The Best Blog Ever

Posted on September 22, 2011 by Annie Neugebauer

Originally posted on April 20, 2010 at 6:07 PM

Today marks the one-year anniversary of my blogging adventures. 132 blog entries and over 2,000 hits later, I now have a website with its own URL, no ads, a tagline, and a fairly steady following. Thank you all, very much, for your continued interest and support.

I’ve thought a bit, for the past week or so, about how best to celebrate such an occasion. Many possibilities came to mind, most of them incredibly lame, and I eventually decided to settle on writing a blog. The best blog ever. So buckle up your seatbelts, kiddos, and wipe off your goggles.

This paragraph is poignant. It’s so elegantly written that it draws unwilling tears to your eyes like rapid drops of honey-dew dripping down an invisible line from your soul. It’s like the most well-written book you’ve ever read. The spine is broken in so many places from being re-read, and every other page is dog-eared in an attempt to preserve this feeling—in hopes of being able to come back and savor it all again later. This paragraph is well-worn.

This paragraph is hilarious. You just laughed out loud, a caught-off-guard chortle that made your spouse, cat, or resident ghost look up in surprise with one eyebrow raised to see what’s so funny. But you can’t tell him/her/it just yet, because your belly hurts too much from laughter. How this girl comes up with these things is beyond you, but you sure enjoy it. Finally, with a winded sigh, you begin to reread this paragraph aloud to your companion. This paragraph is worth sharing.

This paragraph is going to hit the search engines like the news of brand new scandal. It has so many buzz words crammed down its pre-meditated throat that Google’s web crawler will explode when it makes it here. An English student in South Korea will be gawking over the information contained within even as a philosophy professor in Canada does the same. They will all look behind them before they click on it, self-conscious even as their curiosity is peaked by its carefully chosen title. This paragraph is a guilty pleasure.

This paragraph is thought-provoking. It’s somewhat controversial viewpoint is presented so eloquently that people who oppose it can’t be upset, only annoyed that someone on the other side sounded so good. The people who already agree will cheer loudly, a robust sound celebrating, “Score one for the team!” People on the fence will jump over, happy to finally have figured out which side is greener. Everyone will prop their chin on his or her fist, bite the inside of his or her cheek, and let loose a thoughtful “hmm.” This paragraph is a thinker.

This paragraph is the last one, and that makes you feel nostalgic. Its cohesiveness makes all of the other paragraphs One; it is both satisfying and surprising. Somehow, there was a thin, invisible thread winding its way through the carefully planned sections of this blog entry, and now they all make sense. They make you want to come back, reread. They make you want to become a member, even though you don’t know me, just so you can read more. It’s okay. It’s cool to be a member. Go ahead. Do it.

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The Twilight Controversy

Posted on September 22, 2011 by Annie Neugebauer

Originally posted on April 15, 2010 at 6:09 PM

*spoiler alert*

I am quite astounded by the current hoopla over Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight series. Apparently, parents are outraged. They have recently complained so much as to merit the books a number 5 rank on the “challenged books” list. I must say, these parents are clueless.

I personally have read all four books in the Twilight series. I have said before, and I will say again, that I think what Stephanie Meyer did here was incredibly smart, intended or not. Essentially what she’s created is the ultimate female fantasy. Edward is a handsome, mysterious guy who becomes instantly, passionately, and entirely devoted to Bella—the every-girl. Not only that, but their love has the true potential of forever. He is her protector, her supporter, her dream man. He is incredibly cool and suave… the guy every sane high school boy is now trying to be.

And even though he’s over seventy years old, he’s still a virgin, in spite of the fact that he’s eternally good-looking and sexy. And he insists that the sexually-charged Bella marry him before they have sex. They do not have sexual contact until book four, after they’re legally, properly married. And it’s scarcely described. Parents, are you insane? What more do you want?

Mrs. Meyer has created the coolest, most desirable role model in the world right now for teenagers. And she’s given him an extremely high set of morals. (I mean, he’s a freakin’ vampire and he refuses to drink human blood. All the other vamps are rolling their eyes.) This is perfect. Stop your bitching! I mean, this is almost as good as if Jesus were incredibly cool and current, walking around in the very-now flannel shirt and making teenage girls swoon so boys want to be like him. Saving yourself for marriage is cool! That’s the banner. Seriously, read the books. They’re Lilly-white.

In spite of the target age, I enjoyed the series. I thought they were a fairly nice fast, easy read for fun entertainment. But I also felt like they were an extremely watered-down version of Laurell K. Hamilton’s Anita Blake series. Agenda-pushing, the wait-until-marriage aspect was so strong. Almost nauseating, when I thought about how many teenage girls were going to eat this up, clueless as to what the message was, but absorbing it anyway. (This is good for the complaining parents.) There is less sex in this series than in the Bible. So a little message to the outraged ‘rents: take a deep breath, read the books, and be thankful your kids aren’t reading about the much cooler, adult, ass-kicking Anita Blake. It could be much, much worse.

