The Pronunciation of "Nose"

Saturday, July 28, 2007

4:00 p.m.

Just got back from a quick leaving the house to get soda run, and I have to admit that getting some sun on my face and some exercise has made me feel much more alert. For those of you in areas that still have sun, I suggest you do take advantage of it while you still can!

The next hour or so of my time is going to be spent helping my friend Maddo redye her hair. Expect pictures on the half hour. She and I are both big fans of oddly colored hair, so I will have a lot of pictures to trot out.

3:30 p.m.

I was browsing over at First Book, and noticed that every $2.50 they earn equals one book given to a child. That means that my uncle has given enough for 192 books, and Just a Geek has given enough for two!

This makes First Book a really easy charity to sponsor for. Every $2.50 makes a difference. Go sponsor me or some other First Book blogger!

3:00 p.m.

One of my favorite books is entitled Word Play: What Happens When People Talk. It's not actually a novel, but a course book from one of my high school advanced English classes. It deals with the intricacies of human language, and is written in such a way as to be incredibly amusing and insanely informative all at once. It's one of those books that you read for fun and after you're done realize that you've actually learned something.

I've been skimming through it, and I have a paragraph I'd like to share, not for the funny, but more the interesting:

Most slang words are heard for a few years and then disappear, usually forever. Some are fated to endure solely as slang without ever being admitted to polite usage, such as bones (in the meaning of "dice"), which was first used by Chaucer, and beat it, used by Shakespeare. But occasionally some slang words -- like joke, fad, boom, crank, and slump -- become respectable items in the vocabulary. The Standard German word for "head," Kopf, was once slang, and so also with the French word with the same meaning, "tete", derived from the Latin testa, "earthen pot."

From Word Play, page 78, by Peter Farb.

2:30 p.m.

You may have read in my profile by now that A Ring of Endless Light is one of my favorite books of all time. I think part of this is because I was an only child growing up. I spent most of my time hanging around adults, and as a result tended to seek friends who were older than I was, or at least more mature than the average person of my age group. Vicky, the main character in the book, is in a similar situation. She is doing real research with dolphins, but none of her family takes her-- or her research-- seriously.

I also think that my own dealings with deaths of close family members make this book more easy for me to relate to. The book begins at the funeral of a family friend, and over the course of the novel Vicky also deals with her grandfather growing more and more ill from cancer. Her family is very down to earth, and the book is plainly written, which makes it that much more approachable.

Of course, it could also be the dolphins. What little girl doesn't love dolphins? When I was in grade school I wanted to be a marine biologist.

Everyone knows Madeline L'Engle for her Time Quartet series, but I still think that this is one of her best works. It doesn't have as much of the fantasy that is so appealing in her other novels, but in this book it is not necessary to make it memorable-- her messages about life and death are powerful enough.

2:00 p.m.

When I signed up to do this, I had a plan. I would do my Blogathon, and while cleaning my house and making it company-ready for Sunday, sleep for four hours, entertain my guests, sleep for another four hours, and then head off to work ready for my night shift.

But I have a problem.

I have run out of laundry to wash.

._.

What else should I do with my day?

1:30 p.m.

Here's a link to another book themed story arc in one of my favorite web comics, No Rest for the Wicked. The premise of the comic is interesting -- she takes well-known and obscure fairy tales and weaves them together to form one cohesive plot. So far it has been fascinating!

from Chapter 2, Whose Woods These Are I Think I Know.

My grandfather used to have a set of geography and history books that had gorgeous pictures on their front covers. I was always depressed when I opened them up and found that the inside was boring.

1:00 p.m.

Bored? Why not make your own "Read" posters and share them with me? Photobucket has a free image hosting service, as does ImageShack.

Queen of Wands is also an excellent webcomic, though retired. I suggest checking it out! The sequel just started, too!

12:30 p.m.

My mother was largely responsible for the majority of the books I read for the first few years of my life (shocking, I know). I can attribute my great liking of Margaret Atwood to her especially. She gave me a copy of The Handmaid's Tale when I was 12, but I didn't read it until it was 13. Years later, I still think it is the best dystopian novel I have ever read. I took a class on dystopian fiction my freshman year of college, and was rather surprised to see it was not on the reading list. She is the only female I know who has written a dystopian work, after all.

After The Handmaid's Tale, I went on to read Cat's-Eye and then The Edible Woman. I liked both of them, but they didn't really strike me as much as The Handmaid's Tale had. Then I got my hands on a copy of The Blind Assassin, and was absolutely blown away. The Handmaid's Tale and The Blind Assassin are always on any suggested reading list that I give to my friends. Cat's Eye and the Edible Woman were entertaining, sure, but they didn't stick with you like these two. The Handmaid's Tale changed my perception of dystopian literature, and The Blind Assassin had a strong impact on my writing style (which has leveled out since then, but for a while there...)

