Tips for young people

Here's the most useful tip you'll ever read here: the best way to do an impression of an old person, I think, is to add the word "the" before nouns. "I'm trying the yoga lately" or "Load up the Microsoft Word, and do some of the typing."

It seems like maybe taking "the" out would be a good impression of a young person but I don't know if it's that easy. I might know when I'm older.

I realized the other day that the age I've been telling everyone I am all year, and even writing on forms, is actually the age I'm turning this year. That seems like maybe a pleasant surprise but is also pretty embarrassing. I won't make these kinds of mistakes when I'm older.

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This woman is 101 and I'm pretty sure she could beat me up. 

Maybe this year, when I finally turn the age I thought I already was, will be the year I get really good at doing impressions of young people. And sitting on couches like I mean business, and doing yoga. And throwing a few punches, when someone deserves it.

Mothers Day however many days late

Lately my hair has been getting longer on one side than on the other. I think it's because I sit by a window but other people said it was because I did a bad job cutting it.

Everyone says I should get it cut by a professional hairstylist but the problem is my hair acts more like a liquid or a gas than a solid - it fills whatever space it's given so the size and shape and texture and molecular breakdown depend on the day. It seems more like a job for a scientist than a hairstylist.

I went to a professional anyway. I brought this list of things I wanted changed:

I DON'T WANT TO LOOK LIKE: Someone who owns a minivan, a child under the age of six, someone who doesn't shave, a talk show host, or a drug addict.

I DO WANT TO LOOK LIKE: Someone you would be fine with sitting by on the bus.

My hairstylist said that was pretty helpful. Feel free to copy/paste that and bring it to your next haircut.

My hairstylist has cut John C Reilly's hair before. What are the odds? John C Reilly sounds like someone I would love to meet.

My hairstylist says that since my hair is closer to chinchilla fur than human hair, hair products are all going to be pretty hopeless so should just mat it down with a generous amount of hand lotion every morning until it's small enough that I can walk through doorways.

"Any brand of hand lotion. But really massage it in," she said. "Your hair's going to fight it."

Considering my other haircuts have been zero dollars and this haircut was many dollars I thought it would look pretty good but instead I look like a bombshell. It's incredible how great my hair looks. It looks so small.

I am smiling in this photo but this is important: the smile is for MY MOM'S EYES ONLY because she hates that I don't smile in photos. But look at the haircut part - does this look like the hair of a five-year-old van-driving drug-addict talk show host? Definitely not as much as it did a week ago.

I'm out of chinchilla photos but check out these rats playing instruments:

And sit by me on the bus, this seat's totally available. I'm just a friendly-looking girl who's real into rats.

My dalmatian tree

I don't know what happened but suddenly I have fifteen plants in my apartment.

Fifteen plants is so many. You would guess that after a handful they would all be the same to me, like people who have more than one child. But you would be so wrong and as soon as you see this picture you'll realize why.

Look at it! It's so beautiful, did you look at it? Scroll up and look at it again.

Now that I look at it again I realize maybe inside the bookcase might be a better place for those books than on top of it.

I wanted a plant like this forever (or at least since October when I wrote that) but they're real expensive and impossible to take care of because they're native to the tropical rain forests of West Africa. They're like having a dalmatian as a pet, which thousands of Americans wanted to do after the movie 101 Dalmatians came out in 1961 so they raced out and bought them before learning that dalmatians are difficult and terrible and hate apartments and then for years there were homeless dalmatians everywhere because people took on more than they could handle because they fell in love with an idea that wasn't going to love them back. I thought this plant was just like that.

But then one day I discovered they are $12 at Ikea. For $12 at Ikea I was willing to risk a dalmatian-level mistake so I went to Ikea and bought it and carried it home on the bus.

I assumed it would die in about a week. Other bloggers who have fiddle leaf fig trees say they had to move them subtly one inch a day to find what sort of light they like best, and that they wrap blankets around the pots on cool days and never stand too close to the window in case they mess up the light. My plant looked like a hot mess after our bus experience. I give it two glasses of water every Saturday morning. That's all I do. I haven't said this word in probably a year, but this situation deserves it: this plant looks rad.

It might be the photo of the cheetah that's helping it stay alive. I try and take tons of showers so the apartment stays humid. Sometimes I worry that the reason it looks fine is it's actually an artificial plant in a pot of real dirt, and that I've been pouring two glasses of water on a large plastic plant every Saturday morning.

I haven't repotted it yet even though I have all the supplies. Repotting it is what I'm really dreading. It reminds me of the feeling I had before I got my ears pierced, and that idea scared me so much I once chickened out at the mall but bought magnetic earrings instead so I wouldn't have to tell my grandmother I had chickened out.

