Hey, there. I’m Jennifer Carden.

A long time ago, in a town about 26 hours away, when I was very, very small, I was born. After many exciting things happened— including, but not limited to my learning how to ride a bike and floss my teeth— I grew up.

Kinda.

After growing a few inches, surviving my dad’s entrepreneurial bent (an ostrich farm, Dad? Really?), and coming to the realization that I would probably never be able to marry Mr. Rogers, Zorro, OR Cary Grant, I was pretty happy, if a bit of a pragmatic existentialist.

I learned how to read and write somewhere in those formative years, and discovered early on that there was little I liked better than a good story, well told.

You northerners may not understand this (or how to cook, for that matter), but in the South, a good story is nearly mythological. Around the Carden dinner table, you didn’t say much unless you had a story to tell, and if no one laughed by the time it was done, you didn’t say much again for a long, long time. During my years of silence, I started listening to the things that made people laugh, that made stories interesting: the turn of a phrase, a slight pause before the next line, the razor-clean characterizations that made even the most minor characters seem vivid and important. I didn’t realize it at the time, but around that dinner table, while the food got cold, I decided to be a journalist.

A few years later and a few inches taller, I find myself at age twenty-two, on the brink of getting married to a guy who’s managed to thoroughly trump Mr. Rogers and Cary Grant (though Zorro will probably always have a special place in my heart), living far, far away from the Weatherford, Texas, the Cutting Horse Capital of the World, and still, really, more than anything else, loving a good story.

I spent a long time prior to writing this piece determining what my “niche” would be as a Kritik conversationalist. David’s going to be chronicling his New experience in New York ( see what I did there? ), and Dr. Cann is going to be working on the whole world peace thing, starting with you and your boyfriend. What, I wondered, could I contribute?

The short answer is…well, not that short, because I, frankly, suck at theme statements.

Problem is, I’m a selfish writer. I like to write about things that I find interesting; that I find humorous… in short, pretty much my own observations.

My college journalism professor always chided me about that tendency— about injecting too much of myself into my articles— not drawing from the wealth of my sources’ opinions ( also about using too many dashes ).

But really, who cares about what they think?

In this age of new media, more than ever, journalism is a field where personality reigns; where who you are says a lot more than what you say; where a healthy bout of alcoholism (see: Hitchens, Christopher ) or a nice pair of legs ( see: Couric, Katie ) can take you further in the business than a firm grasp on subject-verb agreement.

I’m not an alcoholic—a statement my mother is reading with unjustified relief—and I can’t exactly showcase my legs through this medium… but I think you’ll find that while my failings are many, “lack of personality” isn’t among them. And if my personality sits reasonably well with you, then you’ll probably enjoy its output in my writing.

So, here’s a quick personality breakdown:

I appreciate sarcasm and people who spell and punctuate correctly. I like red, black, and white in almost any combination (which should explain a lot about Kritik, in general). I frequently try to impress my fiancé by recognizing the fonts used in various advertisements (doesn’t work) and introducing him to the members of my expansive shadow puppet library (also doesn’t work).

I’m a frustrated graphic designer, an enthusiastic piano teacher, a failed former blogger, and a pretty decent cook. My love language is witty banter, and I hate pens without ink, diet drinks, low carbs, and when you lose a cell phone somewhere in your room, and it dies. Oh, the beeping. The bleeping beeping.

I can put my legs behind my head, tie a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue, and both of my front teeth are the same width as my pinky. Oh, and I can’t whistle, and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop trying to convince me that it’s SO easy. It’s insulting.

I’m also the Editor here at Kritik, which apparently justifies my place in the Conversation section, but really, I basically whined enough about not having a forum to publish the things I love to write until we made a new section.

Well, okay. Maybe not exactly.

But really, I am very excited about this part of the site, and I’m looking forward to sharing a few observations, stories, and generally earning my seat at the table. I can’t guarantee I’ll always have a great story for you, but when I don’t, just think— David Sessions and Dr. Fladosch are just a few clicks away.

-Jennifer