If you're not familiar with Margaret Atwood, she is a feminist Canadian author. The Edible Woman has strong feminist undertones, but it is usually more subtle and the rest of her works. Her writing style may take a little getting used to, but to me that as part of her charm -- she says things differently than anyone else would, and it makes her novels that much more interesting to read.

12 p.m.

Using a voice dictation program has its perks, but it makes it impossible to eat and blog. So, while I finish my lunch, I shall post a question instead and save myself the awkwardness!

What book are you currently reading/is the last book you read?

11:30 a.m.

Is it lunchtime already? I could have sworn I just made pancakes, but apparently I didn't make myself enough, because I am ridiculously hungry again. actually, that's right. I was so busy looking for a blog to sponsor for the five dollar fairy that I never made myself a second stack. I make mini-pancakes out of habit because that's how my mother taught me to do it when I was little.

Lunch plans include homemade chicken strips, a peach-and-nectarine-and-watermelon salad, and a glass of iced tea.

I'm also debating what to do with my time before my friend Maddo gets here and I start re-dying her hair. I think I might watch some X-Files. I'm halfway through season two--I just wish I had ordered season three before all this started...in all honesty, though, I'll probably just play Oblivion.

I have some more book ideas to blog, but I am going to wait until I'm a little less distracted by my tummy.

11:00 a.m.

With all this posting I'm sure some of you are bound to start getting tingly fingers. Or, some of you probably already have carpal tunnel. I've decided to share my carpal tunnel exercises with you all in an attempt to provide some relief. These are perfectly safe to do even if you don't have carpal tunnel, and a recommended as a preventative. Just do these steps every once in a while today when your hands start feeling uncomfortable.

Hope this helps!

Stand with arms relaxed at your side.

Lift right arm out in front, to shoulder level, palm of hand facing up. Spread fingers and bend wrist until fingers point to the floor.

Bring fingers and wrist out, forming a tight fist. Flex wrist toward you.

Bend elbow pulling fist toward the shoulder.

Rotate arms out towards side, arm still bent and fist held. Turn head toward fist.

Straighten elbow and fingers. Bend wrist, pointing fingers toward the floor. Slowly turn head toward the opposite shoulder. Repeat with the other arm.

Source: Carpal Tunnel Decompression Exercises. Developed by Houshang Seradge, M.D.

10:30 a.m.

"Accidental Zen"- A story I wrote my freshman year of University. Posted as contrast to the chapter piece done in seventh grade.

I can trace it all back to one unimportant day in June three summers ago. When I say unimportant, I mean it; absolutely nothing special happened. It is just my reaction to the world that changed. That, despite its seemingly simple sound, is quite a distinction.

It happened while I was rambling around the block in my neighborhood, trying desperately to clear my head. I lived in one of those areas where a few families with high hopes for their children moved in and named the streets after all the Ivy League universities. My best friend and I, as we got older, were unable to ignore the resulting irony: I was a Democratic, anti-war eighteen-year-old who lived on West Point Avenue; my best friend, who lived a block over on Harvard Drive, was going to the local community college next year. We lived in an optimistic neighborhood that reminded us daily of all we had ever done to disappoint our parents- solid proof that life has a sick sense of humor.

Other than that it was a nice area; architecturally the same, with lots of brick and carefully trained ivy, and a split street with trees running down the strip of carefully tended grass in the middle. But it was obviously old; the sidewalks had been heaved and churned by the roots of the trees as the area got older, and there were places where walking could be quite an adventure. Since I was just coming off my last growth spurt and fervently believed that the inanimate was, in fact, out to get me, I was walking slowly and looking down, trying to keep my clumsy, too-big body from betraying me and letting me kiss the pavement. All I saw were the network of cracks in the sidewalk, and all I heard was the sound of my own footsteps and my restless thoughts.

I usually drove wherever I was going and limited my exercise to the treadmill in the study of our home or the steps at school, but something had driven me outdoors despite the heat and the humidity. My shirt was sticking to my back and I the air I was swallowing felt like warm pudding, but I was angry at my family and thought that the park down the road might offer a better place to think. They were yelling at me because I had yet to make any serious decision as to what colleges I wanted to apply to, and they were worried that I’d never get it together in time. My grades were good; I’d easily be able to get into any of the colleges that were sending me info, but I didn’t have the will to find anything out about them. I sat in the back of all my classes, got good grades on tests, and was utterly bored and miserable for seven hours out of my day, five days a week. I didn’t feel like I had anything worthwhile in my life.

