Closed for the season

I'm about to leave the country for 27 months and my brain has been many places other than Catherine the Greatest. I won't be blogging here for the foreseeable future, but I hope you'll follow me over to my new blog to read about my Peace Corps adventures.

Without getting too saccharine, sincere thanks to all of you for reading. I've loved writing this blog more than is probably appropriate, and it's all because I had you to indulge me in my insane ramblings. Sometimes it's only fun to write stupid things when you know other people are willing to read them. Who else besides you would put up with my repeated denials of NASA's value?

I couldn't (temporarily) close the door on this blog without one more list. So here are some of the most-commented entries, in case you need some type of CTG fix down the road. How is it possible that over two years and 120ish posts, I never managed to break the five comment mark? Epic fail! Well, my Back on the Bean entry has eight comments, but they are mostly by porn spammer! Not exactly my target audience.Anyway, here it is.

Word Wench: A Memoir
Peppermint Mocha with a Side of McLatte
Shit Happens (the end to the Hottie McLatte saga)
Top 10 Classroom Personalities
And, just for fun, in case you're wondering what sort of job I'll get when my PC service is through, here are some Antiquated Jobs I Wish I Could Have.

Stuff You Should Know: Internet Treasures

Months have passed since I last brought you an honest-to-goodness edition of Stuff You Should Know. So here I am. This week's focus is on sites I've dug up on the Internoodle, just a few little things I think you need to see.

1) Sickdujour! On a whim, I started following the user sickdujour on Twitter last week. I soon realized that each day this guy features a rare disease or disorder on his blog, and boy, are they gruesome. If you've ever found yourself engrossed in the surgical removal of a 500-pound tumor, or fantasize about interviewing Tree Man's team of doctors, you'll love this blog. He features diseases I've never heard of, but will undoutedly make great conversation at the next cocktail party. That is, if I want to get vomited on/asked to leave. Check out his entry on freakish growths trapped in the gastrointestinal tract... but only if you have a strong stomach. (Don't yell at me, I warned you.) Each entry is presented in easy-to-read, digestible little nuggets, ending in a 0-10 ranking on lethality and disturbing scales. The perfect thing to read over your morning coffee. Looks like the blog has only been around for a few weeks, but sickdujour has already won a dedicated reader in me.

2) I make no bones about the fact that I love a good parenting blog. Sure, I have no kids, and frankly don't want any, but reading merry stories about the trials and tribulations of parenthood is endlessly entertaining. I do love kids, and maybe if I just continue to read about other people's, I'll be able to avoid the gentle tug of my maternal instincts until it's too late! Anyway. One of my favorite bloggers is Jim at Sweet Juniper!, who writes beautifully about being a stay-at-home dad in Detriot. The tender stories and pictures of his two kids will make your heart melt. But some of my favorite entries are his stories about what he finds on his walks around the city. He adroitly juxtaposes the odd and aching pairings of dilapidation and economic depression with beautiful public parks, museums, and neighborhoods, all of which go undiscovered in a city that most of the country wrote off as a lost cause. But today I wanted to feature his "Terrifying Nixon-Era Children's Books" tag, where he scans in books from the 60s and 70s that are perplexing to say the least. Seeing books like these makes me wonder if I should try my hand at my long-forgotten dream of book publishing. If they can do it, I can, right? Here's the complete collection. Scroll through, and let me know your favorite book.

3) I was devastated last December when John Marshall announced his blog News Gems, published through the Society of Professional Journalists, would close. It was a consistent resource for some of the finest writing in print and on the Web, and I always came across articles I never would have seen otherwise.

While it's by no means a replacement, I was heartened to see The New York Times relaunch their Ideas blog this week, now calling it Idea of the Day. They say, "As suggested by the new name, we’re streamlining the blog to a single post daily, to highlight one article or current of thought on the Web that, out of a wealth of reading choices, seems worth your attention for its relevance, thoughtfulness, provocativeness or quality. We’ll also recommend additional readings at the bottom of each morning’s post."

