Women in the Spotlight: Augusta Ada King

One of my favorite things about my new job is that I learn something new every day. A minute piece of trivia that I stumbled across on Friday inspired me to create this new column on my blog. Every week I will spotlight a different woman in history. This is by no means intended as a biography or other in-depth study, but merely a means of bringing to light women whose accomplishments that have impressed me in some way but that I never learned about in school. I will begin with the woman who inspired it all: Augusta Ada King, Lady Lovelace, who is credited with creating the first computer program (which consisted of holes drilled in a wooden card as well as the basic concepts of structured programming that are still followed today). She was also the daughter of poet Lord Byron, though she was raised almost solely by her mother. She not only suggested a program for a machine created by Charles Babbage that would calculate Bernoulli numbers, she also foresaw that such machines could go beyond number-crunching and calculations to create complex music and graphics and as such be used for both practical and scientific purposes. She managed to be both creative and analytical, mathematical and poetical. Which makes me identify with her because I've always been good at math, but had a passion for creative writing (a trait I've not found to be common among my other creative writing-inclined friends). It is a marvel to me that such a woman could have been raised in Georgian-Victorian England--a time period not precisely known for looking kindly on women's education or rights. And it makes me even more interested in studying that period on a graduate school level.

(Sources: Ada Byron Network, "Ada Lovelace Biography" by Betty Alexander Toole, Ed.D. and "Ada Lovelace" - Wikipedia)

Jaxx Recommends...Songs about Celebrity Crushes

One of the problems with living alone is that the silence can become overwhelming. This has developed a bad habit of mine to turn the TV on as background noise most of the time that I'm home. I often end up watching bad TV because of this, though I'm usually (as I was last night) reading at the same time. There's nothing like an evening of silly TV, romance novels and ice cream. Anyways, last night there was seriously NOTHING on that I wanted to watch and hadn't seen multiple times or have on DVD, so I ended up watching America's Got Talent. And it was surprisingly HILARIOUS. Needless to say, there are plenty of freaks in America, way more than people with true talent, I think. But this guy (though definitely not the best singer/performer of the bunch) amused me in a good way. And reminded me of one of my favorite singers of all time: Bree Sharp. I still remember sitting in the auditorium of Drake University in Des Moines with my mock trial teammate and friend listening to A Cheap and Evil Girl on her cd player. "David Duchovny" is the song that got me hooked on her, so it's only right that I post it here along with the song by David Johnson that everyone (and I know the editors flashed the photo of David Hasselhoff and Pamela Anderson together for exactly this reason) thought was just a so-so song about a some random celebrity crush, but luckily Sharon Osbourne held off on pressing her buzzer long enough for the surprise to be revealed. I still can't believe he actually made it on, but I thought it was a great lesson to see the two who pressed their no way buzzers be the ones to vote yes, and the one person who didn't be the one to vote no. And I'll finish this off with the question: What is it about men named David? (Though for the record, I've never understood anyone's attraction to David H.)

Maybe Quitters Really Do Prosper

This is a bit behind the times, but it's been an overwhelming past few days. Last week I finally decided that after getting rejected by all the companies I'd managed to get interviews with--because, despite the fact that I was applying for jobs for which I was amply qualified and going to be taking big pay cuts, they all had oodles of more qualified applicants to choose from--that maybe right now just wasn't the right time and I'd be better off focusing on grad school. I'd talked to my parents about consolidating my stuff with the stuff they already have in storage and moving back to Nebraska to live with my grama and uncle. I'd figured out when I needed to give notice at the shoe store and my apartment complex. And I'd agreed to go hiking in Yosemite with my dad in July. On Tuesday of last week, my mom bought me a plane ticket to fly out for two weeks (because, hey, I'm unemployed and if I'm going to fly out to see my parents, it might as well be a long enough trip to make it worth my while). On Wednesday, I get a call from one of the temp agencies I've been on the books with since September wanting to know if I'm available immediately. I tell them I can work out shifts at DSW but that I've got this two week trip planned for July that it's too late to change. I assume this is going to be it because every other time they've called me, it's all amounted to nothing, especially if I've had anything that might conflict. So on Friday, I'm at DSW to pick up a new pair of shoes before I turn in my notice on Saturday (I'd rather it not look like I'm only buying shoes to get the discount...though that's exactly what I'm doing), when I get a phone call from the temp agency wanting to know if I can start work on Monday morning for an indefinite (read as long as they like me and I like them) period.
So that's it. I'm employed again. I just had to completely give up all hope of ever finding a job in order to acheive it. Maybe quitting isn't such a bad thing after all. (Though my DSW managers aren't terribly happy with me for quitting on them, but as I've tried to explain, they were going to lose me anyway, and this job pays enough that I don't have to deal with the stress of working 7 days a week, so it's not worth it.)

