Riding in a crowded-though-comfortably-large van, I watched the world turn colors all the way to Utica, NY. The reds, the yellows, browns and in-betweens are beautiful but indicate also death's impending, though temporary, triumph over the landscape. I love it though. Autumn, that is. I like to think of it as nature's big finale. Its last hurrah. It's an easy season to appreciate.
The trip was five hours each way, a fairly straight shot on the major highways. No one forgot to bring CDs, books, iPods, cell phones, laptops, whathaveyou. No one needed them either.
Initially, due to its irrectangular shape, my guitar wouldn't fit in the back with the luggage, so for 15 minutes it served as an inadequate footrest. Then a laprest. And at that point it seemed silly to not pull it out and play a tune or two. Which turned to more, which turned to the whole trip, pausing only for coffee and discussion that required two hands.
It was beautiful. Forget the fact that some of the voices were old and scratchy. Forget also the fact that the harmonies weren't always in tune. Finally, forget the fact that I snapped my B-string midway through Rocky Raccoon and finished with five (before replacing the whole lot with an extra set I was sure I didn't pack). It was the sort of trip I'd be tempted to write off to my often-wandering imagination were it not for my still tattered hands.
It's hard to pinpoint exactly what I'm talking about, or why I'm even taking about it, but trust me when I say it was special. I suppose that above all else, it was nice to remember that life matters most when it doesn't. That happiness isn't conditional and shouldn't be fleeting.
I mean, so long as you can lift your chin and then your voice, your spirits are sure to follow.
10.11.2006
9.19.2006
Ever_Trying: Behind the Blogger
It occurred to me the other day that not everyone reading our blog knows much about its authors outside of this sometimes neglected space. So here, for your education and entertainment, are 20 unauthorized points of E.T. trivia:
1. To begin, she’s Asian-American. Adopted as an infant from a South Korean orphanage, she was raised the prettiest outlier in Northeastern Oklahoma.
2. And she’s a good enough sport to wear the “South Korea’s Got Seoul” t-shirt I bought for her birthday a few years back.
3. She read books at the dinner table for most of her childhood but is quite the conversationalist these days.
4. Speaking of, she reads faster than anyone you know. Seriously. Most of us digest a picture slower than she does a page of text.
5. Her father is a lovable riot. He recently shipped to her an escape ladder for her second story bedroom window.
6. She can’t handle tequila. At all.
7. Historical evidence would suggest that she only dates national merit scholars.
8. Though I wouldn’t call her a performer, she was in the high school’s marching band...and I’m very tempted to post visual proof. But I won’t. Wouldn’t want to, you know, rain on the whole anonymity thing...or incite yearbook retaliation.
9. She was admitted to and attended a prestigious fine arts summer program for students called Quartz Mountain as a poet. It was there that she discovered her artistic medium, though she's been on hiatus for some time.
10. She has a MAJOR aversion to being touched under the chin.
11. And snakes.
12. While in college, she worked at Victoria's Secret as a sales representative.
13. For years, she had a one-eyed dog named Brownie.
14. She was once a cheerleader and is rumored to fit, still, into half of her uniform.
15. She is the only person I know, my age, that uses the phrase "had a ball" regularly and gets away with it.
16. One of my most thoughtful friends, she keeps better track of my birthdays than I do. Her gifts, too, are always exquisitely personalized. Favorites include the thermos-housed vodka bottle (no, the backstory for that one will not be provided) and the beautiful journal that she christened with an encouraging message just inside the cover.
17. She can catch and throw spiraled footballs.
18. Though she supposedly abhors the telephone, we've logged a handful of six-hour conversations in recent years.
19. I don't think she knows this, but her old Open Diary was the exclusive catalyst for my decision to write online. To write at all, actually.
20. She has, for as long as she can remember, wanted to teach because she believes wholeheartedly in not only the possibility, but the dire urgency, of a brighter tomorrow. And so she does. Simple as that.
1. To begin, she’s Asian-American. Adopted as an infant from a South Korean orphanage, she was raised the prettiest outlier in Northeastern Oklahoma.
2. And she’s a good enough sport to wear the “South Korea’s Got Seoul” t-shirt I bought for her birthday a few years back.
3. She read books at the dinner table for most of her childhood but is quite the conversationalist these days.
4. Speaking of, she reads faster than anyone you know. Seriously. Most of us digest a picture slower than she does a page of text.
