Who is in charge, here?

Hey, El Nino! Who is in charge, here? What kind of messed-up, NON-winter is this? Why am I taking walks, in naught but a zip-up, feeling the sun on my back and catching glimpses of my shadow in the non-frosty grass!

I can hear people saying, Shhhh, you numskull! Don't remind the weather system that he forgot about winter. It's so nice, and makes for such easy driving. Pipe down!

But those people probably aren't teaching for two and a half hours in Fine Arts 305: the hottest classroom in America. When your students are already sweating and squirming, and you keep fluffing your bangs because you can feel them sticking to your forehead, and it's January--that is Not Good. In fact, it is quite dangerous. Because something like this could happen (okay, did happen. Yesterday.) :

"Kendall," they said, "It's so hot in here. Can't we open a window?" I'm reasonable, so I opened one-half of the window, but to do so required moving the curtain that was keeping the super-bright sunlight out of their eyes.

"Kendall," they said, "can you open the other half of the window so the sun won't be in our eyes?" Hmmm. Trickier. There was a bolt at the top of the window, well out of arm's reach, and I would need to get to that first. Uncertain of how to climb up, I balanced a foot on the very hot, very narrow radiator and was about to hoist, when--

"Kendall! Use a chair!" said three students, in unison, and one brought the chair to me. A good, life-preserving suggestion, probably. I balanced on the chair, turned the bolt, tugged. Tugged again. Yanked...

"It won't open, Kendall, because it's nailed shut," one student pointed to the nails at the bottom of the window. "Can we open the door to the fire escape?" I opened the door. It swung right back shut.

"Use the chair from before," someone suggested. I attempted to prop the chair half in the doorway and half on the fire escape six inches below (it's a weird building).

Then, we watched together, a hard-working, heat-beating team, as the chair fell from the doorway, crashed down onto the fire escape, slid across it, and stopped just at the edge, right before it would've fallen three stories onto the walkway below. And potentially maimed someone.

I stood very still, looking at the door, the chair, and the fire escape--door, chair, fire escape--like they were one of those story problems from the SAT that I could never do, when a student came up behind me and said, helpfully, "Last semester, we would do this." He opened the door all the way, stood the chair upright against the door, on the fire escape, and came back inside.

Which brings me back to my original question, El Nino:

Who is in charge, here? Because I'm pretty sure it's not me.

Dangerously bad at problem solving,
Kendall

Platforms Can Kiss My Keester.

Like millions of Americans, I got an iPod for Christmas. Like millions of Americans, I got DVDs and a few gift cards. (I also got this, which I am pretty sure most Americans did NOT get--but most Americans don't have my mom for a mother.) (Aforementioned device has since been returned for cash money, so don't ask to borrow it).

The other gifts I received for Christmas? Self-doubt and confusion.
(Insert joke about how it is unfortunate that someone gave me a gift I already have. Ha.)

These gifts came packaged in two print magazines: Writer's Digest, and Writer's Digest WRITER'S YEARBOOK.

The Writer's Yearbook featured an article titled:

I have a feeling that I am not meant for "building platforms"--I have a hard time building a sandwich--but, I read on, because I am hoping, on some level, to make it as a writer. Plus, this blog is called "I can do lots of things," so it seems like I should at least try to make a platform. Maybe, building a platform is something I can do. Here's how the article starts:

"If you're wondering what the difference is between a completely unknown writer and a well-known writer, I can tell you. The well-known writer has influence. In order for you to build influence, you need to create and launch a platform that communicates your expertise, credibility and integrity..."

To me, this is...terrifying. But not to worry, the article has a numbered list of how to make your platform. It's so easy! Three easy steps!

1. Have a clearly identified body of expertise.

"The first thing you need to know and communicate is what defines you and your expertise. If you don't know who you are and what you uniquely offer, how will anyone else?"

So, just know who you are? I'm twenty-seven and I struggle with that question all day, every day, except when I'm watching TV. Which is why I watch so much TV.

Who I am: I'm Kendall. I'm tallish. I have bangs, three demanding plants, and a gift for finding myself in awkward situations.

Expertise: 1. Finding Hobo Spiders in Showers; 2. Memorizing Celebrity Baby Names; 3. Big-Talking (this term defines someone who staunchly refuses to put her money where her mouth is).

2. Have a Distinct Niche, so you can stand out.

"With your identity in hand, how are you different from all of the other writers out there?...Attention spans are getting shorter, so being able to summarize your strengths concisely is critical."

Hello, and welcome to my distinct niche! I'd like to shake your hand, but as you can see, I've already got my identity in hand. Pay attention! I'm distinct. There is not a single other twenty-seven year old woman, let alone a would-be writer trying to write a blog, anywhere out there. I am the ONLY ONE of my kind.

My distinct blog is called, "I Can Do Lots of Things," because I think, probably, I can do lots of things (although, last night under duress, I admitted that "I can do lots of things. I just don't"). Now, does that set me apart? What did you say? Did you ask what can I do, precisely? Hmm...well...Oh, I don't know. I just needed a title for a blog. Probably, it would be more accurately titled, www.BORINGSTUFFABOUTME.blogspot.com.

This is not going well.

3. An Ongoing Relationship with a Targeted Audience.

"Clarifying who your readers are will bring your platform into perspective...This applies to books, blogs, and everything else you write, no matter the form or genre. Once you identify your audience, and start speaking to it directly, the ongoing dialogue will spark all kinds of ideas, connections and opportunities..."

