Sunday, March 21, 2010
When Cerebrums Attack
I have been watching too many movies lately about the destruction of Earth and the annihiliation of the human race (Book of Eli, Knowing, 2012, Terminator Salvation, to name a few). As diverting as this subject may be, I find it somewhat distasteful to try to depict billions of people dying,all the while attempting to be entertaining. Interesting take on this disaster trend here: http://www.projo.com/movies/content/lb_Movie_Earth_Destruction_04-17-09_VQE0P3Q_v10.1979785.html
As far as the Mayan calendar predicting the end of the world in the year 2012, all I will say is this: for the Mayans, the world did end. Just...way before they thought.
I did something funny with one of my friends last week. His name is Luke (he's Levi's brother), and in my opinion, we foster a healthy amount of competition between us. (All in good fun. That little dweeb). I was at his house and he had a class he and his brother had to drive to and were scrambling to get ready for, all the while trying to finish homework for aforementioned class.
I was amused because they were still sitting in their computer room 5 minutes til.
The college is about a mile from their house, barricaded by two streetlights that stay red longer than the guitar solo in "Free Bird." So...the tiny mice in my head began to run more rapidly on their tiny treadmills. Here's the thing--their mom makes a macaroni and cheese recipe that makes the heavens open and angels come down and do the cha-cha on my tongue.
I bet Luke a Tupperware basin of macaroni and cheese that he would be late for his class. However, if he won the bet and made it to class before the lecture began, he would get all the pennies in my room.
Luke has second-child syndrome. When challenged in any degree, whether it be chugging, math, poetry, music, spitting, or freestyle nunchaku, there is a latent beast that roars inside him to win. I should have realized that I was challenging the speed of a young man who can run 13 miles and carries buckets of rocks on his head for fun.
He won the bet. A whole $1.12.
Excuse me while I stifle a giggle.
As far as the Mayan calendar predicting the end of the world in the year 2012, all I will say is this: for the Mayans, the world did end. Just...way before they thought.
I did something funny with one of my friends last week. His name is Luke (he's Levi's brother), and in my opinion, we foster a healthy amount of competition between us. (All in good fun. That little dweeb). I was at his house and he had a class he and his brother had to drive to and were scrambling to get ready for, all the while trying to finish homework for aforementioned class.
I was amused because they were still sitting in their computer room 5 minutes til.
The college is about a mile from their house, barricaded by two streetlights that stay red longer than the guitar solo in "Free Bird." So...the tiny mice in my head began to run more rapidly on their tiny treadmills. Here's the thing--their mom makes a macaroni and cheese recipe that makes the heavens open and angels come down and do the cha-cha on my tongue.
I bet Luke a Tupperware basin of macaroni and cheese that he would be late for his class. However, if he won the bet and made it to class before the lecture began, he would get all the pennies in my room.
Luke has second-child syndrome. When challenged in any degree, whether it be chugging, math, poetry, music, spitting, or freestyle nunchaku, there is a latent beast that roars inside him to win. I should have realized that I was challenging the speed of a young man who can run 13 miles and carries buckets of rocks on his head for fun.
He won the bet. A whole $1.12.
Excuse me while I stifle a giggle.
Friday, March 19, 2010
All the news in fits of print
So you have a little time after your yoga and calculus homework and want to spend some leisure time on the Internet. These two websites are tied for my #3 favorite places on the Info Superhighway.
www.i-cynic.com or, The Cynic's Sanctuary. It's headed up by a guy named Rick Bayan who wrote a book, and you may well spend part of your time on the site avoiding promotions for it (funny, tasteful promotions, mind you). It's good for occasional visits, featuring gems like Monthly Tirades, 714 Things to Be Cynical About, and the Misery Scale. Those who see value and entertainment in pessimists, the British, brutal honesty, and A Series of Unfortunate Events have found their home. Be prepared for the occasional lewd remark.
www.despair.com is the home of Demotivational Posters. You know those posters they hang in offices that feature a pretty picture and some kind of "motivational" saying at the bottom? Well, the friendly people at Despair, Inc. have turned the tradition on its head, and it rocks. Check it out--even optimists find them hilarious.
