I’m going to start this off on a bad note, for two reasons: so I can end it on a good note, and because I hated this year with fiery passion and I need to get it off my chest.
This. Year. Sucked.
The winter went on for eons and was bitter cold. The spring was cold and damp and unpleasant. Summer started off with an ocean’s worth of rain, then petered out in a humid misery. I will admit that fall and this current winter have not been too bad (knock on wood), but the first two and a half seasons of this year straight-up blew.
The people we lost, dear god. Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Billy Mays, Brittany Murphy, Ed McMahon, Bea Arthur, Dom DeLuise, Ted Kennedy, Frank McCourt, Les Paul, Patrick Swayze, Walter Cronkite. Icons, idols, heroes, many taken too soon.
Closer to home, a dear friend of mine lost his father this year, only a few months ago, and my dad lost an employer and close friend, as well as had many friends diagnosed with various illnesses, mostly cancers. My boss lost her mother-in-law.
The worst death for me this year was my Uncle Bill, technically my great uncle, who passed away in February. Bad enough that this was my first experience with losing someone close to me, Uncle Bill was essentially my grandfather, something I never realized the magnitude of until it was almost too late. That alone is all I need to say that this year sucked.
The cherry on top, though, was my cousin Zach. In June, he was diagnosed with bile duct and liver cancer, and was given only a few months to live. He is in his early 30s, and is happily married with two small daughters, one 5 and one turning 2 in just a couple of days. Prime of his life, and a horrible diagnosis.
This is where I will start to climb back up.
Zach is still alive, and is getting well. Next month he will be celebrating the sixth month mark of his diagnosis, and the fact that he has so far beaten the diagnosis. The chemo is working, and his attitude is fantastic--he refuses to see that the odds or statistics relate to him, and has been 99% positive throughout. His tumors are shrinking at a fantastic rate, and his upcoming surgery, while scary, will be a huge step towards recovery.
Due to being sick both days, I missed both Uncle Bill’s funeral, and his ashes ceremony. But I got to say goodbye. I visited him a few days before the end, I got to thank him and tell him I loved him, we had one last embrace. I wish I could have made those ceremonies, but I would never trade one for the other. Beyond that, he had a wonderful, full, long life, with loving children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, with a loving wife he was married to for over sixty years. The church was filled to the brim at his funeral, over 300 people came to show their respects. If that’s not a sign of a good man, I don’t know what is.
There were beginnings this year as well as endings. My cousin Aliza was married in April, with a beautiful ceremony and an awesome, fun-filled reception. My childhood best friend, Lindsay, was also married this year, in September.
Many women at Curves were blessed with grandchildren this year, including my boss, whose stepdaughter had twin boys the day after Easter.
I made a lot of progress on many personal levels—I started another program at MCC, made great progress in therapy and with inner revelations, and made huge strides in getting healthier and more fit. I also made my first “big” purchase (a Queen-sized bed) and moved in with my wonderful boyfriend (who is also making big strides in his own life). Even at work, I’ve gotten closer to some of the members (to the point of friending a few on Facebook), and I’m enjoying the projects I work on and what I do there in general.
And, while he is currently acting as a disappointment to many of those who voted for him, I still count Obama’s inauguration as a big plus to the year; I’ve even been joking that we used up all the good karma on January 20th.
So, this year wasn’t a total bust. I still think it sucked, though. And I can’t wait for 2010.
Next post: Resolutions, and where I want to go in the new year!
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Oy to the Vey.
I haven’t updated really anywhere in a long while (unless you count Facebook, which I don't). There’s a lot going on, and it would take a long entry just to describe it all.
I have quite a few half-baked blog posts that need to be finished up, including a state-of-the-Ruth one that I’m hoping to post for the new year—either New Year’s Eve, or New Year’s Day. Plan is for that post to talk about what happened in 2009, and what I’m thinking of for 2010 (and beyond!). Since I’m all done with classes now, I have some more time to actually finish my thoughts and finally post them!
Here’s the quickest recap I can do:
[o] Finished classes, did pretty well all-around
[o] Am trying to piece together my next steps, education-wise. This is a blog post in itself, seriously, so I’ll just say this: TOO MANY GODDAMN OPTIONS.
[o] Work is going well, home life going well, health going well (besides a minor cold (yes Dad I’m taking vitamin C and drowning myself in juice)), school is done and is therefore going VERY well ~.^
[o] …ta da?
ETA: Combination thank you to those who read and comment, and apology for never responding to comments! I won't make excuses...I'll just apologize and run away ~.^
I have quite a few half-baked blog posts that need to be finished up, including a state-of-the-Ruth one that I’m hoping to post for the new year—either New Year’s Eve, or New Year’s Day. Plan is for that post to talk about what happened in 2009, and what I’m thinking of for 2010 (and beyond!). Since I’m all done with classes now, I have some more time to actually finish my thoughts and finally post them!
Here’s the quickest recap I can do:
[o] Finished classes, did pretty well all-around
[o] Am trying to piece together my next steps, education-wise. This is a blog post in itself, seriously, so I’ll just say this: TOO MANY GODDAMN OPTIONS.
[o] Work is going well, home life going well, health going well (besides a minor cold (yes Dad I’m taking vitamin C and drowning myself in juice)), school is done and is therefore going VERY well ~.^
[o] …ta da?
ETA: Combination thank you to those who read and comment, and apology for never responding to comments! I won't make excuses...I'll just apologize and run away ~.^
Friday, December 4, 2009
Achtung! Again!
This post led to this post, where I answered the first of these three questions:
1. What is the quality of experience I want to have as I earn a living?
2. What gifts do I want to give to life as I toil at challenging tasks that are interesting to me?
3. What capacities do I want to develop in myself while doing my work?
In this post, I’ll answer the second question.
What gifts do I want to give to life as I toil at challenging tasks that are interesting to me?
I’d like to teach the world to sing
In perfect harmony
I’d like to give the world a Coke…
Okay, no, not really.
Seeing as my top priority for a job that I covered in the last post was creativity, it seems fairly obvious what I want to put out into life, the world, and the universe in general. I want to create.
I’m not a musician, and I’m not a physical artist—I don’t want to add sound to the world, or a painting or sculpture. As much as my father might want it, that’s just not what I want to do. I do love to write, and I love to be creative with concepts and ideas.
I’d like to give originality. I’d like to make someone stop and think—wether it’s about a product or about a concept. I’d like to make people react in pleasant surprise, laughing or smiling or even just glazing over as they’re startled into rethinking something.
I’d like to give stories. I love stories, I’ll read just about anything with a plot, and I would love to put more stories into the world. This ties into wanting people to think—the biggest story on my plate right now is about how one man deals with his Christian identity while in a relationship with another man, and a project that’s been on my mind for years is the story of a guy who falls in love with someone online, with no clue as to their gender. I’m not writing them as GLBT stories—they’re just stories about people. In one, the main characters happen to be bi or gay; in the other, while the main character does struggle with what it means for his orientation that he’s fallen for someone who he can’t identify as female, it’s more about his struggle than it is about the possibility of a same-sex relationship. If I do it right, I could really make people think about the messages behind my stories, and even see things from a new perspective.
And both of those things are interesting to me—taking old concepts and turning them on their heads; creating new concepts; developing characters and plots that people can identify with even as they’re scratching their head and saying “Huh, what would I do in that situation?”
There is another answer to the question, if looked at from a different perspective: I want to have kids, and have them also be my gift to life and the world. I want to raise them with good hearts and good values, so there are more good people in the world. Doing so will be interesting, challenging, and, from what I hear, the most fun and awesome experience in the universe. And it will also be work, which I think qualifies it for that question.
To sum up this whole thing: What do I want to give to life? The things I love in it. Originality, good stories, and good people. Easy.
Next question.
1. What is the quality of experience I want to have as I earn a living?
2. What gifts do I want to give to life as I toil at challenging tasks that are interesting to me?
3. What capacities do I want to develop in myself while doing my work?
In this post, I’ll answer the second question.
What gifts do I want to give to life as I toil at challenging tasks that are interesting to me?
I’d like to teach the world to sing
In perfect harmony
I’d like to give the world a Coke…
Okay, no, not really.
Seeing as my top priority for a job that I covered in the last post was creativity, it seems fairly obvious what I want to put out into life, the world, and the universe in general. I want to create.
I’m not a musician, and I’m not a physical artist—I don’t want to add sound to the world, or a painting or sculpture. As much as my father might want it, that’s just not what I want to do. I do love to write, and I love to be creative with concepts and ideas.
I’d like to give originality. I’d like to make someone stop and think—wether it’s about a product or about a concept. I’d like to make people react in pleasant surprise, laughing or smiling or even just glazing over as they’re startled into rethinking something.
I’d like to give stories. I love stories, I’ll read just about anything with a plot, and I would love to put more stories into the world. This ties into wanting people to think—the biggest story on my plate right now is about how one man deals with his Christian identity while in a relationship with another man, and a project that’s been on my mind for years is the story of a guy who falls in love with someone online, with no clue as to their gender. I’m not writing them as GLBT stories—they’re just stories about people. In one, the main characters happen to be bi or gay; in the other, while the main character does struggle with what it means for his orientation that he’s fallen for someone who he can’t identify as female, it’s more about his struggle than it is about the possibility of a same-sex relationship. If I do it right, I could really make people think about the messages behind my stories, and even see things from a new perspective.
And both of those things are interesting to me—taking old concepts and turning them on their heads; creating new concepts; developing characters and plots that people can identify with even as they’re scratching their head and saying “Huh, what would I do in that situation?”
There is another answer to the question, if looked at from a different perspective: I want to have kids, and have them also be my gift to life and the world. I want to raise them with good hearts and good values, so there are more good people in the world. Doing so will be interesting, challenging, and, from what I hear, the most fun and awesome experience in the universe. And it will also be work, which I think qualifies it for that question.
To sum up this whole thing: What do I want to give to life? The things I love in it. Originality, good stories, and good people. Easy.
Next question.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Lessons from New York, Thanksgiving 2009
First, my apologies for lack of updates, and lack of conclusions to the two "series" I have going on (one on education, the other on career confusion). I blame a combination of approaching end of semester crunch, recent mood issues, and Thanksgiving vacation.
Speaking of which! Last Wednesday, I drove up to Syracuse to spend Thanksgiving with my stepfather, David, and his wife, Dorita. It was a lovely time. Whenever I go up to New York--either to visit them in Syracuse, or help at the New York Renaissance Faire in Tuxedo--I find it remarkably easy to leave behind almost all the troubles and cares from Connecticut. The first cause of this is an almost total lack of outside communication--while they have internet, their computers are pretty slow, and they don't watch TV or listen to a lot of radio (do I need to explain a lack of communication at a Renn Faire?). Secondly, I'm there with a purpose--at the Ren Faire, it's to sell and generally help out. In Syracuse, it's to spend quality time. I always end up having fun, learning a lot, and wishing that there wasn't a 4+ hour drive from here to there.
Here is a "short" list of what I learned on this trip:
[1] Coin-operated car washes are SO. MUCH. FUN.
[2] How to wash dishes by hand.
[2a] Washing dishes by hand can be relaxing and almost enjoyable.
[3] David would have gone into science if not for the math; instead he got a Bachelors Degree in Psychology, Eastern Philosophy, and Anthropology.
[3] How to make a Chocolate Mocha Cake...the RIGHT way.
[4] In baking, precise measurements are overrated.
[5] Price Chopper has the best guilty pleasures: on one past trip, I learned about their Four Cheese Artisan Bread; on this trip, I discovered cheddar cheese bagels.
[6] Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me is an awesome NPR show. It's The Daily Show, complete with celebrities and real news, put on the radio and turned into a call-in quiz show.
[7] Bruce Campbell knows a surprising amount about Barbie.
[8] David brought Mom and I to visit his father when I was no older than three. This is the closest I've gotten to meeting a "direct" grandparent. I have no memory of it.
[9] A pie without butter is still real pie...but only barely.
[10] Ending a visit with a loved one never gets easier as you grow up. It does, in fact, get harder.
Speaking of which! Last Wednesday, I drove up to Syracuse to spend Thanksgiving with my stepfather, David, and his wife, Dorita. It was a lovely time. Whenever I go up to New York--either to visit them in Syracuse, or help at the New York Renaissance Faire in Tuxedo--I find it remarkably easy to leave behind almost all the troubles and cares from Connecticut. The first cause of this is an almost total lack of outside communication--while they have internet, their computers are pretty slow, and they don't watch TV or listen to a lot of radio (do I need to explain a lack of communication at a Renn Faire?). Secondly, I'm there with a purpose--at the Ren Faire, it's to sell and generally help out. In Syracuse, it's to spend quality time. I always end up having fun, learning a lot, and wishing that there wasn't a 4+ hour drive from here to there.
Here is a "short" list of what I learned on this trip:
[1] Coin-operated car washes are SO. MUCH. FUN.
[2] How to wash dishes by hand.
[2a] Washing dishes by hand can be relaxing and almost enjoyable.
[3] David would have gone into science if not for the math; instead he got a Bachelors Degree in Psychology, Eastern Philosophy, and Anthropology.
[3] How to make a Chocolate Mocha Cake...the RIGHT way.
[4] In baking, precise measurements are overrated.
[5] Price Chopper has the best guilty pleasures: on one past trip, I learned about their Four Cheese Artisan Bread; on this trip, I discovered cheddar cheese bagels.
[6] Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me is an awesome NPR show. It's The Daily Show, complete with celebrities and real news, put on the radio and turned into a call-in quiz show.
[7] Bruce Campbell knows a surprising amount about Barbie.
[8] David brought Mom and I to visit his father when I was no older than three. This is the closest I've gotten to meeting a "direct" grandparent. I have no memory of it.
[9] A pie without butter is still real pie...but only barely.
[10] Ending a visit with a loved one never gets easier as you grow up. It does, in fact, get harder.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Achtung! Revisited
See? I told you I’d get back to you.
1. What is the quality of experience I want to have as I earn a living?
2. What gifts do I want to give to life as I toil at challenging tasks that are interesting to me?
3. What capacities do I want to develop in myself while doing my work?
One question at a time, one post at a time.
What is the quality of experience I want to have as I earn a living?
This is the hardest question to answer. How do you qualify quality? Number of hours you work at something? What gets done in those hours? How much money you make? What kind of projects you work on? Who you work for? Who you don’t work for? It’s a highly subjective question.
Let’s start with the basic priorities of what I want in a job, and go through those.
Creativity
I want to be able to play with the problem or objective, look at it from different angles, analyze it, take it apart and put it back together. Brainstorm in a group, brainstorm by myself. My favorite assignments in school, ever, were those from Advertising class, where we took a campaign or slogan or advertisement and took it apart to analyze, critique, and possibly correct it.
If my job consists of doing the same thing, over and over again, with no input from my brain, no chance to be fun or different or creative at all, I might as well be a robot. Honestly, I probably wouldn’t have that much problem with a job like that—I’d just settle into a groove and let my mind wander and let the hours go by. But I’d also stagnate, and I wouldn’t have fun. I know everyone says they wants a fun job…but is that such a bad thing to want? To not just be happy about work, but be excited about it, be gleeful about it?
I want a job where I take my work with me wherever I go—in a good way. Not because I can’t let things “stay at the office” or because there’s a looming deadline that’s stressing me out, but because the problem is so interesting, so fun to think about, that I just want to keep turning it over in my head and finding new ways to go about it.
Freedom
This priority may actually be the most important. It also got me laughed at at work. Someone asked me what I wanted to do “later” (as in after college), and I said I wanted to work from home. They laughed at me. Not in a straight-on mean way, but in a condescending “That is too funny, you’re joking, right?” way. I’m still a little bitter about it, especially it’s just not as outrageous as an idea as it used to be.
In this world, working from is growing less unusual, and less impossible. The technology that exists is astounding—you can conference from home via phone, conference call, instant messenger, or video chat. You can access work files from home, updating them from home within seconds so your coworkers can run with your changes, either from the office or from their own home. Anyone can buy a combination printer, scanner, copier and fax and have all those capabilities in their office at home, without even taking up that much space. Wifi is becoming more abundant and cellular signals more widely available, while laptops and even printers are growing smaller, so you can access files and work on projects from home, from Starbucks, from the park, from your hotel, from almost anywhere. You can go down to Staples or Kinkos and get your brochures, presentations, or booklets printed out and put together in record time.
The physical office is becoming less and less necessary as time goes by, technology improves, and priorities change.
You know why I want to work from home? It’s not because I hate driving, it’s not because I don’t like people, it’s not because the idea of a cubicle makes me sick. None of those things are true. I want to work from home because I plan on having a home that I love, that is comfortable and beautiful and home. I find the idea that we have to spend so many hours away from our homes in order to afford our homes positively absurd. I plan on working hard, on saving and scrimping and budgeting, on busting my butt in order to have a house that is as close to my dream home as is fiscally possible. And after working so hard for it, I want to spend time in it. Because dammit, that’s the point.
So. I want freedom to do work at my own pace, in my own space. To go at projects or problems in the manner that works best for me, whatever that means. I don’t want someone breathing down my neck, I don’t want insane deadlines that only insane people can meet (normal deadlines are okay, even if I’m not normal), I don’t want to be forced to work with people I can’t stand, who I just don’t jive with. I want to be able to start work when I’m actually awake, not when I have to be at the office, and work until I’m done, not until the office closes up for the day.
I don’t mean I want to sleep until noon, read e-mails and idly type up some bullshit in my pajamas from the kitchen table, ignore the directions or ideas from my superiors or coworkers and do whatever the hell I feel like instead, or wait until 3 a.m. before a major presentation to rush and get everything done. I would get “dressed on purpose” every morning, get up and officially start the day at a reasonable time, have a home office that was dedicated to work and not play, do what I was directed to do and get things done on time.
My own space, my own pace, my own hours, my own way of going about my job. Give me all of these, and I will be a very loyal employee. I will work my ass off for you, I will respect rules and directions and deadlines, I will put in however long it takes to get the problem solved or the project done. I just want the freedom to do my job as is best for me.
Salary
I wish this didn’t have to be a priority, that I could just have a job I love without worrying or caring if it makes enough to cover the bills. Don’t we all wish for that? So, when looking for a job, one of the possible deal breakers will be salary, and if it’s enough to cover rent/mortgage, utilities, groceries, gas, etc. That is, until I sell a dozen novels and become a millionaire who can do whatever she damn well pleases.
So, what is the quality of experience I want to have as I earn a living? I want a job that involves being creative, that lets me work from home (or anywhere else), that pays well enough to cover the bills. That’s the best I can come to answering that question, I think. A quality of experience that lets me do what I love, in a place I love, while making enough to have the things I love.
Answer to question two coming soon!
1. What is the quality of experience I want to have as I earn a living?
2. What gifts do I want to give to life as I toil at challenging tasks that are interesting to me?
3. What capacities do I want to develop in myself while doing my work?
One question at a time, one post at a time.
What is the quality of experience I want to have as I earn a living?
