I could write about my current state of being, but nothing of much consequence has happened lately. Instead I leave you with another strange childhood memory.
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My parents never taught me about “the birds and the bees.” To this very day, for all they know, I could be completely devoid of any knowledge of sex and the process of baby making in the human species.
We owned a fishing station and marina when I was growing up and we would go out and catch our own bait fish to sell. Now, for those of you not in the know, bait fish LOVE the unfertilized eggs of horseshoe crabs. I suppose it’s an example of god’s sense of humor; having fish enjoy the roe of another animal. Fair play? I don’t know really.
Anyway, in order to trap the bait fish we’d first have to catch fertile, egg filled female horseshoe crabs during the full moon. Why during the full moon? I’ll tell you dear friends, because horseshoe crabs move to shallow water and get frisky during the full moon. So as these poor creatures were enjoying a little slap and tickle we’d pry them apart, take the female and later CUT HER IN QUARTERS to steal her eggs. This is, remarkably, not the story I had planned on telling.
Is this why none of my relationships work? Am I secretly terrified someone or something is going to come along and rip me from my mate, just to cut me open and steal my unborn children? That's a bit dramatic. I'm grasping at straws and looking for a scapegoat on this one.
My story was supposed to be light hearted and a bit silly. It goes a little something like this:
One day, while at the marina, 2 randy horseshoe crabs were scuttling along the shore in front of us and my dad said something like, “Oh look, they’re having sex.” I, with the infinite wisdom of an 8 year old turned and said in my most petulant tone, “No, Dad! They’re MATING.” Dragging out the word “mating” as if I was trying to explain quantum physics to a 5 year old. It wasn’t until I was about 13 or 14 that the thought entered my mind that perhaps humans were subject to the same breeding procedures as animals. I then spent a good month or two being greatly disturbed before receiving a schoolyard education on sex and succumbing to hormones. Suddenly the idea didn’t seem so horrific.
03 December 2009
08 November 2009
A Plague O' Both Your Houses!
I've been hit with an exhausting bout of ennui dear friends. I have neither the will to live or die and nothing seems particularly enjoyable. Not even food, my old standby, seems appealing. I don't even have it in my to be appalled by it all.
I'm 23. I've been out of high school for 6 years and what do I have to show for it other than some crazy stories about nothing of consequence? They'd probably be good fodder for a book, but a writer I am not. Since I obviously suck at blogging, I'm going to try writing short anecdotes from my life to help my friends better understand why I turned out the way I did. My own take on NaNoWriMo.
Will anyone care? Probably not, but I desperately need to feel like my life isn't completely pointless.
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Speonk, more specifically my parents' backyard, was hit by a veritable plague of tiny frogs the summer of my 6th year. I'm not certain if these were young frogs or simply some strange quarter sized species that descended upon the Schmidt homestead, but they came in droves.
I spent most of July and August creating habitats for the frogs in glass jam jars. After an hour or two of squeezing them to watch their eyes bulge and hind legs kick out, I would seal them into the jars. No one told me however, that you needed to poke air holes into the lid and 50+ frogs were not only tortured, but suffocated that summer. No frog has wandered into our yard since.
The next spring my grandmother died, setting off a string of terminal disease and death in my life that has yet to end. Three years later my cousin, while saving me from a school bully, told me not to worry because "what comes around, goes around." I'd never heard someone say that before and as I lie in bed that night I thought about the frog graveyard under the porch stairs in the backyard and cried myself to sleep.
At 10 years old, I was convinced that all the death and sadness in my life was essentially self inflicted due to my ill-treatment and penchant for manslaughter that one summer a few years prior. I suppose it's a bit remiss to call it manslaughter seeing as no men were slaughtered, just frogs. I am also, by no means trying to make their lives sound diminutive by saying "just frogs." A life is a life, species for naught and what occurred still weighs heavy on my conscience.
I will never know what possessed me to enslave those poor frogs or why no one stopped me, but I do often wonder if I'd still have any grandparents if I had not had a summer of psychopathic behaviour.
Man, karma's a bitch.
I'm 23. I've been out of high school for 6 years and what do I have to show for it other than some crazy stories about nothing of consequence? They'd probably be good fodder for a book, but a writer I am not. Since I obviously suck at blogging, I'm going to try writing short anecdotes from my life to help my friends better understand why I turned out the way I did. My own take on NaNoWriMo.
Will anyone care? Probably not, but I desperately need to feel like my life isn't completely pointless.
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Speonk, more specifically my parents' backyard, was hit by a veritable plague of tiny frogs the summer of my 6th year. I'm not certain if these were young frogs or simply some strange quarter sized species that descended upon the Schmidt homestead, but they came in droves.
I spent most of July and August creating habitats for the frogs in glass jam jars. After an hour or two of squeezing them to watch their eyes bulge and hind legs kick out, I would seal them into the jars. No one told me however, that you needed to poke air holes into the lid and 50+ frogs were not only tortured, but suffocated that summer. No frog has wandered into our yard since.
The next spring my grandmother died, setting off a string of terminal disease and death in my life that has yet to end. Three years later my cousin, while saving me from a school bully, told me not to worry because "what comes around, goes around." I'd never heard someone say that before and as I lie in bed that night I thought about the frog graveyard under the porch stairs in the backyard and cried myself to sleep.
At 10 years old, I was convinced that all the death and sadness in my life was essentially self inflicted due to my ill-treatment and penchant for manslaughter that one summer a few years prior. I suppose it's a bit remiss to call it manslaughter seeing as no men were slaughtered, just frogs. I am also, by no means trying to make their lives sound diminutive by saying "just frogs." A life is a life, species for naught and what occurred still weighs heavy on my conscience.
I will never know what possessed me to enslave those poor frogs or why no one stopped me, but I do often wonder if I'd still have any grandparents if I had not had a summer of psychopathic behaviour.
Man, karma's a bitch.
01 November 2009
You're a Wizard, Harry!
This semester I am enrolled in "The Greek and Latin Roots of English." Each class is only 50 minutes long and my professor has taken to sending us emails to supplement the lack of class time. Below is an excerpt from the email he sent regarding Halloween:
Seeing as I apparently enjoy embarrassing myself, I responded to him as follows:
I was instantly mortified upon sending this email, but there was nothing that I could do at that point. After 2 days and no reply I had thought he found me incredibly pathetic and had a good laugh at my expense; not thinking me worthy enough of a response. I was wrong. Oh, how I was wrong. I awoke today to this gem in my inbox:
"...In native English, "hallow" as noun (as in "All Hallows' Eve) is used as the direct translation of Latin "sanctus, sancti," which comes into French as "saint," whence English "saint." Also, "to hallow" is used as a verb, meaning "to make holy": The traditional translation in English of the so-called Lord's Prayer, or "Our Father," includes the words, "hallowed be Thy name," to translate the Latin "sanctificetur nomen tuum," which in more Latinate English might be, "may Thy name be sanctified."
God knows why J.K. Rowling called her last volume, "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows." If anybody knows the answer (along with God), and will tell me, you get fifty points for your house..."
Seeing as I apparently enjoy embarrassing myself, I responded to him as follows:
"...To try and squeeze out any logic to Ms. Rowling's "Deathly Hallows" would involve delving into this rather cockamamie world she's created. The legend of the deathly hallows comes from a fairy tale that wizarding parents tell their children and that she subsequently published in "The Tales of Beedle the Bard." As it would turn out, the Deathly Hallows were no mere fairy tale for young Harry Potter and his friends.
While I could shamefully wax poetic on the world of Harry Potter for hours, I'll spare you and make this brief. "The Tale of the Three Brothers" is a story about a run in with a personified Death, resulting in the creation of three of the most powerful magical objects (aka the Deathly Hallows). Whoever could unite the three Hallows is believed to be the Master of Death. Enter Voldemort.
Perhaps it was Ms. Rowling's intent to stress the reverence these items would hold to anyone yearning for invincibility. While anything surrounding death isn't immediately thought of as holy, Lucifer was once an angel and Hades a god, no?
You may reward any and all points to Slytherin house.
All things good,
Brittney"
I was instantly mortified upon sending this email, but there was nothing that I could do at that point. After 2 days and no reply I had thought he found me incredibly pathetic and had a good laugh at my expense; not thinking me worthy enough of a response. I was wrong. Oh, how I was wrong. I awoke today to this gem in my inbox:
"Good heavens, dear Brittney, YOU a SLYTHERIN?!!! If I were the Sorting Hat, I would have put you in Ravenclaw
.But, well, OK, I guess Slytherin needs its good moral examples, and I can think of no one better than you to lead the way.And then again, suppose the Sorting Hat had sent Harry Potter into Slytherin: What would have happened then? Would Draco Malfoy have become his ally early on, and Ron and Hermione his foes? Would Snape have made him his special pet? Would Snape have personally instructed him in the creation of all those special recipes in the chemistry book, including the Felix felicis potion? ("Happy of happy," by the way.)But then, Harry would have had to fall out with Hagrid, I guess ...I love the episode in Book 6, down at Hagrid's, when Harry has drunk the Felix felicis potion: terrific writing. But the movie version of 6 is the weakest of them all, thus far, IMHO.Not that I am despairing about Book 7, movie-wise. Reading-wise, Book 7 is terrificly depressing: one horrible slog after another. And worst of all, the temporary alienation of Ron. It is an awfully complicated book, and it is wise of the Rowling movie industry to break it into two parts -- I guess the big challenge is to keep the principal actors still looking like vulnerable young teen-agers, when obviously the actors themselves are blossoming gloriously ...FYI, entre nous, long ago the Sorting Hat told me that I would be a Hufflepuff.And have you ever figured out what the etymology of "Horcrux" is? Of course you have: anyway, there are tons of Rowling-derived website out there, explaining every itsy bitsy detail. "Crux, crucis" is Latin, for "cross," as you know. And I am guessing that the "Hor" part comes from the name of the god in Egyptian mythology who is regularly depicted as a falcon. Which relates (in spite of the linguistic barbarism, about which in general I shall have more to say in class) to how, in some Egyptian pictures, the divine falcon brings the vaguely cross-shaped ankh to the worshipper, that being somehow a symbol of life.Best regards,Mark Caponigro"
04 October 2009
When I was 5 or 6 years old (and completely toilet trained) my cousin Amanda made me and her sister Rachel put on Pull-Ups potty training diapers and locked us in Rachel's closet while we were playing "house." Rachel screamed bloody murder while I tried to get her to shut up. My heart was pounding; I was scared of the dark, but I knew that the closet was preferable to under the bed where I sure an alligator lived.