5. Her father is a lovable riot. He recently shipped to her an escape ladder for her second story bedroom window.
6. She can’t handle tequila. At all.
7. Historical evidence would suggest that she only dates national merit scholars.
8. Though I wouldn’t call her a performer, she was in the high school’s marching band...and I’m very tempted to post visual proof. But I won’t. Wouldn’t want to, you know, rain on the whole anonymity thing...or incite yearbook retaliation.
9. She was admitted to and attended a prestigious fine arts summer program for students called Quartz Mountain as a poet. It was there that she discovered her artistic medium, though she's been on hiatus for some time.
10. She has a MAJOR aversion to being touched under the chin.
11. And snakes.
12. While in college, she worked at Victoria's Secret as a sales representative.
13. For years, she had a one-eyed dog named Brownie.
14. She was once a cheerleader and is rumored to fit, still, into half of her uniform.
15. She is the only person I know, my age, that uses the phrase "had a ball" regularly and gets away with it.
16. One of my most thoughtful friends, she keeps better track of my birthdays than I do. Her gifts, too, are always exquisitely personalized. Favorites include the thermos-housed vodka bottle (no, the backstory for that one will not be provided) and the beautiful journal that she christened with an encouraging message just inside the cover.
17. She can catch and throw spiraled footballs.
18. Though she supposedly abhors the telephone, we've logged a handful of six-hour conversations in recent years.
19. I don't think she knows this, but her old Open Diary was the exclusive catalyst for my decision to write online. To write at all, actually.
20. She has, for as long as she can remember, wanted to teach because she believes wholeheartedly in not only the possibility, but the dire urgency, of a brighter tomorrow. And so she does. Simple as that.
8.19.2006
Altar Call
--- --- ---
The bells toll.
Standard? A call to Sanctuary, I suppose. Ironic though.
And in we march, tightly aligned, to our positions marked by silent stains.
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers...
“Dearly Beloved, we gather here in the sight of God...”
...for he to-day that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.
“...in holy matrimony.”
Piercing voice, soothing venom. An old vet.
“...sacred union of man and woman.”
Oh, Mr. Jefferson, how could you have known your ambiguity’s reach? But no bother, ‘tis the American way. How better to represent both sides?
“Repeat after me...”
As hundreds before you have done. Your day, your fantasy, is merely Saturday.
“...'til death do you part.” - “I will.”
She knows, dear Daddy, and loves you too.
“I will.”
...shall gentle his condition
“Then by the power...”
And the glory, for ever and ever...
“...vested in me...”
By state, by God...
“Please kiss your...”
Amen.
Turn and smile and gallop in step.
United they stand.
And now our cue, but hold your turn.
Divided.
The bells, the bloody bells.
Are all.
--- --- ---
The bells toll.
Standard? A call to Sanctuary, I suppose. Ironic though.
And in we march, tightly aligned, to our positions marked by silent stains.
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers...
“Dearly Beloved, we gather here in the sight of God...”
...for he to-day that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.
“...in holy matrimony.”
Piercing voice, soothing venom. An old vet.
“...sacred union of man and woman.”
Oh, Mr. Jefferson, how could you have known your ambiguity’s reach? But no bother, ‘tis the American way. How better to represent both sides?
“Repeat after me...”
As hundreds before you have done. Your day, your fantasy, is merely Saturday.
“...'til death do you part.” - “I will.”
She knows, dear Daddy, and loves you too.
“I will.”
...shall gentle his condition
“Then by the power...”
And the glory, for ever and ever...
“...vested in me...”
By state, by God...
“Please kiss your...”
Amen.
Turn and smile and gallop in step.
United they stand.
And now our cue, but hold your turn.
Divided.
The bells, the bloody bells.
Are all.
--- --- ---
8.16.2006
Notes to Self
Sorry it's been a bit. Still busy, haven't had much to say either. Life has been eventful in a lot of ways, dull in just as many. I figured a check-in post was appropriate all the same.
I may probe further into the past few weeks later on, but for now I'll leave you with this not conclusive and probably boring list of inconsequential learnings:
1) Beer is but one way by which to achieve beer goggles.
2) Indiana is essentially Oklahoma minus cows and plus corn.