This is the hardest question to answer. How do you qualify quality? Number of hours you work at something? What gets done in those hours? How much money you make? What kind of projects you work on? Who you work for? Who you don’t work for? It’s a highly subjective question.
Let’s start with the basic priorities of what I want in a job, and go through those.
Creativity
I want to be able to play with the problem or objective, look at it from different angles, analyze it, take it apart and put it back together. Brainstorm in a group, brainstorm by myself. My favorite assignments in school, ever, were those from Advertising class, where we took a campaign or slogan or advertisement and took it apart to analyze, critique, and possibly correct it.
If my job consists of doing the same thing, over and over again, with no input from my brain, no chance to be fun or different or creative at all, I might as well be a robot. Honestly, I probably wouldn’t have that much problem with a job like that—I’d just settle into a groove and let my mind wander and let the hours go by. But I’d also stagnate, and I wouldn’t have fun. I know everyone says they wants a fun job…but is that such a bad thing to want? To not just be happy about work, but be excited about it, be gleeful about it?
I want a job where I take my work with me wherever I go—in a good way. Not because I can’t let things “stay at the office” or because there’s a looming deadline that’s stressing me out, but because the problem is so interesting, so fun to think about, that I just want to keep turning it over in my head and finding new ways to go about it.
Freedom
This priority may actually be the most important. It also got me laughed at at work. Someone asked me what I wanted to do “later” (as in after college), and I said I wanted to work from home. They laughed at me. Not in a straight-on mean way, but in a condescending “That is too funny, you’re joking, right?” way. I’m still a little bitter about it, especially it’s just not as outrageous as an idea as it used to be.
In this world, working from is growing less unusual, and less impossible. The technology that exists is astounding—you can conference from home via phone, conference call, instant messenger, or video chat. You can access work files from home, updating them from home within seconds so your coworkers can run with your changes, either from the office or from their own home. Anyone can buy a combination printer, scanner, copier and fax and have all those capabilities in their office at home, without even taking up that much space. Wifi is becoming more abundant and cellular signals more widely available, while laptops and even printers are growing smaller, so you can access files and work on projects from home, from Starbucks, from the park, from your hotel, from almost anywhere. You can go down to Staples or Kinkos and get your brochures, presentations, or booklets printed out and put together in record time.
The physical office is becoming less and less necessary as time goes by, technology improves, and priorities change.
You know why I want to work from home? It’s not because I hate driving, it’s not because I don’t like people, it’s not because the idea of a cubicle makes me sick. None of those things are true. I want to work from home because I plan on having a home that I love, that is comfortable and beautiful and home. I find the idea that we have to spend so many hours away from our homes in order to afford our homes positively absurd. I plan on working hard, on saving and scrimping and budgeting, on busting my butt in order to have a house that is as close to my dream home as is fiscally possible. And after working so hard for it, I want to spend time in it. Because dammit, that’s the point.
So. I want freedom to do work at my own pace, in my own space. To go at projects or problems in the manner that works best for me, whatever that means. I don’t want someone breathing down my neck, I don’t want insane deadlines that only insane people can meet (normal deadlines are okay, even if I’m not normal), I don’t want to be forced to work with people I can’t stand, who I just don’t jive with. I want to be able to start work when I’m actually awake, not when I have to be at the office, and work until I’m done, not until the office closes up for the day.
I don’t mean I want to sleep until noon, read e-mails and idly type up some bullshit in my pajamas from the kitchen table, ignore the directions or ideas from my superiors or coworkers and do whatever the hell I feel like instead, or wait until 3 a.m. before a major presentation to rush and get everything done. I would get “dressed on purpose” every morning, get up and officially start the day at a reasonable time, have a home office that was dedicated to work and not play, do what I was directed to do and get things done on time.
My own space, my own pace, my own hours, my own way of going about my job. Give me all of these, and I will be a very loyal employee. I will work my ass off for you, I will respect rules and directions and deadlines, I will put in however long it takes to get the problem solved or the project done. I just want the freedom to do my job as is best for me.
Salary
I wish this didn’t have to be a priority, that I could just have a job I love without worrying or caring if it makes enough to cover the bills. Don’t we all wish for that? So, when looking for a job, one of the possible deal breakers will be salary, and if it’s enough to cover rent/mortgage, utilities, groceries, gas, etc. That is, until I sell a dozen novels and become a millionaire who can do whatever she damn well pleases.
So, what is the quality of experience I want to have as I earn a living? I want a job that involves being creative, that lets me work from home (or anywhere else), that pays well enough to cover the bills. That’s the best I can come to answering that question, I think. A quality of experience that lets me do what I love, in a place I love, while making enough to have the things I love.
Answer to question two coming soon!
Saturday, November 14, 2009
The Great Calorie War of Aught-Nine.
At the beginning of this past year, I got two new things: an iPod Touch (thanks to Christmas money), and a free application called Lose It!. Lose It! is a tool for tracking what and how much you eat, how much you exercise, and what you weigh. I made a New Years resolution to lose weight and become healthier. The first time I entered my weight, it was 162 lbs. At 5’6”, that’s not obese—in fact, while at the high end of the “normal” BMI range, it’s technically not even overweight. It was still more than I wanted to weigh, however, especially since almost none of it was muscle.
For some reason, I decided that the best way to go about things was to eat less. Not eat better, or exercise more (or, for me, exercise at all), but just lower the amount of calories I was consuming. Despite logic, despite having a brain in my head, despite having a brand new program at work that taught us about metabolism and how cutting calories only works when you also work out to jump-start the burning of fat instead of muscle.
Obviously, this didn’t really work—especially since this was one of the worst winters I’ve ever gone through. I’m not good at winters as it is, and this one was long, it was cold, it was wet, and it included a death in the family. My great uncle Bill—my de facto grandfather, as all four of my biological grandparents had passed away before I was born—died in mid-February. It was the first time I had ever lost someone besides a cat. Needless to say, February did not go well in terms of…well, anything.
By May, I had gotten my act a little more together—I was doing better at cutting out calories, and best of all, I started exercising! After a year and a half of working at Curves, I finally got over my weird problem with working out at the same time as members, and started working out every night I worked. Funnily enough, the weight starting coming off a little quicker. Imagine!
Still, I was being dumb about food. I was still obsessing more over calorie count than anything else, such as, I don’t know, ingredients, protein, trans fat, sodium, etc. I had gotten it into my head that calories were evil, no matter what they were attached to, so less was always better than more. Period.
Ryan helped me get over that thinking in June. One day, while out shopping, we decided it was time to grab some dinner and head home. Ryan wanted to get Moe’s, which is like a combination of Subway and Taco Bell—you go down an assembly line and put together a taco, burrito, nachos, etc one step at a time. I consulted my little app, and said no, too many calories in a burrito, but how about McDonald’s?
The look he gave me was about the same as a smack upside the head. I was turning down a real wheat tortilla, real grilled chicken, real beans, real vegetables…for McDonald’s. WHAT THE FUCK.
That very night, after returning home and consuming my delicious, nutritious, not-McDonald’s dinner, I tinkered with my app. I changed it from “lose weight” to “maintain weight.” This was a trick to have a higher calorie “budget,” so there would be this big red bar if I went over a set number of calories. I had decided to start concentrating on quality over quantity.
Except I was still concerned with quantity. I started picking out healthier foods, but I was still concerned over not eating too much, no matter what it was. I opened up Excel (one of my favorite toys ever) and made myself a little chart for tracking daily calorie counts. One column would show the day’s number, and another column would show the difference from the previous day—had I gone up or down? By how much?
I saw this as a tool for keeping myself in check, making sure my counts didn’t start creeping up with the “freedom” I had given myself. Looking back, I just replaced one way of yelling at myself with another—there may not be a red bar anywhere on the screen, but there was still a number, and I was giving that number more power than I was giving myself.
Over the summer and into the fall, I’ve been making better food choices, and I’ve eased up on the tracking. The Excel chart ran out of space as of October 10, and I didn’t extend it. That was the last day I counted up my calorie count. October 26 was the last day I entered calorie information into the iPod app. At first I just forgot to, but it’s become intentional.
I realized that, if I kept up with the counting and monitoring and self-checking, I was going to end up with an eating disorder. Not because I hate my body, not because I need control over something, but because I can lose myself in obsession over keeping track of things perfectly, to the last detail. When I entered calorie information, I fretted over amounts, worrying that if I was off, I was doing something wrong. If I that red bar came up, if I was just a few calories up from one day to the next, I would guilt the hell out of myself. And that’s just bullshit.
I’m eating healthier now than I was six months ago, or even three months ago. Before I buy something at the grocery store, I check the label—not just for calories, but for protein, fiber, trans and saturated fat, sodium, vitamins and minerals. I check the ingredients for whole grains instead of “enriched flour”, sugar instead of high fructose corn syrup, real salt instead of MSG. I choose foods with real ingredients over foods with lower calorie counts, because I’m finally choosing quality over quantity.
Do I always eat perfectly? No. Do I sometimes eat fast food? Yes. But far, far less than I used to, and I choose different things off the menu. Do I still enjoy chocolate and alcohol and other treats? Yes, but only with or after a real dinner with real food, only as a treat, not an integral part of my day’s menu.
And you know what? I’ve been losing weight. I’ve been losing fat. I’m down to 153 lbs. My waist is making a comeback, and the Curves circuit doesn’t tire me out as much as it used to. And something interesting I discovered—I’m less hungry when I wake up in the morning after I eat real food instead of fake food. With the real freedom I’ve given myself, I feel happy when I eat instead of guilty, I feel really free and in control of what goes into my body for the first time in a long time.
I’m done worrying, I’m done guilting, I’m done obsessing. I’m done with putting the power of what I eat to a stupid little computer program. I’m done with not trusting myself.
I’m done counting.
BONUS SECTION!
In Case You're Curious/I Was Bored So Why Not:
The things I consume on a regular basis {plus flavors} (plus commentary) [plus nutrition]:
[o] V8 Fusion {Pomegranate Blueberry} [8 oz. has 100 calories, 100% daily value of vitamin C, no sugar added, and one full serving each of fruits and vegetables]
[o] Carnation Breakfast Essentials {Rich Milk Chocolate} [One bottle has 260 calories, 14 g of protein, 50% DV of vitamin C and Calcium, 45% DV of vitamin A, and 25% DV of vitamins B6, B12, D, E, K, and iron]
[o] Stonyfield Farm Yogurt Smoothies {Raspberry, Peach} [One 10 oz. bottle has 230 calories, 10 g of protein, 20% DV of vitamin B12, and is completely organic] (It also has a bit more sugar than I'd like (39 g), but it's the only smoothie I find delicious)
[o] Hood Milk (1%, sorry, just can't stand skim) [1 cup has 110 calories, 8 g of protein, 10% DV of vitamins A and C, 25% DV vitamin D, and 30% DV of calcium]
[o] Stouffer's Baked Chicken Breast (with mashed potatoes) [one dinner has 250 calories and 20 g of protein] with Green Giant Simply Steam No Sauce Baby Sweet Peas [2/3 cup package has 60 calories, 4 g of protein, and 15% DV of vitamin C]
[o] Woodchuck Draft Cider {Amber, Raspberry} (this is basically the only alcohol I consume, and it's, like, 3 a week. but DAMN is it refreshing) [one 12 oz. bottle has 200 calories)
[o] Guru Energy Drink {Superfruit} [one 12 oz. can has 180 calories, 1.5 g of protein, and just over 86 g of potassium. while it does include guarana, it’s pretty far down the ingredient list, which has is mostly comprised of water, juice concentrates (20% organic fruit juice!), and other natural substances such as echniacea, ginseng, and ginko biloba] (this is seriously good shit. tastes great (in my opinion), and it doesn’t jar you awake or give you the jitters)
[o] Nature Valley Granola Nut Clusters {Cashew, Honey Roasted Peanut} [cashew: 1 oz. has 150 calories, 1 g of fiber, and 4 g of protein; honey roasted peanut: 1 oz. has 140 calories, 1 g of fiber and, 5 g of protein]
[o] Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with any brand of creamy peanut butter, generic grape jelly, and whole wheat bread [one sandwich has 350 calories, over 3 g of fiber, and 10 g of protein]
[o] Cashews, usually generic [1 oz has 170 calories and 5 g of protein]
[o] Vlasic Kosher Dill Snack'mmms [1 oz is about 2 gherkin-sized pickles and has 5 calories]
[o] Apples [under 100 calories, over 4 g of fiber, vitamins A and C and calcium]
[o] Baby Carrots, [1 cup has just over 50 calories, almost 3 g of fiber, over a gram of protein, vitamin C, and tons of vitamin A
[o] Mini Babybel Bonbel Cheese [1 piece has 70 calories, 5 g of protein, 6% DV of vitamin A and 15% DV of calcium]
[o] Sushi (tuna roll, shrimp sushi) [one 6 piece tuna roll has 184 calories, 2 g of fat, 24 g of protein, 3.5 g of fiber; one ounce of shrimp sushi has 30 calories, no fat, 6 g of protein, and 151 mg of omega-3 fatty acids] (I eat sushi about once a week, and it’s something I always look forward to. my regular order is one tuna roll and two pieces of shrimp sushi, for a grand total of 244 calories, 2 g of fat, 36 g of protein, and a ton of omega-2 fatty acids)
As you can see, REALLY not bad stuff. The only thing with high fructose corn syrup is the grape jelly, which is something I missed until after I had opened the jar (once this jar is finished, I’ll be buying a different brand, but I just can’t bring myself to toss the current jar). The "worst" food, calorie-wise, is cashews, and I rarely have that, and rarely more than a handful at a time. I don’t drink any soda, and the Guru is the only energy drink I touch, and that’s only a couple of times a week when I need to wake up a little faster I would naturally. I’m working on putting more protein and fiber into my diet, in the form of more cheese, yogurt, and fruits and vegetables. I also have a nightly supplement regiment of one super-B complex, one cal-mag-zinc, and one fish oil tablet.
For some reason, I decided that the best way to go about things was to eat less. Not eat better, or exercise more (or, for me, exercise at all), but just lower the amount of calories I was consuming. Despite logic, despite having a brain in my head, despite having a brand new program at work that taught us about metabolism and how cutting calories only works when you also work out to jump-start the burning of fat instead of muscle.
Obviously, this didn’t really work—especially since this was one of the worst winters I’ve ever gone through. I’m not good at winters as it is, and this one was long, it was cold, it was wet, and it included a death in the family. My great uncle Bill—my de facto grandfather, as all four of my biological grandparents had passed away before I was born—died in mid-February. It was the first time I had ever lost someone besides a cat. Needless to say, February did not go well in terms of…well, anything.
By May, I had gotten my act a little more together—I was doing better at cutting out calories, and best of all, I started exercising! After a year and a half of working at Curves, I finally got over my weird problem with working out at the same time as members, and started working out every night I worked. Funnily enough, the weight starting coming off a little quicker. Imagine!
Still, I was being dumb about food. I was still obsessing more over calorie count than anything else, such as, I don’t know, ingredients, protein, trans fat, sodium, etc. I had gotten it into my head that calories were evil, no matter what they were attached to, so less was always better than more. Period.
Ryan helped me get over that thinking in June. One day, while out shopping, we decided it was time to grab some dinner and head home. Ryan wanted to get Moe’s, which is like a combination of Subway and Taco Bell—you go down an assembly line and put together a taco, burrito, nachos, etc one step at a time. I consulted my little app, and said no, too many calories in a burrito, but how about McDonald’s?
The look he gave me was about the same as a smack upside the head. I was turning down a real wheat tortilla, real grilled chicken, real beans, real vegetables…for McDonald’s. WHAT THE FUCK.
That very night, after returning home and consuming my delicious, nutritious, not-McDonald’s dinner, I tinkered with my app. I changed it from “lose weight” to “maintain weight.” This was a trick to have a higher calorie “budget,” so there would be this big red bar if I went over a set number of calories. I had decided to start concentrating on quality over quantity.
Except I was still concerned with quantity. I started picking out healthier foods, but I was still concerned over not eating too much, no matter what it was. I opened up Excel (one of my favorite toys ever) and made myself a little chart for tracking daily calorie counts. One column would show the day’s number, and another column would show the difference from the previous day—had I gone up or down? By how much?
I saw this as a tool for keeping myself in check, making sure my counts didn’t start creeping up with the “freedom” I had given myself. Looking back, I just replaced one way of yelling at myself with another—there may not be a red bar anywhere on the screen, but there was still a number, and I was giving that number more power than I was giving myself.
Over the summer and into the fall, I’ve been making better food choices, and I’ve eased up on the tracking. The Excel chart ran out of space as of October 10, and I didn’t extend it. That was the last day I counted up my calorie count. October 26 was the last day I entered calorie information into the iPod app. At first I just forgot to, but it’s become intentional.
I realized that, if I kept up with the counting and monitoring and self-checking, I was going to end up with an eating disorder. Not because I hate my body, not because I need control over something, but because I can lose myself in obsession over keeping track of things perfectly, to the last detail. When I entered calorie information, I fretted over amounts, worrying that if I was off, I was doing something wrong. If I that red bar came up, if I was just a few calories up from one day to the next, I would guilt the hell out of myself. And that’s just bullshit.
I’m eating healthier now than I was six months ago, or even three months ago. Before I buy something at the grocery store, I check the label—not just for calories, but for protein, fiber, trans and saturated fat, sodium, vitamins and minerals. I check the ingredients for whole grains instead of “enriched flour”, sugar instead of high fructose corn syrup, real salt instead of MSG. I choose foods with real ingredients over foods with lower calorie counts, because I’m finally choosing quality over quantity.
Do I always eat perfectly? No. Do I sometimes eat fast food? Yes. But far, far less than I used to, and I choose different things off the menu. Do I still enjoy chocolate and alcohol and other treats? Yes, but only with or after a real dinner with real food, only as a treat, not an integral part of my day’s menu.
And you know what? I’ve been losing weight. I’ve been losing fat. I’m down to 153 lbs. My waist is making a comeback, and the Curves circuit doesn’t tire me out as much as it used to. And something interesting I discovered—I’m less hungry when I wake up in the morning after I eat real food instead of fake food. With the real freedom I’ve given myself, I feel happy when I eat instead of guilty, I feel really free and in control of what goes into my body for the first time in a long time.
I’m done worrying, I’m done guilting, I’m done obsessing. I’m done with putting the power of what I eat to a stupid little computer program. I’m done with not trusting myself.
I’m done counting.
BONUS SECTION!
