Bobbie Blueberry

          I can think of no other television character I identify with more than Liz Lemon from NBC’s 30 Rock.  Each week, I find myself laughing uproariously at the ways my life mirrors hers, and then shaking my head in frightened bewilderment at those strange similarities.  My best friend often sends me texts that say, “Do you secretly write for this show?”

          So, this week I share with you My Top Ten Liz Lemon Moments.

Number Ten

Liz Lemon: I have had three doughnuts so far today. Here's one: when I was a kid, I used to put on my fanciest nightgown and then I would mix orange soda and cream soda in a champagne glass and I would sit in the dark and watch The Love Boat.  And I lied. I have had five doughnuts today.

Bobbie Blueberry: Maybe I overeat sometimes.  Maybe sometimes I delude myself into thinking I have eaten less than I actually have.  And maybe, just maybe, to feel as fancy as the people on television, I used to concoct nonalcoholic drinks to look like alcoholic drinks and put them in crystal glasses.  One thing for certain, though:  I totally loved The Love Boat.

Number Nine

Liz Lemon: No. I have bigger things to worry about than my personal life.
Jack: I would think that the single woman's biggest worry would be choking to death in her apartment.

Bobbie Blueberry: Dying alone in my apartment from any factor serves as a real fear in my life.  How long would it take for someone to realize my eternal absence?  Hopefully the cleanliness of my apartment will detract from the stench of my corpse.

Number Eight

Liz Lemon: Nope, do not put a hyphen in YouFace. There are definitely faces here, but they are not being treated with respect.

Bobbie Blueberry: I, too, think about the effects of punctuation usage!  I think about that usage in all forms of my writing.  These rules still apply to text messaging and social networking communities. 

Number Seven

Liz Lemon: You know what I hear? It's the hug plane, and it's coming in for a landing.

Bobbie Blueberry: Although I have never said these words, I plan to soon.  I find that my niece will especially love this.  Recently, I told her to give Aunt Bobbie some sugar (shugga).  She looked at me, and in a deadpan voice, replied, “No, thank you.”  But guess what?  No one can stop the hug plane!

Number Six

Jenna Maroney: How's it going?
Liz Lemon: Terrible. I just want to go home and watch that show about midgets and eat a block of cheese.

Bobbie Blueberry: Politically incorrect?  Yes.  Despicable.  Maybe.  I have had this conversation on more than one occasion.  Perhaps, though, I often substitute “a whole pizza” for “a block of cheese.”

Number Five

Liz Lemon: I've been stuck inside playing online Boggle. It's messing with my head. STAR... RATS... ARTS... TARS.
Bobbie Blueberry: I had to stop playing Word Warp on my phone.  Every day at school, I would walk down the hallway and warp words from locker signs.  It definitely messed with my head.  It felt like entering some weird parallel world after I turned over a really heavy rock. 

Number Four

Liz Lemon: You can try to change New York, but it’s like Jay-Z says: “Concrete bunghole, where dreams are made up. There’s nothing you can do.”

Bobbie Blueberry: Who hasn’t mixed up song lyrics?  “Message in a Brothel” instead of “Message in a Bottle,” perhaps.  Nowadays, though, lyrics.com can curtail that problem.

Number Three

Jack Donaghy: In a post-apocalyptic society, what possible use would they have for you?
Liz Lemon: Travelling bard.

Bobbie Blueberry: “A tribal poet-singer skilled in composing and reciting verses on heroes and their deeds?”  Sign me up!  I bet I could also choreograph dances to my verses.  I doubt I could deal with all the fame, though.

Number Two

Liz Lemon:  I didn't come here to make friends! I came here to be number one!

Bobbie Blueberry: The voice in my head says this more often than I would outwardly shout it—except when I play Trouble with my best friend.  On numerous occasions, I have screamed this sentiment at her when she says something ridiculous like, “Why do you always have to be the best?  Why can’t we just play a board game like two normal friends having fun?”  Normal?  In the words of my niece, “No, thank you.”

Number One

Liz Lemon:  Where does Liz Lemon go for a night on the town?  The Barnes and Noble bathroom, of course!

Bobbie Blueberry: I love Barnes and Noble!  While I do not tend to spend much time in its bathroom, I do find the store a nice place to relax.  What better way to spend an evening out?

Dancing Queen

(In the form of an “I Remember” poem.)

I remember the euphoria I felt from listening to Cyndi Lauper sing “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.”

I remember asking my two friends to come to my house so we could choreograph a dance to it.

I remember lining us up, single file, on the broken concrete of the driveway and blasting the song repeatedly, until we reached perfect synchronicity.

I remember looking up and seeing the smiling faces of my parents peering from the kitchen window in amusement, and maybe even, perhaps, shock.

I remember my fifth-grade self feeling totally amazing after successfully directing the three of us into an awe-inspiring dance.

I remember walking up to the desk of our notorious social studies teacher, Mrs. Kreka, and confidently asking her if we could perform this dance for our class.

I remember our three moms making chocolate chip cookies and red punch for our classmates.

I remember daydreaming about the all-consuming love the young boy in the third row would feel for me after we performed our dance.

