This Girl

(Response forthcoming in part two) I'm bad with names. I can remember a face no problem. But names are automatically sent to an unlockable vault deep within the cortex of my brain. I don't know if it is my short term memory that is a problem or long term. I have forgotten names of people I have just met while they are finishing their "Hi, I'm so and so. Nice to meet you." You had me at Hi and lost me by "I'm so and so." Likewise, I also can't remember the names of people I grew up with. I dread going out and about in my hometown for fear that I will run into someone who is purportedly my BFF from 1986 and I just don't remember his or her name to save my life. I'm partial to the Elaine Benes idea that we should all wear name tags. (For those not familiar with Seinfeld, Google it.) Now, one might be inclined to suggest that I see a neurologist to have a thorough hippocampus evaluation. But I'm not so sure the problem is c

America is my country and Paris is my hometown. Gertrude Stein I must admit that I do not know much about Gertrude Stein except for the bare minimum needed to answer a random trivia question. That, and what comes up on the Google. Lately, though, it seems that every time I need a witty quote, there she is, saying the words that are trapped in my brain, waiting to find the right neuropathways that allow them to connect into what exits as an eloquent descriptor of exactly what I wanted to say.  While many Americans may have an erroneous view of all things Paris, I happen to like it. A lot. I've heard many myths about Paris since I've voiced my love for this city. One of my favorites is "I heard Paris stinks really bad." Really? As opposed to Hammond, IN? I've been stuck on the Chicago-Indiana Skyway far too often not to know what stinky is. Then there is "the French are rude!" Huh. And how many have insulted you lately? And "aren't you afraid t

You've known for a long time that my greatest wish is to become a journalist someday and later on a famous writer--Anne Frank What I am about to say is going to shock some of you and probably make some of you use the Google, as the thing by which you will be shocked is somewhat of a lost art. Or science, for that matter, as this thing requires intersecting lines that have meaning, much like a graph of data points should have meaning. But anyway, one of my favorite classes in Junior high school was English class. Oh, you mean because of all the great books and stories you got to read? No. Well then, it must have been because of all the great stories you got to write. Not necessarily. English was my favorite subject because....wait for it.....we got to diagram sentences. The Catholic school way, too. Brutal. Intricate. No room for error. The please, God, don't let me make a mistake and have to use the eraser way of diagramming sentences. Now, before you throw the proverbial tom