Show, don’t tell

I can hear him clomping up the stairs before he actually appears. When he gets to the top and enters the kitchen, he stomps twice more at the top, each foot for emphasis, before looking around, hitching up his pants and adjusting his suspenders, and asking, “So?”

This is my grandfather. Continue reading


Odds and ends

The theme continues — there is still a lot going on in my life that I either can’t talk about or don’t want to talk about, and thus it serves as the excuse for not blogging.

Granted, there are a couple things that pop up in my head that are too long for a tweet or seemingly too short for a blog post, but the ideas are still kicking around. And so, a grab bag blog post of sorts, with all kinds of odds and ends. Continue reading

Time out

Before I ever seriously considered being a journalist — and by that, I mean before I started applying to universities and started j-school — my mom got one of those chain emails. I guess journalism was already in my head at that point though, because there was one line that really stuck out to me.

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All I want for Christmas is a futon

It didn’t take my parents long to redo my room when I moved out. I moved out at the end of December last year, and by February, my dad had painted over the black and white checkered pattern and pink walls (think ’50s diner) in my former room with beige.

There’s also a bunch of exercise equipment in there now, though my dad did go out and buy a camp bed for when I’m back on weekends and such.

For the next week, for Christmas, I will be sleeping either on the couch or the floor at my parents’ house.

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Dear me

Post Secret retweeted something this morning about someone who wished she could tell her younger self all these things she should know. I started thinking about it, and this is what I came up with. I tried to put it into some kind of flow, but I know it still starts off rather abruptly.
Also, the tweet said the person wished she could tell these things to her 16-,17-year-old self. I’m not entirely sure which “self” I’m telling this too — at least my 14-year-old self, I guess, before I started high school. My 12-year-old self (10 years ago) seemed too young, but my 16-year-old self doesn’t seem young enough.

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Playing the name game

There’s some confusion about my name — my first name, I mean, don’t even get me started on my last name with the two consonants that never go together in the English language. As far as I can tell, “Catherine” is usually spelled with a K — this learned after years of people trying to spell my name with said letter. That’s not so bad, and I suppose I don’t help matters — people also call me Kat, but, as you can tell, I insist that Kat is spelled with a K, even though my full name starts with a C.

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