In Case You're Curious/I Was Bored So Why Not:
The things I consume on a regular basis {plus flavors} (plus commentary) [plus nutrition]:
[o] V8 Fusion {Pomegranate Blueberry} [8 oz. has 100 calories, 100% daily value of vitamin C, no sugar added, and one full serving each of fruits and vegetables]
[o] Carnation Breakfast Essentials {Rich Milk Chocolate} [One bottle has 260 calories, 14 g of protein, 50% DV of vitamin C and Calcium, 45% DV of vitamin A, and 25% DV of vitamins B6, B12, D, E, K, and iron]
[o] Stonyfield Farm Yogurt Smoothies {Raspberry, Peach} [One 10 oz. bottle has 230 calories, 10 g of protein, 20% DV of vitamin B12, and is completely organic] (It also has a bit more sugar than I'd like (39 g), but it's the only smoothie I find delicious)
[o] Hood Milk (1%, sorry, just can't stand skim) [1 cup has 110 calories, 8 g of protein, 10% DV of vitamins A and C, 25% DV vitamin D, and 30% DV of calcium]
[o] Stouffer's Baked Chicken Breast (with mashed potatoes) [one dinner has 250 calories and 20 g of protein] with Green Giant Simply Steam No Sauce Baby Sweet Peas [2/3 cup package has 60 calories, 4 g of protein, and 15% DV of vitamin C]
[o] Woodchuck Draft Cider {Amber, Raspberry} (this is basically the only alcohol I consume, and it's, like, 3 a week. but DAMN is it refreshing) [one 12 oz. bottle has 200 calories)
[o] Guru Energy Drink {Superfruit} [one 12 oz. can has 180 calories, 1.5 g of protein, and just over 86 g of potassium. while it does include guarana, it’s pretty far down the ingredient list, which has is mostly comprised of water, juice concentrates (20% organic fruit juice!), and other natural substances such as echniacea, ginseng, and ginko biloba] (this is seriously good shit. tastes great (in my opinion), and it doesn’t jar you awake or give you the jitters)
[o] Nature Valley Granola Nut Clusters {Cashew, Honey Roasted Peanut} [cashew: 1 oz. has 150 calories, 1 g of fiber, and 4 g of protein; honey roasted peanut: 1 oz. has 140 calories, 1 g of fiber and, 5 g of protein]
[o] Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with any brand of creamy peanut butter, generic grape jelly, and whole wheat bread [one sandwich has 350 calories, over 3 g of fiber, and 10 g of protein]
[o] Cashews, usually generic [1 oz has 170 calories and 5 g of protein]
[o] Vlasic Kosher Dill Snack'mmms [1 oz is about 2 gherkin-sized pickles and has 5 calories]
[o] Apples [under 100 calories, over 4 g of fiber, vitamins A and C and calcium]
[o] Baby Carrots, [1 cup has just over 50 calories, almost 3 g of fiber, over a gram of protein, vitamin C, and tons of vitamin A
[o] Mini Babybel Bonbel Cheese [1 piece has 70 calories, 5 g of protein, 6% DV of vitamin A and 15% DV of calcium]
[o] Sushi (tuna roll, shrimp sushi) [one 6 piece tuna roll has 184 calories, 2 g of fat, 24 g of protein, 3.5 g of fiber; one ounce of shrimp sushi has 30 calories, no fat, 6 g of protein, and 151 mg of omega-3 fatty acids] (I eat sushi about once a week, and it’s something I always look forward to. my regular order is one tuna roll and two pieces of shrimp sushi, for a grand total of 244 calories, 2 g of fat, 36 g of protein, and a ton of omega-2 fatty acids)
As you can see, REALLY not bad stuff. The only thing with high fructose corn syrup is the grape jelly, which is something I missed until after I had opened the jar (once this jar is finished, I’ll be buying a different brand, but I just can’t bring myself to toss the current jar). The "worst" food, calorie-wise, is cashews, and I rarely have that, and rarely more than a handful at a time. I don’t drink any soda, and the Guru is the only energy drink I touch, and that’s only a couple of times a week when I need to wake up a little faster I would naturally. I’m working on putting more protein and fiber into my diet, in the form of more cheese, yogurt, and fruits and vegetables. I also have a nightly supplement regiment of one super-B complex, one cal-mag-zinc, and one fish oil tablet.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Liam & Jer Progress: Nov. 7th, 2009
As of yesterday, my total word count for "final" chapters (all six of them) is 9,884.
(By "final" chapters, I mean the documents/text files that will eventually evolve into final drafts. I have many, many .docs and .txts that hold pieces of Liam & Jer, but these are older drafts, some dating back to my junior year of high school. These have either been drastically changed in to new chapters, stripped for parts, or scrapped altogether.)
Anyway. A word count of under 10,000 is...kinda pathetic. If you also keep in mind that I set myself a goal of adding 50,000 words this month in honor of NaNoWriMo...*gulp* I'm actually pretty confident that I will NOT meet this goal, but that's okay. I'd be happy if I had 20,000 words, or even 15,000. Anything that meant I actually added to it.
I recently took my outline and transferred them to index cards. My plan is to take the cards and figure out the exact order of events. This would seem easy--A then B then C, right?*--except that I'm toying with the idea of a few of the chapters being flashbacks, looking at Liam's or Jer's past to get some insight as to why they're doing this or acting like that. I'm afraid that it could make it messy, complicated, confusing, etc, but I'm also concerned with what might be missing if I don't include them. I currently suck at "looking back" in the middle of a scene, although you'd think the fact that I'm writing it in present tense would help. Of course, the fact that I'm thinking of trying to fit this big, messy puzzle piece into the whole thing instead of, you know, growing as a writer and learning to fix what needs fixing in my toolbox may also say something about me. That something may start with an "l" and rhyme with "hazy."
I'm also trying to find a time to dedicate to writing. I set on the task of finding this piece of time months ago, and I even had one for, oh, two weeks, but it's gotten harder. The free time I do have has to be divvied up between school assignments, errands and chores, seeing Mom, seeing Dad, being social (HA!), and getting some quality time with Ryan. These pieces of free time are currently: Sundays and Mondays until 4, and Wednesdays and Saturdays after noon. Sunday is currently my day to catch up on Mom-home chores and see Mom, and Monday is currently my only day to sleep in, which is very precious to me. Wednesdays and Saturdays, Ry and I do one of two things: do chores and errands, or have a few hours of dedicated WoWing, basically my only WoW time the entire week. WoW might sound like something worth sacrificing to get some writing in, and maybe it should be, but it's also a great stress-reliever, and a little bit of being social (getting friendlier with the Guildies).
Keep in mind that Writing Time would more or less HAVE to be at Starbucks, where I'm disconnected from the internet, and able to just plug in to my music and my little world. Sometimes just the act of Going To/Being At Starbucks is almost enough to click in to Writing Mode. So it's not just a set time I pull out the laptop and get down to business; it's a set time that I drive to Starbucks, get myself a drink and a snack, and settle down at a table. On Mondays and Sundays, there would have to be travel time built in to get back in time for work or D&D.
So, there. My current writing status/predicament. I'll try to post something opinionated and ranty tomorrow.
*Yes, Dad, I know about time not being linear, but in this particular story, it's going to be, okay? ;)
(By "final" chapters, I mean the documents/text files that will eventually evolve into final drafts. I have many, many .docs and .txts that hold pieces of Liam & Jer, but these are older drafts, some dating back to my junior year of high school. These have either been drastically changed in to new chapters, stripped for parts, or scrapped altogether.)
Anyway. A word count of under 10,000 is...kinda pathetic. If you also keep in mind that I set myself a goal of adding 50,000 words this month in honor of NaNoWriMo...*gulp* I'm actually pretty confident that I will NOT meet this goal, but that's okay. I'd be happy if I had 20,000 words, or even 15,000. Anything that meant I actually added to it.
I recently took my outline and transferred them to index cards. My plan is to take the cards and figure out the exact order of events. This would seem easy--A then B then C, right?*--except that I'm toying with the idea of a few of the chapters being flashbacks, looking at Liam's or Jer's past to get some insight as to why they're doing this or acting like that. I'm afraid that it could make it messy, complicated, confusing, etc, but I'm also concerned with what might be missing if I don't include them. I currently suck at "looking back" in the middle of a scene, although you'd think the fact that I'm writing it in present tense would help. Of course, the fact that I'm thinking of trying to fit this big, messy puzzle piece into the whole thing instead of, you know, growing as a writer and learning to fix what needs fixing in my toolbox may also say something about me. That something may start with an "l" and rhyme with "hazy."
I'm also trying to find a time to dedicate to writing. I set on the task of finding this piece of time months ago, and I even had one for, oh, two weeks, but it's gotten harder. The free time I do have has to be divvied up between school assignments, errands and chores, seeing Mom, seeing Dad, being social (HA!), and getting some quality time with Ryan. These pieces of free time are currently: Sundays and Mondays until 4, and Wednesdays and Saturdays after noon. Sunday is currently my day to catch up on Mom-home chores and see Mom, and Monday is currently my only day to sleep in, which is very precious to me. Wednesdays and Saturdays, Ry and I do one of two things: do chores and errands, or have a few hours of dedicated WoWing, basically my only WoW time the entire week. WoW might sound like something worth sacrificing to get some writing in, and maybe it should be, but it's also a great stress-reliever, and a little bit of being social (getting friendlier with the Guildies).
Keep in mind that Writing Time would more or less HAVE to be at Starbucks, where I'm disconnected from the internet, and able to just plug in to my music and my little world. Sometimes just the act of Going To/Being At Starbucks is almost enough to click in to Writing Mode. So it's not just a set time I pull out the laptop and get down to business; it's a set time that I drive to Starbucks, get myself a drink and a snack, and settle down at a table. On Mondays and Sundays, there would have to be travel time built in to get back in time for work or D&D.
So, there. My current writing status/predicament. I'll try to post something opinionated and ranty tomorrow.
*Yes, Dad, I know about time not being linear, but in this particular story, it's going to be, okay? ;)
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Letting The Beetle Out.
About a month ago, I was eating dinner with my Dad, and I mentioned the music I had been listening to lately. I have this thing where I'll make a CD, either of one artist or a mix, and then listen to it over and over and over again. I'm one of those people who can do that without eventually hating the song.
I mentioned a few of the artists I had on this CD, and my Dad smirked.
"Earnest," he said. "Earnest, earnest, earnest."
He didn't make it sounds bad so much as...cute. As if these singers were children who are trying so hard to be real musicians, isn't that precious?
I get what he's saying--almost every song by these artists does have this earnest, urgent note to them. These songs have a message, this message is important, it is the most important message in the history of the world, we are the first people to sing about this message, and, by God, you will hear it and you will be moved. This attitude is great, until you've continued it for more than, say, one whole album, or three songs per album. Then it just feels...false. Not like the artist doesn't mean it--they do, don't you ever doubt it! But they mean it too much, to the point where it stops to mean anything to anyone else.
Ever since that smirk, there's been a beetle in the back of my mind, buzzing about earnest. After a few weeks of this, I've decided on something:
We need earnest.
I don't mean the global "we", the "we" of the whole world ("The citizens of all nations need to hear this so they can understand their mistakes!"). I mean my "we". We, the generation that straddles Generation X and Generation Z--those born in the 1980's but raised in the 1990's and 2000's.
I tend to think that we were raised in one of the most cynical decades in living memory. The business- and money-focused attitude of the 80's was still present, but the realization that this capitalist way of life could not be sustained was beginning to set in with all the tenderness of an elephant settling on an hollowed egg shell. Just listen to the music of the 1990's--Nirvana, Green Day, Pearl Jam, The Offspring. Their lyrics span from subtle cynicism to blatant bitterness. Our country experienced The Gulf War, the Oklahoma City bombing, Bill Clinton's scandal with Monica Lewinsky, and many other events that divided and scarred the country in numerous ways.
And that was just the 1990's. For me, ages 4 to 14.
Even from the very beginning, the 2000's have been a hard decade. They've been hard on everyone, but imagine coming of age in them. The past 9 years have brought upon three highly publicized and controversial elections, and a war that has divided the country in a way that we haven't approached since the Civil War. We experienced the attacks on September 11, which are to many of my generation what Pearl Harbor was to our grandparents, what JFK's assassination was to our parents. Our economy has crashed, and millions have gone from a safe, middle-class lifestyle to poverty, losing their jobs, their insurance, their homes, the lives they had become accustomed and attached to.
If any other teenagers and children had parents even vaguely similar to mine, they grew up listening to rants and rambles, yelling and crying. We grew up with hands being thrown in the air and eyes being rolled with disgust and hopelessness. We grew up hearing things like "What is this world coming to?" and "I can't believe this is happening," or even "What are we going to do?"
Every generation grows up with the combined hope and threat that they will be in charge someday. They will be the ones to take the reigns, clean up the mess, change the course of civilization, and so on and so forth. Growing up hearing that the world is going to hell in a hand basket, being told in the same breath that "this will all be yours someday"...that's quite a bundle to be handed.
So it any wonder that we've been drawn to music that has our voice, our worries, our hopes, our frustration? Songs like the all-star cover of Marvin Gaye's What's Going On, American Idiot, The Lovers Are Losing, and Land of Confusion?. Songs with lyrics like "We're the new face of failure/Prettier and younger, by not any better of", and "Burning down the capitols/Wisest of the animals" and "People can no longer cover their eyes"?
Yes, the singers are earnest. Because we need earnest. We need hopeful. We need angry, we need dedicated, we need pissed off.
Every generation thinks it has it worse off than the one before, that it has better reason to be pissed off than the one before, that the previous ones will never understand what it is we're going through. To a degree, every generation is right.
Our grandparents were handed the Depression and World War II, bread lines and a military draft.
Our parents were handed Vietnam and its aftermath, Nixon and his lies.
We are handed the Iraq war, the aftermath of September 11, the bill for the environmental spending of the previous decades.
Every generation is given a country that is broken and needs to be made whole. And each time the country is handed down, like a quilt made by a forgotten ancestor, it is a little more threadbare, a little more stained, a little harder to patch up.
My generation currently has the ragged ends of yet another unwinnable war started by the previous controversial president, the worse economic recession in 20 years, an overburdened environment in danger of giving at any moment, state-by-state fights for basic human rights, and a political tug-of-war over our health insurance.
We need our own versions of Bob Dylan, Pink Floyd, Jackson Browne, The Clash, Bruce Springsteen--you want to tell me that they didn't want to move the world? That they didn't have a message that you are going to hear and by God learn from?
We need our songs filled with anger, frustration, worry, and hope. We need those voices articulating the feelings that we can not, made more poignant in ways that only music can accomplish. We need those emotions out where everyone can hear them.
We need earnest.
I mentioned a few of the artists I had on this CD, and my Dad smirked.
"Earnest," he said. "Earnest, earnest, earnest."
He didn't make it sounds bad so much as...cute. As if these singers were children who are trying so hard to be real musicians, isn't that precious?
I get what he's saying--almost every song by these artists does have this earnest, urgent note to them. These songs have a message, this message is important, it is the most important message in the history of the world, we are the first people to sing about this message, and, by God, you will hear it and you will be moved. This attitude is great, until you've continued it for more than, say, one whole album, or three songs per album. Then it just feels...false. Not like the artist doesn't mean it--they do, don't you ever doubt it! But they mean it too much, to the point where it stops to mean anything to anyone else.
Ever since that smirk, there's been a beetle in the back of my mind, buzzing about earnest. After a few weeks of this, I've decided on something:
We need earnest.
I don't mean the global "we", the "we" of the whole world ("The citizens of all nations need to hear this so they can understand their mistakes!"). I mean my "we". We, the generation that straddles Generation X and Generation Z--those born in the 1980's but raised in the 1990's and 2000's.
I tend to think that we were raised in one of the most cynical decades in living memory. The business- and money-focused attitude of the 80's was still present, but the realization that this capitalist way of life could not be sustained was beginning to set in with all the tenderness of an elephant settling on an hollowed egg shell. Just listen to the music of the 1990's--Nirvana, Green Day, Pearl Jam, The Offspring. Their lyrics span from subtle cynicism to blatant bitterness. Our country experienced The Gulf War, the Oklahoma City bombing, Bill Clinton's scandal with Monica Lewinsky, and many other events that divided and scarred the country in numerous ways.
And that was just the 1990's. For me, ages 4 to 14.
Even from the very beginning, the 2000's have been a hard decade. They've been hard on everyone, but imagine coming of age in them. The past 9 years have brought upon three highly publicized and controversial elections, and a war that has divided the country in a way that we haven't approached since the Civil War. We experienced the attacks on September 11, which are to many of my generation what Pearl Harbor was to our grandparents, what JFK's assassination was to our parents. Our economy has crashed, and millions have gone from a safe, middle-class lifestyle to poverty, losing their jobs, their insurance, their homes, the lives they had become accustomed and attached to.
If any other teenagers and children had parents even vaguely similar to mine, they grew up listening to rants and rambles, yelling and crying. We grew up with hands being thrown in the air and eyes being rolled with disgust and hopelessness. We grew up hearing things like "What is this world coming to?" and "I can't believe this is happening," or even "What are we going to do?"
Every generation grows up with the combined hope and threat that they will be in charge someday. They will be the ones to take the reigns, clean up the mess, change the course of civilization, and so on and so forth. Growing up hearing that the world is going to hell in a hand basket, being told in the same breath that "this will all be yours someday"...that's quite a bundle to be handed.
So it any wonder that we've been drawn to music that has our voice, our worries, our hopes, our frustration? Songs like the all-star cover of Marvin Gaye's What's Going On, American Idiot, The Lovers Are Losing, and Land of Confusion?. Songs with lyrics like "We're the new face of failure/Prettier and younger, by not any better of", and "Burning down the capitols/Wisest of the animals" and "People can no longer cover their eyes"?
Yes, the singers are earnest. Because we need earnest. We need hopeful. We need angry, we need dedicated, we need pissed off.
Every generation thinks it has it worse off than the one before, that it has better reason to be pissed off than the one before, that the previous ones will never understand what it is we're going through. To a degree, every generation is right.
Our grandparents were handed the Depression and World War II, bread lines and a military draft.
Our parents were handed Vietnam and its aftermath, Nixon and his lies.
We are handed the Iraq war, the aftermath of September 11, the bill for the environmental spending of the previous decades.
Every generation is given a country that is broken and needs to be made whole. And each time the country is handed down, like a quilt made by a forgotten ancestor, it is a little more threadbare, a little more stained, a little harder to patch up.
My generation currently has the ragged ends of yet another unwinnable war started by the previous controversial president, the worse economic recession in 20 years, an overburdened environment in danger of giving at any moment, state-by-state fights for basic human rights, and a political tug-of-war over our health insurance.
We need our own versions of Bob Dylan, Pink Floyd, Jackson Browne, The Clash, Bruce Springsteen--you want to tell me that they didn't want to move the world? That they didn't have a message that you are going to hear and by God learn from?
We need our songs filled with anger, frustration, worry, and hope. We need those voices articulating the feelings that we can not, made more poignant in ways that only music can accomplish. We need those emotions out where everyone can hear them.
We need earnest.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
My Random Opinion on Education That No One Asked For, Part Two
Only two weeks after the first installation, here is the second part of my rant.
Gratuitous Fine Print: I am not a teacher, and I have not taken a single course on education. These rants are just that, ranting, based solely on my experience as a student, a friend of a student, and a friend of teachers.
My next Mostly Opinion-Based idea: Eliminate homework. Or at least change it's purpose, and the weight with which it's grade.
