Our Dumb Blog

I feel a lot better than I did about an hour ago. It may have to do with
having eaten supper. Or perhaps because I laughed during meal time. Maybe
it’s because my sister sprained, and possibly, broke her ankle today, and I’m
not in as much pain as she is.

Pain. It’s not that bad, really. I’m upstairs in the new room we recently
built. Our new found Australian friends left today, so the room, and
therefore the computer in it, is now free. This is good because my brother
is on the computer downstairs. I’ve got the incandescent lamp in the corner
turned on to illuminate the room in a soft glow. I turned the computer
monitor’s contrast knob all the way down so that it wouldn’t be glaring into
my eyes. All because I have a headache.

The reason for my discomfort no doubt lies in my erratic sleeping habits. I
took a nap yesterday afternoon and consequently didn’t realize just how late
it was last night when I quitted the Internet and hit my Greek homework. It
was 2 or 2:30 a.m. by the time I finally gave up and went to bed. I needed
to get up early the next morning because my picture was being taken at school
today along with all the other award recipients at the religion department
and honor society ceremony, where I got the Greek award. Dr. Berry, my Greek
instructor, told me to show up at the chapel on Monday morning to get
photographed. I asked if I should wear anything special.

The last time I got my photo taken at school was after I received the
Elementary (first year) Greek award two years ago. Dr. Berry had accosted me
in the hall that morning and requested my presence in the photograph. He
suggested I wear something nice. “Look,” I’d told him, “I have classes from
now till then, and I live half an hour away. There’s no way I can change
clothes.” So that photo portrayed several young men in coats and ties and me
standing there in my UM t-shirt.

This time I decided to ask beforehand what I should wear. “Wear whatever
would make you look as you would like to appear in the paper and the Alabama
Baptist” something or other, he answered. “Oh,” I said, “So I could dye my
hair pink and wear chains and ripped clothes and…” “Wear a dress!” he cut
me off.

So this morning saw me getting up early to don a denim dress. As I drove to
school, I realized that I was going to arrive there much earlier than I
needed to. I suddenly remembered that my alarm had been set, not for the
usual time I get up on Fridays, but the much too early time I had to rise
this Saturday in order to attend a conference with Mom. I got to school a
full 45 minutes before I actually needed to be there. Not having anything
else to do, and not feeling like doing much of anything, I parked near the
chapel, where we were supposed to get our pictures taken, leaned my head
back, and fell asleep in my car.

At 8:55, no one else was showing up for photographs. Another epiphany hit
me. Perhaps Dr. Berry had said 9:55 and not 8:55. That would certainly seem
the case. Sighing, I slugged my book bag over my shoulder and entered the
Fine Arts Building. Inside there was a note taped to the door to my
classroom reading, “Dr. Berry’s 9:00 Greek class will not meet today. Have
the assigned text translated for Wednesday.” Double sigh. Not only had I
gotten up much earlier than I thought I had to, my first class was even
canceled. I trudged to the snack shop, purchased a machine chugged
cappuccino, and sat down at an empty table to work on my Greek.

Cris Hyatt came in, spotted me, and sat down. She and I are running for
president and vice-president of the Senior Class respectively. We ran last
year together as well. She won, and I lost. This year, my competitor
decided not to seek re-election, leaving a void for me to fill. And it
appears I will fill it. “No one has signed up to run against us,” Cris told
me, “and the deadline is over.” “So now we can campaign needlessly?” I
asked. “Hey!” I added, “Let’s make signs that say, ‘VOTE… like it
matters.'”

A couple of other people joined us, but I had to leave them in order to get
to the chapel to try to get my picture taken again. There didn’t seem to be
anyone over there, but as I approached, one of the guys I know was standing
nearby with a tie on. Sure sign of someone hopefully photogenic, I thought.
We were approached by a couple of other well dressed people looking out of
place. Then one of the religion professors showed up, soon followed by
someone carrying a camera. I got to class late.

After Public Administration, I told my friend Paul that I wouldn’t be able to
meet him after class on Tuesday like I’d said I would because I had to go
scorpion shopping. He nodded. About 30 seconds later he asked, “Scorpion
shopping?”

(Update. My head is better and the downstairs computer with the only working
modem is finally free.)

Oh yeah. Today is April Fools Day.

I’d forgotten. However, I did end up playing a joke on someone, almost
inadvertently.

My sister was riding her horse today when Katie started bucking and threw her
off. She’s had many falls, but this one was severe. She sprained her ankle
fairly badly and maybe even broke it. My sister will have to go in to get it
X-rayed tomorrow morning.

And, no, I didn’t do anything to make the horse buck. Sickos.

My sister’s friend Denise called up today to talk to her. I knew it was
Denise because my sister basically only gets calls from two people, her
boyfriend Nathan and Denise. Her boyfriend was with her, so I figured it had
to be the other when my brother answered the phone and said, “No, she isn’t
here… She fell off of Katie and sprained her ankle… No, I’m not making it
up!… They’re at the doctor right now!” I gestured toward my brother.

