wireless internet

…especially the free kind.

 

Okay, so I might be fairly biased on this subject, considering I’m writing this post from a table in a bookstore/cafe that boasts said subject line (with the qualification, too).  My original intent at this institution was to buy a glass of iced tea (check!), research the ABC plan (check-check!) and get writing on my big Writing Sample of Glory (um…er…).  Naturally, after a couple of hours of research, I realized that there wasn’t even a slight chance I’d be getting words-on-paper (or, as it is, words-on-word-processor) before the night ended.  This was not helped by the fact that I have imminent plans to be drinking $1.75 beers before much longer.

So, I thought I’d sing some praises instead.  Don’t worry, mom, I’ll write tomorrow.  Promise.  But for serious, who’d-a thought ten years ago that I’d be able to take my laptop, of considerably smaller size than can be compared to a Zack Morris phone (an honor unable to bestow upon my previous laptop, a circa 1975 Dell whose fans would scream at me if I kept it turned on longer than five hours — a particular problem considering I would be at work upwards of ten many days), to a location where there were no — forget Ethernet — modems into which I could plug and still yet access the entire interwebs.  But here I sit, ten years in the making, at my delightfully lightweight MacBook and NOT at my desk!  When I think about it only slightly, I don’t have much of an opinion.  But!  When I consider the effect it has had on my productivity, I’m considerably more impressed than I otherwise would be.

See, I get the cabin fever pretty heavily.  Too much time in one location tends to make me slightly crazy.  This can manifest itself in a number of ways; sometimes it’s humorous, but more often it’s just cranky.  Which translates into potential rudeness.  Which is often inappropriate.  And anyone who knows me can attest that inappropriateness makes me itch.  This was a problem in college, as I had to shuffle back and forth between whatever on-campus residence I inhabited to the computer lab around back of the library to maintain my location-related sanity; and it was a problem when I worked, since my thicky-thicky-thick laptop certainly didn’t boast a wireless card and rarely recognized the USB adapter on which I spent fifty of my own dollars.  Yeah, I’m bitter.  Fifty dollars is hard to come by when you’re twenty-threeish.

Enter the phenomenon that is wireless internet.  The free kind, specifically.  I’ll add, for context, that I was really, really late in the game of WiFi.  Really late.  I acquired my first wireless-enabled computer approximately five months ago, and I’ve been thrilled about it.  As I was working on my graduate applications, I was able to take my computer to PJ’s for delicious tea and academic productivity.  While previously I would have been bound to my desk, I was able to make the process far more enjoyable and thus exciting.  And hurrah!  Though I certainly don’t credit my admission into certain glorious Peace and Conflict Resolution programs to the advent of free wireless, it certainly made me less likely to throw my hands in the air and give up before the applications were completed.  And for that, I thank the floating internet-related particles that have found their way from the World Wide Spiderweb into my computer.

Okay, I’m pretty sure I just gave away the fact that I know absolutely nothing about how the internet works.  And I’m cool with that.

It also is worth noting that wireless internet is delightfully helpful when one is on their day off.  After a long, long weekend.  Filled with field day-, dance- and term book-related stress.  (For those of you who aren’t familiar with what I mean, you should probably be aware that I’ve spent my summer working with teenagers.)  Also financial aid-related stress.  When that specific someone, who may or may not be me, has the opportunity to disappear with her glorious little computer and feel like she’s getting something done while being away from everything stressful, that specific someone leaps at the chance.

Of course, blogging about this subject has taken away about twenty minutes of productivity-related time.  But I’m cool with that, too.

the eastern time zone

So, today marks the one-month-until-I-commence-the-Big-Move day (I bet you didn’t know it was a celebratory day, but indeed, it is).  I need to reserve some U-Haul action, but aside from that, I’m freaking psyched for this move.  Of course, I’m more than ready to get going on graduate school, and I’m thrilled about the prospect of, for the first time, living in an actual big city with public transportation (I can’t even begin to describe how excited I am about leaving my car in Shreveport for the next two years).  But there’s also one very important yet questionably logical reason for my enthusiasm about this move: I am so ready to be back in Eastern Standard Time.

