My friend April sent me this link to some incredible inauguration photos. See some of the millions of people worldwide who were reveling in the moment.

My favorite of the New Yorker cartoons I have on my refrigerator:

Jim Jarmusch in the Winter 2004 issue of MovieMaker Magazine:

Rule #5: Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is nonexistent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery—celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from—it’s where you take them to.”

I can't bring myself to leave this apartment. I really need to get out now.

But first behold my submission to FAIL Blog, which I love unrequitedly. It didn't choose my picture, but I'll get over it:

Anytime I'm home, my mom asks me to go through the boxes upon boxes I've filled in fits of nostalgic packrattery. Hindsight doesn't always help, because even when I know I didn't miss having that note my best friend in sixth grade wrote me, complete with Cheetos smudges, I get all gooey (though less so when the item is literally gooey). "I can't throw this out," I think. "Someday, my kids or biographers might want to see this."

Uh, yeah. I know that won't really happen, and I aspire to act accordingly. Someday.

But there are some gems I kept. I found an old Time article about angry female music of the nineties. I still have every cd mentioned in that piece, I think. There was also a copy of Anna Quindlen's May 1999 commencement speech at Mount Holyoke College. I was trying to figure out what resonated with me then. This might be it - it certainly does now:

Think back. Think back to first or second grade, when you could still hear the sound of your own voice in your head, when you were too young, too unformed, too fantastic to understand that you were supposed to take on the protective coloration of the expectations of those around you. Think of what the writer Catherine Drinker Bowen once wrote, more than half a century ago: "Many a man who has known himself at ten forgets himself utterly between ten and thirty." Many a woman, too.

You are not alone in this. We parents have forgotten our way sometimes, too. I say this as the deeply committed, often flawed mother of three. When you were first born, each of you, our great glory was in thinking you absolutely distinct from every baby who had ever been born before. You were a miracle of singularity, and we knew it in every fiber of our being.

But we are only human, and being a parent is a very difficult job, more difficult than any other, because it requires the shaping of other people, which is an act of extraordinary hubris. Over the years we learned to want for you things that you did not want for yourself. We learned to want the lead in the play, the acceptance to our own college, the straight and narrow path that often leads absolutely nowhere. Sometimes we wanted those things because we were convinced it would make life better, or at least easier for you. Sometimes we had a hard time distinguishing between where you ended and we began.

So that another reason that you must give up on being perfect and take hold of being yourself is because sometime, in the distant future, you may want to be parents, too. If you can bring to your children the self that you truly are, as opposed to some amalgam of manners and mannerisms, expectations and fears that you have acquired as a carapace along the way, you will give them, too, a great gift. You will teach them by example not to be terrorized by the narrow and parsimonious expectations of the world, a world that often likes to color within the lines when a spray of paint, a scrawl of crayon, is what is truly wanted.

Below are some ads I found in Corpus Christi's local classifieds publication. They should tell you all you need to know about the town where I grew up.

MILITARY MACAW with cage and gym, 1-1/2 years old, talks. Call for details. ###-###-####.

WELL-ESTABLISHED GIFT and Engraving Business (illness forces sale). All equipment/inventory. Will train. Only $98,000 for everything. ###-###-####.

BIRDS MAKE great Christmas gifts! Call for types and prices. ###-###-####.

BEST TAMALES! We deliver! $7.50 per dozen. Just call ###-###-####.

INTERESTED IN soul travel? FMI contact Echankar at ###-###-####.

I MAKE 1000s of dollars each month drinking Tea. Let me show you how. #-###-###-####.

My dear Life Coach wrote this beautiful, thoughtful post over the weekend. I got to play editor before it went live and was really impressed. He's taught me a few things about relationships. Here are some Life Coach pearls of wisdom:

1) Don't be the girl who always has a boyfriend. (This is one I have to work on, as I've been pretty steadily dating since I was 15. Nonetheless, I always have independent pursuits outside of my relationships and am currently dating someone who does the same. We never get bored, because we just don't have time to get on each other's nerves).

2) For a relationship to work, the guy has to be much more into the girl. (Readers, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this. Reciprocation, schmreciprocation. I tend to agree).

3) Don't be jealous. It will only make a guy resent you. (The green-eyed monster is easier said to be slain than actually slain).

4) The guy should pay for dinner, drinks, etc. That's how real men roll. (Readers, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this, as well).

5) Do not be overly available to a guy. (Or girl!)

I just read Philip Galanes's Social Q's column from yesterday. All the questions and answers were good. But as a gender-neutral blogger, I really liked this:

I recently graduated from college and started working in the real world. My problem is that my name is gender-neutral, which my parents tell me was intentional. Many new business acquaintances, whom I meet through e-mail, mistake me for a man. I am often addressed as Mr. and, worse, taken for my own secretary when they call. (“Could you please connect me with Mr. Smith?”)

It’s awkward to explain and then embarrassing for the person calling. Is there a polite way to let people know my gender?

C.F.B., New York


The Response:

Look on the bright side, Miss Jordan/Casey/Riley: Now you have one more thing to hold against your parents. If they had only stopped to think about it 20-some-odd years ago, I’m sure they could have predicted the advent of the Internet, and that your name might cause some e-mail correspondents to mistake your gender. I call that irresponsible parenting.

You’ll be taken for a freak if you advertise your gender in e-mail messages to pre-empt the error: “As a woman, I’d prefer meeting at 4.”

I suppose you could answer your phone with the officious: “This is Pat.” But that won’t solve the problem, either. If callers have already decided you’re a man, they’ll just assume your voice is the product of a hormone deficiency.