I wasn't a terribly vocal child. I lived in my head, played on my own and did everything and anything I could to avoid embarrassment. I'm pretty sure I would have stayed in that closet until I starved to death if it meant not having my Uncle Eddie see me in a pair of Pull-Ups like an incontinent toddler.
I continue to live my life in a very similar fashion; like at any moment someone might rip open the door and find me in a pair of Huggies. I keep my mouth shut and push people away for fear of something mortifying happening to me around them. I suppose I'm a bit of a control freak. Having control makes me feel safe, like I am curled up, all safe and sound in an anti-embarrassment cocoon.
I guess this is me saying that I've been having a rough time of it lately. The Grateful Dead's "Truckin'" has been playing non-stop on the ol' iPod. I suffer silently more oft than not. I don't exactly know how to lean on someone. My entire life I've struggeled silently, pulling myself up by my own bootstraps. Trust issues; an endless number of counselors have told me. It's easier this way, I say. They seem to disagree, things get awkward and I move on to the next. I'm apparently emotionally stunted and if I don't fix this I can kiss a relationship goodbye.
I used to think that avoiding heartbreak was the smartest thingn I could do, but I'm not so sure anymore. I'm lonely and I can't help but think that there's more to life than going at it alone. I want a Sharon and Ozzy kind of love. A love so strong you make a suicide pact just in case. A love so all encompassing that you physically cannot bear the thought of losing the other. If I'm going to do this, if I'm going to open myself up and allow myself to love and be loved, I am going to do it full stop.
I wonder if I'd have turned out like this if I had siblings.
I wasn't a terribly vocal child. I lived in my head, played on my own and did everything and anything I could to avoid embarrassment. I'm pretty sure I would have stayed in that closet until I starved to death if it meant not having my Uncle Eddie see me in a pair of Pull-Ups like an incontinent toddler.
I continue to live my life in a very similar fashion; like at any moment someone might rip open the door and find me in a pair of Huggies. I keep my mouth shut and push people away for fear of something mortifying happening to me around them. I suppose I'm a bit of a control freak. Having control makes me feel safe, like I am curled up, all safe and sound in an anti-embarrassment cocoon.
I guess this is me saying that I've been having a rough time of it lately. The Grateful Dead's "Truckin'" has been playing non-stop on the ol' iPod. I suffer silently more oft than not. I don't exactly know how to lean on someone. My entire life I've struggeled silently, pulling myself up by my own bootstraps. Trust issues; an endless number of counselors have told me. It's easier this way, I say. They seem to disagree, things get awkward and I move on to the next. I'm apparently emotionally stunted and if I don't fix this I can kiss a relationship goodbye.
I used to think that avoiding heartbreak was the smartest thingn I could do, but I'm not so sure anymore. I'm lonely and I can't help but think that there's more to life than going at it alone. I want a Sharon and Ozzy kind of love. A love so strong you make a suicide pact just in case. A love so all encompassing that you physically cannot bear the thought of losing the other. If I'm going to do this, if I'm going to open myself up and allow myself to love and be loved, I am going to do it full stop.
I wonder if I'd have turned out like this if I had siblings.
11 September 2009
Celebrity Collage by MyHeritage
On a regular day I look like Raven Simone...
MyHeritage: Family trees - Genealogy - Celebrities - Collage - Morph
...but when I gnaw on a dead crab I look like Harry Potter! WIN.
MyHeritage: Family trees - Genealogy - Celebrities - Collage - Morph
08 September 2009
I love old New Yorkers. I'm not speaking of age, I'm speaking of people born of the Boroughs. Hardy folk that proudly count back the generations of their family that lived "in the neighborhood." Men who live for baseball season, women who live for the happiness of their families. The young couples that you know will still be together in 30 years, just fatter and a bit more leathery. Working class masses in family homes and rent stabilized walk-ups. People with names like Mikey, Jojo, Fran and Dot, who stuck it out and didn't move to Long Island or Westchester the first chance they got.
I suppose that's enough waxing poetic on people not normally seen as verbose, romantic or very beautiful. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder however.
I've been having terrible nightmares lately about tragic events that have happened in my lifetime and it's almost as if the floodgates are now just opening and I'm feeling the gravity of each situation for the first time. I think I completely distanced myself from reality in order to survive childhood sometimes. I hope I'm a strong enough adult to deal with all of these surfacing emotions.
I watched TWA Flight 800 explode over the ocean when I was 10 years old. I saw, first hand, 230 people go up in flames and plummet into the Atlantic. I sat by for days, as locals joined the search efforts, coming in and out of the marina with gruesome stories and no good news and just a few months later I enjoyed the beach where it happened without a second thought to the tragedy. I guess no 10 year old can fully wrap their head around something of that magnitude, but now, 13 years later I have a gigantic pit in my stomach over the entire ordeal. Why am I having nightmares about it now?
I suppose that's enough waxing poetic on people not normally seen as verbose, romantic or very beautiful. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder however.
I've been having terrible nightmares lately about tragic events that have happened in my lifetime and it's almost as if the floodgates are now just opening and I'm feeling the gravity of each situation for the first time. I think I completely distanced myself from reality in order to survive childhood sometimes. I hope I'm a strong enough adult to deal with all of these surfacing emotions.
I watched TWA Flight 800 explode over the ocean when I was 10 years old. I saw, first hand, 230 people go up in flames and plummet into the Atlantic. I sat by for days, as locals joined the search efforts, coming in and out of the marina with gruesome stories and no good news and just a few months later I enjoyed the beach where it happened without a second thought to the tragedy. I guess no 10 year old can fully wrap their head around something of that magnitude, but now, 13 years later I have a gigantic pit in my stomach over the entire ordeal. Why am I having nightmares about it now?
26 August 2009
I don't know where to start. How to properly sum up such a life changing summer will be next to impossible. I've only been home a little over a month, but my travels seem a life time ago. I have been markedly changed by the experience and my life will forever be divided as pre and post Germany. Perhaps that's all that needs to be said. I am different now. A changed woman; body and soul. Maybe I'm simply a "woman" for the first time, no longer a girl straddling the border between childhood and adulthood. Terrifying.
School is starting soon and although I'm scared of the course load that I've saddled myself with, I look forward to the upcoming months. There's no place I'd rather be than NYC between the months of October and January. I've reached a point in my education where I need to start making some big decisions in regards to graduate school. Do I go right away? Where to? Do I move back to LI and try to pay down my undergrad loans first?
These are all rather humdrum questions to mull over when my mind is consumed with trying to figure out how I can see and experience the world... and what I really mean by that is that I'm trying to desperately answer the questions, "how do I get my own Travel Channel show?"
School is starting soon and although I'm scared of the course load that I've saddled myself with, I look forward to the upcoming months. There's no place I'd rather be than NYC between the months of October and January. I've reached a point in my education where I need to start making some big decisions in regards to graduate school. Do I go right away? Where to? Do I move back to LI and try to pay down my undergrad loans first?
These are all rather humdrum questions to mull over when my mind is consumed with trying to figure out how I can see and experience the world... and what I really mean by that is that I'm trying to desperately answer the questions, "how do I get my own Travel Channel show?"
22 June 2009
The First Week is the Wurst Week
Saturday June, 6th
This trip has not exactly started out as I had hoped. It’s been one hell of a Saturday. Air India canceled a flight Friday which caused complete and total chaos for my flight day. I stood in line for 4 hours before being told I had to be through security and at the gate in 15 minutes…LIES. I’m still sitting at the gate and it is 8:04. I’m running on about 3 hours of sleep. I’m sweaty, greasy and I’m sure a bit smelly. All I want to do is shower and maybe eat something. Something that’s not Indian food. Fat chance that’s on the menu.
Sunday June, 7th
Alright, I’ve gotta hand it to Air India. They pulled it out in the end. Wound up with 3 seats to myself so I flipped up the armrests and made myself a bed out of the 3 pilfered pillows and blankets. They kept throwing food at me… well not literally, though that would have been more enjoyable than the stewardess’ blatant hatred of me. She was all smiles and nice comments until she came my way. Don’t know what was stuck up her bum. Na ja.
I landed in Frankfurt at 10:40 AM with a burning sore throat from the recycled airplane oxygen and breezed through immigration (take that stewardess! I’m SO not suspicious). My bags were waiting when I got to the carousel, ukulele blissfully intact and then…oh and then I had to find a freakin’ train. Mind you, it wasn’t nearly as confusing as I imagine the LIRR must be for tourists, but it wasn’t exactly a cake walk either. We’ll make this long and not so interesting story short and say I wound up spending more money than I wanted to, but it was alright because it was a direct high-speed train and other than running over my toes with my suitcase it went smoothly as soon as I was on. I need to mention the toddler I was sitting next to though because she was the most idyllic little cherub I’ve ever seen and I’m pretty sure that at 2 years old she spoke better German than I do. Nixing Asian baby adoption, German tots are where it’s at.
Host Mom (or Corinna I haven’t decided what I’ll blog her as yet) met me at the train station in her brand new ORANGE compact car. At that very moment I knew everything was going to be just fine, lol. It was cemented when I saw a picture of her in my room in which she is wearing a leopard print gown. We got home to an amazing meal made by Host Dad (Wolfgang) who is home for the weekend I guess? I’m not too sure on his deal, it sounds like he lives and works in Frankfurt. Regardless, it was delicious, Host Brothers (Julian and Jascha) made an appearance before scurrying back to their videogames and Host Dad went bonkers over my Blackberry. Now, between his lack of English, my lack of German and Host Mom’s uncertainty in translating, the discussion about US calling plans and SIM cards was just ridiculous. He seems intent on buying it off of me when I leave though, lol.
