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Thursday, 09 July 2009

  • Another Editing Gripe

    Is this a website, a web site, or a Web site?  My opinion unfortunately differs from that of the Chicago Manual of Style (aka Big Orange Bible).  That esteemed reference work recommends "Web site." 

    Why?  Who decided that "Web" should be capitalized?  It's not the name of a business.  Capitalizing it is like writing "City park," "Local school," or "Forest habitat." 

    Having learned this rule, I'm now noticing "Web site" all over the place, with the capital Ws no doubt inserted by BOB-enslaved copyeditors. 

    Language geeks ought to rise up in protest.

Tuesday, 07 July 2009

  • The Mists of Time

    Somewhere in the world
    Are friends I've missed from long ago
    Could be drifting by the wayside
    Or even dead - I just don’t know
    And now my memories are fading
    Like melting footprints in the snow

    Do you ever wonder about the people that wander in and out of your life?  The short-term neighbor, the friendly mail carrier, the barista you used to see every day until suddenly someone else is pulling your coffee, your teachers, your college roommates. So many people make just a brief appearance and then they’re gone, like extras in the movie of your life. 

     

    At the job I quit recently I had a coworker—I’ll call him Fred.  We worked together for only a few months.  I don’t know him well, but well enough to care what happens to him.  He left the organization shortly after I did, and moved across the country.  In the old days, that would’ve been that.  Another extra walked off my set and vanished backstage. 

     

    But in these modern Facebook times, you can keep track of those extras.  I knew that he had a new job, that he’d reconnected with a former girlfriend, that he thought New Jersey less attractive than Seattle.  And then he broke up with the girlfriend.  And then he dropped off the internet grid by shutting down his Facebook site.

     

    Generally, I wouldn’t think much of that.  Facebook is a huge time sucker and can be uncomfortably public.  My husband received a friend invite from someone, only to discover that the guy had changed his mind and shut his site down.  The public eye is not for everyone.

     

    But Fred has a history—he’s emotionally unstable, at best.  At worst, he’s a suicide risk.  So the combination of breaking up with the girlfriend and cutting off connections, even the superficial connection afforded by Facebook, I find it alarming. 

     

    Even though he’s an extra, and I may never see him again, I want him to be ok.  Maybe that’s the value in all of our time-sucking technology.  In this huge and often cold world, our little electronic selves are constantly waving their arms and shouting, “I’m still here!  Maybe you haven’t seen me in days or years or decades, but here I am and I’m ok.” 

     

    And in turn we get to wave back and say, “I’m glad you’re ok.  It’s been a long time, but you still matter to me.” 

     

    So I’m going to text Fred a little electronic hug tomorrow, because I want him to know that I hope he’s well and safe.  I wish the same for many others that I’ve known, but they’re long gone.

     

    Like gray mists conceal horizons
    I miss those times we'll share no more

     

     

     

Wednesday, 01 July 2009

  • LIVE, FROM CLEVELAND HEIGHTS

    That's right, I'm blogging at you from the Phoenix coffee shop in beautiful Cleveland Heights, Ohio - my old stomping grounds.  Tigger and Little Bit and I are visiting the grandparents.  They've long since moved to another part of town, but today I've been revisiting the streets of my youth.  I'm struck by how old this neighborhood looks, both the people and the houses.  Everywhere I look I see old Jewish ladies, and they all look familiar.  I swear the same old Jewish ladies were running around Cleveland Heights 25 years ago.  The houses are big and brick and solid in a way that more recently built houses never are. 

    I had a delicious vegan lunch with my old friend mkr_ohio, at Tommy's on Coventry, home of the world's best milkshakes, but we didn't have any milkshakes because we're too old for that now.  And I stopped into all the old hippie/head shops, all of which carry the same merchandise they sold 25 years ago, and reek of the same incense.  I almost bought a little bottle of patchouli, just because.

    We're headed back to Seattle tomorrow, so I'll be home when you hear from me next.  Sad news: one of our cats, Clover, passed to the Rainbow Bridge yesterday.  She'd been ill and declining for a long time, so it is for the best, but we will miss her.  I've searched my files and cannot find a digital picture of her, but in her prime she was beautiful.  I hope the Rainbow Bridge story is true and she's playing with her brothers now.  RIP, Clover.

Tuesday, 23 June 2009

  • SPACE. FOR. SALE.

    Here's an editorial issue I've been dodging for decades.  Right there, did you see it?  There it is again.  Two spaces between sentences.

    Years ago I was taught that one types an extra space at the end of a sentence.  On, you know, a typewriter.  Never seen one of those?  It's a gadget we used in the olden days, kind of like an abacus, ok?  I've been typing extra spaces ever since.  So ingrained is the habit I'm not sure I could quit.  And I think it makes a block of text easier to read.

    But now, since I'm going to be the Editor rather than the Editee, I can no longer fall back on my writer's prerogative.  I will have to repent my sins and follow the Big Orange Bible, and the BOB says no extra spaces.  Can I enforce the rule on other authors when I'm merrily extra-spacing my way through my own pieces? 

    I will now try to type a paragraph without extra spaces. There, I did it once. Twice. But it feels wrong, friends, wrong. I may forget or backslide. Those little blank spots, two roomy spaces wide, may show up in my dreams, calling out their comfy temptations. Come on, they'll whisper, don't your words deserve a little elbow room? What prose could breathe under those conditions?

    Pray for me.

Monday, 22 June 2009

  • $Question of the Day$

    How does ye olde federal government go about deciding on income limits for the claiming of tax credits?  And is not a single formula for the whole nation inherently unfair to urbanites?

    Case in point: The Lifetime Learning Credit. 
    A taxpayer may claim a tax credit for 20% of up to $10,000 in combined tuition and mandatory fees for himself, his spouse, and his dependent children. This equates to a $2,000 tax credit. There is no requirement that the student be studying towards a degree or be enrolled at least half-time, and there is no limit on the number of years the credit may be taken.

    Sounds great, right?  So an individual can, say, go back to school in middle age to buff up her resume and claim a tax credit for 20% of the tuition.  Encouraging continuing education is surely in Uncle Sam's best interests, as better educated citizens pay more taxes in the long run. 

    But:
    In 2009, the credit is phased out for incomes between $50,000 and $60,000 (between $100,000 and $120,000 for married taxpayers filing jointly). 

    Where did those numbers come from?  Those salaries might be sky-high in Upper Podunk, but in major metropolitan (read that: high cost-of-living) areas they are barely middle class. 

    On a related note, I'm working on an article about saving for college, which is admittedly the only reason I know about the Lifetime Learning Credit.  If y'all wouldn't mind sharing, please tell me if and how you are saving for your kids' college educations.  Thanks.

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  • I have a feeling I'm not in Kansas anymore.