Here we go, with a slightly egotistical version of the Friday Five. For those of you who didn't read while I kept my old journal, jewelness, here is a smattering of entries that I, as a blogger, critic and human being happened to like.
My Top 5 Journal Entries
1. Covered in White Out - June 26, 2007
Just one of many entries about the asshole from Connecticut. This one makes the list, though, because though inspired by the boy situation, I think the entry itself spoke to a larger emotional issue that goes beyond my one time heartbreak.
2. I Can't Forget What Happened Here - January 22, 2006
This entry, obviously about my brother and his departure to college, rings true because it was sort of the culmination on my mini-series on the struggles of being his sister. I don't know if my parents ever knew how difficult it was (and sometimes, still is).
3. Photo Survey - October 11, 2005
I thought this was particularly amusing. Nothing deep, but we all need a break from the gut-wrenching entries.
4. The Process of Letting Go - July 20, 2003
Again, just one of many entries detailing my first painful fall into love. I wrote it after I went to prom.
5. You Don't Care A Bit - June 12, 2006
Of all the relationships, this one prompted (I think) the best writing. It went beyond journal entries and expanded into songs and poems as well. I suppose that means I should be grateful. I'm not.
Friday Five
come on down, to the bottom of the sea
I slept in a waterbed last night.
Aside from the almost constant motion through the whole night as I tried to sleep, it wasn't that bad of an experience. You certainly have to adjust for the fact that as soon as your right shoulder moves, some area near your left ankle will adjust for the redistributed water, and that when you first turn over, you're going to hit the bottom of the bed until the water evens out. It make you feel a little fat, to be honest, but then you're floating again and it's all good.
And sleeping in a waterbed after three drinks makes the game just a little more fun.
i'm so stressed by my stress i just want to up and vomit
I am absolutely losing it over how fucking STRESSED I am right now.
By this time next week, I need to have completed:
my research paper (which I haven't even started)
my director's book (which I've barely started)
two CD reviews
a rough draft of my Adams Morgan story (with pictures I haven't taken)
preparation for my math exam
Today's entry, brought to you by the letter 'FUCK.'
Friday Five
I WIN. Friday 5, on Friday.
Literally every single one of these things made me laugh out loud, at least once.
1. "You can't touch Daniel Radcliff, and you can't touch the animals!" -Miranda, on a dinner conversation containing bestiality, pedophilia, zoos, "The Goat" and "Equus."
2. The Levi 501 commercial. If you haven't seen this, go now. Saw it while slightly inebriated - but just as funny, if not more so, when sober.
3. My favorite Wikipedia find this week: The Hipster PDA. I mistakenly thought it was a stroke of Adam's brilliance... not so much. Make sure you read the sidebar on the right.
4. I unwrapped two Starbursts in my mouth. I've done it before, but generally the wrappers come out a soggy, shredded mess, but this time, those wrappers were totally intact. Yes, boys, I am available.
5. CraigsList. HOLY EFF. Remember the Boy Scout? His crazy ex? Well, here she is, for the win.
That is the sound of me being validated.
truth is a whisper
I have found my new favorite place at AU.
I stumbled on it last night, when I came over to find Adam in Katzen so we could do Tuesday Tradition. He was working in 203, and as he was getting his bike, I strolled a few paces down the hallway and peeked into the next open door - 202.
I saw this huge, empty space of window, overlooking the stoplight and crosswalk between American University proper and Katzen. It was perhaps one of the most amazing things I've seen in a long time - with just the glass, I felt like I was suspended from some incredible height, looking down into the world, hidden from everyone else.
I love this feeling. I love being invisible, I love just watching the world continue to move while I try and stay as still as possible. I love listening to the sounds of transportation, I love seeing people walking, I love none of them seeing me. I love being able to see past myself and realize exactly how small I am in the world. That my problems, when compared to the magnitude of the world - they're nothing. So these issues with boys, stress over living arrangements, my ridiculous drive to be the most productive and strongest person I know - it doesn't matter.
I like taking the time to be so quiet that I get past the noise of my own ego.
