Blog: Thanks for ignoring me for the past... *counts on fingers* Three months.
Me: You're welcome.
I just got back from a trip to the East Coast to visit a couple of friends and a couple of colleges. I flew into Portland, ME and worked my way down the coast and then inland to fly out of Columbus, OH.
These interesting things happened:
1. I stayed in a Motel 6 for 5 hours from 5 am. to 10 am and was lucky to be rented a room as they usually don't rent to under 21-ers. There was a sketchy stain on the floor from the door to the foot of the bed that my uneasy, sleep-deprived and popular movie saturated brain turned into blood.
2. A bitter, middle-aged and failing businessman named Constantine may or may not have been flirting with me at 3 am. in an Amtrak station full of 1 part Amtrak customer, 1 part policemen and 2 parts homeless.
3. I met a guy named Devon who I'd call a legit, modern hippie-- A glassblower of "water pipes", huge fan of the band Phish (A weird mix of Bob Marley, Pink Floyd and Jimi Hendrix), hopeless romantic (Philosophically) and staunch advocate of hallucinogens. :)
4. Sitting two seats away from us on the train was a lady with a portable DVD player. I watched movies over her shoulder-- Including one called "It's Alive". The menu was a picture of a baby in a womb. I immediately assumed it was an anti-abortion movie. It turned out to be a horror movie and... I kid you not, the thing that went around killing everyone in excessively bloody ways... was a baby.
5. I saw an albino squirrel on the lawn at Oberlin College.
6. I was almost stranded in Mansfield, Ohio as I was trying to find my way to Kenyon College from Oberlin. We arrived in Mansfield around 8 pm and I was the only one to get off the bus. It was dark and raining outside and the Greyhound station closed as soon as I stepped out. Unlike all other bus stations, train stations and airports I'd been in so far, there were no Taxi's idling outside.
My phone was just about dead and the rest of the surrounding city was deserted so I looked up Taxi services in the Mansfield phone book. Only two numbers were listed-- one was the number for the Mansfield Public Transportation Office. The other was a number for a cab company who refused to pick me up because they only had one taxi in operation that couldn't leave the city limits.
I tried 411 on my phone and was connected to an out of service number, so I walked a few blocks towards the closest city lights I could see. A few bars were open, but that was it.
A middle aged couple got out of their car as I was about to cross the street again, so I asked them if they knew of any local taxi services or convenience stores that might be open. They thought for a while and invited me into their jewelry store to figure things out. They called the same numbers I'd called earlier with no luck and finally tried the Hilton Hotel where they found a rather new service called C+D Taxi.
The taxi driver didn't even know where Kenyon College or Gambier, Ohio was until I told him it was near Mt. Vernon and they had to ask for directions at a gas station there. That was definitely my most expensive day of the trip.
A thank you advertisement: Haring Jewelers, 13 Park Avenue West, Mansfield, Ohio.
All in all, it was a fantastic trip. I met really great people, saw some close friends, fell in love with Boston and discovered that traveling in the U.S if you're under 25 is going to cost you a leg, an arm and over 10 hours of waiting in train or bus stations.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Incomplete
I wrote this one immeditaely after "The Color Orange".
If every hole was filled and every empty space eradicated, the work would feel packed—like a teenage girl’s suitcase on the way to a beach resort an hour from her upper-middle-class, white stuccoed home.
And on the road to the beach resort, she thinks of everything she could have brought and everything she would have brought, but her suit case now has no more empty spaces and she realizes she’s forgotten her toothbrush
… so she wails to return, but they’re already at the front gates and her family can see yellow sand and green grass and bright, bright blue water beyond the white and beige and light brown and light blue building where the guests stay…
… and somebody assures her that she does not need a toothbrush: they can buy one here and she sniffles a little and calms as they drive through the gates and she turns her head to brood and look out the window as she’s seen almost-celebrities do on reality TV as they drive up in their sleek, black stretch limos.
and she sees the grass and the water and the sand and the place where the guests stay and she can do nothing but think of her packed suit case and somehow feel
***
When does something feel complete? That felt almost complete, but there were definitely gaps. Maybe the feeling of completeness is one and the same with having gaps because maybe in order to be complete, there MUST be room for improvement.
If every hole was filled and every empty space eradicated, the work would feel packed—like a teenage girl’s suitcase on the way to a beach resort an hour from her upper-middle-class, white stuccoed home.
The empty places in her suitcase are now full of make-up and thong underwear and packets of condoms to use with the young golf course attendees. Before they were filled she felt naked, left in the open for others to squawk at, but now she feels whole, covered and protected by little plastic bottles and little plastic bags and little pieces of plastic on her little cloth underwear.
And on the road to the beach resort, she thinks of everything she could have brought and everything she would have brought, but her suit case now has no more empty spaces and she realizes she’s forgotten her toothbrush
… so she wails to return, but they’re already at the front gates and her family can see yellow sand and green grass and bright, bright blue water beyond the white and beige and light brown and light blue building where the guests stay…
… and somebody assures her that she does not need a toothbrush: they can buy one here and she sniffles a little and calms as they drive through the gates and she turns her head to brood and look out the window as she’s seen almost-celebrities do on reality TV as they drive up in their sleek, black stretch limos.
and she sees the grass and the water and the sand and the place where the guests stay and she can do nothing but think of her packed suit case and somehow feel
incomplete.
The Color Orange
Rotting oranges in your fruit bowl. I want to say the white and brown adds a little color, but how can you say that white and brown add color when the fruit is orange already? You must be insane.
What a strange color: the color orange. It’s so exclusive and bright. It feels like a VIP member of some high-roller club, but it’s the member that dresses 60’s and brings a good attitude with them.
And all the other guests grin and turn to each other—they’re dressed in black suits and tuxedos and hot-shot cars and girls and they say: “Oh, here comes Orange!” and they secretly smile to themselves but frown then there are people watching.
