That Silent, but Troublesome G

I *think* I have blogged before about how I deal with people who feel compelled to comment on the, er, unusualness of my last name. (It's not that I'm too lazy to check, I'm just blogging from my ipad and can't figure out how to search through my old posts. TECHNOLOGY.) The name for this blog encapsulates my philosophy of embracing the obvious word my name resembles, instead of trying to deny it. I've gotten pretty steely about it, but still, when I have to spell my name for anyone, in person or on the phone, I feel a nervous twinge that the person will either a) laugh b) think I'm crudely pranking them and get mad. But overall, I have been impressed with customer service folks -- they must see a lot of crazy-ass names and be trained to not react.

In the category of Words Your Last Name Can Look Like, mine is pretty bad. On the plus side, it is memorable. And it's become enmeshed with my identity -- when people think of me, they think of my whole name (or so I've been told). Katie Vagnino. Even my closest friends and ex-boyfriends have admitted to this phenomenon of being unable to just think of me as "Katie."

I used to think about changing my name -- really, just getting rid of the "g". Back when I was fantasizing about being an Academy Award-winning actress, on the cover of People Magazine's 50 Most Beautiful People issue, I saw my name appearing as KATIE VANINO. My father, when he ventured briefly into the world of winemaking, got rid of the "g". I guess he worried no one would want to drink vagina wine.

I really can't imagine getting rid of the "g" now -- it's grown on me. However, there are moments when it's a little annoying. Like when I applied for a Wikipedia account and requested the username KatieVagnino and got an e-mail telling me that my username did not comply with their username policies. Here's the entire e-mail thread, for your amusement:

On Sun, May 12, 2013 at 9:19 PM, <accounts-enwiki-l@lists.wikimedia.org> wrote:

Many thanks for your interest in joining Wikipedia. Unfortunately the username that you have requested does not comply with our username policy, and so I am unable to create this account for you.

Please take a look at our username policy (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:Username_policy) and choose a different username. You may be able to create the account with the new name you have chosen yourself athttp://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Special:Userlogin&type=signup. If so, I wish you all the best and hope you enjoy your time on Wikipedia.

If you are still unable to create the name yourself, we will gladly process your new request here, and I look forward to hearing from you again with your new choice of username.

From: accounts-enwiki-l-bounces@lists.wikimedia.org [mailto:accounts-enwiki-l-bounces@lists.wikimedia.org] On Behalf Of Katie Vagnino
Sent: Monday, 13 May 2013 1:46 PM
To: accounts-enwiki-l@lists.wikimedia.org
Subject: Re: [Accounts-enwiki-l] [ACC #99734] English Wikipedia Account Request

Is my last name, Vagnino, considered inappropriate?  I'm very confused. I just requested my name as my username: KatieVagnino. Katie Vagnino is my name.

I guess new username choice would be KatieV2013. But Vagnino is my last name, not an offensive word, and frankly, I find it a little offensive that you think my name is an inappropriate username!

Please respond,
Katie

From: "User:Callanecc" <callanecc.wiki@gmail.com>
Date: May 13, 2013, 7:53:50 AM CDT
To: "'Katie Vagnino'" <katievagnino@gmail.com>, "'Internal discussion between the English Wikipedia's account creation team'" <accounts-enwiki-l@lists.wikimedia.org>
Subject: RE: [Accounts-enwiki-l] [ACC #99734] English Wikipedia Account Request

Hi Katie,

My apologies, your explanation has changed my opinion of your request.

I apologies most sincerely for any offense caused, it certainly wasn’t intentional.

I have created your account with your originally requested username “KatieVagnino”, and again you have my sincere apologies.

Kind regards,

Callanecc

English Wikipedia Account Creation Team

So You Think You Don't Like Poetry

In one of my first grad school poetry courses, I came across a Muriel Rukeyser poem that struck me as rather perfect -- simple, elegant, and effortless-seeming -- the kind of poem you instantly understand and enjoy reading the 1st time and the 1,000th time. I've continued to read her and the more I read, the more it seems downright criminal that she's not more well-known. At the AWP conference last week, I picked up a nonfiction book by her called The Life of Poetry. It was published in 1949, was out of print for a while, and then reissued by the Paris Press in the mid-90s. I started reading it on the plane home and it's mind-blowing. Everything she says about poetry is so relevant, so topical for today even though it was written over 60 years ago. She makes a case for why poetry is a cultural necessity, something all human beings need, and might in fact be the very thing that saves us from ourselves. 