Heave your fiercest sigh
I've accepted the fact that I'm not skinny and thus, certain professions and or hobbies are out of the question. I've made peace with the fact I can't be a supermodel, I'm okay that I'm not going to be a ballerina. But my most recent realization of yet another occupation I will never fulfill has truly got me down.
I will never be a hipster.
(We all know that my main draw for being a hipster is to attract the hipster boys, so they see how sad and waif-like I look in my tight cords and come over and buy me a free-trade coffee or a PBR so we can bond over the newest awesome Joy Division inspired band that no one else has heard of. But that is for another entry entirely, and I digress.)
Think about it. When have you seen a fat, female hipster? Like, a legit, dress wearing, wrapped in scarves hipster with the huge glasses and artsy, unsymmetrical hair? NEVER. Somewhere in page one of the Hipster Handbook it states that to be a true hipster, you need to look emaciated, like all your suffering and sorrow has manifested itself in your disdain for food. (I, however, am a sincere fan of food, as well as beer, which we all know puts on the pounds.)
You would think that my being Asian would aide me in the quest to be a hipster (since we all know the Orient is popular in those underground, hip circles), but no. My Asian genes have let me down because I, unlike the other 99% of the Asian population of the world, have totally uncharacteristic boobs and though I am short, which is a plus for the hipster game, I am compacted into five feet of the Asian Rice Belly. Curse you, genes, for dashing all my dreams of hipster glory by giving me curves.
I can attempt the layering and striped shirts paired with leggings and berets, but the closest I can come to looking hipster falls somewhere closer to indie. My penchant for food and generally "well-fed" look leaves me pining after swallow tattoos on my collarbone and the society that scoffs at Starbucks and gnaws on green beans. But I like my collarbone the way it is, plus, I really dig gingerbread lattes.
So I am left to try as hard as I can to fit in with the cardigan wearing mold... but I sincerely doubt I can pour this ass into a pair of skinny jeans and look even remotely tragic.
Friday Five
Current Top 5 Activities
1. Use Genius to make playlists. Have you tried this feature? For some reason, I absolutely adore it. Now, I'm a huge mixtape snob and normally would turn my nose up at such a generic device that takes all emotion out of making a mix, but Genius is not half bad at knowing when to stretch the boundaries of similar music styles so I don't get tired of six acoustic guitar songs in a row.
2. Drinking in bars. No, I'm not an alcoholic. I'm hooked on the environment, the company, the good deals on food. Last conversation in a bar, I threw in the word "cartographer." I was pretty proud of myself.
3. Writing in my planner. Either one of them. I just love that feeling of writing in my .05 pens and recording history in my books. This speaks to the greater need of concrete memories and tangible artifacts to prove events and emotions are valid - but this is no place for that deep, after midnight philosophizing. This is just a quick list.
4. Sleeping. This is always a favorite. Lots of pillows, a few stuffed animals, a big bed and numerous blankets... it's excellent. I miss having a person to share said bed with, but my body pillow more or less does the trick.
5. Cleaning my room/Tim. Who ever would've thought I could ever list cleaning as one of my favorite activities? But I've realized I need a clean environment to function, and the current state of my bedroom is absolutely shameful. My dresser has so many teacups filled with jewelry stacked on top of one another, and I sneeze whenever I try to find a necklace. The sad thing is, with so many papers due Monday, I have no time to actually do the cleansweep I would like to. And give up going to IOTA Saturday to do it? Pshaw. I'm not that much of a koniophobic.
So THIS is how the world sees me...
I don't know exactly what it is, but it's here if you want to read the rest of it.
Korean woman is associated with Korean salads, rice, spices, kuksi noodles and dog meat. She is distinguished with narrow eyes, miniature, graceful and exotic beauty and cleanliness. Like Uigur woman she is engaged in trading at the bazaar, business in area of café, restaurants, clubs, shops, and for this reason she is rich. Her entrepreneurial success is promoted by diligence, accuracy, intellect, tenacity, pragmatism, dynamism. Depending on situation and character Korean woman can be both refined, subtle, tender, lively, wise and capricious, crafty and bad-tempered.
I'm associated with rice? Really?
if dreams are like movies, then memories are films about ghosts
Life does not imitate art.