Please don't tell my grandmother I haven't repotted the plant yet.

Some other plants:

One of those five plants is super dead, guess which!

This totally counts as a plant - that's an avocado seed I'm growing in a glass. They take eight years to grow but I'm already two months in.

Please don't be sad if you have a dalmatian as a pet and it's the best pet. I bet your dalmatian is the sweetest and I bet you are also a better pet owner than some people were in 1961.

DALMATIANS by Simon Rich

“Hey, look, the truck’s stopping.”

“Did they take us to the park this time?”

“No—it’s a fire. Another horrible fire.”

Another dimension another dimension

Every time I walk into the locker room and don’t recognize a single person in there I panic. 

Because the last thing I want is what happens in level three of Chex Quest, which is both the only game ever released by General Mills and the only video game I’m familiar with. In level three there’s one door you walk through and instead of taking you to the room on the other side of the wall it takes you to an entirely different part of the video game. Everything looks the same, but it’s slightly different and wrong and you’re lost. 

Then I have to think back of all the doors I went through that day, and figure out when people stopped looking familiar to me. Did I recognize anyone at the grocery store? The coffee shop? Did I walk into another dimension sometime last night? And I have to look in my locker to check if in this dimension I have better shampoo than I do in my regular dimension. 

At this point I assume the only thing making my hair look like a sad electrocuted dog instead of a wet glitter supermodel is that I can't use Bumble and Bumble's new Cityswept Finish Spray. The main ingredient is gluten. The packaging says it makes you look street-style ready in a New York Minute. No one's ever said that about the way my hair looks.

I would put up with a bit of alternate dimension weirdness for some really nice shampoo.

Trains and tigers

Last month I started volunteering as a reader at a preschool in Portland. It means once a week I read books with four preschoolers, fifteen minutes per preschooler. It means I have a lot to say about books for preschoolers. So let’s not waste any more time setting this up: the best and worst preschool books.

THE WORST BOOKS

Thomas. Any and all books featuring Thomas the Tank Engine.

There are others I dislike but mentioning them would lessen the impact of saying there is one bad thing in the world and it’s Thomas the Tank Engine. It’s nice that some things are still simple: up vs down, black vs white, good vs Thomas. 

Every kid wants to read Thomas books, there’s a mad scramble for them every time a new group of preschoolers comes in. The books are organized differently every day so the kids go crazy hunting for the Thomas books while the readers hang back, hoping our kid is the slowest kid and doesn’t get any.

Thomas books are the worst, they’re so long and the pictures are terrible. If a Thomas writer is reading this and you’re offended, you need to hear it. There’s no real story, no exciting parts, and kids glaze over three words in and start aggressively picking their noses.

Luckily they can’t read so the pain is over just as fast. “Hello Thomas said Sir Topman Hat, I have an idea said Thomas, let’s turn seventeen pages ahead. Turn another four pages! shouted Annie and Clarabell. Everyone cheered. It was another day as a train. The great story was over.” 

Then I get to pick the next book.

THE BEST BOOKS

The best book is any book read with Ian.

Have you met Ian? Supposedly he’s a four-year-old attending this preschool but he’s probably actually a child actor someone hired and trained to be my favorite person on earth. My first day as a reader he came in with the crowd of not-Ian kids, walked up to me, looked at me, and said “Let's read about gorillas."

Last week he picked a Winnie the Pooh story that I was lukewarm on. It was super long, and the words per page count was gross. But Ian’s really patient and a great listener so I went ahead anyway. In the book, Tigger (who Ian says I do a great impression of) decides that he’s self-conscious about his stripes. 

The book doesn’t really explain what causes this, maybe he was reading a magazine or maybe he noticed that a celebrity he likes doesn’t have stripes, but whatever the reason he decides to get rid of them. His friends help him execute a variety of horribly-conceived ill-fated removal methods, and sometimes before or after they offer to help they’ll mention off-hand that they like his stripes.

“Eeyore says he likes Tigger’s stripes” Ian would whisper, tapping gently on the picture of Eeyore. “I like them too, they’re part of what makes him special.”

Man it was a long story. But Ian was so invested and laughed at every voice and got so discouraged when dumb ideas like covering the stripes with honey didn’t work. And it made me think of dumb things I do, like not smiling in pictures because I think my teeth slant a little to the side. 

It’s weird to say, and probably not the point of being a volunteer reader, but by the end of this book I was feeling pretty choked up, and so was Ian. “That. Was. Such. A. Good. Story.” he said. “What I would love now, is if we could read another.”

Ian can read my mind sometimes. “You make the best snoring noises!” he’ll say, somehow knowing that’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear my whole life. That’s why any book with Ian is the best book. 

And Ian never picks Thomas books.