Abort, Retry, Fail

This morning I was interviewed for the local Capital Public Radio NPR program Insight, with Beth Ruyak. Since they had me drive into the studio this time for an in-person talk, that meant I had ample time on the 90-minute drive back home to reflect upon the many ways in which I sounded like a complete dork.

Instead of (or in addition to) thinking about how awesome it was that they invited me back, or how much less nervous I sounded than the last time I was on the radio, or even how cool it was that I just had 15 minutes MORE of fame, thus totaling approximately an hour of radio time in total, I spent most of the drive dissecting what I could have done better. Because THAT'S JUST ME! A barrel of laughs!

So, problem #1: the sound of my voice. In the green room beforehand, chatting with the guest who was to appear before me; talking to the producer of the show, Ellen; even meeting Beth Ruyak before the show for a few minutes--I sounded PERFECTLY NORMAL. Professional, even. Then, the minute I was sitting in front of the mic and had to talk--my first words, I believe, were "Hi, Beth!"--suddenly a frog appeared in my throat out of nowhere, as if by magic, and I was talking around a mucus impediment. LOVELY.

I should note, however, that I sounded just fine (in my own head, anyway...) when I read a passage from the book. Having been complimented on my reading during the book launch last week, I felt relatively confident that that part, at least, I could manage. And I think I did. However:

Problem #2: As I mentioned above, I did sound less nervous this time--and I'm happy to say, I didn't have that problem I had before of suddenly blanking out on what the host asked me while in the middle of a long-winded answer, thus forcing me to babble on until I reached a conclusion of some sort. But I did experience a similar mind-blankening panic issue: several times, I would be in the middle of my long-winded answer and then forget what in tarnation *I* had been saying and what my point was supposed to be.

The way I see it, there are a few possible solutions to this problem, all of which I found myself using today, and which I have likened to 1980s-era computer lingo for your amusement:

1. ABORT! ABORT! Finish my sentence and rely on the host to finesse the transition if I stopped making sense.
2. RETRY! Keep on blathering in the hope that I will remember what my initial point was and be able to bring it around to a reasonably coherent conclusion.
3. FAIL! Trail off mid-sentence and mid-thought and look pleadingly at the host, while mentally banging head against the desk.

Fortunately, I *do* get a retry, an actual one--the host seemed potentially interested in inviting me back when I have a new book (yay!), and also, I have a chance to redeem myself with another radio appearance tonight, this one for Write On Radio, a program at KFAI Minneapolis. Wish me luck...

I Am Not Alone

I love it when I'm reading something and I have one of those "oh my god" moments, a moment where I recognize or identify with what I'm reading so strongly that I have to go back and read that sentence or paragraph again, and then again and maybe even yet again. I've been having a lot of those moments with my current read, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking, by Susan Cain.

I've been meaning to read this one for a while--ever since I heard the author in a radio interview--but now that I've finally gotten to it, I keep wishing I'd read it sooner. So much of what she writes about resonates with me in an incredibly deep way. I read her stories of real-life introverted individuals and feel like perhaps the way I am isn't weird or unusual or abnormal or pathological, and I feel amazed that there are other people out there who are like me.

Today's real oh-my-god moment came in the form of an almost toss-off, brief mention, but it hit me really hard. The author was talking about a respected professor who would get constantly get invited to speaking engagements, and sometimes they'd ask him to have lunch with bigwigs afterward. But in some of those instances, he also had an afternoon lecture, and he really, really needed the down time during lunch. One of the locations where this would happen did not offer any opportunities for escape, and so "After each lecture he would race to the restroom and hide inside a stall." A few lines later was a parenthetical aside: "(Taking shelter in bathrooms is a surprisingly common phenomenon, as you probably know if you're an introvert.)"

As a matter of fact, NO, I did NOT know it was "surprisingly common"--I actually thought I was sort of a freak for doing that, even though it's something I've done since I was a kid. Starting when I was about 9 or 10, I used to hide in the bathroom at parties my dad brought me to. These were usually vast South Asian weddings in giant hotel halls, or crowded parties at the house of some distant relative or friend or community member. Only sometimes would I even know the person who was getting married or who was throwing the event. I usually only really knew my dad, my stepmom, and my stepsister, and sometimes my uncle's family, if they happened to be there (and that usually helped A LOT). There were usually at least a dozen people I kinda-sorta-knew or had met before or was supposed to know but didn't remember--assorted step-relatives, family friends, people from the mosque community.

I found these events excruciatingly long and tedious, and had no desire to try to talk to random people--some of whom spoke very little English and so would address me in the Urdu they wrongly assumed I knew. The events were loud, and full of brightly-colored clothing and sparkling jewelry (admittedly, quite lovely), and there always seemed to be little kids screaming and running rampant everywhere. Sometimes my stepsister would be bugging me. (Sorry, Mimi...)

