Ah, the public radio. Don't know what the weathers going to be like?
Want to know if I-90 is backed up? Haven't head about Jamie Lynn Spears
being pregnant? Want to spend some personal time in your car listening to
Delilah? Been wondering if your favorite DJ endorses any weight loss pills
or other quick fixes to unhappiness? All you have to is flip a small
switch and you are connected with a world of free knowledge. And by
knowledge I mean information, and by information I mean gossip and by
gossip I most likely mean commercials. None the less, growing up
listening to the radio is one thing that many of us (you one person that
reads this blog and I) have in common. In fact, even back in my parent's
day, when radios were still made up out of rocks, twigs and a small bird
that would recite several phrases, many families, friends and foes would
gather around the small box for the nightly news report.
Growing up as a young girl in a small Hudson River Valley hamlet,
listening to the radio was the routine start to almost every single school
day. Even some of my earliest memories of kindergarten and first grade
involve waiting down at the end of the driveway with my brothers and
sisters, waiting for the school bus that we often would miss. ( My
mother, irritated and clad in pajamas and peanut butter from the 4 school
lunches she would have to race to make every morning, would then whip
through the dirt roads in order to get us to a neighbor's driveway in time
to catch their stop.) ( One day, the neighbor's dog (Berwick), peed on
my backpack while I was waiting for the bus; Too embarrassed to tell my
mom, brothers or sister, I proceeded to school with my urine contaminated
sack. True story.) Anyway. It was these first few years of life that
composed my earliest memories of the radio. My friend Hannah (also on the
Red bus) and I would sit in the first seat of the bus and sing along to
the radio station that our bus driver, Norm, would play. ( K104.7- The
Hudson Valley's hit music station.) We would also comb Norm's hair on a
daily basis which, retrospectively, is a little weird.
For the remainder of my career as a student who rode the bus, which
unfortunately took me throughout all four years of high school, I was
subjected to my respective bus drivers' radio choice every morning and
afternoon. As a general rule, it was the cool bus drivers that would play
K104 up until about middle school. In middle school, much to my secret
dismay, K104 became uncool and my male classmates who chose to sit in the
back of the bus would groan whenever the driver would play today's hits.
Instead, they would call to the front of the bus and request that the
driver put on Q104.3- Classic Rock. Since this station was also the
personal favorite of my dad's, I was accustomed to hearing it so the
switch didn't phase me all too much. Sometimes its nice, however, to get
out of school, climb on to the bus with your friends, and dance around to
"Who Let the Dog's Out?" What could be cooler than that? Yet, I found
myself admist the cool kids in the last four rows of the bus singing along
to Bob Dylan and talking about cool things like how uncool the people who
sit in the first four rows of the bus are....they probably liked to listen
to K104.
My long awaited radio absolution finally came when I reached college. It
was only freshman year when I met my friend, Joel, and we immediately
bonded over both being from downstate New York. (Yankees! Yankees!) As if
we had both been repressing a secret life-long love for our best friends,
we rejoiced in having secret affairs with today's hit music station.
Apparently, in college it is again cool to like the things that were once
cool but then became uncool. Much like the recent reemergence of the
British pop group, the Spice Girls. Luckily for me, Joel and I being from
the same general vicinity, we are able to carpool when we go home for
breaks from school. As soon as we get to the Taconic State Parkway, we
immediately switch over and rock it with Fergie for the remaining duration
of the ride. On our last trip together, joined also by friend my Courtney
who goes to school in Boston, we even called in and got to request Hillary
Duff on air! We were out of K104 range by that point, but we managed to
call several people and told them to tune in. Also, as if a gift from God
himself, advances in technology have enabled the LIVE STREAMING of K104
through the internet! This means that NO MATTER where you are, you can
listen in and be connected with the Hudson Valley's number one hits music
station!
This brings me to the real point of this rant about public radio.
Starting tonight, my very own radio show will begin airing on a weekly
timeslot. My friend, Nell, and I have joined forces to bring bus drivers
everywhere the option of tuning into our weekly rants on different themes
and delivery of eclectic tunes. Norm- if you're out there, this one's for
you.
The show is called Broad Topics and it will be streaming
live Wednesday nights from 11pm to 12am via the internet!
Type this little dingdong into your url bar to listen:
www.clarku.edu/students/rocu
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
On the Radio
Monday, January 28, 2008
Some Ecard
my roommate, Leah, sent me:
I have been too tired and sleepy and exhausted and pooped and drained and wiped out to post. Instead of posting now, I think I'm going to go to sleep somewhat early.
Forgive me for such a terrible post, but it's kind of a perfect post about insomnia, right? Too tired to write anything exciting?
I have been too tired and sleepy and exhausted and pooped and drained and wiped out to post. Instead of posting now, I think I'm going to go to sleep somewhat early.
Forgive me for such a terrible post, but it's kind of a perfect post about insomnia, right? Too tired to write anything exciting?
Friday, January 25, 2008
Chelsea Clinton
spoke at my school yesterday morning. In an attempt to address the request for more social commentary in my blog, I will touch upon this dialog and it's implications on me as a young, American voter. ('Social Commentary' is also the title given to one of the bookshelves in my room containing such works as The Jungle and The Omnivore's Dilemma, amongst others. I am not ashamed to say that my largest shelf belongs to the 'Scifi/Fantasy' categorization.)
My friend, Jeff, told me that I seemed to be very involved in what Ms. Clinton was saying. He said that every time he looked back at me, I would just be staring at her and nodding or shaking my head which he assumed was in agreement/disagreement of specific Hilary platforms. It is true that I agree with some to several of Hilary's ideas, including part of her draft for enacting universal health care, but it is highly doubtful that this is why I was moving my head whenever Jeff saw me. More likely, what was running through my head was one of the following thoughts:
- Immediately upon her entry into the room, I was taken aback by Chelsea Clinton's looks. I half-expected a young, frizzy haired, woman-suit wearing democrat to come clunking in with a busy, heavy step but was much delighted to see something quite different. Chelsea Clinton is the ultimate success story of the invention known as the flat iron. Girl is looking good! First head nod. But wait! I can't be sure that she uses a flat iron! Head shake. What if she had opted for the more drastic, semi-permanent Japanese ion retexturizing process?? Yeah, that has to be it. Nod.
-Shortly thereafter, much of what I heard from Chelsea was a lot of, "I love my mom," "I have never been prouder of anyone," "I am proud of my mom for ab and c," etc. What would I have to say if MY mom were running for President? Has Chelsea ever seen "First Kid" or "My Date with the President's Daughter"? Which one was better? Well, immediately I thought "First Kid" because of Sinbad (head nod.) Although (shake) 'My Date' did have the better intro and outro music and starred Will Friddel from Boy Meets World. Was I brave enough to ask Chelsea's opinion on the matter?- No, she was currently discussing the war in Iraq and I thought my question would be viewed as tasteless.
-For much of the remainder of Chelsea's presence, I stared, baffled at how such a young woman could be so well spoken and composed. I compared Chelsea's public appearance to some of mine- during my speech in front of a few hundred at my high school graduation, I wore a Mickey Mouse graduation cap and slurred all of my words together, the biggest word I used was probably "congratulations." She's got some years on me, though, I'll get there (shakes, nods, shakes.)
Following the talk, people were discussing the Clintons for much of the rest of the day. While I don't know a terrible amount on politics, I knew something that no one else I talked to could recall. What were the Clinton's pets names? Buddy and Socks. With skills like these, who wouldn't want me as an influential spearhead?
