’re great and convenient and cheap, I love the smell of fresh pages, the feeling of spine bending. I love everything about the reading experience.

In fact, I’m a big believer that no matter how busy life is, you should always be in the middle of at least two books and that one of these books should be a religious text. But going on…

I was nearing the end of a novel the other day when my roommate came up to me with a book. She explained that her uncle had wrote it and that I could read it if I wanted to. She herself hadn’t read it. She doesn’t have the love affair with books that I do. But the book looked short—135 pages, to be exact—and I thought, why not?

I finished the book I was reading and picked up the book my roommate had given me. I wasn’t able to find much on the internet about it. You can’t buy it on Amazon, nor does the book or the author have a Wikipedia page. The publishing company is one I had never heard of before. I thought for a second that if the book lived up to my high expectations, I could claim I read it before the rest of the world did.

This vision of discovery was dashed after the first chapter. Actually, after the first page. Although the author showed talent for writing, what he was writing wasn’t as impressive. It was clichéd and old fashioned, with lines like “holy horse hair, you scared the living life out of me!” (by the way, this was written in 2006 with no indication that it’s historical fiction) It’s a typical story written with clichéd characters and nothing whatsoever to grab my attention.

I really had no desire to read on, even if it was short. Because truth is, there are so many books in the world--so many great books in the world—that I just don’t have the time to spend reading a book on the lower end of decent. Every time a reader opens a book, it’s not just a commitment to read to the end, but it’s a commitment that they will take that time out of their life, time that they will never get back, to read that book.

I was talking with a friend about the subject of putting books down. She said she will very rarely put down books. However I’m quite the opposite. I put down books all the time. Don’t get me wrong, when I’m starting to lose interest in a book, I’ll read on before I decide to drop the book entirely. After all, what if the book gets better? But honestly, with most books I read, if the book hasn’t pulled me in within the first fifty to a hundred pages, I’ll put it down. If I’ve heard good things about it from trusted sources, I’ll give it a few more chances.

You can think I'm harsh, close-minded, or daring for my philosophy. Think it all you want.

I’m getting ahead of myself.                                                                          

Books. They’re great. But the fact is you can walk into any Barnes and Noble and look around at the endless spines of books waiting to be picked up and read and you have to make a decision on which ones you’ll choose. No one will be able to read them all in a lifetime. Life isn’t just reading—it’s going to college for one thing in my case. I could even make an analogy that life is like a book and that by living it you’re reading it. So why waste it? 

Donating at the Goodwill

Since I work at Goodwill as a hanger/sorter, I thought I'd make a blog entry advising people on the path they should take with their donation pursuits. What I do is go through the donated clothing and toss what isn’t worthy to be put out on the floor, hang the good stuff, and tag it with the price. Believe it or not, Goodwill sorts through ALL the donated clothes and only the best of the best is put out, so don't discount it as just another thrift store. It's also the reason our shirts go for $3.59 instead of cheaper like at other stores.  

So I’d like to give you a list of tips.

1. Don’t donate clothing wit holes. Just toss it. Who wants to buy a pair of pants with a giant hole in the crotch? No one. You can cut it up and use it as rags or donate it elsewhere, but the point is that it’s just a waste of space in the store.

2. Don’t donate stained clothing. Ok, so if you’re getting rid of a shirt because it’s stained, do you really think someone else is going to say “hey look at this shirt, it’s got this huge stain, I think I’ll buy it.” No. Contrary to popular belief, people aren’t that stupid. I’ve sorted through clothing with pee stains in the oddest places. Either that or everyone’s drinking lemonade and spilling it on themselves. So if it’s stained, toss it. Because if you don’t, then we hanger/sorters do.

3. Fold your clothing. This is an option, however, if a piece of clothing is too wrinkled, we toss it. When clothing is folded, it keeps it in better condition, since all the clothing donations are thrown into huge metal cages which are sorted through by yours truly.

4. Don’t donate your dirty socks. No one wants them. As a good rule of thumb in general you shouldn’t donate something you wouldn’t re-buy yourself in that condition. This goes for clothing that is old and/or dirty. I’ve had jackets come through that are nice, but covered in dirt, and people just won’t buy it in that condition. I know you may think—“Well it’s a nice jacket, they can take it home and wash it” but the reality is that the customer is in a store full of oodles and oodles of clothing that’s cleaner and for the same price.

