Down A Notch

I noticed today that my pagerank, which was once a shiny little 2, has been lowered to a 1/10. I felt the lump form in my throat. I realize I've been very lazy about writing non-sponsored posts these days, but I didn't realize I would lose some of my minuscule clout on the web. I've actually seen page hits from more than the googlebots indexing my page as they so often do. Of course, I realize I don't do much in the way of SEO, which would more than likely boost my pagerank at least a level or two. I also realize cross-posting my entries onto my BlogSpot blog may actually be hurting my rank. Perhaps it's time to rethink the cross-posting. But is it really about pagerank? Really, when I search for my handle/ alias, my website returns first -- and my full-on website sits a big, fat zero right now in Google's pagerank system. Maybe I'm overreacting a bit.

Audacity

My husband and I live a lifestyle of role reversal -- I go to work full-time while he stays at home with the kids. Most people balk at this. "But HE should be going to work and letting YOU stay home!" Each time I craftily change the subject, avoiding confrontation for the benefit of both parties. Yet I find myself lately resenting how other people seem to perceive our arrangement. Who are you to tell me how to live my life?! I find myself thinking. This is between my husband and me, and you're not a part of the arrangment!

We have chosen this lifestyle for many reasons, although specifically because I hold a Bachelor of Arts degree. Who do you think is going to earn more money going out to work? Should he get a job so I can put the kids in daycare and/ or after-school care to let a perfect stranger watch my children? Should I let him get a lower paying job than I have so I can stay home and figure out what expenses to cut from our budget? So many more questions present themselves. I have spent far too much time accumulating job experience to increase my net worth to back out on it now. I am forging a career in the field of writing. This is what I choose to do. My husband is waiting out the poor economy until people are willing to pay for his graphical and designing talents. In the mean time, my children have something very critical at home -- their father. He keeps the house together while I bring home the money. What's so horrible about the man doing "woman's work" while the woman does "the man's job?" Honestly? This is the year 2009. This is not 1959. I refuse to become June Cleaver.

Now, if you want me to stay home so desperately, you're going to have to offer me a good chunk of change in exchange for my writing talents. I strive to obtain that lovely lifestyle where I can walk to my laptop and call that my "morning commute." For the moment though, I am not quite far along enough in my career to establish such a wonderful lifestyle. If you don't like how I live my life, I have a great recommendation for you -- don't choose to follow my path.

Disgustingly Hot

Each year, I dread the beginning of the Floridian summer. The days of ninety degree weather seem to sneak up on you, slapping you to the ground as if to push you into an oven. For months, you bake daily. The air conditioner never seems to stop running, and the electric company eyes the meter greedily. My energy costs go up by about 50% each time, and each time I cringe upon viewing the damage. I much prefer the sort of weather that allows you to freely open your windows and enjoy the fresh air in your lungs. In Florida, I don't think I get enough of that.

So settle in with your lemonade, watermelon, ice cream, and bathing suits -- it's summer in Gainesville.

Revisiting the Past

A little over three years ago, I came to the gut-wrenching conclusion that I would not be making it on to vet school. I began my final year working towards a Bachelors degree in English and left behind a fifteen-year-old dream. I knew the day would come when I would have to think about the future that could've been -- the prospective vet school graduation date. On May 23rd, I could have become Dr. Meredith. I could have been in the same job hunting boat as one of my friends (who I have chosen to live vicariously through). I could have been on my way to living and realizing the dream that started within a seven-year-old girl's cheerful mind.

I found myself wondering, "what would I have to do in order to go back and try again?" Foolishly, I caved to that whim today. 22 classes. 60-61 credit hours. The probability that UF no longer offers second degrees to postbaccalaureates. I scour the list, trying to determine when and how I could manage to complete this. I quickly remember why I tucked my tail, reviewed my strengths and weaknesses, and took shelter within Internet Literature. But this small part of me still wishes I hadn't given up on the dream. It was grueling. It was like running into a brick wall head-on repeatedly. But I couldn't let go of the past. I had something to prove. I wanted to save all the sick and injured animals. Even after three years of giving that up, it's still a painful scar lingering.