My friend, Jeff, told me that I seemed to be very involved in what Ms. Clinton was saying. He said that every time he looked back at me, I would just be staring at her and nodding or shaking my head which he assumed was in agreement/disagreement of specific Hilary platforms. It is true that I agree with some to several of Hilary's ideas, including part of her draft for enacting universal health care, but it is highly doubtful that this is why I was moving my head whenever Jeff saw me. More likely, what was running through my head was one of the following thoughts:
- Immediately upon her entry into the room, I was taken aback by Chelsea Clinton's looks. I half-expected a young, frizzy haired, woman-suit wearing democrat to come clunking in with a busy, heavy step but was much delighted to see something quite different. Chelsea Clinton is the ultimate success story of the invention known as the flat iron. Girl is looking good! First head nod. But wait! I can't be sure that she uses a flat iron! Head shake. What if she had opted for the more drastic, semi-permanent Japanese ion retexturizing process?? Yeah, that has to be it. Nod.
-Shortly thereafter, much of what I heard from Chelsea was a lot of, "I love my mom," "I have never been prouder of anyone," "I am proud of my mom for ab and c," etc. What would I have to say if MY mom were running for President? Has Chelsea ever seen "First Kid" or "My Date with the President's Daughter"? Which one was better? Well, immediately I thought "First Kid" because of Sinbad (head nod.) Although (shake) 'My Date' did have the better intro and outro music and starred Will Friddel from Boy Meets World. Was I brave enough to ask Chelsea's opinion on the matter?- No, she was currently discussing the war in Iraq and I thought my question would be viewed as tasteless.
-For much of the remainder of Chelsea's presence, I stared, baffled at how such a young woman could be so well spoken and composed. I compared Chelsea's public appearance to some of mine- during my speech in front of a few hundred at my high school graduation, I wore a Mickey Mouse graduation cap and slurred all of my words together, the biggest word I used was probably "congratulations." She's got some years on me, though, I'll get there (shakes, nods, shakes.)
Following the talk, people were discussing the Clintons for much of the rest of the day. While I don't know a terrible amount on politics, I knew something that no one else I talked to could recall. What were the Clinton's pets names? Buddy and Socks. With skills like these, who wouldn't want me as an influential spearhead?
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Platinum Opportunity
Even better than Gold. If you've ever dreamed of seeing me in a socially compromising position, or would find it entertaining to measure just how uncomfortable I can become in the course of a few minutes, tomorrow is your lucky day.
Come to the ROCU DJ auction in the Grind at 7pm and buy a date with Nell and I- the combo pack. Although, if we actually do sell, I might be a little less uncomfortable (depending on who you are) and that would skew your data. So you have three options: don't come, come and watch us not sell, or come for a bargain and buy us at probably like $2, all of which will be Nell's yielding.
What am I doing?!
EDIT: My mind was just rushed by about 100 names of people who I would definitely NOT want to be bought by. Some of these include: OJ Simpson, a certain someone from high school who I desperately hope won't read this blog and take this as a platinum opportunity, and this man who's name I don't remember who used to tell me he was going to buy me from my mom when I was little. It obviously had a subconscious, lasting effect on me. More to come on that creep at a later date.
Come to the ROCU DJ auction in the Grind at 7pm and buy a date with Nell and I- the combo pack. Although, if we actually do sell, I might be a little less uncomfortable (depending on who you are) and that would skew your data. So you have three options: don't come, come and watch us not sell, or come for a bargain and buy us at probably like $2, all of which will be Nell's yielding.
What am I doing?!
EDIT: My mind was just rushed by about 100 names of people who I would definitely NOT want to be bought by. Some of these include: OJ Simpson, a certain someone from high school who I desperately hope won't read this blog and take this as a platinum opportunity, and this man who's name I don't remember who used to tell me he was going to buy me from my mom when I was little. It obviously had a subconscious, lasting effect on me. More to come on that creep at a later date.
Snobbery
That's it.
I refuse to consume any more Worcester city water.
I hold my father completely responsible for this elitist statement.
I refuse to consume any more Worcester city water.
I hold my father completely responsible for this elitist statement.
Update
It's now nearing three a.m. and there is howling outside. This is not coming from a dog of any sort, trust me- I would know. No, this is different. Humanoid in nature. Soft and fierce. The light stays on.
This will give me ample time to read A Man Without a Country, which I desperately need to return to Joe about 7 months ago.
I would go into the living room and select something to watch, but I'm afraid of passing by any open windows, closet doors, couches (under which people may be hiding), etc. You can only facebook strangers for so long (several hours at any given time), and I have been up to date on my celebrity gossip since about 7 this evening.
On a lighter note- today at the grocery store, I treated myself to a box of chocolate teddy grahams. I eat them like this: ear, ear, leg, leg, arm, arm, whole head, body. Delicious AND a workout! Also, to paint an even more explicit picture of the razzle dazzle city I live in, at the grocery store (the best in the area, although I'm not sure thats saying much) Nell looked at me in horror after a furry, scaly tailed creature (likely a "mouse") ran by her feet through the aisle. Later, in the produce section, Leah and I were startled as some sort of winged beast swooped down from the artificial sky (commonly called the ceiling) and nearly scalped us while letting out a ferocious war cry. We were only mildly shocked at the concurrence of these events, and they were not enough to rain on my chocolate teddy parade.
I am too poor to afford juice boxes, one of my favorite anytime treats, so I would be much obliged if my loyal fans could send me some to the follow address to help motivate me in this literary endeavor:
Juliet Moretti
950 Main Street
Box 1418
Worcester, MA 01610
Also acceptable for sending:
Fan Mail
Hate Mail
**Clippings of puppies from magazines/photos/etc. (I need these for a project I am working on)
Money
A photo of yourself
A drawing
Anything else you deem appropriate
Did anyone get my faux paw pun in my last post? I really thought I struck comedic gold with that one..
This will give me ample time to read A Man Without a Country, which I desperately need to return to Joe about 7 months ago.
I would go into the living room and select something to watch, but I'm afraid of passing by any open windows, closet doors, couches (under which people may be hiding), etc. You can only facebook strangers for so long (several hours at any given time), and I have been up to date on my celebrity gossip since about 7 this evening.
On a lighter note- today at the grocery store, I treated myself to a box of chocolate teddy grahams. I eat them like this: ear, ear, leg, leg, arm, arm, whole head, body. Delicious AND a workout! Also, to paint an even more explicit picture of the razzle dazzle city I live in, at the grocery store (the best in the area, although I'm not sure thats saying much) Nell looked at me in horror after a furry, scaly tailed creature (likely a "mouse") ran by her feet through the aisle. Later, in the produce section, Leah and I were startled as some sort of winged beast swooped down from the artificial sky (commonly called the ceiling) and nearly scalped us while letting out a ferocious war cry. We were only mildly shocked at the concurrence of these events, and they were not enough to rain on my chocolate teddy parade.
I am too poor to afford juice boxes, one of my favorite anytime treats, so I would be much obliged if my loyal fans could send me some to the follow address to help motivate me in this literary endeavor:
Juliet Moretti
950 Main Street
Box 1418
Worcester, MA 01610
Also acceptable for sending:
Fan Mail
Hate Mail
**Clippings of puppies from magazines/photos/etc. (I need these for a project I am working on)
Money
A photo of yourself
A drawing
Anything else you deem appropriate
Did anyone get my faux paw pun in my last post? I really thought I struck comedic gold with that one..
I'm not alone..
For the past few minutes I have been sitting with Leah on her bed in the dark waiting to hear the voices that she came out of the room twice in fear from.
I told her she had nothing to worry about and that they were just our upstairs neighbors.
I'm now sitting in my room a little too afraid to turn off the lights.
