"christmas break is like rehab. i sleep 8 hours a night, i eat healthy, and like lindsay lohan, i am taken away from alcohol."
-bridget mcglone-
thanks for that one, bridget.
in any case, christmas break 2007 is well on its way, marked by a staggering amount of GRE studies (i now know several choice words for cantankerous), a nauseating amount of time spent at the country club (would you like more gin in your gimlet, sir?), some friend time out and about (and i now know why i go to miami ... fewer creepy hick townies) and naught much else. granted, it's been a fairly restful break, though not all circumstances are perfect. but are they ever?
i've also successfully accomplished what a consummate drug lord might want, which is get my parents completely hooked ...
... on LOST.
hats off to jj abrams for being an omniscient wizard with this show. i ordered the pilot from netflix just to see what all the fuss was about, and a week and a half later, i'm mostly done with season two. call me pathetic. but i call it media studies. now, at cocktail parties, instead of dazzling people with my extensive vocabulary and witticisms, i can impress them with pansophical knowledge of jack, kate, sawyer, and charlie. what is that strange black smoke? who are the others? and why, five minutes after shaving, does jack have a perpetual 5 o'clock shadow? the world may never know.
i'm out.
quote of the day: i saw a guy lying there with an ankle holster. so i took the gun. thought it might come in handy. and guess what? i just shot a bear!
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
fin, finito, finitus, finitamos, finitais, finitan
done.
compleo. compleō, compleāre, compleuī, compleitum.
i am completely finished with my last ever fall semester of college.
with the placement of my intermediate poetry workshop portfolio, safely tucked in the mailbox of bill howe, located in the english department's office in 356 bachelor, i ended my academic education for 2007. and it is the last time.
i'm not usually one for firsts and lasts, (ooh, this was the first piece of gum i chewed, this was the last movie ticket stub i have - enchanted, for those curious), but when it's significant landmarks of my life, well - that's a different story altogether. my first day of college, my last day in london, my first car. these are landmarks people use to define themselves.
i drove around campus after running in my portfolio, as i refused to walk to bachelor in the rain and dismal drizzle. it seemed like the right thing to do. i drove past western, past boyd, past peabody, past kumlar. i have a connection with each building. for boyd, it was an awful lit class. in peabody, numerous fiction readings. and kumlar - one of the most beautiful concerts i have ever sang in. next, i traveled down spring street - there was shriver, home to many a late lunches, midnight munches, and sunday brunches. shiedler, the building responsible for housing the class that forever lowered my gpa (geology of u.s. national parks) and culler, the engineering building where i curiously had three creative writing classes.
then it was past hughes, where i had a film lab last fall and tripped down the seminar room stairs many a time. and laws hall - which has been home to collegiate chorale and an irksome bother to all business majors. and upham - i could almost smell the mothballs and mildew. countless american lit classes, inklings meetings, laws, hall & associates meetings... every building on campus somehow housed a different memory.
i saw campus as an outsider for the first time in two years today. i saw myself in the prospective students wandering around with their parents. that was me nearly three years ago, dreaming of a fresh start at miami. where did the time go? as i drove past and saw king library encased in mist, i saw it as i saw it when i still went to grove city - impossibly large, imposing, austere. but at the same time, i know it isn't that bad.
i guess focusing on all that won't help matters, and i know i should be excited for things to come. but it's like being in a well-lit, familiar room, and stepping across the threshold into a dark room. it's the dark room of hughes. i can't see what's right in front of me. it's unknown, and scary, and i'm not sure i'm ready.
quote o' the day: "i know new york, i need new york, i know i need unique new york."
compleo. compleō, compleāre, compleuī, compleitum.
i am completely finished with my last ever fall semester of college.
with the placement of my intermediate poetry workshop portfolio, safely tucked in the mailbox of bill howe, located in the english department's office in 356 bachelor, i ended my academic education for 2007. and it is the last time.
i'm not usually one for firsts and lasts, (ooh, this was the first piece of gum i chewed, this was the last movie ticket stub i have - enchanted, for those curious), but when it's significant landmarks of my life, well - that's a different story altogether. my first day of college, my last day in london, my first car. these are landmarks people use to define themselves.
i drove around campus after running in my portfolio, as i refused to walk to bachelor in the rain and dismal drizzle. it seemed like the right thing to do. i drove past western, past boyd, past peabody, past kumlar. i have a connection with each building. for boyd, it was an awful lit class. in peabody, numerous fiction readings. and kumlar - one of the most beautiful concerts i have ever sang in. next, i traveled down spring street - there was shriver, home to many a late lunches, midnight munches, and sunday brunches. shiedler, the building responsible for housing the class that forever lowered my gpa (geology of u.s. national parks) and culler, the engineering building where i curiously had three creative writing classes.
then it was past hughes, where i had a film lab last fall and tripped down the seminar room stairs many a time. and laws hall - which has been home to collegiate chorale and an irksome bother to all business majors. and upham - i could almost smell the mothballs and mildew. countless american lit classes, inklings meetings, laws, hall & associates meetings... every building on campus somehow housed a different memory.
i saw campus as an outsider for the first time in two years today. i saw myself in the prospective students wandering around with their parents. that was me nearly three years ago, dreaming of a fresh start at miami. where did the time go? as i drove past and saw king library encased in mist, i saw it as i saw it when i still went to grove city - impossibly large, imposing, austere. but at the same time, i know it isn't that bad.
i guess focusing on all that won't help matters, and i know i should be excited for things to come. but it's like being in a well-lit, familiar room, and stepping across the threshold into a dark room. it's the dark room of hughes. i can't see what's right in front of me. it's unknown, and scary, and i'm not sure i'm ready.
quote o' the day: "i know new york, i need new york, i know i need unique new york."
Sunday, December 9, 2007
happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing i know.
"happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing i know."
so said ernest hemmingway.
and maybe he was on to something.
i went to steinkeller's and circle bar tonight with a friend -- cc -- and while the conversations might have been commonplace, we conversed at such a level that an outside listener would think us at least coherent, versus the table next to us, who were doing a rendition of "pour some sugarrrrr on me" (in the name of love) . words like "socioeconomic" were thrown in occasionally, along with "strata." my professors would be proud.
but then, a friend/acquaintance who i had traveled hundreds of miles with back to cleveland sophomore year came in (albeit, slightly toasted), and said, "you know, you're gorgeous and classy and everything, but you're not my type at all. you're just too smart for me."
um, you're not my type, either. but too smart?
seriously?
since when was it a bad thing to use big words, or reference cezanne in a casual conversation? since when are you judged by how much you can "tone down" your intelligence until it is culturally acceptable? i don't know, i guess i'm not smart enough to tell you.
graduation cannot come soon enough.
quote of the day: "beth, you know how to add more wiper fluid to your jeep, but you don't know how to open the bottle?"
true story.
so said ernest hemmingway.
and maybe he was on to something.
i went to steinkeller's and circle bar tonight with a friend -- cc -- and while the conversations might have been commonplace, we conversed at such a level that an outside listener would think us at least coherent, versus the table next to us, who were doing a rendition of "pour some sugarrrrr on me" (in the name of love) . words like "socioeconomic" were thrown in occasionally, along with "strata." my professors would be proud.
but then, a friend/acquaintance who i had traveled hundreds of miles with back to cleveland sophomore year came in (albeit, slightly toasted), and said, "you know, you're gorgeous and classy and everything, but you're not my type at all. you're just too smart for me."
um, you're not my type, either. but too smart?
seriously?
since when was it a bad thing to use big words, or reference cezanne in a casual conversation? since when are you judged by how much you can "tone down" your intelligence until it is culturally acceptable? i don't know, i guess i'm not smart enough to tell you.
graduation cannot come soon enough.
quote of the day: "beth, you know how to add more wiper fluid to your jeep, but you don't know how to open the bottle?"
true story.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
to write or not to write
that is the question.
a friend and fellow classmate brought up an interesting question in capstone today: why shouldn't those wishing to enter the creative writing major have to submit a portfolio, just as with any other fine arts major? art majors certainly have to. so do interior design and prospective architecture students. those wishing to major in theater or music must audition. so why is writing any different? it is an art, like any other. it takes craft, wit, and artistry to construct - so why can any rejected business major declare their major as such without so much as a single word of theirs being evaluated.
if i told a med school that i wanted to apply without any previous medical experience (save a few trips to the e.r. or an episode or two of grey's anatomy and one awful cat dissection), but i really really wanted to be a doctor (oh, mcyummy/mcdreamy/mcmuffin!) do you think they'd let me in and say, "yeah, she's no good with a scalpel but her heart's in the right place." hells no! they'd most likely laugh at my face, tell me to stay as far away from hospitals as i could, and issue a restraining order. just because you think you should do something, or it seems like a good idea, or the only option, doesn't mean you should or it is.
writing is the best and most difficult form of self-expression. you cannot merely splash words on a page. (i suppose you can, but with slightly less success than pollock.) and how can the english department say anyone can do it?
aaaaaaaaand step off soap box.
quote of the day: "as she sat on the shiny, wet, white, somewhat slippery lifeguard chair, and the cool silver whistle hanged from her slightly unmoisturized lip-gloss covered lips, lizzie-mae looked up at the beautiful yet damaging rays of the sun and thought, 'dang, i'm tan.'
paraphrased, but that's the kind of stuff we're getting in advanced writing workshops.
yay.
a friend and fellow classmate brought up an interesting question in capstone today: why shouldn't those wishing to enter the creative writing major have to submit a portfolio, just as with any other fine arts major? art majors certainly have to. so do interior design and prospective architecture students. those wishing to major in theater or music must audition. so why is writing any different? it is an art, like any other. it takes craft, wit, and artistry to construct - so why can any rejected business major declare their major as such without so much as a single word of theirs being evaluated.
if i told a med school that i wanted to apply without any previous medical experience (save a few trips to the e.r. or an episode or two of grey's anatomy and one awful cat dissection), but i really really wanted to be a doctor (oh, mcyummy/mcdreamy/mcmuffin!) do you think they'd let me in and say, "yeah, she's no good with a scalpel but her heart's in the right place." hells no! they'd most likely laugh at my face, tell me to stay as far away from hospitals as i could, and issue a restraining order. just because you think you should do something, or it seems like a good idea, or the only option, doesn't mean you should or it is.
writing is the best and most difficult form of self-expression. you cannot merely splash words on a page. (i suppose you can, but with slightly less success than pollock.) and how can the english department say anyone can do it?
aaaaaaaaand step off soap box.
quote of the day: "as she sat on the shiny, wet, white, somewhat slippery lifeguard chair, and the cool silver whistle hanged from her slightly unmoisturized lip-gloss covered lips, lizzie-mae looked up at the beautiful yet damaging rays of the sun and thought, 'dang, i'm tan.'
paraphrased, but that's the kind of stuff we're getting in advanced writing workshops.
yay.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
you look like such an ameteur, you're not fishing!
i think everyone likes having something that defines them. at dull company christmas parties, when you meet bob vance, he tells you he works at (and coincidentally, owns, manages, and advertises for) vance refrigeration. first things that qualify you. when you meet someone, you tell them, i'm an investment banker, i'm a doctor, i'm the clown at your niece's birthday who can't make a proper poodle balloon.
but don't we love the classifications? things that let the mind take short cuts into discerning who someone is? you say, "i'm a student," and automatically, someone will label you as several things.
