Colon-Right-Parentheses

Oh wow. Remember when I had a blog, and I did stuff with it? Actually, if we count mental posts, I have made plenty since that last one. There was one about my classroom management philosophy that was probably going to sound like a whiney know-it-all who is not actually in the field yet. There was a morose woe-is-me kind of thing about having little money during the holidays. There was a picture-laden post about the new house we recently moved into.... But none of those posts happened. And really, now that I'm on break I'm not dwelling on classroom management. Yeah not working sucks, and the money thing is always going to be hard, but on this day after Christmas, I'm all warm and fuzzy and miles away from things to complain about.

So I'll skip right on to the new house post.

Sooooo verryyy bluueeeee

We moved in the first week of December, and we are so excited to finally be in our own space again! ewww I used the word "space."

It has hardwood floors, a double oven, and a countertop stove, and the rent is even affordable! The house is super old (1936 old), but it comes with lots of quirky charm, like how you have to learn how to turn each separate doorknob differently to close the doors. We also have a dishwasher that was probably made in the 70s, but it works!

And hey, here are some more housey pictures!

And then it was Christmas. And we decorated appropriately.

Not pictured under this tree (because, for some reason, it was at his parents' house still) is the gift Michael gave me, a drawing tablet! Wohoo!! I've been messing around with it, and I drew this little guy on request:

He's cold as ice, foo'

I need to put this tool to use on the comic I actually work on, but every time I stare at the page I'm supposed to be backgrounding I just draw a blank. It's like all the ideas I could have run out of my head and out the door. Hnnrrrghhhh...

In tablet-related news, I will quite prossibly be updating the look of this site, maybe adding a more frustratedly unemployed graduate for the background.

Anyway, that's it for me! I apologize if the train of thought of this post felt erratic and went nowhere! Maybe one day I'll get around to posting that classroom management philosophy.

On learning from failures

And now for a refreshing change of pace...

I took the GACE for middle grades Social Studies a month ago. Yeah, they make you wait a month for your scores. Anyway, for the past four weeks I have been mentally planning how to approach posting the results of the almost certain failure of a test I had taken. Because my confidence was that high. I settled on a story about how once in my life I turned a massive failure into a learning experience that ultimately helped get me into college, as a way to show that I was staying optimistic about this score and that I would keep trying for my dream job because one day it would really happen...... and then today I got my score back. I passed. I did more than pass -- I actually did very well. But I'm going to tell the story anyway.

I started playing the flute in 7th grade, and since I was switching over from the saxophone I thought I needed to be really good right at the beginning or my parents wouldn't let me play. I had always wanted to be like Lisa Simpson, but the sax was heavy and my flute friends looked so cute with their little instruments that you could pack in your bookbag at a whim and hurry to catch up to someone. I, on the other hand, needed a skateboard to transport my instrument. Sadly nobody gave me one. I turned to my friend Heather, so that she may impart her flutey wisdom unto me. And she did. She just... didn't actually know a whole lot about it either. I'm not saying this to rag on Heather, I'm saying this to paint a picture of me as an entering freshman flute player (side note: Freshmen, as we all know, are notoriously annoying. Flute players, as we might know, are notoriously annoying as well. Imagine, will you, what kind of unholy combination you get from the two. Mr Schnettler, if you're reading this -- I apologize). We're talking notes written in, no knowledge of tuning... I didn't even know that the higher register notes were fingered differently. I thought you just blew harder to go up an octave (Allison, my section leader from 2002, if you're reading this I apologize).

But I learned. I practiced. I stopped writing in my notes and started paying attention to things like tone quality and dynamics, and I learned how to finger the higher octaves. On one of my chair tests that year, I scored higher than most upper-classmen. Of course at this point in time, we all thought it had been a fluke, and I was placed a little lower in the order, but what can you do. In preparation for the All-District Band audition, I learned my major scales and took private lessons with the resident first chair (Well, she was actually second chair, but the first chair was one of those unbeatable "always first chair" types, so we just counted the first after her as "First"). I was one of the only people in my grade who could say I knew my major scales and my 3-octave chromatic scale, even if the lowest note rarely came out (still doesn't).