Audience, Hello. I am addressing you directly. You know, I have a very specific audience-type, and if you are reading this right now, guess what? You're in. You fit the bill. That's right: my targeted audience is anyone who will read what I write.

So, here is my platform: I have an identity (bangs; plants; awkwardness). I have expertise (spiders; celebrity babies; big-talking). I have a distinct niche (vaguely "doing things,"and then only in theory, not in practice). I'm targeting a specific audience (you, you big lug! it's you!).

Is this the sort of platform a person (or a blog) can stand on?

I think it is more like a platform a person (or a blog) falls off of, like a silly grandma-at-the-wedding-reception blooper from America's Funniest Home Videos.

I think my platform, maybe, is just that I'm not one for platforms? Ehhhh?

At least there are people out there trying to help us platform-less people get the notice we desire. (Thanks, CK, for the awesome link.)

Do you have a platform? Do you think you need one? Way more importantly, do I?

Abs. Crunches.

Kendall

Rainy Days, Mondays, and Drs Appointments Always Get Me Down

You know how there are those days when you just feel at the top of your game? When your teeth look extra white, your car doesn't have the weird smell it had for the past week, and not a single bill comes in the mail? You know how that feels?

Monday was not one of those days. Not for me, anyway. It started out pretty inauspiciously, with my mother cleaning up cat puke in my room, from, not surprisingly, the bulimic cat. (I should've cleaned it up, but I had already regressed to acting like my ten-year-old self. I pulled the oldest trick in the book: I claimed I didn't know how to clean it, then pretended to learn as my mother showed me, but really I just tricked her to do it for me. "Wait, wait," I said, "slow down. What was the step between using the carpet cleaner and then letting it dry? Oh, there wasn't one? I really think I'm starting to get it, Mom.")

Then, I fell. Hard. My right hip, and my pride, took the brunt of it. I fell in the entrance to Whole Foods, in the Pearl District, at lunch time. So, you know, a low traffic area. Only about one million witnesses to gasp in unison and offer their assistance, wincing as I got gingerly back onto my feet. There is really nothing quite like a fall to remind me that I am, well, fallible. Capable of being brought down by a rainy day, the wrong shoes, a slick floor, and my own foolish sense that I am busy and important and in a hurry. So far, I only feel the pain in my ankles, my right hip, my right arm and my neck. But especially my right arm. Blogging hurts a little bit, to tell you truth.

On top of that, today I have to go to the dentist. Oh, I hate the dentist. There is only one kind of doctor I hate more than a dentist, a doctor whose procedures and prodding are even more uncomfortable than a dentist's procedures and prodding, though really, there is some correlation between a dental technician forcing dental floss between your teeth, and a gynecologist with her speculum...but I digress! My point is, I'm seeing that kind of doctor today too! Ah, the luck. I have this shiny new insurance card (no thanks whatsoever to the US Congress), and I'll be damned if I don't go see all the doctors I possibly can, flashing my insurance at anyone who'll look.

But my poor gums think they're under attack. It's like some sort of floss blitzkrieg where every few hours, I am at them again, because I live in fear of the dentist accusing me of not flossing. The thing is: I don't floss. Not regularly. Do I even know anyone who flosses regularly? If you do, speak up, and explain to me how flossing is not one of the most boring, unpleasant events of your day. I have a feeling it is just something we all do when we know there is a dental visit coming up. Or is that just me?

A huge, huge amount of my self-esteem is wrapped up in my dentist's evaluation of my home tooth care. When I was sixteen, and acne-ridden, boyfriendless, and terrible at every extracurricular I tried, I went to the dentist and was told I had "excellent home care." The heavens parted, angels sang, and I felt the warm glow of accomplishment: there was something I was good at. Dental home care. Ever since then, I have fretted for weeks leading up to a check-up because, honestly, if the results were less than positive, I'd be destroyed. I'd self-medicate with chocolate, which I'm sure would only make my teeth worse for the next go round. If I get judged to have failed with my flossing, we might as well just cancel Christmas, because who can celebrate when she's got inadequate home care??

I've got to go floss. Wish me luck. I'm going to need it.

K. S.

PS: Have you watched the video yet? It occurs to me, watching it, that I kind of just got that Karen Carpenter haircut.

I can try again.

Confession. I abandoned the blog. I am a bit of a quitter. I left "I can do lots of things," and I went off to do lots of things. I started a new job, found a new apartment, and had eighteen new boyfriends. One of those things is a lie. I got into a (minor) car accident and went to two strip clubs. I took several plane rides by myself.

But now, the weather is getting bad. And I am trying to watch less TV. So, the blog reasserts itself. I wonder: can I go back? Is it too late? There are problems, with the blog. It's not about anything, for starters. Another problem is that I don't want anyone to read it (No one does read it, of course, but I'm speaking more philosophically about the concept of writing a blog to have it NOT read. "If a tree falls in a forest, does anyone hear it?" Who gives a shit? That's my point. I think).

But my friend Natalie says to take time, find my voice, and not tell another living soul about the blog until I'm good and ready. Okay. She also says that good photos make or break a blog. So, I include this photo of me and my father, because one thing I can do is play "Heart and Soul" on the piano.