Of course, one cannot look to the past for the future. If something isn't working, you don't go back and beat yourself to death running into the same brick wall again.

Winding Down Another Week

After finding a couple of opportunities worth a nice amount (see the below two posts), I figure I should add a substantial post since I've been a little lax in my writing lately. I don't intend to add to my recent blog series this afternoon -- I'm feeling a bit low on energy and short on time. Instead, I think I'll opt for the tamer posts I usually write. Get ready for more weather!

Earlier this week, we had some pleasant "open window" weather, which essentially means it was comfortable enough to open the windows and let in fresh air. We generally follow the 68-78°F guidelines, so "comfort" to us denotes temperatures outside allowing our internal home temperature to fall within that range. Yesterday, we started to break 80°F, meaning it's getting hotter. Currently, we're sporting 88°F -- where did all my lovely "open window" weather go? Sadly, this is only going to continue as it's the end of April in North Central Florida. We're lucky we still got those temperate days as late into the month as we are. Now, we'll have 90+°F weather to look forward to, along with daily thundershowers and hurricane season. In fact, we have a little over a month to begin compiling our hurricane kit. I wonder when the canned food sales will start this year.

Lost in Translation

Yesterday was free scoop day at Ben & Jerry's. My daughter had a doctor's appointment (read: a shot), so we planned on getting ice cream regardless of her reaction -- she either needed a reward or a consolation prize. It turned out to be a reward, so off we went for her reward. I had decided beforehand that I wanted to get a cone of Phish Food ice cream. Phish Food is reminiscent of rocky road -- chocolate ice cream, swirls of marshmallow and caramel, and fish-shaped pieces of chocolate. I really have no idea what the band Phish sounds like, and I really don't think I'll really ever take the time to try. However, I really love that flavor of ice cream.

My daughter and I got to the shop just in time -- we had virtually no wait. I ordered my Phish Food cone and her strawberry cheesecake scoop in a cup. As the woman handed me my cone, I immediately noticed she got the order wrong. For starters, the ice cream was definitely not chocolate. Not wanting to seem ungrateful on FREE scoop day, I accepted the mix-up, feeling relieved that they at least got my daughter's ice cream correct. I tasted my ice cream and realized a very cruel trick had been played on me -- it was oatmeal crisp. Excuse me? I have a box of oatmeal crisp. It's a cereal in my cabinet. I eat it for breakfast. When I eat ice cream, under no circumstances do I identify the frozen treat as a "healthy" item. We sat down, and I reluctantly began the odious task of eating said ice cream. I helped my daughter spoon mouthfuls of her luxurious strawberry cheesecake ice cream in between horror sessions with my free cone. Thankfully, it included chocolate chips to make up for the non-chocolate-y flavor I had been cursed with.

When we left, the line stretched out the door. My daughter was content with her free scoop, and I discovered that ice cream can come in awful flavors.

Nobody Puts Baby in A Corner

I'll let you in on a little smidgen of information about myself. I'm 25 years old. By the standards set forth in the United States of America, I'm old enough to fight and die for my country. I'm old enough to buy cigarettes if I so choose. I'm old enough to buy alcohol. I'm old enough to rent a car. I'm old enough to get a cheaper rent on my car insurance because I'm no longer in the 16-24 age bracket. I'm old enough to choose to have my tubes tied or my reproductive tract totally removed. Do you know what I'm not permitted to do? I'm not permitted to choose the location, provider, and method in which to give birth. It's quite interesting, actually. In this country, a woman has the right to "choose." I have the right to choose birth control. I have the right to choose an abortion. I have the right to choose adoption. I have the right to choose Plan B. Yet I do not have the right to choose how my baby enters this world. What's wrong with this picture? We are commended for being "brave" to undergo risky procedures in hostile environments. Yet we are berated for expecting to receive mother-baby-friendly, evidence-based care?