-you have worked hard to get here.
-you are of a certain socioeconomic class.
-maybe you party.
-maybe you knit.
-but you're going somewhere in life.
but then, why do any stereotypes exist? it's so people can make the connection.
stereotypes exist for a reason - they're not all bad - it helps you remember and compress information.
take, for example, the stereotype that all blondes are lacking in brain cells. how'd that one get started? by a lot of people meeting women of flaxen hair who couldn't pronounce words like "epitome."
generally speaking, of course.
i really need to finish this paper on 18th century feminist lit theory.
quote of the day: it's one of those yellow shorts kind of days.
but don't we love the classifications? things that let the mind take short cuts into discerning who someone is? you say, "i'm a student," and automatically, someone will label you as several things.
-you have worked hard to get here.
-you are of a certain socioeconomic class.
-maybe you party.
-maybe you knit.
-but you're going somewhere in life.
but then, why do any stereotypes exist? it's so people can make the connection.
stereotypes exist for a reason - they're not all bad - it helps you remember and compress information.
take, for example, the stereotype that all blondes are lacking in brain cells. how'd that one get started? by a lot of people meeting women of flaxen hair who couldn't pronounce words like "epitome."
generally speaking, of course.
i really need to finish this paper on 18th century feminist lit theory.
quote of the day: it's one of those yellow shorts kind of days.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
national novel writing month
Novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel
Novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel
Novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel
Novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel
Novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel
Novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel
Novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel
Novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel
Novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel
Novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel
Novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel
Novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel
Novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel
Novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel
Novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel novel
Flesch-Kinkaid Reading Level: 0.0
i am out of ideas.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
the dull recount of my goings-on
hello, avid reader(s) and those who just can't seem to get their weekly quota of beth.
i'm usually very against the blogging "i went here, did this, and saw this" blog entry, but in this rare circumstance, i think my life merits a word or two of documentation, if only to chronicle the strange, the embarrassing, the awkward, the unbelievably cool.
where to begin, though?
well, let me first summarize, then explain.
-horse shit.
-newsies.
-chair.
the first begins with me losing my "bad hair day" hat in media criticism. i had placed it descreetly under my desk, only to forget it on my merrie way to my creative writing capstone. but vanessa promised to lovingly fetch it, as she had class in there the next hour. i stopped my worrying and went on with my day.
three hours later and a chilly two-mile hike over to western campus, i sat in the harsh plastic seats of boyd 132, anxiously awaiting the reunion with bad hair day hat and me. vanessa sat down with a huge grin spanning from ear to ear. "i found your hat, silly girl!" she said as she placed said missing hat on my head...
...except it wasn't my hat at all.
it was a fedora that vanessa apparently stole from a professor.
excellent.
story #2: chair.
today in my creative writing capstone, we discussed plagiarism, authorship, and the narrow options of seven story lines. this is hardly blogworthy.
the entertainment comes now: having come from a media class where we watched nothing but tv musicals for an hour and 15 minutes, vanessa and i had a penchant to sing throughout our next class. cheek just looked at us. then ... class was over. i was folding up a graffiti'd edition of the new york times to throw away (er - recycle) and wasn't paying attention to my physical locale. and there was a chair right in front of me. so, in true graceful beth fashion, i misjudged the area, and my chuck taylor caught under the chair leg. before i could stop myself, i go flying, pell-mell through the air (the eastern european judge only gave me a 3.7 ... ruddy biased judge). cheek only stared as i re-enact the flight plan of something recently catapulted through the air. it was a shrewd, caculating look that said something like, "everything that has come out of your mouth has been in song form, and you just tripped ... well, let me see, you must be toasted."
it was grand.
horse shit will have to wait, as i have miles to go before i sleep/
miles to go before i sleep.
quote of the day: "you have a child, and i am him."
i'm usually very against the blogging "i went here, did this, and saw this" blog entry, but in this rare circumstance, i think my life merits a word or two of documentation, if only to chronicle the strange, the embarrassing, the awkward, the unbelievably cool.
where to begin, though?
well, let me first summarize, then explain.
-horse shit.
-newsies.
-chair.
the first begins with me losing my "bad hair day" hat in media criticism. i had placed it descreetly under my desk, only to forget it on my merrie way to my creative writing capstone. but vanessa promised to lovingly fetch it, as she had class in there the next hour. i stopped my worrying and went on with my day.
three hours later and a chilly two-mile hike over to western campus, i sat in the harsh plastic seats of boyd 132, anxiously awaiting the reunion with bad hair day hat and me. vanessa sat down with a huge grin spanning from ear to ear. "i found your hat, silly girl!" she said as she placed said missing hat on my head...
...except it wasn't my hat at all.
it was a fedora that vanessa apparently stole from a professor.
excellent.
story #2: chair.
today in my creative writing capstone, we discussed plagiarism, authorship, and the narrow options of seven story lines. this is hardly blogworthy.
the entertainment comes now: having come from a media class where we watched nothing but tv musicals for an hour and 15 minutes, vanessa and i had a penchant to sing throughout our next class. cheek just looked at us. then ... class was over. i was folding up a graffiti'd edition of the new york times to throw away (er - recycle) and wasn't paying attention to my physical locale. and there was a chair right in front of me. so, in true graceful beth fashion, i misjudged the area, and my chuck taylor caught under the chair leg. before i could stop myself, i go flying, pell-mell through the air (the eastern european judge only gave me a 3.7 ... ruddy biased judge). cheek only stared as i re-enact the flight plan of something recently catapulted through the air. it was a shrewd, caculating look that said something like, "everything that has come out of your mouth has been in song form, and you just tripped ... well, let me see, you must be toasted."
it was grand.
horse shit will have to wait, as i have miles to go before i sleep/
miles to go before i sleep.
quote of the day: "you have a child, and i am him."
Friday, October 5, 2007
on top of the world (or the midwest)
journey: –noun
2.passage or progress from one stage to another
3. american rock band formed in 1973 in san francisco, ca.
this past weekend, my housemates, as well as the fine fellows of trainwreck, sojourned to the mecca of middle class, that ceaselessly laughable lay of precisely engineered metal and wood. also referred to as cedar point, for the most wonderful time of the year - hall-o-weekends! highlights include, but are not limited to:
-brittany's vast array of pets, only to be rivaled with dr. dolittle
-scooter races
-"haunted" house
-top thrill dragster and the 2 hour queue to ride it
-a pepsi cup and a long queue for maverick
i may or may not decide to talk about these in great length. it's friday, and that means it's scrapbooking time.
no, seriously.
or maybe just pilates.
quote of the day: "i was the youngest pilot in pan am history. when i was four, the pilot let me ride in the cockpit and fly the plane with him. and i was four, and i was great and i would have landed it, but my dad wanted us to go back to our seats."
| 1. | a traveling from one place to another, usually taking a rather long time; trip: |
3. american rock band formed in 1973 in san francisco, ca.
this past weekend, my housemates, as well as the fine fellows of trainwreck, sojourned to the mecca of middle class, that ceaselessly laughable lay of precisely engineered metal and wood. also referred to as cedar point, for the most wonderful time of the year - hall-o-weekends! highlights include, but are not limited to:
-brittany's vast array of pets, only to be rivaled with dr. dolittle
-scooter races
-"haunted" house
-top thrill dragster and the 2 hour queue to ride it
-a pepsi cup and a long queue for maverick
i may or may not decide to talk about these in great length. it's friday, and that means it's scrapbooking time.
no, seriously.
or maybe just pilates.
quote of the day: "i was the youngest pilot in pan am history. when i was four, the pilot let me ride in the cockpit and fly the plane with him. and i was four, and i was great and i would have landed it, but my dad wanted us to go back to our seats."
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
rainy days and mondays always get me down
"she looked out the window her whole life, the way so many women sit their sadness on an elbow. i wonder if she made the best with what she got or was she sorry because she couldn't be all the things she wanted to be."
-the house on mango street
i wonder, how many people have sacrificed their dreams for reality, for their spouse, for guitar hero II.
so many of my friends are getting engaged and married. i expected it to happen, just not so soon. i kind of dread going on facebook nowadays, because i'm sure another one (or five) of my friends will have taken the plunge.
i'm not saying that there's anything wrong with getting engaged, but there's a time in place. we're generation X - the mtv nation of instant gratification and self-appreciation, image reciprocation, media provocation cares-more-about-paris-hilton- than the iranian president saying there are no problems in iran ...
lestways, i digress.
what i mean to say is that i don't have quixotic notions of marriage anymore. for me ... i'd rather backpack around europe and asia for a few years instead of prematurely worrying about diapers, formula, and daycare. not to mention that as a creative writer, i've singled myself out as a desperate, depraved and solitary creature that craves seclusion.