Camila, my Brazilian Dialog-Institute compatriot has been living here for 7 weeks now and she’s absolutely brilliant. She’s a German language teacher and is using this to finish her degree. Wanna talk about intimidating though, her German is …mind blowing. We’re the same age and she is pretty much Quinna’s doppelganger, in looks and mannerisms. How this happens I don’t know, but it’s the truth. Scouts honor.
Wednesday June 10th
I have been so busy I can barely stand up straight. I was late to school Monday morning thanks to Camila being way too nice and not telling me to get a move on. What a way to make an impression, eh? Oy vey. Anyway, I get there, I take my placement test, meet the other Hunter students and get right to class, thankfully with Professor Kuhn-Osius. There’s another group of students from the Massachusetts here, but they’re boarding school kids and barely 16. Andrew tends to gravitate toward our group seeing as none of his friends are here and the girls from his school are annoying as sin. Poor kid. So, after class and lunch, Prof. Kuhn-Osius took us on a bit of a walking tour of the immediate area. I can’t wait to start exploring more. We stopped off in one of the millions of museums around this city, this one housing original manuscripts. I’ve officially seen my first Guttenberg Bible. Monumental.
I’m rather shocked by the extent I’m able to understand German. The only time I hear English these days is between my peers, but it really hasn’t hindered me too much. I am however shocked by how hard it is to speak. I’m so intimidated that it’s ridiculous. I’m slowly getting over it, but now I’m just frustrated and that’s equally as dangerous. I also need to remember that I’ve only been here for 4 days.
Tuesday I not only managed to get to school on my own, but I also managed to be on time. Of course first thing in the morning we start covering a topic that I couldn’t comprehend back in the states when it was explained in English let alone now that it’s in German so that wasn’t fun. At lunch Andrew found sanctuary with us in the Mensa (cafeteria) and regaled us with stories of boarding school hazing. Stories of Korean kids and ball grabbing, how can you go wrong? We then gathered to go to Wilhelmshöhe with the Concord Academy kids and once there Prof. Kuhn-Osius toured us around the art museum that is housed in the former palace. He’s probably one of the most brilliant men I’ve ever met. I don’t think that there’s anything he doesn’t have at least some working knowledge of. The views at Wilhelmshöhe are absolutely phenomenal and I’ll definitely be back before I leave. Clarissa and I then made our way back to the school in order to get on the interwebz since no one other than my parents had heard from me and before long it was time for us to go to the good Professor’s for a party of sorts.
Prof. and his wife live in exactly what I pictured a German apartment to be, right down to the smell. Three floors, one apartment on each, name plates on the door denoting who lives there, skeleton keys to get into every room… I was about ready to just pretend I was Sally Bowles and call it a day. Life really is a Cabaret here in Germany ol’ chum. We were all hella awkward with each other all of a sudden and sat in his living room staring for a good while before beer starting doing its job and Prof. busted out his guitar. Who knew he would turn out to be a freakin’ amazing classical guitarist? Sam busted out some Johnny Cash while Caroline told stories about Brook Shields’ mom and I didn’t wind up getting back to Bromeisstrabe until about midnight.
Today started off rainy. Oh yes, have I mentioned I might as well be in the North Pole? It’s freakin’ FREEZING here. Cold and rainy though if I understand German well enough, it’s supposed to get nice again next week. So, I got to the corner as the tram was coming down the street allowing me just enough to cross. Schön, ja? NEIN! Just as I’m going to cross, the little old German Frau next to me slips off the curb and falls. Wunderbar. Now what? There was no one around, I don’t know the German 911 equivelant, she’s spouting German at me a million miles an hour and I’m about ready to just faint and join her on the concrete. Oh yeah…and now my tram is gliding past me and down the street. So…I was late again to school. The Frau is fine, I got her up and going and my day was able to get progressively better until pronunciation training. I’ve never felt so stupid in my entire life. German’s hard dude.
Sunday June, 14th
I promise that after this entry I will try and blog more regularly so you’re not reading novels all the time. The rest of the week continued to be super busy and I’m proving to be rather allergic to Germany… or just Kassel… or just the trees in Kassel. I’ve been so freakin’ sick and paranoid that I have Swine flu, especially since it reached Germany 2 days after I did and from NY no less. I start coughing, then I start sneezing, then I can’t breathe… oh it is miserable, but I braved a pharmacy and came out with the German equivalent to NyQuil…or so I’m assuming because I woke up close to 20 hours later and feeling quite a bit better.
On Thursday we went to Paderborn since it was Corpus Christi and we had no school. The problem was that it was Corpus Christi! The entire city was pretty much shut down and because it was raining and there were practically sub-zero temperatures there wasn’t even the church procession. So after a miserable tour in which I only understood about half of what dear Thorston was saying, the group of us somehow managed to find an open coffee shop… which oddly enough stamped all of its plates with “New York Café.” I’m sure it is beautiful on a nice, non-holiday day, but that is something that I shall never know.
Nothing too spectacular has happened between then and now. Corinna is in Spain with Wolfgang until Wednesday and Camila has been in France, she gets back tonight though. The boys have been back and forth to their father’s so I see them here and there. I did a little shopping yesterday and got some souvenirs for my YA-YA sisters back in NY and “Harry Potter und der Stein der Weisen”. They have the British Harry Potter’s all over the place too and it’s taking everything in my power not to buy another suitcase so I can come home with both versions.
Mr. H. Potter
Im Schrank unter der Treppe
Ligusterweg 4
Little Whinging
Surrey
That shouldn’t make me LOL nearly as much as it does, nor should the fact that Hermione’s name in German is Hermine. Man, I’m such a dweeb. Über dweeb even. Hmm…Wie sagst du Dweeb auf Deutsch?
AHEM, okay, moving on, SO, today is Sunday and they sure do like to ring Church bells here in Germany. I’m so used to St. Malachy’s version of recorded church bells that play “Give My Regards to Broadway” that hearing the real thing just makes me think of the Hunchback of Notre Dame. They’ve been going for a good 10 minutes now too.
Thanks to this German NyQuil helping me to finally get over jetlag and making me feel a bit better, I thought I was well enough to go jogging this morning. Not so. Wheezing like an old Asthmatic man I was. I’m apparently living at the top of a hill though because I turned a corner toward a clearing and the view just took my breath away. I was overlooking Kassel and directly across was a clear view of Herkules and Wilhelmshöhe, I’ll have to walk back later with my camera. Anyway, I managed to jog to the bottom of the hill, which is pretty much a mountain in my Long Island opinion and decided I most definitely had to walk back. I can’t run uphill on a good day, let alone when I have the pseudo-Swineflu.
Julian, the older of my host brothers delivers newspapers on Sunday’s so I’ve been watching him go back and forth all morning with his wagon full of newspapers. Looks like a lot of work to me. If I understood Corinna correctly he has over 600 papers to deliver every Sunday and he’s been going at it for hours already. He makes bank though. You don’t get taxed if you make less than 400€ a month and he’s just under that mark. He looked like he was about to fall over on this last cartful though.
RANDOM BABBLES:
German Reality T.V.
German reality television is simply the best. It’s so much more provocative than anything we have in the States and over all it is just more amusing. Mission Hollywood is my newest addiction. Til Schweiger (Mark from SLC Punk!) hosts it and apparently he really is the German Tom Cruise (pre-Katie Holmes/Scientology craziness). I really want him to just break out with one good, “SINK YOU FOOL!!”, but I’m content with his mere presence as he creepily licks his lips and tells skanky German wannabe actresses that they suck.
German Birds
Birds here in German are super friendly and kind of stupid. They approach you out of sheer curiosity and as if to simply say, “Hello human.” They’re much more vocal and the crows walk like little humans. Shortly before I left NYC I questioned why you never see pigeon road kill on the streets. You most definitely see pigeon road kill here in Kassel. They walk in front of trams, they walk under peoples feet… Caroline almost stepped directly on top of one the other day. It’s all rather bizarre. Summation: pigeons are a nuisance no matter the country, but at least they eat them here in Europe and small German children also really like to chase ducks.
German Bums
German bums are just as crazy as you’d imagine them to be. One happened to find me and kept asking for 10 cents. I’d tell her no, she’d cross to the other side of the tram tracks and 5 minutes later she’d be back asking for another 10 cents… in English mind you. She then found Clarissa and I a few days later and repeated this routine. There was another rambling on about Nazis stealing his cake and there’s a lot of homeless young people chilling on the streets, very Berkeley, CA style except that they’re more dirty Punk than dirty Hippie. By “a lot” I mean like…3 and they all seem to have dogs.
This trip has not exactly started out as I had hoped. It’s been one hell of a Saturday. Air India canceled a flight Friday which caused complete and total chaos for my flight day. I stood in line for 4 hours before being told I had to be through security and at the gate in 15 minutes…LIES. I’m still sitting at the gate and it is 8:04. I’m running on about 3 hours of sleep. I’m sweaty, greasy and I’m sure a bit smelly. All I want to do is shower and maybe eat something. Something that’s not Indian food. Fat chance that’s on the menu.
Sunday June, 7th
Alright, I’ve gotta hand it to Air India. They pulled it out in the end. Wound up with 3 seats to myself so I flipped up the armrests and made myself a bed out of the 3 pilfered pillows and blankets. They kept throwing food at me… well not literally, though that would have been more enjoyable than the stewardess’ blatant hatred of me. She was all smiles and nice comments until she came my way. Don’t know what was stuck up her bum. Na ja.