In the era of a lighting-paced news cycle, I love to see any publication seize the opportunity for depth and research in its reporting, even if that comes in a quick write-up and list of links. Taking the time to look at one issue closely, and encourage readers to delve into it thoughtfully and critically might be at the heart of good media practices of the future. Party on, New York Times.

Word Cloud

(Click to see it bigger in a new window)


Who knew I wrote so frequently about Russians? This also makes me think I need to start blogging about something more substantive. But then where would you go for your daily nonsense fix?

My brother's a genius and I just blog.

I'm a failure. My second stab at 20 posts in 30 days was a catastrophe; I only posted ten entries! My computer crashed, I realized I was enrolled in classes and had a plethora of assignments due, and also was busy with several quarterlife crisis moments along the way. Time was scarce, and so was inspiration. Last time I tried a blogging blitz. my life was defined by dreams of McLatte, slave labor at the intern desk, and my absurd devotion to a particularly shameful ABC reality show. I had more to write about and definitely more time to do it. But no excuses. Let's pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and get back to the hard-hitting, thought-provoking material you've come to expect from Catherine the Greatest.

THREE THINGS YOU THINK YOU UNDERSTAND BUT YOU REALLY DON'T.

My older brother James is a physics major doing graduate solar research at Penn State. He understands everything about science, machines and technology. I feel that he was born with this knowledge. He definitely didn't it get it from my parents, and his teachers were generally too busy collecting squirrels for pets (that really happened) or making their students write letters to other students on boats (that also really happend). He just knows everything. More than once I have called him with a question like "How do microwaves work?" or "How are electrical fires started underground? Where is the electricity in relation to the sewer system and subways in a big city?" And he always knows! How does he have such extensive knowledge about everything from kitchen appliances to sanitation systems?! My brother is so smart! He's always been a patient teacher with me, but I think he knows that my liberal-arts word-oriented brain will never be receptive to his techy, nerdy lessons. So here's a list of things, many of which he has thoroughly explained to me multiple times, that I still do not understand.

3. Aviation. I should probably go to the library and check out a book on the Wright brothers, because it is unfathomable to me that someone said, "Hey, let's take a giant weighty machine and propel it through the air." And sure, I have come across the word "aerodynamics" before, but don't lie, you don't really understand how planes work either. And don't tell me to go to howstuffworks.com. I've been there. I can read and understand it, but there is still a voice in the back of my head whispering, "This is pretend." Hundreds of people pile into a large metal object and soar through the air. WHAT?!

2. Space. One day I am going to write an opinion piece about all of the conflicting emotions I have about NASA. The fact that $18 billion dollars a year goes into that program astonishes me, and frankly I feel that the folks over at NASA could be screwing us all over and no one would be the wiser. Huh, Pluto's not a planet? Erm okay. What's that? Water on Mars? Maybe so! They could tell us Whitey Bulger was found on the moon, and who are we to say, "That's not possible"?

Remember when the Columbia shuttle exploded because of the damaged tile? NASA knew the piece broke off, but didn't really look into it, despite the persistent pleas of a chief engineer who was on his game. Also, it was Martin Luther King weekend, so people were out of the office, and didn't feel like investigating the matter. How do you send a SPACESHIP out into the solar system, and then just put your feet up and take a three-day weekend? I wrote about this topic before, but my indignant rage has not subsided in the least. Also while we're talking about Space... that "picture" of the Milky Way... is not really pictures of the Milky Way. Didn't you ever stop to think how they could possibly photograph a galaxy we're allegedly a part of? They're just pictures of other spiral-armed galaxies that science nerds imagine the Milky Way could be like. How deceptive. I feel cheated. Next time I see an astronomer, I am giving them the wickedest wedgie.

