So everyone's been telling me about their awesome Spring Break plans. The Bahamas. Florida. New York City. California.
But me? Do I get to go somewhere warm, (where the beer flows like wine, and beautiful women instinctively flock like the salmon of Capistrano)? No, I do not. I get to stay home. All week. And work.
I'm not trying to complain.
Ok, yes I am.
I don't want to stay home. I want to go somewhere super exciting and warm and sunny and beautiful. I mean, it snowed today. Today, the second to last day before SPRING Break. Why?
I mean, I'm not trying to be a party pooper. I'm sure I'll have my share of kicks and giggles, waking up to snow, working extra hours, and maybe not even making the college visit I thought I was going to.
Heck, maybe I'll even have more fun than my friends in those distant tropical places that I always see in calendars.
Yeah, that's right. Maybe I'll have MORE fun. While my friends are lounging around on an all-inclusive trip to Sandals, Jamaica on some gorgeous white sand beach, I'll be lounging around in the snow angel I just created with five two year olds. While my friends see the countless sights New York City has to offer, I'll be seeing my room, and all the nooks and crannies I'd been neglecting to clean for a while. While my friends eat delicious, foreign food, I'll be creating my own masterpieces out of pre-packaged turkey and pepper jack cheese.
Oh yeah, living the life.
I can't wait to rub it in when they get back.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Beep Beep Beep Beep
I hate waking up. Well, that's not entirely true. I hate waking up before I'm good and ready. Which, for the rather pathetically grandma-like teenager that I am, is after having about 7 hours of sleep. At least. I don't remember the last time I've gotten seven hours of sleep. I have an early bird class (hehe) that starts at seven, and so I wake up at five. Supposedly. I usually roll out of bed at five fifteen to five thirty. But I'm getting ahead of myself, because I'm going to take you through a usual morning of mine.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.
My alarm clock has the generic beeping noise that every alarm clock in every movie since digital alarm clocks came out has had. It's extremely loud, harsh, and very jarring. No matter how many times my alarm clock has beeped, it always completely surprises me. This sound is on a commercial or two, and when I hear it, I literally feel sick, tired, disoriented, and crabby. It's a sound I associate with absolutely nothing pleasant.
Anyway, after I'm jarred out of my peaceful slumber by the horror that is the modern alarm clock, I blindly crawl across my bed to turn it off. You see, I thought that if I put my alarm clock on my chest of drawers instead of my bedside table, I'd wake up because I'd have to get up. Sadly, even in my bleariest state, I've gotten around getting up all the way. My chest of drawers is on the wall next to the wall my bed's up against, and though I put my alarm clock on the veeeery corner, if I crawl across my bed, lean rather painfully against the metal frame, and fumble around until I hit the off button, I can flop back into my pillow for a few more minutes of precious sleep. I do this every single morning, and a few times I've gotten a bump or bruise from the frame. All this for fifteen more minutes of sleep. I digress.
After I've finally gotten back into the lull of my beautiful morning sleep, my cell phone alarm clock goes off. And this time, it's on my bedside table, right next to my ear. The alarm on my cell phone is some extremely generic, really pretty bad knock off of a Dave Matthews type song, complete with a sax. After I hear this at five fifteen, I usually get up. Usually. I'm thinking about putting a five thirty alarm on my phone as well, because sometimes I also just turn my cell phone off and tell myself that I'll wake up in fifteen minutes on my own. Yeah right.
So, when my twin and I have successfully failed at our tag-team plan (whoever wakes up first wakes up the other...preferably before five forty-five) we get ready. Quickly. Usually we both wake up at about six. We have to leave the house no later than six thirty-five to get to school on time. Thirty-five minutes goes by really quite quickly when you're not looking.
After Twinny and I have managed to also fail at leaving at six thirty-five, we usually blunder out of the house at around six forty. But then, there's sometimes frost on the windows of our cars. So we have to scrape it off. At six forty-five we hurtle towards school, with our finger crossed that just this once we could possibly get into class on time, even though we know it's not going to happen.
This is why I hate the morning. It's tiring and stressful, and most of all, it's the part of the day when I hear that awful beeping noise.
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.
My alarm clock has the generic beeping noise that every alarm clock in every movie since digital alarm clocks came out has had. It's extremely loud, harsh, and very jarring. No matter how many times my alarm clock has beeped, it always completely surprises me. This sound is on a commercial or two, and when I hear it, I literally feel sick, tired, disoriented, and crabby. It's a sound I associate with absolutely nothing pleasant.
Anyway, after I'm jarred out of my peaceful slumber by the horror that is the modern alarm clock, I blindly crawl across my bed to turn it off. You see, I thought that if I put my alarm clock on my chest of drawers instead of my bedside table, I'd wake up because I'd have to get up. Sadly, even in my bleariest state, I've gotten around getting up all the way. My chest of drawers is on the wall next to the wall my bed's up against, and though I put my alarm clock on the veeeery corner, if I crawl across my bed, lean rather painfully against the metal frame, and fumble around until I hit the off button, I can flop back into my pillow for a few more minutes of precious sleep. I do this every single morning, and a few times I've gotten a bump or bruise from the frame. All this for fifteen more minutes of sleep. I digress.
After I've finally gotten back into the lull of my beautiful morning sleep, my cell phone alarm clock goes off. And this time, it's on my bedside table, right next to my ear. The alarm on my cell phone is some extremely generic, really pretty bad knock off of a Dave Matthews type song, complete with a sax. After I hear this at five fifteen, I usually get up. Usually. I'm thinking about putting a five thirty alarm on my phone as well, because sometimes I also just turn my cell phone off and tell myself that I'll wake up in fifteen minutes on my own. Yeah right.