A typical story for someone as old as I was then. I think now that my bitterness fed the discontent of my friends, which made all of us more bitter and dissatisfied in turn. A vicious cycle. But at the time, it was very real. And none of us knew we were doing it to ourselves. My parents had tried repeatedly to show me, but I wasn’t ready to hear it, I guess. So I went for a walk instead.

The park didn’t help at all. Vicious squirrels kept on shaking leaves and twigs down on me, and a small group of young children were screaming on the playground. Maybe I just didn’t feel like thinking after all, but I decided the park was too loud and headed back home in an angsty funk.

Halfway back I heard a twig snap and looked up from my careful study of the cement. A girl was walking down the sidewalk towards me, headed in the direction of the park. I looked at her face, expecting to see the same unhappiness I felt at being stuck on foot, but though her skin was flushed from the heat, she didn’t look bothered by it. She was in a dark T-shirt and blue cargo pants, yet looked perfectly comfortable. She met my eyes and smiled slightly, twirling a small pinecone in her right hand. As we passed shoulders I heard her say “hi”. It was almost a whisper. I nodded in reply and put my head back down.

I didn’t think much of it until that night. I was drifting off to sleep, thinking about how hot, miserable, and sticky the walk had been, and wondering if that girl was insane since she was wearing pants, when suddenly it occurred to me: I had never noticed any pine trees in the area. This realization kept me awake for a long time. I had lived here my entire life-- Could I really have been that unobservant for eighteen years?

I went out the next afternoon and wandered around until I found a pine tree less than a mile from my house. I took one home with me and set it on my dresser between two photographs of me and my friends.

After that, I started to think about things differently. I think I shocked myself into paying attention. I saw, now. I noticed what was actually going on. At first it was just my surroundings. The worn grooves on the high school steps from a century of angry kids, the kinds of trees on my street. Eventually, though, it extended to people. I looked at my friends and saw what was causing their unhappiness, and was able to fix my own. My family couldn’t understand what happened. I stopped sulking. Small things stopped annoying me. I started going for walks, and my college applications ended up getting mailed without any guidance from my parents.

Now I look back, and it amuses me that a pinecone was responsible for who I am today.

10:00 a.m.

Getting bored? Already sponsored another charity? Why not help out sites like Project Gutenberg and become an e-book proofreader? It will help pass the time, and get more free books on the internet!

I can't do it because it actually requires typing, but some of you hale and healthy readers should check it out!

9:30 a.m.

Meet my cohosts!

Since everyone in my house is out of town this weekend, it's up to me to keep myself company. I can't leave my house for more than 15 minutes at a time, so people basically have to come to me. Luckily, that's where pets come in.

These two boys are named Tweaker and The Brick. They're my pet rats that I got through a rescue program at my university. For the first year of their lives they were used in a behavioral psychology class. It took awhile, but they're pretty normal and well-rounded boys now. Before I got them, they had never been outside of a cage!

I rat-proofed my room a couple of months ago, so I can shut the door and let them roam around in here with me. They're litter trained, so I don't have to worry about them leaving me little presents outside of their cage.

The Brick is the one on the left. If you can't guess by his name, he's not that bright. Because of this, he's my favorite of the two. You sit there, and you watch him, and it is so clear that he has absolutely no grasp of what's going on a good 75% of the time. His brother is far more intelligent, and thus far more devious. He's also a bit spastic, which is how he got his name. He has a tendency to beat up on his brother more than he should, but that has gotten better now that I've gotten them a brand-new cage. Like all brothers, they fight less now that they don't have to share a room!

9 a.m.

I spent the past 15 minutes unclogging our sink? Note to self: have a chat with the boys of the house when all are back in town. Ugh, I smell like garlic.

Posting and talking to other people who are blogging for First Book is making me think about my "literary upbringing." My mother was a very forward thinking woman, so few movies and books were taboo. For example, I started reading the Earth's Children series by Jean M. Auel when I was in the fourth grade. For those of you who have not read the series, there are rather graphic sex scenes interspersed throughout each novel. In the first novel, they are almost exclusively rapes. But, my mom let me read them. I think I turned out okay.

The Horse Whisperer was taboo, though. Go figure. She caught me trying to read it three times and each time took it away from me. I finally read it when I was 13, and couldn't figure out why it had been forbidden. To this day, I have no idea.

Other than that book, my mom never forbid me from reading anything that I can remember. I really wish I could ask her why that one got the axe.

8:30 a.m.

About the book mentioned in my profile...