I will be embarking on a series of entries detailing my plight with the current medical-model-of-care. I will discuss how my age has affected my care. I will discuss how my income level has affected my care. I will discuss how my desire for true informed consent has affected my care. I will share my frustrations. I will share links to stories that prove it can be done. I will do everything in my power to bring awareness to the currentcesarean epidemic plaguing our country. I will delve into issues of ethics involving the legal field entering into the practice of medicine. I will try to show you just how disgusting this system has gotten. I may isolate myself from some readers, but I don't care. This isn't pretty. This isn't sexy. This is the truth. The truth hurts.

Unimpressed and Unamused

My endeavours to make a profit worthy of Ferenginar have proven to be minimal at best. While I knew YouData was going to be pocket change from the start, I'm a bit disappointed to see that most of my available opportunities with PayPerPost seem to revolve around plumbing websites. I've found a couple of opportunities that require I not mention that the post is sponsored -- well, that's not going to work for me, thank you. I'd prefer to be honest because, really, my content isn't all about reviewing websites and the items they're selling. Apparently, part of the problem lies with my low page ranking and Alexa score. I suppose in all honesty I should be launching marketing efforts to increase my internet presence -- but that also requires the creative energy and inspiration to redesign this entire website.

WhoData? YouData!

A couple weeks ago, a friend of mine shared a link to youdata.com. Basically, YouData offers to pay you pocket change for viewing ads and sponsored links. You sign up, fill out information about yourself, and you start viewing ads. Each Friday, they send out payment via paypal, and they dock a 2% fee (not to exceed a dollar) for the mass paypal transaction. I was a bit skeptical -- I pride myself on sniffing out a scam that tries to pose as a legit deal -- so I waited for her to confirmed that she received money in her paypal account. Last Friday, she did just that, so I signed up on Saturday. Over the course of a week, I collected $6.31 from viewing ads for about 15-30 minutes during the entire week. I didn't have ads everyday, but it's still money. After the transaction fee, I was due to collect $6.19. I received an email this afternoon confirming that my money had been sent, and voila!

My $6.19 richer paypal account!

I also get up to a dollar for each person I refer -- and you can, too. Please check it out: http://www.youdata.com/join/meri1030. Times are tough, and we could all use some extra change here and there.

The Difference

I find myself comparing my achievements to those of my peers and feeling rather unaccomplished in life -- for example, a peer working in an office in the next building over has a crisp website layout, a fresh and concise résumé, and several clips under her belt already. I have this stale, old site, a relatively bland résumé, and no listing of my clips. I feel like my web-presence should be presented in a better manner, not to mention my occupational status. I'm still non-benefited (sadly, even the free food one can snag around here doesn't quite count as an actual benefit). I slink back in my chair feeling less than worthy of recognition.

Then I realize there are glaring differences between me and my peers -- I just so happen to have a family of my own to raise and care for. While my peers have plenty of time to climb the clichéd ladder, I spend much of my free time teaching my young children how the world works. It may not be even remotely as glamourous as my schoolmate from high school's interactions with Hollywood's biggest names, but I certainly do derive a high level of satisfaction from watching my children grow and change as individuals. Who says you really have to keep up with your peers in order to succeed?

Turning Points

Each day seems to bring a new adventure for my generally groggy self. Some days are obviously better than others, but life can be a serious challenge from time to time. Of course, we all experience challenges in our lives -- without challenging, we most certainly couldn't grow as individuals. Growth is a regular occurence in all aspects of life, and life could not exist without growth. I hope to successfully grow as an individual, even if I am the only person who is affected by that growth. I cannot grow taller. I would prefer not to grow wider. I would love to grow in wisdom and knowledge. I would love to grow in grace and dignity. Here's to hoping for the sake of hope. Sometimes, hope is all you need to go on.