So, when my twin and I have successfully failed at our tag-team plan (whoever wakes up first wakes up the other...preferably before five forty-five) we get ready. Quickly. Usually we both wake up at about six. We have to leave the house no later than six thirty-five to get to school on time. Thirty-five minutes goes by really quite quickly when you're not looking.
After Twinny and I have managed to also fail at leaving at six thirty-five, we usually blunder out of the house at around six forty. But then, there's sometimes frost on the windows of our cars. So we have to scrape it off. At six forty-five we hurtle towards school, with our finger crossed that just this once we could possibly get into class on time, even though we know it's not going to happen.
This is why I hate the morning. It's tiring and stressful, and most of all, it's the part of the day when I hear that awful beeping noise.
Not Ready, Okay?
I just finished Ready, Okay! by Adam Cadre. I wasn't very happy about it. I mean, I thought the book was absolutely amazing. I just wasn't very happy about being done with it. I wanted to keep reading and reading and reading. That is the mark of a very good book.
For starters, though this is a story narrated by a high school-age kid, Allen, it's not your run-of-the-mill teenage lit novel. In fact, it's anything but. On the very first page, in the very first sentence, Allen lets you in on the big event of the book that doesn't happen for a couple hundred more pages.
This worked to get me interested, yet it also gave me plenty of time to forget it. Or so I thought. It's not so unusual to encounter the end of the story at the very beginning. But in Ready, Okay!, the end is merely hinted at. Then, to create some more intrigue, it's mentioned again and again throughout the rest of the book...right up until it actually happens. This was something very new to me, and I loved it.
I basically loved everything about this book, however, and I don't want to leave those other essential parts of the complexity of my love for this book out. I'll make a general list of everything I loved:
1) It's hilarious. I've been reading it for the past few days, and even when I was in the middle of a silent classroom, I'd laugh out loud. The humor in the book is sharp and makes me smile just thinking about it. Books that can get you to vocalize your emotions as you're reading are usually pretty good.
2) The characters. This book is filled to the brim with the quirkiest, most intriguing, beautiful, dysfunctional, profound, despicable characters I've ever read. There was someone for me to love, someone for me to hate, someone for me to be unsure of how I felt about...Another mark of a good book is when you find yourself thinking about the characters as if they were real people; away from the context of the story. I found myself constantly imagining how Allen would react to this, or how Echo would reply, or what Peggy would say. I absolutely loved the characters, and I wouldn't change a thing about any of them.
3) Saying that this book was "fast-paced" seems like something that would cheapen it; or at least liken it to a car chase, gunfire type book (although I can't say there wasn't some of both of those in the story....). I will say that this book kept me on the edge of my seat. Not so much because at every moment someone's life was in danger, but because I just had to know. I had to know about these people's lives and how they lived and reacted to the crappiness that high school and dysfunctional families were composed of. At any moment someone could say something incredibly thought-provoking or just plain hilarious.
4) Laughter was not the only emotion this book got me to vocalize. I was reading furiously in class, and my friend looked over. She said, "What's wrong?! You look so stressed!" I gave a very brief explanation- I was reading and almost near the end and I just really really really couldn't talk right then- and then kept reading. A few minutes later, I was crying. I would've cried a LOT harder, but I reminded myself of my surroundings that had disappeard for some time, and kept a lot of my emotions in. A book that made me laugh out loud and cry within the span of 20 minutes is a book worth remembering.
There are countless other reasons that I liked this book. I liked the way it was written, the words the author used, and, as usual, I loved the friends forever relationship between Peggy and Allen. I didn't want it to end because it was just a great book.
One of my favorite quotes from the book was this:
"'Because I spend a couple minutes with someone and they start to seem less like a miracle and more like an unfortunate accident. But not with you. You're the one person where I can always see the miracle. I have no idea why. And I don't care. I love you.'"
A very, very good book.
For starters, though this is a story narrated by a high school-age kid, Allen, it's not your run-of-the-mill teenage lit novel. In fact, it's anything but. On the very first page, in the very first sentence, Allen lets you in on the big event of the book that doesn't happen for a couple hundred more pages.
This worked to get me interested, yet it also gave me plenty of time to forget it. Or so I thought. It's not so unusual to encounter the end of the story at the very beginning. But in Ready, Okay!, the end is merely hinted at. Then, to create some more intrigue, it's mentioned again and again throughout the rest of the book...right up until it actually happens. This was something very new to me, and I loved it.
I basically loved everything about this book, however, and I don't want to leave those other essential parts of the complexity of my love for this book out. I'll make a general list of everything I loved:
1) It's hilarious. I've been reading it for the past few days, and even when I was in the middle of a silent classroom, I'd laugh out loud. The humor in the book is sharp and makes me smile just thinking about it. Books that can get you to vocalize your emotions as you're reading are usually pretty good.
2) The characters. This book is filled to the brim with the quirkiest, most intriguing, beautiful, dysfunctional, profound, despicable characters I've ever read. There was someone for me to love, someone for me to hate, someone for me to be unsure of how I felt about...Another mark of a good book is when you find yourself thinking about the characters as if they were real people; away from the context of the story. I found myself constantly imagining how Allen would react to this, or how Echo would reply, or what Peggy would say. I absolutely loved the characters, and I wouldn't change a thing about any of them.
