Justifying my judgment in juxtaposing a jumble of J-words has made me realize that as cool as it would be, a parody of V's opening monologue using words that start with said letter is not only basically impossible but a brain-frying exercise. Curse you, J, curse you.
(In case you're wondering about all this incoherent ranting, lady_of_winter
posed the following challenge: Comment on this entry and I will give you a letter. Write ten words beginning with that letter, including a explanation of what the word means to you and why.
And then she gave me the letter J. Because she is evil.
But yeah, feel free to comment asking for a letter--I find people's relationships to language and specific words fascinating.)Justin:
The name of my computer. Because he is a blonde drama queen. Clive, my artificial two-foot Christmas tree, has a thing for Justin, but also suffers from short-term memory loss and therefore keeps forgetting that Justin turns him down, leading to much dorm-room angst. (I'm not insane. The voices tell me so.)Journal:
This space, sometimes. A leather-covered bound book other times. Random observations, snatches of dialogue, interesting places transcribed into words.Journalism:
(Yeah, it sounds kinda like Journal. Sue me.) Late nights copyediting, turning around ten minutes after leaving the office to tell the news writers that there are five police cars two blocks away apparently arresting someone, reassuring a friend again and again that he's good enough to get into the journalism school, doing the crossword every single day before even scanning the headlines.Jenga:
Best. Game. Ever. Seriously, if you don't play Jenga, there is something wrong with you. (Var.: Battle Jenga, in which you throw things at the tower until it falls down.)Jam:
Oh, jam. Pretty much the only thing consistently edible in the cafeteria. And the thing the printer does when it hates me. And what I'm in when I realize I have two papers due the next afternoon and am close to running out of coffee.Joint:
Something that allows you to stand, move, and throw things. Also: something that sprains, especially when subjected to the sport of volleyball. (And of course absolutely
Calms me down, keeps me focused, lets me unwind. Sometimes I use the expression "all that jazz" because it's unbelievably lame and I love it.Joy:
The first snow of the winter. Stepping out of a bus and into Manhattan. Coming up with a brilliant thesis. The perfect line break. So many things.Juice:
Stuff that's freakishly hard to find in a college town unless you want to pay three dollars for something with random crap in it. Why does no one carry guava or pomegranate? Why does no one carry orange
that does not come from concentrate? Agh. Also: steroids. Which so totally have nothing to do with me. I like being a woman, thankyouverymuch.Journey:
New places, new people, old things. Unknown destinations, dark highways, Frank O'Hara, midwestern sunrises, picking through farmer's market produce, smiling at a homeless man. Wanderlust, the urge every few weeks to pack underwear and socks and a few t-shirts and a novel into a suitcase and go. The way your feet kick up tiny clouds of dust on a long unpaved road.