(insert segue here)
i went to jungle jim's this weekend to buy exotic foods. who am i kidding? exotic alcoholic beverages not available in the united states. jungle jim's, to those who don't know, is like a disney world.
for adults.
for fat, food-loving aficionados who can't wait to stuff their faces with the latest brie from france or a spinokopita from greece.
and there are ... sets... for lack of a better word, where each country is siphoned off into individual sections, and is decorated accordingly. for germany, it looks as if you landed in the middle of the beer hall putscht. and england - my beloved england - is transformed from the dismal aisles of florescent-lighted to the depths of sherwood forest. and ... they had cadbury chocolate bars AND double deckers ... i nearly died of sheer happiness (or caloric intake).
not to mention the strongbow that is now happily cooling in my refrigerator at a pleasant 40 degrees. how very reminiscent of london.
my equestrian team coach also told me and rachel, a fellow teammate today that we were "spindly" and needed to go to the rec more. so, feeling incredibly guilty with our DNA, we trecked to the gym (after a fairly hefty riding session) and left the aerobics class with legs like jell-o. smart idea, no?
quote of the day: heh. that's almost as much fun as telling a barista that your name is katie. then half of miami would go, "oooh, latte."
tied with...
"and heaven forbid we should have to slather on some deodorant."
courtesy of the bstebs/bsawick conversation hour.
-the house on mango street
i wonder, how many people have sacrificed their dreams for reality, for their spouse, for guitar hero II.
so many of my friends are getting engaged and married. i expected it to happen, just not so soon. i kind of dread going on facebook nowadays, because i'm sure another one (or five) of my friends will have taken the plunge.
i'm not saying that there's anything wrong with getting engaged, but there's a time in place. we're generation X - the mtv nation of instant gratification and self-appreciation, image reciprocation, media provocation cares-more-about-paris-hilton- than the iranian president saying there are no problems in iran ...
lestways, i digress.
what i mean to say is that i don't have quixotic notions of marriage anymore. for me ... i'd rather backpack around europe and asia for a few years instead of prematurely worrying about diapers, formula, and daycare. not to mention that as a creative writer, i've singled myself out as a desperate, depraved and solitary creature that craves seclusion.
(insert segue here)
i went to jungle jim's this weekend to buy exotic foods. who am i kidding? exotic alcoholic beverages not available in the united states. jungle jim's, to those who don't know, is like a disney world.
for adults.
for fat, food-loving aficionados who can't wait to stuff their faces with the latest brie from france or a spinokopita from greece.
and there are ... sets... for lack of a better word, where each country is siphoned off into individual sections, and is decorated accordingly. for germany, it looks as if you landed in the middle of the beer hall putscht. and england - my beloved england - is transformed from the dismal aisles of florescent-lighted to the depths of sherwood forest. and ... they had cadbury chocolate bars AND double deckers ... i nearly died of sheer happiness (or caloric intake).
not to mention the strongbow that is now happily cooling in my refrigerator at a pleasant 40 degrees. how very reminiscent of london.
my equestrian team coach also told me and rachel, a fellow teammate today that we were "spindly" and needed to go to the rec more. so, feeling incredibly guilty with our DNA, we trecked to the gym (after a fairly hefty riding session) and left the aerobics class with legs like jell-o. smart idea, no?
quote of the day: heh. that's almost as much fun as telling a barista that your name is katie. then half of miami would go, "oooh, latte."
tied with...
"and heaven forbid we should have to slather on some deodorant."
courtesy of the bstebs/bsawick conversation hour.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
one falling star to another
i like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till i drop. this is the night, what it does to you. i had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.
-jack kerouac
ironically, i've had this quote up on my wall ever since reading on the road my freshman year. it kind of makes sense, though. that when you're forced to pick a college, pick a major, pick what you want to do for the rest of your life, the tasks before you seem a little more than daunting. is anyone else falling out there? not failing, no - that would imply the process of trying in something and not succeeding - but falling implicates no knowledge of where you'll land or what you do end up doing when your feet finally - if ever - touch the ground.
i went home this past weekend for a good many reasons. to see my parents, yes, and to see old and familiar faces, but more to gain clarity. and also, the canfield fair was in town, which meant as much fried food on a stick as any artery-clogging food aficcianado could possibly want. but it made me realize - i've moved on from home - that is, my life isn't waiting for me in akron anymore. i don't go to school there anymore (high school shouldn't have sequels), i don't work at fairlawn country club anymore (and the people rejoiced!) and i certainly don't think i'll end up there (working at ... goodyear?). i think any of us are naive enough in the beginning to think anything is possible, and i'm fairly optimistic (despite my constant cynicism and omnipresent satirical comments) and believe that if you do work hard enough, you can achieve what you've set out to do.
in which case, i would be the queen of the world, sitting on a throne of pure godiva chocolate, with a sceptre and swaroski crown and all, and i'd just be allowed to sit around all day (just not on the throne, as it's made of chocolate and is very easily apt to melt) and read, write, paint, whatever. plus i could make people i'm not particularly fond of perform court tricks and make them wear jester shoes. that's just ideal.
mind over matter.
sure 'nuff.
quote of the day:
it's time to trust my instincts
close my eyes
and leap...
-jack kerouac
ironically, i've had this quote up on my wall ever since reading on the road my freshman year. it kind of makes sense, though. that when you're forced to pick a college, pick a major, pick what you want to do for the rest of your life, the tasks before you seem a little more than daunting. is anyone else falling out there? not failing, no - that would imply the process of trying in something and not succeeding - but falling implicates no knowledge of where you'll land or what you do end up doing when your feet finally - if ever - touch the ground.
i went home this past weekend for a good many reasons. to see my parents, yes, and to see old and familiar faces, but more to gain clarity. and also, the canfield fair was in town, which meant as much fried food on a stick as any artery-clogging food aficcianado could possibly want. but it made me realize - i've moved on from home - that is, my life isn't waiting for me in akron anymore. i don't go to school there anymore (high school shouldn't have sequels), i don't work at fairlawn country club anymore (and the people rejoiced!) and i certainly don't think i'll end up there (working at ... goodyear?). i think any of us are naive enough in the beginning to think anything is possible, and i'm fairly optimistic (despite my constant cynicism and omnipresent satirical comments) and believe that if you do work hard enough, you can achieve what you've set out to do.
in which case, i would be the queen of the world, sitting on a throne of pure godiva chocolate, with a sceptre and swaroski crown and all, and i'd just be allowed to sit around all day (just not on the throne, as it's made of chocolate and is very easily apt to melt) and read, write, paint, whatever. plus i could make people i'm not particularly fond of perform court tricks and make them wear jester shoes. that's just ideal.
mind over matter.
sure 'nuff.
quote of the day:
it's time to trust my instincts
close my eyes
and leap...
Saturday, August 25, 2007
the end, part one
it's over, or just begun
this is the end, part one
-violet archers
this week has been a landmark week for several reasons. for one thing, i turned the most coveted age in the history of humanity, 21 - where i can now get my drink on any time i want, be it lunch, dinner, elevensies, or a boring lecture. while this sentiment brings a smile to my face, it also makes me think - after this birthday, there's precious little in the hallmark section that will celebrate things pertinent to my life. that is, after the big VENTE y UNO, and graduation, there's really nothing else guaranteed to celebrate. every birthday from now on will be surrounded by snide remarks about how wizened and decrepit i'm getting, and gag jokes of prune juice and depends.
it has also been the last first week of classes for my time as an undergraduate. that's a little bittersweet slash bizarre, since i still feel like a freshman some days. the days when i wake up and think, "hmm, maybe i'll hit up the dining hall before i head to my english 111 class, and then hang out in the dorms." but there are others where it hits me that the centrifugal force of my life pushes me forward, not backward, and also: time travel is impossible.
i get to write minimalistic poetry in my poetry workshop. which is kind of just writing random words in a special order, or just not using spell check. my professor thinks that anything from the minimalistic pen of aran saroyan is brilliant, but i have my qualms.
example:
Shakespeare!
nnausea
figures.
quote of the day: "it must be all that global warming"
this is the end, part one
-violet archers
this week has been a landmark week for several reasons. for one thing, i turned the most coveted age in the history of humanity, 21 - where i can now get my drink on any time i want, be it lunch, dinner, elevensies, or a boring lecture. while this sentiment brings a smile to my face, it also makes me think - after this birthday, there's precious little in the hallmark section that will celebrate things pertinent to my life. that is, after the big VENTE y UNO, and graduation, there's really nothing else guaranteed to celebrate. every birthday from now on will be surrounded by snide remarks about how wizened and decrepit i'm getting, and gag jokes of prune juice and depends.
it has also been the last first week of classes for my time as an undergraduate. that's a little bittersweet slash bizarre, since i still feel like a freshman some days. the days when i wake up and think, "hmm, maybe i'll hit up the dining hall before i head to my english 111 class, and then hang out in the dorms." but there are others where it hits me that the centrifugal force of my life pushes me forward, not backward, and also: time travel is impossible.
i get to write minimalistic poetry in my poetry workshop. which is kind of just writing random words in a special order, or just not using spell check. my professor thinks that anything from the minimalistic pen of aran saroyan is brilliant, but i have my qualms.
example:
Shakespeare!
nnausea
figures.
quote of the day: "it must be all that global warming"
Thursday, August 9, 2007
i collect memories like lindsey lohan collects dui's
and so here it is at last, the last vestiges of summer.
here i sit on the burgandy sofa with a down comforter wrapped around my feet (despite the fact that it's nearly 90 and there's more humidity than a miami nightclub - i blame bad circulation) with thunder rumbling about and ominous storm clouds left and right. and i sit and think about this summer in retrospect: the good, the bad, the ugly, the heinous and bizarre, the serendipitous and unscrupulous.