3) Saying that this book was "fast-paced" seems like something that would cheapen it; or at least liken it to a car chase, gunfire type book (although I can't say there wasn't some of both of those in the story....). I will say that this book kept me on the edge of my seat. Not so much because at every moment someone's life was in danger, but because I just had to know. I had to know about these people's lives and how they lived and reacted to the crappiness that high school and dysfunctional families were composed of. At any moment someone could say something incredibly thought-provoking or just plain hilarious.
4) Laughter was not the only emotion this book got me to vocalize. I was reading furiously in class, and my friend looked over. She said, "What's wrong?! You look so stressed!" I gave a very brief explanation- I was reading and almost near the end and I just really really really couldn't talk right then- and then kept reading. A few minutes later, I was crying. I would've cried a LOT harder, but I reminded myself of my surroundings that had disappeard for some time, and kept a lot of my emotions in. A book that made me laugh out loud and cry within the span of 20 minutes is a book worth remembering.
There are countless other reasons that I liked this book. I liked the way it was written, the words the author used, and, as usual, I loved the friends forever relationship between Peggy and Allen. I didn't want it to end because it was just a great book.
One of my favorite quotes from the book was this:
"'Because I spend a couple minutes with someone and they start to seem less like a miracle and more like an unfortunate accident. But not with you. You're the one person where I can always see the miracle. I have no idea why. And I don't care. I love you.'"
A very, very good book.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
If I had to choose one designer to wear for the rest of my life, my top three choices would be:
1. Chanel
2. Oscar de la Renta
3. Dior
This is a beautiful John Galliano for Dior dress.
These two are both Oscar de la Renta. I like them because they're classic. The yellow dress is so beautiful, and the other looks like an awesome outfit for a crisp fall day.
The dress below is Chanel.
Work II
Then, before we do anything else, we have to wipe all their hands and faces down. Let me tell you, these kids can take ANY food that you can think of, and get it all over their faces. Anything. One skittle can spread sticky green goo all over a kids fingers and face, due to the taking it out to inspect it every few seconds. Animal crackers can do the same, though this one I won't elaborate on. I'll just say the kids seem to have a difficult time always leaving their chewed food in their mouths....chins and hands are ever popular places for graham cracker/saliva mixtures.
After that joyous activity, we go to centers. We have four or five centers, depending on the day, for fifteen minutes apiece. We have Manipulative Games, Home Living, Art, Gross Motor, and Spanish. Yes, my twos are learning Spanish. "ROJO!!! A-ZOOOL!"
Manipulative Games consists of mostly matching games, though on good days we make kites out of graham crackers, frosting, and licorice. (Though, after the kites, more wiping does ensue).
Home Living is something like a grocery store, or doctor's office, or fire station, where kids get to pretend to be grown ups. Art is always stressful- imagine five two-year-olds with paint brushes in hand and no reservations about painting on their clothes, the floor, or me.
Then Gross Motor, which is where they each get some type of those little kid computers, a Leap Frog or something, and they push a million buttons and get nothing they're supposed to done.
Spanish is where they learn colors and numbers and after a good ten minutes of Spanish, after Hayley holds up the card with green on it, and hopefully asks, "What color is this?" we usually hear "Rojo!" and "Greeeeeen!" mixed together. Rojo's really the only one they remember.
After all our centers, it's about five. I herd my group back to our room and we meet with whoever is still there. Now it's potty time! The potty-trained ones are easy, we just have to make sure they wash their hands. But changing diapers is another story. Not one that I'll give detail on, however! Let's just say that for five minutes every day, I wonder why I decided to work at a daycare.
Then we go to our second snack, which is ALWAYS animal crackers and water, so they don't spoil their appetites for dinner. They get four animal crackers, and no more. For some reason, the elephants are the very best animal for the twos to get, so it takes a while to eat snack because they're often too busy celebrating their elephants. After about fifteen minutes, we traipse back to the room and watch a movie. It's usually something with Elmo in it (who I can't stand), The Wiggles, or Blue's Clues.
Around five thirty, I go down to the three-fives' room and help the girl who works in that room, Allie, clean her room, and at six, I go home.
So you can see that a day at work isn't necessarily long, but it isn't super easy either. I really can't complain, though. I love going in to work not to deal with a snotty customer, but a kid who's really excited about the scribbles he drew that he claims are Optimus Prime.
After that joyous activity, we go to centers. We have four or five centers, depending on the day, for fifteen minutes apiece. We have Manipulative Games, Home Living, Art, Gross Motor, and Spanish. Yes, my twos are learning Spanish. "ROJO!!! A-ZOOOL!"
Manipulative Games consists of mostly matching games, though on good days we make kites out of graham crackers, frosting, and licorice. (Though, after the kites, more wiping does ensue).
Home Living is something like a grocery store, or doctor's office, or fire station, where kids get to pretend to be grown ups. Art is always stressful- imagine five two-year-olds with paint brushes in hand and no reservations about painting on their clothes, the floor, or me.
Then Gross Motor, which is where they each get some type of those little kid computers, a Leap Frog or something, and they push a million buttons and get nothing they're supposed to done.
Spanish is where they learn colors and numbers and after a good ten minutes of Spanish, after Hayley holds up the card with green on it, and hopefully asks, "What color is this?" we usually hear "Rojo!" and "Greeeeeen!" mixed together. Rojo's really the only one they remember.