But I didn't make All-District Band. I wasn't too broken up about it; I knew my sight-reading was dreadful and that the people I had heard warming up in the holding tank for auditioners deserved to be there much more than I did. I had failed, yes. I couldn't change my score. But you know what else I couldn't change? I couldn't un-learn my major scales. I couldn't un-learn my 3-octave chromatic scale. I couldn't take away the knowledge I had gained in my practicing, and I knew that I would only continue to build on that foundation. That was the only year that I didn't make All-District Band.

You may know that I entered college as a music major. While that was clearly not the course my life took in the end...of my college career, that one failed audition set in motion events that led to lifelong friendships and a college where I found my true academic love: creative writing. Side note: Freshman year of high school I wrote a "personal essay" about my audition experience. "Personal essay" is just a public school way of saying "creative nonfiction piece" -- so it could be argued that music led to my end major in more ways than one.

So, while I did not actually fail my GACE, I'm sure I have many more failures ahead of me in life. I don't mean that as negatively as it sounded. There will be more. And I am okay with that, because our failures are valuable learning experiences. And, like the nerd I am, I will never ever stop learning.

There are no words for this.

Ships that don't come in

And so things got complicated...

I don't know where to start. I guess I'll start with Wednesday, when I had the interview. Yeah, a real interview. It started off so disastrously I thought that they would have to cast Tina Fey to play me in a movie. First, I left a little late. Map Quest said it would be an hour and a half, and I left with just enough time, which was stupid I know. Then, my GPS decided that, to get Southwest it would make me go West first, as in through Atlanta, a route that was needlessly complicated and tacked on an extra 10 minutes. Which made me 10 minutes late. Which is never good. After missing two exits, I found the school and made my way to the office to wait. Then I realized that my blazer was covered in hair. Cat hair or fuzzies from my fleece jacket, I didn't know, but the presence of the hair was bad enough. I attempted to scrape off the hair using tape, and hoped that nobody would walk into the office during the preening. Thankfully nobody did.

The interview went well, actually. They showed me around the school, asked lots of questions, and seemed to mostly like what I had to say. I wasn't sure how well things had gone until Monday, when I learned that references were being called. Apparently that's a good thing? So, once my final reference had confirmed that contact had been made, I waited.

And waited.

And now it's been over a week since the interview, 2 days since the last call (I think), and the longer I wait the less likely it feels that it is going to happen. And I sit in someone else's classroom every day and anxiously check my phone for missed calls from unknown numbers only to find several (SEVERAL) calls from Newton County Sub Finder. And I wonder if the kids in whoever's classroom I'm in at the time would really be different if they were mine or I'm just fooling myself. Can I convince an apathetic teenager to give reading a second chance to change their life? Can I help students to see why we shouldn't act for reward or in fear of punishment, but simply because it is right? I want to believe that one day I will be able to make a difference, but I just can't see it happening.

Then I think about my car. Last summer, when my Shadow crapped out on the first day of graduate school classes, I never imagined that I would ever drive a brand new car. I never imagined that there would be a salesman desperate or foolish enough to give someone like me her own set of keys to something so amazing. Me sitting in a new car was not something I could really see, and for the first three months, my heart jumped every time the phone rang. I was convinced someone was calling to say that they had actually realized what they'd done and why on Earth would they have ever given a graduate with barely a job and a mountain of debt her own car? But the call never came. And the car is still mine, and every time I sit in it I remember what it was like that day on the lot when I thought "no way this will ever be mine."

So I imagine that the job thing is going to be something like that. When I got that first offer, the one that was un-offered due to paperwork, I thought "No way this is happening. I'm not ready for this, I'm not good enough, there must be some mistake if they wanted me!" And, as it turned out, nothing actually did happen. But I have to believe that one day something will. This is what I've wanted since I was in second grade and I attempted to teach (force) little Cory down the street to read. I can't let one summer, however disheartening it was, break me.

But it's so frustrating. There is so much that I want to do, and right now I feel like I'm on pause. At the most I make $80 a day, and most days it's more like $65. If things continue like this, we'll be able to keep our heads above water, but we'll be barely scraping by. We can't travel, we can't do anything fun or go anywhere, and even a dinner at Applebee's will be a splurge. And I know it's not my fault but it's hard not to feel guilty about the situation. If I had a job things would be better. We could live anywhere, we could go places, see people who live far away, and have money left to save for that whole "starting our lives" business. Michael could even save for school. But because I can't seem to find something full-time, and the most I can do is pretend to be someone else's teacher and try to convince teenagers that I do know what I'm talking about, we can't do any of that. We can't do anything.