I landed in Frankfurt at 10:40 AM with a burning sore throat from the recycled airplane oxygen and breezed through immigration (take that stewardess! I’m SO not suspicious). My bags were waiting when I got to the carousel, ukulele blissfully intact and then…oh and then I had to find a freakin’ train. Mind you, it wasn’t nearly as confusing as I imagine the LIRR must be for tourists, but it wasn’t exactly a cake walk either. We’ll make this long and not so interesting story short and say I wound up spending more money than I wanted to, but it was alright because it was a direct high-speed train and other than running over my toes with my suitcase it went smoothly as soon as I was on. I need to mention the toddler I was sitting next to though because she was the most idyllic little cherub I’ve ever seen and I’m pretty sure that at 2 years old she spoke better German than I do. Nixing Asian baby adoption, German tots are where it’s at.
Host Mom (or Corinna I haven’t decided what I’ll blog her as yet) met me at the train station in her brand new ORANGE compact car. At that very moment I knew everything was going to be just fine, lol. It was cemented when I saw a picture of her in my room in which she is wearing a leopard print gown. We got home to an amazing meal made by Host Dad (Wolfgang) who is home for the weekend I guess? I’m not too sure on his deal, it sounds like he lives and works in Frankfurt. Regardless, it was delicious, Host Brothers (Julian and Jascha) made an appearance before scurrying back to their videogames and Host Dad went bonkers over my Blackberry. Now, between his lack of English, my lack of German and Host Mom’s uncertainty in translating, the discussion about US calling plans and SIM cards was just ridiculous. He seems intent on buying it off of me when I leave though, lol.
Camila, my Brazilian Dialog-Institute compatriot has been living here for 7 weeks now and she’s absolutely brilliant. She’s a German language teacher and is using this to finish her degree. Wanna talk about intimidating though, her German is …mind blowing. We’re the same age and she is pretty much Quinna’s doppelganger, in looks and mannerisms. How this happens I don’t know, but it’s the truth. Scouts honor.
Wednesday June 10th
I have been so busy I can barely stand up straight. I was late to school Monday morning thanks to Camila being way too nice and not telling me to get a move on. What a way to make an impression, eh? Oy vey. Anyway, I get there, I take my placement test, meet the other Hunter students and get right to class, thankfully with Professor Kuhn-Osius. There’s another group of students from the Massachusetts here, but they’re boarding school kids and barely 16. Andrew tends to gravitate toward our group seeing as none of his friends are here and the girls from his school are annoying as sin. Poor kid. So, after class and lunch, Prof. Kuhn-Osius took us on a bit of a walking tour of the immediate area. I can’t wait to start exploring more. We stopped off in one of the millions of museums around this city, this one housing original manuscripts. I’ve officially seen my first Guttenberg Bible. Monumental.
I’m rather shocked by the extent I’m able to understand German. The only time I hear English these days is between my peers, but it really hasn’t hindered me too much. I am however shocked by how hard it is to speak. I’m so intimidated that it’s ridiculous. I’m slowly getting over it, but now I’m just frustrated and that’s equally as dangerous. I also need to remember that I’ve only been here for 4 days.
Tuesday I not only managed to get to school on my own, but I also managed to be on time. Of course first thing in the morning we start covering a topic that I couldn’t comprehend back in the states when it was explained in English let alone now that it’s in German so that wasn’t fun. At lunch Andrew found sanctuary with us in the Mensa (cafeteria) and regaled us with stories of boarding school hazing. Stories of Korean kids and ball grabbing, how can you go wrong? We then gathered to go to Wilhelmshöhe with the Concord Academy kids and once there Prof. Kuhn-Osius toured us around the art museum that is housed in the former palace. He’s probably one of the most brilliant men I’ve ever met. I don’t think that there’s anything he doesn’t have at least some working knowledge of. The views at Wilhelmshöhe are absolutely phenomenal and I’ll definitely be back before I leave. Clarissa and I then made our way back to the school in order to get on the interwebz since no one other than my parents had heard from me and before long it was time for us to go to the good Professor’s for a party of sorts.
Prof. and his wife live in exactly what I pictured a German apartment to be, right down to the smell. Three floors, one apartment on each, name plates on the door denoting who lives there, skeleton keys to get into every room… I was about ready to just pretend I was Sally Bowles and call it a day. Life really is a Cabaret here in Germany ol’ chum. We were all hella awkward with each other all of a sudden and sat in his living room staring for a good while before beer starting doing its job and Prof. busted out his guitar. Who knew he would turn out to be a freakin’ amazing classical guitarist? Sam busted out some Johnny Cash while Caroline told stories about Brook Shields’ mom and I didn’t wind up getting back to Bromeisstrabe until about midnight.
Today started off rainy. Oh yes, have I mentioned I might as well be in the North Pole? It’s freakin’ FREEZING here. Cold and rainy though if I understand German well enough, it’s supposed to get nice again next week. So, I got to the corner as the tram was coming down the street allowing me just enough to cross. Schön, ja? NEIN! Just as I’m going to cross, the little old German Frau next to me slips off the curb and falls. Wunderbar. Now what? There was no one around, I don’t know the German 911 equivelant, she’s spouting German at me a million miles an hour and I’m about ready to just faint and join her on the concrete. Oh yeah…and now my tram is gliding past me and down the street. So…I was late again to school. The Frau is fine, I got her up and going and my day was able to get progressively better until pronunciation training. I’ve never felt so stupid in my entire life. German’s hard dude.
Sunday June, 14th
I promise that after this entry I will try and blog more regularly so you’re not reading novels all the time. The rest of the week continued to be super busy and I’m proving to be rather allergic to Germany… or just Kassel… or just the trees in Kassel. I’ve been so freakin’ sick and paranoid that I have Swine flu, especially since it reached Germany 2 days after I did and from NY no less. I start coughing, then I start sneezing, then I can’t breathe… oh it is miserable, but I braved a pharmacy and came out with the German equivalent to NyQuil…or so I’m assuming because I woke up close to 20 hours later and feeling quite a bit better.
On Thursday we went to Paderborn since it was Corpus Christi and we had no school. The problem was that it was Corpus Christi! The entire city was pretty much shut down and because it was raining and there were practically sub-zero temperatures there wasn’t even the church procession. So after a miserable tour in which I only understood about half of what dear Thorston was saying, the group of us somehow managed to find an open coffee shop… which oddly enough stamped all of its plates with “New York Café.” I’m sure it is beautiful on a nice, non-holiday day, but that is something that I shall never know.
Nothing too spectacular has happened between then and now. Corinna is in Spain with Wolfgang until Wednesday and Camila has been in France, she gets back tonight though. The boys have been back and forth to their father’s so I see them here and there. I did a little shopping yesterday and got some souvenirs for my YA-YA sisters back in NY and “Harry Potter und der Stein der Weisen”. They have the British Harry Potter’s all over the place too and it’s taking everything in my power not to buy another suitcase so I can come home with both versions.
Mr. H. Potter
Im Schrank unter der Treppe
Ligusterweg 4
Little Whinging
Surrey
That shouldn’t make me LOL nearly as much as it does, nor should the fact that Hermione’s name in German is Hermine. Man, I’m such a dweeb. Über dweeb even. Hmm…Wie sagst du Dweeb auf Deutsch?
AHEM, okay, moving on, SO, today is Sunday and they sure do like to ring Church bells here in Germany. I’m so used to St. Malachy’s version of recorded church bells that play “Give My Regards to Broadway” that hearing the real thing just makes me think of the Hunchback of Notre Dame. They’ve been going for a good 10 minutes now too.
Thanks to this German NyQuil helping me to finally get over jetlag and making me feel a bit better, I thought I was well enough to go jogging this morning. Not so. Wheezing like an old Asthmatic man I was. I’m apparently living at the top of a hill though because I turned a corner toward a clearing and the view just took my breath away. I was overlooking Kassel and directly across was a clear view of Herkules and Wilhelmshöhe, I’ll have to walk back later with my camera. Anyway, I managed to jog to the bottom of the hill, which is pretty much a mountain in my Long Island opinion and decided I most definitely had to walk back. I can’t run uphill on a good day, let alone when I have the pseudo-Swineflu.
Julian, the older of my host brothers delivers newspapers on Sunday’s so I’ve been watching him go back and forth all morning with his wagon full of newspapers. Looks like a lot of work to me. If I understood Corinna correctly he has over 600 papers to deliver every Sunday and he’s been going at it for hours already. He makes bank though. You don’t get taxed if you make less than 400€ a month and he’s just under that mark. He looked like he was about to fall over on this last cartful though.
RANDOM BABBLES:
German Reality T.V.
German reality television is simply the best. It’s so much more provocative than anything we have in the States and over all it is just more amusing. Mission Hollywood is my newest addiction. Til Schweiger (Mark from SLC Punk!) hosts it and apparently he really is the German Tom Cruise (pre-Katie Holmes/Scientology craziness). I really want him to just break out with one good, “SINK YOU FOOL!!”, but I’m content with his mere presence as he creepily licks his lips and tells skanky German wannabe actresses that they suck.
German Birds
Birds here in German are super friendly and kind of stupid. They approach you out of sheer curiosity and as if to simply say, “Hello human.” They’re much more vocal and the crows walk like little humans. Shortly before I left NYC I questioned why you never see pigeon road kill on the streets. You most definitely see pigeon road kill here in Kassel. They walk in front of trams, they walk under peoples feet… Caroline almost stepped directly on top of one the other day. It’s all rather bizarre. Summation: pigeons are a nuisance no matter the country, but at least they eat them here in Europe and small German children also really like to chase ducks.
German Bums
German bums are just as crazy as you’d imagine them to be. One happened to find me and kept asking for 10 cents. I’d tell her no, she’d cross to the other side of the tram tracks and 5 minutes later she’d be back asking for another 10 cents… in English mind you. She then found Clarissa and I a few days later and repeated this routine. There was another rambling on about Nazis stealing his cake and there’s a lot of homeless young people chilling on the streets, very Berkeley, CA style except that they’re more dirty Punk than dirty Hippie. By “a lot” I mean like…3 and they all seem to have dogs.
31 May 2009
MAY
The month of May has come and gone with such speed that I'm not sure it even happened.