So Orange strides in—wide, bouncing steps and a glowing smile and the first person it greets is the nondescript, common person in a suit carrying a tray of drinks and tasty bites.
Orange says “Good evening, sir!” in a bright voice. “Let me help you with that!”
And the waiter only smiles politely, looks just over Orange’s shoulder and says “Thank you, but I’m fine. Good evening, Mr. Orange.”
And as Orange walks, it smiles and grins at people who turn and give a secret smile and sometimes a secret hand shake before they turn back to their esteemed conversation and speak again in quiet, polite voices about the latest scandal or natural disaster.
What a strange color: the color orange. It’s so exclusive and bright. It feels like a VIP member of some high-roller club, but it’s the member that dresses 60’s and brings a good attitude with them.
And all the other guests grin and turn to each other—they’re dressed in black suits and tuxedos and hot-shot cars and girls and they say: “Oh, here comes Orange!” and they secretly smile to themselves but frown then there are people watching.
So Orange strides in—wide, bouncing steps and a glowing smile and the first person it greets is the nondescript, common person in a suit carrying a tray of drinks and tasty bites.
Orange says “Good evening, sir!” in a bright voice. “Let me help you with that!”
And the waiter only smiles politely, looks just over Orange’s shoulder and says “Thank you, but I’m fine. Good evening, Mr. Orange.”
And as Orange walks, it smiles and grins at people who turn and give a secret smile and sometimes a secret hand shake before they turn back to their esteemed conversation and speak again in quiet, polite voices about the latest scandal or natural disaster.
Advice and Introductions
So over the summer, at this summer school program I went to (CSSSA), the dramatic writing teacher gave these pieces of advice:
1. Write five pages in the morning and five pages at night.
2. Do something that scares you.
The second one, I've taken to heart already. Now, that's not to say that I've done it very often... I did just recently though, so we'll see how the results of that attempt work. (To be determined tonight at 6 pm.)
I just attempted the first one this morning! And succeeded. I wrote five pages and discovered that writing is bad for my coffee habit. One cup got me about three pages in, so I poured myself another cup and wrote the next two. :)
This is the first part of... part of those five pages. (I'll post it as another post because the formatting gets all wierd if I try to do it here...)
1. Write five pages in the morning and five pages at night.
2. Do something that scares you.
The second one, I've taken to heart already. Now, that's not to say that I've done it very often... I did just recently though, so we'll see how the results of that attempt work. (To be determined tonight at 6 pm.)
I just attempted the first one this morning! And succeeded. I wrote five pages and discovered that writing is bad for my coffee habit. One cup got me about three pages in, so I poured myself another cup and wrote the next two. :)
This is the first part of... part of those five pages. (I'll post it as another post because the formatting gets all wierd if I try to do it here...)
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Life is but a drug...
Another freewrite... I did this one on my own though, this morning... over coffee... and I've got to run now. I have graduation rehearsal.
***
I’ll keep my pen moving, keep it moving just like we will be—moving through life. We’ll be moving alone, first college—but in my case, travel, then on to college, then more college and finally… life. We’ll be on to life, because most of us, including me, haven’t started living yet. I had a taste and that wasn’t enough. Life is like an addiction. You do it once and you want it more
More
More.
And sometimes you take a coffee break and look back on what just happened and you wonder where some of it came from, but then your coffee’s gone and you’re moving on again. Fast moving and you cling to little things that make some sense to you but not really…
just like the people in your life. They come and go—you cling, they cling and it’s hard to pull you apart now and then but
you
change.
And you didn’t know what to say but “I’ve changed, sorry.” And it’s all very surreal but they take it and smile and stay for a little longer and walk away because
this new you means
nothing
to them now.
So soon after this has happened, you sit for another coffee break and think: Look, they’re gone. Now what? But someone comes to take their place and you smile and drink your coffee and exchange stories of youth because you can’t call yourself young again. No more
High school
College…
It’s just pure life, but pure life isn’t good enough now and there’s no drug to move up to but sitcoms and beer and your fading, torn couch and
Wait, it’s just a coffee break and this new person sitting across from you who’s now your friend has the same nostalgic expression as you and they swill their coffee, maybe tea, and after that all you can do is smile sadly, or maybe pretend to smile sadly and talk some more and start each sentence with
I remember…
***
I’ll keep my pen moving, keep it moving just like we will be—moving through life. We’ll be moving alone, first college—but in my case, travel, then on to college, then more college and finally… life. We’ll be on to life, because most of us, including me, haven’t started living yet. I had a taste and that wasn’t enough. Life is like an addiction. You do it once and you want it more
More
More.
And sometimes you take a coffee break and look back on what just happened and you wonder where some of it came from, but then your coffee’s gone and you’re moving on again. Fast moving and you cling to little things that make some sense to you but not really…
just like the people in your life. They come and go—you cling, they cling and it’s hard to pull you apart now and then but
you
change.
And you didn’t know what to say but “I’ve changed, sorry.” And it’s all very surreal but they take it and smile and stay for a little longer and walk away because
this new you means
nothing
to them now.
So soon after this has happened, you sit for another coffee break and think: Look, they’re gone. Now what? But someone comes to take their place and you smile and drink your coffee and exchange stories of youth because you can’t call yourself young again. No more
High school
College…
It’s just pure life, but pure life isn’t good enough now and there’s no drug to move up to but sitcoms and beer and your fading, torn couch and
Wait, it’s just a coffee break and this new person sitting across from you who’s now your friend has the same nostalgic expression as you and they swill their coffee, maybe tea, and after that all you can do is smile sadly, or maybe pretend to smile sadly and talk some more and start each sentence with
I remember…
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Open
This is another freewrite I did. "O-P-E-N" is referring to the flashing sign that I was watching across the street and the rest of it was inspired by a random lyric I heard in one of the songs they were playing.
Enjoy, and I don't mean to offend anybody. It was all good fun... ;)
Enjoy, and I don't mean to offend anybody. It was all good fun... ;)
***
O-P-E-N. Flash Blue Flash flash flash flash. O-P-E-N… And over again.