I blame paperwork. If you want to get down to it, I blame my stupid school for not processing my stupid grades. It's hard to convince myself that everything happens for a reason when nothing is happening. Fifty years ago, processing would have been done with a stamp. I would have found "Phil" in his office, slipped him a 20, leaned over his desk, and said "let's see if we can't get this process sped up a bit, hmm?" And bam. Instant success. But now, because the school trusts a computer to do its job, all the grades are processed at once, over several days, in the middle of August. I hate to keep going back to that, but it really is the root of the problem. Although I guess the problems is that I didn't want to be in class straight from August of my senior year until the next, next May. Which is how it would have gone if I'd taken the May class a year earlier, like I could have. And sure, that would have been the best option, if I hadn't just read about 15 books and written no less than 70 pages of capstone work (that's not even counting all the other papers from the year), squeezed two honors classes into one semester (one of which I didn't even need), and started the year exactly one day after re-entering the country. That is what I would say is the kind of year you need at least a month's break from before beginning another ridiculously hard degree. Still, I guess if you look at it that way, the whole thing is kind of my fault. But it's easier to blame computers and lazy, incompetent registrars. I don't even think 'registrar' should be a word. Just look how awkward and ridiculous it is.

And now I guess I should talk about the house. Remember the house. Let me put it in capitals so you'll recognize and revere its importance. The House. Yeah, that one. Remember how we loved it, and how we were devastated to find that it was being shown and preened like a prize-winning Pomeranian? And remember (you might not) how we found out how much the previous renters paid for heating/air every month, and then we closed the book on that dream and started searching other horizons for living space? Okay, good. Then you're caught up to speed.

So we looked at an apartment over the weekend. We were going to look at three, but (As is our style) we looked at one, fell in love, and mentally cancelled the hadn't-been-made-yet-anyway appointments for the day. We put down a deposit (to prevent other people from snagging our turf, more than anything) and headed home. When we got there we were informed that the owners of the house were growing desperate. So desperate in fact that they wanted to sit down with us and a few other knowledgeable people (that 'e' before 'a' in 'knowledgeable' has always bugged me) and see what we could possibly do to improve the house so to have lower bills. The thing is, if I don't get the job we can't afford the house no matter what. I highly doubt they can lower our bills enough to make it affordable for us. And if I do get the job, it will make my commute an hour and a half instead of just an hour. And when you're going both ways, those thirty minutes will add up.

I'm beginning to wonder why every situation I find myself in is some kind of catch-22 and why nothing can ever actually just work out easily. Is this really what it's going to be like?

On a brighter (and completely unrelated) note, last night I woke up when Michael came in, like I always do. He asked me if I was going to open my eyes, and I wasn't planning on it, but I figured I hadn't seen him in over 12 hours. The least I could do would be to have a brief conversation with the boy, in which I was conscious and actually looking at him. I rolled over to face him and saw that he had bought me roses. He said, "I've never bought you roses before, and I saw these at the store and decided to get them for you." Right now they are on the night stand, but I'm planning to set them up in whichever dwelling we move into (hopefully soon, I might add, so the roses don't turn into some kind of Beauty and the Beast situation). So I guess everything is not all bad.

Halloween: A look back

I have always loved Halloween. Not because of the candy, the staying out late, or even the graph I made every year of how much of which type of candy I got. Seriously. I did this. For fun.

No, Halloween is a chance to, for one night only, become something else. It is a day where your imagination can take over 100%, and you leave yourself behind. Am I unhappy with myself? No. But just this one night, you can be whatever you want. It's as if the entire world is under a spell for only a few hours. Come to think of it, I think there is a movie where that actually does happen....

Anyway. I went home today and poured over no less than twenty photo albums to put together this timeline of alter-egoes I have taken on. I wish I could say there are 23 photos here, but sadly there are not. Some are missing, some never had photos taken, and then there were those few years that I was a baby.... But I did my best with such short notice. You will notice a few things as you flip through my life in Halloweens. One: There are no repeating costumes. I have never, ever worn the same costume twice. I have been similar things, yes, but never in exactly the same way. It is a personal rule of mine. Two: Many of these are home made. I try to spend as little money as possible on my costumely endeavors, because part of the fun is in creating the persona for yourself. Three: In some ways, this is also a timeline of the improvements of photography technology over the course of my life. See if you can spot the year my mom got a digital camera!