Speaking of optimists, I did promise that I would tell you more about my nifty guy, who happens to epitomize the bright side. His name is Levi, and he is......well, I happen to think he is somewhat magnificent. I met him when I was about a week away from my 15th birthday at the first practice of a play we were both in. The play is not important,* nor the roles we had,** but what is important is that we basically became friends right away. The rest, as some ethereal collective "them" says, is history.
He likes WWII, movies with complex stories, and Cheddar Jack Cheez-Its. He also likes connecting with people (especially funny ones) and humans who are completely genuine. He is full of compassion and integrity, insight and imagination, zeal and curiosity. He is friendly, adventurous, creative, loyal, and sensitive. He is taken, taken, and taken.
Another person in the inner circle of your life really, really matures you. God certainly did it that way on purpose and I like it.
*Taming of the Shrew, one of Shakespeare's more popular comedies
**He was Lucentio and I was Hortensio
www.i-cynic.com or, The Cynic's Sanctuary. It's headed up by a guy named Rick Bayan who wrote a book, and you may well spend part of your time on the site avoiding promotions for it (funny, tasteful promotions, mind you). It's good for occasional visits, featuring gems like Monthly Tirades, 714 Things to Be Cynical About, and the Misery Scale. Those who see value and entertainment in pessimists, the British, brutal honesty, and A Series of Unfortunate Events have found their home. Be prepared for the occasional lewd remark.
www.despair.com is the home of Demotivational Posters. You know those posters they hang in offices that feature a pretty picture and some kind of "motivational" saying at the bottom? Well, the friendly people at Despair, Inc. have turned the tradition on its head, and it rocks. Check it out--even optimists find them hilarious.
Speaking of optimists, I did promise that I would tell you more about my nifty guy, who happens to epitomize the bright side. His name is Levi, and he is......well, I happen to think he is somewhat magnificent. I met him when I was about a week away from my 15th birthday at the first practice of a play we were both in. The play is not important,* nor the roles we had,** but what is important is that we basically became friends right away. The rest, as some ethereal collective "them" says, is history.
He likes WWII, movies with complex stories, and Cheddar Jack Cheez-Its. He also likes connecting with people (especially funny ones) and humans who are completely genuine. He is full of compassion and integrity, insight and imagination, zeal and curiosity. He is friendly, adventurous, creative, loyal, and sensitive. He is taken, taken, and taken.
Another person in the inner circle of your life really, really matures you. God certainly did it that way on purpose and I like it.
*Taming of the Shrew, one of Shakespeare's more popular comedies
**He was Lucentio and I was Hortensio
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Imaginary Friend
I have a 'my show.'
You know what i mean when i say 'my show!' it's the one that makes you squeal when someone you just met mentions it offhand, and also compels you to cling like a crazed, starved hyena to the ones in your acquaintance who can quote it.
i've been searching my whole adolescence for 'my show.' then squish! (using boom is so overrated) there it is, tossed right out in front of me as though to say, "what took you so long?"
My show is THE OFFICE. oh! have you ever seen a more splendid smorgasbord of delicious antics? it's like dilbert, only more attractive and it moves across your television screen. the media wields such power: now, when someone says something unequivocally stupid, i stare off into space with wide, incredulous eyes, consequently prepared at any moment for a television camera to capture my moment of jim. What's that? who's jim, you say? you don't know who jim is? say it just a little louder? i want the whole internet to smell the reek of your ignorant breath!
however, here's my recommendation: don't overdose. i found myself binging on the dvd of season 3, and as a result, i watched four consecutive episodes uninterrupted and most of the bonus features. to give you an idea of the effects of many hours of the office, consider this: i googled the symptoms of hangover--fatigue, headache, dizziness, thirst, decreased attention and concentration. to put it simply...i think i got a hangover from too much tv.
reflecting on the power of the media, i was just remembering today when i was 7 years old and i made speed racer my imaginary friend. Important to note here is that i'm not talking about the flick from 2008, which i attempted to watch part of and would have thrown up if i had cared (as it was i gagged a little). i am talking about the animated vessel of awesome that used to come on cartoon network. does anyone else remember that? anyway, speed and i had a great relationship. he always agreed with me, as well as taking me around in his car.
what was i saying about hangover? aw, never mind.