First, there's an important question to ask: What is the point of homework? Is it to help students review what they've gone over? Is it meant to introduce new concepts that will soon be covered in class? Is it showing how much a student is learning--or at least memorizing?
Ideally, I think, it should be a combination--help embed the information in child's mind (review), suggest how else the information could be used (introduction), and see how well the child is grasping the information (measurements). It should be used as a tool and nothing more.
Sadly, what it's currently used for is another thing to grade, another project for a kid to worry about, waste time on, or forget to do. I can name literally a dozen kids in high school whose marks went down the toilet based solely on their homework grade--and those are just the kids I knew.
My current boyfriend had to take a math class over again because he didn't do any of the homework the first time he took it. When he walked back in the second time, the math teacher looked at him and said "What are you doing here?" He spent that semester helping other kids learn the material, because he knew it forwards, backwards, and upside down. Read that again: he knew the material, but he was flunked because of homework.
You might ask "Why didn't he just do the homework and get a passing grade?" I ask back "Why should the homework matter so goddamned much that you can flunk a class based on it even as you ace every test?" (For the record, he has off-the-charts ADHD. This is merely an explanation, not an excuse, because he shouldn't need a bloody excuse.)
To repeat myself: homework should be a tool, and nothing else. If the kid doesn't want to do it--because they don't have the time, the attention span, the will, the need, whatever--it should not affect their overall grade. What they should be graded on is participation and projects/tests/papers--things that show that they thoroughly understand the material, and aren't just memorizing it long enough to get through the class and move on.
Currently, a lot of schools work as an assembly line. Send the kid through the grades, plugging in the required passing grades in all the required subjects: math, history, social studies, sciences, language, English, etc. Grades are what matter, not how well the student grasps the concepts; the importance is placed in the wrong area.
What this leads to is quite obvious if you take a look at our country. Abysmal rates in literacy, education levels, and basic knowledge.
To sum up: Take the emphasis off of tokens like homework, and put it back on understanding and comprehension.
Gratuitous Fine Print: I am not a teacher, and I have not taken a single course on education. These rants are just that, ranting, based solely on my experience as a student, a friend of a student, and a friend of teachers.
My next Mostly Opinion-Based idea: Eliminate homework. Or at least change it's purpose, and the weight with which it's grade.
First, there's an important question to ask: What is the point of homework? Is it to help students review what they've gone over? Is it meant to introduce new concepts that will soon be covered in class? Is it showing how much a student is learning--or at least memorizing?
Ideally, I think, it should be a combination--help embed the information in child's mind (review), suggest how else the information could be used (introduction), and see how well the child is grasping the information (measurements). It should be used as a tool and nothing more.
Sadly, what it's currently used for is another thing to grade, another project for a kid to worry about, waste time on, or forget to do. I can name literally a dozen kids in high school whose marks went down the toilet based solely on their homework grade--and those are just the kids I knew.
My current boyfriend had to take a math class over again because he didn't do any of the homework the first time he took it. When he walked back in the second time, the math teacher looked at him and said "What are you doing here?" He spent that semester helping other kids learn the material, because he knew it forwards, backwards, and upside down. Read that again: he knew the material, but he was flunked because of homework.
You might ask "Why didn't he just do the homework and get a passing grade?" I ask back "Why should the homework matter so goddamned much that you can flunk a class based on it even as you ace every test?" (For the record, he has off-the-charts ADHD. This is merely an explanation, not an excuse, because he shouldn't need a bloody excuse.)
To repeat myself: homework should be a tool, and nothing else. If the kid doesn't want to do it--because they don't have the time, the attention span, the will, the need, whatever--it should not affect their overall grade. What they should be graded on is participation and projects/tests/papers--things that show that they thoroughly understand the material, and aren't just memorizing it long enough to get through the class and move on.
Currently, a lot of schools work as an assembly line. Send the kid through the grades, plugging in the required passing grades in all the required subjects: math, history, social studies, sciences, language, English, etc. Grades are what matter, not how well the student grasps the concepts; the importance is placed in the wrong area.
What this leads to is quite obvious if you take a look at our country. Abysmal rates in literacy, education levels, and basic knowledge.
To sum up: Take the emphasis off of tokens like homework, and put it back on understanding and comprehension.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Achtung!
Again with the freaky horoscope.
This is what Free Will Astrology gave to Geminis for this week:
During this phase of your cycle, you'll generate good fortune if you brainstorm and meditate about your relationship with work. I urge you to empty your mind of everything you think you know about the subject. Adopt a fresh and innocent perspective. Here are some questions to prime your investigations. 1. What's the quality of the experience you want to have as you earn a living? 2. What gifts do you want to give to life as you toil at challenging tasks that are interesting to you? 3. What capacities do you want to develop in yourself while doing your work? (P.S. For your Halloween costume, why not pretend you're doing your dream job?)
...BUH.
The biggest Identity Crisis I've been dealing with lately is figuring out What The Furk I Want To Do. Just today I was thinking about it. For a friend's Halloween party this past weekend, I was tempted to dress up as a Marketing Executive, so that last line is especially Buh-Worthy. I read that and pointed a finger at the screen, all "Oh, I see what you're doing there, and it is NOT COOL."
The thing is, I love Marketing. As I mentioned in a previous post, I was an Accounting major when I took a Principles of Marketing class, and just fell head over heels for it. True, I was already falling out of love with Accounting, and, yeah, maybe I was looking for a way out, keeping my eyes open, and yeah, maybe I could have been clearer about what I wanted out of the relationship from the beginning, but that's not what this is about, so let's not get into the past, okay?
The point is, from my first day of Marketing, I was hooked. The analysis, the creativity, the strategy, my GOD it was exhilarating. Principles of Management was also a favorite class, for basically the same reason: all the reasoning behind all the decisions. The psychology, the emotional intelligence, the behavior analysis, etc etc. Finally, Advertising, which was analyzing existing commercials and campaigns and making up our own. Those homework assignments were some of my favorites in my entire school career, from kindergarten till now, and I could that from now till I was 500 years old.
(Doesn't hurt that all three classes were taught by the same teacher, who could make Tax Accounting interesting, I'm quite sure.)
But all my other business classes made me twitch. The classes on economics, the legal sides of things (torts, libel, etc), business basics, etc. And Sales may have been the worst class experience of my life, if only because the idea of being a sales person makes me nauseous with terror.
I am not a salesperson. I am not a leader. I am not a manager. What I love about Marketing is not the sales, the manipulation, the idea of being better than the other team. I love the analysis, the strategy, the psychology behind it all--I love the creativity. If I could just analyze commercials or campaigns for the rest of my life and be paid for it, that would be hunky fucking dory. Seriously.
But being a team member in an agency where it's Pressure and Crunch Time and Stress and Throwing Together A Campaign Fix At The Eleventh Hour? Count me out. Please. I'll ruin your carpet.
So there's that.
As I had mentioned in another previous post, I'm a writer. Except I hate to say that. Because I don't write...not nearly as much as I want to, need to. When the feeling hits me, when I get in the groove, when the celestial beings get together in a conga line, I can write for hours, and well.
When the juice isn't flowing, when the celestial beings have had too much to drink and couldn't stand up let alone conga, nothing comes out. And then it's work. Hard, horrible, frustrating, debilitating work that I just can't force myself to do. I'll gaze at the page, I'll pull my hair, I'll stare into space, waiting for SOMETHING. ANYTHING. PLEASE.
I would love to be a writer, the way I see it in my mind. Working at home, tapping away for hours in an office. No, not the Perfect Life, a mansion earned with my best sellers, only working eight hours a week and doing cross-country book tours. Just a small room, messy but well-lit, with a computer, being able to sit or sprawl or whatever and work out the stories in my head. Maybe go down to the local coffee place for a change of scenery. Not rich from it, by any means, but Doing Well Enough, thank you very much.
Except I hit these blocks, and they stop my in my tracks, and it takes me months to recover. And I can't discipline myself to save my own life, can't say "Okay, x time on x day every week, I go to this spot, and I write, and I don't care what comes out, but by god, something will be written." I suck at it.
I don't have the flow, and I don't have the will power.
So there's that.
As I have mentioned in no previous posts, I love to edit. This stems from the same sapling as my love for writing, but was realized because of my boyfriend, Ryan. He finished up his Bachelors in Psychology in December 2008, and let me tell you, he's brilliant at Psychology. He is both articulate and passionate when it comes to this subject.
However, he's not the greatest when it comes to English. His grammar and spelling can leave something to be desired, and that's where I stepped in for the last year of his degree. After he slammed out another research paper--and, in case you didn't know, Psychology students write A LOT OF FUCKING RESEARCH PAPERS--I would lovingly attack it with a red pen, marking up the errors and inconsistencies. I ate it up, I would hand him back the first draft and eagerly await the second draft, or the next paper that was due.
That Halloween party I went to? I ended up going as a Grammar Nazi. Suit, red arm band with a "G" on it, ruler, red pens, copy of Strunk & White in my pocket. There you go.
This past spring, I got a little more serious about this fairly-newfound love for editing, and looked into what might happen so I could earn a living doing it. From what I found, it seemed there are two avenues for such a thing: find a job at a publishing house, or freelance. The second option brought to mind the same image as being a writer--namely, that of being able to work from home, doing what I loved from the place I love.
Except there's one thing freelancers lack: structure. There is no office, there is no time clock, there is no payroll department, there is no manager to give you work to do. There is just you, and your talent, and your willingness to promote yourself up the wazoo. If Real Estate is about location, location, location, then freelancing is about promotion, promotion, promotion.
Here's the part where you scroll back up and read about what I am not: a salesperson. I couldn't sell someone else's products, how am I supposed to sell my own? When it's not even tangible and all anyone has is my word that I don't suck?
So there's that.
Marketing. Writing. Editing. Three areas that make me happy, that I could do for days on end and be quite content. Three areas that have a list of cons just as long, if not longer, than the pros.
Reading that horoscope was like receiving a slap in the face. I know that all I've just written doesn't exactly address the horoscope. What all these many paragraphs are is background to what's going on in my head before I even start thinking about those three questions:
1. What is the quality of experience I want to have as I earn a living?
2. What gifts do I want to give to life as I toil at challenging tasks that are interesting to me?
3. What capacities do I want to develop in myself while doing my work?
I'll get back to you.
This is what Free Will Astrology gave to Geminis for this week:
During this phase of your cycle, you'll generate good fortune if you brainstorm and meditate about your relationship with work. I urge you to empty your mind of everything you think you know about the subject. Adopt a fresh and innocent perspective. Here are some questions to prime your investigations. 1. What's the quality of the experience you want to have as you earn a living? 2. What gifts do you want to give to life as you toil at challenging tasks that are interesting to you? 3. What capacities do you want to develop in yourself while doing your work? (P.S. For your Halloween costume, why not pretend you're doing your dream job?)
...BUH.
The biggest Identity Crisis I've been dealing with lately is figuring out What The Furk I Want To Do. Just today I was thinking about it. For a friend's Halloween party this past weekend, I was tempted to dress up as a Marketing Executive, so that last line is especially Buh-Worthy. I read that and pointed a finger at the screen, all "Oh, I see what you're doing there, and it is NOT COOL."
The thing is, I love Marketing. As I mentioned in a previous post, I was an Accounting major when I took a Principles of Marketing class, and just fell head over heels for it. True, I was already falling out of love with Accounting, and, yeah, maybe I was looking for a way out, keeping my eyes open, and yeah, maybe I could have been clearer about what I wanted out of the relationship from the beginning, but that's not what this is about, so let's not get into the past, okay?
The point is, from my first day of Marketing, I was hooked. The analysis, the creativity, the strategy, my GOD it was exhilarating. Principles of Management was also a favorite class, for basically the same reason: all the reasoning behind all the decisions. The psychology, the emotional intelligence, the behavior analysis, etc etc. Finally, Advertising, which was analyzing existing commercials and campaigns and making up our own. Those homework assignments were some of my favorites in my entire school career, from kindergarten till now, and I could that from now till I was 500 years old.
(Doesn't hurt that all three classes were taught by the same teacher, who could make Tax Accounting interesting, I'm quite sure.)
But all my other business classes made me twitch. The classes on economics, the legal sides of things (torts, libel, etc), business basics, etc. And Sales may have been the worst class experience of my life, if only because the idea of being a sales person makes me nauseous with terror.
I am not a salesperson. I am not a leader. I am not a manager. What I love about Marketing is not the sales, the manipulation, the idea of being better than the other team. I love the analysis, the strategy, the psychology behind it all--I love the creativity. If I could just analyze commercials or campaigns for the rest of my life and be paid for it, that would be hunky fucking dory. Seriously.
But being a team member in an agency where it's Pressure and Crunch Time and Stress and Throwing Together A Campaign Fix At The Eleventh Hour? Count me out. Please. I'll ruin your carpet.
So there's that.
As I had mentioned in another previous post, I'm a writer. Except I hate to say that. Because I don't write...not nearly as much as I want to, need to. When the feeling hits me, when I get in the groove, when the celestial beings get together in a conga line, I can write for hours, and well.
When the juice isn't flowing, when the celestial beings have had too much to drink and couldn't stand up let alone conga, nothing comes out. And then it's work. Hard, horrible, frustrating, debilitating work that I just can't force myself to do. I'll gaze at the page, I'll pull my hair, I'll stare into space, waiting for SOMETHING. ANYTHING. PLEASE.
I would love to be a writer, the way I see it in my mind. Working at home, tapping away for hours in an office. No, not the Perfect Life, a mansion earned with my best sellers, only working eight hours a week and doing cross-country book tours. Just a small room, messy but well-lit, with a computer, being able to sit or sprawl or whatever and work out the stories in my head. Maybe go down to the local coffee place for a change of scenery. Not rich from it, by any means, but Doing Well Enough, thank you very much.
Except I hit these blocks, and they stop my in my tracks, and it takes me months to recover. And I can't discipline myself to save my own life, can't say "Okay, x time on x day every week, I go to this spot, and I write, and I don't care what comes out, but by god, something will be written." I suck at it.
I don't have the flow, and I don't have the will power.
So there's that.
As I have mentioned in no previous posts, I love to edit. This stems from the same sapling as my love for writing, but was realized because of my boyfriend, Ryan. He finished up his Bachelors in Psychology in December 2008, and let me tell you, he's brilliant at Psychology. He is both articulate and passionate when it comes to this subject.
However, he's not the greatest when it comes to English. His grammar and spelling can leave something to be desired, and that's where I stepped in for the last year of his degree. After he slammed out another research paper--and, in case you didn't know, Psychology students write A LOT OF FUCKING RESEARCH PAPERS--I would lovingly attack it with a red pen, marking up the errors and inconsistencies. I ate it up, I would hand him back the first draft and eagerly await the second draft, or the next paper that was due.
That Halloween party I went to? I ended up going as a Grammar Nazi. Suit, red arm band with a "G" on it, ruler, red pens, copy of Strunk & White in my pocket. There you go.
This past spring, I got a little more serious about this fairly-newfound love for editing, and looked into what might happen so I could earn a living doing it. From what I found, it seemed there are two avenues for such a thing: find a job at a publishing house, or freelance. The second option brought to mind the same image as being a writer--namely, that of being able to work from home, doing what I loved from the place I love.
Except there's one thing freelancers lack: structure. There is no office, there is no time clock, there is no payroll department, there is no manager to give you work to do. There is just you, and your talent, and your willingness to promote yourself up the wazoo. If Real Estate is about location, location, location, then freelancing is about promotion, promotion, promotion.
Here's the part where you scroll back up and read about what I am not: a salesperson. I couldn't sell someone else's products, how am I supposed to sell my own? When it's not even tangible and all anyone has is my word that I don't suck?
So there's that.
Marketing. Writing. Editing. Three areas that make me happy, that I could do for days on end and be quite content. Three areas that have a list of cons just as long, if not longer, than the pros.
Reading that horoscope was like receiving a slap in the face. I know that all I've just written doesn't exactly address the horoscope. What all these many paragraphs are is background to what's going on in my head before I even start thinking about those three questions:
1. What is the quality of experience I want to have as I earn a living?
2. What gifts do I want to give to life as I toil at challenging tasks that are interesting to me?
3. What capacities do I want to develop in myself while doing my work?
I'll get back to you.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Don't you think we oughta know by now? Don't you think we should've learn somehow...
Lately, I've been obsessed with two John Mayer songs. The first is Slow Dancing In A Burning Room, which is slow and lovely. (Here's a live performance of it, found on YouTube)
Lyrics:
It's not a silly little moment
It's not the storm before the calm
This is the deep and dying breath of
This love that we've been working on
Can't seem to hold you like I want to
So I can feel you in my arms
Nobody's gonna come to save us
We've pulled too many false alarms
We're going down
And you can see it, too
We're going down
And you know that we're doomed
My dear, we're
Slow dancing in a burning room
I was the one you always dreamed of
You were the one I tried to draw
How dare you say it's nothing to me
Baby you're the only light I ever saw
I make the best of all the sadness
You be a bitch because you can
You try to hit me just to hurt me so you leave me feeling dirty
Cause you can't understand
We're going down
And you can see it, too
We're going down
And you know that we're doomed
My dear, we're
Slow dancing in a burning room
Go cry about it, why don't you
Go cry about it, why don't you
Go cry about it, why don't you
My dear, we're
Slow dancing in a burning room
Don't you think we oughta know by now?
Don't you think we should've learned somehow?
Don't you think we oughta know by now?
Don't you think we should've learned somehow...
I know, not the happiest song in the world, by far. But it's just...slow and lovely, and beautiful in its sadness. Mayer's gorgeous guitar-playing and singing don't hurt, either.
I'm not even going to dissect the entire song, because it doesn't really need dissection. But what gets me about this song, though, is that one line. The title line, the most repeated line, the line that breaks my heart every time: slow dancing in a burning room...
If that doesn't hit the nail on the head, I don't know what does. I'm not going to pretend I'm some relationship expert, that I'm experience in all kinds of break ups and such--of my grand total of 10, only two have been outside of high school. However, one or two of those have ended as this song describes: going down in flames, unable to let it go just yet, unable to admit that it's over because the emotions are still real and true.
The visual it brings to mind is pretty clear: a couple, oblivious to anything but each other, holding one another close but not meeting eyes, turning around and around in a waltz in the middle of the dance floor, while the dance hall burns to cinders and ashes around them. It's poignant, it's heart breaking...it's perfect.
I've posted the lyrics to the other song I've been obsessed with, Heart of Life, at my LiveJournal, since I'm not really talking about them, just sharing.
Lyrics:
It's not a silly little moment
It's not the storm before the calm
This is the deep and dying breath of
This love that we've been working on
Can't seem to hold you like I want to
So I can feel you in my arms
Nobody's gonna come to save us
We've pulled too many false alarms
We're going down
And you can see it, too
We're going down
And you know that we're doomed
My dear, we're
Slow dancing in a burning room
I was the one you always dreamed of
You were the one I tried to draw
How dare you say it's nothing to me
Baby you're the only light I ever saw
I make the best of all the sadness
You be a bitch because you can
You try to hit me just to hurt me so you leave me feeling dirty
Cause you can't understand
We're going down
And you can see it, too
We're going down
And you know that we're doomed
My dear, we're
Slow dancing in a burning room
Go cry about it, why don't you
Go cry about it, why don't you
Go cry about it, why don't you
My dear, we're
Slow dancing in a burning room
Don't you think we oughta know by now?