After all our centers, it's about five. I herd my group back to our room and we meet with whoever is still there. Now it's potty time! The potty-trained ones are easy, we just have to make sure they wash their hands. But changing diapers is another story. Not one that I'll give detail on, however! Let's just say that for five minutes every day, I wonder why I decided to work at a daycare.
Then we go to our second snack, which is ALWAYS animal crackers and water, so they don't spoil their appetites for dinner. They get four animal crackers, and no more. For some reason, the elephants are the very best animal for the twos to get, so it takes a while to eat snack because they're often too busy celebrating their elephants. After about fifteen minutes, we traipse back to the room and watch a movie. It's usually something with Elmo in it (who I can't stand), The Wiggles, or Blue's Clues.
Around five thirty, I go down to the three-fives' room and help the girl who works in that room, Allie, clean her room, and at six, I go home.
So you can see that a day at work isn't necessarily long, but it isn't super easy either. I really can't complain, though. I love going in to work not to deal with a snotty customer, but a kid who's really excited about the scribbles he drew that he claims are Optimus Prime.
Work
I work at a daycare. My job's hectic, but it's also very rewarding. I'm going to take you through a typical day of work.
I walk in, and put on my badge, which has a fairly bad picture of me that was taken when a bunch of three-year-olds were getting theirs taken. They got to sit on a mushroom, but I just got a chair.
Anyway, after I put on my badge and greet Hayley, the receptionist, I walk about fifteen feet to the room I work in, the 2-year-olds' room. I'm greeted by a chorus of children squealing my name, but no, don't think I'm bragging of my superior way with children; they like any excuse to make a lot of noise. After the initial hello's, and any stories hastily shouted at me as I try to quiet them down, "Matthew bwoke the baby doll's head off!" or anything I need to know from Brittany, my coworker, "Landon didn't take a nap today...." (eyebrow raise), we line up and go to snack.
Snack is an interesting time. As teenagers, it's easy to forget that kids don't eat much. At all. We sit all nine of our lovely, shouting 2-year-olds down and we say our prayer, "Our hands we fold, our heads we bow, for food and drink we thank You now. Aaaaaaaaamen." (The twos basically mumble along with the rest and robustly exclaim that amen.) After we pray, we give them their snack. This is the 3:30 snack, so they get juice, except for Opal, who's not allowed to have very much sugar, and Catherine, who curiously doesn't like juice.
They usually have either about an eighth of a cup of ice cream with sprinkles and a teeny bit of strawberry syrup, or a fourth of a graham cracker with frosting sandwich. The thing that really amazes me is the amount of time it takes some of them to eat. While it would take your average teenager one, maybe two bites to down either the ice cream or the graham cracker, it takes them six solid minutes of concentrated eating. It's actually pretty cute.
TO BE CONTINUED...
I walk in, and put on my badge, which has a fairly bad picture of me that was taken when a bunch of three-year-olds were getting theirs taken. They got to sit on a mushroom, but I just got a chair.
Anyway, after I put on my badge and greet Hayley, the receptionist, I walk about fifteen feet to the room I work in, the 2-year-olds' room. I'm greeted by a chorus of children squealing my name, but no, don't think I'm bragging of my superior way with children; they like any excuse to make a lot of noise. After the initial hello's, and any stories hastily shouted at me as I try to quiet them down, "Matthew bwoke the baby doll's head off!" or anything I need to know from Brittany, my coworker, "Landon didn't take a nap today...." (eyebrow raise), we line up and go to snack.
Snack is an interesting time. As teenagers, it's easy to forget that kids don't eat much. At all. We sit all nine of our lovely, shouting 2-year-olds down and we say our prayer, "Our hands we fold, our heads we bow, for food and drink we thank You now. Aaaaaaaaamen." (The twos basically mumble along with the rest and robustly exclaim that amen.) After we pray, we give them their snack. This is the 3:30 snack, so they get juice, except for Opal, who's not allowed to have very much sugar, and Catherine, who curiously doesn't like juice.
They usually have either about an eighth of a cup of ice cream with sprinkles and a teeny bit of strawberry syrup, or a fourth of a graham cracker with frosting sandwich. The thing that really amazes me is the amount of time it takes some of them to eat. While it would take your average teenager one, maybe two bites to down either the ice cream or the graham cracker, it takes them six solid minutes of concentrated eating. It's actually pretty cute.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Thursday, March 20, 2008
My Favorite Paintings
Boreas by John William Waterhouse, is one of my favorite paintings.
I love the way that you can feel the wind that's making her scarf dance, and the trees are bent, and it looks like a beautiful grey day. I also really like the expression on the girl's face. She looks almost sad, but not quite. Contemplative, maybe.
Another thing I like is the colors. They're sort of muted, but not in a boring, hospital way. I think the colors help the day feel even more grey, but also not in a bad way.
Her outfit is another aspect of this painting I really love. It looks flowing and classic and comfortable. She looks like she threw on a dress and a scarf, and ran outside to walk through the fields, picking flowers and thinking her own little thoughts.
There's something very beautiful about this painting, when you first look at it, and when you 
think about doing what she's doing.
think about doing what she's doing.I also like M-Maybe by Roy Lichtenstein, who pretty obviously drew his inspiration from comic books. His paintings are vintage and bright, and they just look....cool.
More paintings later.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Dan Flavin
I wanted to do my research paper on Dan Flavin, an artist whose work I got to see this summer at the Los Angeles County Muesum of Art.
His art was composed of flourescent lights, and he used entire rooms for it. Sometimes there would be only a few haphazard lights in the corner of the room, but some of the rooms were filled with lines of mesmerising lights.
