Confessions of a Book Nerd

11 Apr

readingThis morning I came into work and set my bag down on a desk to hang up my coat. My bag was open, and the current book I’m reading, “Game of Thrones,” was laying atop my things.

“You’re reading that?” Dr. L asked. “Isn’t there some Dragon mother character?”
“Daenerys Targaryen?” I replied.
“Wow, you are such a nerd.”
“I’ve never claimed to be anything but. If you assumed otherwise, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Truthfully, I am surprised at how much I am loving a Fantasy book. Part of my enjoyment comes from my investment in the television series. I had tried reading “Game of Thrones” two years ago but found it difficult trying to keep all the characters straight. Now that I watch the show, it’s so much easier to visualize who is who and where they all come from. It’s fun to read, and I’m already feeling anxious for him to finish writing the series so I can finish reading it. I started the book on Tuesday after a three week hiatus from reading to study for my semester 2 vet tech finals. So I’ve been indulging myself in all my favorite book nerd behaviors. Not sure how normal or abnormal these are:

  • When I’m reading on the subway, I wear my iPod ear buds. I’m never listening to anything. I just don’t want anyone to interrupt my reading.
  • I HAVE to have a back up book read to go in case I finish the book I’m currently reading.
  • When people send me postcards, my first thought is usually, “That’ll make a lovely bookmark.”
  • Sometimes when I’m bored, I browse through my GoodReads to-read list and fantasize about all the books I’m looking forward to reading.
  • I don’t like to see books touching the floor. It feels disrespectful.
  • I love falling asleep with a book in bed with me and waking up in the morning to find it waiting under my arm.
  • When I’m doing something mind-numbing like inventory at work, the most irritating part to me is thinking about how much reading I could be doing at that moment.
  • I’ve perfected the art of read-walking. When I’m just about to finish a chapter and I’m at my subway stop, I exit the subway, walk up the stairs, and walk to my apartment, still reading.
  • When my train is delayed and everyone around me is pouting and staring at their watches, I feel bliss at how much more time I get to read.

What are your weird book nerd habits?

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Stray Cats

9 Apr

20140408-203741.jpgThe official start of my Spring softball season began a couple of weeks ago. And while this week has had 50-60 degree Spring-like weather, we were living in a different New York City two weeks ago.

As I hurried to the field, wearing a wool hat, gloves, long underwear, a scarf, I was frustrated that the game hadn’t been postponed due to freezing temperatures. It was an odd sight to see so many bundled figures on the field. I played catcher, and the umpire and I would have to shield our backs to the wind between batters.

Afterwards, my team and I headed to the subway to make our way downtown to our favorite watering hole. My boyfriend stopped at the ticket machine to refill his Metrocard. I stood waiting for him and noticed movement behind the machine. It was a beautiful orange and white cat, curled up where the machine left space from the wall, near a small vent that was letting off heat. He was friendly, looking up at me curiously. If I wasn’t still iffy about cats, and my apartment allowed pets, I might have scooped him up right there and taken him home out of the cold.

But this encounter also made me think about one of my cat sitting clients. He is a former stray cat who now resides in the Upper East Side. He’s affectionate and loves his owner. One of the strange requests the owner has when I cat sit is to open the window while I’m in the apartment. Her cat loves to sit at the window and gaze out at the courtyard, watching the birds come and go, feeling the fresh air on his fur. Even though he has a wonderful life of good meals, toys, a clean litter box, and refuge from the cold, he still loves to stare out the window at the world he used to roam.

Cats are so much different than other companion animals. They’re more wild, more in tune with their primal roots. I wonder how much of them misses that wildness. And more importantly, how much of them understands that the life of a stray cat might seem rebellious and exciting, yet how much nicer it is to have shelter and comfort on the coldest of nights.

28 Before 28: Join a Book Club

7 Apr

In my 28th year of life, I’m attempting to do 28 new things. Full list here.

I’ve had this on my list for three years now. I searched for book clubs I could join online, finding only stay-at-home moms who read books about parenting. I mentioned it to people in passing, a lot of whom responded that Book Clubs are lame and for…stay-at-home moms.

“Preposterous!” I replied to the nay-sayers. So I started a book club myself.