Bamboozle ushered in the month and subsequently, a lot of life goals were achieved. I saw Journey, No Doubt, The Ataris, GWAR, Anti-Flag, Gavin Rossdale & Edna's Goldfish. I got so sunburned I was sick for a week as my skin literally peeled away from my body. I took out one amazingly annoying 14 year old girl with an expertly swung elbow, went on my first ferris wheel & had a general blast with Becky & Falcone & fannypacks. ->
<- Memorial Day weekend found me back in New Jersey for Juan's Super Kwanzaa spectacular. After not drinking for weeks I decided it was a good idea binge; soon I was stealing flowers from outside of Shop Rite and having to figure out how to alleviate the spins when already on the floor. Don't get me wrong, it was one of the best times I've had in a while but the ensuing 2 day hangover nearly sent me to an early grave.
Interspersed was massive amounts of school work, my friends all graduating from Pace, finally meeting Katieboyce's family, a Schmidt family babyshower and I'm sure a plethora of other things that are well documented on my TWITTER page. It's called micro-blogging for a reason, afterall.
I should probably also mention that I turned 23. What a terrible age, but it was definitely the best birthday I've had in a really long time. Odd because it was coupled with bon voyage, but good none the less. Cosmic Diner on the 26th with my Ya Ya sisters followed by birthday cake we didn't even bother to cut, just took forks to was absolutely brilliant and I hate that I'm leaving them for most of the summer. On the 27th (my actual birthday) I had a delicious nap on the LIRR as I made my way out to Long Island to go see some regional theatre with my parents. The show was an absolute trainwreck and making fun of the poor falling tap dancers provided endless entertainment. Saturday, my parents threw me a family party that left me feeling pretty loved. To think, I still have birthday shenanigans with Stacey to look forward to this week.
I leave for Germany on Saturday and I am BUGGING out. I can't believe this is all happening. I have so much to get done still, or at least I feel like I do. My host family got switched last week and I'm now in a 4 person household and they have another host child from Brazil staying with them as well. BRAZIL!! She's bloody Brazilian. Great. She's going to be gorgeous and fluent by the time I arrive and there's not going to be enough Euros in all of Kassel to pay for the therapy I'll be needing.
22 April 2009
ROCKBAND
Last I left you all, I was going to play RockBand with Carrie and Lauren last night. Ridiculous.
Perhaps I need to preface this with the information that I do not play video games. The only gaming consoles I've owned were Atari and Sega Genesis. I've never gotten past the first level of Sonic the Hedgehog and I preferred to spend my gaming hours playing Monopoly. There's no controller skill required to play Monopoly. In fact, upon reliving my Sonic days not too long ago, I discovered that I still move my entire body with the controller in a feeble attempt to move the hedgehog (this is especially true for jump sequences). Apparently my motor skills short circuit in regards to gaming.
That being said, last night I decided to succumb to peer pressure like some pubescent teenager and play RockBand. Mind you, I was whinging about not wanting to do it for a good 15 minutes as I cut out strips of paper to make a countdown chain (as seen in entry below). Regardless, I did it. I said to myself, "self, you play the guitar. This can't be too much different." OooHooo, I've never been more wrong in my life.
I can't even tell you what song I was playing, the moment was so traumatic I've apparently blocked the details from my mind. It started slow; a succession of green buttons, syncopation slightly wonky. Not so bad, I could do this, but then the fraction-of-a-second-off red and yellow buttons started in. Now I'm starting to sweat, literally. I'm subconsciously holding my breath and my heart's beginning to palpitate. I'm feeling lightheaded from lack of oxygen and terribly self conscious because I've grossly underestimated this stupid plastic guitar that doesn't even play music. Apparently you're supposed to upstroke on certain tabs and down stroke on others, but my "gaming is second nature" friends neglected to tell me that and I'm losing points. See, that's the thing though, I'm not losing points really... I'm essentially losing fans. FANS. For someone who thrives off of people liking her, losing fans is serious business...
I can't even finish telling my tale of woe. It was all too much.
Perhaps I need to preface this with the information that I do not play video games. The only gaming consoles I've owned were Atari and Sega Genesis. I've never gotten past the first level of Sonic the Hedgehog and I preferred to spend my gaming hours playing Monopoly. There's no controller skill required to play Monopoly. In fact, upon reliving my Sonic days not too long ago, I discovered that I still move my entire body with the controller in a feeble attempt to move the hedgehog (this is especially true for jump sequences). Apparently my motor skills short circuit in regards to gaming.
That being said, last night I decided to succumb to peer pressure like some pubescent teenager and play RockBand. Mind you, I was whinging about not wanting to do it for a good 15 minutes as I cut out strips of paper to make a countdown chain (as seen in entry below). Regardless, I did it. I said to myself, "self, you play the guitar. This can't be too much different." OooHooo, I've never been more wrong in my life.
I can't even tell you what song I was playing, the moment was so traumatic I've apparently blocked the details from my mind. It started slow; a succession of green buttons, syncopation slightly wonky. Not so bad, I could do this, but then the fraction-of-a-second-off red and yellow buttons started in. Now I'm starting to sweat, literally. I'm subconsciously holding my breath and my heart's beginning to palpitate. I'm feeling lightheaded from lack of oxygen and terribly self conscious because I've grossly underestimated this stupid plastic guitar that doesn't even play music. Apparently you're supposed to upstroke on certain tabs and down stroke on others, but my "gaming is second nature" friends neglected to tell me that and I'm losing points. See, that's the thing though, I'm not losing points really... I'm essentially losing fans. FANS. For someone who thrives off of people liking her, losing fans is serious business...
I can't even finish telling my tale of woe. It was all too much.
21 April 2009
Spring Break
I had an odd Spring Break this year. It was as though I got sucked into some weird time/space continuum and just existed for a week and one-half. I'm now having a difficult time adjusting to my very scheduled and rushed school and city life. Humbug.
Stacey's birthday party was great fun. Intellectual conversation and humor really turns me on in the naughtiest of ways and it was in abundance. I also spent most of the break just making music which was very, very stimulating. This paragraph has become rather dirty. I'm going to move on now.
I've been taking care of myself more than I ever have and it's a mind trip. I've never felt so in tune with my body and the earth. I know that sounds insanely new age and annoying, but it's the only way to describe...things. I stopped drinking, stopped eating meat, I can't remember the last time I had a cigarette --now if only I could give up caffeine. I almost think the Hare Krishna's aren't so off their rocker. I'm pretty sure the drinking thing won't last long once I'm in Germany, but I like to think of German beer more like a food product more than alcohol. You can surv
ive off of it for a good while, after all.
Speaking of Germany (what a lame segue) I'm absolutely overwhelmed by how close I am to my departure. Perhaps I'll add a countdown... or make a CONSTRUCTION PAPER CHAIN! Paper chain indeed, that sounds like a splendid idea. I'm beside myself with excitement and anxiety. I can't believe I'm actually getting out of this country, going to see my family on their home turf, seeing the world... good grief, my dreams are finally becoming a reality.
I plan on bringing a uke and praying that inspiration strikes. What I'm really hoping for is a bit more direction on the children's book I've been struggling to sort out. I hate that I didn't take more classes in pedagogy. They'd be really helpful right about now.
Here's a VLog about my hellish night last night:
Stacey's birthday party was great fun. Intellectual conversation and humor really turns me on in the naughtiest of ways and it was in abundance. I also spent most of the break just making music which was very, very stimulating. This paragraph has become rather dirty. I'm going to move on now.
I've been taking care of myself more than I ever have and it's a mind trip. I've never felt so in tune with my body and the earth. I know that sounds insanely new age and annoying, but it's the only way to describe...things. I stopped drinking, stopped eating meat, I can't remember the last time I had a cigarette --now if only I could give up caffeine. I almost think the Hare Krishna's aren't so off their rocker. I'm pretty sure the drinking thing won't last long once I'm in Germany, but I like to think of German beer more like a food product more than alcohol. You can surv
ive off of it for a good while, after all.Speaking of Germany (what a lame segue) I'm absolutely overwhelmed by how close I am to my departure. Perhaps I'll add a countdown... or make a CONSTRUCTION PAPER CHAIN! Paper chain indeed, that sounds like a splendid idea. I'm beside myself with excitement and anxiety. I can't believe I'm actually getting out of this country, going to see my family on their home turf, seeing the world... good grief, my dreams are finally becoming a reality.
I plan on bringing a uke and praying that inspiration strikes. What I'm really hoping for is a bit more direction on the children's book I've been struggling to sort out. I hate that I didn't take more classes in pedagogy. They'd be really helpful right about now.
Here's a VLog about my hellish night last night:
I'm kind of stoked, I got a 92 on my modern Middle Eastern history midterm (the 2nd one). Seeing as I got a 70 on the 1st one this is monumental for me. Now off to play Rockband with roommate and Lauren.
SHINE ON.
SHINE ON.
06 April 2009
THE MONDAYS
It was just another manic Monday today... yes, I wish it was Sunday because that's my fun day. I also wish I could take that back, but I've already put it forth in the universe. EMBARRASSED.
Seriously now, it was indeed another gloomy Gotham day. This April showers nonsense is getting old and fast. I have one more day of school before I hop a train to Speonk for break and it just hit me how close to the end of the semester I am. Frightening. I have so much to do that I'm going to sit here and not think about any of it while I eat frozen corn nibblets like M&M's.
I booked my flights to and from Frankfurt last night. I'm flying one of the worst rated airlines, but it saved me $400. Au Revoir United States, I'm Deutschland bound. June 6th - July 16th, Frankfurt, Kassel, Hamburg & Amrum... as of right now. Itinerary could change. I just dropped a frozen nibblet down my shirt... typische Amerikanerin.
All things good.
04 April 2009
GLOOMY
The past few days have been rather gloomy here in Gotham. A deluge fell from the skies yesterday and today was terribly overcast and windy. Katie and I stupidly decided to walk around SoHo on a Saturday and had to reward ourselves with cannolis in Little Italy for all the pain and suffering. Yaffa was overrun with teenagers calling it "funky" and the streets were lined with tourists. There are just someplaces we should know better than to go to on the weekends.