Don't you think we should've learned somehow?
Don't you think we oughta know by now?
Don't you think we should've learned somehow...
I know, not the happiest song in the world, by far. But it's just...slow and lovely, and beautiful in its sadness. Mayer's gorgeous guitar-playing and singing don't hurt, either.
I'm not even going to dissect the entire song, because it doesn't really need dissection. But what gets me about this song, though, is that one line. The title line, the most repeated line, the line that breaks my heart every time: slow dancing in a burning room...
If that doesn't hit the nail on the head, I don't know what does. I'm not going to pretend I'm some relationship expert, that I'm experience in all kinds of break ups and such--of my grand total of 10, only two have been outside of high school. However, one or two of those have ended as this song describes: going down in flames, unable to let it go just yet, unable to admit that it's over because the emotions are still real and true.
The visual it brings to mind is pretty clear: a couple, oblivious to anything but each other, holding one another close but not meeting eyes, turning around and around in a waltz in the middle of the dance floor, while the dance hall burns to cinders and ashes around them. It's poignant, it's heart breaking...it's perfect.
I've posted the lyrics to the other song I've been obsessed with, Heart of Life, at my LiveJournal, since I'm not really talking about them, just sharing.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Can we at least watch All The President's Men?
This started out, in my head, as a post about what's going on in my life. I started with school, then starting writing about this one class, and found myself on a tangent. I love it when this happens.
Reporting & Writing News Stories...*shrug* I'm learning how to write differently--I won't say better, because it's not better, it's just different--and I've been introduced to that wonderful jewel, my new bible, the AP Stylebook. The class itself, though, is usually the reason that the drive in to Manchester just feels like a waste of time and gas and energy.
I wish the teacher was more energetic. She seems to be just taking it as a given that because we are in this class, we care about journalism and will find the excitement on our own. Enter me, and a few others, only taking this class because it's required for some non-journalism degree or certificate. Those of us who are only showing up for the grade could use a shot in the arm--hell, so could those who want to be journalists. Who couldn't use some fucking ENTHUSIASM once in a while, even if it's for a subject they're already crazy about?
Back when I was an Accounting major, I had to take a business elective, and I chose Principles of Marketing. From the very first class, Ms. Waldron came in and woke us all right the hell up. From that very first class, I knew I was in the wrong major. Almost every class had enthusiasm, excitement, ENERGY. The students who were already into marketing ate it up, and those of us who weren't ate it up even more. Every class was "This is how you combine psychology, design, and business to show people how much they NEED YOUR PRODUCT!"
Journalism is an exciting topic, or at least it should be. Reporting the hard facts! Unveiling conspiracies! Digging up the truth! COME ON PEOPLE! Every class should be "This is how you slap people in the face with THE TRUTH!"
Instead, it's "Okay, this is how we write a lead. This is how the second paragraph should look. This is how the newsroom works." All things we need to learn, introduced in the most docile of ways.
We do have to practice what we're taught, which is good. As much as I hate it, I will have to turn in not just one, but TWO articles for the student newspaper this semester, and finish off the class by presenting a story idea for next year's class to work on. I don't want to be a journalist, it's not for me, I don't like having to interview people and all that, but I'm glad we have these assignments. This is how we learn how to be journalists--by acting like one.
Except, again, it's docile. At the beginning of yesterday's class, the teacher invited those of us without story ideas to come to her afterward for some ideas. I managed to pick up an assignment: the Wednesday after next, I get to attend the Meet Your Presidents & Deans meeting, and chronicle what goes on there--the remarks each person makes, and what goes on in the Question & Answer period.
....WOW! NOW we're getting to the SEXY stuff! HOPE I DON'T GET ARRESTED AT THE ENSUING RIOT!
I know, I'm being harsh. But this is the most humdrum introduction to journalism I could ever imagine. I know not every reporter gets to run around interviewing celebrities or politicians, go undercover into a major company's skeevy underbelly, or investigate crime...but this is just...*snore*
I know this subject, this path, is not for me. But there might be someone at MCC who it is right for, and all they need is a wake up call to realize it. If they take this class, they will not receive that wake up call. And that makes me sad.
Reporting & Writing News Stories...*shrug* I'm learning how to write differently--I won't say better, because it's not better, it's just different--and I've been introduced to that wonderful jewel, my new bible, the AP Stylebook. The class itself, though, is usually the reason that the drive in to Manchester just feels like a waste of time and gas and energy.
I wish the teacher was more energetic. She seems to be just taking it as a given that because we are in this class, we care about journalism and will find the excitement on our own. Enter me, and a few others, only taking this class because it's required for some non-journalism degree or certificate. Those of us who are only showing up for the grade could use a shot in the arm--hell, so could those who want to be journalists. Who couldn't use some fucking ENTHUSIASM once in a while, even if it's for a subject they're already crazy about?
Back when I was an Accounting major, I had to take a business elective, and I chose Principles of Marketing. From the very first class, Ms. Waldron came in and woke us all right the hell up. From that very first class, I knew I was in the wrong major. Almost every class had enthusiasm, excitement, ENERGY. The students who were already into marketing ate it up, and those of us who weren't ate it up even more. Every class was "This is how you combine psychology, design, and business to show people how much they NEED YOUR PRODUCT!"
Journalism is an exciting topic, or at least it should be. Reporting the hard facts! Unveiling conspiracies! Digging up the truth! COME ON PEOPLE! Every class should be "This is how you slap people in the face with THE TRUTH!"
Instead, it's "Okay, this is how we write a lead. This is how the second paragraph should look. This is how the newsroom works." All things we need to learn, introduced in the most docile of ways.
We do have to practice what we're taught, which is good. As much as I hate it, I will have to turn in not just one, but TWO articles for the student newspaper this semester, and finish off the class by presenting a story idea for next year's class to work on. I don't want to be a journalist, it's not for me, I don't like having to interview people and all that, but I'm glad we have these assignments. This is how we learn how to be journalists--by acting like one.
Except, again, it's docile. At the beginning of yesterday's class, the teacher invited those of us without story ideas to come to her afterward for some ideas. I managed to pick up an assignment: the Wednesday after next, I get to attend the Meet Your Presidents & Deans meeting, and chronicle what goes on there--the remarks each person makes, and what goes on in the Question & Answer period.
....WOW! NOW we're getting to the SEXY stuff! HOPE I DON'T GET ARRESTED AT THE ENSUING RIOT!
I know, I'm being harsh. But this is the most humdrum introduction to journalism I could ever imagine. I know not every reporter gets to run around interviewing celebrities or politicians, go undercover into a major company's skeevy underbelly, or investigate crime...but this is just...*snore*
I know this subject, this path, is not for me. But there might be someone at MCC who it is right for, and all they need is a wake up call to realize it. If they take this class, they will not receive that wake up call. And that makes me sad.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Good ol' Seth.
As a response to this post about emotions and refusing to hide the mega-crush I have on my boyfriend, my father sent me this quote (underlines original, bolding mine):
Dogmas or systems of thought that tell you to rise above your emotions can be misleading -- even, in your terms, somewhat dangerous. Such theories are based upon the concept that there is something innately disruptive, base, or wrong in man’s emotional nature, while the soul is always depicted as being calm, perfect, passive and unfeeling. Only the most lofty, blissful awareness is allowed. Yet the soul is above all a fountain of energy, creativity, and action that shows its characteristics in life precisely through the ever-changing emotions. Trusted, your feelings will lead you to psychological and spiritual states of mystic understanding, calm, and peacefulness. Followed, your emotions will lead you to deep understandings...
(Quote from one of the Conversations with Seth books. Dad's a big fan.)
[UPDATE: Thursday, October 22, ~7 PM.]
Another response, another e-mail from my Dad. This is a horoscope for this week.
"He who loves 50 people has 50 woes," said Buddha. "He who loves no one has no woes." Even if you agree with this sour observation, I urge you to override the warning it implies. Now, more than ever, you can and should attract rich benefits into your life by expanding the frontiers of your empathy -- even if it means you will feel the hurts of others more deeply. And what exactly are those rich benefits? Here's one: Getting close-up views of the ways people suffer will help you avoid suffering like that yourself in the future.
(Link.)
Dad sends me this site's horoscopes from time to time, and they're always as FREAKILY RELEVANT as this one. Maybe I should start subscribing, so I'll know what I'll be thinking ahead of time...
Dogmas or systems of thought that tell you to rise above your emotions can be misleading -- even, in your terms, somewhat dangerous. Such theories are based upon the concept that there is something innately disruptive, base, or wrong in man’s emotional nature, while the soul is always depicted as being calm, perfect, passive and unfeeling. Only the most lofty, blissful awareness is allowed. Yet the soul is above all a fountain of energy, creativity, and action that shows its characteristics in life precisely through the ever-changing emotions. Trusted, your feelings will lead you to psychological and spiritual states of mystic understanding, calm, and peacefulness. Followed, your emotions will lead you to deep understandings...
(Quote from one of the Conversations with Seth books. Dad's a big fan.)
[UPDATE: Thursday, October 22, ~7 PM.]
Another response, another e-mail from my Dad. This is a horoscope for this week.
"He who loves 50 people has 50 woes," said Buddha. "He who loves no one has no woes." Even if you agree with this sour observation, I urge you to override the warning it implies. Now, more than ever, you can and should attract rich benefits into your life by expanding the frontiers of your empathy -- even if it means you will feel the hurts of others more deeply. And what exactly are those rich benefits? Here's one: Getting close-up views of the ways people suffer will help you avoid suffering like that yourself in the future.
(Link.)
Dad sends me this site's horoscopes from time to time, and they're always as FREAKILY RELEVANT as this one. Maybe I should start subscribing, so I'll know what I'll be thinking ahead of time...
Friday, October 16, 2009
How This Week Went (And Will Continue To Go):
MONDAY
[x] work at 11
[x] update Ru Stitchery
[x] work out
[x] dinner with Dad, give back CDs
TUESDAY
[x] class at 12:30 (freaking library session which will be my sixth identical session since attending MCC but I can't skip because there's an assignment given out at the end GRAW)
[x] start learning Illustrator in Computer Graphics!
[x] sushi for dinner! \^.^/
WEDNESDAY
[x] Stephanie at 11
[x] deposit paycheck (if not done Tuesday/or else do Thursday)
[x] pick up Guru and drop off Catsy's plate) (if not done Tuesday)
[x] gas up the car
[x] work at 1
[x] work out
THURSDAY
[x] pick up prescription
[x] no Reporting class today!
[x] class at 3
FRIDAY
[x] NO WORK!
[x] play WoW all day with Ryan, leveling my Paladin and his Druid
Plans for the rest of the weekend:
SATURDAY*
[o] NO WORK!
[o] set the alarm for 6 AM anyway JUST SO I CAN SHUT IT OFF AND GO BACK TO SLEEP OH WHAT BLISS
[o] see Where The Wild Things Are with Mom and Ryan
[o] spend some time at the Ren Faire with David, possibly with Ryan as well!
[o] dinner with David, Gay, and Heidi
* Everything after the alarm is dependent on weather. The word "Nor'easter" keeps bouncing around, and Weather.com's radar map shows a blob of blue and pink, and the prediction for tomorrow says "PM showers." Yesterday's "PM showers" turned into rain and snow (in freaking OCTOBER, THANK YOU NEW ENGLAND), so at this point there is no weather tomorrow that would surprise me beyond sunny.
Sunday
[o] Breakfast with Mom
[o] Laundry at "home"/Mom's house
[o] Watch No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency with Mom
[o] Home/Ryan's by 4 PM
[o] Dungeons & Dragons
[o] Finish homework
Next week is back to normal, which is both a plus and a minus. Nice to shake it up a bit, and I had a few more money-earning hours than usual, and a couple of days off that I almost never get...but sometimes the same old routine is comfortable for a reason.
[x] work at 11
[x] update Ru Stitchery
[x] work out
[x] dinner with Dad, give back CDs
TUESDAY
[x] class at 12:30 (freaking library session which will be my sixth identical session since attending MCC but I can't skip because there's an assignment given out at the end GRAW)
[x] start learning Illustrator in Computer Graphics!
[x] sushi for dinner! \^.^/
WEDNESDAY
[x] Stephanie at 11
[x] deposit paycheck (if not done Tuesday/or else do Thursday)
[x] pick up Guru and drop off Catsy's plate) (if not done Tuesday)
[x] gas up the car
[x] work at 1
[x] work out
THURSDAY
[x] pick up prescription
[x] no Reporting class today!
[x] class at 3
FRIDAY
[x] NO WORK!
[x] play WoW all day with Ryan, leveling my Paladin and his Druid
Plans for the rest of the weekend:
SATURDAY*
[o] NO WORK!
[o] set the alarm for 6 AM anyway JUST SO I CAN SHUT IT OFF AND GO BACK TO SLEEP OH WHAT BLISS
[o] see Where The Wild Things Are with Mom and Ryan
[o] spend some time at the Ren Faire with David, possibly with Ryan as well!
[o] dinner with David, Gay, and Heidi
* Everything after the alarm is dependent on weather. The word "Nor'easter" keeps bouncing around, and Weather.com's radar map shows a blob of blue and pink, and the prediction for tomorrow says "PM showers." Yesterday's "PM showers" turned into rain and snow (in freaking OCTOBER, THANK YOU NEW ENGLAND), so at this point there is no weather tomorrow that would surprise me beyond sunny.
Sunday
[o] Breakfast with Mom
[o] Laundry at "home"/Mom's house
[o] Watch No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency with Mom
[o] Home/Ryan's by 4 PM
[o] Dungeons & Dragons
[o] Finish homework
Next week is back to normal, which is both a plus and a minus. Nice to shake it up a bit, and I had a few more money-earning hours than usual, and a couple of days off that I almost never get...but sometimes the same old routine is comfortable for a reason.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
My Random Opinion on Education That No One Asked For, Part One
Let me start by saying this: I am not a teacher. I could never be a teacher, for the simple fact that I can't teach for beans. I have never taken a single course in education.
Let me also get the obvious Three Things That Need To Change In America's Education System out of the way:
[1] BETTER FUNDING
[2] BETTER FUNDING
[3] BETTER FUNDING
It is nothing less than disgusting that we as a nation will go on and on about how Children Are Our Future, Children Are Our Nation's Resource, Teaching Is The Most Noble Profession, then pay our teachers, the ones in charge of building up this resource, jack diddly. We spend around $60 billion on Education, and over $500 billion on Defense--and that's BEFORE the befricked War On Terror (source)(yes, it's Wikipedia, but it's backed up here).
Can we all agree that this is outrageous? Disgusting? Stupid?
Okay then. Moving on.
My first issue with the education system is Time.
I'm about to piss off about half the teachers I know and talk to when I say this: Summer vacation can go away now.
*ducks*
Am I saying that all vacation needs to go away? No. I'm saying that we don't need so much of it in a row.
Summer vacation came about because the extra help was needed on farms during planting and harvesting seasons. Farming communities had breaks in the spring and fall, while urban schools were almost non-stop. This was averaged out in the 1840's, with the summer months being a natural compromise--students weren't crammed into buildings in the hottest months of the year, and they were able to help out back at home. Plus, no student got more or less education than any other student.
Today, there are more workers and better technology that lessen the needs of child labor on farms; there's central heating and air conditioning systems that keep schools comfortable; finally, there are about a zillion more activities vying for a kid's time, attention, and energy.
An average day for someone in middle or high school can mean getting up before sunrise, maybe practice for a sports team before school starts, classes from early morning to mid afternoon (possibly with some extracurricular activity taking up time at lunch), practice or rehearsal until dinner time (or later), then homework and studying for the next day. Squeeze in there spending time with friends and family, chores and errands, any extra projects or papers that require even more study time, maybe a part-time job to earn money for college or car expenses, maybe volunteering to pad the college application, and on and on. There are barely enough hours to get everything done, let alone to get the amount of sleep that the average adolescent needs--which anyone who has ever been, raised, or even known an adolescent knows is A DAMNED LOT.
I'll get back to sleep in just a second. I want to stick to my current point: time requirements.
The school year is 180 days, give or take. The school day is about seven hours. That's a grand total of 1,260 hours in the entire school year. 180 days also hold 4,320 hours, meaning school takes up "only" 3% of the time. Doesn't seem like a whole lot does it? Especially considering the amount of material teachers have to squeeze into every hour.
So, seven hours a day on school. If you're out of luck and don't have a car, you're on the bus up to two hours just to get to school; if you have a car, you might luck out with a half-hour commute. Add to that an hour to wake up and get ready in the morning.
Practice, rehearsal, or club meetings take anywhere from one hour to four, before or after school; let's average it to 2.5 hours. Getting home can take anywhere from half an hour to two hours (the morning reversed). Then another 2-3 hours for homework.
Prep/Commute: ~2 hours
School: 7 hours
Extracurriculars: 2.5 hours
Commute: ~1 hour
Homework: 2.5 hours
Total Active Time Per School Day: 18 hours
Over 180 Days: 3,240 hours--75% of the total hours
And again, I'm leaving out social time, extra study time, part-time jobs, volunteer hours, chores and errands, etc. Not to mention the point I will now return to: SLEEP
The average teenager needs around 10 hours of sleep, and their natural tendency is to sleep from early morning (1 or 2 a.m.) to late morning or early afternoon. Take one look at the average teenager's schedule, however, and you'll see that this just doesn't happen. It is impossible. After an 18+ hour day, you've only got six hours for sleeping. I had many classmates who bragged about their ability to "function" on less than four hours. This is not healthy, and it's not conducive to retaining information on anything more than a "regurgitation" basis (learn it long enough to spit it back out on a test).
Make the school year longer, you get more hours and more opportunity to learn what you need to learn. There's less stress to get through a unit by such and such a date so you can move on to the next unit, then the next, then the next. School days can be shorter, leaving more time for extracurricular activities, studying, and sleeping.
Everyone gets more of the time they desperately need, plus the added bonus of teachers getting more paid hours. It's a win-win situation.
The biggest problem: finding the times in the year for shorter vacations that work around major holidays. I'm working on this as a side project. Because I'm weird like that.
Let me also get the obvious Three Things That Need To Change In America's Education System out of the way:
[1] BETTER FUNDING
[2] BETTER FUNDING
[3] BETTER FUNDING
It is nothing less than disgusting that we as a nation will go on and on about how Children Are Our Future, Children Are Our Nation's Resource, Teaching Is The Most Noble Profession, then pay our teachers, the ones in charge of building up this resource, jack diddly. We spend around $60 billion on Education, and over $500 billion on Defense--and that's BEFORE the befricked War On Terror (source)(yes, it's Wikipedia, but it's backed up here).
