Monday, January 30, 2012

Most Interesting Dinner Party Ever.

Inspired by Jenny Lawson (The Bloggess), I have put together the world's most interesting dinner party.
You're invited non-existent blog-reader, please R.S.V.P., black tie is preferable.
The Guest List:

  • Anne Boleyn (I mean, who doesn't want to hear that story)
  • Benazir Bhutto  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Benazir_Bhutto
  • Carlos the Jackal (Not only would this guy have drop-dead awesome stories of rebellion, I hear he's a babe)
  • Meryl Streep (right?! I just want to be in the same room as her so I can suck up some of her talent)
  • Jackie Kennedy (just to gaze at her in awe, really)
  • The Whedon Brothers  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joss_Whedon  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jed_Whedon  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zack_Whedon
  • William Shakespeare ('nuff said)
  • Jenny Lawson (yes Jenny, you're between Shakespeare and Woolfe. Feel awesome)
  • Virginia Woolfe (was she crazy...aw I don't care! I love her to pieces)
  • Amelia Earhart (it is SO nice to see ya Amelia! Say...where've you been the last 74 years?)
  • Catherine Middleton (so you're married to the future king...what's that like?)
  • Neil Patrick Harris (I'm just such a fan)
  • Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore (duh)
  • Lorelai Gilmore (she helps break those awkward silences, you know?)
  • Methuselah (buddy! Man, you're looking good. Fit, really in shape.)  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Methuselah
  • Ellen Degeneris ( I just really want to be her friend)
  • Attila the Hun (only if he's given laughing gas prior to dining)
  • Jane Austen ( I JUST WANT TO KNOW HER)  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jane_austen
  • Tyra Banks (I didn't have much racial diversity)

Saturday, January 28, 2012

"If we focus too strongly on the product we want to become, we lose touch with the process of what we are, we become unable to change and grow.

 Knowing too much about what we want to be, we judge ourselves harshly because we know too little about what we truly are. 

We must balance our knowledge of becoming with our knowledge of being if we are to escape the plague of judgement." Wesley Balk

If only I could take a shower.

Oftentimes I use the bathroom.
No no, it's true, it happens quite frequently.
But more often, I wait for the bathroom. And wait, and wait, and wait. Because we have one bathroom in this apartment. One bathroom for four girls. And many Saturdays (today, in fact!), I lazily open my eyes to the world and roll out of bed and do the dished for an hour (my roommates don't have hands, you see, so...), while one of them is in the shower.
And then, I go and grab my towel and clothes to go take my turn but...
The other is in the shower.
So I do homework for a little while, complain about it on my blog, when suddenly I hear the water stop.
I spring to my feet, towel and clothing in hand, when I hear..... the hair dryer.
For the next twenty minutes.
Now, all that springing-to-feet and disappointment has conjured up the smell that is wafting from poor, un-showered me, which is doubly disheartening because I believe it is growing stronger exponentially.
IF ONLY I COULD TAKE A SHOWER.
I shut my door in anger and return to my paper on the Shoshoni Indians, biding my time until I can wash the grime and grease out of my hair. Finally, after an unbelievable amount of hair-drying time, I decide to go scout out the bathroom situation. I cautiously open the door, peering down the hall into the bathroom.
THE DOOR IS OPEN!
I rush back into my room, grab my clothes and I'm home free! But just as my hand reaches the doorknob, MY TOWEL! I can't shower without a towel! I race back to my bedroom, grab the rogue towel, open the door just as--
Slam.
I hear the water turn on as roommate number three begins to shower.

Sometimes.... I want my own place. Or at least my own bathroom. Or dreadlocks.

Monday, January 23, 2012

Two things I'm passionate about today:


The 2011 Quidditch World Cup. It's a real thing, with 100 official teams and over 2000 players. Ivy League schools are participating and being AWESOME.
Olympics, here we come.


The Jane Austen Festival
Every September, thousands of Austenophiles descend upon Bath, England, to spend a weekend dressed up as their favorite Jane Austen character. The events, organized by the Jane Austen Centre, range from promenading to eating to dancing and perusing the wares at the Country Fayre.
I would do this in a heartbeat.

Saturday, January 14, 2012

Children Marrying Children: A Utah Epidemic.


CMC is a raging, uncontrollable disease that is heavily affecting many couples statewide. CMC has many side-effects, including heartburn, loss of hair, self-loathing, and paranoia or depression.

There is no need to get married before your feet can reach the gas pedal in a Volkswagon. And just because the boy that sits behind you in your third grade class shared his yellow crayon, doesn't make him 'The One'. Getting married to spite your parents because they didn't get you a pony for Christmas is not a good reason. Think about this.