5. Don’t donate onesies or any baby/kids clothing with the metal clasps. Although they’re convenient and they’d sell since that’s what all babies wear, we actually aren’t allowed to sell them at Goodwill. It’s something to do with lead poisoning, although it makes no sense since the clasps don’t touch skin and they’re allowed to sell them at your regular department store. But, rules are rules, and when we get packets of brand new onesies, we have to toss them. You’re better off just giving them to a hospital or to someone who can put them to good use.

6. Don’t donate your car seat. We don’t sell them. We also don’t sell refrigerators, washers, dryers, or other things along those lines that can be purchased at Salvation Army or other thrift stores. We can’t take these items, and if we do, we’ll end up donating them to another thrift store (which we do with our reject clothes as well).  

7. Don’t donate your dirty clothes. I know this goes along with number 4, but I wanted to address something else. We inspect our clothing for dirt; we look at the armpits and the collar for sweat marks, we carefully look at white shirts to make sure it’s not yellowed. And if it is, it’s tossed.

8. Don’t donate things that are disgusting. I know this is a broad statement, and I’m not going to elaborate. Let’s just say that we’ve run into some nasty stuff that has been donated with the clothes, probably by accident. But if it’s going to make you blush when we go through it, just don’t donate it (except if it’s underwear, since we do sell that).

9. Don’t donate clothing with bad words or sexual references. These are tossed. It’s out of respect for our customers and for the fact that we’re a family store, not Spencers. Although we have good clothing come in good condition with bad words on it, we’re not going to put it out on the floor. This is something that I personally appreciate. If you have clothing like this, give it to a friend, but not to us.

When you donate to Goodwill, we appreciate it. Goodwill is a great organization. But I did want to clear some things up, since I know a lot of people probably don’t know that we don’t sell onesies. And I think a lot of people just think, it’s a thrift store, they’ll take anything.

So happy donating!! 

Teeth

Teeth.

That’s right, we all have them. And if we don’t, we have some form of fake ones. We use our teeth for a lot of things: to eat food, to bite our nails, to form words, to smile, and even to open things when we’re too lazy to get scissors or a key or some other sharp object. We brush our teeth twice or more a day and floss between each of them, right into the gums, once or more a day. We get them cleaned twice a year. Some of us see orthodontists to get braces or to get our wisdom teeth removed.

We, as humans, generally can relate when it comes to teeth. Especially us Americans who seem to have an invested interest in keeping our teeth straight and pearly white. To the point where we put fluoride in our tap water. Nice, isn’t it?

All my life, I have been plagued with bad teeth. When I was younger, I thought it was because I never flossed. Each time I saw the dentist, Dr. Ben would lecture me in his thick Iranian accent about how I needed to take better care of my teeth or I’d be toothless by the time I was twenty.

Of course as I got older I acquired better teeth hygiene habits. I brushed thoroughly and regularly, and made sure to floss daily. Years went by with good teeth cleaning. Then at one appointment the dentist discovered several cavities despite my efforts. “You have really nice gums though, so I believe you,” he said when I told him that I was doing everything right. It especially ticked me off when I saw my siblings, who take horrible care of their teeth, get off scot-free without any hint of plaque! I thought for sure my dentist must be a quack.

I went in to get my teeth worked on and afterward, my teeth weren’t the same. They were sensitive, especially a certain tooth. This molar hurt at the slightest touch of something cold or hot to the point where I stopped using mouthwash because the luke-warm liquid sent a sharp pain into my tooth. On top of that, my tooth constantly aches. Because of this, I avoid a lot of foods, such as cereal (because of the cold milk and crunch), anything crunchy like chips, chex-mix, or chewy like beef jerky. I drink ice water or eat ice cream with caution.

I went back into the dentist and told him about the pain. He looked at my tooth, took an x-ray, and then told me I’d have to get a root canal. He went on saying that root canals aren’t as bad as their reputation and blah blah blah. Right then I just wanted him to take all my teeth out and make me a set of dentures. I didn’t want to have to endure the constant going back to the dentist for the rest of my life, for the new cavities to be refilled, to the fillings that needed to be replaced.