The six-word story

Hemingway was once challenged to write the shortest story ever. He came up with this six-word gem -- "For sale: Baby shoes, never worn." In those six words, he successfully tells you that someone is selling a pair of never-worn baby shoes, allowing the reader to speculate as to why those baby shoes were never worn. His success has led to numerous attempts at writing a six-word story. At one point, I took up the challenge myself and came up with this -- "I drank tea today. The End." While I doubt my attempt lives up to Hemingway, I do rather like it. It would seem many stories can be told with a mere six words.

Inching Closer to the Mark

In the past ninety days, I've posted eighteen times -- not including this post. I apparently need to reach the lovely number twenty before I can be approved to make a bit of cash off my writing. I suspect that Tuesday will be the day I resubmit for a fourth try. Yes, my fourth try. Of course, I've not even stopped to take the time to redesign my blog. I must reiterate the purple layout just doesn't seem to suit my needs at this point. While I could switch back to the default layout, I'm reluctant to do so because I'm almost positive I'd need to customize that as well. If I'm going to customize a layout, I might as well make it count.

In other news, it seems my spam filters aren't even picking up very many spambot comments these days. Perhaps one of the zombie networks has been raided by the authorities, to which I would rejoice. Granted, it doesn't take too much effort to rid myself of the filthy little things. ;)

What's a woman to do when the forecast calls for severe weather overnight? "Be prepared for tornadic activity." Excuse me? Are you telling me that I could be sleeping peacefully in my bed one moment, then hurled to my death the next? Are you telling me I should remain conscious throughout the night, cowering in the closet under the stairs? Are you also telling me it's a Thursday night, meaning I still have one more work day to complete? Please pardom me while I have a meltdown. I live in a townhouse on the corner of my building. Said townhouse occupies the second and third stories of the building. My bedroom is on the third story, which is the top floor. Above my ceiling? The roof. I suppose the doppler will determine my courses of action for the evening. For now, excuse me while I shut down the office for another night.

Inspiration

I've begun to formulate a very detailed, thoughtful post that I'd like to publish within the next few weeks. I'm absolutely ecstatic that I've finally gotten some inspiration to write. Writer's block plagued me for much of the past several months, so much so that each post I've done in the past few months feels forced and lack-luster. I've felt like my writing hasn't really meant much, nor have I felt it warranted attention. I feel refreshed to have an idea again.

I would also like to express my disdain for April Fool's Day. I suppose you can mostly chalk it up to a "prank" someone played on me five years ago today, but this "holiday" never really sat well with me. Playing horribly cruel jokes on your loved ones and friends? That's absolutely mean-spirited and hurtful. I don't care how funny you think you are -- it still hurts those people you're fooling. If anyone wants to argue about worthless holidays with me, I will always say that April Fool's Day is the most worthless waste of a day. You think Valentine's Day is a commercial deal? At least it's a day for celebrating love. April Fool's Day doesn't have any warm and fuzzy feelings involved. You don't get into the spirit of giving, you don't get creatively spooky, and you don't give thanks for what you have. No, the whole day revolves around tricking and spotting tricks. It's disgusting.

Waiting

The time spent waiting for events to occur can generally be more stressful than the events themselves. While awaiting for company to arrive, you agonize over the details of the event -- is everything taken care of? When expecting medical news, you worry how your tests will come back, whether you'll need to take medications or alter your habits. Granted, I may be attributing my own anxieties to other people who find my concerns to be of little consequence. I potentially fret over the silliest of details over minor events. I suppose it might be better for my stress levels to allow for detours in life every now and then.