3) The receipts in my wallet feed on green bills.
4) I have not yet forgotten how to sing in front of a crowd.
5) Beauty surmounts distance, words and even hands.
6) Noveling is cake through 100 or so pages. Creating conflict is simple; resolving it is another matter.
7) I am not terribly religious, but gospel music stirs my soul.
8) Wireless printing makes me giddy.
9) Joyce makes my head hurt.
10) I believe wholeheartedly in Bono, Bill Gates and Jeffrey Sachs. Popularity, prosperity and intelligence united form a powerful triumvirate.
11) Apple computers are worth the hype.
12) Wheat bread tastes better than white.
13) My greatest and most selfish dream is to one day own and inhabit an otherwise deserted island in the Pacific.
14) I love bright orange ties.
15) But in general, I hate ties.
16) Chapstick is no longer permissible on airplanes.
17) Though television is for the most part terrible, Gregory House is my hero.
18) The highest-rated restaurant in Little Italy is owned and run by Albanians.
19) Someone thought "snakes on a plane" was a quality premise for a Hollywood film.
20) Love is all you need.
I may probe further into the past few weeks later on, but for now I'll leave you with this not conclusive and probably boring list of inconsequential learnings:
1) Beer is but one way by which to achieve beer goggles.
2) Indiana is essentially Oklahoma minus cows and plus corn.
3) The receipts in my wallet feed on green bills.
4) I have not yet forgotten how to sing in front of a crowd.
5) Beauty surmounts distance, words and even hands.
6) Noveling is cake through 100 or so pages. Creating conflict is simple; resolving it is another matter.
7) I am not terribly religious, but gospel music stirs my soul.
8) Wireless printing makes me giddy.
9) Joyce makes my head hurt.
10) I believe wholeheartedly in Bono, Bill Gates and Jeffrey Sachs. Popularity, prosperity and intelligence united form a powerful triumvirate.
11) Apple computers are worth the hype.
12) Wheat bread tastes better than white.
13) My greatest and most selfish dream is to one day own and inhabit an otherwise deserted island in the Pacific.
14) I love bright orange ties.
15) But in general, I hate ties.
16) Chapstick is no longer permissible on airplanes.
17) Though television is for the most part terrible, Gregory House is my hero.
18) The highest-rated restaurant in Little Italy is owned and run by Albanians.
19) Someone thought "snakes on a plane" was a quality premise for a Hollywood film.
20) Love is all you need.
7.24.2006
untitled
When Quentin Compson sinks by his own doing to the bottom of a local river, he stands forever victorious over his life’s relentless antagonist.
Whether we realize it or not, most of us are perpetual life optimists. Think about it. Why, at the very least, do we wake up and press forward day after day?
Simple. It beats the alternative.
This is, biologically at least, false. Though unpleasant, it is the primary means by which we gain awareness of physiological irregularities. It is the messenger that indicates and gives legitimacy to internal wrong. Pain reminds us that our feelings have concrete foundations.
Compson believes fully in the authenticity of his feelings regarding his sister, Caddy. If he didn’t, his anguish would have been merely for vanity’s sake. Realizing that duration, the great emotional equalizer, would one day strip him of his conviction—he would call it lucidity—he plays the only superior card in his hand and takes his own life. By doing so, he wins a battle within a war that has been waged since the world’s inception.
Sadly or fortunately, most of us are not as courageous as Faulkner’s troubled protagonist. Truth is second only to survival. And as a survivor, I offer up this wholly academic and dispassionate lamentation for a cause, a person, in which I once believed. A cause that just yesterday bore the weight of tomorrow.
7.22.2006
Buried at Bobst
I've lately become quite a recluse. I can count on one hand the trips I've taken out of my Carnegie Hill neighborhood in the last month, and those were all out of necessity. I have seen friends, but typically for lunch and always on my turf.
The short of the long is that I've been busy. Damned busy, actually. Though my not-for-certain graduate school enrollment is still a year away, the GRE, and more specifically the literature subject test, is not.
The exam, if you're not familiar with it, is an extraordinary pain in the ass. There is no reading list. Passages can be taken, literally, from any surviving English or American text and any world text that post-dates 1925. There are unofficial guides--such as this one--that organize data from a handful of previous exams. The problem, however, is that they are all vastly different with the exception of the comparatively major titles.