Ready? Too bad - here we go!!

First Picture I could find: 1990, age 2. I was a cheerleader, and my brother was a ninja turtle.

1991, age 3 and a My Little Pony that my grandmother made. That's my brother again, being... A... different ninja turtle. I'm telling you, those who read my capstone piece. I'm not lying about the carpet color being an homage to the turtles...

1994, age 6. There are a few years missing between the last one and this one, and to tell you the truth, I don't remember what I was during that "period of missing photos." Check out my best friend Cory as Sonic and Eric... still a ninja, though not a turtle this time...

I thiiink this was 2nd grade. Or 3rd, maybe. The one that is missing between these is some version of Pocahontas, but my dad took us T or T'ing that year, so I think he has the photos. I particularly love this one, because I thought penguins held their arms out like that naturally. I didn't know it was because their bodies are so round that their flippers rest in that position. I spent the whole night with my arms out like a lunatic.

This one. This one is my masterpiece. I think I'm in 4th grade right here. I had this onesie (all the cool kids slept in onesies...) that had a mix of animal patterns, and I got that bear head/hat when I went skiing. I put them together to create some horrible genetic experiment gone wrong. I made people read my sign explaining the costume. Dig those sneakers.

6th grade. We're missing a doubles shot of my sister and me as matching dalmatians, me with my baton in my mouth because for some reason I thought it looked like a bone. I also had string attached to my tail so could wag it at will.

But anyway, this one's pretty odd when you think about it. What would people from the 50s think of children dressing up in what were once normal clothes for them, as a costume?

Walkin' like an Egyptian in the 7th grade...

Dressing up as a time period seems to be a trend... That's me on the left (in case you didn't know by now) being a "Renaissance Princess." 8th grade

-----we're missing a few here. I do apologize, for some of them were really spectacular. -----

9th grade: Lil' cat (okay that one was cheesy and store bought)

10th grade: Get ready for this. A bag of groceries. Actually there is a picture for this one, somewhere, but the person who took it failed to capture the essence properly. I had an Aldi bag on as a skirt and had made a sign thingy on which I had taped various boxes and bags of groceries. Most people thought I was trash, though.

11th grade: School girl, although all night people said I was Britney Spears.

Which brings us to....

Senior year, and costume I affectionately refer to as "halfsies." I had a cape too, but for some reason it got left out of this shot... Come on, there's a little of both in all of us.

2006, freshman year of college, I started a new tradition of wearing my Halloween PJs during the day and a "real" costume at night. So I guess this is the year of the bunny in Pajamas and the ladybug.

Sophomore year. That first one is "My own cat, Scooter, in festive pajamas." The one on the bottom is a mummy, NOT a zombie!! Mummies are my favorite monster, and this is still one of my favorite costumes ever -- even if it did kinda fall apart.

Junior year, I mentored young writers, so I decided against the pajamas. This is Penelope, from the movie of the same name. On the left is my SAI big sister Reba as a spider web. Super awesome!

Senior year, I had a boy who was enough of a good sport to don a themed costume with me. Here we are, as a child and his teddy bear! Go ahead and say, "Aww..." You know you want to.

In this hilariously complimentary themed costume from 2010, Michael and I are a raccoon and an employee of animal control. Poor Michael has a lifetime of silly theme costumes ahead of him....

Annnnd here we are at Halloween 2011, disguised as scarecrows. He turned down the Ash & Misty idea, but there's time yet to convince him...

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So there you have it, friends. That was my life in Halloweens. I hope you enjoyed yourself - I know I have! Tomorrow I'm going to hit up Wal Mart and buy all their half-priced candy, then make my graph --- I mean EAT IT ALL without attempting to quantify or represent any kind of data relating to the candy whatsoever!

Why I hate Twilight

I know, the dead horse has been beaten into submission and it promises it will never crap during a parade again. Wait, what? Anyway, I'm in a bad mood, it's been a bad day, I'm frustrated at lots of things and rather than list them all (*Cough* today's 6th grade class, the fact that I don't sub every day, the fact that I don't have a real job, the house that we won't get, how expensive things are/how much money we don't have, smarmy politicians, friennnddssstuffff *cough*), I'm going to go for a scapegoat. Twilight.