I really need to get on finalizing my Germany plans. I'm going to go and spend some time with my mother's family there after the program is over. I was originally planning on a week, but they all think I need to spend more time there. I suppose it will all be contingent on how much money I can get pawning my instruments. So ist das Leben! I have a gut feeling I'm never going to want to return to the states. I'm so completely over American economics and governmental policy.
PROMPT #7
Electricity is a recent discovery. Think of 12 things you can do when there's no power.
I really need to get on finalizing my Germany plans. I'm going to go and spend some time with my mother's family there after the program is over. I was originally planning on a week, but they all think I need to spend more time there. I suppose it will all be contingent on how much money I can get pawning my instruments. So ist das Leben! I have a gut feeling I'm never going to want to return to the states. I'm so completely over American economics and governmental policy.
PROMPT #7
Electricity is a recent discovery. Think of 12 things you can do when there's no power.
- Organize a Pick-up Sticks tournament
- Use eyeliner to draw on curly mustaches and speak to each other in French accents
- Read a freakin' book
- Reenact classical pieces of theatre with uncultured friends
- Paint portraits of beloved family pets
- Break out the ukulele and write a pop opera
- Knit a tea cozy
- Build a bonfire, make s'mores and reenact the end credits of D2 "GOLDBERG!"
- Hold a memorial service for the Internet, no power sucks! "What do you mean I can't Tweet?!"
- Finally get around to reading Russell Brand's Booky-Wook
- Practice yodelling
- Take a nap and pray the powers on when you wake up
03 April 2009
DRIFT
It's so close to Spring Break I can smell it. Freshly cut grass, slightly moist soil and decaying leaves are what I imagine freedom to smell like. Another school week over, another month begun, I'm wondering where time goes. Youth definitely is wasted on the young. We do not appreciate it nearly as much as we should.
I was reading "The Cholera Years" between classes today and one of the footnotes made me laugh aloud. The chortle that erupted from my body actually startled me. Then I burst into a fit of giggles thinking about My Obsession and her habit of chuckling over similarly dry books. She plagues me so and she has no idea. What a strange concept. I wonder if anyone feels that way about me. If my piquant habits fascinate anyone to the verge of unhealthy obsession. I hope not.
Creative Writing Prompt, GO!!
(I don't think I've written a poem since I was a moody pre-teen)
Prompt #5
Pick a poem that you like. Take the last line and use it as the first line of your own poem.
"City Dusk"
F. Scott Fitzgerald
"One Poncey Poem"
B. Schmidt
We'll drift like summer sounds upon the summer air,
Oh! That sweet, sweet music,
That familiar vernacular of sinners and saints,
Storm-tossed and star-crossed.
Lovers built for dreams alone,
Celestial, ethereal, mercurial,
Too precarious,
For our mere mortal selves to catch hold.
I'll meet you my Love,
Somewhere across the astral plane,
Where skylarks will chirrup to our reunion,
And we'll make love in the summer rain.
I was reading "The Cholera Years" between classes today and one of the footnotes made me laugh aloud. The chortle that erupted from my body actually startled me. Then I burst into a fit of giggles thinking about My Obsession and her habit of chuckling over similarly dry books. She plagues me so and she has no idea. What a strange concept. I wonder if anyone feels that way about me. If my piquant habits fascinate anyone to the verge of unhealthy obsession. I hope not.
Creative Writing Prompt, GO!!
(I don't think I've written a poem since I was a moody pre-teen)
Prompt #5
Pick a poem that you like. Take the last line and use it as the first line of your own poem.
"City Dusk"
F. Scott Fitzgerald
"One Poncey Poem"
B. Schmidt
We'll drift like summer sounds upon the summer air,
Oh! That sweet, sweet music,
That familiar vernacular of sinners and saints,
Storm-tossed and star-crossed.
Lovers built for dreams alone,
Celestial, ethereal, mercurial,
Too precarious,
For our mere mortal selves to catch hold.
I'll meet you my Love,
Somewhere across the astral plane,
Where skylarks will chirrup to our reunion,
And we'll make love in the summer rain.
01 April 2009
FOOL
I'm patiently waiting for like to jump out and say "APRIL FOOLS!!" today. I woke up uber late, didn't shower, threw on jeans and a sweatshirt, pulled a hat over my out of control hair and practically ran to school. My head is pounding from that amount of stress in the morning and when I got home not only did I feel like the dirtiest, greasiest kid in existence, but I finally realized I forgot to put a bra on in my haste. That being said, I'm sending a gigantic apology out into the webiverse to anyone who has encountered me thus far today. I'm so terribly sorry, I promise I'm generally not this grody.
I found a website with creative writing prompts and I think I'm going to start using them to get me to blog more often. I think it might be rather cathartic.
Prompt #2
Take out those dusty photo albums and pick out photo #14. Count however you like, just stop at #14. Look at the photo for 2-3 minutes, then spend 10 minutes writing all the feelings that this photo gives you. Don't censor yourself. Just write.
Since this is the internet I had all intentions of posting photo No.14, but upon seeing what it was I don't think that's a good idea. For my curious friends, ask and I'll tell you where to find it or just read on in wonder.
I'm more confused than sad I suppose. Eleven years completely thrown away like the Sunday paper. It was always one sided, but the fact that I was needed is what kept me firmly rooted. I was so lonely and despondent for so many years that any human connection made me feel like I could live another day. I hate to think that that was the foundation of our friendship was built upon though. We shared a lot of laughs, she shared a lot of tears and I cried for her alone when I went home at night. I honestly thought she'd never not be in my life. How did it come to this?
There wasn't any closure. It's been completely anti-climactic. Correspondance just stopped. I thought I did something wrong so I gave her some space then left her a voicemail wishing her a happy holiday season and saying I'd love to catch up with her. Nothing. I guess it really is over, but I still feel like someone's playing mindgames with me. It had to have been me. It was always my fault. Even when I didn't know something was wrong, it was my fault. That's just how we were. We went through far too much to let that be an insurmountable issue.
I grew up though. Part of me finally realized that how this relationship was functioning was completely bizarro. I want nothing more than to call her and squeal that I'm finally going to Europe, to plan one more roadtrip or spend one more night laying on the trampoline and laughing. We had so many dreams and plans and they all unraveled. I'd love to know why some day.
...that was depressing.
All things good.
I found a website with creative writing prompts and I think I'm going to start using them to get me to blog more often. I think it might be rather cathartic.
Prompt #2
Take out those dusty photo albums and pick out photo #14. Count however you like, just stop at #14. Look at the photo for 2-3 minutes, then spend 10 minutes writing all the feelings that this photo gives you. Don't censor yourself. Just write.
Since this is the internet I had all intentions of posting photo No.14, but upon seeing what it was I don't think that's a good idea. For my curious friends, ask and I'll tell you where to find it or just read on in wonder.
I'm more confused than sad I suppose. Eleven years completely thrown away like the Sunday paper. It was always one sided, but the fact that I was needed is what kept me firmly rooted. I was so lonely and despondent for so many years that any human connection made me feel like I could live another day. I hate to think that that was the foundation of our friendship was built upon though. We shared a lot of laughs, she shared a lot of tears and I cried for her alone when I went home at night. I honestly thought she'd never not be in my life. How did it come to this?
There wasn't any closure. It's been completely anti-climactic. Correspondance just stopped. I thought I did something wrong so I gave her some space then left her a voicemail wishing her a happy holiday season and saying I'd love to catch up with her. Nothing. I guess it really is over, but I still feel like someone's playing mindgames with me. It had to have been me. It was always my fault. Even when I didn't know something was wrong, it was my fault. That's just how we were. We went through far too much to let that be an insurmountable issue.
I grew up though. Part of me finally realized that how this relationship was functioning was completely bizarro. I want nothing more than to call her and squeal that I'm finally going to Europe, to plan one more roadtrip or spend one more night laying on the trampoline and laughing. We had so many dreams and plans and they all unraveled. I'd love to know why some day.
...that was depressing.
All things good.
29 March 2009
hast du etwas Zeit fuer mich??
I received my acceptance into the German language program in Kassel this past week. I was on cloud nine for about 12 hours before reality sunk in. I leave in two months. In that two month period it's already set in stone that I'll have finals, my research project, birthdays, graduations, communions, Bamboozle and MY birthday. This is not a lot of time. I am little stressed. I really shouldn't be, this is an amazing opportunity, but I'm overwhelmed with my school work alone nevermind the other day to day happenings that I deal with. Now I need to worry about the rest of my registration, orientation here in the states, meeting with a travel agent while surfing the interwebs for good airfare, meeting with financial aid and trying to get a sallie mae loan to make this all a wee bit easier on my purse strings for the moment and figuring out what the hell I pack so I don't look like a complete American idiot.
My parents, secretly aware of my abject poverty, took a train in to see me yesterday and bring groceries. It was a beautiful thing. My mom also brought me some crochet hooks and yarn and I've been making adorable headbands instead of doing my American Legal Systems midterm (that's due tomorrow). Priorities. It makes me feel a bit like Hello Kitty and that's always a lovely thing to feel.
I found the pattern HERE. Awesome blog!! I'm hooking myself up with some knitted handwarmers as soon as I finish out this blog. Again, I'm completely avoiding my midterm and all of the things I need to get done for Germany simply because I'm overwhelmed. How typical of me.
All things good.
My parents, secretly aware of my abject poverty, took a train in to see me yesterday and bring groceries. It was a beautiful thing. My mom also brought me some crochet hooks and yarn and I've been making adorable headbands instead of doing my American Legal Systems midterm (that's due tomorrow). Priorities. It makes me feel a bit like Hello Kitty and that's always a lovely thing to feel.
I found the pattern HERE. Awesome blog!! I'm hooking myself up with some knitted handwarmers as soon as I finish out this blog. Again, I'm completely avoiding my midterm and all of the things I need to get done for Germany simply because I'm overwhelmed. How typical of me.
All things good.