Murphy's Law

I never had a slice of bread,
Particularly large and wide,
That did not fall upon the floor,
And always on the buttered side.
- Huron Reflector (November 23, 1841), reprinted in Shapiro, Fred R., ed., The Yale Book of Quotations 668 (2006)

It seems like my bread keeps falling butter-side down straight onto the sandy, gritty dirt outside. I've heard refered to as the "snowball effect." It always seems like bad things begin to spiral out of control, and I begin to realize that I really can't control every aspect of my fate -- much to my increasing dismay. I'm positively a control-freak. I need a sense of order and control in my life to feel secure and stable. When the cosmos proves itself more powerful than me, I begin to crumble. I feel helpless, insecure, trapped, and incapable. Those feelings in turn are highly inconducive to progress. I also curse the name of Murphy at every chance I get -- him and his stupid law.

How then does one regain a semblance of control over one's life? Do we look around us for the answer, or is the answer we seek inside ourselves? Do we philosophically pour over books and materials focused on this subject? Do we meditate in total silence? Perhaps the answer lies within that "happy medium" that seems to pop up in every instance. Perhaps we must consider all possibilities -- inside and out -- in order to regain order. As for myself, pardon me while I attempt to pull myself back out of the rut.

Weather Girl

Apparently, I like to write about the weather. Just reference most of my recent posts -- it's a common denominator in my writing. In keeping with that theme, let's enjoy more weather musings.

Today has been overcast, cool, and wet. I feel like I'm in Seattle, rather than the Sunshine State. I don't mind the cloud coverage. I don't mind the mid-60s. I do mind that mist that somehow manages to find its way under my umbrella and into my face, hair, clothing, bag, and electronics. Beads of water build up on my mp3 player, and I panic as I quickly wipe away the potential for a hardware malfunction. I suppose I generally just don't care for rainy weather when I have to go outside. While I didn't mind getting stuck in the rain a few times as a child, it quickly loses its luster when you find that your notes became nothing more than smudges on tearing paper and your sneakers begin to feel like miniature pools. Have I mentioned the unpleasant feeling of clothing soaked to your skin as you enter an overly air-conditioned building? Nothing says "pneumonia" like a good, sopping outfit!

And me without my tea...

Swing and a Miss...

I desperately want to practice Ferengi ideals of enterprise, but I'm finding quite a few issues. First of all, I don't have a lot of traffic. What little traffic I receive right now seemingly comes mostly from spammers looking to leave spammy comments for Akismet to fish away from my daily viewing. Second, I've estimated my ad worth to be about $0.17USD per day. That's about $5 per month. That covers a third of my webhosting costs. Third, it would seem Pay Per Post doesn't like me very much. Originally, I understood -- my blog was less than 90 days old, I hadn't posted more than 30 posts, etc. Now? It took them four days to "review" my blog. They denied me because I didn't have any posts for "30+ days." What??? Okay, so what exactly did they look at? Did they really bother to click the link to my site that I provided them with? I feel fairly snubbed, and rightfully so. The support ticket system doesn't even work, and sending feedback results in a "mail undeliverable" email hitting my spam filter. What gives?

Of course, I should probably count my blessings. I would potentially incur the wrath of Google, thus losing what little page rank I have -- I'm currently a 3/10. I don't really know what I should focus my efforts on at this point, though. I want to be a respectable writer someday, not some hack blogger who makes her money off of advertisements.

Nine Lives

The sun glowed extra warm that pleasant afternoon. She stretched out her front legs, curving her spine towards the floor, then let out a sleepy yawn. She straightened herself back, kneeded the carpetting under her toes, and peered out the window. A bird flew past, catching her attention. She sat down in front of the sliding glass door, her tail swishing softly against the floor. Her eyes darted back and forth at the birds twirling through the air. Just as quickly as they flew into view, they flew away -- perhaps knowing the vicious predator that eyed them in the window. Bored, she circled the carpet, choosing a cozy, sunny spot. She curled up into a furry ball in the bright sunlight, gently tucking her tail under her legs. She lay quietly for a few moments before she heard the television flicker on. She sprawled across the carpetting, warming her belly with the radiant sun. She began to purr happily. The small cat drifted to sleep.