Now, I complain about this a lot. But, I'm rarely ever actually specific about what it is I hate so much about this series. And, since I want to tear something apart, and this is the only thing I can legally do that to, here we go!

Reason #1: The writing

Okay. I know that within the realm of creative writing, there has to be some room for, well, creativity. I majored in it and everything; I know the rules. I also know that, if you are going to break the rules, there has to be a reason. It has to be "intentional and necessary," as my thesis mentor constantly reminded me. Twilight (which I am too lazy to put in italics, and seeing as it shouldn't be a book, I feel it does not really even deserve italics) doesn't seem to have a literary reason. Reading this book I just wonder constantly "was the editor of this coming in and out of a coma while doing their job?"

There are tense issues, subject-verb agreement issues, comma splices (which we all make, but I mean come on. That IS why there are editors in the publication world), awkward and unnatural dialogue, big words that don't mean what she thinks they mean, big words that she chose to sound smart, and way, WAY too many adverbs -- to name a few of the problems. If you need an example, check out the blog Reasoning with Vampires, in which author Dana breaks the books down one-by-one, line-by-line in some cases, and red-pens the whole freaking thing. It's pretty spectacular and it is also quite educational. Yeah, I majored in English and hope to teach it, but I still don't know everything.

Need an example? Take your pick. Educational and hilarious, and the blog is full of them. It's become a favorite past time, for when I need something to hate.

"But Kimmy," you might say. "Twilight is written imperfectly because it is from the voice of a teenager! It focuses on what she sees, and her voice is that of a 16-year-old girl."

No. Her voice is that of a 10-year old girl. I return to the previous statement: If you are going to break a rule in writing, is has to be intentional. Reading Twilight, it just seems like there is no editor, not like I am reading a real adolescent girl's thoughts. This is in large part because the writer makes NO effort to give the narrator any kind of personal characteristics to actually define her voice. In fact, the narration is so hollow, even in times of action, that I felt like the whole series was nothing more than a flashback. It started flat, never really rose, and ended on the same plateau.

"But wait!" You might call out, pointer clicking on the X in this window -- done with my complaining already. "The writer left her hollow so you, the reader, could fill in yourself in her shoes!"

Ah, you thought you had me with that, didn't you? Yes, I've heard this one many a time from team Twilighters. But here's the thing: As a writer, you HAVE to develop a character. You absolutely can NOT leave it bland so people can fill themselves in. You don't have to have anything in common with a character to be able to relate to them; the character could even remind you of someone, or maybe could have traits you wish you had yourself. You know what I'm not, and will never be? A boy, a wizard, the "chosen one" for any kind of grand quest, owner of a snowy owl, British, expert broom-flyer.... But you know what book series I will love forever, and am legitimately sad that I can never read again for the first time? Harry Potter. Why? Because, even though Harry and I have very little in common, I like him as a character, and I genuinely care what happens to him. The only -- repeat -- ONLY thing that we know about Bella -- the only thing that seems to matter at all is that she loves Edward. So, if we don't love Edward, we have absolutely nothing with which to relate to her. And as it happens... I don't love Edward. At all. Which brings me to number two...

Reason #2: The Message

Sure, so the character is bland and lifeless, the writing is as polished as a middle schooler's first draft, and all we know is that she loves this guy. Sometimes this other guy, too, but usually just the first guy. The one she ends up with and has what is literally a demon spawn child with.

Wow, she has a baby with him? A baby that nearly kills her as it grows inside her? He must be a great guy, really worth all this time!

Not even remotely. He stalks her, he cuts he brakes, he watches her sleep (after breaking in to her house), he repeatedly mentions how easily he could kill her (which only causes her to praise him for holding back), he also repeatedly mentions how bad for him she is, how bad for her he is... none of this is sounding like a good kind of guy. Oh, and he breaks up with her. In a forest. Then she goes catatonic for like 6 months, finally lets herself start to be happy again (Even though she intentionally puts herself in danger just to hallucinate that he is with her.....) he comes back into her life and she's all "Oh of course I forgive you! Turn me into a vampire LOL!" Because it's okay for a guy to hurt you that badly, as long as he's sorry enough afterwards.

