What I've Learned From Katie Couric

Kaite Couric is a journalistic master at infusing her own conjecture, speculation and opinions into her questions by simply prefacing them with, "Some would say that..." before tearing somebody a new one. This technique has made every writing assignment I've ever had to complete for a meathead criminal justice class so much more tolerable.

Some would say that criminal justice classes that attempt to create new and dynamic dialogues about social issues might be a waste of time since almost everybody who takes them would prefer to just kill everybody and let God sort it out.

I'm Pretty Sure Just My Friends Read This....I Mean, Right?

So that's why I feel safe enough to share that my Target purchases tonight included both a bra and a prescription to treat acne. It's official! I'm 15 again! They say that you can never go back, but I'm pretty sure I proved them wrong tonight.

But the main reason I wanted to write was to share all the awesome things this drug for my acne is supposed to treat. To wit:

Lyme disease
Rocky Mountain spotted fever
Elephantiasis
Filariasis (look it up)
MRSA

That is effective!And it better be, because I'm starting to feel like Edward James Olmos.Facially. Inside I feel like Lou Diamond Phillips.

Unbearable Whiteness of Being Me

Despite the fact that I am almost always the only white girl at my job and that I've worked there over three years and I am under the depressing delusion that I am somehow 'down', there are still wonderful things for me to learn about black culture nearly all the time.

Like for instance! Did you guys know that black people have their own version of the Happy Birthday song? And that it's better? How does a person go 31 years not knowing there's a peppier, less monotonous, more euphonious version of a song we all have to sing at least three or four times a year, bare minimum? Skip to 1:10 or so for the chorus. I did an informal poll of all my black friends (very popular) and before the question "Which version of Happy Bir-" can leave my mouth, said friend will sing this better version. I think you have been keeping this from me on purpose, Black America.

There's a lot I have to learn.

Precious Moments

Every job has its sad rituals performed nightly in quiet desperation. The escort who washes out her panties in the sink. The lonely shopkeeper flipping "We're Open!" to read "We're Closed." The Historical Society volunteer re-fanning all the brochures about the local water mill and antique mall. And each night, I reset all the alarms on my cell phone that remind me what time to dispense anti-psychotics to children each afternoon, to my morning wake-up alarm.

For the Win

Earlier this week I got into a disagreement with a ten year old girl about whether it's better to be a kid than an adult.

Girl: Don't you miss being a kid?

Me: Nope.

Girl: Yeah, but being a kid is better. You don't have to pay bills or do dishes or-

Me: I never have to go to school ever again. And you do. Tomorrow.

Girl: That's cold.