An Inch And A Half

A recent visit to the doctor's office revealed to me a startling truth: I am tall. Now, anyone who knows me may find this discovery incredibly superfluous and stupid. I should be able to tell I'm tall every time I look at myself in the mirror, or by simply interacting with my surroundings on a daily basis. But truly, discovering my height was startling to me, not so much because of its magnitude itself, but because of how far off it was from what I had perceived to be my height for the entirety of my post-pubescent life.

You see, since I was 14, I had been telling people that I was the nice, clean height of 5'8". Sometimes I would joke about it around my short friends who reported their own heights to the quarter of the inch, saying that mine could be off by an inch or two. Little did I know that I had jested myself. Indeed, on that fateful visit to the doctor's office, the doctor told me that, no, I was not 5'8"-- in fact, I was off by more than an inch. She told me I was actually 176.4 cm, or about 5'9" and a half. And in that moment, I fell into a extreme, overwhelming sense of existential despair. 

None of the friends that I anxiously texted with my discovery understood the commotion-- yes, I was tall. Yes, I had been an inch and a half off from my actual height. But what was the hulabaloo about? What was that extra inch and a half, especially since it didn't change the basic fact that I was tall? To that, I say: everything. 

5'8" is a really nice number. Even before I was conscious of the fact that I was tall, I was conscious of the fact that my favorite number was 8. Eight is even, whole, and aesthetically pleasing. "Five-eight" rolls off the tongue with linguistic flair. And it was just the right amount of tall to me-- enough to be taller than average, but not enough to make "tall" my defining physical characteristic.

5'9.5" has none of these traits. It rolls off the tongue like a glob of crunchy, expired peanut butter and is a bit too close to 5'10" for my liking. It makes tallness part of my identity I'm not sure I'm ready to accept. It also explains the reason why even when I followed the sizing guidelines for pant lengths, most of which said that "normal" lengths ran from 5'4" to 5'8", they were still too short for me. At least that mystery is solved.

By now, some of you may be thinking, "Oh come on, Kathy. Get over it. You should be grateful that you're tall." To which I would say: the grass is always greener on the other side. I would know, because with my height that makes me a colossus, I can peek over the fence rather easily.  And on that side, the wondrous, magical side of being a normal height, pants always fit (or can be cutely cuffed), people can see more than your seemingly decapitated head in group photos, and it's never assumed that you can play basketball. I am not good at basketball. I just want my ankles to be covered when I wear sneakers in the fall. I want to be more than a floating head. 

I have to say there is one silver-lining to being tall: people tend to assume you're more mature than you actually are. The applications of this benefit are wide and varied. For example, starting from a pretty young age, adults treated me with more respect, older kids let me hang out with them, and people generally assumed I knew what I was doing, even when I really didn't. Truly, being able to walk around alone in stores without employees asking if I was lost did a lot to boost my sense of independence (except when I really had to pee in Barnes and Noble).

Even now, for someone who intends to pursue a legal career, I imagine the extra height could come in handy. All I would need is a pair of 3 inch heels to effectively tower over 89.6% of the American male population, and hopefully have at least one societal advantage to win the judge's favor. I'm sure my clients would appreciate that. 

Of course, even this benefit is not without its setbacks. Looking back on one particular incident from my youth, I probably should have realized my absurd height at an earlier age. I was walking into my local CVS to buy stamps for some thank you notes-- it was late June, and I had just held a party for my 16th birthday. 

The lady at the counter greeted me warmly. She sold me a pack of stamps. Then, as I took the receipt and put my wallet away, she saw the stack of notes I had in my bag. She smiled, gave me a knowing look, and asked,

"Wedding invitations?"

Rap God (and other things on the bucket list)

As I write this post, I am on the cusp of turning 20 years old. I'm not gonna lie, that big, official number instills in me some kind of urgency. After all, I had a rather docile teenagerdom-- I never rebelled against my parents, dyed my hair a crazy color, or even skipped school. For the most part of my life, I have been a gentle, deferential, law-abiding citizen (I say "most" because, indeed, I have jaywalked before, as well as downloaded several Owl City mp3s in 2010 without paying for them). As someone who now intends to pursue a career in the law, it brings me great shame to reveal such violations, but I trust that none of you will report me.

Anyway, besides those infractions, it would seem to most that I have lived an extremely quiet life, especially having gone through the years that are often considered the most tumultuous for a young person. However, fear not. I have a whole list of exciting, crazy, wild things I'm going to do in my 20s to make up for it. The list is quite extensive, but I thought to share a few of them here. After all, it's important to write your goals down so you don't forget them. 

1) Become a rap god

I've always strived to reach new heights in my musical career: for example, learning to play the drums, expanding from acoustic to electric guitar, or being able to sing like Beyonce. Whether or not I meet those endeavors with success is more variable (I still cannot do any of these things). However, one thing I refuse to compromise is my goal to one day be able to rap.

And I don't want to be a casual, basic rap vassal either. No, I want to be a rap god. I want to be so good at rapping that I can write it on my resume. I want to be able to rap the entirety of Chris Brown - Look At Me Now ft. Lil' Wayne, Busta Rhymes without a single stutter or pause. 

In fact, I've begun to work on that song already. Beyond getting a grasp of the basic rhythm of the song, my next goal is to figure out what exactly they're talking about.

2) Be able to eat a whole spoonful of wasabi with ease

The point of this bucket list item is to show the extent of my physical endurance. After all, I'm not very athletic. I don't look that threatening. Something like spice tolerance is one of the only means I have to demonstrate my power.