So I'll share two of her poems with you here-- the one I discovered back in grad school, "Yes," and one I read for the first time last week, "Coney Island," which is awesome because I LOVE Coney Island (I've written a poem about it as well, though it's not as good as this one).

Yes

It’s like a tap-dance
Or a new pink dress,
A shit-naive feeling
Saying Yes

Some say Good morning
Say say God bless–
Some say Possibly
Some say Yes.

Some say Never
Some say Unless
It’s stupid and lovely
To rush into Yes.

What can it mean?
It’s just like life,
One thing to you
One to your wife.

Some go local
Some go express
Some can’t wait
To answer Yes.

Some complain
Of strain and stress
Their answer may be
No for Yes.

Some like failure
Some like success
Some like Yes Yes
Yes Yes Yes.

Open your eyes,
Dream but don’t guess.
Your biggest surprise
Comes after Yes.

 
Coney Island

Coney Island, Coney island,
No need to let me know,
No need to tell me so
I need you now to show me…

Show me what’s under the counter,
Show me what’s under your skin,
Show me the way to get out
And I’ll show you the way to get in.



Show me life, show me lives, people in dives,
Show me yells, show me smells, and grimy hotels,
Clams, yams, lobster and shrimps,
Sand, candy, panders and pimps,
Show me bim, show me bam, bamboozle me,
Booze me and use me and foozle me,
Show me rides, show me slides, people in tides,
Show me money, show me funny, show me the sea,
                                                             You, show, me.

How the Other Half Flies

Let me start by stating something obvious: Flying sucks less when you're in First Class.

Is the captain pouring coffee?

I never fly First Class so I had forgotten that it was any different. I am pretty ambivalent about flying in general -- don't hate it, not scared of it, but certainly don't love it. Sometimes flights can be excellent for being productive/getting work done or catching up on reading. But sometimes you end up next to a crying baby or a chatty weirdo who wants to play 20 Questions.

When I was kid, I flew First Class a handful of times with my parents on long flights. The first plane ride I recall was when I was 6 and traveling to Switzerland. I sat next to my mom in the roomy leather TWA (R.I.P.) seats. I don't remember much about the flight, but I do remember receiving a chocolate-covered Oreo before take-off (presumably a bribe to keep me on my best behavior during the 7-hour flight) and thinking that the tray tables that came out of the arm rest were funny-looking.

Ever since I've been buying my own airfare, I have always opted for the cheapest seats available. I don't have long legs, so I don't even splurge for the EconomyPlus extra legroom seats. Just good ol' coach. With the rest of the non-rich plebes. I have to admit, I didn't get the allure of First Class -- we all arrive at the same destination at the same time. Okay, the First Class people get to get off first (and get on first, but I don't see the advantage of that. I want to minimize my time breathing recycled air in a confined space). And I suppose the ratio of lavatories to people is better, since they have their own bathroom that's off-limits to the masses.  

However, due to the generosity of a friend, I was able to experience First Class as an adult. And while I still don't think the extra expense is worth it/necessary, I have to admit, it made flying enjoyable as opposed to just a way to get from A to B. 

First of all, the getting-on-early has the perk of a free pre-flight drink. That's pretty nifty. Though if you get something alcoholic, you have to down it pretty quickly, which may lead to regret. Also, in First Class, the flight attendants make a point of knowing your name. It's like Cheers, at 35,000 feet. Pretty much everything in First Class is free. Oh, and blankets and pillows are still available, like in the old days. 

Speaking of the old days, apparently First Class used to be much more glamorous. A friend recalls on a flight to Hawaii watching a stewardess (they weren't called Flight Attendants back then) carve a prime rib roast right in the aisle mid-flight. That was sometime in the late 80s. Hot food is pretty much non-existent on most flights nowadays. And if there is food, it's not gratis.