“Let her get it from someone else,” I suggested. My bro handed the phone to
me. Denise was still railing into the phone, “…You know that’s not true.
I don’t care if it IS April Fools. You know where liars go and…” “Hey,”
I spoke. She finished her diatribe and shut up inquisitively. “All I know
is that Mom woke me up from my nap saying that my sister had fallen off of
Katie and had a sprained ankle, and they were going to the chiropractor to
get it checked. Okay?” When I had her convinced, I added, “Here, talk to
someone else,” and handed the phone to my friend Andrew who was standing
right there. “Make something up,” I instructed him.

“Hello?” asked Andrew into the phone. “Hello? Who is this?” After playing
with her a bit like that, he finally said, “Steph and Nathan went to a movie.
They’ll be back later. Bye.” Then he hung up.

A few minutes later the phone rang again. It was Nathan asking me to call
Denise to let her know where they were. I laughed, agreed, and looked up the
number where she works. “Rich’s Car Wash,” she answered the phone. “Is this
that topless carwash?” I asked. That’s how she knows it’s me. “Yeah,” she
giggled, “This is it.” I gave her Nathan’s message, reaffirming her belief
in the truth of my sister’s injury. Then I shattered everything by
including, “and happy April First,” before hanging up.

I took Stalin to school again today.

As she sat down, I softly warned the girl who sits next to me in Modern
Political Theory, “Ellen, don’t scream. I have my mouse with me.” She
laughed. Later on she asked me to come over and show off my pet to this kid
she had with her in the snack shop. Stalin is a pretty popular article.

I showed my new Zippo off to everyone I talked to. That would invariably
spark a, “I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, why do you have a lighter?”

“Because I asked for one.”

“But, why do you want one?” Then I’d have to go into the whole thing about
how useful lighters are at lighting up dark rooms and setting things on fire.
The smokers would extend their hands and say, “Let me see.” Then they’d
show me different tricks to do with a Zippo. I’ve been practicing some of
them. I can snap my fingers and light it now. I showed off my new found
skill to my family when I got home. My sister rolled her eyes and commented
on how stupid that was.

Jonah (learning new things every day and never realizing college could be
this much fun)

Well, I showed the letter from the Pew Younger Scholars thingy to Dr.
Schaefer today. He got mad. It was funny. Anyway, when I got home, Ben
gave me a message to call mom on the cell phone. She said that the Pew
Younger people had called saying that their list had Mobile College listed as
an eligible college but not the Unversity of Mobile. Schaefer had evidently
called them to let them know that Mobile College is now UM. So I was still
eligible, but they needed my two letters of recommendation.

I called Schaefer on the phone this afternoon. “I just got off the phone
talking about you AGAIN,” he said. While he was telling them that he had
already mailed the letters of recommendation, he heard someone in the
background on the other end of the line saying, “Oh! here they are.”

So that’s all taken care of. I’m not putting any eggs in that basket. We’ll
see what happens.

Don’t you just love happy endings?

Ugh.

I’ve been extraordinarily happy today. Cheerful, even. It could be the
chilling Edgar Allen Poe story I was listening to on tape on the way to
school this morning. Somehow listening to something so demented, so
depressing, so devilish puts me in a good mood. Or it could be that it was a
gorgeous day. Or that my birthday is tomorrow, and I’m excited. I kept
asking people I met, “Do you know what today is?” and “Have you seen the
comet?” My psychology test was too easy. Well, no, it was a good test, but
I knew all the answers. If I get anything wrong on it, I’ll be surprised. I
was the second person to finish. Usually I’m one of the last people to leave
the room during a test because I take my time. But I was confident, so I
just up and smugly left the 50 or 60 odd people still laboring over the exam.
Jaymz caught up with me outside. He was in a cheerful mood too. He’s got a
more mischievous demeanor than I thought. I also thought of him as the quiet
type, but he started talking about being in high school and playing poker and
chess in pre physics/chemistry class.

Even a trip to Food World couldn’t dampen my spirits on the way home despite
the fact that I seem to have lost my wallet. Although I invariably seem
destined to get at least one of the items on the list wrong.

Hmm… how very odd. Someone just rapped at my window. I pulled back the
partially closed curtain to reveal Nathan peering at me from the other side
of the glass. This might not seem odd, except that my room is on the second
floor. “You gonna elope with someone tonight?” he asked. I pulled back the
curtain further. He was standing on a ladder leaning against the side of the
house. I wonder if The Shadow Demon has been around lately.