This art is nothing I'd compare to the art of Leonardo or Michelangelo, but it was interesting, and walking through art is an interesting feeling.
http://www.artnet.com/Magazine/reviews/lawrence/Images/lawrence11-16-1.jpg
http://grammarpolice.net/archives/images/flavin_mcgovern.jpg
http://www.davismuseum.wellesley.edu/images/pageGraphics/whatsnew/flavin.jpg
http://www.swo.de/bilder/2/11042.flavinsmall.jpg
Those were just some of the exhibits I encountered at the LACMA last summer, and at first I was annoyed. With classics like Monet just a building over, why was I bothering with flourescent lights? I don't think that all art can be compared. The types of art differ as much as types of music, and comparing the two would be as difficult as comparing and choosing the better of classical and rap, though I think that argument would have an obvious winner depending on the age group questioned.
Anyway, the reason I didn't end up choosing Dan Flavin as my topic was that there's really not much to be found about him. This is what I did find:
He was born in Jamaica, New York in 1933. He studied priesthood for a time, but ended up studying art while in the military. He attended Hans Hoffman School of Fine Arts and went to Columbia for some art classes.
He was working as a guard at the American Museum of Natural History in 1961 when he started the sketches of his lightbulb art. He spent the rest of his life refining his art and doing lighting commissions, such as Grand Central Station in 1976.
I couldn't find much else about him. Sounds like he stayed out of the spotlight (no pun intended) mostly. Possibly because his art was interesting, a little out of the ordinary, but not absolutely phenomenal. After all, it's lightbulbs.
Anyway, I still find it interesting. The best part was the first picture; the room with the boxes of green lights. The whole room glowed this crazy martian color, and everyone was silent as we shuffled through. It was really eerie, and I think that's why I was interested in him--- his art made me stop and think, even though it was just about how awesome it would be to have a party with lighting like his.
His art was composed of flourescent lights, and he used entire rooms for it. Sometimes there would be only a few haphazard lights in the corner of the room, but some of the rooms were filled with lines of mesmerising lights.
This art is nothing I'd compare to the art of Leonardo or Michelangelo, but it was interesting, and walking through art is an interesting feeling.
http://www.artnet.com/Magazine/reviews/lawrence/Images/lawrence11-16-1.jpg
http://grammarpolice.net/archives/images/flavin_mcgovern.jpg
http://www.davismuseum.wellesley.edu/images/pageGraphics/whatsnew/flavin.jpg
http://www.swo.de/bilder/2/11042.flavinsmall.jpg
Those were just some of the exhibits I encountered at the LACMA last summer, and at first I was annoyed. With classics like Monet just a building over, why was I bothering with flourescent lights? I don't think that all art can be compared. The types of art differ as much as types of music, and comparing the two would be as difficult as comparing and choosing the better of classical and rap, though I think that argument would have an obvious winner depending on the age group questioned.
Anyway, the reason I didn't end up choosing Dan Flavin as my topic was that there's really not much to be found about him. This is what I did find:
He was born in Jamaica, New York in 1933. He studied priesthood for a time, but ended up studying art while in the military. He attended Hans Hoffman School of Fine Arts and went to Columbia for some art classes.
He was working as a guard at the American Museum of Natural History in 1961 when he started the sketches of his lightbulb art. He spent the rest of his life refining his art and doing lighting commissions, such as Grand Central Station in 1976.
I couldn't find much else about him. Sounds like he stayed out of the spotlight (no pun intended) mostly. Possibly because his art was interesting, a little out of the ordinary, but not absolutely phenomenal. After all, it's lightbulbs.
Anyway, I still find it interesting. The best part was the first picture; the room with the boxes of green lights. The whole room glowed this crazy martian color, and everyone was silent as we shuffled through. It was really eerie, and I think that's why I was interested in him--- his art made me stop and think, even though it was just about how awesome it would be to have a party with lighting like his.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Since Freshman Year...
A lot has changed since freshman year. I mean, I'm not trying to sound all mature and above freshmen now. It just has. I guess that's what a couple of years will do to you.
For one, my entire view of life has changed. My freshman year, I was still pretty mad that I'd had to switch from my private school to public school. I didn't want a whole lot to do with my new school, and I certainly didn't think I was going to make many friends. I was planning on being so obviously miserable that my parents would succumb and send me back to the private school.
I was really into bands like Fall Out Boy, and I didn't have a lot of my own opinions. If the masses weren't a fan, neither was I. Except I did like Bright Eyes, and I have to give myself credit for that one. I wore mostly band tees and other trying really hard to be emo stuff.
My hair was a lot shorter....and blonde! That is craziness when I think about it. The way I did my hair and makeup and dressed is incredibly different than I do things now. Though that may not seem to matter, it's crazy. I was looking at pictures today with pain because of some of the stuff I'd put on.
I also had a way different plan for my life than I do now. I was pretty much set on being a teacher, and now I'm not sure that's what I want to do. I'm just too afraid of teaching a class where 80% of the students don't really care about the subject I'm passionate about. That would be too discouraging. But in ninth grade, I wanted to teach high school LA.
Now I want to do something along the lines of either fashion merchandising or journalism. (....Vogue!) I never would have seen that coming. Though I've always been known to dress out of the ordinary, fashion was never something I'd have seen myself being really interested in. But I remember that fateful day when I picked up an issue of Vogue. Sienna Miller was on the cover.