 If you are in training underpants, if you do not yet have all of your adult teeth, if you only know 20 letters of the alphabet, YOU ARE NOT READY FOR MARRIAGE. 

If you or someone you know feels that they are being caged by CMC, there is a way you can help. 
Stop them. Talk some sense into them. 


Only you can prevent CMC. Act now, or forever hold your peace. 

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Rome

I took World History online.

And that, any High School student will tell you, means I 'read' lots of articles and then 'took quizzes' on what I read and 'didn't watch Gilmore Girls the entire time'. Moral of the story: I didn't learn anything and online classes suck.Unless you're into that whole...not-learning-at-school-thing. 
I'm pretty sure Karma is real and somehow it's my best friend because it threw me an opportunity that most people will never get to have (and by most people, I mean everyone I've ever met).
The chance to travel the world, and get paid for it.
Well, kinda. 
All I have to do is learn, be open to new experiences, be adventurous and curious and do so all in the name of education. And log hundreds of receipts. And substitute classes once in a while. And get unlimited texting. All of that can be explained, and actually it requires kind of a lot, I'm just not going to get into it. 

ANYWAY I'm beginning at the beginning here, with my first trip: Rome, Italy.
Ever since I can remember, I've dreamed of going to Italy: Venice, originally, was my fantasy tourist location, I was longing to experience the food and the sounds and the language of Italy, such a rich and historic culture. I may not have retained any of the information that online class was supposed to teach me, but I knew that  Rome was practically the epitome of history. I mean, what an empire!
And that's what it felt like. History. It felt established and bursting with story and background and life that has existed for ages on the very street I was walking (well...hobbling. Limping, if you will. I blew out my knee a little over a week before the trip and had to wear this cumbersome leg brace the entire time)! 
I don't want to bore you with my ramblings that are most likely turning you green with envy (I'm sorry!!), but here is my trip in one picture, one word, and one event:

 The picture is this. Why? This slightly hideous picture of my face embodies how Rome made me feel. I'm looking up, first of all, probably in awe at the Sistine Chapel or the Fontana di Trevi. I felt my mouth was constantly open in unabashed wonder because I realized that I don't understand anything. How the heck did Michelangelo paint that? And whose idea was it to have Water Gods and Goddesses coming out of their palace front yard? (That was Pope Clement XII ps)?! And why do Italians eat ham on melon and drink out of bird baths?! Foreign countries are foreign, guys, it's mind-blowing. Anyway, reason number two that this picture describes my trip pertains to what I am wearing. First off, the hat. It was the first purchase I made in Italy (besides dangerous amounts of gelato) and I wore it much of the trip. It was itchy. Now, the coat. That red coat will always remind me of cobblestone streets and gypsies that work for the mafia-I obviously wore it the entire time (December is cold) and I don't know, it just gave me the permission to be...bold. Last, you'll notice that my hair was atrocious, as it was the entire trip. That has nothing to do with anything reminiscent, I was just going through a transitional...hair period.

Every trip I go on I write extensively about it in a journal I buy especially for that travel experience. I do this because I have a terrible memory and because I love to write-plus it gives me a place to put all my tickets and subway cards and stuff. In these journals I attempt to describe whatever country I'm in in one word, and Rome's word is 'Divine', which can be defined as 'of, relating to, or proceeding directly from God or a god' Now, I know that's a strange word to choose and I can give you no more of an explanation than this: I choose these words from a feeling I get while in this country. Honestly, I have no idea why I chose this word, it could have something to do with the stain glass Mother Mary shrines on every corner or the massive cathedrals, or it could be something about divine right, and how the rulers of Rome back in ancient times felt it was their right to rule with ultimate power and total control-you get a sense of that power in Rome. Everything is so big and grand and overstated, you can just imagine the men who ruled here and the slaves who built this empire from the ground up to the greatest city in the world. It all seemed surreal, like men could not have accomplished such greatness without, hey, maybe some divine assistance.

Okay, an experience, copied straight from my journal:
"At the fair in the Piazza Navona at my favorite booth, I bought a necklace. The couple who ran the booth-a middle-aged Italian couple-were fighting with a lady who I can only assume was a customer. I have no idea what they were fighting about (my Italian is pretty much limited to 'Non mi toccare' or 'Don't touch me'), but it got relatively heated and unreasonably loud (Italians are, in fact, loud). I thought it was hilarious, they kept turning to me to mutter some rude comment about the offensive lady, or to ask my opinion on the matter while I was browsing, and then they'd realize I was completely oblivious to the conversation and continue yelling. I found them extremely entertaining and totally enjoyed...whatever they were fighting about. Italians are passionate, that cannot be argued."

Well, until my next trip, Ciao!