CHAPTER THE FIRST: EURO-INVASION
i went to europe.
i lived in london.
ireland was pretty sweet.
so was prague.
i drank some guiness, mingled with the locals, did a laughable 3-pub pub crawl, saw the queen, prince william, and all the royals.
i saw the foundations of civilizations - from the rosetta stone to egyptian ruins to shit in a can at the tate modern.
i must've been to every underground station at least once.
i snogged.
brighton was a bit tacky, but fun.
i learned the definition of the word "bitty."
i made some big moves.
i sang karaoke, went on a dj date, and sipped a cosmopolitan.
i lived a londoners life.
and i loved it.
CHAPTER THE SECOND: INDENTURED SERVITUDE
i got home from said euro-invasion with a sizable dent (note: black hole) in my bank account. to atone for said discrepancy in budget, i returned to the bane of my existance,
the
fairlawn
country
club.
i will not pollute my blog with the mundane, boring, and otherwise inconsequential.
CHAPTER THE THIRD
senior year ...... (?) at miami.
this is to be continued.
this is the worst novel ever.
here i sit on the burgandy sofa with a down comforter wrapped around my feet (despite the fact that it's nearly 90 and there's more humidity than a miami nightclub - i blame bad circulation) with thunder rumbling about and ominous storm clouds left and right. and i sit and think about this summer in retrospect: the good, the bad, the ugly, the heinous and bizarre, the serendipitous and unscrupulous.
CHAPTER THE FIRST: EURO-INVASION
i went to europe.
i lived in london.
ireland was pretty sweet.
so was prague.
i drank some guiness, mingled with the locals, did a laughable 3-pub pub crawl, saw the queen, prince william, and all the royals.
i saw the foundations of civilizations - from the rosetta stone to egyptian ruins to shit in a can at the tate modern.
i must've been to every underground station at least once.
i snogged.
brighton was a bit tacky, but fun.
i learned the definition of the word "bitty."
i made some big moves.
i sang karaoke, went on a dj date, and sipped a cosmopolitan.
i lived a londoners life.
and i loved it.
CHAPTER THE SECOND: INDENTURED SERVITUDE
i got home from said euro-invasion with a sizable dent (note: black hole) in my bank account. to atone for said discrepancy in budget, i returned to the bane of my existance,
the
fairlawn
country
club.
i will not pollute my blog with the mundane, boring, and otherwise inconsequential.
CHAPTER THE THIRD
senior year ...... (?) at miami.
this is to be continued.
this is the worst novel ever.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
back in the u. s ... a.?
my original lofty goals of writing and keeping correspondence on a daily basis fell sadly to the wayside. i instead occupied my days in london with theater, parks, pubs, and well - of course - foot locker. but i won't defile my blog with such horrible images of the terrible trainer travesties here.
looking back on previous posts, i can't help but thing how starry-eyed and naive i was coming into this whole experience. what do i mean by that? to be honest, everything. not knowing london. not knowing really what laws, hall & associates consisted of. not knowing the proper ways to travel, to conduct oneself while in a foreign country, when NOT to eat that strangely tempting plate of unidentifiable food, when to say, "no thank you, that was my last pint." in short, i came to london (and europe) with as much book knowledge as i could hold, but with absolutely zero practical. if london was the SAT, i 'm pretty sure i'd flunk.
i always found it amusing when a passer-by would stop on the street and ask me for directions. it happened sometimes my first few weeks here, all the way up to my last. what was even more amusing was being able to actually tell that passer-by where trafalgar square is, or how to get to the tate modern, etc. etc. not to pat myself on the back, but it gave me a sense of accomplishment, that people thought i fit in enough to be their own personal mapquest.
my last two days were interesting, and i think i'll start with those first, as they're more in the foreground of my memory. long story short, i ended up canceling my previously scheduled european debauchery tour 2k7 due to friend's lack of funds and ability to travel conmigo, as well as my own dwindling bank account. which meant happily, or unhappily, i was to jetset back to the mighty midwest on monday. go figure my parents were in colorado at the time because they aren't psychic and couldn't gaze into the future's misty shadows to see my empty bank account. honestly. some times, parents are so infuriating.
in any case, this meant i needed somewhere to stay and somewhere to store my cumbersome backpack and overstuffed suitcase. cumbersome luggage? thank you, regent's college. somewhere to stay? not so easy. bridget and i tried to google some moderately priced hotels, but three things got in the way:
1. the fact that the reservation was the next day.
2. wimbledon. curse those white skirt/short wearing folk. except andy roddick. he's okay in my book.
3. the fact that it's london and NO hotels are moderately priced.
why not a hostel, though? oh, let me tell you why. ireland is why. paddywagon is why. while the general tour was great - you know, rocking and rolling around southern ireland for a weekend with some awesome friends, but the lodging ... well, let's just say i was strongly reminded of the time when i went to haiti, which happens to be a third-world-country. which meant at a particular place (paddy's palace in kilkarney) there was a general lack of toilet paper, working showers, and indoor plumbing. and french guys outside the window at 4am yelling in broken english to be let in.
this is why not hostel.
in the end, i sucked up my pride and took a tube to mornington crescent on saturday morning, where my hostel, goldman house, was. i was pleasantly surprised. loads of t.p. in the loo's, working (private!) showers, and not a shady frenchman in sight. however, this initial pleasure of being in a safe hostel wore off after my ten minute shower, and i got bored. really really bored. after being surrounded by people for the past six weeks, this was surreal. to be completely alone, with no set agenda, and many, many of the sights around london already X-ed off in my see it! london book. i missed the LHA kids. i missed regent's park. heck, i even missed the refectory. but, i told myself, "self, you need to keep a stiff upper-lip, and not mope around." so i didn't. i took the tube over to knightsbridge and lower kensington and spent most of the day in kensington gardens writing. there was also a time when i got horribly lost in the sidestreets of kensington, and i swear i found where they filmed 101 dalmations, but who can say? i also thought i snuck a peak at jude law, but that's just wishful thinking.
that night, i wasn't really in the mood to go out, and indeed had only myself and i as company. which meant watching old friends reruns in the hostel lobby. when - wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles, i ended up talking to a girl - lindsey - in my very same predicament, and we became fast friends and decided to hit the pubs.
i took her to leicester square, since so many of my favourite things happen there...
-walkabout
-homeless man with binky-sucking dog
-street pizza
-the N18
we hit up a pub and chatted a bit, until anally, at 11, they kicked us out. lindsey and i wandered for a bit until we made it to the actual leicester square, where a bouncer pleaded for us to come to METRA.
in big shiny, pink and silver neon letters:
M
E
T
R
A
.
(closet homosexual?) at least that was my initial thought. but then again, it could just be the haven for the well-dressed, versace wearing, patent leather shoe polishing sexually ambiguous, and it's my motto to not slam it before you try it, so we went in. that is, we were going to, until a bouncer at the door demanded 18 quid a piece. (translation: $36 smackaroo's) it wasn't going to happen. so, using my newly found eloquence from the blarney stone, i talked my way into the club - for five quid. that's the first story i'm going to tell my grandchildren. "yes, george, paul, john, and ringo," (my offspring will all have rockstar names) "grams got into this nightclub in europe for a mere 5/18. now what percentage is that?"
lindsey and i ended up meeting these two blokes from manchester. i threw in my piece about being a huge manchester united fan, and then being temporarily deaf when they would want to discuss so-and-so's stats and whats-his-face's standings in the finals. i have since made it my goal to become honestly more interested in sports. because the smile and nod will only get you so far. and nobody likes talking about rococo in a bar. but then again, it was CLUB METRA, so who knows...
we will fast-forward to the next morning from there.
sunday was bittersweet. there's so much i still wanted to do, but then i thought, hey, you'll be back here slash living here soon, and why buy the cow when you can have the milk for free (so to speak). so instead of going into hypersonic tourist mode, i took the slightly classier route and wandered around london once more - strolling along bankside, being harassed by a robot (would i lie about that?) and then ...
... going to the flagship footlocker one.
last.
time.
i still had forty quid to use up, and a lack of presents for papa, so it made perfect sense.
monday i had to wake up at literally the crack of dawn. if i were staying on a farm, i would have beaten the roosters, that's how early i was. starbucks, my beloved starbucks, wasn't even open. i had to get to baker street, and then regent's to get my things, take a cab from there to victoria station, and from there board the gatwick express. from there, it was several escalators and trolleys later to the continental terminal, and from check in to security, from security to terminal A 63, and from there i could finally board the plane. all by 11:00.
oddly enough, things went rather smoothly, which is unexpected since everyone who knows me also knows that i'm not exactly miss prescision and order when it comes to deadlines. i always meet deadlines, but only just. my taxi driver, sam, was pretty much in love with me: he kept offering to drive me directly to gatwick - "only 70 pounds! but for you, 50!" he would say in broken english. i told him i was celibate. that was honestly the only thing that came to mind that early in the morning.
my worst experience was right before security. the guard made my throw out my water. i know, i know, it's protocal, blah blah blah, but crimeny! it's like 5 quid a bottle in the airport, and london's raped me financially anyways. i don't know why i get so defensive about a little bottle of water like that. i guess it's just one of those things. some texans admired my ballet flats. i worked on my short story. and that, friends, was my morning.
on the flight, i ended up getting a row of seats to myself. i didn't really believe in the blarney stone until then, but i was ready to do a jig of happiness - the window seat was broken and wouldn't recline, which meant the annoying american couple who couldn't stop sucking eachothers' faces for five minutes moved back a row and left me solo.
even if i'm flying solo, at least i'm flying free......
tacky? incredibly.
it was so surreal being back in the states. i'll be honest, i was not happy to land back in the humidity of cleveland. everythings so .... commonplace, so ordinary. which, i guess, is good to a certain extent, but things are also predictable, and i was worried i'd lose my experiences in the daily wind and grind of ohio. like london never happened, like it was just a very prologued, wonderful hallucination.
quote of the day: this is just how special my family is...
nate: i'll crap on you right here!
me: you better not, i know where you live!
mom: oh, kids, just drop it.
nate: i'll drop it ... right on her pants.
yeah, i know.