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9 things you might not know about me

Posted on September 22, 2011 by Annie Neugebauer

Originally posted on April 5, 2010 at 9:35 PM

1. I think jeans and regular clothes are horribly uncomfortable, and I change into loungewear or PJs just as soon as I get home at least 90% of the time.

2. Even though I graduated as an English major with highest honors, I still have to double check lie vs. lay.

3. iPod earbuds don’t fit in my ears, so I have to use the old, dorky earphones.

4. I sleep with a stuffed bear, Mr. Bear, even though I have Kyle. Mr. Bear is not only emotional support, but physical support, too: he’s my boob-holder-upper when I lie on my side.

5. I love to fish and wish I did it more often.

6. No matter how OCD and organized I may be, I always have at least one “junk drawer” or box with random objects strewn about all helter-skelter… and I like it that way!

7. I pronounce “crayon” as “crown.” “Poem” as “Poyme” (like ‘coin’… ‘poim’;). I don’t know why.

8. I rarely break the rules, and when I do, it haunts me. One time, in 4th grade, I cheated on a word during our spelling test, and I still feel racked with guilt.

9. I wish I were cooler, but I’m just too damn shy.

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Sewing Memories

Posted on September 22, 2011 by Annie Neugebauer

Originally posted on March 18, 2010 at 12:53 AM

Hub-a-dub is gone for work and it’s spring break for us, so I took advantage of a blank day and went to my aunt’s house to help her quilt. She’s making a memory quilt for me (and one for my brother) out of all of our dad’s old shirts. I couldn’t bear to donate them to Goodwill with the rest of his stuff, and they look so pretty together. He definitely had a preference for a particular color scheme. So I passed them on to her and she’s working her magic. And since my other wonderful aunt (how am I so lucky?) taught me how to use my sewing machine, I took it with me and got to help. How cool is that? Very. Very cool, is what you’re looking for.

It was surprisingly nice to just sit there and sew in a straight line over and over again. I’m definitely getting better at working the machine, and I enjoyed the company. It’s hard to describe how special those pieces of fabric are to me. There are some new ones that she found that are just prints that depict Dad’s personality in various ways (fishing, big cats, money, etc.) mixed in with all of those old polos and tees. It’s like seeing him again.

When he died and we had to clean out the house, I left his closet for last. It broke my heart to give it up. I could walk in there and smell him, so perfect it felt like a hug. The idea of saving some of it for a quilt was the only comfort I had, the only thing to hold on to. The rest we either sold at a thrift store or donated to Goodwill. I remember the poignancy of how funny it was when the lady at the thrift store told me that every single pair of khakis I brought in had stains on them. So Dad. I should have known. But she bought a few dress shirts and suits.

After I’d packed all the shirts away and donated the rest of the clothes, I felt panicked. Somehow, I’d let myself lose or hide all of the smell, all of the memory. When we went back to the thrift store to check if any of the suits had sold, I glanced through the racks, just knowing that I’d recognize his stuff out of all of it. That’d I’d be able to spot them from a mile away.

I couldn’t. Not a single item was certain. I felt like, somehow, I had betrayed him. Like I hadn’t paid enough attention, didn’t care enough. When they weren’t all together in a cacophony of burgundy, black, green, and gray with splashes of pink and purple, they somehow became just clothes. Nothing special. No longer his.

But seeing all of these fabrics together again is the most wonderful feeling. I do recognize them. I would from a mile away. I always will.

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Bad word warning; Grandma, look away!

Posted on September 22, 2011 by Annie Neugebauer

Originally posted on March 16, 2010 at 6:02 PM

I left for the weekend, and when I came back to Denton it was spring. Grass is greening, flowers are fluffing, and the air is springing. (That’s right: I verbed it.) To quote one of my favorite real-life sentences of all time: It’s as lovely as a mother-fucker out here. Yeah, I went there. (You have to admit, it’s pretty hilarious that someone used “lovely” and the f-bomb in the same sentence… and wasn’t kidding.)

It really is lovely, and the poet in me wants to write about frolicking with kittens and climbing trees to un-stick kites. I won’t, though; don’t worry. Every writer and artist of all time seems to have tried to capture spring in all its glory. There’s just something about the rebirth of all things around us that captures our wonder, imagination, and joy year after year. And makes us want to capture it in return.

I say let’s embrace the silliness, the glee of this coming month’s growing warmth. Because it’ll only be two months before you’re complaining about how hot it is. And twelve before you get another chance. So go fly a kite. Seriously.

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