I've decided, instead, that art imitates the life we wish we led. Think about it. All successful art is based on the premises of practice and planning. And how are those ever really relevant in life? It's not like you get a test run of this being alive thing. You've got one shot! Sure, there are sometimes second chances, but it's not like in, say, a sketch that you can work on it, draft after draft, before finally releasing it. We, as humans, are published from day one.
And planning. I could talk forever about this illusive "planning" some of us strive so hard to accomplish. But really? Other than a lunch date here, a college there... how much are we really in charge of? SO LITTLE. What's even more frustrating is that we can do all the planning we want, and life will still come in and serve us something totally different. Think about art. What art is possible without months, sometimes years of planning? Look at movies, albums and theater. All of these are only feasible with considerable planning, and the ones that go on without - take Pollock for instance - ...well, they speak for themselves.
So art and life. Close- but not the same. Instead, I think that art is reflecting the level of perfection we as humans cannot attain because of our inability to plan and practice the game of life. If we did have a do-over? That's art. Think about how movies are scripted, costumed and scouted. Everything is so close to naturalism, but in the act of sitting and deciding, "I'm going to write about this," we've immediately changed it from life to art (hello, Heisenberg principle). I can sit on a bench and read a magazine while waiting for the bus. That's life. In a movie, I'll sit on a bench, reading a magazine, and the bus will either never come and I decide to walk to my destination and then meet the love of my life, or I get on the bus and we realize we're the targets of a terrorist organization that has a bomb strapped to the bottom of the bus that requires us to go a certain speed or we all DIE.
That's not life, guys. It's life the way we'd like to imagine it. It's life if we could plan excitement, romance and success just the way we like it served. Unfortunately, that's not the way the chips fall.
Every now and then, you meet someone that makes all that lack of planning and practice totally worth it. You start to hope that maybe life is better experienced without a trial run. You couldn't have planned it any better, and all the practice in the world wouldn't have prepared you for how the shit is going down.
Or maybe that's just what I tell myself as consolation that I have no idea how I ended up here, and I have no idea what the hell I'm doing.
friday five
I apologize that this is not, in fact, posted on Friday. But life happens. You know how it is.
Top 5 Weird Jobs I'm Considering
1. Wedding planner
For someone who is so vehemently opposed to getting near a big white dress and "I do," I think I would be perhaps the most phenomenal wedding planner to walk this earth. I'm organized, I have a good eye for design and color and I can crunch the numbers to make sure the bride and groom stay within the budget. I'm a multi-tasker - I can do hair, I've got loads of creative solutions for those last minute problems right before she walks down the aisle and I've got a great power walk and menacing upwards loom for any catering staff that would DARE to tell me they don't have enough of the lemon chicken we ordered.
Brides would love me. I'd probably end up hating all of them.
2. Bartender
I've always wanted to bartend. I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's my general amusement by alcohol and those under its influence in the happy, safe and ridiculous kind of way. My parents would be abhorred that their child would be one to perpetuate domestic violence and the general slide into immorality, but dude. Bartenders, good ones, and even okay ones, can make bank. And considering I'm a pretty good conversationalist, I've got great hair and I'm female, I think I would be one to make bank.
3. Secretary
I know, how boring and blah and what a waste of all that creativity you have percolating inside of you, jewel... but really? Think of me in an office, surrounded by paper clips, dry erase markers, calendars, sticky notes, manila folders, pens and a computer? I think I'd basically fall over myself to sit in that swirly office chair. Another bonus of a secretarial position is that you wouldn't "take the work home" with you. You go, 9-5 with the envelopes, and then leave. Free.
Maybe I should just work at Staples instead.
4. Painter
Not like, in the artiste sort of way. I mean an interior painter. With rollers and Duron and co-workers who most likely don't speak English. I don't know, this has always been my joking fallback option if being an actor didn't work out. I like colors, and I always dream about painting my own room wacky and ridiculous colors, it'd be pretty cool to paint everyone else's instead.
5. Personal Assistant
Now, Jamie warned me off of this, saying it was frustrating and you had to do the stupid jobs that no one wants to do, but I still think it would be really ridiculous to be a PA. I'm totally down for getting dry cleaning, coffee, going grocery shopping or planning my boss's dinners with clients. This kind of reads into the Wedding Planner, but my talent for multitasking and simply getting shit done would make me a phenomenal PA.