looking back on previous posts, i can't help but thing how starry-eyed and naive i was coming into this whole experience. what do i mean by that? to be honest, everything. not knowing london. not knowing really what laws, hall & associates consisted of. not knowing the proper ways to travel, to conduct oneself while in a foreign country, when NOT to eat that strangely tempting plate of unidentifiable food, when to say, "no thank you, that was my last pint." in short, i came to london (and europe) with as much book knowledge as i could hold, but with absolutely zero practical. if london was the SAT, i 'm pretty sure i'd flunk.
i always found it amusing when a passer-by would stop on the street and ask me for directions. it happened sometimes my first few weeks here, all the way up to my last. what was even more amusing was being able to actually tell that passer-by where trafalgar square is, or how to get to the tate modern, etc. etc. not to pat myself on the back, but it gave me a sense of accomplishment, that people thought i fit in enough to be their own personal mapquest.
my last two days were interesting, and i think i'll start with those first, as they're more in the foreground of my memory. long story short, i ended up canceling my previously scheduled european debauchery tour 2k7 due to friend's lack of funds and ability to travel conmigo, as well as my own dwindling bank account. which meant happily, or unhappily, i was to jetset back to the mighty midwest on monday. go figure my parents were in colorado at the time because they aren't psychic and couldn't gaze into the future's misty shadows to see my empty bank account. honestly. some times, parents are so infuriating.
in any case, this meant i needed somewhere to stay and somewhere to store my cumbersome backpack and overstuffed suitcase. cumbersome luggage? thank you, regent's college. somewhere to stay? not so easy. bridget and i tried to google some moderately priced hotels, but three things got in the way:
1. the fact that the reservation was the next day.
2. wimbledon. curse those white skirt/short wearing folk. except andy roddick. he's okay in my book.
3. the fact that it's london and NO hotels are moderately priced.
why not a hostel, though? oh, let me tell you why. ireland is why. paddywagon is why. while the general tour was great - you know, rocking and rolling around southern ireland for a weekend with some awesome friends, but the lodging ... well, let's just say i was strongly reminded of the time when i went to haiti, which happens to be a third-world-country. which meant at a particular place (paddy's palace in kilkarney) there was a general lack of toilet paper, working showers, and indoor plumbing. and french guys outside the window at 4am yelling in broken english to be let in.
this is why not hostel.
in the end, i sucked up my pride and took a tube to mornington crescent on saturday morning, where my hostel, goldman house, was. i was pleasantly surprised. loads of t.p. in the loo's, working (private!) showers, and not a shady frenchman in sight. however, this initial pleasure of being in a safe hostel wore off after my ten minute shower, and i got bored. really really bored. after being surrounded by people for the past six weeks, this was surreal. to be completely alone, with no set agenda, and many, many of the sights around london already X-ed off in my see it! london book. i missed the LHA kids. i missed regent's park. heck, i even missed the refectory. but, i told myself, "self, you need to keep a stiff upper-lip, and not mope around." so i didn't. i took the tube over to knightsbridge and lower kensington and spent most of the day in kensington gardens writing. there was also a time when i got horribly lost in the sidestreets of kensington, and i swear i found where they filmed 101 dalmations, but who can say? i also thought i snuck a peak at jude law, but that's just wishful thinking.
that night, i wasn't really in the mood to go out, and indeed had only myself and i as company. which meant watching old friends reruns in the hostel lobby. when - wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles, i ended up talking to a girl - lindsey - in my very same predicament, and we became fast friends and decided to hit the pubs.
i took her to leicester square, since so many of my favourite things happen there...
-walkabout
-homeless man with binky-sucking dog
-street pizza
-the N18
we hit up a pub and chatted a bit, until anally, at 11, they kicked us out. lindsey and i wandered for a bit until we made it to the actual leicester square, where a bouncer pleaded for us to come to METRA.
in big shiny, pink and silver neon letters:
M
E
T
R
A
.
(closet homosexual?) at least that was my initial thought. but then again, it could just be the haven for the well-dressed, versace wearing, patent leather shoe polishing sexually ambiguous, and it's my motto to not slam it before you try it, so we went in. that is, we were going to, until a bouncer at the door demanded 18 quid a piece. (translation: $36 smackaroo's) it wasn't going to happen. so, using my newly found eloquence from the blarney stone, i talked my way into the club - for five quid. that's the first story i'm going to tell my grandchildren. "yes, george, paul, john, and ringo," (my offspring will all have rockstar names) "grams got into this nightclub in europe for a mere 5/18. now what percentage is that?"
lindsey and i ended up meeting these two blokes from manchester. i threw in my piece about being a huge manchester united fan, and then being temporarily deaf when they would want to discuss so-and-so's stats and whats-his-face's standings in the finals. i have since made it my goal to become honestly more interested in sports. because the smile and nod will only get you so far. and nobody likes talking about rococo in a bar. but then again, it was CLUB METRA, so who knows...
we will fast-forward to the next morning from there.
sunday was bittersweet. there's so much i still wanted to do, but then i thought, hey, you'll be back here slash living here soon, and why buy the cow when you can have the milk for free (so to speak). so instead of going into hypersonic tourist mode, i took the slightly classier route and wandered around london once more - strolling along bankside, being harassed by a robot (would i lie about that?) and then ...
... going to the flagship footlocker one.
last.
time.
i still had forty quid to use up, and a lack of presents for papa, so it made perfect sense.
monday i had to wake up at literally the crack of dawn. if i were staying on a farm, i would have beaten the roosters, that's how early i was. starbucks, my beloved starbucks, wasn't even open. i had to get to baker street, and then regent's to get my things, take a cab from there to victoria station, and from there board the gatwick express. from there, it was several escalators and trolleys later to the continental terminal, and from check in to security, from security to terminal A 63, and from there i could finally board the plane. all by 11:00.
oddly enough, things went rather smoothly, which is unexpected since everyone who knows me also knows that i'm not exactly miss prescision and order when it comes to deadlines. i always meet deadlines, but only just. my taxi driver, sam, was pretty much in love with me: he kept offering to drive me directly to gatwick - "only 70 pounds! but for you, 50!" he would say in broken english. i told him i was celibate. that was honestly the only thing that came to mind that early in the morning.
my worst experience was right before security. the guard made my throw out my water. i know, i know, it's protocal, blah blah blah, but crimeny! it's like 5 quid a bottle in the airport, and london's raped me financially anyways. i don't know why i get so defensive about a little bottle of water like that. i guess it's just one of those things. some texans admired my ballet flats. i worked on my short story. and that, friends, was my morning.
on the flight, i ended up getting a row of seats to myself. i didn't really believe in the blarney stone until then, but i was ready to do a jig of happiness - the window seat was broken and wouldn't recline, which meant the annoying american couple who couldn't stop sucking eachothers' faces for five minutes moved back a row and left me solo.
even if i'm flying solo, at least i'm flying free......
tacky? incredibly.
it was so surreal being back in the states. i'll be honest, i was not happy to land back in the humidity of cleveland. everythings so .... commonplace, so ordinary. which, i guess, is good to a certain extent, but things are also predictable, and i was worried i'd lose my experiences in the daily wind and grind of ohio. like london never happened, like it was just a very prologued, wonderful hallucination.
quote of the day: this is just how special my family is...
nate: i'll crap on you right here!
me: you better not, i know where you live!
mom: oh, kids, just drop it.
nate: i'll drop it ... right on her pants.
yeah, i know.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
dirty garries
i think i open every post with a disclaimer of why i haven't been posting as much as i should have.
disclaimer: i haven't. deal.
i will say this - i'm falling in love with london more and more every day. it's seeped with history, with mystery, with romance and passion and terror and sadness and incredible energy, all at once.
disclaimer: i haven't. deal.
i will say this - i'm falling in love with london more and more every day. it's seeped with history, with mystery, with romance and passion and terror and sadness and incredible energy, all at once.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
spicy beef deux
i have about ten minutes between now and when i should be tubing it to greenwood and bluewater. for market research. i think it freaks people out. those crazy americans, they say. the brits were always fairly descriptive with names.
i think i left off somewhere on saturday. laws hall-ers were to take a proper double-decker bus tour of london that afternoon, so allie and i decided that it would be better to sit on the open-aired top to get the full experience. sadly, we didn't factor in that it might be chilly. i still don't have circulation in my fingers.
after the numbing two-hour tour, it was off to pizza express. don't let the name decieve you, it was a classy establishment. all 50 or so of LHA was in the basement of the resaurant and ravenous. and so, they fed us bread.
twenty courses of bread.
there was circular garlic bread, and then little bread dots with garlic butter, and finally the actual pizza. the waitresses kept bringing out "aaa-spiiiiiiicy beeeef!" which, unfortunately, i declined with slight gag reflex. jason ate the spicy beef like a champ.
i intended it to be a quiet night - i hadn't gotten more than 5 hours of sleep a night since i've been in london towne, and my body (and liver) was starting to hate me. but, little beknowst to me, i was later to be dragged to the most hip, most happenin' dance club, tiger tiger (or is it tigre? i just called it T2) long story short, about 3280923 european men (and no prince william) tried to get in my pants. it 's a glorified brick street. but funny, nonetheless.
market research again.
i'm cold.
quote of the day: "you can plan a pretty picnic but you can't predict the weather."
cheerio!
i think i left off somewhere on saturday. laws hall-ers were to take a proper double-decker bus tour of london that afternoon, so allie and i decided that it would be better to sit on the open-aired top to get the full experience. sadly, we didn't factor in that it might be chilly. i still don't have circulation in my fingers.
after the numbing two-hour tour, it was off to pizza express. don't let the name decieve you, it was a classy establishment. all 50 or so of LHA was in the basement of the resaurant and ravenous. and so, they fed us bread.
twenty courses of bread.
there was circular garlic bread, and then little bread dots with garlic butter, and finally the actual pizza. the waitresses kept bringing out "aaa-spiiiiiiicy beeeef!" which, unfortunately, i declined with slight gag reflex. jason ate the spicy beef like a champ.
i intended it to be a quiet night - i hadn't gotten more than 5 hours of sleep a night since i've been in london towne, and my body (and liver) was starting to hate me. but, little beknowst to me, i was later to be dragged to the most hip, most happenin' dance club, tiger tiger (or is it tigre? i just called it T2) long story short, about 3280923 european men (and no prince william) tried to get in my pants. it 's a glorified brick street. but funny, nonetheless.
market research again.
i'm cold.
quote of the day: "you can plan a pretty picnic but you can't predict the weather."
cheerio!