Can we all agree that this is outrageous? Disgusting? Stupid?
Okay then. Moving on.
My first issue with the education system is Time.
I'm about to piss off about half the teachers I know and talk to when I say this: Summer vacation can go away now.
*ducks*
Am I saying that all vacation needs to go away? No. I'm saying that we don't need so much of it in a row.
Summer vacation came about because the extra help was needed on farms during planting and harvesting seasons. Farming communities had breaks in the spring and fall, while urban schools were almost non-stop. This was averaged out in the 1840's, with the summer months being a natural compromise--students weren't crammed into buildings in the hottest months of the year, and they were able to help out back at home. Plus, no student got more or less education than any other student.
Today, there are more workers and better technology that lessen the needs of child labor on farms; there's central heating and air conditioning systems that keep schools comfortable; finally, there are about a zillion more activities vying for a kid's time, attention, and energy.
An average day for someone in middle or high school can mean getting up before sunrise, maybe practice for a sports team before school starts, classes from early morning to mid afternoon (possibly with some extracurricular activity taking up time at lunch), practice or rehearsal until dinner time (or later), then homework and studying for the next day. Squeeze in there spending time with friends and family, chores and errands, any extra projects or papers that require even more study time, maybe a part-time job to earn money for college or car expenses, maybe volunteering to pad the college application, and on and on. There are barely enough hours to get everything done, let alone to get the amount of sleep that the average adolescent needs--which anyone who has ever been, raised, or even known an adolescent knows is A DAMNED LOT.
I'll get back to sleep in just a second. I want to stick to my current point: time requirements.
The school year is 180 days, give or take. The school day is about seven hours. That's a grand total of 1,260 hours in the entire school year. 180 days also hold 4,320 hours, meaning school takes up "only" 3% of the time. Doesn't seem like a whole lot does it? Especially considering the amount of material teachers have to squeeze into every hour.
So, seven hours a day on school. If you're out of luck and don't have a car, you're on the bus up to two hours just to get to school; if you have a car, you might luck out with a half-hour commute. Add to that an hour to wake up and get ready in the morning.
Practice, rehearsal, or club meetings take anywhere from one hour to four, before or after school; let's average it to 2.5 hours. Getting home can take anywhere from half an hour to two hours (the morning reversed). Then another 2-3 hours for homework.
Prep/Commute: ~2 hours
School: 7 hours
Extracurriculars: 2.5 hours
Commute: ~1 hour
Homework: 2.5 hours
Total Active Time Per School Day: 18 hours
Over 180 Days: 3,240 hours--75% of the total hours
And again, I'm leaving out social time, extra study time, part-time jobs, volunteer hours, chores and errands, etc. Not to mention the point I will now return to: SLEEP
The average teenager needs around 10 hours of sleep, and their natural tendency is to sleep from early morning (1 or 2 a.m.) to late morning or early afternoon. Take one look at the average teenager's schedule, however, and you'll see that this just doesn't happen. It is impossible. After an 18+ hour day, you've only got six hours for sleeping. I had many classmates who bragged about their ability to "function" on less than four hours. This is not healthy, and it's not conducive to retaining information on anything more than a "regurgitation" basis (learn it long enough to spit it back out on a test).
Make the school year longer, you get more hours and more opportunity to learn what you need to learn. There's less stress to get through a unit by such and such a date so you can move on to the next unit, then the next, then the next. School days can be shorter, leaving more time for extracurricular activities, studying, and sleeping.
Everyone gets more of the time they desperately need, plus the added bonus of teachers getting more paid hours. It's a win-win situation.
The biggest problem: finding the times in the year for shorter vacations that work around major holidays. I'm working on this as a side project. Because I'm weird like that.
Monday, October 12, 2009
I don't look good in aprons, anyway.
I want to announce something to the world:
I love my boyfriend. I do. I love him. I adore him, I treasure him, I cherish him. I want to marry him and have his babies. I think he's wonderful, fantastic, lovely, neat-o, extraordinary, cool, awesome. I am smitten with him, crazy about him, gaga over him, mad for him. He is my heart, my world, my universe, and I can't imagine a life without him where the sun wouldn't shine just that much less.
And you know what? There's not a damned thing wrong with any of that.
I realized several months ago that I was censoring myself when it came to talking about Ryan. I sat down and analyzed this, wondered what it was I feared would happen if I mentioned just how awesome he is and how much he means to me. And I struck on it: I was afraid of being frowned upon.
In modern society, there is an undercurrent of disapproval if you talk about your mate in a positive manner. It could be argued that it's seen as gloating, bragging about something you have that others don't, but I think there's something more. Something that is especially true with women.
It's a sign of weakness. If you show any sign that your happiness is related to another person--especially if you are a woman and that other person is a Man--then you might as well put on an apron, get in the kitchen, and make up some supper. You've just set Women's Rights back 50 years.
Somewhere along the line, affection for got mixed up with dependence on, and now calling someone your world is the equivalent of vowing to never have a mind of your own.
Oh, but if you want to complain? HAVE AT! Go on! Enjoy yourself! Have a ball! Bitching about the one you love shows you are not a drone, you are self-aware enough to realize that this person is not perfect.
I want to clear the air right now. I know my boyfriend isn't perfect. He makes mistakes, forgets things, puts his foot in his mouth. He almost always forgets to put up away messages online, he won't throw away his snack wrapper for days and days and days, he'll throw paper into the trash can and NOT the recycling bin half the time, and if he walks by without paying attention and unplugs my computer one more time I'll chop his foot off. Ryan isn't perfect, but I wouldn't want a perfect version of him, because I'm not a perfect version of me, and then we'd drive each other crazy in a slightly different way than we do now.
I know that, if we broke up, I would not shrivel up and die, I would not be guaranteed to spend the rest of my life along, the sun would not stop shining or the birds stop singing. I could live without him, I could possibly even be happy without him. I just don't want to.
I don't think he's the only good person in the world, the only attractive person, the only smart person. I don't think he's better than anyone else. He's just better for me.
Ryan makes me happy. He understands me, my craziness, my obsessions, my weaknesses, my faults, and at the end of the day, he'll always be there to hold me when I cry, he'll sit on the couch with minimal eye rolling as I coo over Say Yes To The Dress, he'll insist that I have some form of protein with my macaroni and cheese dinner. He takes care of me, he helps me, and he lets me help him without the first though that it damages his status as a man.
We can have conversations that range from what's for dinner to our future kids' names to how the Trial of Champions raid works to that weird house on the corner to the ethics of highway driving. We tease each other, make fun of each other, poke and tickle and push buttons. We understand each other.
I want to marry him, buy a house with him and make it a home, have his kids, build a life, fight and make up, do big exciting things with him, do the little everyday things with him, work with him, play with him, retire with him, grow old and die with him.
And yet, I do not feel that my education, my career, or the ability to have an opinion of my very own is in jeopardy. How very interesting.
I love my boyfriend. I do. I love him. I adore him, I treasure him, I cherish him. I want to marry him and have his babies. I think he's wonderful, fantastic, lovely, neat-o, extraordinary, cool, awesome. I am smitten with him, crazy about him, gaga over him, mad for him. He is my heart, my world, my universe, and I can't imagine a life without him where the sun wouldn't shine just that much less.
And you know what? There's not a damned thing wrong with any of that.
I realized several months ago that I was censoring myself when it came to talking about Ryan. I sat down and analyzed this, wondered what it was I feared would happen if I mentioned just how awesome he is and how much he means to me. And I struck on it: I was afraid of being frowned upon.
In modern society, there is an undercurrent of disapproval if you talk about your mate in a positive manner. It could be argued that it's seen as gloating, bragging about something you have that others don't, but I think there's something more. Something that is especially true with women.
It's a sign of weakness. If you show any sign that your happiness is related to another person--especially if you are a woman and that other person is a Man--then you might as well put on an apron, get in the kitchen, and make up some supper. You've just set Women's Rights back 50 years.
Somewhere along the line, affection for got mixed up with dependence on, and now calling someone your world is the equivalent of vowing to never have a mind of your own.
Oh, but if you want to complain? HAVE AT! Go on! Enjoy yourself! Have a ball! Bitching about the one you love shows you are not a drone, you are self-aware enough to realize that this person is not perfect.
I want to clear the air right now. I know my boyfriend isn't perfect. He makes mistakes, forgets things, puts his foot in his mouth. He almost always forgets to put up away messages online, he won't throw away his snack wrapper for days and days and days, he'll throw paper into the trash can and NOT the recycling bin half the time, and if he walks by without paying attention and unplugs my computer one more time I'll chop his foot off. Ryan isn't perfect, but I wouldn't want a perfect version of him, because I'm not a perfect version of me, and then we'd drive each other crazy in a slightly different way than we do now.
I know that, if we broke up, I would not shrivel up and die, I would not be guaranteed to spend the rest of my life along, the sun would not stop shining or the birds stop singing. I could live without him, I could possibly even be happy without him. I just don't want to.
I don't think he's the only good person in the world, the only attractive person, the only smart person. I don't think he's better than anyone else. He's just better for me.
Ryan makes me happy. He understands me, my craziness, my obsessions, my weaknesses, my faults, and at the end of the day, he'll always be there to hold me when I cry, he'll sit on the couch with minimal eye rolling as I coo over Say Yes To The Dress, he'll insist that I have some form of protein with my macaroni and cheese dinner. He takes care of me, he helps me, and he lets me help him without the first though that it damages his status as a man.
We can have conversations that range from what's for dinner to our future kids' names to how the Trial of Champions raid works to that weird house on the corner to the ethics of highway driving. We tease each other, make fun of each other, poke and tickle and push buttons. We understand each other.
I want to marry him, buy a house with him and make it a home, have his kids, build a life, fight and make up, do big exciting things with him, do the little everyday things with him, work with him, play with him, retire with him, grow old and die with him.
And yet, I do not feel that my education, my career, or the ability to have an opinion of my very own is in jeopardy. How very interesting.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
My To Do List: Week of 10/12/09
I like to make up To Do lists and Going To Do lists and Need To Do lists...I like making lists. Yeah. I'm one of those.
MONDAY
[x] work at 11
[o] read through Sunday's New York Times
[x] update Ru Stitchery
[o] finish first installation of my education rant for Ru Blog
[o] update laptop to Snow Leopard (postponed until tonight because I never did back up last night. bad me.)
[o] change letter scene in Liam & Jer (and/or do on Wednesday)
[o] work on playlists (and/or do Wednesday)
[x] work out
[x] dinner with Dad, give back CDs,
TUESDAY
[o] pick up prescription (or else do Thursday)
[o] deposit paycheck (or else do Wednesday)
[x] class at 12:30 (freaking library session which will be my sixth identical session since attending MCC but I can't skip because there's an assignment given out at the end GRAW)
[x] start learning Illustrator in Computer Graphics!
[o] pick up Guru and drop off Catsy's plate (or else do Wednesday)
[o] Woman's Group at 7 (Didn't go to group, which means didn't go to Willimantic)
[x] sushi for dinner! \^.^/
WEDNESDAY
[x] Stephanie at 11
[x] deposit paycheck (if not done Tuesday/or else do Thursday)
[x] pick up Guru and drop off Catsy's plate) (if not done Tuesday)
[x] gas up the car
[o] mail hair (if there's time, or else do Friday)
[x] work at 1
[o] finish second installation of education rant for Ru Blog
[o] change letter scene in L&J (if not done Monday)
[o] work on playlists (if not done Monday)
[o] work out
[o] sushi for dinner??
[o] watch Robin Hood: Men In Tights with Ryan?
THURSDAY
[o] breakfast with Mom
[x] deposit paycheck (if not done Tuesday or Wednesday) (done Wednesday)
[x] pick up prescription (if not done Tuesday)
[x] no Reporting class today!
[x] class at 3
[o] NACHOS DAMMIT (bad weather + bad attendance = no Nachos this week, dammit)
FRIDAY
[o] NO WORK!
[o] may go in and work out anyway
[o] laundry?
[o] mail hair (if not Wednesday)
[o] play WoW? Vittie needs work... (This is all I did ALL DAY and it was GREAT!)
[o] do some apartment cleaning?
[o] grocery or household item shopping?
[o] be social? maybe? for once on a Friday?
[o] sushi for dinner? can you tell I have a craving?
[o] watch movie with Ryan?
[o] THE POSSIBILITIES! THEY ARE ENDLESS!
([o] can you tell it's been a while since I've had a weekend off without plans?)
SATURDAY
[o] NO WORK!
[o] set the alarm for 6 AM anyway JUST SO I CAN SHUT IT OFF AND GO BACK TO SLEEP OH WHAT BLISS
[o] watch No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency with Mom?
[o] play Wow? cleaning? laundry? most of the same options as yesterday until 3 PM or so
[o] spend some time at the Ren Faire with David, possibly with Ryan as well!
[o] dinner with David (and possibly others)
I'll be coming back during the week and crossing things off as needed. Which, really, is the best part of the whole List thing.
MONDAY
[x] work at 11
[o] read through Sunday's New York Times
[x] update Ru Stitchery
[o] finish first installation of my education rant for Ru Blog
[o] update laptop to Snow Leopard (postponed until tonight because I never did back up last night. bad me.)
[o] change letter scene in Liam & Jer (and/or do on Wednesday)
[o] work on playlists (and/or do Wednesday)
[x] work out
[x] dinner with Dad, give back CDs,
TUESDAY
[o] pick up prescription (or else do Thursday)
[o] deposit paycheck (or else do Wednesday)
[x] class at 12:30 (freaking library session which will be my sixth identical session since attending MCC but I can't skip because there's an assignment given out at the end GRAW)
[x] start learning Illustrator in Computer Graphics!
[o] pick up Guru and drop off Catsy's plate (or else do Wednesday)
[o] Woman's Group at 7 (Didn't go to group, which means didn't go to Willimantic)
[x] sushi for dinner! \^.^/
WEDNESDAY
[x] Stephanie at 11
[x] deposit paycheck (if not done Tuesday/or else do Thursday)
[x] pick up Guru and drop off Catsy's plate) (if not done Tuesday)
[x] gas up the car
[o] mail hair (if there's time, or else do Friday)
[x] work at 1
[o] finish second installation of education rant for Ru Blog
[o] change letter scene in L&J (if not done Monday)
[o] work on playlists (if not done Monday)
[o] work out
[o] sushi for dinner??
[o] watch Robin Hood: Men In Tights with Ryan?
THURSDAY
[o] breakfast with Mom
[x] deposit paycheck (if not done Tuesday or Wednesday) (done Wednesday)
[x] pick up prescription (if not done Tuesday)
[x] no Reporting class today!
[x] class at 3
[o] NACHOS DAMMIT (bad weather + bad attendance = no Nachos this week, dammit)
FRIDAY
[o] NO WORK!
[o] may go in and work out anyway
[o] laundry?
[o] mail hair (if not Wednesday)
[o] play WoW? Vittie needs work... (This is all I did ALL DAY and it was GREAT!)
[o] do some apartment cleaning?
[o] grocery or household item shopping?
[o] be social? maybe? for once on a Friday?
[o] sushi for dinner? can you tell I have a craving?
[o] watch movie with Ryan?
[o] THE POSSIBILITIES! THEY ARE ENDLESS!
([o] can you tell it's been a while since I've had a weekend off without plans?)
SATURDAY
[o] NO WORK!
[o] set the alarm for 6 AM anyway JUST SO I CAN SHUT IT OFF AND GO BACK TO SLEEP OH WHAT BLISS
[o] watch No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency with Mom?
[o] play Wow? cleaning? laundry? most of the same options as yesterday until 3 PM or so
[o] spend some time at the Ren Faire with David, possibly with Ryan as well!
[o] dinner with David (and possibly others)
I'll be coming back during the week and crossing things off as needed. Which, really, is the best part of the whole List thing.
I don't wear panties.
I refuse to wear panties. Before you ask, I don't walk around commando. I just hate the word "panties." It makes me twitch. It just sounds so...so dainty.
Not just dainty. Daaaaiiiinnnty. As if women, by the very act of being women, are only able to wear something that ends with the suffix "ies". We don't wear pants. We wear panties.
Of course, the other female-biased words describing those articles of clothing we wear over our bum aren't much better. Lingerie. Intimates. Dainties. Did you hear me gag on that last one?
What's wrong with "underwear?" Not "undies", that's for small children, but "underwear." There's no gender inferences, not even the vaguest description of what the clothing looks like. It's just clothing that you wear...under your clothes.
It's a pet peeve, and it's silly...but oh how I hate that word.
Not just dainty. Daaaaiiiinnnty. As if women, by the very act of being women, are only able to wear something that ends with the suffix "ies". We don't wear pants. We wear panties.
Of course, the other female-biased words describing those articles of clothing we wear over our bum aren't much better. Lingerie. Intimates. Dainties. Did you hear me gag on that last one?
What's wrong with "underwear?" Not "undies", that's for small children, but "underwear." There's no gender inferences, not even the vaguest description of what the clothing looks like. It's just clothing that you wear...under your clothes.
It's a pet peeve, and it's silly...but oh how I hate that word.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Would you always? Maybe sometimes? Make it easy...
I found this video through Fazed, a collection of submitted online oddities. It's a fan video for a song called "Two Weeks" by the band Grizzly Bear. Let me emphasize something: this is a fan video. Not professional. Made in spare time by someone who loved the song just that much. Hot damn.
It was posted a couple of months ago, so it isn't exactly a new find. It's just that I wanted to use this blog to share things I love as well as rants and navel gazing, so why not start with a video that might just be one of my Favorite Things Ever?
Something else I've wanted to do with this blog is talk about something I think about more than I let on: lyrics.
While I'm not one for making music, I do love it. I almost always have a song in my head whether I like it or not, I can recite entire songs on command, and I blast music in my car whenever I go somewhere, singing along as loud as I possibly can--when I'm alone.
You can "blame" my father for this: he plays several different instruments with a degree of capability that range from well to wow, he has literally THOUSANDS of CDs (along with plenty of tapes and vinyl records), and he will spend hours upon hours playing with a single sound using his plethora of computer synthesizers that he can--and will--talk about for as long as anyone will listen. Despite all his best efforts, the best I can do when pointed at a musical instrument and told to have at is twitch in a controlled manner.
I recently realized that not everyone listens to music the same way. Shocking, right? I just never thought about it until I was talking with Ryan. Unable to remember the name of a song that I knew he knew, I tried to remind him by reciting some of the lyrics. He just gave me a blank stare. Upon further discussion, I discovered that Ryan listens to songs in layers--first, how each instrument sound individually, then how they all sound together.
The first and last thing I hear are lyrics. To me, music is about poetry set to music. And poetry is about the language. Which is why I'm not partial to most classical music--as beautiful as it is, it just doesn't stick to my brain as it does to Ryan's. This is also why I'm more partial to musicals--I'm a story addict, have a very hard time reading anything that doesn't have a plot, so stories? Set to music? GIMME!