“And Jesus was a sailor.”
Flash flash O-P-E-N
But if Jesus was a sailor, he probably had a lot of fun when they made port and in that case, he died for his own sins too.
Flash Flash.
Too bad. If only the general public knew it. I could write a book about this called “Jesus the Sailor” and it would open their eyes and maybe even gather a cult following.
Flash Flash
They’d call themselves the ‘sailorists’ and I’d go down in history with L. Ron Hubbard and maybe Matt Damon would be our official spokesperson and jump on Dr. Phil’s La-z-boy and get some bad press for that.
O-P-E-N Flash Flash.
Too bad it was just a song. Jesus isn’t a sailor—a musician just decided to make him one… kind of like the other Jesus, the guy on the bus. The one who’s one of us.
… because everyone in Poway rides the bus.
“And Jesus was a sailor.”
Flash flash O-P-E-N
But if Jesus was a sailor, he probably had a lot of fun when they made port and in that case, he died for his own sins too.
Flash Flash.
Too bad. If only the general public knew it. I could write a book about this called “Jesus the Sailor” and it would open their eyes and maybe even gather a cult following.
Flash Flash
They’d call themselves the ‘sailorists’ and I’d go down in history with L. Ron Hubbard and maybe Matt Damon would be our official spokesperson and jump on Dr. Phil’s La-z-boy and get some bad press for that.
O-P-E-N Flash Flash.
Too bad it was just a song. Jesus isn’t a sailor—a musician just decided to make him one… kind of like the other Jesus, the guy on the bus. The one who’s one of us.
… because everyone in Poway rides the bus.
***
Conversations
This is a freewrite I did with Melissa when we met today. It's called Conversations and it started with a starter phrase from the book she's reading. The phrase was: "You must have slept". Enjoy!
Oh... it's a series of conversations, so don't be confused...
Oh... it's a series of conversations, so don't be confused...
***
Conversations
- You must have slept.
- Yeah, it was Shakespeare. What do you expect?
- Your English teacher made you go?
- Yeah, for extra credit. I have a fucking 79.4 percent in that class.
- That sucks.
- I woke up in the second half and thought they were talking about refrigerators.
- Were they?
- Dude… it’s Shakespeare, they used fucking holes in the ground.
- Oh.
- You obviously didn’t go.
- I just told you. I was at Bill’s house.
- What’s Bill up to?
- He’s got a new girl.
- Yeah?
- Yeah, the secretary in his dad’s office.
…
- Where were you last night?
- Bill’s.
- You didn’t do anything, did you?
- No, mom. We had to go over some paperwork.
- I don’t trust you, Anna. You know that. What were you really doing?
- Paperwork! I told you!
- Michelle’s mom told me Michelle tells her the same exact thing!
- Yeah well… Mrs. Hudson is crazy! God… Why don’t you just leave me alone!?
…
- Last night, I saw the most wonderful young singer.
- Oh really? What was her name?
- His. He was Joseph Joplin. Excellent steak, John.
- He can’t hear you, Barbara. When he’s barbequing, he’s completely gone.
- My husband’s exactly the same way! All the time! He got a phone call the other day and you know what he says? “Mr. Hudson? Yeah… Oh! That’s me!”
- How funny! What was he doing?
- He’d just gotten home from walking Baxter.
…
Baxter lies in his basket in an empty house. They’ve gone out for the night, but it doesn’t bother him. For once, they’ve left him inside and he gets bored easily.
He’s already covered the shoes and the side of the couch. He even took care of the handbag on the floor in the kitchen and now he is slowly working on a little booklet of paper he found in the recycle.
If Baxter could read, he might have stopped after noticing the word “Shakespeare”.
- You must have slept.
- Yeah, it was Shakespeare. What do you expect?
- Your English teacher made you go?
- Yeah, for extra credit. I have a fucking 79.4 percent in that class.
- That sucks.
- I woke up in the second half and thought they were talking about refrigerators.
- Were they?
- Dude… it’s Shakespeare, they used fucking holes in the ground.
- Oh.
- You obviously didn’t go.
- I just told you. I was at Bill’s house.
- What’s Bill up to?
- He’s got a new girl.
- Yeah?
- Yeah, the secretary in his dad’s office.
…
- Where were you last night?
- Bill’s.
- You didn’t do anything, did you?
- No, mom. We had to go over some paperwork.
- I don’t trust you, Anna. You know that. What were you really doing?
- Paperwork! I told you!
- Michelle’s mom told me Michelle tells her the same exact thing!
- Yeah well… Mrs. Hudson is crazy! God… Why don’t you just leave me alone!?
…
- Last night, I saw the most wonderful young singer.
- Oh really? What was her name?
- His. He was Joseph Joplin. Excellent steak, John.
- He can’t hear you, Barbara. When he’s barbequing, he’s completely gone.
- My husband’s exactly the same way! All the time! He got a phone call the other day and you know what he says? “Mr. Hudson? Yeah… Oh! That’s me!”
- How funny! What was he doing?
- He’d just gotten home from walking Baxter.
…
Baxter lies in his basket in an empty house. They’ve gone out for the night, but it doesn’t bother him. For once, they’ve left him inside and he gets bored easily.
He’s already covered the shoes and the side of the couch. He even took care of the handbag on the floor in the kitchen and now he is slowly working on a little booklet of paper he found in the recycle.
If Baxter could read, he might have stopped after noticing the word “Shakespeare”.
***
Sunday, May 31, 2009
All You Need To Know About "Taken", The Movie
Official Tagline: The time for revenge has come.
Un-Official Tagline (Created by me): Don't you wish your dad was like this?
Short Summary:
1st half: Liam Neeson being a sweet, loving dad.
2nd half: Liam Neeson kicking ass and getting away with it.