Anyway...it's just weird to think that so much has changed about me since freshman year. I've gotten more opinionated, more sure of myself, more confident....more everything!
I wonder what I'll be saying my junior year of college?
For one, my entire view of life has changed. My freshman year, I was still pretty mad that I'd had to switch from my private school to public school. I didn't want a whole lot to do with my new school, and I certainly didn't think I was going to make many friends. I was planning on being so obviously miserable that my parents would succumb and send me back to the private school.
I was really into bands like Fall Out Boy, and I didn't have a lot of my own opinions. If the masses weren't a fan, neither was I. Except I did like Bright Eyes, and I have to give myself credit for that one. I wore mostly band tees and other trying really hard to be emo stuff.
My hair was a lot shorter....and blonde! That is craziness when I think about it. The way I did my hair and makeup and dressed is incredibly different than I do things now. Though that may not seem to matter, it's crazy. I was looking at pictures today with pain because of some of the stuff I'd put on.
I also had a way different plan for my life than I do now. I was pretty much set on being a teacher, and now I'm not sure that's what I want to do. I'm just too afraid of teaching a class where 80% of the students don't really care about the subject I'm passionate about. That would be too discouraging. But in ninth grade, I wanted to teach high school LA.
Now I want to do something along the lines of either fashion merchandising or journalism. (....Vogue!) I never would have seen that coming. Though I've always been known to dress out of the ordinary, fashion was never something I'd have seen myself being really interested in. But I remember that fateful day when I picked up an issue of Vogue. Sienna Miller was on the cover.
Anyway...it's just weird to think that so much has changed about me since freshman year. I've gotten more opinionated, more sure of myself, more confident....more everything!
I wonder what I'll be saying my junior year of college?
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Just another eighties movie.
My friend Brittany accidentally left the movie Some Kind Of Wonderful in my car, and after three weeks of staring at the cover, I began to wonder what it was about. It showed Mary Stuart Masterson and Lea Thompson on either side of Eric Stoltz. All three of them have a very serious expression on their faces, and I couldn't help but try to figure out who was supposed to be in love with who. http://imdb.com/media/rm3750728192/tt0094006
Yesterday, I left school at the beginning of second hour because I had a pounding headache. I got home, and was doing a quick trash pick-up from the floor of my car when I spotted Some Kind Of Wonderful sandwiched between an old coffee mug and my umbrella. I decided that I would watch it while I recuperated from my traumatic illness.
This movie struck me as the stereotypical eighties movie. The beginning has Mary Stuart Masterson as Watts playing the drums to some, well, stereotypical eighties music. Then it goes on to show the attractive (ahem) but misunderstood Eric Stoltz, aka Keith, who likes art, and would rather go to art school than college, much to the dismay of his father. (Yes, can't have this type of movie without a disapproving father) He and Watts are and have been best friends for many years, and while he complains of his father's sternness, Watts reminds him that he's lucky to have a father at all.
Later you find out that Keith has a slight crush on the extremely popular, way out of his league Amanda Jones. (Cue the Rolling Stones) She's dating an older guy and Keith's a loser. End of story. When he asks Watts about Amanda Jones, she simply says she's shallow and wouldn't give Keith the time of day.
Through a series of Amanda walking up on her skeezy boyfriend Hardy with other girls about three times, she dumps him, and Keith takes the opportunity to ask her out. She accepts, though only to make Hardy jealous.
After a while of Watts talking badly about Amanda and making it extremely obvious that she too likes (loves?) Keith, he goes out on the date with her. He spends all the money he's ever earned on taking her to a fancy restaurant and buying her some diamond stud earrings that Watts helped him pick out. They go to the museum and then sit on a huge stage and talk. Then they go to a party at Hardy's house, where he's waiting to beat Keith up, and Keith knows it. But once they get there, Keith's friend Duncan (who he met in detention after he purposely got sent there because he thought Amanda Jones would be there) steps in and tells Hardy not to touch him.
So then, of course, Amanda Jones slaps the now helpless and cowering Hardy, and she and Keith walk out. Amanda has of course had a change of heart and actually likes Keith back, as you can see by their escalating chemistry onscreen.... At this point in the movie I was wondering if maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't end happily.
But I had wondered too soon. As soon as they step out the door, Keith sees Watts, who'd been driving them around in a nice car all night. He remembers kissing her earlier that day (she'd told him he needed to practice for Amanda Jones) and a look of....confused love....crosses his face. Amanda Jones, being the deep and understanding girl that she is, immediately assesses the dilemma, and takes out her diamond studs. She gives them to him, saying "Remember how before I said that I'd rather be with someone for the wrong reasons than alone for the right? It's going to feel good to be right." (or something intellectual like that)
With that, Keith takes off after Watts, who'd begun to walk down the street with tears streaming down her face. He catches up with her, and they kiss etc. Then he gives her the earrings and she says how she wanted him to give them to her....she kind of had a feeling he would....she hoped he would...the end.
And that was the movie. Though it held my interest in my feeble state, I wouldn't give it five stars. It was stereotypical, predictable, and I wasn't a huge fan of the cast. None of them were particularly attractive.
The dialogue was nothing special, but I did sort of like the storyline. I am a fan of the best friends since childhood relationships. The outfits and music are awesome if you want to be transported to the wonderful world of 1987.
This movie's good for a day home sick or a movie night full of other eighties movies, but all in all, it's not one I'd adamantly recommend.