1. The Internet. James has tried to explain this to me forever, but I still don't get it, and don't lie, you don't either. Tell me, when you send an e-mail, where does it go? How can governments block sites in certain countries? When you get a virus that paralyzes your entire computer by releasing hundreds of "trojans," what is that? The Internoodle is one of life's greatest mysteries, but unlike space, I am grateful for it on a daily basis. I imagine all of its processes to be similar to what happened in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, when Mike TV puts his candy bar in the machine, and it breaks into tiny pieces, and is put back together again. If this is not how the Noodle works, then don't tell me because I don't want to hear it. In my tiny brain, the Internet is sort of a cross between Humpty Dumpty and chocolate. On a related note, fax machines are ridiculously far beyond my comprehension. How does the phone send an image?!? On another related note: phones...so much easier to understand when there were actual wires and cables. Alexander Graham Bell would have a stroke if we told him about cell towers.

What don't you understand? You can say it; I am clearly in no position to judge.

Linkfest: Soft News

I've been remiss in blogging this week. Schoolwork picked up and my computer was back to its old troublesome tricks. Here are some things I've read or written(!) to keep you occupied until I come up with an original idea:

This Newsweek article investigates organ trafficking around the world, and most shockingly, at top hospitals in the United States. The good news? Your kidney can fetch a pretty penny. The bad news? ORGAN TRAFFICKING IS TERRIFYING. If breaking the law isn't your style, you could also sell your inner business on Craigslist. (At this rate, if I sell a bunch of my eggs, a kidney, and half my liver, I could make a real dent in paying back Sallie Mae.)

Can you tell that I like health reporting? Campus magazine What the Health allows me the honor of posting about health policy on their blog. This week, I ran off at the mouth about all of the recent food recalls and how the FDA and USDA totes don't care!

Earlier this week, I talked to Chris Myers Asch, co-founder of the U.S. Public Service Academy, for a story for my magazine class. In case you're unfamiliar, he has put forth a propsal to Congress for a four-year civil service academy, which will train students for government work. Tution is free, but graduates will be required to fulfill a five-year committment in the government sector. I think it's a great idea, and will undoubtedly bring more prestige, intellect, and energy to the public sphere. I've been following the Academy for a while, and it's gotten a lot of media attention recently. Keep your eyes peeled.

I have a love-hate relationship with Twitter. Mostly I love it, but there was a time when I was less than convinced about the wonders of the 140-character-or-less networking site. But whenever I stumble upon an awesome Twitter profile, like that of a fake Dr. Tobias Funke of Arrested Development, I fall in love all over again.

Speaking of loving people I don't know, my girl over at Dooce is preggo again. Just another good reason for you to start reading her too. (Hi, Meaghen.)

Paul recently reminded me of the wonderful oral history project, StoryCorps, through which people interview family and friends and ask them to tell a story about their lives. Thousands of stories that would otherwise be lost will be recorded for everyone to hear and stored in the Library of Congress. I heard one on the radio over the winter, in which a popular NPR reporter interviewed his mother. Her story was simple and sweet, but by the end of it, I was weeping behind the wheel of the minivan. Call me a softy, but I hope you find one that touches you too.

In honor of Valentine's Day, the International Herald Tribune is encouraging commenters to write "limericks of love" to their favorite public figures. They write, "Now's your chance to submit a cheering rhyme to a lonely public figure. It can be a sonnet, a love letter, or an ode to Alistair's eyebrows." Y'all know how much I love haikus and penning the occasional epic rhyme. I think it's great fun when papers do things like this.

And hey you, tell me what you've been reading.

Losing faith in humanity, finding it , then losing it again

I'll be the first person to rail against the newslessness of cable news. CNN even managed to dampen my inauguration enthusiasm with their CONSTANT!!!! REMINDERS!!!!! THAT THIS!!!!!! IS THE BIGGEST DEAL EVER!!!!!!!!!! for weeks before Obama's big day. But I must admit that every time I turn on a 24-hour cable news station, I come across a story I wouldn't have read in the papers or online. Yesterday's items:

First, some soulless bottomfeeder named James Salcedo thought it would be a good business venture to make a Caylee Anthony Doll, fashioned in memory the murdered two-year-old whose remains were found in December. He probably thought he could get away with it because he planned to donate $3 of the $29.95 pricetag to charity. Apparently the doll was designed intentionally to look nothing like Caylee, and Salcedo said he hoped it would raise awareness. Awareness for what, exactly? I think we can all agree this is one of the worst, most insensitive ideas ever. Thank you for letting me know about it, MSNBC.