My Opninion:
This was an extremely mediocre action flick. "Extremely mediocre" here being used in every sense of the phrase. It semi-satisfied the action-loving dude in me.
If you want a movie you don't have to think about, this is it. Although, it does prompt such thoughts as: "Hey! Where'd he get that?" or "Man, if I had access to that database, I would have aced my underwater basket weaving class!"
I don't have that much experience, but I think this movie super-misrepresents world traveling. There ARE good things about meeting new people when you travel... lots of good things. Just don't be stupid. If the "stupid" had been TAKEN out of this movie, it wouldn't have been a movie. So I suppose this film does teach a good lesson: don't be a stupid-American-teenage-girl traveler. All in all though, I think it was a bit excessive. Please don't get kidnapped in France to give your dad a chance to play Liam Neeson dress-up.
My Rating: 6/10
Final Verdict: If it's there, watch it. If it's not, don't waste your money.
Un-Official Tagline (Created by me): Don't you wish your dad was like this?
Short Summary:
1st half: Liam Neeson being a sweet, loving dad.
2nd half: Liam Neeson kicking ass and getting away with it.
My Opninion:
This was an extremely mediocre action flick. "Extremely mediocre" here being used in every sense of the phrase. It semi-satisfied the action-loving dude in me.
If you want a movie you don't have to think about, this is it. Although, it does prompt such thoughts as: "Hey! Where'd he get that?" or "Man, if I had access to that database, I would have aced my underwater basket weaving class!"
I don't have that much experience, but I think this movie super-misrepresents world traveling. There ARE good things about meeting new people when you travel... lots of good things. Just don't be stupid. If the "stupid" had been TAKEN out of this movie, it wouldn't have been a movie. So I suppose this film does teach a good lesson: don't be a stupid-American-teenage-girl traveler. All in all though, I think it was a bit excessive. Please don't get kidnapped in France to give your dad a chance to play Liam Neeson dress-up.
My Rating: 6/10
Final Verdict: If it's there, watch it. If it's not, don't waste your money.
Monday, May 11, 2009
"Thank you for flying Aeromexico and we hope you enjoy your stay in Havana."
AAAAANNNDD now for... The first Cuba post!
So, as it was and is currently still illegal for United States Citizens to go to Cuba without special permission from the government, my Dad, Juana and I had to go the sneaky way.
We actually flew out of the Tijuana Airport on Aeromexico, headed for Havana. Once you're out of the U.S., nobody really questions what you're up to. Cuba even refrains from stamping United States passports because they know that it's illegal for us to be there.
We arrived at Cuba around 4:30 am, Cuban time. It was completely dark out and there were very few cars on the road but quite a few people seemed to be awake. The cab driver who took us to our hotel told us that Cubans started their day around that time so that they can make it to work in the morning. Judging by this, I would not make a good Cuban.
On the way to our hotel, we passed through various districts of Havana. At night, it was hard to tell the difference, but everything looked... old. The buildings were literally half crumbling, the sidewalks cracked and grimy to let little weeds through... But despite the run-d0wn feeling of the city, there's a sense of history. Havana has known so much history and unlike American cities, Havana still reflects that and not just in museums and iron memorials.
Even in the early morning, Havana was HOT... humid hot. The first thing I did when I got to the hotel was take a completely cold shower (around 5:00 am Cuban time). Ten minutes later, I was dripping sweat again.
We stayed in the Hotel Lincoln every night we were in Havana. To give you an idea of this place: It's not even in the tourist books. It's definitely on the lower end of the hotel spectrum, but it felt like real Cuba. If there's one way to experience a culture, it's to live like the locals. The Hotel Lincoln was not pricey, decently comfortable and yet we got a sense of real Cuban culture there.
The first night, I stayed in a room separate from my parents. My room didn't have running hot water, but at 5:00 in the morning, exhausted and sweating, I didn't care. The bed was comfortable and made-up. (I was lucky with pillows that night though. The one I landed was nice and un-knobbly). The room even had a TV with a few channels. I later found out that one of the channels they had decent reception for was CNN.
I stayed up for a little while to write, but running on four hours of sleep the night before we left, I fell asleep almost immediately after jotting down a few observations...
And that was my first night in Havana...Ta-da! More to come... You see! I DID keep my promise. Laterz.
So, as it was and is currently still illegal for United States Citizens to go to Cuba without special permission from the government, my Dad, Juana and I had to go the sneaky way.
We actually flew out of the Tijuana Airport on Aeromexico, headed for Havana. Once you're out of the U.S., nobody really questions what you're up to. Cuba even refrains from stamping United States passports because they know that it's illegal for us to be there.
We arrived at Cuba around 4:30 am, Cuban time. It was completely dark out and there were very few cars on the road but quite a few people seemed to be awake. The cab driver who took us to our hotel told us that Cubans started their day around that time so that they can make it to work in the morning. Judging by this, I would not make a good Cuban.
On the way to our hotel, we passed through various districts of Havana. At night, it was hard to tell the difference, but everything looked... old. The buildings were literally half crumbling, the sidewalks cracked and grimy to let little weeds through... But despite the run-d0wn feeling of the city, there's a sense of history. Havana has known so much history and unlike American cities, Havana still reflects that and not just in museums and iron memorials.
Even in the early morning, Havana was HOT... humid hot. The first thing I did when I got to the hotel was take a completely cold shower (around 5:00 am Cuban time). Ten minutes later, I was dripping sweat again.
We stayed in the Hotel Lincoln every night we were in Havana. To give you an idea of this place: It's not even in the tourist books. It's definitely on the lower end of the hotel spectrum, but it felt like real Cuba. If there's one way to experience a culture, it's to live like the locals. The Hotel Lincoln was not pricey, decently comfortable and yet we got a sense of real Cuban culture there.
The first night, I stayed in a room separate from my parents. My room didn't have running hot water, but at 5:00 in the morning, exhausted and sweating, I didn't care. The bed was comfortable and made-up. (I was lucky with pillows that night though. The one I landed was nice and un-knobbly). The room even had a TV with a few channels. I later found out that one of the channels they had decent reception for was CNN.