No. No it is not. And young girls should not be reading these books hoping to find their "Edward." Bella should not have been left empty for girls to fill themselves in, because she does nothing even a little admirable as a character. She hates herself, constantly puts herself down, insists that she isn't good enough for the vampire who dumped her in the woods just after her birthday (yeah. That happened), is a terrible, manipulative friend to those close to her, and ultimately only cares about one thing/person. Who, as I have already established is not worthy of her care and/or attention.

In closing...

to be perfectly honest, this is only the tip of the iceberg. There are other issues, like the half-assed allusions to famous classics (STOP COMPARING YOURSELF TO ROMEO AND JULIET!!), the fact that Bella claims to be such a star in literature but can't string a sentence together, and the general jealousy that this writer is famous and I'm not...

But I'm going to end it here. Also...

Suggested reading

So, smart girl, what should we read?

Other authors have managed to pull off the teenager voice while still creating characters that are sympathetic and interesting. For example...

-Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan (I'm only on book one, but I like his voice. He sounds like a middle-schooler, he gets embarrassed when a girl grabs his hand, yet I don't have to read the book and correct it as I go or "fill myself in" to the character)

-Going Bovine by Libba Bray (You want a book that is straight from a careless high school kid? This is your book. Drug references and F-bombs everywhere, but there is heart to this book and heart to this character. And guess what? You don't have to picture yourself as the main character because there already is a clear main character!)

-Harry Potter (not in first person, but still fanciful and a truly wonderful adventure of a book series)

-The Hunger Games (outstandingly well-written and characters that you alternate between hating and loving, but never loathing in quite the same way that you feel for every Twilight character)

Yes, that is also essentially a list of my favorite books. But they do what Twilight tries to do. Actually, the story that she attempted to tell could have been a good one. But there are so many flaws, that if it had been placed on my editing table, I would tell her to start over and tell a story that has redeemable characters, sentences that make sense, and a message that will actually help her readers. "The most important thing in life is to have a boyfriend, even if he's undead, a hundred years old, and basically abusive." doesn't cut it.

Lunch Ladies: A Tribute

If you're ever in a school for long enough, you will inevitably hear about the cafeteria food. Most of the negative hype comes from books and movies, which depict the food as shapeless, scary blobs, sometimes moving, sometimes hairy -- but never anything could legally be classified as "food."

Seriously. What is this?

Pretty much all students talk about the cafeteria food -- how That Girl Over There found a bug in her food, how The Head Football Player swears his chicken was served to him raw. I'm sure I joined in on the gossip at some time during my schooling, even though I've never had a negative experience regarding cafeteria food. Granted, that's partly because I brought my lunch nearly every day from kindergarten through 12th grade. Everyone does it (and isn't that as good a reason as any to do things?), but what they don't think about is the fact that, behind the scenes, people are actually cooking the food for them. And that the food has to be approved, the kitchen inspected, the procedures rehearsed and repeated -- until the product is fit to be served. And people forget to think about the hairnets behind the wall where we deposit our sticky, gooey lunch trays.

I know this, because my mom is a lunch lady (or a cafeteria worker, if you're PC). She cooks for other people's kids all day before coming home and cooking for her own family -- as do all of the other lunch ladies. In my schooling/student teaching/substitute teaching experience, people rarely stop to talk to the cooks of the school food. But more people should take the time to do so.

When my mom left her job at the high school cafeteria for a middle school, six or seven members of the football team came up and gave her a hug goodbye. members of the football team. At a high school. Another student gave her a box of chocolates as a parting gift. This was a shock to me, as I have never seen people talk to lunch ladies about anything other than their account. I can only hope the middle school students treat her just as well.

I've had lunch ladies bail me out on two separate occasions. Once, when I was in high school, I left my lunch in the gym. When I went to retrieve it I found that it had been eaten. WHO EATS SOMEONE ELSE'S LUNCH?! Since one of my high school lunch ladies was the mother of my brother's best friend (some serious name-dropping), I asked her for help. She let me charge my meal so I wouldn't go hungry. Then, just last week, a lunch lady did me a solid in a much less desperate situation. I had simply noticed that the day's lunch was something out of heaven: Chicken Fingers and Mashed Potatoes. I had cold spaghetti in the teacher-fridge, but I wanted the chicken. I asked if there was any way at all that I could charge for the day and swore that I would pay her back the next day. She agreed -- but on the following day refused the three dollars I offered.