I told her she had nothing to worry about and that they were just our upstairs neighbors.
I'm now sitting in my room a little too afraid to turn off the lights.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
24/7
Today I managed to make a fool out of myself before 9 a.m. Given the sheer probability that I am even awake prior to 9, the odds are completely in favor of me not making a fool of myself this early. Alas, I have defied the odds of embarrassment yet another again.
On this particularly brisk Worcester morning, I was just rounding the corner of Hughes Hall when I was startled by a man walking his dog. (What a delightful upset!) Naturally, I screamed a scream reminiscent of a 4 year old alien child encountering a human life form for the first time. It started with your typical "AHH" and quickly digressed into "AHHeehhhhhawwww, hey Fritz!" The dog, presumably pleased that I knew his name, jumped up on me as I yelped so that I could pet him better. The man, recovering from his first, again presumably, encounter with a 4 year old alien child, looked at me with a tilt of the head and asked, "How do you know my dog's name?"
There are some things for which I am not (publicly) proud, and my innate ability to recall pets' names is one of these things. Realizing I had committed a social faux paw (zing!), I could think of only one reply, "Oh... What? Maybe later. I'm late. Ha.." What?! Needless to say, the rest of my walk to class allowed me to relate more personally to reality show participants that are publically voted off the show and are forced to pack and leave while still on camera...
What he doesn't know is that I could also tell that Fritz is a (rather petite) Irish Setter, from the pointer family-bred as hunting companions, just from looking at him... but let's just keep that between us.
On this particularly brisk Worcester morning, I was just rounding the corner of Hughes Hall when I was startled by a man walking his dog. (What a delightful upset!) Naturally, I screamed a scream reminiscent of a 4 year old alien child encountering a human life form for the first time. It started with your typical "AHH" and quickly digressed into "AHHeehhhhhawwww, hey Fritz!" The dog, presumably pleased that I knew his name, jumped up on me as I yelped so that I could pet him better. The man, recovering from his first, again presumably, encounter with a 4 year old alien child, looked at me with a tilt of the head and asked, "How do you know my dog's name?"
There are some things for which I am not (publicly) proud, and my innate ability to recall pets' names is one of these things. Realizing I had committed a social faux paw (zing!), I could think of only one reply, "Oh... What? Maybe later. I'm late. Ha.." What?! Needless to say, the rest of my walk to class allowed me to relate more personally to reality show participants that are publically voted off the show and are forced to pack and leave while still on camera...
What he doesn't know is that I could also tell that Fritz is a (rather petite) Irish Setter, from the pointer family-bred as hunting companions, just from looking at him... but let's just keep that between us.
Bonus Blog!!
It's your lucky day, pretties! I had not one, but TWO, thoughts on this fine day, so I decided to blog in honor of them. Two thoughts- one day, what is next!? Three?? Who knows! Anyway, the first thought turned into a rather lengthly antiprologic rant that deserves attention and is posted below this bloglette. (If this page is a blog, this section of the page is deemed a bloglette.) So, don't forget to read (and comment on) that one just down page.
This, however, will be mostly me copying and pasting from an email update I sent to my friends who are studying abroad along with replies written by a hilarious friendlady who remains at Clark with me. This should be interesting, because a) you will get more insight into my deliciously mysterious life and b) Sally Stripes is funny, as are her comments. Boy, it is just bonus day in blog land! (I will not sell out my friend that easily, Sally Stripes is a stage name.)
So, I began by updating my ladygirls about my new fitness and bedroom regime as follows:
"Also, I've begun going to the gym regularly so I'm pretty much at bodybuilder status right now. I've ripped through the seams of all my clothes and when Leah gave me a hug last night before bed, she ended up fracturing both her arms. ...... Hannah- the room is so different! This is a good thing because I just couldnt bare to live in a room designed for two and perpetuate my feeling sorry for myself. I now have a king size bed which nell, jeff, adam c, joey and myself have all already slept in. Pookie (I won't sell you out, either!) and I had a John and Yoko-esque 'love-in' the other day which involved.. well nothing actually. We laid in my bed all day and watched arrested development- with interruptions only to eat, eat more, pee and poople, facebook Clark elitists, and doze a little. Fab! Jbears calls my room the love shack. I call it the palace, because we can't all be so optimistic.."
To which Stripes replied in her update email:
"Thirdly-- The sheer girth of Juliet's bed is reminiscent of a barge canal. Similar to her muscles."
I then moved onto describing the daily grind (pun totally intended, for all of you Clark kids) of being back in Worcester:
" On saturday night, I called very few people to come over and keep us company. Within approximately one and a half hours we were having ourselves a mini party complete with people we had never met before!! Card games were being had in the kitchen while straight up chillin was being had in the living room. We were generally sandwiched in the doorway between the two, marveling over the spontaneous scene and watching nell + leah photoshoot take 14. People generally began slowly dissipating after Trevor and I began duetting to Meatloaf's "Paradise by the Dashboard Lights," I can't imagine why. At this point, Nell/Mickey/Avi/Ian set off towards the Blarney (HA!) while Leah and I primped and prepared for a BRO PARTY! (HAHA!) It wasscary/intimidating/dirty/miserable/and grimey and I think we secretly loved every excruciating minute of it (which was about 8 total before we left.) Nell and Mickey met up with us as we were leaving the party and upon spotting Michael Cera look alike and his friends, I thought it would be a good idea to follow closely behind them. They peed on cars while Ipretended the cars were mine (twice- two seperate cars) and they fell for it both times! I am a riot/flirt extraordinaire! TWO boxes of soy nuggies later, we all went to sleep."
To which Sals replied in her email:
"Fourthly-- Nobody cares, but I am excited about all of my classes so far, despite the fact that most of the Comm ones are populated by the Ugg boot wearin, Coach bag totin', Paris Hilton hair havin' girls that are taking over the school, specifically the bistro, and giving us the stinkeye when we peek into their Bro Parties."
I closed by reminding my friends to tune into my and Nell's radio show that will begin airing (via the internet) next week sometime thanks to the Radio of Clark University or more cleverly, ROCU.
To which Sally Stripes finally replied:
"Fifthly--Somehow Juliet and I ended up on a list of people being auctioned off as dates to raise money for ROCU. This has us both very nervous. I am anticipating the height of awkwardness and sheepishness.
Sixthly-- Speaking of sheep, you should all check out this trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q-l93gltkCc
'The Sheep are Revolting! Get Ready for the Violence of the Lambs!' "
And how!
This, however, will be mostly me copying and pasting from an email update I sent to my friends who are studying abroad along with replies written by a hilarious friendlady who remains at Clark with me. This should be interesting, because a) you will get more insight into my deliciously mysterious life and b) Sally Stripes is funny, as are her comments. Boy, it is just bonus day in blog land! (I will not sell out my friend that easily, Sally Stripes is a stage name.)
So, I began by updating my ladygirls about my new fitness and bedroom regime as follows:
"Also, I've begun going to the gym regularly so I'm pretty much at bodybuilder status right now. I've ripped through the seams of all my clothes and when Leah gave me a hug last night before bed, she ended up fracturing both her arms. ...... Hannah- the room is so different! This is a good thing because I just couldnt bare to live in a room designed for two and perpetuate my feeling sorry for myself. I now have a king size bed which nell, jeff, adam c, joey and myself have all already slept in. Pookie (I won't sell you out, either!) and I had a John and Yoko-esque 'love-in' the other day which involved.. well nothing actually. We laid in my bed all day and watched arrested development- with interruptions only to eat, eat more, pee and poople, facebook Clark elitists, and doze a little. Fab! Jbears calls my room the love shack. I call it the palace, because we can't all be so optimistic.."