Try not to be so nervous about entering the “real world.” I think you’ll find it’s a lot like college — only with fewer interesting conversations and much less booze. The more offhand you are about correcting your colleagues, the less awkward they’ll feel.

Next time you’re mistaken for a man, try a friendly: “This is Terry. But the last time I checked, I was a woman.” If anything, it will help people remember you; and in business, that’s a good thing.

My pal Jeremy did some investigating at GenderAnalyzer and reported back:

We guess http://www.noisiestpassenger.blogspot.com/ is written by a man (53%), however it's quite gender neutral.

Interestingly, these are the results for my own domain, which will be put to use in early 2009:

We think http://www.noisiestpassenger.com/ is written by a man (86%).

Hear that? This blog's da man!

Every six months or so, I see some story about a professional of some kind who fooled everybody into thinking he or she was perfectly qualified for his or her position while actually illiterate.

Ever hear the one about the seasoned attorney who couldn't read and relied on the diligence of his underlings to get through each case, but somehow passed the Bar? Are these stories even plausible?

Today I heard about this retired teacher, John Corcoran, who taught 17 years (what I do not know - I hope not Language Arts) and couldn't read. What the hell?

I mentioned my bafflement at these stories to my officemate and he seemed to feel the same way I do. Why are these newsworthy? The last thing I'd want to know if Mr. Corcoran gave me a B was that the guy couldn't even read. It's probably also the last thing I'd want to know if he'd given me an A. (Was his class the easy class? Maybe he taught gym).

I also don't know what these stories are supposed to make me feel. Impressed that an illiterate person could so deftly keep from getting found out? Sad that he or she got away with it so long and was illiterate in the first place? Suspicious of the organization he was part of? Really glad that homeboy can now read Eat, Pray, Love like every other person on the planet?

But maybe I'm reading too much into it.

"American Airlines Now Charging Fees to Non-Passengers"

"Tough times unfortunately mean tough measures," American Airlines president Gerard Arpey said. "It's never an easy decision to ask our loyal customers, as well as thousands of people chosen at random out of a telephone book, to pay a little extra, but that's just the reality of today's economic climate. We hope all Americans will understand this when receiving one of our new bills in the mail."

There are roaming charges on my soul.

Mommy, wow!

I've a book blog now.

Six male writers answer the question "What makes an ideal woman?" Insight is achieved:

I am fed up with women always claiming that what they find most sexy is a sense of humour. Because it isn’t true. I know this because I am hilarious. Way more funny than most of the slack-arsed, car-obsessed, office wonk baldies you’ll meet in a wine bar on a Friday night, and yet I practically never get laid. If it were true that women are turned on by a man who makes them laugh, Woody Allen wouldn’t have had to marry his own daughter.

This slideshow from The New York Times Styles section showcases how some college students have combined furniture cast-offs with creative thinking to create functional, sometimes beautiful, dwellings. I found it inspiring and quite close to home.

Now I want some old, clear lightbulbs.

Johnson & Johnson Introduces 'Nothing But Tears' Shampoo To Toughen Up Newborns:

NEW BRUNSWICK, NJ—After decades of coddling young children, Johnson & Johnson unveiled its new "Nothing But Tears" shampoo this week, an aggressive bath-time product the company says will help to prepare meek and fragile newborns for the real world.

A radical departure for the health goods manufacturer, the new shampoo features an all-alcohol-based formula, has never once been approved by leading dermatologists, and is as gentle on a baby's skin as "having to grow up and fend for your goddamn self."

This has to be one of the best news leads ever:

"Greyhound has scrapped an ad campaign that extolled the relaxing upside of bus travel after one of its passengers was accused of beheading and cannibalizing another traveler."

Being a daily user of mass transit, this comes as no surprise to me.

From Paul Graham's "How to Do What You Love," one of the most inspiring things I read last week:

How much are you supposed to like what you do? Unless you know that, you don't know when to stop searching. And if, like most people, you underestimate it, you'll tend to stop searching too early. You'll end up doing something chosen for you by your parents, or the desire to make money, or prestige - or sheer inertia.

Here's an upper bound: Do what you love doesn't mean, do what you would like to do most this second. Even Einstein probably had moments when he wanted to have a cup of coffee, but told himself he ought to finish what he was working on first.

It used to perplex me when I read about people who liked what they did so much that there was nothing they'd rather do. There didn't seem to be any sort of work that I liked that much. If I had a choice of (a) spending the next hour working on something or (b) be teleported to Rome and spend the next hour wandering about, was there any sort of work I'd prefer? Honestly, no.

But the fact is, almost anyone would rather, at any given moment, float about in the Carribbean, or have sex, or eat some delicious food, than work on hard problems. The rule about doing what you love assumes a certain length of time. It doesn't mean, do what will make you happiest this second, but what will make you happiest over some longer period, like a week or a month.

Unproductive pleasures pall eventually. After a while you get tired of lying on the beach. If you want to stay happy, you have to do something.

Cade's mom sent me this column a few years ago. It inspired me then and it inspires me now. Excerpt below:

The truth, young people, is that writing is no more difficult than building a house, and the only good reason to complain is to discourage younger and more talented writers from climbing on the gravy train and pushing you off.

Young people are pessimistic enough these days without their elders complaining about things. Shut up. Life is pretty good when you grow up. You own your own car, you go where you like, and you sing along with the radio or talk to yourself or chat on your cell phone. You pull into the drive-up window and order the Oreo Blizzard. What's not to like?

Speaking of Michelle Obama, this Salon.com article also rallies on her side. I second all of it.