My mom tried to comfort me. “You know your aunt Dianne has bad teeth blah blah, it’s in our genetics, blah blah blah.”

So what’s the point of posting this rambling on the internet for anyone who cares to read?

I hate the dentist’s.

And I hate my teeth.

Thought you guys would like to know.

The New Year and Poetry

I wanted to write a blog

About poetry

And the New Year

And I thought it most appropriate

To do so in poem form.

With one disclaimer:

I may be poetic

But I am not a poet.

I discovered my love of poetry

During my senior year

Of high school

When I went to a poetry workshop

And witnessed a poetry read.

Where the poets performed their poetry

I felt each word delivered so

Passionately from their lips

Pull at my heart

I was in awe.

The year before I had taken AP Lit

Where I was force fed poetry

Bland old poetry that was too

Much like a jigsaw puzzle

And I’d have to write essays

Piecing together the poet’s intentions.

Looking for the edge piece similes

And seeing where the metaphors fit with the irony

The worst of it was that my teacher

Was a published poet.

I’m sorry.

But I don’t care about

Red wheelbarrows.

And I’ve read the lines

“I took the one less traveled by

And that has made all the difference”

To the point where the words lose their savor.

That’s probably an exaggeration

Since I’m a big fan of Robert Frost.

But that day, where I saw the poets perform

It changed my view on poetry.

I looked into the modern stuff more

And fell in love with poetry.

I wanted to show it to everyone

I wanted them to watch these videos

Of slam poets reading their work

It was genius, pure genius.

However, some didn’t have the same

Reactions that I had.

They didn’t see what was so great

They didn’t feel the emotion,

The zeal

Behind the poems.

At first I didn’t understand how someone

With a heart

Couldn’t be touched by this stuff.

Poets have a way of

Describing the world.

They use art,

The power of words summoned from

A passionate heart.

They speak to the ears who won’t hear the words

But will feel them

With a similar heart.

On New Year’s Eve,

I went to my favorite used bookstore,

Where the female employees

Wear long glittery skirts

And the males wear their hair long

As if to say

“Hell yeah, I’m an artist”

And bought a brilliant book

Full of Spoken Word poetry

Genius in book form.

Later that evening,

As I sat watching the minutes tick by

Until the new year

I wrote a poem.

Ten minutes until 2011…

And really I don’t know what to think.

I know there’s supposed to be some sort of reminisce or

Reflection of the year gone by

But I can’t bring myself to think of

Anything.

I know I’m supposed to have some sort of list

Of goals for the next year

Which I know that I won’t keep

And this year I find myself at a blank.

Everything’s at a blank

When I Think about 2010…

It all seems like the bad stuff and maybe

A couple years from now I’ll look back at this moment

With fondness

But I can’t bring myself to think of

That.

I know I’m supposed to be excited for the new year

For the new adventures life supposedly throws at us

But I can’t help but see the new year

As just another day

And that someone at some time decided to put the

New year as

January 1 when in reality

it could have been February 23.

As long as it was the same year after year

Now there’s six minutes until 2011…

And I really don’t know what to think.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned

About poetry

It is that people see the world

In such diverse ways

Some people see the New Year

Differently than I do

Some people like poetry

Some people don’t

But I suppose that’s the beauty in it all.

Happy New Year

Responsibility

Wow, this is the first Friday in a long time that I’ve been able to just sit back and relax. For the last month my Fridays have been full of NaNo and schoolwork. But today I get to kick back and relax—have all my work done and NaNo is over (I finished with 52,000 words total). Of course, I could be reading or writing or drawing or another activity that I enjoy doing—but instead, I’m choosing to write a blog to my sparse followers. Don’t you guys feel special?

And by the way, you can comment on these entries… just thought I’d throw that in there.

Today I had this inclination to write about responsibility. First of all, I would like to say to everyone that pedestrians have the right-a-way at a cross walk. Do you want me to repeat that? Pedestrians have the right-a-way at a cross walk.

I say this because I have to cross a street of considerable size to get to my classes. Every day I walk down to the cross walk, look both ways like I was taught in kindergarten, and cross. But twice has it occurred while crossing said street where a car has almost ran me over.