It's true, many of the test questions relate directly to the passage provided. But in just as many cases they ask the victim to identify from 6 lines of text an author, time period and genre.
So I've been reading. Furiously. Will be for awhile. Please direct helpful offerings to me by e-mail, particularly if you're well-versed (har har) in classical poetry.
The short of the long is that I've been busy. Damned busy, actually. Though my not-for-certain graduate school enrollment is still a year away, the GRE, and more specifically the literature subject test, is not.
The exam, if you're not familiar with it, is an extraordinary pain in the ass. There is no reading list. Passages can be taken, literally, from any surviving English or American text and any world text that post-dates 1925. There are unofficial guides--such as this one--that organize data from a handful of previous exams. The problem, however, is that they are all vastly different with the exception of the comparatively major titles.
It's true, many of the test questions relate directly to the passage provided. But in just as many cases they ask the victim to identify from 6 lines of text an author, time period and genre.
So I've been reading. Furiously. Will be for awhile. Please direct helpful offerings to me by e-mail, particularly if you're well-versed (har har) in classical poetry.
7.16.2006
Eleanor
"Suddenly I turned around and she was standin' there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair.
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns.
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."-dylan
It's hard to know the right path when you're not sure it exists. The world is filled with uphill scraps, and noble are those--the career soldiers--who meet them with Sisyphean resolve.
I've always considered myself a supporter of causes, guardian of principle, fighter of the good fight, so forth. But I'm no martyr; not these days, anyway. While far from weak and worried, a weekend warrior I've become.
I came to
Thank you for your words.
7.12.2006
Cold Feet
I've been sort of a mess lately, I won't lie. The real world has been coming unusually hard and I just haven't been prepared for it. As you might have gathered from my last post, a big part of the problem is my location, and corresponding job, hunt. I'd like to shift today's focus to something else though. An even bigger marker on the highway to adulthood.
Precisely a month from today, my best friend since the sixth grade is tying the knot with his college sweetheart. I will be there, beside him, as a groomsman. And I'm sort of up in the air about the whole thing.
Don't get me wrong, I couldn't be happier for them. From the start, they were one of those indestructible couples that everyone hates for having settled forever at such a young age. The two of them couldn't be more right. They have jobs, an apartment, a dog. I'm sure they'll have beautiful kids too. But something still troubles me. No, troubles is too soft a word; let's go with terrifies. Something still terrifies me. And I guess that feeling boils down to the following.
Are we really this freaking old?
How is it even possible that we went from shooting bottle rockets at each other to grown-up in just over a year? Shouldn't there be some kind of transition period?
Spookier yet, I'm a tiny bit jealous. Not to the point of being ready to settle down--as if there were even blips on the radar--but jealous enough to worry. I mean, I'm the guy who honestly thought marriage was something best left in the post-thirty range. Why am I suddenly so amiable toward it?
Sometimes I feel like life is living me. So long as it leads me to happiness, I guess I'm ok with that. Also, it's probably good that I'm having my mini-crisis a month before the wedding - I'd sure hate to, you know, pass out during the ceremony. I should be well-braced by August.
Not to mention, I'll have the best date a guy could ask for on my arm. She's another one, a friend, who has touched the last decade of my life more than she will probably ever know. We've met a handful of life's big transitions together already, and I'm genuinely thankful she's still at my side.
So again, here's to tomorrow.
Precisely a month from today, my best friend since the sixth grade is tying the knot with his college sweetheart. I will be there, beside him, as a groomsman. And I'm sort of up in the air about the whole thing.
Don't get me wrong, I couldn't be happier for them. From the start, they were one of those indestructible couples that everyone hates for having settled forever at such a young age. The two of them couldn't be more right. They have jobs, an apartment, a dog. I'm sure they'll have beautiful kids too. But something still troubles me. No, troubles is too soft a word; let's go with terrifies. Something still terrifies me. And I guess that feeling boils down to the following.
Are we really this freaking old?
How is it even possible that we went from shooting bottle rockets at each other to grown-up in just over a year? Shouldn't there be some kind of transition period?
Spookier yet, I'm a tiny bit jealous. Not to the point of being ready to settle down--as if there were even blips on the radar--but jealous enough to worry. I mean, I'm the guy who honestly thought marriage was something best left in the post-thirty range. Why am I suddenly so amiable toward it?