As a bookish person, I have over the years attracted a number of friends with similar book nerd tendencies. All it took was posting a query of interest on my Facebook page to get together a modest group of six to discuss books about once a month.

Yesterday was our first meeting, and it went well! I was so happy to hear other people’s feelings about the book, their favorite parts, their criticisms. As the de facto leader, I was the one who picked the book, “The Poisoner’s Handbook” (link in caption above for purchase). It turned out to be a fitting book about Prohibition. So we sat together, throwing back Bellini’s and Bloody Mary’s, discussing.

For me, the best part about a book club is the widening perspective as a reader. By reading books other people have selected, it causes me to read books that I might shy away from. In the discussion itself, I got to see the book through five other people’s perspectives. The English major in me felt right at home.

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Tourist Tuesday: Lillie’s Victorian Bar and Restaurant

25 Mar
The back area

The back area

Just when I think I’ve found my favorite bar in New York, I find another gem. I just finished reading “The Poisoner’s Handbook” by Deborah Blum which is about Jazz Age New York. It focuses on Prohibition and how it affected the city. I have spent the last couple of days fantasizing about the old speakeasies, the mysterious drinks that were shipped by bootleggers, the secrecy and dangerous nature of drinking. I love living in a city soaked in so much history.

Back-lit wall decorations

Back-lit wall decorations

The theme of this bar predates the Jazz Age but still provoked in me a nostalgia for different times. Modern, trendy bars are a dime a dozen, and I prefer something spacious and cozy. The large, weathered glass behind the bar, the velvet lampshades, the crystal chandeliers.

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I was obsessed with these vintage mirrors that were everywhere.

A friend and I ended up hanging out here for a good 4-5 hours in the afternoon, sipping on beer, sharing a spinach and artichoke dip. In my late twenties, I’ve found that I appreciate a bar that isn’t too crowded, is well lit, and doesn’t have music pumping so loud it causes my earrings to vibrate against my earlobes. This was perfect. I do have to mention that we were there in the late afternoon, and it did seem to get a bit more crowded as the after-work set began to show up. But, nonetheless, it’s a charming bar at which to while away the hours.

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Dr. Google

10 Mar

20140310-172047.jpgThe two simplest things I do are anal gland expression and nail trims. These are walk-in appointments that don’t even involve a veterinarian. It takes about five minutes, and technicians do many a day.

On Saturday, I went to the reception area to grab a dog who had come in for a nail trim. The owner (notorious in our practice for being over the top) hands me an article she found online about the correct way to trim nails. She showed me the diagram and told me this is the way I should be trimming nails. Included was an article about a four-part lecture series on nail trims. I don’t know who has this kind of time on their hands. But I smiled and nodded and took the pet to the back.

I showed the other technicians the article she had given me, and their jaws dropped in shock. Everyone respects a well-informed pet owner. One should feel free to read up on their pets conditions, or any medications and procedures that are involved in their pets care. But let’s all take a deep breath and try to remember that 90% of the content on the Internet is bullshit.

Things this article failed to mention are that the nail quick has nerve endings and is painful to be cut that close. It didn’t mention what to do when the dog has black nails, and it is impossible to see where the blood supply ends. It didn’t capture the experience of a dog screaming and pulling its paw away, because it is so afraid of having its nails trimmed too short and feeling that pain. Those are things that are learned from years of experience, not from some article on the Internet.

We trimmed the nails the way we always do. The dog’s nails didn’t bleed, and we got them as short as possible without doing so. In my opinion, a job well done. I accommodate a lot of silly client requests, but one that will cause their pet pain? Never.

Any techs out there experience any crazy client requests as a result of bad Internet research?

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School Daze

5 Mar

HPIM3464 On Tuesday I went to a lecture at the ASPCA about Animal Cruelty laws and the veterinarian’s role in prosecution.

As I sat there watching the PowerPoint presentation, taking notes on my handouts on body conditioning score, and New York State laws, I felt at home. Not in that building, but in that role, as student.