I stayed up for a little while to write, but running on four hours of sleep the night before we left, I fell asleep almost immediately after jotting down a few observations...
And that was my first night in Havana...Ta-da! More to come... You see! I DID keep my promise. Laterz.
Stuff to Check Out
This article is extremely amusing: http://www.collegehumor.com/article:1773330
I'm addicted to collegehumor by the way. They have been my life for the past weekend. I would say it's sad, but I'm not sad about it at all... so yeah... not sad. Just... *cough* Anyways! Check them out.
I also just saw Star Trek-- The other half of my life for this weekend. Go see it. Now. No... literally. You're getting up from your computer, taking my advice literally and hopping in your car to catch the next showing of Star Trek at the local theaters...
Still here? Dang. Well. Go see it anyways.
I'm addicted to collegehumor by the way. They have been my life for the past weekend. I would say it's sad, but I'm not sad about it at all... so yeah... not sad. Just... *cough* Anyways! Check them out.
I also just saw Star Trek-- The other half of my life for this weekend. Go see it. Now. No... literally. You're getting up from your computer, taking my advice literally and hopping in your car to catch the next showing of Star Trek at the local theaters...
Still here? Dang. Well. Go see it anyways.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Updates, Disappointments and Promises that I May or May Not Keep
Today is amazing. I actually have nothing to do tonight; it's fantastic. So here is my goal for the next couple days: Actually catch up on the interesting stuff that's happened in my life... I'll start posting stuff about Cuba and LA and other shtuff.
Today, my choir teacher ditched school to go meet Adam Lambert at Mount Carmel High School... He was her former student and she won't shut up about him. I have nothing against him, I've just never really watched American Idol... Anyways, I find it kind of cool and kind of funny. Maybe I'll watch part of the last episodes...
Two days ago, Cassandra and I had tickets to see a pre-screening of Star Trek. We stood in line for two hours and we were literally twenty people from the front of the line when they came out and told us that the seats were full. It was... extremely disappointing, to put it lightly.
Anyways, I was surprised that nobody was really dressed up for the occasion... There was a huge line behind us but they all looked like normal, non-trekkie people. ;)
So I intend on seeing that sometime this weekend...
Well, adios for now, amigos!
Today, my choir teacher ditched school to go meet Adam Lambert at Mount Carmel High School... He was her former student and she won't shut up about him. I have nothing against him, I've just never really watched American Idol... Anyways, I find it kind of cool and kind of funny. Maybe I'll watch part of the last episodes...
Two days ago, Cassandra and I had tickets to see a pre-screening of Star Trek. We stood in line for two hours and we were literally twenty people from the front of the line when they came out and told us that the seats were full. It was... extremely disappointing, to put it lightly.
Anyways, I was surprised that nobody was really dressed up for the occasion... There was a huge line behind us but they all looked like normal, non-trekkie people. ;)
So I intend on seeing that sometime this weekend...
Well, adios for now, amigos!
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
I Burned My Finger... But enough of that...
So Melissa and I went to Starbucks to write tonight and we worked on this: We created a character to kill off together, each person writing one sentence and then passing the notebook for the next person... We also set the ending line before we started writing: And the kitten piddled in her flowerpot. Enjoy!
She's had three boyfriends, five one-night stands and one girlfriend (The Dean of Yale's daughter). Her father is a radio-preacher and her brother a missionary. She drinks coffee mixed with tea and has spoiled milk for her hang overs.
***
Hortense-Maria Deloy is a 32 year old Yale drop out (she failed to declare a major, but got straight As) who works as a pole dancer for free, owns a high end website which nobody knows she owns, wears her very very curly hair very very short, has horned rimmed glasses and is wearing a black mini-skirt the day of her death.She's had three boyfriends, five one-night stands and one girlfriend (The Dean of Yale's daughter). Her father is a radio-preacher and her brother a missionary. She drinks coffee mixed with tea and has spoiled milk for her hang overs.
***
Four years out of Yale, Hortense-Maria Deloy settled in the mansion left to her in her father's will. She wandered the halls for days, reminiscing about the photographs of celebrities posed with her father.
Her favorite was the one of him with Robert Redford outside the MGM Grand Hotel. She spit up on his jacket immediately after it was taken; her father had not been pleased. But of course, a godly man admonishing his four year old daughter in public was unheard of--until then.
Hortense smiled at the memory-- it wasn't often that her dad was publicly humiliated.
On the fifth day of wandering her house alone, Hortense heard a hurried knock at the door.
One hand went to her hair--perfectly chaotic curls cut close to her head that made her look like an electrocuted cow. The other hand straightened the horned rimmed glasses and pushed them back up the bridge of her nose.
With a toss of her head she opened the door-- and found a wild-eyed woman with smudged make up and straining eyes leveling a gun at her.
"Oh," she said. "Hi Mom."
"I've never forgiven you." Her mother's hand trembled on the trigger.
Hortense made a face and sighed. "He was too young for you anyways,"
"He was NOT!" Her mother shrieked. "I loved that man with a passion you will never be able to understand... you were no more than a child!"
"Just like dad?"
Her mom had a faraway look in her eyes. "That man was an idol, a god, a genius born for the camera. And your father was nothing more than a second-rate preacher!"
Hortense smiled dreamily. "That man WAS a god... Oh those lovely, round little--"
"Fingers!" her mother yelled. The dreamy look was replaced with one of inconceivable rage. "His beautiful, beautiful fingers! And you-- you SPIT UP all over them!"
AND THEN HORTENSE-MARIA DELOY GOES CRAZY AND RUNS INTO A FLOWERPOT THAT SHATTERS AND PIERCES HER RIGHT AORTA, MAKING HER LEFT VENTRICLE EXPLODE!
Her mom looked down at the corpse.