Monday, May 14, 2007
spicy beef
***to note, the @ sign is not where it should be (above the 2), but instead over where the quote marks are. and the £ is right over the 3.
i've lost a lot of £'s in london so far.
already, i have let down the 2.6 people who might actually read this blog, and have updated all of once, in the wyndham hotel (aka wyndham hostel).
so i'll do my best to sparknote the majority of my (mis)adventures in london thus far.
let's see.
well, there could be the part about friday night - the night where i went to the tube station to buy my oyster pass and ended up ... well, i'll tell the story in narrative structure. i'm sure my creative writing professors would appreciate that more.
it was a dark and stormy afternoon, and some fellow group C-ers and i needed to go to the underground to purchase oyster passes. it's like a passkey to go on any zone 1 and zone 2 on the underground - all of central london and a few peripheral districts. unfortunately, no one really knew how to actually buy one for six weeks. so the group marches up to the station, only to be handed an elaborate pamphlet demanding address, name, password, mother's maiden name, and other various bits of information you don't expect to use when wanting to get from point a to point b. long story short and £127.00 later (RIP OFFFFFFF!!!!!) we decided, "hey, we just spent $300. let's use it somehow." which meant team C was off to picadilly circus for a joyride.
once we got to picadilly (the times square of london, so they say), we realized we were quite peckish. there was a restaurant called 'the crooked surgeon,; but that was sadly over-crowded. so instead, t.C. trooped over to a pub called o'neils, and discovered strombow, which tastes deliciously like apple cider, but has the frightful affects on mind and liver as beer. go figure. long story short, angie and i ended up at a pub called the volunteer talking to some brits about how american we were.
"you say 'like' way too much," my new chum rupert said.
"like, i do not!" i said. as i said, strombow = delicious but deadly.
then, they invited us to a party in soho. note, this was our first night, and i had way too much s.b. so we politely declined (angie said no and i just smiled a lot) and tried to figure out where regent's was. i had no idea, and neither did angie, so i hailed a cab. "regents park?" he said. "that's a block away, are you daft?" i didn't know how to respond, and i think i tried to get out, but he drove around 6 blocks and charged me £5.
it would've been a 3 minute walk.
the next day, part of my group did field research on regents and oxford street. these are the chic, happenin' places to shop, but sadly foot locker is neither chic nor happenin'. to say that it rains constantly is an understatment. to say that it rains non-stop is missing the mark. speaking of mark, mark, the receptionist at reid says that it 'spittles,' which is also an understatment. let me put it this way: all of my 4 pairs of jeans are still soggy, my trainers are mildewy, and my closet smells like a wet dog decided to move in.
and on that slighly gross note, i'm off to chinatown for some lo-mein and illegal asian prostitution. i'll continue this later.
quote of the day: "you want ze spicy beeeeeef?"
cheerio!
i've lost a lot of £'s in london so far.
already, i have let down the 2.6 people who might actually read this blog, and have updated all of once, in the wyndham hotel (aka wyndham hostel).
so i'll do my best to sparknote the majority of my (mis)adventures in london thus far.
let's see.
well, there could be the part about friday night - the night where i went to the tube station to buy my oyster pass and ended up ... well, i'll tell the story in narrative structure. i'm sure my creative writing professors would appreciate that more.
it was a dark and stormy afternoon, and some fellow group C-ers and i needed to go to the underground to purchase oyster passes. it's like a passkey to go on any zone 1 and zone 2 on the underground - all of central london and a few peripheral districts. unfortunately, no one really knew how to actually buy one for six weeks. so the group marches up to the station, only to be handed an elaborate pamphlet demanding address, name, password, mother's maiden name, and other various bits of information you don't expect to use when wanting to get from point a to point b. long story short and £127.00 later (RIP OFFFFFFF!!!!!) we decided, "hey, we just spent $300. let's use it somehow." which meant team C was off to picadilly circus for a joyride.
once we got to picadilly (the times square of london, so they say), we realized we were quite peckish. there was a restaurant called 'the crooked surgeon,; but that was sadly over-crowded. so instead, t.C. trooped over to a pub called o'neils, and discovered strombow, which tastes deliciously like apple cider, but has the frightful affects on mind and liver as beer. go figure. long story short, angie and i ended up at a pub called the volunteer talking to some brits about how american we were.
"you say 'like' way too much," my new chum rupert said.
"like, i do not!" i said. as i said, strombow = delicious but deadly.
then, they invited us to a party in soho. note, this was our first night, and i had way too much s.b. so we politely declined (angie said no and i just smiled a lot) and tried to figure out where regent's was. i had no idea, and neither did angie, so i hailed a cab. "regents park?" he said. "that's a block away, are you daft?" i didn't know how to respond, and i think i tried to get out, but he drove around 6 blocks and charged me £5.
it would've been a 3 minute walk.
the next day, part of my group did field research on regents and oxford street. these are the chic, happenin' places to shop, but sadly foot locker is neither chic nor happenin'. to say that it rains constantly is an understatment. to say that it rains non-stop is missing the mark. speaking of mark, mark, the receptionist at reid says that it 'spittles,' which is also an understatment. let me put it this way: all of my 4 pairs of jeans are still soggy, my trainers are mildewy, and my closet smells like a wet dog decided to move in.
and on that slighly gross note, i'm off to chinatown for some lo-mein and illegal asian prostitution. i'll continue this later.
quote of the day: "you want ze spicy beeeeeef?"
cheerio!
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
london calling deux
london.
i
want
to
live
here
like
whoah.
so megan and i got here alright, although we're slightly sleep deprived. let me tell you the story.
the flight left around 7:30 tuesday night. i tried to get some sleep on the flight, but it only worked in 15 minute increments, so after a few tries, i gave up and started reading my book (gotta love that dave eggers) they served dinner (chicken parma, or something resembling chicken parma) and breakfast - fruit and a warm croissant. as soon as they said we were approaching gatwick, i looked out the window to see nothing but clouds and fog. go figure.
gatwick was enormous but the directions were clear enough: customs one way, baggage claim another. for being one of the most heavy-hit airports of the modern world, it seemed a little ... dingy, almost. there were a lot of florescent lights, a lack of air conditioning, etc. it only took me a few seconds to get through customs - after the never-ending line, that is. the man asked me where i was going and how long i was intending to stay, and if i was planning on working. and that was that. megan was next to me in another line, and i didn't think she'd take that much longer to meet me. but a few minutes later, she wasn't there. she came out and told me that the customs woman asked: where she was going, how long she planned to stay, etc. but then, when megan told her regents, the woman asked a load of questions: are you studying AT regents, or IN regents, and how much was tuition, etc.
but crisis averted, megan and i got through alright and then proceeded to stand in the next line (or queue, in britspeak) for the train from gatwick to victoria station. and from there, we then had to claim our luggage. as a classic beth maneuver, i packed waaaaaay too much, including a huge backpack and a 48.7 pound suitcase. megan was no better - she was sporting two behemoth suitcases herself. so, in good brittish fashion, i got a trolly to roll our goods on - honest to goodness, it was a trolly right out of harry potter. i was disappointed i didn't have an owl to put on top.
our next duty was to find the gatwick express train and get our 39082 lbs. of luggage on and off without absolute chaos. it was adorable - everything had proper names - platform 1, platform 6. (no platform 9 3/4, sadly). BUT we couldn't take the trolly's down to the station. but a lovely lad with amazing blue eyes ( haha ) offered to put our copious amounts of luggage on a cart and tote it down the elevator, or lift. he even put it on the train for us. megan and i didn't know if we had to pay him or not - england for dummies said nothing about cartmen at airports. i had a five pound note at the ready, but he just said, "you girls be careful in london, not everyone's as nice as i."
feeling slightly guilty and INCREDIBLY sleep deprived, we took the half-hour train ride to victoria station. megan and i both started zoning out, but were determined to stay awake. it felt like the hogwarts express, and they had the snack witch with refreshments. alas, no licorice wands.
victoria station was busier than any subway station in new york city - and factor in two gigantic pieces of luggage and a carry on, and two girls light on muscle-mass, and it was even worse. luckily, they had announced on the train that taxi service was right upstairs, and the escalator was literally right outside the train. but the wait for the taxi was a good 20 minutes. you'd think they would realize that business booms around train stations. alas.
our cabbie was an experience in itself. a true east-ender, the cabbie knew every tidbit about every landmark we passed. he told us where the walls to buckingham palace were, hyde park, (the prince starts his stroll monday and gets back friday, it's so big! d'yunno what i mean?) and where michael jackson goes on holiday when he comes. megan and i just let him talk, but mostly because we were finding it hard on so few hours of sleep to understand east-end britspeak. we mostly nodded and smiled, and i once commented on museums, and he went to town on that.
the windham hotel is, oddly enough, on windham street, a little sidestreet off of a slightly larger street, of which i'll learn the name eventually. it's a converted house, so it doesn't have the "look" of a hotel. it looked like a door from notting hill, and the doorknobs are in the middle, just like in j. r. r. tolkein. when the cabbie dropped us off, he helped put our luggage inside the foyer of the windham, but the hostess looked doubting at all of it. "i don't think it'll all fit in your room," she said. "i can leave it in the lobby, or lock it up in a closet." eventually, megan and i decided to take up everything except two suitcases.
ah, but the room. i had a flashback to freshman year at grove city. megan and i debated what the room used to be. "servant's quarters," megan suggested. "a broom closet," i said. in the room, there are the following things: a sink, a radiator, two twin beds (that are very short), a telly, really cheap ikea furniture, and a shower. the shower overlooks a large window, which in turn, overlooks the quiet street. it's cozy - very, very cozy, but the room serves its purpose. the bathroom (or loo) is actually on the mezzanine, and is quite possibly the smallest loo i've ever seen in my life. it's not a hostel, but it's not a hotel either. i'd call it a pension. but it serves its purpose.
once megan and i got situated, we had to fight the temptation not to just sleep all afternoon. it was around 11 by the time we got settled, and we decided to go down to baker street and buy an "oyster:" - no, not the delicious bi-shelled sea-dwelling creature, but a pass to the underground. unfortunately, there was a lot of bureaucratic paperwork we had to fill out, and we didn't have every bit (address, telephone, color of the sky last thursday). we decided that we were a bit peckish (hungry) and looked for a place to eat. baker street is kind of like broadway in new york - double lanes of traffic separated by a divide. except that traffic goes the "wrong way" and i found myself looking to the wrong side of the road anytime i wanted to cross. i think there are only two rules for pedestrians:
1. walk when there isn't a car coming. read: if a car isn't going to hit you in the time you're going to cross the street, cross the street. it helps if you jog.