Fortunately, I've discovered since coming to college that spice tolerance is not something you're born with-- it's something you can train. This is both encouraging and worrisome. While it puts my tolerance into my own hands, it also puts it at constant risk of deteriorating, especially since I no longer have regular access to my mom's peppersome cooking. Thus, in order to combat this, I've begun adding spicy seasonings to my food whenever possible, as well as squirting sriracha into my noodle soups until the broth turns scarlet. I believe that with just a few more years of training, a simple spoonful of wasabi will be no problem.

3) Win a Pulitzer Prize for the Snoozy Cat

This one is rather obvious. I write this blog for no other purpose. I firmly believe that The Snoozy Cat is the pinnacle of nonfiction writing and will continue to assert as such until it is given the recognition it deserves.

And that's all for now, I think. After all, I don't want to share all of the secret plans I have on my agenda-- that would ruin the element of surprise. Indeed, the best part about getting something off your bucket list is that the moment you reveal your accomplishment is completely up to you (for example, I would love to reveal my rap god status at my wedding). Keeping that in mind, I'm going to stop the list here. But let's just say that if one day, you see me spitting bars during my Pulitzer acceptance speech about my wasabi-eating ability, you heard it here first. 

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(On a less whimsical note: I was reading a couple of old journals the other day where I had made smaller bucket lists. To my amazement, a lot of the goals I had set for myself years ago (which had seemed so lofty at the time) were already realized in my life! Seeing that gave me a sense of contentedness and peace. I thought it'd be nice to continue to feel that way.

So here are a few words written in the present that will come to represent the past, a picture of who I want to be that will hopefully become who I am. Thanks as always for reading, and to new opportunities and crossing things off the list for all of us!

In case anyone was wondering, here are some things that are actually on my bucket list right now: writing a book, winning a case for someone in court who deserves it, and becoming quadrilingual.)

The Layman's Guide to Laziness

Everyone needs a 6am outfit.

When I say this, I'm referring to that outfit you assembled on a particularly sleepy high school morning, in which you had many regrets about a late night and your alarm sounded like a digital satanic incantation. For those kinds of days, I always had a go-to set of old t-shirts and hoodies that I knew I could throw together in a matter of seconds, yet still look passably human. This was my 6am outfit. I suppose they are quite universal, unless you're a morning person, in which case you are literally an alien to me. 

However, when I went to college, I made the conscious choice to leave most of my 6am wardrobe behind. I figured that I would a) never need to get up that early again, and b) dress more often in real clothes to trick myself into productivity. This was soon revealed to be a pipe dream, as I simply assembled an entire new collection of 6am clothes, and then proceeded to call them 9am clothes instead. The effort was there, though. And ultimately, nothing could match the dishevelment of the original collection. 

This, however, creates quite the conundrum when I come home for break. Usually, I come back home from school tired, weak, and in need of a cocoon. As I unpack my clothes with my limp, flailing arms, I open the god-forsaken second drawer of my old dresser to find all of the hobo clothes I intended to leave forever. In my fragile state, the allure is too much. 

Soon I am once again dressed in a class t-shirt, an XXL pullover, pajama pants, and tube socks, with no intention to change until my next shower. In fact, as I write this now, I am wearing the same exact clothes that I slept in, with my hair tossed ferociously against its natural part. This happens every break. I have learned to simply let the process run its course. 

You see, I'm a strong believer in the power of laziness. As long as it's done in moderation, a good period of doing absolutely nothing can be surprisingly useful for motivating oneself, out of the sheer guilt of being a sloth. Especially if you have recently exited a stressful environment, it's perfectly healthy to allow a period of respite. The key is, how? And what is the best method? 

Thankfully, I am an expert in this field. For those who would also like to benefit from this lifestyle, I'd be happy to disclose some of my trade secrets. However, as a quick warning, please do not attempt this transformation unless you are fairly certain that you will not need to make a public appearance for at least 3-4 days. The recovery period can be substantial, and most people will not be prepared to witness you in your fully formed state-- it is important to consider their safety. 

Now, the first step to complete laziness we've already covered: clothing. The 6am outfit is essential. Once that has been assembled, you're free to move on to more dynamic choices, such as the monochrome (dressing exclusively in clashing shades of the same color), the groufit (all grey), or the pattern-on-pattern-on-pattern (self-explanatory). I've included images of me modeling them below, in case there are the adventurous among you who would like the try them out:

Secondly, one must alter one's living environment. This will be due to your new priorities, such as comfort, warmth, and moving the least amount possible to get basic tasks done. After years of experience, I find that the simplest way to do this is to pile as many blankets as possible onto one's bed. You can also make efforts to ensure that all forms of entertainment are within arm's reach, as well as plan trips outside of one's room exclusively for food.

They often say that one's environment plays a huge role in how one develops. I would agree-- if you construct a beautiful den around yourself, it's hard to be anything but lazy. 

Finally, reformed vocabulary is the sign of a true, fully-formed human slug. This change indicates a deep internal transformation, an alteration of one's fundamental linguistic wiring. For example, when tired, instead of saying, "Gosh, I feel quite sleepy," you may instead say "Urgyyueh." Instead of "I'm decidedly famished," you may utter, "Frooogunnhhnnnhh." 

The efficiency of these statements is obvious. However, they usually require another of one's kind in order for communication to be smooth, so perhaps you may consider encouraging your friend to join you in your transformation. 

That is all from your friendly neighborhood gremlin. For those who see me at school, I ensure that in one month's time you would never guess at my current state. But until then, I shall be recuperating in bed, taking time for myself, and most certainly exerting the least amount of energy possible. Stay warm and safe, friends, and hoorhugrgnh!