The Art of Journaling or My Dad is a Spaz

My dad is a hilarious and very unique person.  In some ways, these two attributes are independent of each other and in other ways they are dependent.  Yes, my dad is sometimes hilarious because of his uniqueness, and other times, well, you get the idea. 

Pops and I at a metric century bike ride in October.  Eating pie.  Naturally. 

Firstly, my dad is an engineer at heart.  He loves to plan, loves to make lists, loves to think about things.  If you are working on a project and need some help, Dad is the go-to person.  He'll make a list or five, think, and voila, have a solution for you.  Sometimes this helps and sometimes the solution comes three days too late.  The problem is, Dad is a planner's planner.  Analysis paralysis, I think they call it.  Pops loves to think about doing things, but sometimes doesn't actually get to the doing part. 

Enter the relevance to writing.  I keep a journal.  I started this journal during my senior of vet school, in order to record all the crazy patients and their owners I worked with along with memorable moments in the OR (3 am colic surgeries), the large animal hospital breezeway (loose cow, anyone?), and instructors, techs, and other staff we had to learn to work with (or work around, depending).  I regret not starting my journal in earnest three years prior, at the start of freshman year, but better late than never.  As such, I've surprised myself and have kept the journal going since then (about 5 years). 

I don't make daily entries.  Sadly, my life is just not that exciting and I can't bear to draft an entry that reads: "July 15 - Ramen for lunch and dinner.  Walked the dog.  Had a bowel movement."  But I do write in my journal on average 3 to 4 times a week.  Now that I'm in the habit, I find it relaxing and cathartic - a way to record what's happened, to take a step back and really re-live the past day or so.  When I first began journaling, I put pressure on myself to write every single day and record every single thing that happened in excruciating detail.  Thankfully, those self-imposed demands quickly fell by the wayside when I realized if I adhered to them, the journal would last about one week.  Now, my entries are much more relaxed, often stream-of-consciousness, and rarely account for things in minute detail.  My grammar is atrocious, spelling is embarrassing, and sometimes things don't make sense.  But for me, this is ok.  Now, enter my dad.

Dad post-retirement

Dad retired in April.  Since then, he's been busy painting the house, hiking, bike riding, and taking yoga classes.  He's busier now than when he was gainfully employed!  He's also healthier.  As he finds himself doing more interesting things than being a desk jockey, he has started keeping a journal.  Sort of. 

Last time I talked to Dad, he informed me he bought a new journal to start over.  Confused, I asked why he needed to start over.  How does one start over in a journal?  Did you mistakenly record something on Tuesday that you actually did on Monday?

He told me that as he was reading his older entries, he found them full of typos and long, rambling sentences.  Plus, he said, it was profoundly boring.  To which I responded: yes....?  I think everyone's journal is that way, unless you're Neil Armstrong or Nelson Mandela or a member of ZZ Top.  This wasn't good enough for Dad.  Nope, he's starting over, this time paying more attention to short, succinct sentences, spelling, handwriting, and content. 

We'll just see how long this lasts.  As I said, he's a planner's planner, which means he'll think about the journal and his wonderful spelling and properly placed adverbs.  He even went as far as informing me he's only going to write on one side of the page, not on the back.  All I could do was say ok and jot down the make and model of the journal he ordered. 

In the mean time, I will continue my own journal.  In a recent issue of Vanity Fair, their Proust Questionnaire involved an older author who I am ashamed I didn't recognize and therefore now can't recall his name.  The question was: What is your most prized possession?  His answer: his over 100 volumes of personal journals.  This struck me as an amazing achievement in recording the most personal history of one's life.  This also gave me something to work toward.  Since my budding journal writing beginnings 5 years ago, I only have about 6 volumes.  I better get crackin'.

PS: while I'm on the subject, here's a good post on 5 reasons to keep a journal (important for us writerly-types).

Viva Las Vegas!

Let's step away from the writing and vet med topics for a second and expound on the myriad of reasons why Las Vegas is probably in the Top 5 of The Most Awesome Places in the World.  This is a timely topic since:

a. Winter is creeping in around the Mid Atlantic and I start to dream of dry deserts and palm trees
b. I'm running the Rock N Roll Las Vegas Half Marathon on Dec 2 and I am just dying to get there

I've been to Vegas three times before.  Three wonderful, magical times.  I love the place.  If I were single and it was legally possible to marry a location, I would propose to it. 

One of the reasons I frequent Las Vegas is because the annual Western Veterinary Conference is held out there in the beautiful Mandalay Bay Hotel and Casino.  One of the annual national veterinary conferences in the US, the WVC is the West Coast's version of NAVC (North American Veterinary Conference) which is held annually in Florida.  And why choose WVC over NAVC since Florida is closer to home than Nevada?  No contest - I'd take Vegas over the humidity of Orlando any day.

