Busted

So, this morning I was sending out emails to Brain, Child subscribers in Los Angeles and San Francisco. I want to meet these people, who I think of as my community; my love for Brain, Child and its readers is deep and real.

It is also apparently too big for the Verizon Online Abuse Team's liking. They suspended my ability to send outgoing mail for twenty-four hours and no matter what tone I took (in this case, a tone of I Am Displeased Yet I Also Understand That You Are Probably Helpless in the Face of the Corporate Giant For Which You Work, followed by the tone of I Am Shameless Really and Can't You Hear That I'm About to Cry?), no dice.

Anyhoo, if you sent me an email, I likely received it but I just can't reply. UNLESS you are the woman who sent the lovely email about speaking at a salon in SF--would you mind resending?

Well, back to trying to find someone who can free my Nigerian fortunes from that Swiss bank account, I guess.

The Mic Sounds Nice, Check One

As you might know, I love some karaoke, so yesterday when I was flipping through my Working Mother magazine and came to this headline--"How Singing Karaoke Launched My Career"--I had to check it out.

Can I be frank? I'm pretty good at karaoke. Sure, anyone can scream, "You got a nice white dress and a party on your confirmation!" but I can do "Love Shack." The Kate Pierson part.

You don't get to be looking for the love getaway by accident. There is some practice involved. There is learning how to project. There are weekend nights when your child plays his Gameboy and learns the contradictory lessons that only the good die young and that one should not go chasing waterfalls. Occasionally, when the song calls for it, there are dance moves.

[Let's pretend there's a segue here--do you do this? Reread your posts and realize they don't make as much sense as you thought they did?]

This is all to say that I'm fairly impervious to inspirational stories because any inspirational story worth its salt contains that moment when everything falls into place.

Take this, from "How Singing Karaoke Launched My Career": "I was taken completely by surprise. I thought, Where is that voice coming from? I didn't even know I could hold a tune."

For real? You didn't even know that you could hold a tune?

I just don't know why this sort of detail is supposed to be inspirational. If a talent is innate, then you're basically saying, "Hey, check out my good luck!" Of course the flip side is that there are no such things as talents, or luck, and with enough hard work, anyone can launch a career through karaoke. In my experience, it's a little bit of both.

Also in my experience? Almost anyone can sing this:

Woman Vs. Navel

Have I said before that I went a little crazy during my self-help experiments? I did, what with the constant focus on my flaws, my actions, me, me, me.

So, with that under my belt, this is what I'm not doing:

Obsessively refreshing the Amazon page to find out Practically Perfect's ranking;

Obsessively reflecting on Barbara Kingsolver's new book and how everyone I know is reading it and how I myself have purchased a copy of it and how I know that many many people reading her book might like mine and why she is on the bestseller list and how she totally deserves it and, damn it, it's not a competition and this is why no one (okay, Brandon) likes to play Scrabble with you, Jennifer;

Googling self;

Flipping to the book review section of any of the three trillion periodicals that come to this house and scanning for one title (and we all know which one that is);

And reflecting on the careers and career timelines of writers I admire, as if my fate lies somewhere scrambled in this data .

I'm trying, anyway.

A Tasteful Pictorial

The picture-taking? A little random. Erin and I popped out the camera whenever we remembered, but I, for one, was pre-occupied with remembering the fifty pounds of stuff I slugged around the city.

On the plus side, I can now share some very important lessons.

1. Make someone else in charge of the camera.

2. Do not feel compelled to be in every single picture, particularly if the weekend before you took a devil-may-care attitude regarding sunscreen at your son's baseball game, giving you the complexion of an alcoholic tomato.

3. It's never a good idea to be the one in the middle with your arms around people, unless you like to look like a person who wears a bra that requires 20 hooks.

Not things they teach you on America's Next Top Model.

This is me in front of the Barnes & Noble in Brooklyn. My publicist at Putnam, Yamil took this one. I have a picture of the two of us, but I'm afraid it's not flattering to either one of us and if I wanted to share unflattering pictures, I'd whip out the middle school archives.

This is the travelling companion divine, my sister Erin. It's been forever since just the two of us hung out. In this picture we're in front of the New York Public Library in Manhattan. No real reason we chose to document this (although if it were an elementary-school yearbook, the caption would be something like, "Fourth-grader Erin Niesslein checks out the NY Public Library.")

This is my agent Dan Lazar. If your dream agent is one who can work a mention of Karen Walker from Will & Grace into a bit of solid professional advice, then you know why I heart this man.

Me (me again!) with my editor Jackie Cantor. It's probably unprofessional and/or creepy to say that you'd like to have a slumber party with your editor. So I'll just imply it.

And finally, me and the writer Carol Paik, who turned out to be just as cool in person as she is in print. (She's on the right and her friend is on the left.)

I wish I had pictures of a lot of other things: the excellent people who came out, for one; the little bar that Erin, Yamil, and I went to in Park Slope, for another. I saw my friend Roland in the audience, and we stayed in what really should be called The 25-Year-Old Businessman District. On the train, a man in front of us kept repeating into his cell phone, "BUT IS THE CLOCK TICKING ON THIS PROJECT?" (Call me a shut-in, but I didn't know people actually spoke like that.) To sum up? Good times.

I Need to Sleep

Oh my, a sister is tired. I got back from New York last night, and I think I've been running on adrenaline and cigarettes for the past few days. (Ooh, that sounds very Franny Glass, doesn't it? I meant to say, "on adrenaline, cigarettes, chai, beer, and copious amounts of restaurant food.")

I'll put up pictures as soon as I figure out what the red light on the camera means.

In the meanwhile, have a listen to Faith Salie's show, Fair Game. I happen to be on this one, but the whole program is just delicious.

It's Up to You, New York

On some level, I believe the following about New York City: I understand that its jarred salsa is subpar as compared to salsa made in Texas. Sometimes you'll go to a coffee shop with friends, and hijinx will ensue. Sometimes you'll go to a diner with friends, and hijinx will ensue. Depending on where you live, either Adam Gopnik or Brooklyn mama divine Ayun Halliday will be at any birthday party your child attends. Also, there is something about the sidewalks of New York that make it really quite comfortable to wear high heels.

I'm slowly replacing my pop culture knowledge of New York City with actual experience. My sister Erin and I are heading up there tomorrow. I can't tell you how excited I am, but "super-duper" might come close. We'll be at two events, one on Tuesday, one on Wednesday.

Otherwise, we'll be doing things like mooning about, having lunch with the excellent writer Carol Paik (yippee!!), and buying souvenirs for our kids. I cannot wait for the hijinx.

Tune In, Turn On

This afternoon, I'll be going to back to the town where we lived for seven years. It's a place where people say "might could," as in "I might could pick up some hot dogs for the picnic." This used to drive me crazy when I lived there. Pick one, for God's sake, I'd think.

But now--AND DO NOT TELL BRANDON THIS--from the distance of four years, I've come to appreciate the phrase, its extreme tenuousness. I might could pick up some hot dogs for the picnic, but don't count on it, okay? Chances are that I won't come to the picnic at all, actually. You probably want to ask around. What I'm saying is don't put all your eggs in my basket because my basket has a tendency to take a nap in the afternoon.

I'm going there for a radio program, Insight. It's a call-in show, so if you or your frends have some (easy) questions, lay 'em on me. I'll be on from 3 to 4. The call-in number is 1-888-967-2825, and Virginians can listen to it like so:
103.5 FM Charlottesville
91.3 FM Farmville
90.7 FM Harrisonburg and the Shenandoah Valley
89.9 FM Lexington
94.5 FM Winchester