2. if a large group is crossing the street, cross the street, reguardless of traffic patterns. it's herd mentality.
in any case, the globe, a pub recommended by the cabbie, was across the street from the baker street tube stop, so we decided to go there. unfortunately, they were still serving brunch, as it was only 11 o'clock, so we walked, dejected and hungry, to find the next nearest place to eat. we had three options:
-pizza hut.
-micky d's
-quizno's
go figure that our first meal in london was at an american chain.
after lunch, we came back to the windham to get the information for the oyster. megan wanted to call her parents, but couldn't until she had the internet password, which would be in an hour, since the hostess was out to lunch. we decided to take an hour nap so that we wouldn't be complete zombies. unfortunately, bargin hotels are bargan for a reason, and the alarm didn't go off. we woke up from our nap four hours later.
so now, here we are.
and i need to figure out a better way of staying awake.
au revoir!
beth
quote of the day: "saifhwiejojas" - some guy from somalia on the victoria train.
i
want
to
live
here
like
whoah.
so megan and i got here alright, although we're slightly sleep deprived. let me tell you the story.
the flight left around 7:30 tuesday night. i tried to get some sleep on the flight, but it only worked in 15 minute increments, so after a few tries, i gave up and started reading my book (gotta love that dave eggers) they served dinner (chicken parma, or something resembling chicken parma) and breakfast - fruit and a warm croissant. as soon as they said we were approaching gatwick, i looked out the window to see nothing but clouds and fog. go figure.
gatwick was enormous but the directions were clear enough: customs one way, baggage claim another. for being one of the most heavy-hit airports of the modern world, it seemed a little ... dingy, almost. there were a lot of florescent lights, a lack of air conditioning, etc. it only took me a few seconds to get through customs - after the never-ending line, that is. the man asked me where i was going and how long i was intending to stay, and if i was planning on working. and that was that. megan was next to me in another line, and i didn't think she'd take that much longer to meet me. but a few minutes later, she wasn't there. she came out and told me that the customs woman asked: where she was going, how long she planned to stay, etc. but then, when megan told her regents, the woman asked a load of questions: are you studying AT regents, or IN regents, and how much was tuition, etc.
but crisis averted, megan and i got through alright and then proceeded to stand in the next line (or queue, in britspeak) for the train from gatwick to victoria station. and from there, we then had to claim our luggage. as a classic beth maneuver, i packed waaaaaay too much, including a huge backpack and a 48.7 pound suitcase. megan was no better - she was sporting two behemoth suitcases herself. so, in good brittish fashion, i got a trolly to roll our goods on - honest to goodness, it was a trolly right out of harry potter. i was disappointed i didn't have an owl to put on top.
our next duty was to find the gatwick express train and get our 39082 lbs. of luggage on and off without absolute chaos. it was adorable - everything had proper names - platform 1, platform 6. (no platform 9 3/4, sadly). BUT we couldn't take the trolly's down to the station. but a lovely lad with amazing blue eyes ( haha ) offered to put our copious amounts of luggage on a cart and tote it down the elevator, or lift. he even put it on the train for us. megan and i didn't know if we had to pay him or not - england for dummies said nothing about cartmen at airports. i had a five pound note at the ready, but he just said, "you girls be careful in london, not everyone's as nice as i."
feeling slightly guilty and INCREDIBLY sleep deprived, we took the half-hour train ride to victoria station. megan and i both started zoning out, but were determined to stay awake. it felt like the hogwarts express, and they had the snack witch with refreshments. alas, no licorice wands.
victoria station was busier than any subway station in new york city - and factor in two gigantic pieces of luggage and a carry on, and two girls light on muscle-mass, and it was even worse. luckily, they had announced on the train that taxi service was right upstairs, and the escalator was literally right outside the train. but the wait for the taxi was a good 20 minutes. you'd think they would realize that business booms around train stations. alas.
our cabbie was an experience in itself. a true east-ender, the cabbie knew every tidbit about every landmark we passed. he told us where the walls to buckingham palace were, hyde park, (the prince starts his stroll monday and gets back friday, it's so big! d'yunno what i mean?) and where michael jackson goes on holiday when he comes. megan and i just let him talk, but mostly because we were finding it hard on so few hours of sleep to understand east-end britspeak. we mostly nodded and smiled, and i once commented on museums, and he went to town on that.
the windham hotel is, oddly enough, on windham street, a little sidestreet off of a slightly larger street, of which i'll learn the name eventually. it's a converted house, so it doesn't have the "look" of a hotel. it looked like a door from notting hill, and the doorknobs are in the middle, just like in j. r. r. tolkein. when the cabbie dropped us off, he helped put our luggage inside the foyer of the windham, but the hostess looked doubting at all of it. "i don't think it'll all fit in your room," she said. "i can leave it in the lobby, or lock it up in a closet." eventually, megan and i decided to take up everything except two suitcases.
ah, but the room. i had a flashback to freshman year at grove city. megan and i debated what the room used to be. "servant's quarters," megan suggested. "a broom closet," i said. in the room, there are the following things: a sink, a radiator, two twin beds (that are very short), a telly, really cheap ikea furniture, and a shower. the shower overlooks a large window, which in turn, overlooks the quiet street. it's cozy - very, very cozy, but the room serves its purpose. the bathroom (or loo) is actually on the mezzanine, and is quite possibly the smallest loo i've ever seen in my life. it's not a hostel, but it's not a hotel either. i'd call it a pension. but it serves its purpose.
once megan and i got situated, we had to fight the temptation not to just sleep all afternoon. it was around 11 by the time we got settled, and we decided to go down to baker street and buy an "oyster:" - no, not the delicious bi-shelled sea-dwelling creature, but a pass to the underground. unfortunately, there was a lot of bureaucratic paperwork we had to fill out, and we didn't have every bit (address, telephone, color of the sky last thursday). we decided that we were a bit peckish (hungry) and looked for a place to eat. baker street is kind of like broadway in new york - double lanes of traffic separated by a divide. except that traffic goes the "wrong way" and i found myself looking to the wrong side of the road anytime i wanted to cross. i think there are only two rules for pedestrians:
1. walk when there isn't a car coming. read: if a car isn't going to hit you in the time you're going to cross the street, cross the street. it helps if you jog.
2. if a large group is crossing the street, cross the street, reguardless of traffic patterns. it's herd mentality.
in any case, the globe, a pub recommended by the cabbie, was across the street from the baker street tube stop, so we decided to go there. unfortunately, they were still serving brunch, as it was only 11 o'clock, so we walked, dejected and hungry, to find the next nearest place to eat. we had three options:
-pizza hut.
-micky d's
-quizno's
go figure that our first meal in london was at an american chain.
after lunch, we came back to the windham to get the information for the oyster. megan wanted to call her parents, but couldn't until she had the internet password, which would be in an hour, since the hostess was out to lunch. we decided to take an hour nap so that we wouldn't be complete zombies. unfortunately, bargin hotels are bargan for a reason, and the alarm didn't go off. we woke up from our nap four hours later.
so now, here we are.
and i need to figure out a better way of staying awake.
au revoir!
beth
quote of the day: "saifhwiejojas" - some guy from somalia on the victoria train.
Monday, May 7, 2007
london calling
i can't believe a lot of things:
-that paris hilton is actually going to jail.
-that cookie dough has no calories if not baked into actual cookies.
-that i got an A on my portfolio.
-that it's not butter.
-that i'll be on another continent 24 hours from now.
with all the preparation and ballyhoo and running around and buying everything from bras to backpacks to benedryl, i really haven't had that much time to just sit back and think about the social and emotional implications this trip and london will have on me. when i step off the plane a little more than eight weeks from now, i will be a different person. hopefully a more cultured one, but probably one with sore feet, sleep deprivation, and a liver that hates me.
tomorrow, i'm going to LONDON!
megan and i are taking an evening flight and landing in gatwick somewhere around 1pm the next day. (see also: extreme tiredness, nappage, narcolepsy.) i'm not sure what we'll end up doing, but it probably involves seeing platform 9 3/4, seeing picadilly circus, or going to a pub or two. a little shopping couldn't hurt either.
i'll be sure to post more, but now i have to deal with a mountain of luggage to pack, and a way to get all the books i want to read over there and still manage to pack all the clothes i need.
au revoir!
quote of the day: "writing is like prostitution. first, you do it for the love of it. then you do it for a few friends, and finally, you do it for the money."
-that paris hilton is actually going to jail.
-that cookie dough has no calories if not baked into actual cookies.
-that i got an A on my portfolio.
-that it's not butter.
-that i'll be on another continent 24 hours from now.
with all the preparation and ballyhoo and running around and buying everything from bras to backpacks to benedryl, i really haven't had that much time to just sit back and think about the social and emotional implications this trip and london will have on me. when i step off the plane a little more than eight weeks from now, i will be a different person. hopefully a more cultured one, but probably one with sore feet, sleep deprivation, and a liver that hates me.
tomorrow, i'm going to LONDON!
megan and i are taking an evening flight and landing in gatwick somewhere around 1pm the next day. (see also: extreme tiredness, nappage, narcolepsy.) i'm not sure what we'll end up doing, but it probably involves seeing platform 9 3/4, seeing picadilly circus, or going to a pub or two. a little shopping couldn't hurt either.
i'll be sure to post more, but now i have to deal with a mountain of luggage to pack, and a way to get all the books i want to read over there and still manage to pack all the clothes i need.
au revoir!
quote of the day: "writing is like prostitution. first, you do it for the love of it. then you do it for a few friends, and finally, you do it for the money."