However, I feel like I give people the wrong impression when I talk ad nauseum about my sincere love of Las Vegas.  I'm not a big drinker (note the qualifier there), not much of a gambler (I yell at the video poker machine when I'm in the hole ten bucks), and not really in the market for strippers or prostitutes.  But let me tell you, this is why I love Vegas:

1. Neon lights.  There's just something about being able to walk down a street at 11 pm and have everything lit up like the middle of the day.  Combine that experience with the fact that the lights are colorful and moving and blinking and are in the shapes of cowboys and martini glasses and castles and ... just... wow.  Love it.

2. Weather.  The dry desert weather does a person good.  At least, does this person good.  Even in the summer, when the mercury frequently climbs above 100, well, as they say: it's a dry heat.  Also, the lack of rain is friendly to vacation plans - any time I've been there, the thought of rain ruining our plans never occurred to me.  Also, on a side note, the geography of the place is a stunning bonus.  A backdrop of mountains to frame a sunset across the desert is such a welcome sight to eyes used to seeing the comparatively bland forests and fields at the foot of the Appalachians.  (Mind you, there are some lovely places out here: Assateague National Seashore and Shenandoah National Park to name a few.  Mental side note: I owe you dear readers a good solid blog on the wonderful National Parks.) 

3. Sequins.  I can't think of anywhere else I've been where it's perfectly ok to wear sequins at any point during the day or night.  And I do love sequins. (Would it be unprofessional to have my white DVM coat re-done with a simple sequin border? Yes? No?)

4. Best people watching ever.  Walking the strip is an endless source of entertainment, no matter what time of day.  8:30 am?  Hey, giggle at the drunks happily wandering out of the casinos, bleary-eyed and startled by that bright yellow orb in the sky.  4 pm?  Catch a few people dressed as Elvis, or Hello Kitty, or Homer Simpson, or Batman.  2 am?  Your guess is as good as mine.

mmmm wonderful, salty, broth-y pho

5. So many things to do.  I'll admit it - I'm a bit of a wild child.  Last time I was in Vegas, I tried for the first time ever... pho.  Yeah, it was crazy.  You know what they say - what you eat in Vegas usually makes a second appearance on the flight back home... Actually the pho behaved itself.  But besides being a gastrophile's heaven, you would not believe all the stuff there is to do in this relatively small city (beyond the drinking and gambling and debauchery, I mean).  For example:

• Ride the roller coaster outside New York New York
• Travel up the Eiffel Tower at Paris
• Visit the National Atomic Testing Museum
• Shoot a machine gun
• Ride to the top of the Stratosphere
• Visit the aquarium at Mandalay Bay
• Tour the art gallery at the Bellagio
• Visit the Neon Museum, City Hall, and the Nevada State Museum

And for those wanting to venture a little farther, there's always:

• Red Rock Canyon 
• Valley of Fire State Park
• Hoover Dam
• Grand Canyon
• Death Valley

Perhaps for a second career, I'll try things out as a Las Vegas tour guide.  And wear blue crushed velvet pant suits all day long.  With sequins.

Me, in 30 years

Interacting with the Writing Crowd

A few weeks ago I got up the nerve to attend a writers' happy hour in DC.  It was terrifyingly thrilling.  From past posts, you may remember that I'm a tad bit of an introvert, so to attend such a function is WAY out of character for me.

 I'll admit I walked past the bar (The Science Club) not two but THREE times before I actually went in.  It's called Gathering Courage. 

Anyway, I went in and ... had an alright time.  There were about ten of us and the organizer, the lovely Willona Sloan, walked us through three writing exercises of 20 minutes each.  Willona gave us writing prompts and we all wrote furiously for the given time limit, with the option to share at the end. 

Being a writers' happy hour virgin, I didn't dare share my pathetic attempts at literary genius with the group.  I was too embarrassed, too self-conscious.  I was also finding it difficult to concentrate with the awesome 80s music soundtrack and a loud and intense conversation going on at the table next to us.  But, it was a learning experience.  It was a start.

The point is, dear readers/writers, that these types of exercises are good for us.  Writing is most often a lonely excursion but if we lock ourselves in our offices or bedrooms or basements or wherever our writing place is for too long, we may lose something of the human dynamic that is so important in writing.  For me personally, I lose the ability to write acceptable, believable dialogue.

I encourage everyone to search their local writer's scene for a writers' get-together.  If happy hours aren't your thing, what about a poetry slam or even a book club?  I have found that most members of such groups, be they for writing or reading, are extremely accepting of other new members and very encouraging toward everyone's personal goals. 

Better yet, if your local area that doesn't have something to stir your inner writer cravings, create a group of your own.  Willona saw a lack of such get-togethers in the DC area (What? DC not having enough happy hours?! Get out!) and started her own.  And so far, it's going very well.  On that note, I'd also like to encourage writers to search for writer's retreats and workshops. 

Since proving to myself that attending a writing social event does not cause immediate death, I do think I'll attend another.  (A little run n' coke helps, too.)