I remember the aqua skirt and the bright pink shirt I wore that day.

I remember seeing this moment as the best moment of my life.

I remember thinking, years later, “What would ever possess me to do that?”

No Place Like Home

I spent my late teens and my twenties disconnecting myself with my hometown, and my high school in particular.  I believed that those who chose to remain in that place and to attend functions there suffered a stigma so great that their social lives could never recover from it.  While I do believe that leaving the “nest” allows for much more personal growth than staying can, I experienced a completely different feeling this past weekend.  On Friday night, I attended a high school basketball game (because my brother coaches and because we played our rival) in the school district’s brand new school.  This year, the entire district moved into one large building that houses K-12 and stands directly in front of the building in which I attended high school.  Throughout the duration of the game, one thought pervaded my mind:  “This does not feel right.”  This gym had no echoes of my former self, this gym housed no memories of some of the best years of my life, this gym had no connection to me—and I did not like that.

On Sunday, I ventured back to the school’s campus for a benefit dinner: a young girl in the community has cancer, and so the town organized a dinner and Chinese auction.  This time, though, I found myself back in the old building (I guess they did not want spaghetti sauce in the new school).  The Chinese auction took place in my old study hall auditorium, I received my dinner in my old cafeteria, I ate my dinner in my old gym, and I showed my niece and nephews my old lockers.  In those spaces, I could feel my former self.  I could connect to that sense of place in a way that I so intently missed on Friday night.  While people at the dinner chatted, I gazed around my old gymnasium:  the place where I initiated many EXPERTLY-LED cheers in the crowds, where I once blared my trombone in the pep band, and where I watched my parents shake their heads at me in amused dismay.  As I watched the enormous amount of people coming together for a cause that actually matters, that actually stems beyond themselves, I finally realized my great fortune in growing up in a community that provides me with such an important sense of place, and also continues to do so for my family and many of my friends.  So while “running away” can have its own purpose, nothing feels better than coming home.

Also, enjoy this quote from one of my favorite films, The Wizard of Oz.

“But it wasn’t a dream. It was a place. And you and you and you… and you were there. But you couldn’t have been could you? No. Aunt Em, this was a real truly live place and I remember some of it wasn’t very nice, but most of it was beautiful; but just the same. All I kept saying to everybody was I want to go home and they sent me home! Doesn’t anybody believe me? But anyway, Toto, we’re home! Home. And this is my room and you’re all here and I’m not gonna leave here ever. Ever again. Because I love you all. And, oh Auntie Em! There’s no place like home!”

The Decision

          After reading and considering the songs you LOVE, it seems to me that you gravitate towards songs that connect to events, emotions, problems, and concerns you currently experience--which makes perfect sense.  In light of that, I chose to share a song that I never even considered until I heard it on the radio last night.  “Why Georgia” by John Mayer provides a look into life's uncertainties that you, me, and even our good friend, Kafka, can appreciate.

Either way I wonder sometimes

About the outcome

Of a still verdictless life

Am I living it right?

Am I living it right?

Am I living it right?

Why, why, Georgia, why?

          The most pressing question many of you face now deals with choosing a college and a career path.  Indeed, such stressful decisions can cause us to question the very meaning of our existence.  As you know, I chose to begin my education after high school at Youngstown State University, the very same place that I had stubbornly refused to consider during my high school career.  But what you may not know includes my belief that going to a school close to home would make me look like a loser and lead to a depressing life of squalor.  While I know that seems dramatic, after hearing my journal entries as a senior, you can see how it fits with my mindset back then.   

          So, why did I make that choice?  A full-ride scholarship seemed too hard to pass up.  I spent many nights painstakingly making my final decision:  I begged my parents to tell me what to do, but they would not.  The stress of making my first adult decision overwhelmed me, so I can empathize with many of you who find yourselves in that same position.

          Since then, though, I do not question or begrudge my decision.  That decision led me on the path to teach in Charlotte, to attend Bread Loaf, to graduate in Oxford, and to have the pleasure of teaching you.  In my eyes, all of those outcomes happened for a multitude of reasons.  Those outcomes aside, what Mayer relays in his repeated rhetorical questions seems to me the constant need to reflect on one’s decisions:  to make a conscious effort to make the most of our choices and to make the world a better place for ourselves and others.  To me, having that sort of fulfillment trumps any amount of prestige a degree from a certain university could bring or the money a profession could yield. My hope for you: choose a path that you truly enjoy because your talents and enjoyment lie there.  In this way, even though you may wonder about “the outcome/Of a still verdictless life,” you will still enjoy happiness along the way.  Mayer indirectly characterizes this life of unease as unavoidable; even though I agree, I also believe that by doing what you truly love, you can lessen some of this anxiety. 

          Ultimately, you will spend most of your adult life at work, and nothing seems more tragic to me than choosing a path that you do not base on the aforementioned factors.  Some days will present more struggles, some days might make you question your choice, but if you can feel proud of what you do and afford to live a comfortable life, nothing will bring you more satisfaction.  Just look at me:  I get to talk to cool people about books every day AND host my own show!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zs8dsERsal8