Then, I turned to my attention to the next television on the Headline News Channel, and saw this story about a group of firefighters in Massachusetts who saved a struggling deer from icy waters. I was only watching the screen and reading the headlines because my headphones were not tuned to that channel. I thought it was a happy story, but my fact-checking has indicted otherwise. Read to the bottom of the article, and you'll find out they shot the deer because she had a broken leg. There is no where for rehabbing deer to go? Fun fact: Audrey Hepburn had a pet deer!

Needless to say, I experienced quite the roller coaster of emotions during a few short moments on the elliptical machine. I can provide no moral for this anecdote, except to tell you all to be on the lookout for all the WTF moments you experience in your daily consumption of TV news, and please tell me about them, so I can yell about how watching people yell at each other is never informative.

I'd also like to announce the kick-off of a new 20 posts in 30 days blogging blitz. I hope you'll join me in another round of regular posts, filled with all sorts of information you never knew you wanted to read until I wrote it, and even then, you weren't really so sure. Check back soon for my Top 5 Biggest Fears. They will surprise you.

How can 1,000 pounds of hay fit in the back of one pick-up truck?

Shreve Stockton has taught me many lessons. Her blog, The Daily Coyote chronicles her life in Wyoming with a rescued coyote, and relies on a steady stream of stunning photographs to do most of the storytelling. In the year that I have been visiting the site, Shreve first taught me the value of escapism, when I started to look forward to the daily pictures of a life far, far away from the gray, depressed scenes of Syracuse. Then, in March, when I (half) jokingly invited myself over, Shreve taught me that the Internoodle is a very small place when she commented on the blog entry, and miraculously, did not seem at all freaked out by my friendliness. This Christmas, Santa brought me her new book. (But somehow my mother wrote inside the jacket...why did Santa let her do that?) My biggest hope for the book was that it would answer many of the details that were left out of the blog, and it did! But it also led me to more questions than ever before. I guess you can never know too much about things like coyotes, hunky neighbors with tragic pasts, and what the author refers to as a "very rudimentary outhouse situation." Those three things? THEY SMELL LIKE A BESTSELLER TO ME.

The initial descriptions of the sprawling Wyoming landscapes had me hooked. Ms. Stockton has a way of writing that will make every reader feel like they're missing out on something huge. While she pours the vivid scenery onto the pages, I suddenly felt acutely aware of all of the places I've never been. The sense of wonder about an entirely unfamiliar place and situation (ie, there is a wild coyote sleeping in your bed) is what will keep you reading through the night.

Given the limited personal information that is divulged on the Daily Coyote Web site, I was surprised to read more intimate details about the author's relationship with Mike, a neighbor/cowboy/hottie whose job, strangely, is to cull the coyote population in order to protect local livestock. Many of Shreve's personal struggles are also chronicled with impressive candor and fluidity. She writes with a seemingly effortless understanding of what swirls around her, whether it's to do with Charlie rebelling and biting her, or knowing when it's best for her, the coyote, and her neighbor boyfriend to move out of the 12 x 12 cabin she loved. The feat is that we know it could never have been effortless. I have trouble writing about the most basic, hum-drum daily activities, nevermind trying to get readers to understand and relate to all that comes along with taking in a wild animal.

Perhaps even more impressive is the full-page photography throughout the book. First of all, I must say, more "grown-up" books should have pictures-- so kudos to Shreve as well as Simon & Schuster for getting it together and harkening back to the days of the children's library. (If only I still worked there, I would demand this as a storytime selection.) The photography serves to further immerse readers in the setting of the book, and help wrap minds around the idea that a baby coyote can fit into the palm of a hand. It may be partly due to the fact that I consumed between two and nine glasses of wine while reading this book, but I found myself constantly flipping between baby Charlie and grown-up Charlie, in disbelief of the simultaneous cuteness, majesty, playfulness, and maturity.