First was a couple of weeks ago and it was snowing, a fine dusting of the powdery stuff was everywhere. I went to the cross walk, checked for cars and began to cross when a car honked at me. I immediately stopped and so did they. I thought that meant I could walk so I continued doing so when the car started to move forward! To prevent my death, I stopped again and motioned for the car to pass. The car pulled in front of me, in the crosswalk, rolled down their window and proceeded to lecture me about how I had to wait for the car and how I was in the wrong and yatta yatta yatta.

Honestly, when this occurred my anger at her didn’t sink in until later. At first I just felt sad and pitiful. Then, when I replayed the events in my mind and realized that I was in a crosswalk where I had the right-a-way. I’ve found that the most difficult part of this is the fact that I’ve seen this same woman twice on campus and it has taken a lot of self control to not walk up to her and call her certain words. “Treasures in Heaven,” I tell myself.

Then today, walking home, I had the same thing happen with a different car, different people! This time I didn’t let the car pass and kept on walking.

I’m sorry, but people need to take responsibility and be mature adults, especially when it comes down to simple things like people crossing the street. Like when students are stuck with a ton of homework because they partied all week and complain about it. They curse the teacher, they curse the assignment, but never themselves.

NaNoWriMo

Ok, so I know I have not updated my blog for a few weeks now, but to my defense, I have been planning to. Some days something will happen and I’ll be like, “yeah, I want to write a blog on that” but alas never get around to it. Earlier this week, for example, was the worst day of the semester bar none. But I am getting off-topic. I wanted to write a blog about writing.

I recently read a friend of a friend’s blog who posted an excerpt in each of her blog entries from her story she’s writing for NaNoWriMo. For those of you who do not know what NaNoWriMo is, you can go to www.nanowrimo.org to read all about it. For a second, I thought about doing the same. But then I realized that, wait, my story is in the very rough draft phases so most of it kind of sucks anyway. Plus, what if by some freak chance I want to publish this story and I have it posted on the internet for all to read and steal?

My story that I’m writing this year for NaNo is very dear to my heart. As November and NaNoWriMo approached, I had no idea what I was going to write about this year. I had reached 25,000 words of another story I had been writing in my spare time and a part of me didn’t want to start afresh with a new story, since I was so absorbed in the one I was writing.

Then, as I was chatting with a friend, she mentioned she was working on a story that she had been working on since middle school. I remembered that when I was a freshman in high school, I had an idea for a fantasy story, and it had stuck with me through the years. I had put it to the side, telling myself that one day I would write it.

And that day came in the form of NaNoWriMo.

And so, everyday of November, with the exception of my birthday, I have been writing feverishly and have loved every second of it. Every millisecond of it. I also think my story is happy to be out of my head and free on paper, since every time I sit at my laptop it comes out ever so naturally. When I am not writing the story, I am thinking about it. This has happened to me before with other things I have written, but not to this extent, where there is never a point, so far at least, where I think “then what?” I feel that I am not really the author, just the reader reading a book that hasn’t been written yet.  

But in a way, I feel kind of discouraged. Not in writing, but I feel that everyone and their mothers want to write a book. I meet people that hate to read, who hate English class, who want to write a book, to be a published author. So many people want to! Even people who aren’t writers, like celebrities who somehow spit out novels about their lives and careers and make a gazillion dollars.

Then I think of myself and my endeavors. Yeah, I want to write stories. Yeah, I want to be published one day. But why? Everyone wants to do that, even those who aren’t writers.

For every person who is alive, who has lived, and who will live, there is a story for each one. Every person is a story. Of course, not everyone is a writer, not everyone has the talent or drive or what have you. But I feel that with all of these stories and potential stories, what is the point of wanting mine heard?

Right now I’m at 30,000+ words for NaNoWriMo, a few thousand ahead. I look at my story, this story that’s been baking in my head for the past few years, this story that I love, this story I want everyone to love. But at the same time, I’m one of the many. And many who have way cooler ideas than mine.

But at the same time, if I never get published it’s not that big of a deal. Because I think it goes down to the fact that every day I write a good two thousand words, and despite the fact I’m tired all the time, I’m having the time of my life. I look at all that I have accomplished through the story and see all the hard work. And it makes me feel amazing! To look and think, wow, I can do this.

And that, I think, is a big deal.