To which Stripes replied in her update email:
"Thirdly-- The sheer girth of Juliet's bed is reminiscent of a barge canal. Similar to her muscles."
I then moved onto describing the daily grind (pun totally intended, for all of you Clark kids) of being back in Worcester:
" On saturday night, I called very few people to come over and keep us company. Within approximately one and a half hours we were having ourselves a mini party complete with people we had never met before!! Card games were being had in the kitchen while straight up chillin was being had in the living room. We were generally sandwiched in the doorway between the two, marveling over the spontaneous scene and watching nell + leah photoshoot take 14. People generally began slowly dissipating after Trevor and I began duetting to Meatloaf's "Paradise by the Dashboard Lights," I can't imagine why. At this point, Nell/Mickey/Avi/Ian set off towards the Blarney (HA!) while Leah and I primped and prepared for a BRO PARTY! (HAHA!) It wasscary/intimidating/dirty/miserable/and grimey and I think we secretly loved every excruciating minute of it (which was about 8 total before we left.) Nell and Mickey met up with us as we were leaving the party and upon spotting Michael Cera look alike and his friends, I thought it would be a good idea to follow closely behind them. They peed on cars while Ipretended the cars were mine (twice- two seperate cars) and they fell for it both times! I am a riot/flirt extraordinaire! TWO boxes of soy nuggies later, we all went to sleep."
To which Sals replied in her email:
"Fourthly-- Nobody cares, but I am excited about all of my classes so far, despite the fact that most of the Comm ones are populated by the Ugg boot wearin, Coach bag totin', Paris Hilton hair havin' girls that are taking over the school, specifically the bistro, and giving us the stinkeye when we peek into their Bro Parties."
I closed by reminding my friends to tune into my and Nell's radio show that will begin airing (via the internet) next week sometime thanks to the Radio of Clark University or more cleverly, ROCU.
To which Sally Stripes finally replied:
"Fifthly--Somehow Juliet and I ended up on a list of people being auctioned off as dates to raise money for ROCU. This has us both very nervous. I am anticipating the height of awkwardness and sheepishness.
Sixthly-- Speaking of sheep, you should all check out this trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q-l93gltkCc
'The Sheep are Revolting! Get Ready for the Violence of the Lambs!' "
And how!
Copyrighted Material, Do Not Steal
Earlier I did the logic homework that I had put off last night in order to write that burden of a post. The text is straightforward enough, and conceptualizing the greater idea whilst employing the proper symbols in doing so isn't impossible, either. Instead, what I find myself getting caught up on is the utter (Mom, I'm sorry) bullshit jargon that composes constitutional law. It is totally circular, redundant and roundabout, fails to be anything but repetitive, doesn't not use a lot of double negatives to reiterate the same basic things, and finds new ways to say the same thing over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, etc. again. Furthermore, it does so using the most pretentious language that is either outdated or exclusive to legal matters requiring the use of a legal dictionary in practically every sentence. No wonder they needed to develop the use of symbolic logic! Well, here's a logical thought- SIMPLIFY THAT BS. Come on, logicians, its called layman's terms and it is here to help everyone! If you would just describe your arguments, conjuncts, statements, statutes, premises, conclusions, locutions, etc., there really would no need to write everything in symbolic form. Instead of being so incessantly repetitive, simply compose your thoughts in a cohesive, easily understood manner.
Unfortunately, however, I feel that perhaps people that "uphold" the law might just be unyielding enough to resist eliminating their pretentious jargon at fear of losing their jobs to the layman (me). So, instead, we must read, and re-read, and then put symbols to, and then re-read, and then analyze a piece of legislation in order to properly do our job as prospective lawyers/defenders of justice/maintainers of order. HUZZAH!
It was this frustration with legal/logical jargon that not only stunted an ambition of one day becoming a lawyer, but also led to an idea to write an edited, updated version of "Law for Dummies," from the popular series of books, "(Money Wasting) for Dummies." After the copyright and dedication (to you, im sorry you've purchased or stole this, ripped open the plastic covering, and inevitably have read this) pages the book would read as follows: (Ahem)
"If you have purchased this book with some form of currency that is, by definition, a medium of exchange, a store of unit and a standard of legally recognizable value, or stolen it for any number of reasons one of which necessarily being your desire to potentially practice law, with the optimism that this book will help you short-cut your way through the modern legal jargon and logical symbolism employed by persons of the legal system and/or their legal constituents, which themselves are both unyielding by definition, it is my civilian duty as author of this book and presupposer of knowledge that you seek an alternative career path for several reasons including but not limited to your inability to comprehend valid, complex statements, which themselves are an ingredient to any valid legal argument, as well as the practicality in seeking a career that will more sufficiently provide for the currency which you have may already alloted irresponsibly in the purchasing of this book.
Or, in Layman's Terms, if you are a 'dummy,' in no way should you expect this book, or anything else for that matter, to provide you with the necessary tools of becoming a profitable lawyer. So, why not invest in something a little bit more practical given your unintelligible circumstances and earn back some of that money you just wasted on this book."
Even though I'm too much of a dummy to become a profiteering lawyer, the way I see it at least I have the potential of yielding some capital from the purchases of this book. Hmm, cheating people out of their money for exclusive self-benefit? Maybe I do have a little lawyer in me after all!
At a later date, I will use the tools that I am learning in my logic and legal analysis class to logically symbolize my argument against law and dummies, and will even provide one (or more) valid, legal proofs to support my claims (all of which will also be included in the book, obvi). Right now, I am too tired, plus I want to post another entry with an unrelated topic, plus I have to wake up early to make it to logic and legal analysis on time. Oi vey.
Unfortunately, however, I feel that perhaps people that "uphold" the law might just be unyielding enough to resist eliminating their pretentious jargon at fear of losing their jobs to the layman (me). So, instead, we must read, and re-read, and then put symbols to, and then re-read, and then analyze a piece of legislation in order to properly do our job as prospective lawyers/defenders of justice/maintainers of order. HUZZAH!
It was this frustration with legal/logical jargon that not only stunted an ambition of one day becoming a lawyer, but also led to an idea to write an edited, updated version of "Law for Dummies," from the popular series of books, "(Money Wasting) for Dummies." After the copyright and dedication (to you, im sorry you've purchased or stole this, ripped open the plastic covering, and inevitably have read this) pages the book would read as follows: (Ahem)
"If you have purchased this book with some form of currency that is, by definition, a medium of exchange, a store of unit and a standard of legally recognizable value, or stolen it for any number of reasons one of which necessarily being your desire to potentially practice law, with the optimism that this book will help you short-cut your way through the modern legal jargon and logical symbolism employed by persons of the legal system and/or their legal constituents, which themselves are both unyielding by definition, it is my civilian duty as author of this book and presupposer of knowledge that you seek an alternative career path for several reasons including but not limited to your inability to comprehend valid, complex statements, which themselves are an ingredient to any valid legal argument, as well as the practicality in seeking a career that will more sufficiently provide for the currency which you have may already alloted irresponsibly in the purchasing of this book.
Or, in Layman's Terms, if you are a 'dummy,' in no way should you expect this book, or anything else for that matter, to provide you with the necessary tools of becoming a profitable lawyer. So, why not invest in something a little bit more practical given your unintelligible circumstances and earn back some of that money you just wasted on this book."
Even though I'm too much of a dummy to become a profiteering lawyer, the way I see it at least I have the potential of yielding some capital from the purchases of this book. Hmm, cheating people out of their money for exclusive self-benefit? Maybe I do have a little lawyer in me after all!