Mom is in a cheerful mood as well, which is always nice. I think going to
the opera last night helped. She doesn’t get out as much as she should.
She’s downstairs now practicing her scales on the piano. She’s going to
audition on Wednesday for something, I can’t remember exactly what. It’s
like a big recital where a bunch of piano teachers play at the same time. Or
something. She’s real excited about it. She’s playing a Bach fugue and
something else. Maybe something by Beethoven.

Anyway, I was in a good mood today when I came home, lugging my things
upstairs. I used to just dump my purse, bookbag, and jacket behind the easy
chair in the den whenever I came home, exchanging my books later. But then
my grandmother had a stroke, and every little thing seemed to tick my parents
off, especially things lying around the house. So now I habitually take
everything upstairs first thing when I get home. As I performed this ritual
today, I looked through my sunglasses at the pile of stuff for me to take
upstairs lying on one of the steps. Added to the assortment of things were
three new envelopes. I picked them up and continued to ascend. Once in my
room, I looked at them more closely. One caught my attention. It was from
the Pew Younger Scholars Program. Determining to open my mail later, I threw
the letters onto my bed and strode back downstairs to further empty the car
of its contents.

I stayed up almost all night sometime last week preparing the applications
for a couple of things that might happen this summer. One of them was the
Pew Younger thingy. It’s a research type course for three weeks in May or
June at Notre Dame. Dr. Schaefer made an announcement about it in class, and
I sent off a card from a placard he’d been sent to hang up at school. The
information I received in response was of a program divided into several
interesting looking categories. Participants would receive a certain amount
of money for transportation,

Crap. I just got on maf, was fooling around with finger, and hit q for some
reason. It said, really quit lynx? I panicked and hit b, missing n by one
key, and it logged me off. Ah well. No one was on anyway, and I found out
what I wanted to know. I was complaining to Paul this morning about not
being able to delete when he said, “Zterm?” I nodded, yeah, I use Zterm.
“Rubout,” he said, “You need rubout.” Sure enough.
___
that half hour pause was me making lady bug chicken after mom yelled that
whoever was in charge of doing it better get it done NOW.
___

Anway, so I have backspace now. Thptptptptptptp….

Where was I.. Okay. Participants in the Pew Youngers thingamagigy would get
like 250 bucks for transportation up there and then a stipend of like 700
something dollars. Plus, I think all the books, fees, meals, and room were
provided. Good deal, right? I thought so. So I applied and all, sent in a
couple of writing samples (a paper on Madam Bovary, which I’ve been thinking
about sending to you, and one comparing Hamlet with the existential
philosopher Soren Kierkegaard), and managed to mail it a couple of days before
the due date.

So here it is, only about a week and a half later that I’m getting a letter
from them. Possibilities rushed through my mind. I thought of the nastiest
no-we-don’t-want-you-in-our-program letter I could think of and then
hurriedly slit the envelope open before my imagination came up with anything
more rosy. I forced my eyes to read the contents quickly.

Dear Joanna:

We received your application to our Summer Seminar program, but regret to
inform you that you are ineligible for application because you have not
attended one of the 173 small Christian colleges and universities that our
program targets.

If you have any questions concerning which schools may or may not be
eligible, feel free to call our office.

Thank you for your interest in our program.

Sincerely,

the administrative assistant

Well, I’m not disappointed. Just annoyed. Maybe even a little angry. I
didn’t expect to be accepted in the program. Just thought I’d give whatever
opportunity that presented itself to me a shot and see what turned up.
Rejection letters are a part of life. But this is stupid. I’m fairly
certain that Schaefer doesn’t put up any placards unless the people who send
them to him ask him to. If this is true, then they sent UM a thing that UM
students aren’t even eligible for. That just irks me. I mean, it would have
been okay if they said they didn’t want me, but now after all this they’re
saying that I don’t even go to an eligible school. That’s plain silly.
Argh. Okay. I’m a bit more than a little mad, now that I think about it.
To think that I stayed up all night sweating about this (okay, maybe I
stayed up most of the night chatting on the internet and then eventually got
around to getting the stuff together).

I guess this is one of those cases when I get upset. Mad. Injustice. Not
that it’s a big deal or anything. I’m obviously not meant to go there, and
that’s okay. But it bothers me. I’ll show it to Schaefer. He should know
anyway.

Ah well. It doesn’t really bother me that much. I just had to vent a bit.

Anyway, that’s one more option eliminated for this summer. I wonder what
I’ll eventually end up doing?

There’s something ironic about dead flowers. We surround ourselves with
flowers perhaps to remind ourselves of life. Color. Vivacity. The dead
magnolia is sitting still perched in its empty vase on my desk. Its red hues
are slowly morphing into a dryish brown. Its mottled appearance isn’t as
pretty as it once was. Yet its appeal is even greater for me now. It’s
looking more like death, and perhaps that is why it appears even more
beautiful to me. Death.

Death.

I handed the letter I got today to Nathan. He got mad. “Write ’em!
Complain!”