Sunday, April 29, 2007
i'm so bored with the U.S.A.
i am doing three things right now:
1. teaching myself how to design webpages via tutorials on my mac. it's not going that well.
2. watching harry potter and the goblet of fire with my roommate. yes, we're nerds.
3. contemplating going to pilates.
still can believe that yet another year has gone by and is soon coming to a close. i try not to get caught up in the sentimentality of it (vitamin c, anyone?) but this year, it's been hard. i actually know - and like - about 96.1% of my graduating friends, so seeing them go off into the real world is more than a little disheartening. in my mind, graduating = falling off the face of the earth. and since most of my C.o.04 people are going to be seniors next year, the sentimentailty factor goes waaaay waaaaaay up.
i'm kind of done with finals, too. which leaves me twiddling my thumbs and curling my hair while every other person i know locks themselves in social isolation in cubicles devoid of sunlight. which leaves me with ample time to watch harry potter with my roommate, teaching myself how to edit webpages on a mac, and contemplate the possibility of maybe going to pilates. (although it's 10:49 and i'm pretty sure pilates is over.) i thought maybe it'd be fun to study for the GRE, but my mind seems to think it deserves a break. it doesn't want to analyze passages of beowulf or compare dickens to dickenson.
people keep asking me if i'm excited for europe. that's kind of like asking if a fat kid wants a chocolate éclair. something to add to the list of pointless and exceedingly obvious questions. yes please, and can i have some italy and greece to wash it down? i've practically memorized foder's see it! london, and am well on my way through the idiot's guide to europe. in good form, i've also been reading the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy. i have my towel in hand, and i'm ready for anything that'll come my way, be it aliens, torrential rains, or the manchester united football fans.
quote of the day: "i'm so bored with the U.S.A., but what can i do?"
1. teaching myself how to design webpages via tutorials on my mac. it's not going that well.
2. watching harry potter and the goblet of fire with my roommate. yes, we're nerds.
3. contemplating going to pilates.
still can believe that yet another year has gone by and is soon coming to a close. i try not to get caught up in the sentimentality of it (vitamin c, anyone?) but this year, it's been hard. i actually know - and like - about 96.1% of my graduating friends, so seeing them go off into the real world is more than a little disheartening. in my mind, graduating = falling off the face of the earth. and since most of my C.o.04 people are going to be seniors next year, the sentimentailty factor goes waaaay waaaaaay up.
i'm kind of done with finals, too. which leaves me twiddling my thumbs and curling my hair while every other person i know locks themselves in social isolation in cubicles devoid of sunlight. which leaves me with ample time to watch harry potter with my roommate, teaching myself how to edit webpages on a mac, and contemplate the possibility of maybe going to pilates. (although it's 10:49 and i'm pretty sure pilates is over.) i thought maybe it'd be fun to study for the GRE, but my mind seems to think it deserves a break. it doesn't want to analyze passages of beowulf or compare dickens to dickenson.
people keep asking me if i'm excited for europe. that's kind of like asking if a fat kid wants a chocolate éclair. something to add to the list of pointless and exceedingly obvious questions. yes please, and can i have some italy and greece to wash it down? i've practically memorized foder's see it! london, and am well on my way through the idiot's guide to europe. in good form, i've also been reading the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy. i have my towel in hand, and i'm ready for anything that'll come my way, be it aliens, torrential rains, or the manchester united football fans.
quote of the day: "i'm so bored with the U.S.A., but what can i do?"
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
to everything turn, turn, turn
this week has been a dark one for americans, and those around the globe. for miami, it marked the death of one of its students. for virginia tech, thirty two students and professors were slaughtered in cold blood. for the world, hundreds lost their lives in baghdad today.
it seems like the only news i hear nowadays is bad news. some mornings i don't even want to check my email or turn on the television, because i know if i do, i'll be bombarded with images of death, of chaos, of suffering. tuesday, in one of my workshops, we put aside the flannery o'connor stories we were assigned to discuss and talked instead about the events that happened the previous day. "it seems you you guys today have been through much more than any generation," my professor said. "you had columbine, and september 11th, and now this."
i was in 7th grade when i heard about columbine. i still remember where i was, what i was wearing, all the cliches they say define moments in your life. mrs. carr's classroom smelled of mud and the various colognes and perfumes from bath and body works that all teenagers thought smelled wonderful. the orange plastic of the desk chair charged my skirt with static; the room was humid with all the students waiting for classes to start. mrs. carr sat down in front of the class on a stool. i had never seen her look so serious. she said, "i don't know if you've heard, but in a high school in colorado, many students have been shot and killed."
i grew up that day.
and now, eight years later, cnn and foxnews and msnbc and katie courac and everyone else is likening these attacks to those at columbine. everyday, a more tragic, heart-wrenching story is told. ryan clark, the tripple major R.A. who died to save another student. Caitlin Hammaren, who was only a freshman. the professor who blocked the door to save his students and was fatally wounded.
the most heartbreaking story i heard was on NPR - friends of those attending virginia tech would write messages of concern, saying "are you alright?" only to find out their friend was a victim of that day.
life, i think, comes in droves. it's cyclical. there are times in my life that everything seems to be set in place, and i float through my days as if i were acting it out in a play or a movie. but then something like this happens, that shakes me to the core. who could committ such horrible acts? nbc released videos cho had mailed. in the package, he also enclosed 27 photographs of him holding guns, some of them pointing at the camera. he said he was misunderstood and driven to do this, and he could have been prevented. and that eric and dyllon (from columbine shootings) were martyrs.
how do you get past this, though? i don't know, and i don't think there is any proper way. i think we just have to live, one day at a time, sadder and wiser for what has happened.
there is no other way.
quote of the day: "today, we are all hokies."
it seems like the only news i hear nowadays is bad news. some mornings i don't even want to check my email or turn on the television, because i know if i do, i'll be bombarded with images of death, of chaos, of suffering. tuesday, in one of my workshops, we put aside the flannery o'connor stories we were assigned to discuss and talked instead about the events that happened the previous day. "it seems you you guys today have been through much more than any generation," my professor said. "you had columbine, and september 11th, and now this."
i was in 7th grade when i heard about columbine. i still remember where i was, what i was wearing, all the cliches they say define moments in your life. mrs. carr's classroom smelled of mud and the various colognes and perfumes from bath and body works that all teenagers thought smelled wonderful. the orange plastic of the desk chair charged my skirt with static; the room was humid with all the students waiting for classes to start. mrs. carr sat down in front of the class on a stool. i had never seen her look so serious. she said, "i don't know if you've heard, but in a high school in colorado, many students have been shot and killed."
i grew up that day.
and now, eight years later, cnn and foxnews and msnbc and katie courac and everyone else is likening these attacks to those at columbine. everyday, a more tragic, heart-wrenching story is told. ryan clark, the tripple major R.A. who died to save another student. Caitlin Hammaren, who was only a freshman. the professor who blocked the door to save his students and was fatally wounded.
the most heartbreaking story i heard was on NPR - friends of those attending virginia tech would write messages of concern, saying "are you alright?" only to find out their friend was a victim of that day.
life, i think, comes in droves. it's cyclical. there are times in my life that everything seems to be set in place, and i float through my days as if i were acting it out in a play or a movie. but then something like this happens, that shakes me to the core. who could committ such horrible acts? nbc released videos cho had mailed. in the package, he also enclosed 27 photographs of him holding guns, some of them pointing at the camera. he said he was misunderstood and driven to do this, and he could have been prevented. and that eric and dyllon (from columbine shootings) were martyrs.
how do you get past this, though? i don't know, and i don't think there is any proper way. i think we just have to live, one day at a time, sadder and wiser for what has happened.
there is no other way.
quote of the day: "today, we are all hokies."
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
the cliche first entry
it seems like everyone has a blog these days. donald trump. the writers of grey's anatomy. paris hilton's dog. so i said to myself, "Self, you should probably jump on the bandwagon too. it's high time to fill people in on the mundane goings on in my life." now i can tell you, beloved readers, about my crazy weekends of debauchery, of my BURN BOOK thoughts about how some of you eat your feelings or are too gay to function, and my every thought that whisps through my brain at odd moments of the day.
more importantly, i want to keep a log of my (mis)adventures whilst over the pond. over in london towne. or at least what i can remember when i'm not stuck in class or at a pub. either way, this should be entertaining.
having said that, i should probably include some amusing anecdote. the most amusing thing i've got is that i'm beginning to look at grad schools. i'm leaning more towards the M.F.A. in creative writing, as most credible universities want to pay me to sit around, eat bon-bons, and write all day. can't say that i'm morally opposed to that. and then i can live in an intellectual cardboard box, and write all my stories on toilet paper, with the beacon of my advanced writing degree mocking those years. and i'll be fat from those bon-bons.
all the best,
beth
quote of the day: "suicide. at least we're not talking about it closer to finals week." -professor m. yockey.
more importantly, i want to keep a log of my (mis)adventures whilst over the pond. over in london towne. or at least what i can remember when i'm not stuck in class or at a pub. either way, this should be entertaining.
having said that, i should probably include some amusing anecdote. the most amusing thing i've got is that i'm beginning to look at grad schools. i'm leaning more towards the M.F.A. in creative writing, as most credible universities want to pay me to sit around, eat bon-bons, and write all day. can't say that i'm morally opposed to that. and then i can live in an intellectual cardboard box, and write all my stories on toilet paper, with the beacon of my advanced writing degree mocking those years. and i'll be fat from those bon-bons.
all the best,
beth
quote of the day: "suicide. at least we're not talking about it closer to finals week." -professor m. yockey.
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