"Shit," she said. "I waited too long." She noticed the neighbor's cat, who had come running at the sound of shattering ceramic.
Hortense's mother gave the cat a familiar nod. "Do your best, pussy."
And the kitten fucking piddled in her fucking flowerpot.
Friday, April 24, 2009
A Long Due Blog Post
So, it's been... three weeks? Four weeks?
Where has May been in the past four weeks?
Mexico, Cuba, LA.
Quite fun. I'll update more at some other time. Right now I'm listening to my friend Melissa talk on the phone with a guy we met over the summer. He is eating salad right now and it is loaded with cheese and it's delicious and it's having a partay in his mouth yo.
So far, no one's brought the booze and no ones puking. It's apparently just a mild dance party. Laaaame.
Ta-ta!
Where has May been in the past four weeks?
Mexico, Cuba, LA.
Quite fun. I'll update more at some other time. Right now I'm listening to my friend Melissa talk on the phone with a guy we met over the summer. He is eating salad right now and it is loaded with cheese and it's delicious and it's having a partay in his mouth yo.
So far, no one's brought the booze and no ones puking. It's apparently just a mild dance party. Laaaame.
Ta-ta!
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Rusty Paperclips
This is a borderline tacky poem indirectly inspired by the Senior Project that I wrote today. (For those of you who don't know what that is, I'll probably end up ranting about it sometime, so no worries.)
***
Rusty Paperclips
Make my fingers burn.
Rusty paperclips
They make little brown lines
On important paper and
Love notes, maybe.
And maybe the papers cry out
If they knew…
If they knew…
But they don’t know—
That rusted metal is what leaves
Scars on their fresh corners.
***
Adios.
***
Rusty Paperclips
Make my fingers burn.
Rusty paperclips
They make little brown lines
On important paper and
Love notes, maybe.
And maybe the papers cry out
If they knew…
If they knew…
But they don’t know—
That rusted metal is what leaves
Scars on their fresh corners.
***
Adios.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
This is Not Working
... it really isn't. This is the second freewrite I did tonight.
***
This is not working. You look at him and open your mouth to speak or kiss. You're not sure which. But you definitely know this is not working.
He intimidates you- how confusing. You see a little sparkle in his iris- of the streetlights and yellow lamps and yes, maybe the red light from the gas gauge. There's that little glint, almost as if he knows, but you know he doesn't and maybe that makes you a prick but guess what? It's true.
But you're too timid to try anything. You think of all the implications, you think of the awkward immediate future. You always tell people to "live in the moment". "Go for it!" and you're a fucking hypocrite because the only hand that's holding you back now is your own.
And before you know it, you convince yourself that nothing will happen anyways. He's going a good 20 over the speed limit- literally, but you're not keeping pace- symbolically. If the car didn't exist, you'd be left at the start.
So now you're pulling up along the curb- dark street. Somehow, they forgot the street lamps here. You linger a while, procrastinating. But wait. Did you just compare him to a piece of homework?
A moment, music filling the silence, thank goodness. You think about working up your nerve but he smiles and gets out of the car to walk you up. Goddammit. You liked that song too!
There's still hope- maybe. But now you're at the door, saying how it was a great evening. God, he is smoking in a t-shirt and dress pants.
He leans in. You will your heart to start beating faster, but then he hugs you and says goodbye and when you're standing on the inside welcome mat, you make yourself smile but secretly think
Fuck.
***
This is not working. You look at him and open your mouth to speak or kiss. You're not sure which. But you definitely know this is not working.
He intimidates you- how confusing. You see a little sparkle in his iris- of the streetlights and yellow lamps and yes, maybe the red light from the gas gauge. There's that little glint, almost as if he knows, but you know he doesn't and maybe that makes you a prick but guess what? It's true.
But you're too timid to try anything. You think of all the implications, you think of the awkward immediate future. You always tell people to "live in the moment". "Go for it!" and you're a fucking hypocrite because the only hand that's holding you back now is your own.
And before you know it, you convince yourself that nothing will happen anyways. He's going a good 20 over the speed limit- literally, but you're not keeping pace- symbolically. If the car didn't exist, you'd be left at the start.
So now you're pulling up along the curb- dark street. Somehow, they forgot the street lamps here. You linger a while, procrastinating. But wait. Did you just compare him to a piece of homework?
A moment, music filling the silence, thank goodness. You think about working up your nerve but he smiles and gets out of the car to walk you up. Goddammit. You liked that song too!
There's still hope- maybe. But now you're at the door, saying how it was a great evening. God, he is smoking in a t-shirt and dress pants.
He leans in. You will your heart to start beating faster, but then he hugs you and says goodbye and when you're standing on the inside welcome mat, you make yourself smile but secretly think
Fuck.
Haiku
Melissa and I went to Starbucks today and did some freewritin', so here ye are. The beginning word was 'haiku'.
***
I taste my coffee.
Its vanilla and sugar
mixed into dessert.
***
I write haikus in the clues of my crossword puzzles. Most of the readers don't even know what a haiku is and most of them don't do the crosswords. So I guess you could safely say that only old people sitting in their rocking chairs and stuffy over-decorated living rooms read my poetry.
In Tempton, Missouri, working for "The Newspaper" is not a big deal. Somebody has to do it- just like somebody has to write the crossword puzzles that nobody but Aunt Betty and Grandma Martha do.
I'm not complaining. If I didn't like Tempton, I could be in New York in two hours. My brother has a plane three minutes out of Tempton. But the truth is, I like this place. I like it's quiet naivete and it's little scandals and mocking birds in the mornings.
One quiet day, I got home from work, took the semi-winding road up to my front door and opened the mailbox to a surprise- an official looking letter among the usual advertisements and family greetings.
With a finger, I slit open the letter and unfolded the single sheet of paper inside. It said only this:
We like your haikus.
Come to New York and work here.
The Times welcomes you.
***
Ta-Da. (I actually have no idea if there is a Tempton, Missouri... so yeah).