At a later date, I will use the tools that I am learning in my logic and legal analysis class to logically symbolize my argument against law and dummies, and will even provide one (or more) valid, legal proofs to support my claims (all of which will also be included in the book, obvi). Right now, I am too tired, plus I want to post another entry with an unrelated topic, plus I have to wake up early to make it to logic and legal analysis on time. Oi vey.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Has it only been a week?
Recently I have been a little MIA. (Not like the Sri Lankan performer but rather the abbreviation for "missing in action," although I wish it were the former.) For this, I apologize, but to my own defense- I hardly knew of the attention that this blog was receiving. I mean, at least several hundred messages have flooded my inbox begging for my return to the blogging community, causing blogspot to expand their website in accommodation. Now, perhaps, you will understand that my week long hiatus was the result of not-so-routine website maintenance that was a direct result of my not posting for two or three days. I guess, then, that it is only fair that I maintain my previously semi-constant nightly post ritual if not for myself, but for the betterment of blogkind.
If, in a bizarro world, the preceding paragraph would be likened to a desperate attempt to encourage people to support a failing blogger's bloggery and the reasons I did not post for a week were entirely different, I imagine they would be something like this:
Last Sunday, I returned to my empty apartment in America's gall bladder- Worcester, Massachusetts. My one time bustling home was completely empty of voices and devoid of familiarity as it was clean, barren, and sunny. Rather than endure complete culture shock, I decided to allow myself to slip out of winter break slowly by leaving all of my bags (still packed) in the middle of the kitchen floor and immediately plugging in the television to allow E! Entertainment Television to comfort me. I admit, it was consoling to know that no matter how different or trying this semester will prove to be, it will most likely not be as "chaotic" as Britneys. Later that night, my two roommates arrived home and together we wallowed and celebrated in the misery and joy of having lost three roommates to international territories. Missing my friends is rough, but sleeping in my newly constructed king size bed really helps to ease the pain...
Because the goal of college is to provide as great of a mental breakdown as possible, classes began the day after moving back. Luckily for me, I have Mondays off this semester, but unluckily I left all the reading of a 4oo page "break" book for that day. After staying up most of the night to finish reading, as per usual, I received a solid, hard, slap to the face when my alarm woke me up at 8:07 a.m. for class.
In high school, it took a good two weeks before you really got going with class materials. I remember griping at the thought of having only two days to cover my text book with a recycled A&P bag. But by approximately noon on Tuesday, I was already passing up offers to hang out at the cost of having too much work to do. (No big deal- I get offers like, every second.. ..)
After a week full of "happy new years" and "how was your breaks" and other arbitrary ice breakers, I officially stopped caring how people spent their three weeks apart. The first week back is also interesting due to the conflict of interests that presents itself between work and friends. After the first class or two, it is so inspiring to want to "stay on top of things this semester" and keep up with all your reading and assignments. At the same time, however, you've just been reunited with your friends and want to spend your time hanging out and doing everything besides studying. For a lot of people its hard to juggle these two things which leads to moderate isolation and school dedication during the weekdays and a mass wave of irresponsible choices by the weekends.
By about mid-semester, this conflict usually disappears. Although you are constantly surrounded by a large number of people in your age bracket, and you are most certainly behind with the work that you stopped keeping up with after the second week of classes, you usually decide that your time is most productively spent alone in your room researching captain crunch on wikipedia or making imaginary friends with the profile of people you've never met on facebook.
About an hour ago, my friends all went to sleep and I decided that it was an opportune time to begin my logic homework. Naturally, it was immediately following this thought that I remembered about my blog. I'd say that this has been an hour logically spent! And besides, theres always the night before my midterm to do my homework...
If, in a bizarro world, the preceding paragraph would be likened to a desperate attempt to encourage people to support a failing blogger's bloggery and the reasons I did not post for a week were entirely different, I imagine they would be something like this:
Last Sunday, I returned to my empty apartment in America's gall bladder- Worcester, Massachusetts. My one time bustling home was completely empty of voices and devoid of familiarity as it was clean, barren, and sunny. Rather than endure complete culture shock, I decided to allow myself to slip out of winter break slowly by leaving all of my bags (still packed) in the middle of the kitchen floor and immediately plugging in the television to allow E! Entertainment Television to comfort me. I admit, it was consoling to know that no matter how different or trying this semester will prove to be, it will most likely not be as "chaotic" as Britneys. Later that night, my two roommates arrived home and together we wallowed and celebrated in the misery and joy of having lost three roommates to international territories. Missing my friends is rough, but sleeping in my newly constructed king size bed really helps to ease the pain...
Because the goal of college is to provide as great of a mental breakdown as possible, classes began the day after moving back. Luckily for me, I have Mondays off this semester, but unluckily I left all the reading of a 4oo page "break" book for that day. After staying up most of the night to finish reading, as per usual, I received a solid, hard, slap to the face when my alarm woke me up at 8:07 a.m. for class.
In high school, it took a good two weeks before you really got going with class materials. I remember griping at the thought of having only two days to cover my text book with a recycled A&P bag. But by approximately noon on Tuesday, I was already passing up offers to hang out at the cost of having too much work to do. (No big deal- I get offers like, every second.. ..)
After a week full of "happy new years" and "how was your breaks" and other arbitrary ice breakers, I officially stopped caring how people spent their three weeks apart. The first week back is also interesting due to the conflict of interests that presents itself between work and friends. After the first class or two, it is so inspiring to want to "stay on top of things this semester" and keep up with all your reading and assignments. At the same time, however, you've just been reunited with your friends and want to spend your time hanging out and doing everything besides studying. For a lot of people its hard to juggle these two things which leads to moderate isolation and school dedication during the weekdays and a mass wave of irresponsible choices by the weekends.
By about mid-semester, this conflict usually disappears. Although you are constantly surrounded by a large number of people in your age bracket, and you are most certainly behind with the work that you stopped keeping up with after the second week of classes, you usually decide that your time is most productively spent alone in your room researching captain crunch on wikipedia or making imaginary friends with the profile of people you've never met on facebook.
About an hour ago, my friends all went to sleep and I decided that it was an opportune time to begin my logic homework. Naturally, it was immediately following this thought that I remembered about my blog. I'd say that this has been an hour logically spent! And besides, theres always the night before my midterm to do my homework...
Saturday, January 12, 2008
And that is why you don't let your mind wander.
Tonight, in order to conserve battery in the event that the car flipped off the road rendering me the only passenger left with their ability to dial cell phone numbers, I turned my cell phone off while I was at dinner and the mall with some friendpals. It's a rare occasion that I turn off my phone, but due to my inherited "survival mode" gene, I switch off at one bar remaining. (To give you an idea of where this gene might come from, [besides the obvious answer of years of evolution and the development of the "fight or flight" response], in the basement of my suburban home lies more than 70 three-gallon bottles of spring water, approximately 100 rolls of standard white toilet paper, and a few cases of thyroid protectant iodide pills in the event of nuclear warfare.) (This is not an exaggeration and I would appreciate you not mentioning to my father that I divulged this information at risk of being kicked out of my home for sacrificing the family to the mobs that are predicted to develop at our home during wartimes once this information is leaked.) Anyway. When I finally turned my phone back on, I was excited when it let out a soft rumble- letting me know so delicately that I had a voicemail. I opted for the "listen later" option so that I could prepare for bed and listen to my mystery message as a little pre-bedtime treat!