I listen to lyrics, and, if it isn't already clear what the song is about, I do my best to figure it out, put a story behind it. For all I know, I'm completely off target, but I like to think that I'm at least a little close. Especially when the subject is something I'm intimate with, such as love or depression. When you're in something, it's easier to recognize language that relates to it, you know?
Now with that long and lengthy explanation, here is my view on this song: Two Weeks by Grizzly Bear.
First, the lyrics.
Save up all the days
A routine malaise
Just like yesterday
I told you I would stay
Would you always?
Maybe sometimes?
Make it easy?
Take your time
Think of all the ways
Momentary phase
Just like yesterday
I told you I would stay
Every time you try
Quarter half the mile
Just like yesterday
I told you I would stay
Would you always?
Maybe sometimes?
Make it easy?
Take your time
Would you always...
Maybe sometimes...
Make it easy...
Take your time...
Always
Sometimes
Easy
Time
My first thought with this song was: a plea. The singer is pleading to the subject to be happy. This isn't just a case of reading the lyrics--you can hear it in the singer's voice. They love this person, and they just want them to be happy.
There's also the repetition of the line just like yesterday, along with phrases like the routine malaise and every time you try. This makes me think that the person in question is stuck in a cycle (the routine malaise) that is making them unhappy. Not only that, but the cycle isn't solely self-imposed: Every time you try/quarter half the mile hints at an outside force making things harder whenever an attempt is made to break out of it, shortening the distance they've already traveled.
Think of all the ways/Momentary phase makes me think that the subject has given up on the idea of breaking out. They'll think about another way of life, then pass it off as just a phase, a moment's weakness.
The singer understands that all they can do is urge the subject to break out of the cycle, and be there to support them (the repeated phrase I told you I would stay), even if they don't. They understand that it's not an overnight decision/process (take your time). There's no message of "you're a bad person to still be in this cycle" or "I'm leaving unless you do this."
I don't just love this song because of the tune, or the voice, or even because the beautiful fan video plays in my head every time I hear it. I love this song because of the emotion behind it. If I'm right, there is nothing selfish in this song. It's pure love, pure hope for the one they care about to do what's needed to just be happy.
Pure, patient, unselfish, unconditional love.
Does it get any better than that?
It was posted a couple of months ago, so it isn't exactly a new find. It's just that I wanted to use this blog to share things I love as well as rants and navel gazing, so why not start with a video that might just be one of my Favorite Things Ever?
Two Weeks - Grizzly Bear from Gabe Askew on Vimeo.
Something else I've wanted to do with this blog is talk about something I think about more than I let on: lyrics.
While I'm not one for making music, I do love it. I almost always have a song in my head whether I like it or not, I can recite entire songs on command, and I blast music in my car whenever I go somewhere, singing along as loud as I possibly can--when I'm alone.
You can "blame" my father for this: he plays several different instruments with a degree of capability that range from well to wow, he has literally THOUSANDS of CDs (along with plenty of tapes and vinyl records), and he will spend hours upon hours playing with a single sound using his plethora of computer synthesizers that he can--and will--talk about for as long as anyone will listen. Despite all his best efforts, the best I can do when pointed at a musical instrument and told to have at is twitch in a controlled manner.
I recently realized that not everyone listens to music the same way. Shocking, right? I just never thought about it until I was talking with Ryan. Unable to remember the name of a song that I knew he knew, I tried to remind him by reciting some of the lyrics. He just gave me a blank stare. Upon further discussion, I discovered that Ryan listens to songs in layers--first, how each instrument sound individually, then how they all sound together.
The first and last thing I hear are lyrics. To me, music is about poetry set to music. And poetry is about the language. Which is why I'm not partial to most classical music--as beautiful as it is, it just doesn't stick to my brain as it does to Ryan's. This is also why I'm more partial to musicals--I'm a story addict, have a very hard time reading anything that doesn't have a plot, so stories? Set to music? GIMME!
I listen to lyrics, and, if it isn't already clear what the song is about, I do my best to figure it out, put a story behind it. For all I know, I'm completely off target, but I like to think that I'm at least a little close. Especially when the subject is something I'm intimate with, such as love or depression. When you're in something, it's easier to recognize language that relates to it, you know?
Now with that long and lengthy explanation, here is my view on this song: Two Weeks by Grizzly Bear.
First, the lyrics.
Save up all the days
A routine malaise
Just like yesterday
I told you I would stay
Would you always?
Maybe sometimes?
Make it easy?
Take your time
Think of all the ways
Momentary phase
Just like yesterday
I told you I would stay
Every time you try
Quarter half the mile
Just like yesterday
I told you I would stay
Would you always?
Maybe sometimes?
Make it easy?
Take your time
Would you always...
Maybe sometimes...
Make it easy...
Take your time...
Always
Sometimes
Easy
Time
My first thought with this song was: a plea. The singer is pleading to the subject to be happy. This isn't just a case of reading the lyrics--you can hear it in the singer's voice. They love this person, and they just want them to be happy.
There's also the repetition of the line just like yesterday, along with phrases like the routine malaise and every time you try. This makes me think that the person in question is stuck in a cycle (the routine malaise) that is making them unhappy. Not only that, but the cycle isn't solely self-imposed: Every time you try/quarter half the mile hints at an outside force making things harder whenever an attempt is made to break out of it, shortening the distance they've already traveled.
Think of all the ways/Momentary phase makes me think that the subject has given up on the idea of breaking out. They'll think about another way of life, then pass it off as just a phase, a moment's weakness.
The singer understands that all they can do is urge the subject to break out of the cycle, and be there to support them (the repeated phrase I told you I would stay), even if they don't. They understand that it's not an overnight decision/process (take your time). There's no message of "you're a bad person to still be in this cycle" or "I'm leaving unless you do this."
I don't just love this song because of the tune, or the voice, or even because the beautiful fan video plays in my head every time I hear it. I love this song because of the emotion behind it. If I'm right, there is nothing selfish in this song. It's pure love, pure hope for the one they care about to do what's needed to just be happy.
Pure, patient, unselfish, unconditional love.
Does it get any better than that?
Do you remember that bad scene from The Green Mile?...
In a previous post I mentioned my awesome fly swatter. It is essentially an electrified tennis racket. Two D batteries sit in the handle (gives it some nice heft, let me tell you), and the "web" is made of a wire grid between two plastic grids, complete with a lightning bolt design in the middle. There's a small yellow button in the handle which you press to turn on the "juice". It's bad ass, yo.
The only problem is...it doesn't work. Oh, it zaps. If you hit the fly just after starting the juice, there's a loud pop, a blue spark, and the fly usually sticks to the grid, only dislodged by knocking the swatter against the trash can's side. Sadly, this is a rare occurrence. Most of the time, the flies don't die.
Most of the time, the fly gets a jolt, falls to the ground, and spins around like a helicopter with a broken rotor. If I hit it hard enough and give it some momentum, it ends up on the patterned rug or behind a piece of furniture, only to reappear five minutes later--a little slower, perhaps, but still flying.
That is if it doesn't get stuck to the grid and buzz madly, giving out a little more smoke each time I hit the button to try and zap it out of existence. Usually there's a little smoke and a bad, burnt smell in the air by the time the fly stops moving.
I'm not sure how to feel about this. The hippie side of me wants to cry for the pain and suffering and agony the fly is going through--that I'm making it go through. The cynical side of me wants the damned thing to die already and quit making such a smelly, smokey racket. The part of me raised by David, my stepfather, wants to see if the fly will eventually explode or burst into flame if I hold the button down long enough.
Yeah, that last part disturbs me, too.
The best part of all this?
There are dozens of flies living in the mud room just outside the apartment door. We're not sure where they came from, but they're there, and they're multiplying. And they keep finding ways into our apartment.
This is going to get nasty.
The only problem is...it doesn't work. Oh, it zaps. If you hit the fly just after starting the juice, there's a loud pop, a blue spark, and the fly usually sticks to the grid, only dislodged by knocking the swatter against the trash can's side. Sadly, this is a rare occurrence. Most of the time, the flies don't die.
Most of the time, the fly gets a jolt, falls to the ground, and spins around like a helicopter with a broken rotor. If I hit it hard enough and give it some momentum, it ends up on the patterned rug or behind a piece of furniture, only to reappear five minutes later--a little slower, perhaps, but still flying.
That is if it doesn't get stuck to the grid and buzz madly, giving out a little more smoke each time I hit the button to try and zap it out of existence. Usually there's a little smoke and a bad, burnt smell in the air by the time the fly stops moving.
I'm not sure how to feel about this. The hippie side of me wants to cry for the pain and suffering and agony the fly is going through--that I'm making it go through. The cynical side of me wants the damned thing to die already and quit making such a smelly, smokey racket. The part of me raised by David, my stepfather, wants to see if the fly will eventually explode or burst into flame if I hold the button down long enough.
Yeah, that last part disturbs me, too.
The best part of all this?
There are dozens of flies living in the mud room just outside the apartment door. We're not sure where they came from, but they're there, and they're multiplying. And they keep finding ways into our apartment.
This is going to get nasty.
Dear People At My School,
You are not hot shit enough to text while driving. I'm sorry. You're just not. Please stop now before you run me over instead of ALMOST running me over.
Also, I don't want to hear your music. The fact that I can hear it so clearly while you're wearing headphones just makes me worry for your hearing. But I don't worry too much, because I no longer give a shit about you because GOD DAMN YOU'RE ANNOYING.
I also don't want to hear your phone conversations. No. Really. I don't. No one does. And that stupid freaking Push-To-Talk function? Is not meant for inane conversation about cats and babies. No. Really. It's not.
Lastly, to that chick from last week: The place to take a cell phone picture of a rainbow in the sky is NOT AT THE ON-RAMP TO 1-84 WHERE CARS HAVE TO MERGE TWICE WITHIN A 100 FOOT SPAN. NO. REALLY. IT'S NOT.
NO LOVE WHATSOEVER,
RuLaReJo
(Can we find an island somewhere and put all these drive-texting, music-blasting, self-important morons on it and leave them there? Please? PLEASE?)
Edit at 2:41 PM
Dear Lab Monitor in Mac Lab
It wasn't bad enough that you were 20 minutes late opening the lab for the ONE open hour it has all day (and, I think, only showing up at all because I happened to notify my mother, who happens to be the boss of the computer labs, who happened to text back minutes later with a note ending with "Grr"), but do you now have to entertain the people in here with your cell phone conversation? How are you even getting reception in here when I can't send a freaking text message?
I do not wish to be "entertained" with the antics at last night's "hot-ass party". Not even if I have the imagined hyphen wrong and it was, instead, a "hot ass-party." Not even then.
Signed
Lowly Student Who Just Wants to Work On Her Photoshop Project Before Class
Also, I don't want to hear your music. The fact that I can hear it so clearly while you're wearing headphones just makes me worry for your hearing. But I don't worry too much, because I no longer give a shit about you because GOD DAMN YOU'RE ANNOYING.
I also don't want to hear your phone conversations. No. Really. I don't. No one does. And that stupid freaking Push-To-Talk function? Is not meant for inane conversation about cats and babies. No. Really. It's not.
Lastly, to that chick from last week: The place to take a cell phone picture of a rainbow in the sky is NOT AT THE ON-RAMP TO 1-84 WHERE CARS HAVE TO MERGE TWICE WITHIN A 100 FOOT SPAN. NO. REALLY. IT'S NOT.
NO LOVE WHATSOEVER,
RuLaReJo
(Can we find an island somewhere and put all these drive-texting, music-blasting, self-important morons on it and leave them there? Please? PLEASE?)
Edit at 2:41 PM
Dear Lab Monitor in Mac Lab
It wasn't bad enough that you were 20 minutes late opening the lab for the ONE open hour it has all day (and, I think, only showing up at all because I happened to notify my mother, who happens to be the boss of the computer labs, who happened to text back minutes later with a note ending with "Grr"), but do you now have to entertain the people in here with your cell phone conversation? How are you even getting reception in here when I can't send a freaking text message?
I do not wish to be "entertained" with the antics at last night's "hot-ass party". Not even if I have the imagined hyphen wrong and it was, instead, a "hot ass-party." Not even then.
Signed
Lowly Student Who Just Wants to Work On Her Photoshop Project Before Class
Monday, October 5, 2009
Writing is writing...except when it's not.
Last night was Session 1 of Glory of the World, a 2nd Edition (aka AD&D) campaign I'm in with a few friends. It was chaotic, with lots of disconnect between events as people tried to develop their characters and connect with each other. It was also a lot of fun. Part of it was the playing, part of it was the camaraderie going on between friends. Of the seven from last night, four of us were in a campaign together back in high school. The commentary felt like old times.
The campaign started coming together almost a month ago. When it first came up, I thought up a rough idea for a character, then decided I was going to wait until the in-person character-making session to flesh it out. Ryan kept pestering me, and I started thinking about it more, and ended up with a pretty good picture. I had the physical picture and the attitude...but not really anything else. Nothing behind her.
Michael (the Dungeon Master, aka DM, aka God in the campaign) sent out lots of background information for the world we would be playing in, along with how 2nd Edition works in comparison to 3rd Edition (what our old campaign had been in). One thing that he wrote stuck out and stayed in my head: in 2E, under the right circumstances, just about ANYBODY could end up in an adventure.
This brought to mind an image, a housewife in this civil war-torn world, on the edge of panic from not knowing what's going to happen or when, overhearing plans of an adventure and throwing herself into it, desperate to do anything that would make her feel like she's fighting back against uncertainty and hopelessness.
The character I'm playing now is a slight spin-off of that first image: Ona Amaethwr, a farmer's wife who has spent her whole life tilling fields and milking cows, now stealing to stay alive after her entire family is stolen from her as they try to escape the fighting taking over their home.
I've spent the past two or three weeks whittling Ona down. I know when she, her husband, and her children were born, when two of her children died, which gods of Michael's pantheon she worships, the jewelry she wears and what it means, her personality and attitude and beliefs. It's been..exhilarating, really.
Roleplaying as her will be a different kind of rush, I think. Crafting her down to the final detail was wonderful, but will be very different from talking in her voice, moving in her body. I'm looking forward to it, to using all those details and finding out which ones matter and which don't, not to mention making some up on the spot.
The whole thing has also been frustrating. Making this character has been SO MUCH FUN. Meanwhile, I have a story (Liam & Jer) sitting on my laptop that needs attention, but hasn't seen so much as a read-through in over a month. I even had a small epiphany lately that will help shape the ending, which has been very sticky to deal with...nothing written from it so far.
The details of the person are fun and games, enough to suck me and take all my attention. Writing the story, the dialogue, the individual scenes...that feels more like work. I'll spend hours on Ona, then turn to Liam & Jer and just stare at the blank page. I can't figure out where the disconnect is, and it's driving me mad.
I almost think I need to look at Liam & Jer as a D&D campaign...except that I really don't think that would work. Maybe I'm just afraid that I'll need to start over. Maybe I just need to let the story go, scrap it as one of those Never Got Off The Drawing Table ideas that I'm sure every writer has.
It's just hard to let it go.
The campaign started coming together almost a month ago. When it first came up, I thought up a rough idea for a character, then decided I was going to wait until the in-person character-making session to flesh it out. Ryan kept pestering me, and I started thinking about it more, and ended up with a pretty good picture. I had the physical picture and the attitude...but not really anything else. Nothing behind her.
Michael (the Dungeon Master, aka DM, aka God in the campaign) sent out lots of background information for the world we would be playing in, along with how 2nd Edition works in comparison to 3rd Edition (what our old campaign had been in). One thing that he wrote stuck out and stayed in my head: in 2E, under the right circumstances, just about ANYBODY could end up in an adventure.
This brought to mind an image, a housewife in this civil war-torn world, on the edge of panic from not knowing what's going to happen or when, overhearing plans of an adventure and throwing herself into it, desperate to do anything that would make her feel like she's fighting back against uncertainty and hopelessness.
The character I'm playing now is a slight spin-off of that first image: Ona Amaethwr, a farmer's wife who has spent her whole life tilling fields and milking cows, now stealing to stay alive after her entire family is stolen from her as they try to escape the fighting taking over their home.
I've spent the past two or three weeks whittling Ona down. I know when she, her husband, and her children were born, when two of her children died, which gods of Michael's pantheon she worships, the jewelry she wears and what it means, her personality and attitude and beliefs. It's been..exhilarating, really.
Roleplaying as her will be a different kind of rush, I think. Crafting her down to the final detail was wonderful, but will be very different from talking in her voice, moving in her body. I'm looking forward to it, to using all those details and finding out which ones matter and which don't, not to mention making some up on the spot.
The whole thing has also been frustrating. Making this character has been SO MUCH FUN. Meanwhile, I have a story (Liam & Jer) sitting on my laptop that needs attention, but hasn't seen so much as a read-through in over a month. I even had a small epiphany lately that will help shape the ending, which has been very sticky to deal with...nothing written from it so far.
The details of the person are fun and games, enough to suck me and take all my attention. Writing the story, the dialogue, the individual scenes...that feels more like work. I'll spend hours on Ona, then turn to Liam & Jer and just stare at the blank page. I can't figure out where the disconnect is, and it's driving me mad.
I almost think I need to look at Liam & Jer as a D&D campaign...except that I really don't think that would work. Maybe I'm just afraid that I'll need to start over. Maybe I just need to let the story go, scrap it as one of those Never Got Off The Drawing Table ideas that I'm sure every writer has.
It's just hard to let it go.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
And Marie Claire can go fuck herself.
I informed Ryan this past week that if there is only one thing that will be outlawed in our house when we have kids, that one thing will be fashion magazines. Alcohol, cocaine, rat poison, AK-47, fine. Cosmo, HELL NO.
Any magazine that even subtly insinuates that you must have a certain weight, height, size, shape, hair color, eye color, skin color, sexual preference, diet, wardrobe, exercise routine, pet, car, job, personal life, etc or else suffer the social consequences of being Weird is just not allowed in a 1/2-mile radius of my impressionable child, especially if that child is a girl. I refuse to allow any literature that portrays "weird" as anything other than "not mainstream". Weird is not bad, it's just different, and different isn't bad either, dammit.
Watch almost any TV show or advertisement, any movie, open up almost any magazine, and you'll see Beautiful People doing Cool Things. I'm in my twenties, and I still want to be that Beautiful Person playing with that Cool Toy; young children have no chance. Everywhere you look, you're being shown that if you don't look like This, you're just plain Doing It Wrong.
Just yesterday, I saw a Benefiber commercial on TV featuring a Beautiful Person. She was tall, blonde, slender, with big boobs and a teeny waist, with perfect skin and teeth. She was dressed in a white outfit that only covered her breasts and legs, and that just barely. For a FIBER SUPPLEMENT. If you need sex to sell your fiber supplement, then YOU'RE just plain Doing It Wrong.