Sometimes I feel like life is living me. So long as it leads me to happiness, I guess I'm ok with that. Also, it's probably good that I'm having my mini-crisis a month before the wedding - I'd sure hate to, you know, pass out during the ceremony. I should be well-braced by August.
Not to mention, I'll have the best date a guy could ask for on my arm. She's another one, a friend, who has touched the last decade of my life more than she will probably ever know. We've met a handful of life's big transitions together already, and I'm genuinely thankful she's still at my side.
So again, here's to tomorrow.
7.09.2006
Always Moving, Hopefully Forward
After nearly a month away, I landed at New York's LaGuardia airport just over a week ago. Those who have at some point made the same trip are likely to remember their sweaty-palmed armrest adherence as they skimmed just meters over the water on their flight's final approach. This effect seemed equally potent regardless even of advanced knowledge gained through experience as the banks of the East River appeared every time to edge closer and closer to the landing strip.
Until last week, that is. And call me dramatic, but it sounded to me like the perfect--albeit imperfect--metaphorical support for my decision to leave the city.
There are a lot of intangibles that weigh heavily into New York's unmistakable allure. Listing them would be not only impossible, but also unnecessary. Suffice it to say, the elements react chemically when concocted yielding what I can only describe as life itself - scary, exciting, but usually both. It's the only place I've ever been that would lose nothing in the way of appeal were it to be mysteriously rid of human life.
Unfortunately, the local economy is well aware of this and ensures that it remains the most expensive metropolitan in the world. Does the value justify the cost? I think so with the aforementioned utility considered. But what when the glow starts to fade?
Well, it's a pretty bad buy to say the least.
Additionally, the city was always more of a fad for me than anything else. Ten to twenty years from now, I don't want to be riding the subway to work and raising my kids in a two-bedroom apartment. I want a house with a yard, a grill, maybe even a pool.
Not to say that I'm yet ready to settle into that phase of my life either. But I feel that, having just finished school, I've reached the optimal point at which to align myself with tomorrow.
I'll keep you posted.
Until last week, that is. And call me dramatic, but it sounded to me like the perfect--albeit imperfect--metaphorical support for my decision to leave the city.
There are a lot of intangibles that weigh heavily into New York's unmistakable allure. Listing them would be not only impossible, but also unnecessary. Suffice it to say, the elements react chemically when concocted yielding what I can only describe as life itself - scary, exciting, but usually both. It's the only place I've ever been that would lose nothing in the way of appeal were it to be mysteriously rid of human life.
Unfortunately, the local economy is well aware of this and ensures that it remains the most expensive metropolitan in the world. Does the value justify the cost? I think so with the aforementioned utility considered. But what when the glow starts to fade?
Well, it's a pretty bad buy to say the least.
Additionally, the city was always more of a fad for me than anything else. Ten to twenty years from now, I don't want to be riding the subway to work and raising my kids in a two-bedroom apartment. I want a house with a yard, a grill, maybe even a pool.
Not to say that I'm yet ready to settle into that phase of my life either. But I feel that, having just finished school, I've reached the optimal point at which to align myself with tomorrow.
I'll keep you posted.
6.28.2006
Miss me?
Sorry for the unannounced leave of absence; I've been on the figurative road. It was a wonderful time full relaxation, rekindling, and reflection. And I think that's enough about it for now. I hate Kerouac knockoffs almost as much as I hate Crocs.
6.04.2006
Same Song, Different Verse
When my parents--all of them--flew up for graduation a few weeks ago, they asked me over and over if I had fully realized the significance of the event. I don't guess that this is terribly peculiar, but it did alert me to the fact that no one, peers aside, remarked similarly on my high school graduation. In fact, high school graduation in general was quite lackluster.
I guess it makes sense. The completion of high school doesn't mark much more than the completion of junior high in today's white collar America; the degree effectively affords you the right to go to college and nothing else.
But I'm getting sidetracked as you will find that I often do. The point I was trying to make is that my undergraduate commencement ceremony is supposed to mark the biggest leap of my life - the leap into adulthood. It's supposed to be scary, exciting, and basically everything else that my co-author (perhaps that's better than "she," only slightly less impersonal though) so eloquently described. That doesn't seem to be the case for me though, and I think it's because adulthood and self-sufficiency pale next to a decision I made three years back.