***
I taste my coffee.
Its vanilla and sugar
mixed into dessert.
***
I write haikus in the clues of my crossword puzzles. Most of the readers don't even know what a haiku is and most of them don't do the crosswords. So I guess you could safely say that only old people sitting in their rocking chairs and stuffy over-decorated living rooms read my poetry.
In Tempton, Missouri, working for "The Newspaper" is not a big deal. Somebody has to do it- just like somebody has to write the crossword puzzles that nobody but Aunt Betty and Grandma Martha do.
I'm not complaining. If I didn't like Tempton, I could be in New York in two hours. My brother has a plane three minutes out of Tempton. But the truth is, I like this place. I like it's quiet naivete and it's little scandals and mocking birds in the mornings.
One quiet day, I got home from work, took the semi-winding road up to my front door and opened the mailbox to a surprise- an official looking letter among the usual advertisements and family greetings.
With a finger, I slit open the letter and unfolded the single sheet of paper inside. It said only this:
We like your haikus.
Come to New York and work here.
The Times welcomes you.
***
Ta-Da. (I actually have no idea if there is a Tempton, Missouri... so yeah).
Monday, March 30, 2009
Choir Festival Games
1. The Fashion Show Game: Pick out the director with the most fashion sense!
Variations: Pick the director with no career in fashion design! Pick the girl in each choir who seems to fit her dress the best! (Don't worry if none of them do, losing the game usually has no consequences).
2. The "Find Your Doppleganger Game": Find the girl in a choir who looks the most like you!
Variations: Find the girl in a choir who looks the most like someone you know (or don't know)! (I swear I just saw a male version of Kate Winslet...)
3. The "See How Long you can Stay Awake" Game: Count how many songs you can sit through without nodding off! 1 - Don't worry, we're all human. 2 - So you have some musical appreciation, good for you. 3 - Maybe you just had an extra cup of coffee this morning. 4 - We'll make an appointment with your doctor. They can prescribe some sleeping pills. 5+ - There's something seriously wrong... or you're thinking of bieng a music major... but there's still something seriously wrong.
(Music majors, don't take offense. I mean this all in good fun.)
Signing off,
-Me
Variations: Pick the director with no career in fashion design! Pick the girl in each choir who seems to fit her dress the best! (Don't worry if none of them do, losing the game usually has no consequences).
2. The "Find Your Doppleganger Game": Find the girl in a choir who looks the most like you!
Variations: Find the girl in a choir who looks the most like someone you know (or don't know)! (I swear I just saw a male version of Kate Winslet...)
3. The "See How Long you can Stay Awake" Game: Count how many songs you can sit through without nodding off! 1 - Don't worry, we're all human. 2 - So you have some musical appreciation, good for you. 3 - Maybe you just had an extra cup of coffee this morning. 4 - We'll make an appointment with your doctor. They can prescribe some sleeping pills. 5+ - There's something seriously wrong... or you're thinking of bieng a music major... but there's still something seriously wrong.
(Music majors, don't take offense. I mean this all in good fun.)
Signing off,
-Me
This Website is not Blocked by St. Bernard.
Wow.
You can't get on Facebook, Myspace, Youtube... but you can access blogger.com. Actually, that's pretty awesome. I should give the poor spanish computer-lab kids the hint.
I'm using a school computer right now by the way... St. Bernard is the firewall that the school puts up on websites that it thinks are 'inappropriate for school'.
Anyways, I should return to researching obscure French words for my music video.
The song is "The Legionnaire's Lament" by The Decemberists if anybody's interested. (Unfortunately, I can't post a youtube link right now because the school won't let me...) Look it up. It's good.
Adios.
You can't get on Facebook, Myspace, Youtube... but you can access blogger.com. Actually, that's pretty awesome. I should give the poor spanish computer-lab kids the hint.
I'm using a school computer right now by the way... St. Bernard is the firewall that the school puts up on websites that it thinks are 'inappropriate for school'.
Anyways, I should return to researching obscure French words for my music video.
The song is "The Legionnaire's Lament" by The Decemberists if anybody's interested. (Unfortunately, I can't post a youtube link right now because the school won't let me...) Look it up. It's good.
Adios.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Useful Stuff
A couple observations:
1. All of the Best Buy stores have the same hold music.
2. When you take a wrong turn, you can usually get away with it by calling it a "detour".
3. Archery is an extremely phallic sport.
4. Led Zeppelin is good movie music.
5. Cell phone alarm clocks are extremely annoying.
Hypothetical Questions for you:
1. Can I give up religion for lent?
2. If I have wander lust, does that mean I can give somebody the travel bug?
1. All of the Best Buy stores have the same hold music.
2. When you take a wrong turn, you can usually get away with it by calling it a "detour".
3. Archery is an extremely phallic sport.
4. Led Zeppelin is good movie music.
5. Cell phone alarm clocks are extremely annoying.
Hypothetical Questions for you:
1. Can I give up religion for lent?
2. If I have wander lust, does that mean I can give somebody the travel bug?
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
I Want Enchiladas
Yes. Sad to say, I am coerced by Yahoo.com commercials/news reports.
Allow me to explain: I was opening my web browser and saw a rather delicious looking picture of two enchiladas on the Yahoo news stories box. So now I want some... even though I just had a most glorious dinner with a friend.
ANYWAYS! That being said, I had a very... interesting day.
For my psychology class, we have an assignment to "break a social norm". I agreed to help my friend out with hers and since we needed to document it somehow, she got me to be the sneaky, not-so-innnocent-looking video camera person.
Her project went like this: (Keep in mind that we all look seventeen or eighteen) She waits around in some public place and a guy friend of ours that she recruited earlier comes and proposes to her. He would give her a bouquet of flowers and then get on one knee to propose. She then answers in surprise and skepticism and tells him that she thinks they're too young and wants to wait, essentially rejecting him.