Once secured under my covers, arty to my right, I called up my answering service, keyed in my top secret password (1-6-3-NOT), and waited for my sweet little bionic lady friend to utter "you have 1 new voice messages." (True, 1 is not plural and therefore does not warrant an 's', but grammar is something we do not hold the cyborgs accountable for. That is all their human counterparts.) It took me a second to realize what was going on at the other end of the previously recorded line, but then the familiar noise sped through my eardrums, raced through my brain, warmed my heart, and enticed butterflies in my stomache. It was none other than Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On," the infamous ending credits piece to perhaps one of the most romantic/heroic/chilling(ice burg) movies of our time, Titanic.
Naturally, I immediately became giddy over the prospect of who could have left such a heartfelt song. This is obviously some sort of romantic gesture, I thought. For maybe 4 nanoseconds I thought- "LEO! It's you! You read my blog and have come to sweep me off of my non-married feet!" In the next few seconds that followed, I quickly raced through my mind who could be so enamored of me- "You know, he WAS kind of looking at me differently the other night" "Oh! One time me and him talked about ocean liners!" etc.
Then- a peculiar noise. What is that! Is that the c.d. skipping?? No. Sounds more like a cat choking. It's someone singing along! The song cut out! Celine! LEO! At the other end I hear the following words, "Hey, I'm back from Canada and in town. Call me back, Ho."
It was Katie Finnegan.
Too desolate to blog on, more tomorrow.
Once secured under my covers, arty to my right, I called up my answering service, keyed in my top secret password (1-6-3-NOT), and waited for my sweet little bionic lady friend to utter "you have 1 new voice messages." (True, 1 is not plural and therefore does not warrant an 's', but grammar is something we do not hold the cyborgs accountable for. That is all their human counterparts.) It took me a second to realize what was going on at the other end of the previously recorded line, but then the familiar noise sped through my eardrums, raced through my brain, warmed my heart, and enticed butterflies in my stomache. It was none other than Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On," the infamous ending credits piece to perhaps one of the most romantic/heroic/chilling(ice burg) movies of our time, Titanic.
Naturally, I immediately became giddy over the prospect of who could have left such a heartfelt song. This is obviously some sort of romantic gesture, I thought. For maybe 4 nanoseconds I thought- "LEO! It's you! You read my blog and have come to sweep me off of my non-married feet!" In the next few seconds that followed, I quickly raced through my mind who could be so enamored of me- "You know, he WAS kind of looking at me differently the other night" "Oh! One time me and him talked about ocean liners!" etc.
Then- a peculiar noise. What is that! Is that the c.d. skipping?? No. Sounds more like a cat choking. It's someone singing along! The song cut out! Celine! LEO! At the other end I hear the following words, "Hey, I'm back from Canada and in town. Call me back, Ho."
It was Katie Finnegan.
Too desolate to blog on, more tomorrow.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
H'ok, so
again, I do not know what to write about. This is the best blog maybe ever.
I would love to receive topics on which to write. Anything, I'll do it. However, I cannot accept pay because that is against strike rules.
Also, tomorrow I will write an entry for real, I am just tired, have to read a book, want to sleep, excuse, another one, and more. Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow.. on.. SARAH'S BIRTHDAY! Happy birth oh sister of mine. 25 and lookin fresh! While I'm on a roll, where's the butter?! No, that wasn't serious. What I was going to say was: While I'm on a roll, congratulations on your engagement, Sarah!
Oh, well, actually, that inspired a (cue trumpets) Rant Idea!
Marriage. A four letter word that means dedication, commitment, integrity, knowledge, sarcasm, annoyances, forgiving, balding, weight gain, and love. I began informally planning my wedding in about the fifth grade. Often, I would daydream about being pronounced "man and wife," at which point Leo and I would kiss, quite reminiscent of his scene with Kate Winslet, only with real-life emotions behind it. Life after that consisted of living off of my husbands wealth, basking in the presence of my multiple k-9 companions, and pretending to be bashful of the exemplary talents and drop dead good looks of our 4 blonde offspring. Unfortunately, like the Titanic, those seemingly unsinkable dreams, too, were eventually plundered.
By my, and my friends', parent's standards, I should be getting married in the next negative one to positive four years. In approximately 8th grade, the peak of my intellect, I sorted much of my life into specific time frames. Recently, I found a piece of paper from a planner (duh) that mapped much of my life. I was to be married by age 24, with children at age 26 and a half. Obviously, two years alone with my husband was not nearly enough and three was stifling! Furthermore, I was to have dated my husband-to-be for at least 3 years, with a preference on having known him for longer than even that. Eighth grade Juliet would probably look at fifteenth grade Juliet with some definite resentment. Luckily, I have chosen not to abide by the draft of life I comprised when I was 12 years old. Which, I'm sorry to say, according to the generated list would have included children with the following potential names: Kieta, America, Modi (???), Piper, Prue, Phoebe, Ashley (noted for a boy), Parker, Courtnii (again, male.) I would like now to point out that three of those names stemmed from a reverence for the television series Charmed, while two others are 2/3rds of an OTOWN member's name. Again, I'm sorry.
Despite my decision to disregard my former decisions, marriage is still a sometimes daunting thought for me. In all honestly, it's alarming when I hear that people my age are engaged or married or even talking about marriage because it is so far from my radar. Inevitably, I then assume that the reason marriage is not on my radar is because I am going to die alone. When I can avoid this thought, I do get nervous at how quickly the past few years of my life have whizzed by me, and I desperately long for a childhood that I am sad to have completed. Sometimes I wish that I could go back to maybe third grade and relive life to now, only relishing in every moment and appreciating my kid life. Everybody probably wishes that sometimes, I guess.
For now, though, I suppose I am happy to be at the place I am at. I do have a lot of life in front of me, and I certainly don't feel pressured to get married ANY time soon. Thank you botox, right? For my sister, though, I couldn't be happier that she has found someone with whom to take the "ultimate plunge." Right now, I'm just happy to be the sister (cough brides maid hint cough) who cries with her mom in the bathroom of her sister's wedding. And, who knows- maybe someday I will meet someone to act a lifelong child with me.
Here's to hoping.
I would love to receive topics on which to write. Anything, I'll do it. However, I cannot accept pay because that is against strike rules.
Also, tomorrow I will write an entry for real, I am just tired, have to read a book, want to sleep, excuse, another one, and more. Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow.. on.. SARAH'S BIRTHDAY! Happy birth oh sister of mine. 25 and lookin fresh! While I'm on a roll, where's the butter?! No, that wasn't serious. What I was going to say was: While I'm on a roll, congratulations on your engagement, Sarah!
Oh, well, actually, that inspired a (cue trumpets) Rant Idea!
Marriage. A four letter word that means dedication, commitment, integrity, knowledge, sarcasm, annoyances, forgiving, balding, weight gain, and love. I began informally planning my wedding in about the fifth grade. Often, I would daydream about being pronounced "man and wife," at which point Leo and I would kiss, quite reminiscent of his scene with Kate Winslet, only with real-life emotions behind it. Life after that consisted of living off of my husbands wealth, basking in the presence of my multiple k-9 companions, and pretending to be bashful of the exemplary talents and drop dead good looks of our 4 blonde offspring. Unfortunately, like the Titanic, those seemingly unsinkable dreams, too, were eventually plundered.
By my, and my friends', parent's standards, I should be getting married in the next negative one to positive four years. In approximately 8th grade, the peak of my intellect, I sorted much of my life into specific time frames. Recently, I found a piece of paper from a planner (duh) that mapped much of my life. I was to be married by age 24, with children at age 26 and a half. Obviously, two years alone with my husband was not nearly enough and three was stifling! Furthermore, I was to have dated my husband-to-be for at least 3 years, with a preference on having known him for longer than even that. Eighth grade Juliet would probably look at fifteenth grade Juliet with some definite resentment. Luckily, I have chosen not to abide by the draft of life I comprised when I was 12 years old. Which, I'm sorry to say, according to the generated list would have included children with the following potential names: Kieta, America, Modi (???), Piper, Prue, Phoebe, Ashley (noted for a boy), Parker, Courtnii (again, male.) I would like now to point out that three of those names stemmed from a reverence for the television series Charmed, while two others are 2/3rds of an OTOWN member's name. Again, I'm sorry.