Nash Always Makes Me Smile

My mom's favorite poet is Ogden Nash and so it is no surprise that he was one of the first poets I remember reading (along with Edgar Allen Poe). Sylvia Plath said, "There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them." I think the same is true of poetry. At least for me. So tonight I have been skimming my poetry books and reading Ogden Nash and Dorothy Parker and I had to share.

from Laments for a Dying Language by Odgen Nash
(It seemed to appropriate after my last post.)

V
Coin brassy words at will, debase the coinage;
We're in an if-you-cannot-lick-them-join age,
A slovenliness-provides-its-own-excuse age,
Where usage overnight condones misusage.
Farewell, farewell to my beloved language,
Once English, now a vile orangutanguage.

I love the fact that this next poem is written by a man, about men. Ha!
The Trouble with Women is Men

A husband is a man who two minutes after his head touches the pillow is snoring like an overloaded omnibus,
Particularly on those occasions when between the humidity and the mosquitoes your own bed is no longer a bed but an insomnibus,
And if you turn on the light for a little reading he is sensitive to the faintest gleam,
But if by chance you are asleep and he wakeful, he is not slow to rouse you with the complaint that he can't close his eyes, what about slipping downstairs and freezing him a cooling dish of pistachio ice cream.
His touch with a bottle opener is sure,
But he cannot help you get a tight dress over your head without catching three hooks and a button in your coiffure.
Nor can he so much as wash his ears without leaving an inch of water on the bathroom linoleum,
But if you mention it you evoke not a promise to splash no more but a mood of deep melancholium.
Indeed, each time he transgresses your chance of correcting his faults grows lesser,
Because he produces either a maddeningly logical explanation or a look of martyrdom which leaves you instead of him feeling the remorse of the transgressor.
Such are husbandly foibles, but there are moments when a foible ceases to be a foible.
Next time you ask for a glass of water and when he brings it you have a needle almost threaded and instead of setting it down he stands there holding it out to you, just kick him fairly hard in the stomach, you will find it thoroughly enjoible.

And I'll go out with one of my favorite Dorothy Parker verses:
Resume

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

I'd always pondered the meaning of the title. I've now decided that it's because after nine months of sending out resumes to everyone and anyone, one has to be reminded of why not to commit suicide.

Shame on You, Kanye West

I came across a blog post talking about Kanye West's pride at being a non-reader and had to look up the article for myself, despite the fact that I knew it would only make me unhappy. I was reminiscing just a week ago with Citizen B on how Reading Rainbow was one of our favorite TV shows growing up. I think it is horrible that kids now have nothing like that and instead the people who do influence them say things like the following: "Sometimes people write novels and they just be so wordy and so self-absorbed. I am not a fan of books. I would never want a book's autograph." (Kanye West, Reuters.com) He also said that being a non-reader and a college drop-out gave his writing (he just published a "book", by the by, but make sure you don't read it because he wouldn't approve--not that it's a real book, though it may have a cover and pages bound together) a "child-like purity." I would like to point out that sounding like an illiterate idiot is not "purity." It's just flaunting your ignorance and trying to paint it in a positive light. How could any respectable publishing company publish a book by someone who tells people they shouldn't read books? And, Kanye, books can't give autographs and even if they could, I'm sure none would be fans of you either. As a writer, it astounds me the crap that not only gets published, but that people actually pay good money for. And it saddens me because it only serves to lower the value our society places on the ability to read and write well. It is an important tool, no matter what some "celebrities" may say. And I've always believed that if one is too lazy to say something properly, it shows a complete and total disrespect for the person to whom you are talking or writing. It says that you don't give a damn if they can understand you properly. Writing is an ART. And you canNOT write if you don't READ. Reading is the key to success of every kind. If you cannot read, then you cannot manage a corporation; you cannot sign contracts; you cannot communicate effectively with anyone. A world in which people are encouraged to be ignorant and illiterate is not a world in which I wish to live. My favorite bookstore growing up had the best slogan on their bags: "One reader is worth a thousand boneheads." Congratulations, Kanye, you're officially one of the boneheads.