Lazy Afternoon

Nestled in a hammock under the shade of tall oaks, sipping fresh lemonade, and dozing blissfully as the cool breeze rushes passed my skin -- the weather today is absolutely beautiful. The sound of birds chirping happily in the trees, calling out to their mates in the spirit of a fresh spring season. Branches whistling in the wind. White cotton-ball clouds float fluffily through the bright blue sky.

The professor entering through the entrance brings me back to my current location. The monitors glare, the hard drive hums, and my short daydream of a lazy afternoon vanishes as quickly as it came on. I place my fingers on the keyboard and continue my work.

Writer's Update

I've been toying with different styles in an attempt to find my "niche." I'm so utterly frustrated by this "niche" nonsense. If you'd like niche material, view my website -- that definitely qualifies. Granted, that niche has all but slowly dried up. When it comes to writing, I like freedom. The point of becoming a writer is to achieve a certain sense of freedom. I have a wide array of interests, and I don't conform to one box or label. I've all but refused to conform since the second half of nineth grade. I don't see the need to undo the progress I've made in life by conforming to the standards of "niche" writing. Sure, I'd love to have an audience that truly tests my "unlimited" bandwidth account, but I don't see why I have to pick one topic and be stuck with it for the rest of my career.

I suppose I'm looking for the means to keeping readers interested. I currently check two blogs on a daily basis: Stroll Without Shoes by Brenda Della Casa, a site brimming with optimism, good cheer, wisdom, advice, and general entertainment; and Bacon Is My Enemy by Giyen Kim, a site documenting the life and weight loss of a Korean American woman living in Seattle, WA with her teenage daughter. I suppose Della Casa would fit the self-help niche, although that's merely one way of looking at it. She takes a very psychological approach and really asks her readers to look inside themselves to be the best people they can be. She's also a published author of Cinderella Was A Liar, a book that's been printed in several countries and languages. Clearly, she exudes experience, elloquence, and excitement. On the other hand, Kim's blog seems to cater to the weight loss niche. She puts herself out there for people to see on a regular basis, showcasing her accomplishments and recounting her set-backs. Of course, that's the niche that CNN seemingly chose for her. Asides from her weight loss material, she delves into life as a Korean-American single mother living in Seattle. She shares her past, the things she does with her friends, and adventures she has raising her daughter. I'd call that a "slice-of-life" type of niche, which is something I identify with. At any rate, these two amazing woman have caught my attention -- I read and I interact when I feel I have something worthwhile to share.

Personally? I'm going to keep doing what I consider myself good at -- slice-of-life, creative non-fiction, and exploring my options.

The Art of Nothingness

A tranquil breeze blowing softly through my hair under the shade of the bus shelter, I sat waiting for the bus. The fresh new leaves glistened vibrantly in the bright sunlight while a pair of squirrels scurried after each other through the thickening brush. Cars whipped passed on the road, carrying their passengers to a plethora of locations. I run my fingers over the tiny screen, checking the time and choosing a song. A bus speeds past -- I jump up! Was that my bus? Couldn't be. The word "garage" appeared in bright lights on the ticker. I stare down the road, hoping to see my bus somewhere nearby. Nothing. I sit back down, dejected, to wait again. Honeybees float between clover blossoms, digging through the hidden nectar. For a brief moment, I want to reach out and pet the honeybee. Then I come to my senses and realize how terrifying this might be for both me and the bee -- the bee, after all, dies after it stings someone. I spot the bus down the road, slowly gliding towards me. A group of men unload coolers and fishing gear over by the lake. The bus grows larger, moving swifter. I wait cautiously on the sidewalk, watching the cars zoom passed. Finally, the bus has arrived.

