I’m Amanda. I’ve got wide eyes, a smart mouth, and a MetroCard. And I’m not afraid to use them.
I’ve been trying to read Malcolm Gladwell’s latest book, What the Dog Saw: And Other Adventures, with little success. I find it to be a collection of some of Gladwell’s least interesting articles.
Also, I cleverly worked the public library system by requesting a large print edition that wouldn’t be in much demand.
The result?
A 661-page would-be tome. In hardcover.
It’s not only painful to lug around. I feel special, err differently-abled when I try to read the thing on the subway.
In 2008, I gained independence, confidence, experience, and possibly other -ences. Oh, and a snazzier blog!
I lost TBID. Really, I lost a lot of things having to do with him.
I stopped drinking Coke.
I started writing fiction.
Last night, a blizzard hit NYC.
Growing up in Texas, I could only imagine what “blizzard” meant. Snow falling cold and hard as bullets. Dagger-like icicles. Winds that cowed pipes and power lines.
Then I moved here with a down coat and a few sweaters, bought long underwear, and waited for snow.
When the first blizzard hit, I was wearing pointy-toed boots with three-inch stiletto heels. I hadn’t been tuned in to the news enough to hear the b-word, or else I’d have stayed in and kept a snow vigil.
There are fiction class exercises, and then there’s the marathon - the up to 25 pages of material for everyone in class to read and critique.
My first workshop experience was thought provoking and encouraging. Everyone thought the writing was funny, the dialogue strong, the characters interesting.
Then my instructor said soberly, “But I think Amanda’s holding back.”
1. The first big winter snowfall
2. Cider donuts
3. Opening up a new bottle of shampoo
I’ve been thinking of things worth waiting for.
I have front burner goals for my life, but they’re nebulous. I guess they’re more like stuff in the kitchen cabinets that flows onto the counter. Then on the floor, down the hall…
They don’t fit in one place.
My comedy class instructor Dave walked up to me and whispered, “Are all your people here? I’m thinking you’re next.” Someone was onstage talking about cooking shows or something, and I shook my head.
I wasn’t ready to go up. A few hours ago, I was. Even 15 minutes ago. But now I was starting to feel like maybe I’m not funny. For whatever reason, this wasn’t a concern in front of strangers at an open mic two weeks earlier.
This time, people who know me were there. And people who ostensibly know me, blog readers who ventured out from behind the computer monitor to support me in real life. I felt so appreciated and excited and forgetful.
This week I read Predictably Irrational: The Hidden Forces That Shape Our Decisions by MIT behavioral economist Dan Ariely. The book covers everything from supply and demand to procrastination to the allure of freebies.
The conclusion: We’re irrational, but we rationalize it so we seem rational. Maybe we can try to work on that?
An analogy for this conclusion: Dearly departed Michael Jackson’s plastic surgery denial. “Of course, my face is shaped completely differently! I’m an adult now!”
1. Choose the milk (or really, any beverage) from the back of the refrigerated section.
2. Hold the door for someone else.
3. When you get home from work, change into your “play clothes.”
1. I’m going to blog about you.
2. I need personal space and time…
3. But not too much.
4. I determine what’s “too much.”