I miss being in school. From kindergarten on, I loved school. I didn’t talk about it much, because it was not a popular opinion as a child, but I adored it. I got so excited when September came around. All the new notebooks and binders, the list of classes. I loved sitting at my desk and spreading out my things, getting ready to learn something new. College was the best, because it wasn’t formulaic teaching. I took classes in Architecture, Japanese History, Horror Literature, Advanced Spanish, Animal Behavior. I had enough credits to graduate early, and I went to my adviser and begged her to let me stay an extra semester. She told me I was insane, and I had to enter the real world.

The real world is rough. I’ve spent the last couple of years dreaming endlessly of returning to school. I just never could settle on what for. Technically, I am back in school with my veterinary technician program. I love it. I don’t meditate or work out, because to me, studying is my zen. I understand that you might be rereading that sentence in horror and confusion. I know I’m strange. But I feel such bliss when I turn off my phone, close my computer, and read through a text book, highlighting, taking notes. At the end of the hour I have allotted myself, I often crave more, but force myself to step away.

But these online courses aren’t enough for me. I want to walk through the regal and solemn halls of a university and sit once again in a classroom, becoming an expert in a million different fields. Is there a job where one can be an ever-learning student of life? I’m already a student at the University of Books, but I need MORE.

This is the year. I’m going to figure it out. Where I want to lend my talents to the world, what career can keep my thirsty mind studying and learning. I’m going to find it, apply to it, and in fall 2015 be back in a classroom where I belong.

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Start Your Engines…

25 Feb

RuPaul”s Drag Race Season 6 – Trailer from Eduardo Roza on Vimeo.

A couple of years ago, I was spending a lazy Friday night at my friend Brian’s apartment on the Upper West Side. We were drinking Gin and Tonics and catching up on “30 Rock” on Netflix. Once we were Liz Lemoned out, he suggested we watch old episodes of “RuPaul’s Drag Race.”

“It’s so campy and cheap and ridiculous, you’re going to love it!”

I was reluctant. I was skeptical. Brian is gay. I’m not. It wasn’t my culture, and drag queens had never interested me. Two episodes in, the show was growing on me. First, it’s hilarious. Queens insult (“read”) each other with quick-witted, smart one-liners. The competitions they were put in were over-the-top camp. Photo shoots in a wind tunnel that pulled their wigs off, getting thrown in a dunk tank. The tongue in cheek humor is unparalleled. The winner is whoever displays the most “cunning, uniqueness, nerve, and talent.” Think about that acronym.

So I became hooked. To this day, “RuPaul’s Drag Race” is the only show that I look forward to, make sure to watch on a weekly basis. I’ve even gone to events in the city that feature some of the past and present queens. Over the years, I’ve begun to see the show as more than outrageous fashion and campy attitudes. Beneath all the glitter, the show has a distinct message about being yourself, and to me, it’s taught me a lot about being a woman.

Despite our equality strides, women are still not portrayed as powerful as often as they should be. When they are, it’s with a frumpy bitch overtone (see Hillary Clinton). Men dressing as women has traditionally been seen as humiliating, weak. What the drag queens do is elevate the ideals of womanhood. They are smart, creative, and tough. They are beautiful and commanding. The queens that win are the ones with the strongest personalities. Last year was Jinkx Monsoon with her vaudeville humor and flapper glamor. The year before that was Sharon Needles who has a gothic appearance and a penchant for using fake blood in her outfits. But these lady boys aren’t laughed at for dressing up as women, they are respected and admired.

We should all be that proud to be ourselves.

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My Earl

5 Feb

20140205-233755.jpgOur clinic works closely with a house-call vet in Manhattan. Since she doesn’t have an office, we take in a lot of her patients that need inpatient care. About two months ago, we took in a rescue dog that one of her clients had told her about. A 3-year-old pug named Earl who had been found in South Carolina, emaciated and covered in fleas. We took him in.

After he was with us a week, he began having violent seizures. Two to three minutes long, full-body convulsions, foam seeping out of his mouth. It all became clear why such a beautiful dog had been thrown to the street. With a combination of medications, we got his condition regulated. But they had left him a little handicapped, mentally. He just wasn’t smart. He’d sit in his cage, kind of staring off into space. He’d chase his tail for a long time, getting to the point where he’d grab it with his mouth and stand still, unsure what to do next.