My only real complaint is that after all that, I still have more questions. The book concluded neatly, but there is still a story going on in Wyoming! Maybe one day there will be a sequel. Until then, hop over to the Daily Coyote Web site, because a slew of throwback pictures of tinyfluffballcutenessexplosion baby Charlie are featured.  

I apologize for what you might be subjected to

After my colleague posted a record six blog posts in one day, undoubtedly a result of her pre-election frenzy, I am feeling inspired. You may remember I set a goal to reach 20 blog posts in 30 days. I am three days from my deadline and have fallen sorely behind. But my competitive spirit almost always gets the best of me, and I'm determined to hit the big 2-0. As a result, I apologize for the quality of what might come out of my mouth (fingers) in the next six posts. But let's be honest, it's not as if you came here for insight or good writing. TISH TOSH. 

Anyway, the esteemed Connie has a sidebar in her blog about the ways she knows election day is approaching. This list essentially serves as a way to  enumerate her various psychotic behaviors that nearly always center on politics, government, and the media's coverage of both. While compared to her, I am positively casual observer of politics, I still consider myself more involved than the average American. When Bush was re-elected in 2004, I was so destroyed and disappointed, I stayed home from school the next day in a vegetative state. An emotional coma, we'll call it. So, I suffer too at the hands of our electorate. So Connie (hat tip), I blatantly plagiarize your idea below, thus reducing my editorial standards to zero. 

Here's my list of Top 10 Election Season Impulsions

10. Hours have past and I am still on Pollster.com. Sometimes, if I'm really in the zone, I'll even make my own Excel graphs. 

9. I find myself longing to live in swing state so my monologues don't fall entirely on deaf ears in America's bluest state. 

8. I refer to newspaper columnists by first name in conversation as if they are my friends, much to the confusion of everyone who wonders whether there are any 20-somethings named Maureen anymore. 

7. I plan my wardrobe around having something blue to wear every day leading up to Election Day, and wear my gap "Vote" t-shirt long after it's developed that unique ripe smell. 

6. I base my faith in the future of journalism and youth political activism solely on the sky-high spirits of the team over at Politico.com

5. I actually raised my voice and pointed a finger at a stranger in a supermarket who said she was voting for Palin because she couldn't have Hillary. 

4. I fantasize about being a part of conversations between Michelle Obama and Jill Biden. 

3. In the break room, people know the channel has to be CNN or MSNBC when I'm around. Similarly, an idle moment spent at my internship is dedicated to reading wistful election-season roundups. 

2. I have stopped reading Gawker, Dooce, and other sites with the fierce regularity I used to in order to sharpen my election acumen. If you know me, you understand the depths of this personal sacrifice. 

1. Despite spending three days a week as an editorial intern at a magazine, my life plan (full disclosure: it changes every 3-4 days) no longer includes publishing of any kind, but rather a life of public service. 

Love, Mom

Last week, my loyal reader (so what if there's only one?) Meaghen sent me a web site she thought I'd enjoy and suggested I send in a submission. It is called Postcards From Yo Momma, and I must say it is my favorite new voyeuristic/Found Magazine-esque site that I've come across lately. People send in e-mails/voicemails/texts from their mothers, and we get to read them. The site generally keeps a healthy mix of endearing, hilarious, and relatable maternal correspondences. My fan base (Hi, Meaghen) also happens to be a big fan of my own mother, affectionately known as Joanne, who has been known to pen a colorful missive in her time. Today, I bring you one of her more lively notes, written this morning while she was at home making soup and tending to the men who were coldheartedly cutting down some of my favorite childhood trees.

(It should be noted that in our Jon and Kate Plus 8 fanaticism, we have taken to signing e-mails with the names of the various children.) We're okay, I swear. Here it is:

Hello, wish you were here. Here is what's going on:

The Men in Trees are branching off in many directions
Right now they ain't high in my affections
The soup''s aboil
And still they toil
Despite my spirited objections
--Anonymous
I can't believe they are only charging 500 clams for all this. Things will look very different when you get home!

Guess what's playing in the background? That's right my intuitive little gemstone - Dancing with the Stars!!!! Surprise!!!