24 March 2009
--I never published this blog for some reason--
(THURSDAY MARCH NINETEENTH)
It's a rather cold and rainy day here in Gotham. I'm sitting here, staring out onto the soggy masses trudging along Lexington Ave. and feeling completely overwhelmed one moment and underwhelmed the next. There's an older gentleman in his office across the street with the whitest hair I have ever seen. It's like a beacon shining through this overcast gloom.I wonder if my hair will turn that white when I'm old or if it'll be wiry and salt and pepper. I'll be quite the tattooed granny me thinks. I hope have grandchildren. Lots of them, like my Nannie...or a Weasley.
My mind has been on overdrive lately. I feel like something in my life is missing and that this isn't where I'm supposed to be. I've once again become a vegetarian and for the first time it's based on ethical reasoning. The idea of eating another living thing just seems odd, the way they are farmed is barbaric and unsanitary and it's completely destroying out planet. The statistics are mind boggling and I can't ignore them any longer. The switch however is running concurrent with my annual Spring detox. My body is purging itself of these harmful wastes double time and I feel as sick as a dog. Every year I forget how miserable a detox initially makes you feel.
A few floors up there's a gentleman hanging his head out of an open window. I wonder what he's thinking about, if he's feeling as --whelmed as I am, if he's also scared of the future and the follicular changes it will bring. City living can make you feel mighty small sometimes. You begin to cling to any shred of connectivity with another being that you can find. A pigeon just landed on the windowsill and is staring quite intensely at me. Either that or he sees his reflection and is as vain as the rest of this city. I think I humanize animals too much. I blame cartoons.
There's this girl in my two evening classes that I've been observing since the beginning of the semester. The poor thing takes herself so seriously that I think she could turn coal to diamonds with her bum alone. I want to know what goes on in her head, what makes her tick. She likes to read really, really intense books, always making sure you can see the cover or spine and then laughs to herself. I suppose my use of "observe" is a little off as I find myself a bit obsessed with her. She took to shooting down all of my comments in lecture and I was immediately hooked. I suppose I've been so riveted by her because I am waiting for her to fail or make a fool of herself. Something, anything to break her facade because no man (or woman) is indeed an island. I need her to prove to me that she's human, but I don't know why. Strange, isn't it?
I had to write an essay about Opa for a $1000 grant to study in Germany. The dead grandfather card is always a good angle. As I wrote it though, I began to get really angry that her didn't uphold more customs and traditions and that he died so young. I'm not sure why I seemingly identify solely with my German heritage, perhaps because it's the biggest part of me or where I have the strongest living ties, but shouldn't being an American be enough? Shouldn't that make me whole?
(THURSDAY MARCH NINETEENTH)
It's a rather cold and rainy day here in Gotham. I'm sitting here, staring out onto the soggy masses trudging along Lexington Ave. and feeling completely overwhelmed one moment and underwhelmed the next. There's an older gentleman in his office across the street with the whitest hair I have ever seen. It's like a beacon shining through this overcast gloom.I wonder if my hair will turn that white when I'm old or if it'll be wiry and salt and pepper. I'll be quite the tattooed granny me thinks. I hope have grandchildren. Lots of them, like my Nannie...or a Weasley.
My mind has been on overdrive lately. I feel like something in my life is missing and that this isn't where I'm supposed to be. I've once again become a vegetarian and for the first time it's based on ethical reasoning. The idea of eating another living thing just seems odd, the way they are farmed is barbaric and unsanitary and it's completely destroying out planet. The statistics are mind boggling and I can't ignore them any longer. The switch however is running concurrent with my annual Spring detox. My body is purging itself of these harmful wastes double time and I feel as sick as a dog. Every year I forget how miserable a detox initially makes you feel.
A few floors up there's a gentleman hanging his head out of an open window. I wonder what he's thinking about, if he's feeling as --whelmed as I am, if he's also scared of the future and the follicular changes it will bring. City living can make you feel mighty small sometimes. You begin to cling to any shred of connectivity with another being that you can find. A pigeon just landed on the windowsill and is staring quite intensely at me. Either that or he sees his reflection and is as vain as the rest of this city. I think I humanize animals too much. I blame cartoons.
There's this girl in my two evening classes that I've been observing since the beginning of the semester. The poor thing takes herself so seriously that I think she could turn coal to diamonds with her bum alone. I want to know what goes on in her head, what makes her tick. She likes to read really, really intense books, always making sure you can see the cover or spine and then laughs to herself. I suppose my use of "observe" is a little off as I find myself a bit obsessed with her. She took to shooting down all of my comments in lecture and I was immediately hooked. I suppose I've been so riveted by her because I am waiting for her to fail or make a fool of herself. Something, anything to break her facade because no man (or woman) is indeed an island. I need her to prove to me that she's human, but I don't know why. Strange, isn't it?
I had to write an essay about Opa for a $1000 grant to study in Germany. The dead grandfather card is always a good angle. As I wrote it though, I began to get really angry that her didn't uphold more customs and traditions and that he died so young. I'm not sure why I seemingly identify solely with my German heritage, perhaps because it's the biggest part of me or where I have the strongest living ties, but shouldn't being an American be enough? Shouldn't that make me whole?
28 February 2009
Heavens I suck at blogging. The only reason I’m doing it now is to avoid the mountain of homework that’s sitting next to me.
The past month or so has been all consumed by school and a gnarly stomach virus. However, I did finally see Flogging Molly in concert and let me tell you, it might have been the best concert of my life. Yes, seeing David Bowie and Billy Joel were momentous moments but, there’s something about concerts at Madison Square Garden that always fall a bit short. I think it’s a lack of intimacy. Music is so passionate that when there’s any kind of disconnect it all becomes rather blasé, it’s still good, but could be so much better. Much like sex.
I’ve also figured out that if I take two summer class I’ll be right on target to graduate next Spring. It’s all very surreal. The prospect of graduation is so foreign that I can’t quite wrap my head around it.
Walking home from school the other night a woman in a motorcycle helmet and leather came out of a side door on 5th Ave. and scared the piss out of me. My schemata went berserk as I tried to figure out what she was and I distinctly remember placing her as the Repo Man from Repo! The Genetic Opera, a Nazi and a riot control officer. This all happened in a period of about 2 seconds and I must have noticeably flinched or gasped (probably both) because she stopped to look at me. Three blocks later my heartbeat returned to normal and my head was clear enough to realize that I am indeed, losing my mind.
My parents sent in groceries for me with a family friend today. I’ve never been so excited over a jar of mayonnaise before. Dancing along the borders of abject poverty does very strange things to a person.
All things good
The past month or so has been all consumed by school and a gnarly stomach virus. However, I did finally see Flogging Molly in concert and let me tell you, it might have been the best concert of my life. Yes, seeing David Bowie and Billy Joel were momentous moments but, there’s something about concerts at Madison Square Garden that always fall a bit short. I think it’s a lack of intimacy. Music is so passionate that when there’s any kind of disconnect it all becomes rather blasé, it’s still good, but could be so much better. Much like sex.
I’ve also figured out that if I take two summer class I’ll be right on target to graduate next Spring. It’s all very surreal. The prospect of graduation is so foreign that I can’t quite wrap my head around it.
Walking home from school the other night a woman in a motorcycle helmet and leather came out of a side door on 5th Ave. and scared the piss out of me. My schemata went berserk as I tried to figure out what she was and I distinctly remember placing her as the Repo Man from Repo! The Genetic Opera, a Nazi and a riot control officer. This all happened in a period of about 2 seconds and I must have noticeably flinched or gasped (probably both) because she stopped to look at me. Three blocks later my heartbeat returned to normal and my head was clear enough to realize that I am indeed, losing my mind.
My parents sent in groceries for me with a family friend today. I’ve never been so excited over a jar of mayonnaise before. Dancing along the borders of abject poverty does very strange things to a person.
All things good
28 January 2009
In rereading a blog from a week or so ago I came across the typo, “who’ve I’ve.” Most typos, while irritating don’t quite embarrass me, but this one’s a whopper and while I thought something was off about it, I didn’t necessarily pick it up right away. All I really can say right now is, “thank you Eastport for the fine education.”
Speaking of education (oh how I love a good segue!)… this semester may in fact lead to my untimely demise. Monday had me LOOKING FORWARD to going to German. Droll professors, ridiculous amounts of work, a sprint up 10 flights of stairs in order to make it to American Law on time… UGH! I haven’t even finished out my first week and I’m already pulling my hair out. On the plus side my 19th Century American Social History professor is pretty much me in 20 years. She’s primarily a 19th century NYC social historian and I started reading her book on foundlings and I’m in love. It’s the only class I’m super stoked about and thank god it’s the only class I have to write a gigantic research paper for. A research paper in which I can choose any 19th century topic that I want… this is not work for me, this is simply a night of curious inquiry. God, I’m pathetic.
I’ll keep this short and on the topic of education I suppose. I must depart now and go talk about the French Revolution with a professor that I’m pretty sure was, in fact at the Congress of Vienna. Then I’m going to sell a kidney on the black market so I can buy my books. True story.
All things good.
Speaking of education (oh how I love a good segue!)… this semester may in fact lead to my untimely demise. Monday had me LOOKING FORWARD to going to German. Droll professors, ridiculous amounts of work, a sprint up 10 flights of stairs in order to make it to American Law on time… UGH! I haven’t even finished out my first week and I’m already pulling my hair out. On the plus side my 19th Century American Social History professor is pretty much me in 20 years. She’s primarily a 19th century NYC social historian and I started reading her book on foundlings and I’m in love. It’s the only class I’m super stoked about and thank god it’s the only class I have to write a gigantic research paper for. A research paper in which I can choose any 19th century topic that I want… this is not work for me, this is simply a night of curious inquiry. God, I’m pathetic.
I’ll keep this short and on the topic of education I suppose. I must depart now and go talk about the French Revolution with a professor that I’m pretty sure was, in fact at the Congress of Vienna. Then I’m going to sell a kidney on the black market so I can buy my books. True story.
All things good.
19 January 2009
What's in a Name?