They had a little trouble with the acting at first, but they got it down eventually. It was 80 percent convincing, but I had to hide out so that people wouldn't be... disturbed by the sketchy looking teenager with a video camera.
The point of the project was to get bystanders' reactions to such a young proposal and consequent rejection. Most people actually ignored us and walked away. A few figured we were doing some school project and one guy was really awesome.
She'd sat down next to him while he was reading a book and when our friend proposed to her, I watched him do his best to mind his own business. He glanced at them a couple times and it was pretty clear that he wasn't reading his book anymore. :)
Anyways, we got an interview with him afterwards and he was really cool about it. He told us that he was a little unsure at first but when our friend got down on one knee, he knew. He also told us that he was surprised/a little amused that she rejected him. This guy was really cool to talk to and probably gave us the best 'evidence' of the night.
Haha. Anyways, that's why I spent two hours in the mall on a Wednesday night... Not because I was shopping, but because I was watching a friend propose to and get rejected by another friend at least eight times in a row.
G'night all!
-Me
Allow me to explain: I was opening my web browser and saw a rather delicious looking picture of two enchiladas on the Yahoo news stories box. So now I want some... even though I just had a most glorious dinner with a friend.
ANYWAYS! That being said, I had a very... interesting day.
For my psychology class, we have an assignment to "break a social norm". I agreed to help my friend out with hers and since we needed to document it somehow, she got me to be the sneaky, not-so-innnocent-looking video camera person.
Her project went like this: (Keep in mind that we all look seventeen or eighteen) She waits around in some public place and a guy friend of ours that she recruited earlier comes and proposes to her. He would give her a bouquet of flowers and then get on one knee to propose. She then answers in surprise and skepticism and tells him that she thinks they're too young and wants to wait, essentially rejecting him.
They had a little trouble with the acting at first, but they got it down eventually. It was 80 percent convincing, but I had to hide out so that people wouldn't be... disturbed by the sketchy looking teenager with a video camera.
The point of the project was to get bystanders' reactions to such a young proposal and consequent rejection. Most people actually ignored us and walked away. A few figured we were doing some school project and one guy was really awesome.
She'd sat down next to him while he was reading a book and when our friend proposed to her, I watched him do his best to mind his own business. He glanced at them a couple times and it was pretty clear that he wasn't reading his book anymore. :)
Anyways, we got an interview with him afterwards and he was really cool about it. He told us that he was a little unsure at first but when our friend got down on one knee, he knew. He also told us that he was surprised/a little amused that she rejected him. This guy was really cool to talk to and probably gave us the best 'evidence' of the night.
Haha. Anyways, that's why I spent two hours in the mall on a Wednesday night... Not because I was shopping, but because I was watching a friend propose to and get rejected by another friend at least eight times in a row.
G'night all!
-Me
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Introductions!
So this is a blog...
I started this pretty much purely on whim. My thought process: I should start a blog... Just for kicks... Thus, I have absolutely no idea what to write.
I suppose an introduction is a good place to start.
My name is May, I'm a senior in high school near San Diego, California and I waste way too much time on Facebook. Starting a blog seems like a more respectable way to goof off on the internet when I should be doing homework.
Anyways. My life consists of writing, friends, film/video work, coffee, homework I've procrastinated on, good movies, good books and recently, a feverish attempt to find a job in order to pay for the gap year I want to take next year. So far, I'm still unemployed.
In all honesty, I'm getting bored introducing myself-- somehow, I think that's a bad sign... So! I'll wrap this up soon.
If you're wondering where the name of this blog came from: "More Crazy than My Goat", it's a reference to a quote by an artist named Remedios Varo. The only quote I could find of hers was "On second thought, I think I am more crazy than my goat."
Varo was a surrealist who painted at the same time as Dali. She was just less well known but she actually worked with him for a while. I discovered her about a year ago when I was in Mexico with my dad for a day trip. We'd gone down to Rosarita and we were looking around the little shops with obscenely cheap mass-produced-yet-indie-looking tourist stuff and one shop had a wall of interesting paintings. We asked the shop owner and she said that they were reproductions of Remedios Varo paintings. I didn't buy any, but I did some more reasearch when I got home and decided she was one of my favorite artists.
Anyways! I'm not sure if I'm crazier than a goat, and I don't actually have a goat to compare myself to, so don't consider the quote a personal description... ;)
Thanks for reading my introduction! I'll be posting again soon... Until then!
-Me
I started this pretty much purely on whim. My thought process: I should start a blog... Just for kicks... Thus, I have absolutely no idea what to write.
I suppose an introduction is a good place to start.
My name is May, I'm a senior in high school near San Diego, California and I waste way too much time on Facebook. Starting a blog seems like a more respectable way to goof off on the internet when I should be doing homework.
Anyways. My life consists of writing, friends, film/video work, coffee, homework I've procrastinated on, good movies, good books and recently, a feverish attempt to find a job in order to pay for the gap year I want to take next year. So far, I'm still unemployed.
In all honesty, I'm getting bored introducing myself-- somehow, I think that's a bad sign... So! I'll wrap this up soon.
If you're wondering where the name of this blog came from: "More Crazy than My Goat", it's a reference to a quote by an artist named Remedios Varo. The only quote I could find of hers was "On second thought, I think I am more crazy than my goat."
Varo was a surrealist who painted at the same time as Dali. She was just less well known but she actually worked with him for a while. I discovered her about a year ago when I was in Mexico with my dad for a day trip. We'd gone down to Rosarita and we were looking around the little shops with obscenely cheap mass-produced-yet-indie-looking tourist stuff and one shop had a wall of interesting paintings. We asked the shop owner and she said that they were reproductions of Remedios Varo paintings. I didn't buy any, but I did some more reasearch when I got home and decided she was one of my favorite artists.
Anyways! I'm not sure if I'm crazier than a goat, and I don't actually have a goat to compare myself to, so don't consider the quote a personal description... ;)
Thanks for reading my introduction! I'll be posting again soon... Until then!
-Me
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