Despite my decision to disregard my former decisions, marriage is still a sometimes daunting thought for me. In all honestly, it's alarming when I hear that people my age are engaged or married or even talking about marriage because it is so far from my radar. Inevitably, I then assume that the reason marriage is not on my radar is because I am going to die alone. When I can avoid this thought, I do get nervous at how quickly the past few years of my life have whizzed by me, and I desperately long for a childhood that I am sad to have completed. Sometimes I wish that I could go back to maybe third grade and relive life to now, only relishing in every moment and appreciating my kid life. Everybody probably wishes that sometimes, I guess.
For now, though, I suppose I am happy to be at the place I am at. I do have a lot of life in front of me, and I certainly don't feel pressured to get married ANY time soon. Thank you botox, right? For my sister, though, I couldn't be happier that she has found someone with whom to take the "ultimate plunge." Right now, I'm just happy to be the sister (cough brides maid hint cough) who cries with her mom in the bathroom of her sister's wedding. And, who knows- maybe someday I will meet someone to act a lifelong child with me.
Here's to hoping.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
It's my third post...
... and I already have writer's block. I feel like Justin Timberlake when he had to cancel those shows from his most recent tour because he was hungover, only I'm not hungover and I was never in a multi-million dollar profiting boy band. There are probably some other things that JT and I lack in common, but we both understand the extraordinary pressure the public places on us to persevere and be ever-entertaining.
Every day, several ideas pop into my head that could be made into a blog, but I always forget them. Then, when I do remember them, I remember them all at once and try and figure out a way to fit them all into my next post so I don't forget/leave out any. I then recall the scene in season two of Arrested Development (perhaps the smartest/wittiest/most intelligent/best television series of all time) when Gob rattles out all of Michael's years-long-to-develop business ideas in one meeting rather than spread them out over time and decided that this would simply exhaust my supply. So, at fear of eventually having nothing to blog about, I better keep it pretty low key right now, right?
Perhaps I should follow suit and go on strike. Is there a guild for bloggers? It seems to me that the recent writer's guild strike will yield some creative material from writers that have now found new time to work on projects that they may have pushed aside for higher paying ones, etc. ( See: Arrested Development movie gossip.) With this philosophy, it only seems logical that I refrain from blogging for a while, during which time the "real" ideas will come flowing to my fingertips. Alas, don't worry my pretties; the world of blogging is far too seductive for me to give up now. Instead, you merely must prepare yourself with sub-mediocre standards per every post!
Anyway, some high points of my recent two night stint with inexorable insomnia:
edit: Just for some muscle behind my claims- the wise Dave Barry once said, “All of us are born with a set of instinctive fears - of falling, of the dark, of lobsters, of falling on lobsters in the dark, or speaking before a Rotary Club, and of the words "Some Assembly Required”
Every day, several ideas pop into my head that could be made into a blog, but I always forget them. Then, when I do remember them, I remember them all at once and try and figure out a way to fit them all into my next post so I don't forget/leave out any. I then recall the scene in season two of Arrested Development (perhaps the smartest/wittiest/most intelligent/best television series of all time) when Gob rattles out all of Michael's years-long-to-develop business ideas in one meeting rather than spread them out over time and decided that this would simply exhaust my supply. So, at fear of eventually having nothing to blog about, I better keep it pretty low key right now, right?
Perhaps I should follow suit and go on strike. Is there a guild for bloggers? It seems to me that the recent writer's guild strike will yield some creative material from writers that have now found new time to work on projects that they may have pushed aside for higher paying ones, etc. ( See: Arrested Development movie gossip.) With this philosophy, it only seems logical that I refrain from blogging for a while, during which time the "real" ideas will come flowing to my fingertips. Alas, don't worry my pretties; the world of blogging is far too seductive for me to give up now. Instead, you merely must prepare yourself with sub-mediocre standards per every post!
Anyway, some high points of my recent two night stint with inexorable insomnia:
- a newfound reverence for Super Monkey Ball (the best video game of all time)
- the discovery of the television series Locked Up RAW (MSNBC) and Psychic Children: Children of the Paranormal (A&E)
- reading through 4 of the 8 psychology journals due on Tuesday (400 page book yet to be started)
- coming to terms with the fact that psychic children scare me perhaps more than anything else in the world and that I cannot sleep after watching a show about them
edit: Just for some muscle behind my claims- the wise Dave Barry once said, “All of us are born with a set of instinctive fears - of falling, of the dark, of lobsters, of falling on lobsters in the dark, or speaking before a Rotary Club, and of the words "Some Assembly Required”
Saturday, January 5, 2008
A Memory
11 years ago, I was 9 years old. This made my little sister, whom I called Chicken at the time, the perfectly manipulative age of 5. Michele was always a good sport about entertaining my "creative whims."
On one particular summer afternoon, together the chicken, her 7 year old friend, our 4 year old Mutt aptly named Muttly, and myself set out to attempt my most profitable creative whim to date. We were at Mom's house which, at this time, was a mere stone's throw from Dads'. Mom was upstairs, probably watching Braveheart or the Last of the Mohegans (which she always seemed to be doing), and us kids decided it was time to make something of ourselves. With that noble notion, we grabbed an empty pretzel barrel (which were always available as a result of a five kid household and the subsequent necessity to buy in bulk), and Muttly's leash and set forth through the front door and down the empty street.
We walked down to the bottom of Winston and hooked right into a subsection of our village that has houses built very close to one another. With Muttly our protector in hand, the girls and I climbed the stairs or crossed the paths of nearly 30 houses. Our routine was solid, yielding success from the start, so only simple modifications were necessary from house to house. At first, out shtick was, "excuse us- we are collecting money for our school so that they build a new gym." Towards the last few houses, the money was collected still at the school's sponsorship, but varied from helping the homeless/sick/animals/etc. I remember being particularly excited when a young man and his children came to the door and dropped in a crisp 10! Granted, we got a few rejections, but we figured that those people were just obviously evil and would probably pay in hell. Despite the skeptical glances and questions we received, the gang and I came out on top (since there was no risk of coming out under) and ended up with over $50 at the end of it all.
We were just thinking up how to spend our loot (horses, candy, powerwheels) when we recognized the car that was wrapping around the corner. I'm sure I considered running, but I remember Muttly totally selling me out by dragging me towards my mother. Alas, foiled! After gaining wind of what exactly we were doing (besides being outside by ourselves) my mom was considerably enraged. She immediately grabbed our hard earned cash and told us she was donating it to the church. (Still wasn't going to save those cheapos that would be burning.)
I couldn't believe what was happening! Maybe I wasn't the cute, perfect child with the pathetic five cent lemonade stand, but I had made money, damnit! And a lot of it considering the amount of effort I put in. I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening avoiding my money laundering mother at all costs (pun intended), except to tell her how unreasonable she was being.
Later that night, the unspeakable one began preparing a most aromas pot of potato and leek soup. I begrudgingly spoke to her in order to ask when it would be ready. A long day's work had me famished. She told me that I couldn't have any soup until I forgave her and admitted my wrong doings!!
Well, the choice was practically made for me. Mothers have a way like no one else. That night, I went to bed with a clear conscious and a belly full of delicious soup.... only after being coerced into joining my mom in the living room to watch Braveheart.