SCHMIDT
Surname Origin: German
Definition: An occupational surname for "blacksmith" or "metalworker," from the German word "schmied." The German equivalent of the English surname SMITH.
I need to address this growing phenomenon of my friends thinking me Jewish because I just don't understand it. This is not an 'at first glance' situation either. It's only starting to emerge years into friendship and I'm boggled. Have they simply not been listening as I've been regaling them with stories of teaching Catechism or my brief misadventures in Catholic school?
Many fall back on the old, "well Schmidt's a Jewish last name." SINCE WHEN? Yes, I know that due to persecution most German Jews changed their surnames many times over the centuries, but the closest to Jewish Schmidt has ever come is with "Goldschmidt." My last name IS NOT Goldschmidt. Is it simply because Schmidt is German? If that's the case why not think me spawned from the Nazi party? I am, after all a huge supporter of Socialism! Because that's pretty much what you're getting at, "oh well, she's got to be a Jew because she's too nice to be a Nazi." We all know that's what us Americans think about Germany; it's just the land of Nazis, Jews and David Hasselhoff sympathizers.
Then there's the ever popular "you just sound Jewish." What does a Jew sound like? Is this because I'm from Long Island? Yes, I know I have a disgusting accent and lay on the guilt whenever possible but this, I don't think, should be used as proof of my ethnic origins. I'm merely from Long Island and with that being said, why don't you think I'm Italian and Catholic? If you did that at least you'd be half right. Is it because I don't flat iron my hair, sausage my fat rolls into too tight clothing and proudly shout "JAEGAHBOMBS!!!" when I go out?
I'm also a fan of, "you speak Jewish." Oh, I do, do I? What language is Jewish exactly? Because I can tell you for certain I know naught of anything Hebraic. Is this in reference to my copious use of Yiddish? My exclamations of "OY VEY!" when I'm frustrated? Again, I must draw your attention to the fact that I use "Madonna mia!" just as frequently and I am NOT Italian. I'm from Long Island, folks, a place where both of these ethnic groups are so highly concentrated that it's nearly impossible for one to grow up in such an environment and escape untouched.
Also, my first name is Brittney. BRITTNEY. A name that didn't even become popular until the 1980's. In the Jewish faith it is customary (though not Jewish law) to name your child after a recently departed loved one or a living relative, depending on whether the family be Ashkenazic or Sephardic Jews respectively. Yes it's not law, yes there are those who don't follow this practice but, for anyone who's seen Fiddler on The Roof, you know Judaism is all about TRADITION. There is nothing traditional about the name Brittney, not even the spelling.
Perhaps I take for granted the fact that there are more Jews per square mile in NYC than in Israel and that I've grown up with Jewish friends and spent a lot of time in Jewish households but, I just don't see how so many people have mistaken my ethnic identity. Especially people who've known me for years!
Surname Origin: German
Definition: An occupational surname for "blacksmith" or "metalworker," from the German word "schmied." The German equivalent of the English surname SMITH.
I need to address this growing phenomenon of my friends thinking me Jewish because I just don't understand it. This is not an 'at first glance' situation either. It's only starting to emerge years into friendship and I'm boggled. Have they simply not been listening as I've been regaling them with stories of teaching Catechism or my brief misadventures in Catholic school?
Many fall back on the old, "well Schmidt's a Jewish last name." SINCE WHEN? Yes, I know that due to persecution most German Jews changed their surnames many times over the centuries, but the closest to Jewish Schmidt has ever come is with "Goldschmidt." My last name IS NOT Goldschmidt. Is it simply because Schmidt is German? If that's the case why not think me spawned from the Nazi party? I am, after all a huge supporter of Socialism! Because that's pretty much what you're getting at, "oh well, she's got to be a Jew because she's too nice to be a Nazi." We all know that's what us Americans think about Germany; it's just the land of Nazis, Jews and David Hasselhoff sympathizers.
Then there's the ever popular "you just sound Jewish." What does a Jew sound like? Is this because I'm from Long Island? Yes, I know I have a disgusting accent and lay on the guilt whenever possible but this, I don't think, should be used as proof of my ethnic origins. I'm merely from Long Island and with that being said, why don't you think I'm Italian and Catholic? If you did that at least you'd be half right. Is it because I don't flat iron my hair, sausage my fat rolls into too tight clothing and proudly shout "JAEGAHBOMBS!!!" when I go out?
I'm also a fan of, "you speak Jewish." Oh, I do, do I? What language is Jewish exactly? Because I can tell you for certain I know naught of anything Hebraic. Is this in reference to my copious use of Yiddish? My exclamations of "OY VEY!" when I'm frustrated? Again, I must draw your attention to the fact that I use "Madonna mia!" just as frequently and I am NOT Italian. I'm from Long Island, folks, a place where both of these ethnic groups are so highly concentrated that it's nearly impossible for one to grow up in such an environment and escape untouched.
Also, my first name is Brittney. BRITTNEY. A name that didn't even become popular until the 1980's. In the Jewish faith it is customary (though not Jewish law) to name your child after a recently departed loved one or a living relative, depending on whether the family be Ashkenazic or Sephardic Jews respectively. Yes it's not law, yes there are those who don't follow this practice but, for anyone who's seen Fiddler on The Roof, you know Judaism is all about TRADITION. There is nothing traditional about the name Brittney, not even the spelling.
Perhaps I take for granted the fact that there are more Jews per square mile in NYC than in Israel and that I've grown up with Jewish friends and spent a lot of time in Jewish households but, I just don't see how so many people have mistaken my ethnic identity. Especially people who've known me for years!
18 January 2009
Genetic Opera and a New Year Resolution
Oh what a horrible blogger I am. It's not that I don't have anything to say, it's simply that everything to say seems too inconsequential to be littering the interwebs. Oh dear, perhaps it's time for me to put on The Cure and whine some more about feeling insignificant. Where did this all come from? I'm appalled.
Let's turn this post around before I get emo about the new year and talk about something a smidge more upbeat. Friday night we bundled up and ran to the Port Authority to catch a bus to New Jersey. Why, you may ask? Well let me explain; for one night, a cinema in Rutherford was showing "Repo! The Genetic Opera" and there was no way in hell we were missing it again. So, after almost missing our bus and 45 minutes of standing in the blistering cold all while singing Vanessa Hudgens' 'Sneakernight' to keep our minds off of the onsetting hypothermia we were finally settled into the equally frigid venue and giddy with anticipation. (Yes, I'm aware that saying we were giddy makes us look like douchetools but, you can't hide from the truth.)
This movie has been on our radar for quite some time now and I'm not sure why we didn't go and see it when it was released here, but again, we're douchetools, simple as that. We may or may not have illegally downloaded it though. THAT'S BESIDES THE POINT -- point is that this movie is BRILLIANT. Do you know how you can tell? When something stirs up such a rabid fanbase that people show up in costume and begin to form shadowcasts, that's the markings of something lasting and brilliant. Like pretty much everyone else who've I've talked to about this movie, I agree that it's well on its way to being the RHPS for a new generation. It's been a while since us outcasted little freaks had something of this magnitude to cling to.
It's out on DVD Tuesday, go buy it. Even if it's just to watch Paris Hilton's face fall off.
Now on to other matters.
The holidays are finally over, the new year has begun, we get a new President this week and I feel no different than I did previously. Talk about a bummer. I should be excited or at least a bit more upbeat, no? When did I become such a cynic? When did I let the man get me down? Regardless, January is already on its way out and I only have another week before school starts up again. Let's see if I can turn this frown upside down.
As far as resolutions go, I guess I don't really make resolutions as much as set goals. Hmm, that doesn't make sence seeing as a resolution is essentially a goal so nevermind. Last years resolution was to procure and master the ukulele. I'm glad to say It was accomplished before May and I spent the rest of the year annoying and amusing all those around me. This years resolution will be learning to yodel. Why you ask? Well, why not? It's slightly more obnoxious than the uke and what a great party trick it will be!
Let's turn this post around before I get emo about the new year and talk about something a smidge more upbeat. Friday night we bundled up and ran to the Port Authority to catch a bus to New Jersey. Why, you may ask? Well let me explain; for one night, a cinema in Rutherford was showing "Repo! The Genetic Opera" and there was no way in hell we were missing it again. So, after almost missing our bus and 45 minutes of standing in the blistering cold all while singing Vanessa Hudgens' 'Sneakernight' to keep our minds off of the onsetting hypothermia we were finally settled into the equally frigid venue and giddy with anticipation. (Yes, I'm aware that saying we were giddy makes us look like douchetools but, you can't hide from the truth.)
This movie has been on our radar for quite some time now and I'm not sure why we didn't go and see it when it was released here, but again, we're douchetools, simple as that. We may or may not have illegally downloaded it though. THAT'S BESIDES THE POINT -- point is that this movie is BRILLIANT. Do you know how you can tell? When something stirs up such a rabid fanbase that people show up in costume and begin to form shadowcasts, that's the markings of something lasting and brilliant. Like pretty much everyone else who've I've talked to about this movie, I agree that it's well on its way to being the RHPS for a new generation. It's been a while since us outcasted little freaks had something of this magnitude to cling to.
It's out on DVD Tuesday, go buy it. Even if it's just to watch Paris Hilton's face fall off.
Now on to other matters.
The holidays are finally over, the new year has begun, we get a new President this week and I feel no different than I did previously. Talk about a bummer. I should be excited or at least a bit more upbeat, no? When did I become such a cynic? When did I let the man get me down? Regardless, January is already on its way out and I only have another week before school starts up again. Let's see if I can turn this frown upside down.
As far as resolutions go, I guess I don't really make resolutions as much as set goals. Hmm, that doesn't make sence seeing as a resolution is essentially a goal so nevermind. Last years resolution was to procure and master the ukulele. I'm glad to say It was accomplished before May and I spent the rest of the year annoying and amusing all those around me. This years resolution will be learning to yodel. Why you ask? Well, why not? It's slightly more obnoxious than the uke and what a great party trick it will be!
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