You know what i mean when i say 'my show!' it's the one that makes you squeal when someone you just met mentions it offhand, and also compels you to cling like a crazed, starved hyena to the ones in your acquaintance who can quote it.
i've been searching my whole adolescence for 'my show.' then squish! (using boom is so overrated) there it is, tossed right out in front of me as though to say, "what took you so long?"
My show is THE OFFICE. oh! have you ever seen a more splendid smorgasbord of delicious antics? it's like dilbert, only more attractive and it moves across your television screen. the media wields such power: now, when someone says something unequivocally stupid, i stare off into space with wide, incredulous eyes, consequently prepared at any moment for a television camera to capture my moment of jim. What's that? who's jim, you say? you don't know who jim is? say it just a little louder? i want the whole internet to smell the reek of your ignorant breath!
however, here's my recommendation: don't overdose. i found myself binging on the dvd of season 3, and as a result, i watched four consecutive episodes uninterrupted and most of the bonus features. to give you an idea of the effects of many hours of the office, consider this: i googled the symptoms of hangover--fatigue, headache, dizziness, thirst, decreased attention and concentration. to put it simply...i think i got a hangover from too much tv.
reflecting on the power of the media, i was just remembering today when i was 7 years old and i made speed racer my imaginary friend. Important to note here is that i'm not talking about the flick from 2008, which i attempted to watch part of and would have thrown up if i had cared (as it was i gagged a little). i am talking about the animated vessel of awesome that used to come on cartoon network. does anyone else remember that? anyway, speed and i had a great relationship. he always agreed with me, as well as taking me around in his car.
what was i saying about hangover? aw, never mind.
Jane and Me
Writers have to be the happiest people in the world.
Who else besides a writer can claim that their eyes see into the dark labyrinth of the human soul with such aching clarity, and simultaneously perceive man's ability to aspire to almost angelic heights? Just meditate for a moment on Jane Austen--she is a masterful storyteller; powerful and memorable due to her insight into the human creature and its frequent silliness.
Argue as you like, but reality sells.
Take a moment to review the culmination of Austen's life: here we have Jane and all her unique and lovely intuition, writing a ray of light onto the heart of the woman and creating love stories that many would sell their grandmother on the black market to participate in. The irony? Austen dies having never married.
The power and the curse of the writer--and any other cynics out there--is their perspective on the world. The true writers I've met are disenchanted with the shallow water that others spend their time wading in, and as a result live deeply fascinating inner lives. I like that.
Although embarrassingly far away from Austen's eloquence, I identify with her mindset. Seeing the world with clarity will leave you profoundly satisfied or just plain disgusted. I am convinced to the inky depths of the pieces of my heart that the deeper facets of the soul has great power that must be embraced.
Speaking of which: doesn't it seem like this generation of teenagers worships one being able to distinguish themselves? How contradictory is it to strive to be totally unique, and concurrently hope to find a mate and a group of "their people" that shares their values? The rebels should tip their hat to the establishments they despise, because without them, there would be no contrast and therefore no distinctiveness. I knew this girl who would accidentally trip as often as she could and lay on the ground, encouraging others by her wide, searching eyes and giggle, to tease her over her clumsiness. I knew another boy who would make a point of wandering off mysteriously into dark hallways when he knew people were watching him.
Is there a better way to distinguish yourself? I hope so.
Who else besides a writer can claim that their eyes see into the dark labyrinth of the human soul with such aching clarity, and simultaneously perceive man's ability to aspire to almost angelic heights? Just meditate for a moment on Jane Austen--she is a masterful storyteller; powerful and memorable due to her insight into the human creature and its frequent silliness.