I too came from a small town in Oklahoma where you weren't anybody unless you drove a Camaro and hung out in the K-Mart parking lot on Fridays. I had a wonderful circle of friends, my entire immediate family, and a long term girlfriend--some might say everything--a short car ride or less away. I've never been one to be satisfied though, even with the best of situations.
So I packed up my life and moved to New York to seek my fortune (continuing the cliche motif). And I have to say, selfish as it might have been, I'm glad that I did. You see, you learn a lot about yourself when all you have is yourself. Most importantly, you learn that you can do it - whatever it happens to be. Armed with that, nothing, graduation or otherwise, can shake you.
I know that's not anything she's heard less than 400 times recently, but I hope it means just a little bit more coming from me. Not only because I'm usually right about everything in her life (and terrifically modest to boot), but also because I've been there; I know what it's like to question the decision when it's too late to alter it.
I won't tell you it's easy, and I won't tell you that your fears aren't justified. I will, however, tell you that it will be the single most important experience of your life to date.
And also that we, your friends, love you and will stand by you throughout.
I guess it makes sense. The completion of high school doesn't mark much more than the completion of junior high in today's white collar America; the degree effectively affords you the right to go to college and nothing else.
But I'm getting sidetracked as you will find that I often do. The point I was trying to make is that my undergraduate commencement ceremony is supposed to mark the biggest leap of my life - the leap into adulthood. It's supposed to be scary, exciting, and basically everything else that my co-author (perhaps that's better than "she," only slightly less impersonal though) so eloquently described. That doesn't seem to be the case for me though, and I think it's because adulthood and self-sufficiency pale next to a decision I made three years back.
I too came from a small town in Oklahoma where you weren't anybody unless you drove a Camaro and hung out in the K-Mart parking lot on Fridays. I had a wonderful circle of friends, my entire immediate family, and a long term girlfriend--some might say everything--a short car ride or less away. I've never been one to be satisfied though, even with the best of situations.
So I packed up my life and moved to New York to seek my fortune (continuing the cliche motif). And I have to say, selfish as it might have been, I'm glad that I did. You see, you learn a lot about yourself when all you have is yourself. Most importantly, you learn that you can do it - whatever it happens to be. Armed with that, nothing, graduation or otherwise, can shake you.
I know that's not anything she's heard less than 400 times recently, but I hope it means just a little bit more coming from me. Not only because I'm usually right about everything in her life (and terrifically modest to boot), but also because I've been there; I know what it's like to question the decision when it's too late to alter it.
I won't tell you it's easy, and I won't tell you that your fears aren't justified. I will, however, tell you that it will be the single most important experience of your life to date.
And also that we, your friends, love you and will stand by you throughout.
5.31.2006
And so it begins...
Hello and welcome aboard what will hopefully be a fascinating journey into tomorrow. Wow, that was atrocious. This really isn't a guided tour of NASA. Let's just move on.
The vague--and very much amendable--purpose of this blog is to chronicle in some fashion the lives of two very different college graduates pursuing very different endeavors in very different locations. And if you read that again carefully, you will realize that no content parameters actually exist. That is, you might see everything from song lyrics to poetry, rants to retorts, boring to hilarious, blah and so forth. Oh, and lists. She loves lists.
Which brings me to another point. I think that we've decided to keep this whole thing anonymous, on the site itself at least, which leaves me with an obvious dilemma. Yes, I have nicknames, lots, but they're either derivatives of her actual name or too offensive for public use. So for the time being, I'll stick with the generic and never identified pronoun, she.
I suppose that does it for my first post. The floor's all yours, darling.
The vague--and very much amendable--purpose of this blog is to chronicle in some fashion the lives of two very different college graduates pursuing very different endeavors in very different locations. And if you read that again carefully, you will realize that no content parameters actually exist. That is, you might see everything from song lyrics to poetry, rants to retorts, boring to hilarious, blah and so forth. Oh, and lists. She loves lists.
Which brings me to another point. I think that we've decided to keep this whole thing anonymous, on the site itself at least, which leaves me with an obvious dilemma. Yes, I have nicknames, lots, but they're either derivatives of her actual name or too offensive for public use. So for the time being, I'll stick with the generic and never identified pronoun, she.
I suppose that does it for my first post. The floor's all yours, darling.
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