I have to work on the soup a little bit. Can't disappoint Lester. But I shall return!

All six yiddo "I gotta pee!" Gosselins

And here is one of my favorite recent entries from Postcards from Yo Mamma. I guess it's memorable to me because it sounds like something that could easily come from the warped brain of my own dear matriarch (love you!):

I believe we have a situation going on. Roy was outside over by the fence. That new Pomeranian was barking and Roy was crying a little bit. I think he likes her! We’ve got a Roymeo and Juliet thing perhaps. She (?) had her paws up on the deck, like a balcony, calling out to him. But they are the Capulets and we are the Montagues. She’s not getting her claws into our Roy! Cheeky thing. It’s good he’s going away for the weekend so he can forget about her.

Edit: I'M HALF WAY TO MY 20 POSTS IN 30 DAYS GOAL. Huzzah!

OMG , is she pregnant?

Paige's recent post about transgressing gender norms got me thinking about the many character traits that keep me from being your typical female. Oh, let me count them. Pull up a chair, it could take a while.

Kidding aside, one of the things that immediately popped into my head was that I hate shopping. I actually loathe and dread it. The act of gleefully driving to the mall on a busy Saturday to rummage through clearance racks or hold mini-fashion shows in the Misses department is as foreign to me as, oh, I don't know, avoiding inappropriate eye contact with strangers (I could never!).

I only go clothes shopping if it's a dire situation (must have a skirt for that interview! All sweaters are now rags suitable only for dusting!). Part of this, I think, is because I am not from what you would call a shopping family. My mother hates shopping. When I was little, we shopped at a lot of thrift stores and I wore a considerable amount of my older brother's clothing (which was especially charming during the eye patch and short hair phase). An afternoon at the mall putting purses on plastic was never a typical event. To this day, if I ever spend a lot of money at once, I get all anxious and clammy about it, simply because I come from thrifty folk, and all this time with high-falutin' FASHION could be better spent sewing my niece a new poppet out of rags and dried corn stalks.

My other issue is that I've had this life-long issue with purchasing ill-fitting clothes. I only truly came to this realization when Connie told me as gently as possible that sometimes my threads look like they were made for a 50-year-old twice my size. (Case in point... I thought I was so clever when I found it on clearance..)

So of course it would be case that I am bopping around in awkwardly baggy tops and jeans that are unintentionally low-slung. When you hate shopping, you'll grab the large instead of trying on the medium because you know the large or extra-large will fit! If you try on a smaller size, that means lines for the fitting room, surly attendants, and several moments of flustered self-loathing while you stare at the unforgiving mirrors, wondering if the people waiting can see your hairy ankles.

But now I know, when I go out to The Store, I will have to be better. The need for this was really driven home last week when I got a glimpse of myself in the window walking down the street. The crotch of my pants was hanging at least three inches below where it belonged. When I got to the subway stop, I pulled a Stacy and Clinton to inspect the fit, and came away with a fistful of fabric from the hip region. I (like everyone) have issues buying pants because of the drastically different sizes and fits among brands, or the fact that I am often in between those sizes. But enough is enough. I looked like a cross between M.C. Hammer and a plumber. Things were not looking good. I couldn't even blame it on a miraculous weight loss (as if!) or stretched-out fabric. I bought the pants--hell, let's call them SLACKS-- recently, and they were freshly washed!

Anyway. That's all I have to say. There is no real point to this post except to tell you that I don't know how to buy clothes. Think of it as a plea for help. And what more to do you want for me after I've pledged 20 posts in 30 days. Not everyone can be a winner. Or dressed in nice clothing. That fits.

Self-Inflicted and Uncalled For

For no reason, other than that I feel like it, I am going to undertake a Catherine the Greatest history-making effort: 20 posts in 30 days!

Do you think I can do it? Do you want me to even try? Do you have anything you want me to write about! Leave it in the comments section.

Brace yourselves. It could get messy.

P.S.- I am counting 30 days as Oct. 6t through Nov. 6. because I posted that lovely entry about Cotton Mather and it should count for something.