My conclusion is that I think my money is better spent on things other than first class airfare. Traveling is already mighty expensive (remember when it was free to check a bag?) and for a little more comfort for a few hours, it doesn't seem justified unless you have truly disposable income. Still, it was a fun glimpse of the other side of the blue curtain. Which, for what it's worth, I agree with Kristin Wiig that it should be kept open "because of Civil Rights."    

Happy Valentine's Day

Single or not, gay or straight, young or old, I think we can all agree that this is a quality love song:



If you have a special someone, I hope that he/she is more attractive than Lisa/Johnny and that you have lots of rose-petal-covered sex tonight. And if you have no idea what I'm talking about, you need to rent or buy Tommy Wiseau's 2003 classic film The Room as soon as possible. If you purchase it from the official movie website, he'll sign it for you! Trust me that this movie is the gift that keeps on giving.

Jalapeno Hands

This person is in for a world of pain

Last Sunday, I experienced pretty severe pain due to my exposure to capsaicin, the compound in jalapeno peppers that makes them hot (and has been weaponized into pepper spray). Apparently, it was not wise of me to de-seed and slice two dozen giant Whole Foods jalapenos without wearing gloves. Thus I bring you the latest chapter in my unusual medical misfortunes (which have included a kidney stone, an allergic reaction to jellyfish and a bellybutton cyst).

My Super Bowl party was a classic Katie Vagnino hapless debacle even before the kick-off. As usual, what started out a small, low-key event escalated out of my control. The guest list went from less than six to ten people, and the menu expanded from just chili and chips, to chili, 9-layer dip, cornbread, guacamole, and bacon-wrapped jalapeno poppers. I really needed a sous chef. Especially when around 3pm, it dawned on me that when I had looked up the kickoff time online (6:30), that was in EST. I keep forgetting that I no longer live on the East Coast, you guys. So at 3pm, I had TWO hours before my guests would start arriving, not three. FML.

I lowered my head and got chopping and initially, I was making good time. I got the chili on first, then made the guac (one of the 9 layers in the dip). Around 4:30, I started prepping the poppers, figuring, we could eat them at half-time (they only need about 15 min in the oven). I cut up about 6 of them and then remembered that I hadn't yet put on any make-up. I know it's the Super Bowl and whatever, but I did not want to receive guests (some of whom I had never met) without my face on. So I washed my hands thoroughly (or so I thought) and went to the bathroom. Oh, VANITY.

You can probably guess what happened next -- I accidentally touched my eye and all hell broke loose. My face turned splotchy and red, my right eye clenched shut, and yes, I started screeching. My BF Chris was there and immediately got online to find the cure: milk. I needed to put milk IN MY EYE. Somehow, we managed it as a team effort -- I dribbled enough in that the pain started to abate. Then predictably, the doorbell rang. Party time!

I opened the door with a giant milk stain on my shirt and my right eye still swollen shut. Fortunately, my guests were gracious enough to not run away in terror. 

You would think the absurdity ends there, but it doesn't. I abandoned the poppers for a while, but the unfinished task bothered me. Those jalapenos had gotten the best of me. I had promised in the Facebook event invitation that there would be jalapeno poppers. SO GODDAMMIT, I was going to finish. I just wouldn't touch my face.

So I made them. And they were delicious, stuffed with a cream cheese and spicy mustard blend, and wrapped in bacon. They were gone in minutes. Everyone enjoyed the food, drank beer, watched the game. After a rocky start, the party ended up being okay, more than okay. 

Then about an hour after everyone left, my fingers started tingling and not in a good way. Tingling transitioned swiftly into burning and a Google search of "finger burns from peppers" confirmed that I had "jalapeno hands." 

There were dozens of sites where people told stories similar to mine -- chopped or handled jalapenos and had burning hands as a result. But the problem was the everyone had different suggestions as to how to best relieve the pain. Based on internet suggestions, I tried soaking my hands in:

--cold milk
--vegetable oil
--hot water with dishwasher soap
--lemon juice
--nail polish remover

Cold milk worked best, but only temporarily -- I soaked my hands for literally two hours but the second I took them out, the burning came back. Around 1am, I needed to try to find a solution in order to sleep. I couldn't bring a bowl of cold milk into bed with me (though I'm sure my cat would have been psyched). One woman on a website insisted that urine (because of the acid) would do the trick. I considered peeing on my hands. It was a dark hour.