Wedding Bell Blues and the Limbo Life

The problem with weddings is that they remind me of how chronically single I am. I don't much care for casual dating (and my go at it last August definitely didn't make me want change my mind) and I've found that while I like going to bars and can't imagine dating a guy who didn't like them as well, I don't like the guys I meet there. I'm not saying I'm not happy for my friend. Her wedding was beautiful; her husband was charming and everything one could want. Actually it wasn't so much the wedding as being there with my parents, my sister and her boyfriend. I felt like a fifth wheel, especially as the only other people I knew were the bride's family. We knew each other growing up, but our families moved so we didn't go to high school together. It also makes me feel more and more like I'm doomed to be an old maid as I go to weddings of friends who are younger than me. I'm just glad that my younger sister isn't ready for that yet. Not that it really matters as she and her boyfriend have been together forever. And so I'm stuck wondering what I'm doing wrong that I seem to be the only one who isn't coupling off as if ordained by some godlike force. It's not like I'm against marriage. But where is one supposed to meet anyone worth dating? And it's hard to even contemplate dealing with that when I don't even know where or how I'm going to be living at the end of the summer. Part of me thinks perhaps leaving Dallas is the right thing to do. But then I remember how long it took me to find friends and how much I love the friends I have here. I've never had a hometown. And I hated having to leave my friends behind when I moved from Kansas to Iowa between 7th and 8th grade. If I could take them all with me, then I would move anywhere. But that's not possible. And it makes me wish even more that I had a husband. Because then it doesn't matter where you move as long as you move together. You always know at least one person, no matter where you go. Although my friend who got married last week is going to spend the next six months on her own while her husband finishes his army training, which just goes to show that life is never easy for anyone. We all have challenges that we must face. And we have to be strong enough to face them even if it's on our own. Which sounds so trite and stupid. Just like everybody keeps telling me "Everything happens for a reason." And that when it's the right job and what I'm meant to be doing, it'll all work out. But with more rejection piling up on me each week, and emails informing me that more qualified candidates were chosen for jobs that I was amply qualified for, I despair of anything working itself out. Because I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm simply competing with people who I should never have to compete with in a normal economy for near-entry-level jobs that I shouldn't have any problems getting. I'd feel bad for the new college grads if my life didn't suck so much that I can't spare any pity for anyone else. At least none of them have been unemployed for 9 months. I don't know what I'm supposed to do until I manage to get into grad school (even if I apply this fall and by some miracle get accepted, I still have to find a way to live for the next 16 months or so and there's no way I can work as a retail slut for that long; I'll lose my mind). I'm living in limbo and I'm not talking a fun game to play at parties. I can't get a job; I can't get a guy; and I can't make any plans with anyone. I had to miss my favorite cousin's graduation this weekend to boot. It is the icing on top of a cake of life sucks. Black licorice-flavored icing on a cake in which the sugar was replaced with salt, the outer ring is dry and the inside isn't baked all the way through.

Austen + Zombies = Lots of Laughs

I got Pride and Prejudice and Zombies to read on the plane for my trip to Denver last week. It was hilarious. I like that he didn't really fuck with the essentials of the story and yet it's definitely not just a simple job of cobbling together Austen's words with scenes of zombie mayhem as the descriptions on Amazon.com and BN.com suggested when my friend first shared it with me so many months ago. I think the best way to describe it is as P&P for Guys. All the slower parts of the story were replaced with zombie fights and other more "exciting" adventures. I still love the original (of course!) but this was definitely worth reading. (If only because I found myself once again wondering if Elizabeth and Darcy would end up together. SPOILER ALERT: Had either them been eaten by zombies or become one--Charlotte did after all, so I couldn't be sure--I would have burned the book.) It even had me laughing to myself on the plane. (I long ago got past feeling like a freak for that. If somebody wants to have a problem with my finding books amusing in public, they can shove it.) My only complaint is that the 3 or 4 "ball" jokes jarred me out of the story because they just seemed so juvenile (I groaned upon reading them, they were so bad) and not at all in keeping with the rest of the dialogue (which for the most part was period). Its redemption was definitely in the poetic justice that is delivered to the characters a bit more directly than in the original novel. But you'll have to read it if you want to know what that is. ;-) My friends and I think that we now need Jane Eyre and Werewolves (Mr. Rochester's crazed wife is locked in the attic because she's a werewolf and when she bites him he becomes one, too?) and Wuthering Heights and Vampires (Heathcliff's brooding character makes him a perfect candidate, non?).