Argue as you like, but reality sells.
Take a moment to review the culmination of Austen's life: here we have Jane and all her unique and lovely intuition, writing a ray of light onto the heart of the woman and creating love stories that many would sell their grandmother on the black market to participate in. The irony? Austen dies having never married.
The power and the curse of the writer--and any other cynics out there--is their perspective on the world. The true writers I've met are disenchanted with the shallow water that others spend their time wading in, and as a result live deeply fascinating inner lives. I like that.
Although embarrassingly far away from Austen's eloquence, I identify with her mindset. Seeing the world with clarity will leave you profoundly satisfied or just plain disgusted. I am convinced to the inky depths of the pieces of my heart that the deeper facets of the soul has great power that must be embraced.
Speaking of which: doesn't it seem like this generation of teenagers worships one being able to distinguish themselves? How contradictory is it to strive to be totally unique, and concurrently hope to find a mate and a group of "their people" that shares their values? The rebels should tip their hat to the establishments they despise, because without them, there would be no contrast and therefore no distinctiveness. I knew this girl who would accidentally trip as often as she could and lay on the ground, encouraging others by her wide, searching eyes and giggle, to tease her over her clumsiness. I knew another boy who would make a point of wandering off mysteriously into dark hallways when he knew people were watching him.
Is there a better way to distinguish yourself? I hope so.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Kleptomania
At what point did the American psyche become so ravaged and propelled by fear?
I'm a secretary at my church. My duties are many and vary from day to day, all at the fingertips of a boss whose pace of life would render any weaker vessel helpless, moaning, and eternally scarred sucking one's thumb in the corner of a dark room.
I have a desk and an office that I actually need and use--for the first time in my life. I have a phone that people call me on and ask questions. I have a comfy office chair that rolls around, and I can put my feet up against my desk and launch myself in aforementioned chair across the room.
So let me tell you a story.
Once upon a time, there was a little child named Emily. She was ravishingly attractive and talented and wise. But there was a deep and dark evil swelling over the verdant fields of EmilyLand. Without warning, little Emily would be overtaken by this evil and have the urge to throw all her books, dirty clothes, money, remnants of meals, electronic gadgets, and other essential items on the floor of her bedroom, and really any other horizontal surface she encountered. The bathroom was left ravaged. The kitchen groaned under the weight of spills and dirty dishes. The living room gasped for air between the piles of schoolbooks. Despite the suffering of these rooms and other horizontal surfaces, Emily's reign of terror beat on without restraint. Noble citizens of the land contended for cleanliness, but as the child grew toward adulthood, her neurosis prevailed and merely became more crafty. Little Emily assumed all would be well....until she got a job! BAH BUM BAH!!!!
The bold pile of everything I need to do that day on my desk looks like a deeply disturbed kleptomaniac lives under the copy machine.
So what does this have to do with the American psyche?
Well....
Yesterday afternoon, I was beginning to have a pretty stressful day. I didn't have much time left before I had to take off and go to a four and a half hour long class, and I still had alot to do. So I'm attempting to tackle one of these tasks when I notice the desk. It was the final blow to my state of mind.
I reflected miserably for a few moments on how unfit I was for the job, simply because I was so disorganized. I talked to my mom/the clerk, and she shared how insecure she was in the fact that she hadn't worked for years and she felt like the billows were close to crashing over her.
So many people live in fear--the fear of rejection, the fear of failure, the fear of missing their destiny. How often have you wondered whether the course you were taking was really the one that would lead you to happiness? Whether the people you love have ulterior motives? I remember wondering if I was going to end up a discontent middle-aged housewife trying to figure out if what she has is the American dream and suspecting that it surely is (and isn't all it's cracked up to be).
Would you be the person you are today if you didn't base your motives on fear? What would happen if you never made another decision out of insecurity?
Thus are my reflections.