When I was in seventh grade I started writing a book. I knew I wasn't going to be a very good book, since most first books aren't, especially when you're 10, but I wanted the experience of it. And, of course, there was that small chance for my first book wouldn't be terrible, which would bring me instant childhood fame. (In all honesty, I probably would have been sued for plagiarism, since the beginning plot of my story borrowed heavily from Anne McCaffrey's work. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery?)

So I started writing. By the time I was 350 pages in, I was beginning eighth grade. Between normal maturation and the increase in skills given by doing that much writing, there was a huge gap in styles between the first and the second part of the book. So I went back and rewrote the first part. Towards the end of eighth grade I was almost ready to finish the entire thing up.

Then we got a new computer. My family knew nothing of backing up, and this is before my computer geek days, so I didn't transfer any data over. I wasn't worried, however, because I had two trusty floppies with copies of my story on them.

Unfortunately, both those floppies were corrupted. (For the next three years I had some very trusty little tea mug mats.) I lost all but the first two chapters of my novel, and spent two days being physically ill. Those 350 pages were an investment of time, and when they disappeared I felt like I had lost two years of my life. (The only other time I've ever felt that way since was when I had to disenchant my Hide of the Wild when Burning Crusade came out for World of Warcraft. When I felt then, I realized it was time to stop playing the game.)

If you're curious about what a chapter in a 10-year-olds book could possibly read like, here's a link to the good half of the surviving bit.

8 a.m.

I'm writing a formal plea to Melanie Rawn.

You see, I've been waiting for the third book in her Exiles series to come out since I was 11. This series is one of the better examples of good literature to be found in the fantasy genre. It's set in a post-apocalyptic-war era, where families have been divided based on the purity of their genes. Since after the war it was very difficult to have normal children, the society is female dominant-- women's roles as child bearers were essential to the perpetuation of the race, so are now viewed in an almost sacred manner. Men have taken on what would be a typically "female" role, and the resulting gender switch makes for a fascinating read. She has created a world with an incredible amount of detail and scope, and manages to make several good points regarding gender equality through this framework. I was hooked then, and when I go back and read the two books currently in the series, I find I still am.

Melanie Rawn is happily among the living-- I periodically check. Shehas written several other novels, and keeps promising that the third book in the series will come out, but so far no luck. I assume she has some sort of epic writer's block, which is not surprising considering the way the second book ended. There are a lot of ways the series could end, and I am not sure that I would be able to choose the best way without a great deal of consideration.

However, I believe a decade of consideration is enough. Mrs. Rawn, if you are reading this, please hear your loyal reader's plea. There's only so much waiting I can handle before I go insane. The publication date Amazon has for January 2009 gives me no hope-- I remember when that date was for 2002, 2005, and so forth.

7:30 a.m.

This summer I have had a very strange obsession with the movie Girl with a Pearl Earring (I swear it has nothing to do with the utterly sexy combo of Colin Firth and Scarlet Johannson). A couple weeks ago I looked around for a hardcover of the book, since I always try to buy books I know I'll keep forever in hardback. I found one on eBay, bought it, and read it as soon as I got in the mail. At the end of the book concluded that I really liked it, but I couldn't quite place my finger on why. The writing style seemed almost too simple and straightforward, but there was something subtle about it.

A couple days ago I started reading it again, more slowly, to try to figure out exactly what was so appealing about the writing style. Last night, it came to me. This book doesn't spell things out for you. Having watched the movie again since reading the book, I have a new respect for the screenplay. While much of the plot was changed, the mood and the style of telling have stayed almost exactly the same, a feat rare in many book-to-movie endeavors.

Take this line for example. It may not be that interesting, but it's what made me realize what was so appealing about the writing style.

She was tasting the roasted pheasant. "Not bad," she murmured. "I can hold my head as high as any cook of van Ruijeven's."
While she was upstairs I had based at the pheasant and sprinkled it with salt, which Tanneke used too sparingly.

Like I said, it's very subtle. The main character rarely comes out and says exactly what she's thinking of other people, but that doesn't mean that the reader is left in the dark of her opinions. Her phrasing is careful, and gives the sense of the emotion instead of any direct knowledge. It makes the book beautiful, just as it makes the movie.

Off to finish my breakfast now. Years on Internet forums have made me loathe to use the phrase "making pancakes," but that is what I'm currently doing.

7 a.m.

It's a good thing to have a job that requires me to stay up nights for four days every other week. After working grave shifts for a year and a half, I'm a pro at doing things that keep me alert while ignoring how tired I really am. The fact that I am already having trouble is a bit scary, but when I think about it I'm not much of a morning person anyway. Once I get some food in me and the sun comes up completely everything should be fine.