On one particular summer afternoon, together the chicken, her 7 year old friend, our 4 year old Mutt aptly named Muttly, and myself set out to attempt my most profitable creative whim to date. We were at Mom's house which, at this time, was a mere stone's throw from Dads'. Mom was upstairs, probably watching Braveheart or the Last of the Mohegans (which she always seemed to be doing), and us kids decided it was time to make something of ourselves. With that noble notion, we grabbed an empty pretzel barrel (which were always available as a result of a five kid household and the subsequent necessity to buy in bulk), and Muttly's leash and set forth through the front door and down the empty street.
We walked down to the bottom of Winston and hooked right into a subsection of our village that has houses built very close to one another. With Muttly our protector in hand, the girls and I climbed the stairs or crossed the paths of nearly 30 houses. Our routine was solid, yielding success from the start, so only simple modifications were necessary from house to house. At first, out shtick was, "excuse us- we are collecting money for our school so that they build a new gym." Towards the last few houses, the money was collected still at the school's sponsorship, but varied from helping the homeless/sick/animals/etc. I remember being particularly excited when a young man and his children came to the door and dropped in a crisp 10! Granted, we got a few rejections, but we figured that those people were just obviously evil and would probably pay in hell. Despite the skeptical glances and questions we received, the gang and I came out on top (since there was no risk of coming out under) and ended up with over $50 at the end of it all.
We were just thinking up how to spend our loot (horses, candy, powerwheels) when we recognized the car that was wrapping around the corner. I'm sure I considered running, but I remember Muttly totally selling me out by dragging me towards my mother. Alas, foiled! After gaining wind of what exactly we were doing (besides being outside by ourselves) my mom was considerably enraged. She immediately grabbed our hard earned cash and told us she was donating it to the church. (Still wasn't going to save those cheapos that would be burning.)
I couldn't believe what was happening! Maybe I wasn't the cute, perfect child with the pathetic five cent lemonade stand, but I had made money, damnit! And a lot of it considering the amount of effort I put in. I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening avoiding my money laundering mother at all costs (pun intended), except to tell her how unreasonable she was being.
Later that night, the unspeakable one began preparing a most aromas pot of potato and leek soup. I begrudgingly spoke to her in order to ask when it would be ready. A long day's work had me famished. She told me that I couldn't have any soup until I forgave her and admitted my wrong doings!!
Well, the choice was practically made for me. Mothers have a way like no one else. That night, I went to bed with a clear conscious and a belly full of delicious soup.... only after being coerced into joining my mom in the living room to watch Braveheart.
A Fullfilled Resolution at Long Last
HERE YE, HERE YE! I do believe this is amongst the first new years resolutions that I have successfully set out to fulfill. hats off to you in 2008, juliet.
Since we're one year closer to floating around with jetpacks (not going to happen due to the impossibility associated with carrying enough fuel..), it is due time that I jump on the information superhighway! Also, if Diablo Cody can become recognized from a blog and go on to write an award worthy film, maybe this is my shot at stardom. Granted, her blog was about the sex industry, but I bet she knows less about jetpacks and/or puppies. (Note: film producers/directors/writers are hereon welcomed to contact me about corporate exploitation which I will, happily, agree to.)
I'm not sure as of yet where this blog will take me, but eventually I will develop some sort of method. (lie.) The first few will probably suck as I'm not used to this whole thing.
That being said, brace yourself for one STELLAR entry about the past few hours of living.
After a quick shower and a trip to pick up my sister from the doldrums known as high school, Dad decided it was again appropriate to bring up another "juliet's lovelife" word jaunt. I don't mind this, as I know people are trying to help, but it seems that at the end of every conversation about it, no matter the participants, I end up with the same pearls of persuasion: "Thats why you should never get married." "I remember my first love, I never got over them." "You might never feel better, but you should really try." "On a scale from 1 to 100, how 'far along' would you say you are emotionally?" "Men will always hurt you, so consider this practice."
Being so young, I have so much to look forward to! Being so young, I decided next to go eat Mexican food with a friend. Whats another ten pounds if I have 40+ years to work it off? Scared of gaining ten pounds, we decided a good idea would be to head to another friends house to play nintendo wii. if anything else, by the end of winter break I am going to have one beautifully sculpted right arm/wrist. (warm?) After a few, consistent, losing rounds of mario party, my friends and I sought out coffee at a local "cafe." To the delight of our inner 16 year olds, there was an open mic happening- complete with braces, parents, and bob dylan songs! Desperately seeking to retain our "adult states" (which is the plural form of "status"- did you know!?) we pulled over at a bar on the way home so two of my friends could run in for a quick beer. Four of us remained in the back seat, too worn out to move. Within 2 minutes the two thrill seekers had returned and jumped quickly into the car. As it turns out, it was a gay bar..
It was then that I realized that I am in fact not young at all, and instead reached my prime years back at the age of 17. 17 was the beginning of the end! Now, at 20, I am washed up and worn out. I lack all creativity and rely on the wii for exercise. No more random adventures from boys we'd meet at open mic nights- nope, its only meeting 30 somethings married (to women, but closetedly gay) men at a local irish pub... if i'm not too tired from wii-ing to get out of the car.
Welcome to my life.
Since we're one year closer to floating around with jetpacks (not going to happen due to the impossibility associated with carrying enough fuel..), it is due time that I jump on the information superhighway! Also, if Diablo Cody can become recognized from a blog and go on to write an award worthy film, maybe this is my shot at stardom. Granted, her blog was about the sex industry, but I bet she knows less about jetpacks and/or puppies. (Note: film producers/directors/writers are hereon welcomed to contact me about corporate exploitation which I will, happily, agree to.)
I'm not sure as of yet where this blog will take me, but eventually I will develop some sort of method. (lie.) The first few will probably suck as I'm not used to this whole thing.
That being said, brace yourself for one STELLAR entry about the past few hours of living.
After a quick shower and a trip to pick up my sister from the doldrums known as high school, Dad decided it was again appropriate to bring up another "juliet's lovelife" word jaunt. I don't mind this, as I know people are trying to help, but it seems that at the end of every conversation about it, no matter the participants, I end up with the same pearls of persuasion: "Thats why you should never get married." "I remember my first love, I never got over them." "You might never feel better, but you should really try." "On a scale from 1 to 100, how 'far along' would you say you are emotionally?" "Men will always hurt you, so consider this practice."
Being so young, I have so much to look forward to! Being so young, I decided next to go eat Mexican food with a friend. Whats another ten pounds if I have 40+ years to work it off? Scared of gaining ten pounds, we decided a good idea would be to head to another friends house to play nintendo wii. if anything else, by the end of winter break I am going to have one beautifully sculpted right arm/wrist. (warm?) After a few, consistent, losing rounds of mario party, my friends and I sought out coffee at a local "cafe." To the delight of our inner 16 year olds, there was an open mic happening- complete with braces, parents, and bob dylan songs! Desperately seeking to retain our "adult states" (which is the plural form of "status"- did you know!?) we pulled over at a bar on the way home so two of my friends could run in for a quick beer. Four of us remained in the back seat, too worn out to move. Within 2 minutes the two thrill seekers had returned and jumped quickly into the car. As it turns out, it was a gay bar..
It was then that I realized that I am in fact not young at all, and instead reached my prime years back at the age of 17. 17 was the beginning of the end! Now, at 20, I am washed up and worn out. I lack all creativity and rely on the wii for exercise. No more random adventures from boys we'd meet at open mic nights- nope, its only meeting 30 somethings married (to women, but closetedly gay) men at a local irish pub... if i'm not too tired from wii-ing to get out of the car.
Welcome to my life.
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