Cosmopolitan, Marie Claire, Elle, Seventeen, even "health/fitness" magazines like Shape are all about one thing: selling a product, which means selling an image, which means selling the idea that you're ugly and stupid unless you fit that image. If you go to Cosmo right now, one of the first things you'll see is a big box with "Want a Guy To Follow You Anywhere?", "Fierce Footwear", and "Why Stop at One Orgasm?", plus boxes with "Guess the Sex Position!" and "Sex Position of the Day!" and a man with his shirt off. Even with the aforementioned Shape, a relatively safe magazine focusing on fitness, health and exercise, the first thing you'll see is an advertisement for an appetite suppressant--because healthy women don't have appetites, right?
And every single magazine has tons of pictures of women--in the articles, in the ads, on the covers--that fit into the mold: big breasts, teeny waist, perfect skin and teeth, toned everything. Nowhere do you see a stretch mark, a pimple, a split end, a mis-matched pair of breasts, a gray hair (unless it's an ad marketed to the Mature demographic), a broken fingernail, or anyone above a size 6. And that's just unrealistic, dammit.
Real People have boobs ranging Honkin' to Non-Existent, and that's fine. Real People have skin that's smooth as satin or pocked with scars and blemishes, and that's fine. Real People have blonde hair, brown hair, black hair, red hair, silver hair, white hair, pink hair, blue hair, no hair, soft hair, kinky hair, hair with split ends, and that's fine. Real People are shaped like hourglasses, pears, upside-down pears, triangles, upside-down triangles, sticks, squares, and circles, and THAT'S fine.
You want to see a perfect body? A perfect person? Look in the mirror. You are who you are, you are WHAT you are. Some people just aren't born to have six-pack abs, or smooth hair, or porcelain skin, or an hourglass figure. And there is absofuckinglutely NOTHING wrong with that, there is nothing wrong with YOU if that's how you are. Walk down the street, and you won't see supermodels--you'll see real fucking people, with real fucking bodies.
These magazines insist that the only things that matter in life are (a) fashionable clothes, (b) hot guys, (c) sex, and (d) obtaining all of the above by looking "hot". I'm not apologizing for refusing to let that shit in the same house as impressionable children, and let's face it, we're impressionable children right up until we're 30. Then we become insecure adults, and that's a whole new set of problems.
If my daughter whines and complains and wants to read fashion magazines, fine. She can buy them herself when she's 18. The only way she's allowed to before then is if she shows that she knows herself well enough, and is confident enough, to not be influenced by them (plus saves up her allowance to pay for it herself). I want my child to figure herself out in her own time, through her own experiences, using her own powers of deduction and reasoning and no one else's, not even mine.
I know: I say that now, but just wait until the time comes and little Lucy is being SUCH a whiney little bitch about how all my friends get to read Cosmo, MOTHER, why can't I, you suck SO MUCH, I hate you FOREVER, and then we'll see how well I can stand my ground against the raw power of Teenage Girl Angst.
Bring it.
Any magazine that even subtly insinuates that you must have a certain weight, height, size, shape, hair color, eye color, skin color, sexual preference, diet, wardrobe, exercise routine, pet, car, job, personal life, etc or else suffer the social consequences of being Weird is just not allowed in a 1/2-mile radius of my impressionable child, especially if that child is a girl. I refuse to allow any literature that portrays "weird" as anything other than "not mainstream". Weird is not bad, it's just different, and different isn't bad either, dammit.
Watch almost any TV show or advertisement, any movie, open up almost any magazine, and you'll see Beautiful People doing Cool Things. I'm in my twenties, and I still want to be that Beautiful Person playing with that Cool Toy; young children have no chance. Everywhere you look, you're being shown that if you don't look like This, you're just plain Doing It Wrong.
Just yesterday, I saw a Benefiber commercial on TV featuring a Beautiful Person. She was tall, blonde, slender, with big boobs and a teeny waist, with perfect skin and teeth. She was dressed in a white outfit that only covered her breasts and legs, and that just barely. For a FIBER SUPPLEMENT. If you need sex to sell your fiber supplement, then YOU'RE just plain Doing It Wrong.
Cosmopolitan, Marie Claire, Elle, Seventeen, even "health/fitness" magazines like Shape are all about one thing: selling a product, which means selling an image, which means selling the idea that you're ugly and stupid unless you fit that image. If you go to Cosmo right now, one of the first things you'll see is a big box with "Want a Guy To Follow You Anywhere?", "Fierce Footwear", and "Why Stop at One Orgasm?", plus boxes with "Guess the Sex Position!" and "Sex Position of the Day!" and a man with his shirt off. Even with the aforementioned Shape, a relatively safe magazine focusing on fitness, health and exercise, the first thing you'll see is an advertisement for an appetite suppressant--because healthy women don't have appetites, right?
And every single magazine has tons of pictures of women--in the articles, in the ads, on the covers--that fit into the mold: big breasts, teeny waist, perfect skin and teeth, toned everything. Nowhere do you see a stretch mark, a pimple, a split end, a mis-matched pair of breasts, a gray hair (unless it's an ad marketed to the Mature demographic), a broken fingernail, or anyone above a size 6. And that's just unrealistic, dammit.
Real People have boobs ranging Honkin' to Non-Existent, and that's fine. Real People have skin that's smooth as satin or pocked with scars and blemishes, and that's fine. Real People have blonde hair, brown hair, black hair, red hair, silver hair, white hair, pink hair, blue hair, no hair, soft hair, kinky hair, hair with split ends, and that's fine. Real People are shaped like hourglasses, pears, upside-down pears, triangles, upside-down triangles, sticks, squares, and circles, and THAT'S fine.
You want to see a perfect body? A perfect person? Look in the mirror. You are who you are, you are WHAT you are. Some people just aren't born to have six-pack abs, or smooth hair, or porcelain skin, or an hourglass figure. And there is absofuckinglutely NOTHING wrong with that, there is nothing wrong with YOU if that's how you are. Walk down the street, and you won't see supermodels--you'll see real fucking people, with real fucking bodies.
These magazines insist that the only things that matter in life are (a) fashionable clothes, (b) hot guys, (c) sex, and (d) obtaining all of the above by looking "hot". I'm not apologizing for refusing to let that shit in the same house as impressionable children, and let's face it, we're impressionable children right up until we're 30. Then we become insecure adults, and that's a whole new set of problems.
If my daughter whines and complains and wants to read fashion magazines, fine. She can buy them herself when she's 18. The only way she's allowed to before then is if she shows that she knows herself well enough, and is confident enough, to not be influenced by them (plus saves up her allowance to pay for it herself). I want my child to figure herself out in her own time, through her own experiences, using her own powers of deduction and reasoning and no one else's, not even mine.
I know: I say that now, but just wait until the time comes and little Lucy is being SUCH a whiney little bitch about how all my friends get to read Cosmo, MOTHER, why can't I, you suck SO MUCH, I hate you FOREVER, and then we'll see how well I can stand my ground against the raw power of Teenage Girl Angst.
Bring it.
And I wonder why I'm always tired.
On Saturdays, I open up work at 7 AM. This means I have to get up at 6 AM. If I want a full 8 hours of sleep, I need to be slumbering by 10 PM Friday night.
This is how my Friday night usually goes:
9:30 PM
I should probably head to bed soon. I may not get a full 8 hours (and hell, would I know what to do with them?), but I should try to get as much as possible.
10 PM
I should probably go to bed soon.
10:15 PM
I should probably go to bed soon.
10:30 PM
I should probably go to bed soon.
11 PM
Ryan: Dear, it's 11 PM.
Me: And?
Ryan: I just wanted to let you know. It's 11.
Me: Okay...
Ryan: In case you were unaware. It's 11. Pee-Emm.
Me: Ryan.
Ryan: Ruth.
Me: ...
Ryan: It's 11 PM.
11:10 PM
Ryan: It is now 10 after 11.
11:15 PM
Ryan: It is now quarter after 11.
11:20 PM
Ryan: It is now--
Me: OKAY! SHUT UP!
11:25 PM
Turn off computer, start bed prep: brushing teeth, taking pills, moving morning-prep things to living room so the chances to wake Ryan are minimized, putting bag together so I can leave on time, etc.
11:30 - 11:50 PM
Listen to Ryan talk about something WoW-related that he decided to mention as I was getting ready for bed. Listen with half my brain, remember the conversation at 11 with other half.
11:50 PM - 12:05 AM
Chase fly around room with awesome new fly swatter while cursing like a sailor.
12:05 AM - 12:25 AM
Climb into bed, I talk at Ryan, who is too nice to just leave the bedroom while I'm yakking at him even though I should be asleep.
12:30 AM
Ryan leaves the room. I read a magazine or book to try and quiet my mind for sleeping.
12:30 - 12:40 AM
Fly reappears on bedside lamp. Try to ignore it. Try to read. Try to ignore it. Try to ignore it. Try to ignore it.
12:45 AM
Do you watch Family Guy? Have you ever seen one of the episodes where the giant chicken comes in and there's a drawn-out, over-the-top fight scene between him and Peter? Yeah that. But with replace Peter Griffin with me and the chicken with a fly.
1:00 AM
After one final swat, decide that the fly is dead even though I can't find the body. Turn off the light. Ryan asks if I want the door closed so the music won't keep me awake, I say no, I like it, it helps me fall asleep.
1:00 - 1:30 AM
Each song change wakes me up a little. Each squeak of the office chair wakes me up a little. Random words in the songs will wake me up a little. The cat moving around upstairs will wake me up a little. Every time I wake up, it feels like I've been asleep for 3 hours, when in reality it's been less than five minutes.
1:30 AM
Ryan finally comes to bed. I use his arm as a pillow and make a happy little "mmm" sound. When he tries to take his arm back, I inform him that "mmm" is part of the English dialect known as Girlese and translates into "Your arm is mine now, ha ha."
1:45 AM
Finally fall asleep.
All I can say is: thank God for energy drinks.
This is how my Friday night usually goes:
9:30 PM
I should probably head to bed soon. I may not get a full 8 hours (and hell, would I know what to do with them?), but I should try to get as much as possible.
10 PM
I should probably go to bed soon.
10:15 PM
I should probably go to bed soon.
10:30 PM
I should probably go to bed soon.
11 PM
Ryan: Dear, it's 11 PM.
Me: And?
Ryan: I just wanted to let you know. It's 11.
Me: Okay...
Ryan: In case you were unaware. It's 11. Pee-Emm.
Me: Ryan.
Ryan: Ruth.
Me: ...
Ryan: It's 11 PM.
11:10 PM
Ryan: It is now 10 after 11.
11:15 PM
Ryan: It is now quarter after 11.
11:20 PM
Ryan: It is now--
Me: OKAY! SHUT UP!
11:25 PM
Turn off computer, start bed prep: brushing teeth, taking pills, moving morning-prep things to living room so the chances to wake Ryan are minimized, putting bag together so I can leave on time, etc.
11:30 - 11:50 PM
Listen to Ryan talk about something WoW-related that he decided to mention as I was getting ready for bed. Listen with half my brain, remember the conversation at 11 with other half.
11:50 PM - 12:05 AM
Chase fly around room with awesome new fly swatter while cursing like a sailor.
12:05 AM - 12:25 AM
Climb into bed, I talk at Ryan, who is too nice to just leave the bedroom while I'm yakking at him even though I should be asleep.
12:30 AM
Ryan leaves the room. I read a magazine or book to try and quiet my mind for sleeping.
12:30 - 12:40 AM
Fly reappears on bedside lamp. Try to ignore it. Try to read. Try to ignore it. Try to ignore it. Try to ignore it.
12:45 AM
Do you watch Family Guy? Have you ever seen one of the episodes where the giant chicken comes in and there's a drawn-out, over-the-top fight scene between him and Peter? Yeah that. But with replace Peter Griffin with me and the chicken with a fly.
1:00 AM
After one final swat, decide that the fly is dead even though I can't find the body. Turn off the light. Ryan asks if I want the door closed so the music won't keep me awake, I say no, I like it, it helps me fall asleep.
1:00 - 1:30 AM
Each song change wakes me up a little. Each squeak of the office chair wakes me up a little. Random words in the songs will wake me up a little. The cat moving around upstairs will wake me up a little. Every time I wake up, it feels like I've been asleep for 3 hours, when in reality it's been less than five minutes.
1:30 AM
Ryan finally comes to bed. I use his arm as a pillow and make a happy little "mmm" sound. When he tries to take his arm back, I inform him that "mmm" is part of the English dialect known as Girlese and translates into "Your arm is mine now, ha ha."
1:45 AM
Finally fall asleep.
All I can say is: thank God for energy drinks.
Friday, October 2, 2009
My name is Ruth Johnson, and I'm addicted to HGTV.
That's right, I'm addicted. House Hunters, My First Place, Property Virgins, Dear Genevieve, Color Splash, all of it! Even Divine Design, even though Candice Olson makes my skin crawl. You know what she does? She tries to be Ellen DeGeneres. She wants to be cute and quirky and adorable, and she is trying ever so hard to nail it. But you can tell that every action is exquisitely planned, and that just ruins it.
Now Genevieve...I love Genevieve. I've loved her ever since Trading Spaces. Now, on Dear Genevieve, she gets letters from people about rooms that are ruining their lives, and comes in and pulls the perfect design out of their hearts. She doesn't just ask what they want for a floor plan, what their favorite colors are, blah blah blah. She asks about their lives, their values, their interests, what they do in that room, what they want that room to be about beyond just "place to cook" or "place to sleep". Then she takes these things, runs around barefoot, scares the shit out of the homeowners with color swatches, and makes them cry.
Genevieve is also one of the only designers I know of that can't draw for shit. Each episode, she takes out a huge piece of paper to sketch out the room, and there is just no finesse to it. Lines are not straight, angles are not square, scale is not in proportion. But none of it matters, because it gets the idea across.
She's also gorgeous and sweet and compassionate and friendly and I WANT TO HUG HER SO BAD.
Oh, and then there's Color Splash. With David Bromstad. David. Bromstad. Looking past the fact that he's gorgeous, ripped, has a fantastic smile, great eyes, looks like he'd give the BEST hugs...
What was I saying?
Oh yes. *wipes off drool* Besides the physical aspect, David Bromstad is RIDICULOUSLY talented. Illegally talented. He put together a living room with the direction of "Modern Rustic". COME ON. And his art is to die for. Literally, I would die for a custom-made piece of art from this man. Or pay thousands of dollars. Whatever.
As I type this, I'm watching The Antonio Project, an hour-long show where the winner of Design Star completely finishes a trashed-out house be bought at auction. After watching this past season of Design Star, it's fun to watch what Antonio does now that he's off the leash.
Honestly, I thought some of his projects were a little lackluster, especially the White Room Challenge, especially since he's this big, burly, tattooed, rough-talkin', 40-year-old Italian set designer who wants everyone to know how edgy and creative and risk-taking he is. That said, he is edgy and creative and he takes risks. So I'm glad they picked him over Dan, who, while very talented, fits the mold of the clean-shaven, polo-wearing, probably-gay, stream-lined designer that's already on HGTV. Antonio has those plastic nerd glasses and a scruffy beard, he's got tattoos all over his arms and chest and neck, owns a bull dog names Chewie, and wears random t-shirts and Converse and camo cargo shorts and a leather jacket. Mold = Obliterated.
I wish I could be an Interior Designer. Watching these shows, the creative process, trying to take a person's life and passions and routine and trying to fit it into x dimensions with y budget? Brrr! That sounds like SO MUCH FUN to me! That said, it also sounds like it's just begging for a micro-managing, indecisive, finicky homeowner to ruin EVERYTHING. Or a procrastinating, incommunicado supplier. Not to mention that my self-confidence issues would make it difficult to present a design plan with enough conviction to persuade the homeowner to go for it. It was also pointed out to me how much education most designers bring to the table--design, art, architecture, even engineering. I completely understand why you'd want all that, but at the same time I don't think I could stay awake through all those classes!
If I ever get the super power of 80's Movie Montage--zipping through long periods of time in less than an hour with a peppy, inspirational song playing along--I'll go for it. Until then, I'll just watch HGTV and sigh. And wish. And drool.
Now Genevieve...I love Genevieve. I've loved her ever since Trading Spaces. Now, on Dear Genevieve, she gets letters from people about rooms that are ruining their lives, and comes in and pulls the perfect design out of their hearts. She doesn't just ask what they want for a floor plan, what their favorite colors are, blah blah blah. She asks about their lives, their values, their interests, what they do in that room, what they want that room to be about beyond just "place to cook" or "place to sleep". Then she takes these things, runs around barefoot, scares the shit out of the homeowners with color swatches, and makes them cry.
Genevieve is also one of the only designers I know of that can't draw for shit. Each episode, she takes out a huge piece of paper to sketch out the room, and there is just no finesse to it. Lines are not straight, angles are not square, scale is not in proportion. But none of it matters, because it gets the idea across.
She's also gorgeous and sweet and compassionate and friendly and I WANT TO HUG HER SO BAD.
Oh, and then there's Color Splash. With David Bromstad. David. Bromstad. Looking past the fact that he's gorgeous, ripped, has a fantastic smile, great eyes, looks like he'd give the BEST hugs...
What was I saying?
Oh yes. *wipes off drool* Besides the physical aspect, David Bromstad is RIDICULOUSLY talented. Illegally talented. He put together a living room with the direction of "Modern Rustic". COME ON. And his art is to die for. Literally, I would die for a custom-made piece of art from this man. Or pay thousands of dollars. Whatever.
As I type this, I'm watching The Antonio Project, an hour-long show where the winner of Design Star completely finishes a trashed-out house be bought at auction. After watching this past season of Design Star, it's fun to watch what Antonio does now that he's off the leash.
Honestly, I thought some of his projects were a little lackluster, especially the White Room Challenge, especially since he's this big, burly, tattooed, rough-talkin', 40-year-old Italian set designer who wants everyone to know how edgy and creative and risk-taking he is. That said, he is edgy and creative and he takes risks. So I'm glad they picked him over Dan, who, while very talented, fits the mold of the clean-shaven, polo-wearing, probably-gay, stream-lined designer that's already on HGTV. Antonio has those plastic nerd glasses and a scruffy beard, he's got tattoos all over his arms and chest and neck, owns a bull dog names Chewie, and wears random t-shirts and Converse and camo cargo shorts and a leather jacket. Mold = Obliterated.
I wish I could be an Interior Designer. Watching these shows, the creative process, trying to take a person's life and passions and routine and trying to fit it into x dimensions with y budget? Brrr! That sounds like SO MUCH FUN to me! That said, it also sounds like it's just begging for a micro-managing, indecisive, finicky homeowner to ruin EVERYTHING. Or a procrastinating, incommunicado supplier. Not to mention that my self-confidence issues would make it difficult to present a design plan with enough conviction to persuade the homeowner to go for it. It was also pointed out to me how much education most designers bring to the table--design, art, architecture, even engineering. I completely understand why you'd want all that, but at the same time I don't think I could stay awake through all those classes!
If I ever get the super power of 80's Movie Montage--zipping through long periods of time in less than an hour with a peppy, inspirational song playing along--I'll go for it. Until then, I'll just watch HGTV and sigh. And wish. And drool.
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