One of the easiest ways to force yourself into alertness is to get dressed. If you stay in your pajamas, your body assumes you're going to go to sleep at some point and stays groggy. If you get dressed, your body assumes you have a big day ahead of you and wakes up. At least that's how it has always worked for me.

Another trick I always use at work is brushing my teeth and washing my face. If I've been at work since midnight and 8 a.m. rolls around and I'm exhausted, I sneak off for a second to brush my teeth and splash some cold water on my face. It makes me feel less gross for one, and for another it's a normal wakeup activity, so it makes me more alert.

Well, I'm going to call this it and go make breakfast. I just looked on the main page of the Blogathon, and now I really want doughnuts. I make it a habit not to stock junk food in my house, unfortunately, so unless I duck out to the grocery store I won't be getting any. And I'm not about to make homemade donuts just for myself.

6:30 a.m.

Edward Norton and I have a lot in common.

I was browsing the first book website yesterday when I went crazy and decided to do the Blogathon, (right now I may hate myself, but I know I'm going to fun. I just need to give myself until 12 p.m. or so) and I came across their celebrity's favorite childhood books page. Edward Norton I apparently share a love of Dr. Seuss and Madeline L'Engle. To me, this clearly means that we are exceptional human beings.

It's funny, though. You can get two people who are dissimilar in almost every respect and ask them about their favorite childhood books, and chances are they'll find out they have something in common after all. does anyone remember that horrible Dell commercial that came out about four years ago with the goth girl in the preppy girl who bond because they both have Dell PCs? It's like that, only real. I actually did use "favorite childhood books" as an icebreaker when I came to university, and when I started my job. There are some situations where that question and stop working out quite well. it's not the type of icebreaker question you can just toss out, "hi, my name is Wren, by the way what's your favorite book?" But, if you're bored to tears at work, or procrastinating for a term paper, people will answer this question quite readily...

My English breakfast tea is now drinking temperature. My morning is looking up.

6 a.m.

I am off to a bit of a rocky start this morning. Since it is the middle of summer I am on a college student schedule when it comes to sleep. I knew that I would have to go to bed early last night to be able to function at all this morning, which of course made it absolutely impossible to get to sleep. I forced myself to unwind by reading a couple chapters of Girl With a Pearl Earring, which worked admirably to take my mind off of today. Unfortunately, as I was drifting off some of my peers two houses down decided to throw a party. I struggled through that, and eventually went back to sleep. Then, my next-door neighbors in the apartment decided to have a fight. This is notable simply because this is the first time I have ever heard anyone else in my apartment complex after 8 p.m.

So, here I am, your under-REM-cycled, under-caffeinated host, using too many commas for my own good and preparing to tell you exactly why my blog title involves noses.

Does anyone remember this book? For me, this is where it all began. Not in the sense that this is my favorite book from early childhood, because it is not. But this is the book where reading actually clicked for me. (In fact, I wrote my college entrance essay about this book.) My mother and I used to sit together and read aloud, and I remember for some reason having difficulty pronouncing the word "nose." I had a decent grasp of the silent E, but not in this case.

One day my mother and I went through it twice in a row, and I remember managing to pronounce the word correctly the first time. And as I did it, something clicked. Suddenly spelling and pronunciation made sense to me, and from that moment on I was officially a reader.

My mother's favorite was One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish, and I have a soft spot for Hop on Pop, but The Nose Book will always be most fondly remembered simply because I still associate it with that sense of triumph and mastery.

And that is why this blog is titled "The Pronunciation of Nose." I want other children to have the chance to be able to have the same fondness for a book as I do for this one. So, I will be spending the next 23 hours and 30 minutes blogging to give someone that chance.

Friday, July 27, 2007

Necessary information for tomorrow

This blog is being maintained in support of First Book, a charity that uses donated funds to provide books to those in need. I had several other research funds and charities in mind when I decided to undertake this blogathon, but when I saw First Book on the suggested list it seemed like the right one to choose. Books and reading were a staple of my childhood, and continue to be a much-loved hobby into adulthood, so the thought of someone else being incapable of escaping and relaxing with their favorite book depresses me.

I would like to thank my uncle for being my initial sponsor, and giving me a generous donation of $20 per hour (or $10 per post.) I would also like to thank all my friends in advance, because I know that they are going to be supportive and helpful when it comes to keeping awake.

Finally, one small item to keep in mind: I am not actually typing this, but using a voice dictation program. I have a chronic condition that prevents me from being able to type or write for long periods of time. So, if you notice any odd word switches, it was probably the program's doing. I shall do my best to edit before posting, but I'm worried that in the wee hours of the morning my brain will be too fried to catch all the "speakos."

See you at 6 AM!