Yesterday, I left school at the beginning of second hour because I had a pounding headache. I got home, and was doing a quick trash pick-up from the floor of my car when I spotted Some Kind Of Wonderful sandwiched between an old coffee mug and my umbrella. I decided that I would watch it while I recuperated from my traumatic illness.
This movie struck me as the stereotypical eighties movie. The beginning has Mary Stuart Masterson as Watts playing the drums to some, well, stereotypical eighties music. Then it goes on to show the attractive (ahem) but misunderstood Eric Stoltz, aka Keith, who likes art, and would rather go to art school than college, much to the dismay of his father. (Yes, can't have this type of movie without a disapproving father) He and Watts are and have been best friends for many years, and while he complains of his father's sternness, Watts reminds him that he's lucky to have a father at all.
Later you find out that Keith has a slight crush on the extremely popular, way out of his league Amanda Jones. (Cue the Rolling Stones) She's dating an older guy and Keith's a loser. End of story. When he asks Watts about Amanda Jones, she simply says she's shallow and wouldn't give Keith the time of day.
Through a series of Amanda walking up on her skeezy boyfriend Hardy with other girls about three times, she dumps him, and Keith takes the opportunity to ask her out. She accepts, though only to make Hardy jealous.
After a while of Watts talking badly about Amanda and making it extremely obvious that she too likes (loves?) Keith, he goes out on the date with her. He spends all the money he's ever earned on taking her to a fancy restaurant and buying her some diamond stud earrings that Watts helped him pick out. They go to the museum and then sit on a huge stage and talk. Then they go to a party at Hardy's house, where he's waiting to beat Keith up, and Keith knows it. But once they get there, Keith's friend Duncan (who he met in detention after he purposely got sent there because he thought Amanda Jones would be there) steps in and tells Hardy not to touch him.
So then, of course, Amanda Jones slaps the now helpless and cowering Hardy, and she and Keith walk out. Amanda has of course had a change of heart and actually likes Keith back, as you can see by their escalating chemistry onscreen.... At this point in the movie I was wondering if maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't end happily.
But I had wondered too soon. As soon as they step out the door, Keith sees Watts, who'd been driving them around in a nice car all night. He remembers kissing her earlier that day (she'd told him he needed to practice for Amanda Jones) and a look of....confused love....crosses his face. Amanda Jones, being the deep and understanding girl that she is, immediately assesses the dilemma, and takes out her diamond studs. She gives them to him, saying "Remember how before I said that I'd rather be with someone for the wrong reasons than alone for the right? It's going to feel good to be right." (or something intellectual like that)
With that, Keith takes off after Watts, who'd begun to walk down the street with tears streaming down her face. He catches up with her, and they kiss etc. Then he gives her the earrings and she says how she wanted him to give them to her....she kind of had a feeling he would....she hoped he would...the end.
And that was the movie. Though it held my interest in my feeble state, I wouldn't give it five stars. It was stereotypical, predictable, and I wasn't a huge fan of the cast. None of them were particularly attractive.
The dialogue was nothing special, but I did sort of like the storyline. I am a fan of the best friends since childhood relationships. The outfits and music are awesome if you want to be transported to the wonderful world of 1987.
This movie's good for a day home sick or a movie night full of other eighties movies, but all in all, it's not one I'd adamantly recommend.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Project Reality
I love fashion. I love clothes and shoes and accessories. I especially love unique, intriguing, innovative fashion, and I love the idea of becoming a fashion designer.
Because of my love for fashion, I am a big fan of the show "Project Runway". This show is attractive to me because it shows so many sides of fashion....and it makes me ponder what my collection would be, if I were up on that runway.
Of course, when I think of being a fashion designer, I'm always dressed in Oscar de la Renta or Chanel or some astonishing couture outfit, dashing around a room with beautiful models and my breathtaking designs being put on. I know how to do any type of sewing-related skill flawlessly, and my comments are full of insight into the intricacies of each garment.
Once I realize that I am not a famous designer, I remember a few key facts:
1. I have never even touched a piece of bona fide couture, let alone worn it.
2. My designs, if you can call them that, are tepid and slightly unoriginal; certainly not impressive compared to the likes of the designers of "Project Runway".
3. I have no idea how to sew.
These three facts have led me to the conclusion that I have A LOT of work to do before I've even got a shot at breaking into the fashion industry. Though it would be unimaginably fun to go from Paris to Milan to New York with my world famous dresses, it's highly unlikely. Fashion is a tough industry, and I honestly don't think I have what it takes. In the words of Heidi Klum, "You're either in or you're out." I'd have to say, I think I'm out.
I know, I know....the age-old "you can do anything you set your mind to" is supposed to kick in right about now, get me on my feet, and dust off my wallowing-in-defeat dirt. I know that it is true that trying your very hardest at something gives you a better chance of accomplishing it. But I don't think that just because I want to be a world famous fashion designer means I will be one. Even if I spend all my money on going to the Fashion Institute of Technology and spend every minute of my spare time in internships, I could very well just not make it.
And that is why, after two years of complete faith in the fact that I would one day be as well known as the aforementioned Oscar de la Renta or Chanel, I have realized that I will not.
But I am not wallowing. I am merely stating that after two years of dresses that cost more than my car, ocean view villas in far-off beaches, and rubbing elbows with the likes of the great Heidi floating around in my head, I've finally come to terms with the fact that this isn't going to happen. And I'm ok with that. After all, who really needs a $3000 pair of pants anyway?
(509 words)
Because of my love for fashion, I am a big fan of the show "Project Runway". This show is attractive to me because it shows so many sides of fashion....and it makes me ponder what my collection would be, if I were up on that runway.