It's little things like this -- hugs, the occasional free chicken tender -- that help to restore my faith in humanity. There are people out there who really do care, who have a heart of gold. I just never noticed how often that golden heart beats below a standard-issue set of scrubs and an apron.

Take the time to talk to your lunch ladies. Their jobs aren't easy, and so few people show gratitude for the meals these ladies (and, yes, sometimes men) cook for them. Be the football player, high school royalty who cares more about others than his reputation. Those lunch ladies are someone's mother, wife, sister or friend -- be nice to them!

Stand up

The whole "Occupancy" thing has been getting a lot of attention. To be honest, I thought it was something having to do with the repeal of Don't Ask Don't Tell, but then I started looking into it more. Brace yourselves, because I Graduated, Now What? is about to get....political. I love the Occupancy movement, partly because it's so unclear to which party these people belong, and I love anything non-partisan. "Angry about our economic, social, and political problems" is not the official stance of either side.

What does Occupancy mean to me? I think it's a little like the Declaration of Independence. A bunch of people, pissed off, standing up and saying "No more of this. You suck, and we're done with you." It's the average person (fact: the "middle" is overlooked in almost everything, from the classroom to the professional world -- yet it often makes up the largest piece of the population) sticking it to the man. It's people who have heard "That's the way it is, and there's nothing you can do about it" one too many times.

The Occupants call themselves "The 99%," and claim that almost everything, from policy decisions to everyday things (for lack of a better word) are made to benefit the wealthy, the 1%. And it's not fair.

"But wait, you whiney, lazy, little brat," you might say. "Those people worked hard to get where they are. And you could too, with a little hard work."

Not true. Despite what we may believe, America is not the meritocracy it pretends to be. Read Malcom Gladwell's The Outliers for research on this. Successful people have been helped by timing, luck, knowing people, a natural disposition for others to serve them, and even the placement on the calendar of their birthdays. It's true, people who are born in earlier months are frequently more successful than those born in later months, especially in sports. I'm not making this up; read the book.

The fact is that who you know matters -- sometimes more so than how qualified you are. Those in lower classes and even in middle classes usually stay there. Look more closely at those Cinderella Stories you grew up with, and you will see how outside factors (factors OTHER than "just a little hard work") came into play during the success stories. Check this article out if you need some more evidence. I'm not saying they don't deserve to be there. I'm just saying that getting to the top is much, MUCH harder than people make it out to be -- and that those middle classers who feel overlooked and stand in the street holding signs have just as much right to voice their frustrations.

Then there's the bailouts. I don't know the whole story (does anyone, really?) but I DO know that when members of my family lost their jobs, nobody was there to bail them out. I know that there are millions of people who have lost their houses because of this economy, people forced to move, forced to downsize, forced to the streets in some cases. Is there anyone bailing them out, the occupants ask.

For me, it's personal because of the fact that I just graduated and it was like opening a door in a tree in the woods and walking into Halloweentown. With every letter and phone call I make, I feel like I'm standing in a mime box, screaming at... who? Who's listening? Nobody is listening, because I am just a resume in a stack of a million, and it doesn't matter that I love English, or that I want this more than probably anyone else in that pile. Then there's my college, which totally shoved me out the door and left me on my own -- and who was there to help me get a job this summer? Who was there to push the paperwork so my certification would go through in time? Nobody. Nobody was there, because they don't care. Because once they get my money, I become just another graduate, and the people at the top really can't be bothered with the problems of peasants. And there was nothing I could do about it.

Until now. No, this little sign and my "Peas on Earth" pajamas are not going to change the world. The other day I was discussing the Occupancy with some other people, and someone said, "It's all a bit silly, really. I mean, what is it going to do?" What is it going to do? Maybe nothing. But you know what definitely accomplishes nothing? Not trying. You think there weren't people who sat around while the colonists were chanting "No taxation without representation" and signing whiney papers? That those people didn't think the whole thing was "a bit silly?" But where would we be if those people hadn't exercised the free speech that they hadn't even earned yet?

Is the Occupancy going to be as landmark as the Declaration? Of course not -- at least probably not. And I apologize for the possibly hyperbolic comparison. But for so long people have been standing around sporting "WTF" expressions, saying "someone should do something about this, why doesn't someone do something?" And now someone has.

And so, to those of you who wish someone would do something, STAND UP! Wherever you are, stand up and OCCUPY!