Over the last couple of weeks, we let him out of his cage more and more, to the point where we set up a little bed for him in the treatment area, and we kept him out with us all day. Every once in a while, he’d have a day with clusters of seizures, but for the most part, he seemed fine.

This last weekend, it was a little bit slower, and we all spent so much time playing with him in the slightly warmer weather, cuddling with him indoors. He had one of the best Pug temperaments. Docile and loving, content to just be held. I fell head over heels in love with him. Even though I don’t live in a situation where I could have a dog, I fantasized about adopting him, taking him home, making him my own. At the end of my shift on Saturday, I held him in my lap, petting him, and I whispered to him, “You’re such a good boy. I promise we’re going to find you a good home.”

Then yesterday, on my day off, I get the staccato texts from Dr. L. Earl isn’t doing well. He’s having so many seizures. His temperature is 108. He looks bad. And finally, the one I was dreading, they had euthanized him. I sat alone in my apartment and wept for a dog that was never mine, but who I loved as much as if he were.

Today was a difficult day. It was busy, but in our down time, we’d look to Earl’s empty corner and talk about how much we all missed him. We do this to ourselves over and over again. We let ourselves get attached to them. I don’t understand how we keep doing it.

It’s easy to build up a wall against this sort of pain, to distance oneself from the possibility of getting attached, to falling in love. But then there are special souls out there who know how to find their way in to a blocked off heart. Earl was one of those.

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Morning Pages

22 Jan

2013-03-05 15.18.12-1This is the year that I’m forcing myself to become a writer. I’ve started writing a downright shitty book, full of cliches and adverbs, and I have no idea where I’m going with it. But I’m getting it out there. It’s the book I’ve been holding inside of me for years, and I’m doing it. I want to shape it, help it grow. I’d love for it to be great one day. But, right now, I’m getting that shitty thing on paper one word at a time.

I’ve committed to writing for at least an hour, for at least five days out of the week. As much as I wish I could quit my job and dedicate myself to my dream full time, I have to go to work. A part of me likes work, finds inspiration there. I’ve looked to other writers to see how they’ve circumvented this problem. So many of them offer the same piece of advice, morning pages. They get up before their normal day would start and churn out some writing. Before the different stresses of life arise, before work and family and friends drain the energy, before the phone starts ringing, they dedicate themselves to solitude and writing.

I’m not a morning person. My college roommate, who has been one of my lifelong friends, described my morning persona as “Satan incarnate.” I’d like to think that with maturity, I’ve become a little less demonic in response to my alarm, but I still hate it. I love nothing more that staying in bed, continuing my dream, snuggling for an unreasonable amount of hours. I’m a pro at it.

So this whole morning pages thing has been something I have always eliminated as a possibility for me. But this is the year. This is when I dedicate myself to writing, when I decide that writing my shitty book is more important than an extra hour of sleep. I bargained with myself. At first, I planned on doing it every day before work. Then I eliminated Saturday, because it is already tragic enough that I work on Saturday. Then I eliminated Fridays, because I already get up at six and that’s too early. Soon enough, Wednesday went out the door, because it’s like my Monday, and Monday’s are horrible.

So Thursday.

If I can resist the snooze tomorrow morning, it will be my third Thursday in a row where I got up an hour early to write morning pages. I sulk for about five minutes, then I get down to it. It makes such a difference. That little sacrifice of sleep reminds me how important this work is to me. It gets my brain going in the directions I want it to go. And my shitty book keeps growing and growing.

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Still Writing: The Perils and Pleasures of a Creative Life by Dani Shapiro

13 Jan

It’s such a tiny, little book. It fit so snuggly in my purse, and I took it out almost everywhere I went the week I was reading it. It’s not even a book as much as an amalgamation of all the different things she has learned in her years as a writer. It’s her wisdom, it’s the wisdom of the people who have inspired her, it’s little tips on how to approach writing.

I had fun reading this book. So much so that I bought my own copy while I was still reading the one I had checked out from the library. It now sits atop my printer on my writing desk with its own designated bookmark. Each nugget of advice is only a page or two long, and I’m trying out a ritual (at her suggestion). I read one little nugget as preparation for an hour of uninterrupted writing. It inspires me and reminds me why I write. It makes that hour of solitary writing a little less lonely.

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