Of course, when I think of being a fashion designer, I'm always dressed in Oscar de la Renta or Chanel or some astonishing couture outfit, dashing around a room with beautiful models and my breathtaking designs being put on. I know how to do any type of sewing-related skill flawlessly, and my comments are full of insight into the intricacies of each garment.
Once I realize that I am not a famous designer, I remember a few key facts:
1. I have never even touched a piece of bona fide couture, let alone worn it.
2. My designs, if you can call them that, are tepid and slightly unoriginal; certainly not impressive compared to the likes of the designers of "Project Runway".
3. I have no idea how to sew.
These three facts have led me to the conclusion that I have A LOT of work to do before I've even got a shot at breaking into the fashion industry. Though it would be unimaginably fun to go from Paris to Milan to New York with my world famous dresses, it's highly unlikely. Fashion is a tough industry, and I honestly don't think I have what it takes. In the words of Heidi Klum, "You're either in or you're out." I'd have to say, I think I'm out.
I know, I know....the age-old "you can do anything you set your mind to" is supposed to kick in right about now, get me on my feet, and dust off my wallowing-in-defeat dirt. I know that it is true that trying your very hardest at something gives you a better chance of accomplishing it. But I don't think that just because I want to be a world famous fashion designer means I will be one. Even if I spend all my money on going to the Fashion Institute of Technology and spend every minute of my spare time in internships, I could very well just not make it.
And that is why, after two years of complete faith in the fact that I would one day be as well known as the aforementioned Oscar de la Renta or Chanel, I have realized that I will not.
But I am not wallowing. I am merely stating that after two years of dresses that cost more than my car, ocean view villas in far-off beaches, and rubbing elbows with the likes of the great Heidi floating around in my head, I've finally come to terms with the fact that this isn't going to happen. And I'm ok with that. After all, who really needs a $3000 pair of pants anyway?
(509 words)
Monday, March 3, 2008
At The End Of The Road
I am almost done with On The Road by Jack Kerouac. When I started the book, the only thing I knew about it was what I'd read in my US History book about it; that it offered insights into the lifestyle of the Beat generation. I didn't know if I would like it, but I broke the golden rule and thought the cover looked interesting.
As soon as I'd started it, I was intrigued. Kerouac's style is completely different than what I'm used to reading. Although I wasn't sure about the way the characters just talk and talk in huge long sentences about the strangest things, I quickly got used to and even began to like this style.
Dean Moriarty is a character different than any character I've ever encountered. He's spontaneous, neurotic, and completely sincere. He gets excited over people on the street, and nature, and the way someone words a sentence...he's innocent and insightful and illogical. He falls in love with girl after girl, but gets restless and leaves wives and children in the dust. He's irresponsible and selfish, but I somehow still found myself rooting for him.
At first, I decided that if I met someone like Dean in person, I probably wouldn't feel the absolute reverence for him as the narrator, Sal Paradise, does. As I read on, I wasn't sure if that was entirely true. Though Dean is erratic and illogical and insensible, he's also very inspirational. He finds beauty in everything, chases truth, and strives to understand what life is about.
(I cannot say that some of his enthusiasm for life's more simple things isn't due to his consumption of "tea" throughout the book.)
Besides, the complexity, sincerity, and charisma of Dean Moriarty, another aspect of the book I was very intrigued by was their nomadic lifestyle. The ability to just pick up and go at any time, on a whim, to different parts of the country, knowing that there are friends that will open their doors to you and have a bed or at least a floor for you to sleep on, is very interesting to me. I would love to bum around the country with a group of friends between a larger group of friends for a while. Traveling, meeting new people, experiencing different cultures within the United States; this would be very enjoyable to me.
This book is crazy and complicated and trippy, frankly, but it's also a very good peek into the Beat generation, and is sure to keep you interested.
(421 words)
As soon as I'd started it, I was intrigued. Kerouac's style is completely different than what I'm used to reading. Although I wasn't sure about the way the characters just talk and talk in huge long sentences about the strangest things, I quickly got used to and even began to like this style.
Dean Moriarty is a character different than any character I've ever encountered. He's spontaneous, neurotic, and completely sincere. He gets excited over people on the street, and nature, and the way someone words a sentence...he's innocent and insightful and illogical. He falls in love with girl after girl, but gets restless and leaves wives and children in the dust. He's irresponsible and selfish, but I somehow still found myself rooting for him.
At first, I decided that if I met someone like Dean in person, I probably wouldn't feel the absolute reverence for him as the narrator, Sal Paradise, does. As I read on, I wasn't sure if that was entirely true. Though Dean is erratic and illogical and insensible, he's also very inspirational. He finds beauty in everything, chases truth, and strives to understand what life is about.
(I cannot say that some of his enthusiasm for life's more simple things isn't due to his consumption of "tea" throughout the book.)
Besides, the complexity, sincerity, and charisma of Dean Moriarty, another aspect of the book I was very intrigued by was their nomadic lifestyle. The ability to just pick up and go at any time, on a whim, to different parts of the country, knowing that there are friends that will open their doors to you and have a bed or at least a floor for you to sleep on, is very interesting to me. I would love to bum around the country with a group of friends between a larger group of friends for a while. Traveling, meeting new people, experiencing different cultures within the United States; this would be very enjoyable to me.
This book is crazy and complicated and trippy, frankly, but it's also a very good peek into the Beat generation, and is sure to keep you interested.
(421 words)
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