Season's End

Last week, sweaters and jackets ruled the town. Crisp breezes blew through trees and tossed around leaves. This week, the sweat-inducing sun looms overhead while I come to realize that a three quarter sleeved shirt may not have been the wisest choice this morning. Every year it seems like we go through phases of cold snaps that become a few days of cold, a few days of hot, a few more days of cold, a few more days of hot, until finally you rage at how you can't just enjoy opening the windows without one extreme dramatically altering the temperature of your home. The electric company must enjoy sitting, watching the meters tick faster, rubbing their hands together with the knowledge that soon they'll own a higher percentage of your paycheck. People always talk about how wonderful it must be to live in Florida -- the same people only come here on vacations to theme parks and beaches. The concept of sweltering, sticky heat between March and October doesn't quite seem to register. All that registers in their minds are our warmer temperatures when they're shoveling snow. Enjoy that lovely, glittery snow, my friends -- it'll keep you cool when that mercury starts to rise. In fact, I'm sitting here right now brooding about how I'd prefer not to be sweaty and disgusting, envious that other parts of the country enjoy a gradual season change.

To each his own, right?

Longing

Staring blankly out the window, I wonder what I should say. Where does one go from here? As I gaze sullenly out the window, I realize I’d much rather be napping in a hammock this afternoon. All of my energy seems to have waned indefinitely, and I feel heavy and weak. The clear blue sky looks so warm and comforting. The trees sway in a lovely breeze, the leaves flapping as the wind brushes against them. People begin to disperse – that daily grind coming to an end for them. Yet here I am, agonizing over my lack of inspiration. It must be the absence of caffeine. Oh how I miss the sweet morning nectar that injects life into my soul – liquid motivation. I glaze over, contemplating how I’m ever going to manage the next adventure life has presented to me. I sip the room temperature water and brush the hair out of my eyes. A small voice insides nags, “show, don’t tell!” I cringe. How can you not see what I’m trying to convey to you?! I cry out indignantly. Perhaps if I were Hemingway, I would immediately grasp the concept of showing versus telling. My mind drifts again, picking apart the many faults I own. Isn’t it wonderful when the mind plays this game? That negative self-talk that consistently arises at the worse possible moments – we really need to muster the motivation to do whatever it is we’re doing, and that wretched little voice comes along to remind us of our flaws. Just who does it think it is to tell me I’m not good enough?

I adjust myself in my chair, remembering I’ve agreed to lock the other building this evening. My reminder hasn’t popped up in a while. I check to see if I perhaps dismissed the alarm – indeed I did. I click snooze again, knowing I still have ample time left in my day. The blue sky looks quite inviting again. If only unbridled energy fell from the sky, then I would harness it for my personal gain. Of course, this is the real world we live in. Perhaps a lovely dinner will recharge my empty reserves.

Make Over Time!

(Preface: This entry will be entirely about my sister blog.)


I have become dissatisfied with the appearance of my blog. The purple background seemed quite appealing at the time, but it longer seems suitable for my professional blog. I'm unsure as to what I'd like my layout to look like just yet, though. Should I go the path of choosing a premade theme again? Should I take iniative to create my own? If I create my own, what should I do? Should I use an image? Should it be simple? Designing usually takes quite a bit of effort on my part simply because I consider all the finer details, no matter how simple or trivial they may be. I really probably agonize over this much more than I should.

Writing Prompts

Writing prompts can be helpful and confining at the same time. On a daily basis, I might not necessarily have a clear writing subject, so I search for a writing prompt. Of course, most writing prompts I find seem to be of a personal nature -- not quite what I'd choose to publish in my professional blog. Herein lies my dilemma. I click the button to regenerate the prompts until I find something suitable. When I find something suitable, half the time I don't really have any good ideas to follow up with a good string of words. Rather than choosing a prompt to stumble through, I click again only to find the same chain of privacy invading prompts -- sometimes an already generated prompt, even! I suppose this should serve as a sign to use more creativity, shouldn't it? Writers are expected to be creative, regardless of whether or not they are "creative writers." Perhaps tomorrow I'll think of an excellent topic.