Friday, January 6, 2012

Sharing a Passion:

Elsie Larson is a) brilliant and b) one of my top blog stalkees, and this is the link to her blog:

http://www.abeautifulmess.typepad.com/

And THIS is a link to her new e-course on Art Journalling, one of my favorite hobbies:

http://shopredvelvet.com/collections/e-course/products/art-journal-all-year-e-course

A Word About Fashion

People think it's stupid.
Unfashionable people think it's stupid. Because they don't understand it. Fashion isn't always about looking better than the girl who sits next to you-and it's certainly not about impressing boys: no straight guy is going to notice that you cleverly matched your shoes to your earrings in complete contrast to your tights. And yes, much of fashion is a joke, "New Fall Trend: Blue Vases with White Roses!"
I mean...come on.
A lot of it is brilliant expression, walking artwork, if you will. Fashion displays statements about the state of society, the creative self, feminism, economy even commitment level. Pop culture, though stupid, is HISTORY, people! Do you want generations to come to look back at 2012 and believe it was encouraged to wear sweats to the store?
No.
Though superficial and wrong, you are often no more than a first impression. So BE IMPRESSIVE.
Be FASCINATING. Be LINGERING. Be INSPIRATIONAL. Be SHAMELESS. Be GROUND-BEAKING.

Thursday, January 5, 2012

What I look forward to...

Bedrest: Why I really blog.

Ah, pain. There's nothing like a good, refreshing kick in the mouth to brighten your day. And blood! What a lovely, heartwarming substance. And I am absolutely obsessed with nausea-it's such a treat to feel like the room is spinning all the time. 
A carnival ride.
That's what getting your wisdom teeth out feels like: a carnival ride after being kicked in the jaw and force fed blood.
SUCH an amusement! And I only have to pay...how much??
Oh happy day! Yes, yes, slice me open!! Saw them off! You wonderful, beautiful doctor, you!
I think this experience would have been less joyful if I hadn't woken up during the operation. Anesthesia shmanesthesia, right when they hit that lower right nerve I was AWAKE! And feeling it all, hallelujah!
And doctor, the screaming and crying and convulsing that then ensued I SWEAR was out of excitement and admiration of your skill, NOT sheer terror or excruciating pain. As if!
Really, it's a shame you can only get your wisdom teeth out once.
"The mind of an artist, in order to achieve the prodigious effort of freeing whole and entire the work that is in him, must be incandescent, there must be no obstacle in it, no foreign matter unconsumed." Virginia Woolfe.

Wanderlust

 It's a hunger. An itch. A sneeze that must be sneezed or I will implode. Travelling has given me a gnawing need for a whole heaping plate of Knowledge, with New as an appetizer and Far Away as dessert. It cannot be described, life spread out. It's exhausting and frustrating and confusing and makes me feel dangerously insignificant, and yet I need to travel. To know everything there is to be known, to do everything there is to be done.
It's imagination, proven. It's fairytale, experienced. It's an entire section of my brain that I can no longer control because that part forever floating in a different hemisphere. It's opportunity and solution and result all wrapped into one. It's indescribable, obviously, but wanderlust has taken a hold of my mind and now I'm afraid I will never be cured.
I want to see a glacier, I want to eat snails, I want to be caught in a sandstorm. I want to understand people like I have never understood them before, I want to watch lives and affect them. I want NEW NEW NEW!  I want that after-Thanksgiving-dinner feeling where you are so stuffed to the brim and content, all you can do is ponder how full of goodness you are that you have absolutely no more room. I want a huge antique chest in my house, full of hijabs and gloves and bangles and kimonos I bought all over the world. I want a globe. One of those brown ones you see on English Proffesor's desks so I can point my four-year-old's hand to all the places mommy has seen.
I want to be a collage, the whole world strung and glued to one soul, shaping and thickening and colorizing. I want to shine with experience and speak with wisdom learned through years of New. Travelling is a passion, a sickness, and an obsession I cannot shake.

pow·er (pou r) n. 1. The ability or capacity to perform or act effectively.

I am not an author. Truly gifted writers are able to create an alternate reality so vivid they inspire a basis of followers that believe in the writer's world so passionately, they cannot imagine their lives without that drop of magic an author gives to them.
I am not a painter. Real, natural artists are able to envelope scores of people at any time by capturing an instant and regurgitation it onto a canvas, flawlessly preserving the original sparkle of that moment in time.
I am not an actor. Honest, talented actors can become anyone they choose in order to sweep an entire theater into an imagined land, forgetting the harsh realities of their own sad existences.
I am not a singer. Breathtaking performers have an innate charisma that draws wandering, unhinged souls and completes what they are lacking through a melodic transplant of mind and heart.
What I am not, is clear and substantial. Obvious.
But what am I?