Don’t make fun.  It really is important to me — in fact, I’ll openly admit it is a big-ass bias of mine.  Having grown up in North Cackylack, I became unknowingly accustomed to my time zone.  It wasn’t until I moved to Texas for college that I realized how much a time zone affects a mentality; frankly, things in this country happen based on EST!  Watch any non-local channel — unless you live on the East coast, you’re going to be forced to watch your show/game/concert/etc. at a time other than its intended airing.  I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: prime time was never meant to start at seven o’clock.  Every New Year’s Eve I’m reminded of this when whatever house/party/bar I am at shows Dick Clark’s ball drop happening one hour before we count down ourselves.

Now, the Central time zone has many offerings: South by Southwest, Mardi Gras, the Saint Louis Cardinals, Fiesta, rodeos, ACL, Pink Party, the inordinately huge percentage of attractive males in Iowa…and the list clearly goes on.  Just making that clear.  I fully plan to participate in these activities to the best of my ability.  Still, I know returning to my own, proper time zone will be a move that allows me to feel just a little more complete.

mrs. e’s cheesecake-flavored frozen yogurt

Today I must, must, must celebrate the delicious and fat-free wonder that is Mrs. E’s “New York Cheesecake” variety of frozen yogurt.  In fact, I far prefer it to the actual cheesecake that E’s sometimes offers.  It surfaced in the frozen desserts section of the cafeteria earlier in the summer and I mo’debly partook every day before it disappeared in favor of strawberry (yawn).  Today, after eating another of my cafeteria-based obsessions (the rice-stuffed zucchini boats with the rice stuffing scraped out and excessive amounts of salt and pepper added) I was craving something sweet; on my walk to the dessert/fro-yo section, I was on the verge of commenting to Emily about how dearly I missed the cheesecake flavor when lo and behold, it was there waiting for me!  I was a happy, happy gal.

Also, I’m ridiculously in love with my new Ray-Bans.  After losing my old pair and being reallyreally upset about it (I’m sorry, it just doesn’t make any sense — they weren’t in my office, which I emptied at the beginning of May, they weren’t at my mom’s house, which is absurdly spotless and thus impossible to misplace anything, and they weren’t at my own house, which was emptied similarly to the office at the end of May) I finally sucked in a deep breath and re-ordered my beloved tortoiseshell 2113s last week.  And you know what?  I think they fit better than the previous pair.  They certainly feel like they fit better, and for added proof, I’ll have you know I didn’t have to take them to be tightened the second day I owned them.  Of course, the fact that I bit the bullet and bought another pair means that the first will resurface immediately, but I’ve decided I’m okay with it — back-up for the inevitable next time I lose them, right?  I thought so.

my big, gigantic drum kit

You know, life really exists for our day-to-day obsessions.  At least mine does, and in a big, bad way.  I feel the urge to invite people to share these crazes before they disappear and to celebrate the long-termers as a permanent fixture in my life.  Some fall under the pop-culture category (subtitle: “Things I Like”) and some are more suitably described as compulsions, but regardless, each has a special place in my heart.

Teachers want us to work, and I say, “Fine, I’ll work. But you’ve gotta let me do the kind of work that I wanna do.” And for me, it’s my drum kit, man. This is my passion. This is the essence of who I am now. But before I had this, I was lost, too. You see what I’m saying? You need to find your reason for living. You’ve gotta find your big, gigantic drum kit.

(Nick Andopolis, “Freaks and Geeks”)

And so, for today, with the above quote in mind, I offer you my first obsession: realistic representations of adolescence.  I’ve been watching, intermittently, episodes of My So-Called Life and Freaks and Geeks, and each is so spot-on that it sometimes causes me pain to watch.  Sure, Freaks was set in the early 1980s, but the message was applicable in my own teenage life when it aired in my tenth-grade year and perhaps even moreso in retrospect as I watch today.  Sadly, the follow-up project, Undeclared, though hilarious, failed to do what its predecessor had done so gloriously.  As for MSCL, it entered my life at the perfect time — I was just finishing elementary school and DYING for insight into what lay ahead.  I’m pretty sure that I mentally entered adolescence the moment Jordan Catalano reached for Angela Chase’s hand in the hall of Liberty High set to Buffalo Tom’s “Late at Night.”  And while Freaks avoided total cringe-worthy status with humor, watching Claire Danes’s character navigate life as a teenager (I feel obligated to note here that I am also obsessed with the fact that Claire Danes herself was actually a teenager during the stint of the series) is the absolute definition of teen angst.  So there, cast of High School Musical.

And just for fun: