Sitting Hens Do Not Lie in Green Grass

I abhor triteness and banality, especially those phrases so often used that they almost seem to lack meaning altogether. If there's one cliche I can get behind, though, it's this: "Treat others the way you'd like to be treated."

I'm sure it seems pedantic to be writing a blog post about something Jesus said like a hundred years ago, but I just couldn't allow myself to let my worthy adversary go unopposed. We have essential differences, and I'm always right. Like that argument we got into when we worked at the bagel place together in high school: she said the boss would prefer sloppy work done as quickly as possible, I said he would rather have it done right. Guess who won that one?

Anyway, I'll be the first to admit it: there are a LOT of people in this world. Probably at least a million. So what do you think would happen if everyone was allowed to run rampant doing whatever they pleased?

Most likely it would be a lot like living with a certain friend of mine. Make-up stains and dirty tissues polluting all the counters. Globs of sour cream and fish scales trailing across the kitchen floors. Everyone would be eating out of garbage cans and interrupting each other. Life would be chaos! Nothing would ever get done!

It just wouldn't make any sense.

I've personally discovered that we're all born with a responsibility to not get in each others way as much as possible. In other words, we must get in each others way as little as possible. It may not be easy, it may not be fun, but it's right. Statistics say that if at least 50% of people acted with little or no disregard for 100% of people, 75% of all people would be miserable! And that's not fair.

So the next time you're out in public having a quiet conversation with a friend and some out of control stranger bursts in with an undue interruption, just look up at them with a blank smile on your face while your partner grudgingly agrees to comply with them. Consider it your duty to humanity.

"Violet, let's procreate"

I was in the bathroom this morning when I heard my fine roommate and dear friend, Mike, walk into the living room. My new career has kept me so busy the past few days that I haven't had the chance to see him very much, so I stopped what I was doing and went out to talk to him.

He was sitting at the corner of the couch (his usual resting place) wrapped in a blanket looking oh-so-cute and sleepy.

"I feel like I never see you anymore," I said with a frown.

"Come here," he said, lifting the blankets slightly and gesturing to himself. "Get in here with me."

I stood for a few moments, debating, before finally nodding and sitting on his lap. He wrapped his blanket-winged arms around me and said:

"I'm naked."

First Thoughts:

After over four years apart, my best friend and I are back together again...living in the same house, no less. As pleased as I am with my new situation, I can't say it came about without a certain amount of internal conflict. For whatever reason, I've always subscribed to the notion that personal growth comes as a result of changing ones geographic location. After returning home from college last summer, a long winter ensued of alternately resigning myself to a life sentence in metro-Detroit and designing panicked and ill-thought out plans to escape (including farm work in Hawaii, teaching English in the Philippines, and most recently, performing housekeeping duties on a ranch in rural Montana). But over the past few months, a revelation has been percolating in my bloodstream: true growth can only really ever come from within.

That doesn't mean I don't recognize that being in a new location can be truly inspiring; traveling is its own sort of high, and I plan to see as much of the world as I can. I don't doubt the importance of experiencing new cultures and meeting different kinds of people. To be sure, these things all contribute to a full and rich life. What I'm saying is I don't want to feel limited by my location, like I'm jipping myself. And since I've been back, I've experienced a Detroit I never knew was here. I can't think of the last time there was a dull moment.

The plan for this blog is for me and Big V to spend as much time as we possibly can doing what we love to do, seeking inspiration from our surroundings and the people we encounter along the way. Stay tuned to see where it goes from here.

Customary First Post

I contemplated a post title for several minutes (anticipating my co-writer's scrutiny of each potential choice) before settling on one that has kicked off so many of my past blogging ventures.

The idea to collaborate came to me on a walk home in sub-zero temperatures yesterday evening (April 19- Pure Michigan, baby). I was returning to a genius roommate/best friend with no particular creative outlet, while thinking selfishly about how for the past three weeks I haven't been doing anything I love.

Reading and writing are our passions and we're quite good at them. Paula achieved a perfect score in the reading comprehension section of ACT in 2005 and I managed the same on the essay portion. So, obviously, our talents are indisputable.

After mildly successful stints blogging individually last summer (for paula, finding the humor in what were once life-ending dramatics and, for me, deeply offending a set of financially supportive parents), we've decided (or been forced) to finally combine our talents in Detroit and start musing about the lives we lead, because ultimately, writing about whatever one pleases is more fun than looking for paid positions in which one will be told what to write about (at least in my opinion). It's my hope that reflecting on some of my life's more humorous moments and having others find joy in reading about them will somehow give me a feeling of fulfillment.


This blog won't be devoted to a single topic; neither of us has the inertia or attention span for that. Instead, we will deviate from blog code and explore the various things that interest, inspire and confound us. We will allow our location to serve as the lone thread linking these anecdotes.

Happy reading.