The added bonus is that then I'd be so busy managing someone else's life, I wouldn't have the time to worry about mine.
a day in the photo lab
This is how I spend my Tuesdays.
Caitlin, the unofficial lab assistant, needed to take a photo adaptation. She chose Rosie. In the second photo, note her take on "We Can Do It" and the balance of femininity and strength.
The latter is a more typical Adam face. Here is a second look at Rosie, perhaps a more interesting image of today's feminism.
Adam stole the camera. Look at the pretty modeling light.
This is actually a photo adaptation as well, though I don't know the original picture. It's pretty hilarious, two people with white sheets over their heads. So, this is Adam and I with Starbucks aprons smothered on our faces, inhaling the smell of photo chemistry for unhealthy, extended periods of time.
WINNER FOR THE MOST INAPPROPRIATE QUOTE EVER
Adam, whispering in my ear in a very stalker-y voice as we smushed together:
"I like it when we touch."
generations of epic
My grandfather was a hero.
He served in World War II and got a Purple Heart. He married a woman beautiful enough to be a movie star. They had three kids, two girls and a boy. His only son is my dad.
I remember one visit to their house, he sat me down in the den. And he began telling me, fighting through the speech problems, how when he was a young man, he voted for no one but a Democrat. But later in life, he said he changed to voting for the Republicans because the Democratic values had changed, and he couldn't stay loyal to them any longer.
As a ten year old, I did my best to understand.
Now as an almost-21 year old, I hope I understand.
Today was my first time voting in a presidential election. And wow, talk about epic. I stood in my little voting booth for a full minute just staring at my choices. I even took a picture with my phone, which is currently set to my wallpaper, of that flashing "VOTE" button on the screen. I don't understand how anyone could not vote.
It's funny how numb I felt before today. Right now I'm on fire, and I hope it doesn't change.
Papa, I hope you're proud.
it's time for greatness
It hit me today as I sat in class.
Tomorrow, we elect the next president.
Being in D.C., it's so easy to turn a deaf ear to the election and politics in general. I get so inundated with everything political at AU, I start to not care. I forget that when I sit at my little table, analyzing the media's coverage of Sarah Palin and her pregnant daughter, when we look at the implications of Obama's "fist bump," we're not just discussing everyday politicians, we are looking at people that could be in control of perhaps the greatest country in the free world.
I forget that I am a citizen, not just a student. I have responsibilities beyond midterms. I have (however small) power, I have a voice outside the classroom. And nothing should keep me from using that at this crucial time, no matter how certain I think this election is.
So with that in mind, despite the two papers I have due in less than a week, despite rehearsals every single night, despite losing hair, sleep and my mind, I will be driving home tonight so I can get up in the morning and vote.
Meiko - Good Looking Loser
See it live, here. Guess who this song makes me think of. The answer would be E) All of the above. look what you've done look what you have become beautiful yet a fool and a thief with my eyes closed cause that's how it goes everyone knew it but me you're a good looking loser and i'm the one who got away with my eyes full of tears and my hands in two beers and the story is i am ashamed should've been smarter should've tried harder should've been quick to your game you're a good looking loser and i'm the one who got away nobody said it'd be different this time maybe you're all the same and i've had my doubts but i threw them all out i had faith that there'd be no price to pay you're a good looking loser and i'm the one who got away i'm the one who got away you're a good looking loser and i will do what i have to do
i will try to find my place in the diary of jane
This acoustic version of "Diary of Jane" is one of the best I've ever heard. Go to Imeem and find it if you're a Breaking Benjamin fan.
So. I turn 21 in basically a week. Crazy, right? Who ever would've thought I'd have made it this far? Not me, for sure. And technically, I could very well die of exhaustion in the week before I make it to 21 with the amount of work I have to do - but hey, we'll be optimistic for a change and say I'll make it.
In the meantime, I'm listening to acoustic rock tracks and debating the merits and consequences of pursuing a boy at school. Along with a rehearsals, two papers, a director's book, plus the normal amount of petty homework... it's more than enough to keep me busy.
21, I'll see you soon.
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