I had almost always been encouraged from a very young age to take a book with me whenever I had to wait around somewhere or thought I might get bored--it was a guaranteed way to keep me quiet, docile, and reasonably content. And so at these parties I would often have a paperback book stashed in my purse, or if I didn't have a bag, in my dad's car. From time to time, when I got overwhelmed, I would rush off to the bathroom with my book and hang out in there reading until some time passed and I could face the hubbub again, but hopefully not so long that people wondered where I was and what the heck I was doing. This was a particularly fun activity in hotel or event-facility bathrooms because they were often huge and cushy, and sometimes they had a front room with a chair or bench to sit on. I tried not to hang out in the stall. People wonder what you're doing in there. And at times, I still go hide in the bathroom if I'm feeling overwhelmed, and if I don't have somewhere else to conveniently escape to.

So when I read that sentence in the book, it really brought home the point that the way I am is not wrong, and it's not really even that unusual--and perhaps I should be more charitable and compassionate with myself when I think back on those times, instead of assuming I was the abnormal one at the party, the only one who didn't really want to be there or who preferred less chaotic types of get-togethers.

Munch's The Scream

Photo: Wikimedia Commons

I absolutely love this. This is Norwegian artist Edvard Munch on his painting The Scream:

I was tired and ill--I stood looking out across the fjord--the sun was setting--the clouds were coloured red--like blood--I felt as though a scream went through nature--I thought I heard a scream--I painted this picture--painted the clouds like real blood. The colours were screaming.

(in The Shock of the New by Robert Hughes)

Amazing stuff. I also learned that the figure in The Scream bears a non-coincidental resemblance to an Incan mummy on display at the Parisian Expo of 1889.

Blogging Thoughts

I've been giving a lot of thought to the problem of what purpose I want this blog, this particular one right here, to serve. I haven't been posting a lot. That doesn't mean I'm not blogging, because I post twice a week to Finding Wonderland, rain or shine, and as the Cybils blog editor again this year, I put up between 3 and 5 posts per week there. And then there's my paid blogging/article writing gig at A Place for Mom, which has been upped from 2 posts a week to 3. At about 500 words apiece, it's no small potatoes. I blog a LOT.

Just…very little of it is what I'd call my personal thoughts. I tend to save those for short bursts on Twitter and Facebook. I am also constantly battling questions like Who really cares? What purpose does it serve? Are my thoughts really that interesting? Does anyone even "read" blogs anymore or do they just go surfing for specific topics? I mean, I haven't been doing much blog reading lately myself. I hate to admit that, especially as someone very much enmeshed in the children's literature blogging community. I've gained a lot of treasured friends and writing connections by reading their blogs. But my blog reading is no longer regulated by Google Reader; I read a handful of random posts in any given week, clicking through from e-mails or tweets or Facebook. I haven't been commenting. Everyone else has plenty to say; they don't need to hear my two cents.

So then what? That's the question I've been asking myself, over and over. What do I have to say, here, that hasn't been said a million times and far more eloquently? What do I have to offer that's unique, and that I haven't posted elsewhere? And do I have enough of it to offer on a thrice-weekly basis or whatever? Am I helping, or at least entertaining, anyone by doing it? Myself, at the very least? Do I have to have a special "thing" that my blog is known for? How can I create something sufficiently individual, or is BEING an individual and posting about it enough?

I've wondered over and over if I should say goodbye to this blog; if I should stop blogging, period. I haven't gotten to that point yet. But I'm definitely doing some thinking about the why of it all.

Put a Binder Clip On It

Sort of in honor of Put a Bird On It, lately I've been thinking that for many a household task, I can just Put a Binder Clip On It. Those damn things are useful. Here are a few purposes I've used binder clips for that they were not originally intended to serve:

• Chip clip/bag clip. This one's obvious, but still. I have never, ever owned enough kitchen-specific bag clips, and they cost too much anyway. Whereas I have probably hundreds of binder clips of myriad sizes, clamoring to be used.
• Cord holder. Actually, I haven't done this one, yet--but I keep meaning to. Take one of those gigantic binder clips and keep those pesky electronics cords together, untangled, and out of the way. (Just don't put the clip ON the cord....I mean slide the cords through the long triangular space.)
• Outgoing mail holder. We have one of those mailboxes that's like a little box attached to the wall next to the front door. For incoming mail, you lift the lid on a hinge and put it inside. For outgoing mail, there's an unwieldy little two-pronged rack thingy. It looks a lot like this, but white. Because I'm paranoid that my outgoing mail will fall off the rack and go AWOL before the mail carrier gets to it, especially if it's breezy, I hold it on with a little binder clip.
• DIY seat belt repair. Admittedly, this is REALLY not a normal use for a binder clip, and not one I would wish on anyone. But it had to be done. Here's the story: you may not have ever noticed it before, but there is a little plastic nub on your seat belt that stops the buckle from sliding down all the way to the floor when it's just hanging there unused. (At least, there is in my Civic.) At some point, the nub fell off my seat belt. All I had in the car that was of any remote use was a binder clip, so I MacGyvered that shit. It's now been like that for weeks.

So, yep. Put a binder clip on it. That's my advice. I'm sure there are many other uses I haven't even considered. Like maybe a key chain. In a pinch I've used a large paper clip as a key chain, so why not a binder clip?