But I didn't. And then another "natural" remedy caught my eye: saliva. As one commenter astutely noted, your mouth doesn't burn for hours when you eat jalapenos, so it must be doing something right.

I climbed into bed warily. And started sucking on my fingers. And holy Jesus, IT WORKED. The miracle of science!  My mouth did burn a little, but it was nothing compared to the pain on my fingers. Saliva is strong shit, man! After about thirty minutes of licking and sucking on my hands (yes, I know, gross), the pain subsided enough for me to pass out. And when I woke the next morning, it was totally gone.

Jalapeno hands. I don't recommend them.

The Truth

"I sure did live in this world.”
“Really? What have you got to show for it?”
“Show? To Who? Girl, I got my mind. And what goes on in it. Which is to say, I got me.”
“Lonely, ain’t it?”
“Yes. But the lonely is mine."      --Sula, by Toni Morrison

The above quotation appeared on my high school yearbook page. While my peers were quoting Dave Matthews Band songs, I went with this somewhat melancholy-yet-triumphant piece of text that resonated tremendously with me at age eighteen. Because for much of high school, I did feel like all I had was my mind and what went on in it -- it was all I could count on. Friends, even good friends, can be petty and suddenly decide to not be your friends anymore. Parents, I learned at age 13, can leave you. All you ever really can count on is you. This notion comforted me
rather than saddened me -- in fact, it's only as I've gotten older that the less cheery part of the sentiment (namely, the lonely way we all go through life) has hit home.

Disclaimer: Shit's about to get real on the Vagnino Monologues. Usually I use this blog to showcase my funny side, but right now I'm going to use it as medium of honesty, mass-communicated. One of the reasons I haven't been blogging much since moving to Chicago is that I have been very, very depressed. It's been a rocky few months, to say the least. And one of the harder aspects has been feeling like I have this happy/witty persona that I have to put out into the world -- the Katie on my Facebook page and Twitter feed is successful and always doing cool things with friends. She has 1,150 friends! How could she be lonely and depressed?

Something no one tells you about getting older: your ability to make friends and connect with people diminishes. Not because your social skills deteriorate, but because the opportunities to meet new people decrease dramatically. And you get pickier -- as you know yourself better and better, you understand intuitively with whom you would like to spend your time. And then there's the fact that your friends find life partners and start having families, and while they don't love you any less, they have less time for you. You don't have a confined social space (like a college campus) to ensure that you run into people all the time. You may or may not like the people you work with, and even if you get along with them fine at work, you may or may not have anything in common with them outside of work.  

Which is all to say that when you move to a new city where you know only a couple of people, like I did in August, and the people you know have significant others that they live with/spend the majority of their time with, life can get lonely fast.

I think my loneliness would be more manageable if my career(s) were taking off. But unfortunately, my teaching job here the past few months has been borderline intolerable. Just an all-around wretched experience, from the lack of institutional support, to the pay, to the students themselves, who were among the most disrespectful, unpleasant, and unmotivated that I've ever encountered. I love teaching...but these past few months, not so much.

And writing?  Well, I'm not writing. I've been too depressed, too consumed with grading essays written by students too lazy to even use spellcheck. Too busy working at my restaurant job to compensate for my ridiculous teaching salary. The idea of writing a poem, of having enough emotional and creative energy to generate something, is completely foreign to me. Which contributes to the cloud of depression I've been living under -- I'm a failure of a teacher AND a poet.  Good thing I paid 60K for a degree that qualifies me to teach assholes and not have time for my own writing.     

I felt it was necessary to come clean in a relatively public online space about all this in order to move forward. To own my lonely, so to speak. Having my mind and what goes on in it is all well and good until that mind becomes chemically depressed. Then it's just as unreliable as an unsupportive friend or family member. I've put out the feelers for finding a therapist here, because I don't know that I work through all of this on my own.    

So that's where I'm coming from. (I do want to say that I have met and connected with a few folks here and I mean them no offense -- I don't think my social life here is devoid of potential, it just has taken a little longer to come into focus. So if you're a new friend of mine here reading this and thinking "wtf, I thought we were friends," we are!  I just wish there were more of you).

Apologies for the downer post, but especially in light of recent events, being upfront about mental health stuff seems more important than ever.