Eyes

Blue. Green. Brown. Hazel. Blood-shot. Bright. Glassy. Many words describe the appearance of one's eyes. In some cultures, we look into each other's eyes to instill fear, intimidation, feelings of love, trust, attention, etc. We count the number of times a politician blinks to see who's the more honest of the two debating issues of healthcare, military, and taxes. We use eye color to identify ourselves. We use the eyes to identify underlying diseases. Some even call eyes "the window to the soul." Eyes can vary in shades, flecked with several colors unique to each individual. Eyes show the world when we are tired, sad, happy, angry, drunk, on drugs, healthy, or just plain existing. People flirt by winking at a prospective mate. We take in our surroundings with our eyes. We find pleasant sights and horrific sights. We survey danger in order to flee or protect. The eyes are an incredible pair of organs.

Food Review: PizzaVito

Recently, a little pizzeria called PizzaVito opened up here in town. It was my mission to taste their pizza upon learning that we were getting a new pizza place, but reading an article claiming they use geniune NYC water gave me a new purpose: to prove or disprove this information. So on Friday we ordered the best thing to test whether or not a pizzeria really can claim to sell "New York Pizza" -- a cheese pizza, specifically the 18" "giant" variety.

Upon inspection, the cheese looked superbly melted and shiny, the crust was golden and crisp. I absolutely adore how the mozzarella stretching when you bite into a fresh slice of pizza, and I was not disappointed in the least. The sauce had the distinct flavor of a sauce I vaguely remember from my days as a New Yorker -- not too spicy, not too tart, just smooth tomato sauce thinly applied to the crust. As for the crust, it was a bit chewier than I would have liked, but I'll chalk it up to transit time (all wonderful things become soggy after a bit of time). However, I'm pleased to say I did NOT taste the awful sulfuric water of Gainesville in the crust! Nor was I met with the typical frozen, factory-made nonsense you'll find at most fast food pizza chains. Seeing as how I've not been back to NYC since August of 2000, I really couldn't say with 100% certainty that it was the real deal, but I will say that PizzaVito's makes the best pizza I've had outside of NYC.

I give PizzaVito 5 out of 5 stars. I've got a new favorite pizzeria!

This might be mostly local...

...but that doesn't mean people can't check out the site at least. A hotel here in town is hosting a wedding cake competition to raise money for the St. Jude's Children's Research Hospital.

http://www.letseatcakefundraiser.com/

Obviously, it's for a great cause. I'm thinking about shelling out the $25 for a ticket to go see some lovely cakes and enjoy samples. We shall see! ;D

"But What Can I Do?"

How many times do you find yourself lamenting over the social injustices you see in the world, yet you quickly ask yourself the title question? All too often, I hear people utter this question before they return to their daily activities. Do you know what happens next? Nothing changes. The same problem continues, people think that one person can't make a difference, lather, rinse, repeat. I find this horribly depressing, especially seeing as how the globally economy has spiraled into a dark, scary pit.


But what CAN you do? Simple -- get off your hands, open your mouth, and fight. I'm not talking about fighting with your fists. On the contrary, I'm asking you to fight with your words. For starters, did you know that our government is in place to do our bidding? If you've been sitting at home on election day, you haven't been exercising your right to tell the government what you'd like them to do. Constituents like you and I can write and/ or call our representatives on every level -- local, county, state, even federal government is within your reach. Asides from contacting our representatives, we can also join forces with like-minded people. The ASPCA is an entire group of people working to ensure that animals are treated well. The AARP functions as a group to help better the 50+ crowd. Mothers Against Drunk Driver obviously are a group of mothers fighting against drunk driving. The point is that you can find a group of like-minded people to further your cause.


Obviously, things won't change overnight -- but wouldn't it be worth the effort to see the world become a better place?