I'm a secretary at my church. My duties are many and vary from day to day, all at the fingertips of a boss whose pace of life would render any weaker vessel helpless, moaning, and eternally scarred sucking one's thumb in the corner of a dark room.
I have a desk and an office that I actually need and use--for the first time in my life. I have a phone that people call me on and ask questions. I have a comfy office chair that rolls around, and I can put my feet up against my desk and launch myself in aforementioned chair across the room.
So let me tell you a story.
Once upon a time, there was a little child named Emily. She was ravishingly attractive and talented and wise. But there was a deep and dark evil swelling over the verdant fields of EmilyLand. Without warning, little Emily would be overtaken by this evil and have the urge to throw all her books, dirty clothes, money, remnants of meals, electronic gadgets, and other essential items on the floor of her bedroom, and really any other horizontal surface she encountered. The bathroom was left ravaged. The kitchen groaned under the weight of spills and dirty dishes. The living room gasped for air between the piles of schoolbooks. Despite the suffering of these rooms and other horizontal surfaces, Emily's reign of terror beat on without restraint. Noble citizens of the land contended for cleanliness, but as the child grew toward adulthood, her neurosis prevailed and merely became more crafty. Little Emily assumed all would be well....until she got a job! BAH BUM BAH!!!!
The bold pile of everything I need to do that day on my desk looks like a deeply disturbed kleptomaniac lives under the copy machine.
So what does this have to do with the American psyche?
Well....
Yesterday afternoon, I was beginning to have a pretty stressful day. I didn't have much time left before I had to take off and go to a four and a half hour long class, and I still had alot to do. So I'm attempting to tackle one of these tasks when I notice the desk. It was the final blow to my state of mind.
I reflected miserably for a few moments on how unfit I was for the job, simply because I was so disorganized. I talked to my mom/the clerk, and she shared how insecure she was in the fact that she hadn't worked for years and she felt like the billows were close to crashing over her.
So many people live in fear--the fear of rejection, the fear of failure, the fear of missing their destiny. How often have you wondered whether the course you were taking was really the one that would lead you to happiness? Whether the people you love have ulterior motives? I remember wondering if I was going to end up a discontent middle-aged housewife trying to figure out if what she has is the American dream and suspecting that it surely is (and isn't all it's cracked up to be).
Would you be the person you are today if you didn't base your motives on fear? What would happen if you never made another decision out of insecurity?
Thus are my reflections.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Starbucks
This blog will consist of the mostly late-night thoughts of a lover of Jesus, college student, amateur yuppie, and half of a relationship with a really nifty guy (more on him at some other time). I have a Twitter, but goosh garsh! That 140 characters gets shorter everyday.
I want to, and must believe, that my thoughts are somehow significant and relatively humorous. For instance...
I had a stack of Ritz crackers and a Starbucks frappuccino for lunch (not because of any particular weight gain concerns, mind you) and I noticed on the side of my bottle of coffee that you could visit a website--www.starbuckscoffeeonthego.com. Popular culture had failed to tell me that there was some other way you could enjoy Starbucks coffee besides "on the go."
Oh, and if you're interested in the website, don't bother. I'll share the important part with you here:
Whatever it is, wherever it is, share your uniquely delicious experience with us and receive $1 off your next bottled Frappuccino® Coffee Drink.
Perhaps heartless capitalism is the meaning of life.
Emily
I want to, and must believe, that my thoughts are somehow significant and relatively humorous. For instance...
I had a stack of Ritz crackers and a Starbucks frappuccino for lunch (not because of any particular weight gain concerns, mind you) and I noticed on the side of my bottle of coffee that you could visit a website--www.starbuckscoffeeonthego.com. Popular culture had failed to tell me that there was some other way you could enjoy Starbucks coffee besides "on the go."
Oh, and if you're interested in the website, don't bother. I'll share the important part with you here:
Whatever it is, wherever it is, share your uniquely delicious experience with us and receive $1 off your next bottled Frappuccino® Coffee Drink.
Perhaps heartless capitalism is the meaning of life.
Emily
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