I have a ginormous head ache. It's pretty great. I'm also really bored and should be doing things besides writing this (which seems to be a common theme among the beginnings of my posts) but too bad. So I'm just going to write and see where this goes.
The sunset outside my window is pretty incredible right now. It's mostly orange surrounded by some dark gray-ish purple and them some yellow clouds overhead. I don't know what I did to deserve this view, but maybe I was a good child in some universe.
There was once a child who tried to be a good kid, but everything he did was entirely wrong, because people just didn't understand what he was trying to do. They said, "No, no kid. That's not how good people behave, why aren't you doing the right thing?" But they just didn't understand. Because somehow the "right thing" became a social norm in which trying to ignore all the problems of the world was good. The kid didn't want to ignore the problems, so he tried his gosh darn hardest to fix them all one by one. Soon, though, the kid realized that his futile efforts were being wasted, because no one else could understand what he did. They shunned him, they exiled him, and the kid grew up on an island all alone.
I wore a dress today, because dresses and nice clothes are supposed to make you feel good about yourself. But it's kind of weird when people who normally mostly just ignore you randomly come up to you and say, "Wow! You look so nice today!" I know it's supposed to seem like a compliment, but it kind of just makes me feel like they usually think I look like a hobo. But I also don't care. I like how I look. I also went to dinner today wearing my dress, because I was too lazy to change, and tennis shoes, because my feet hurt from wearing nice shoes all day, and an old high school jacket, because it was raining and I needed pockets. And I didn't even care that people probably thought I was a super weirdie. So that's a plus on the self-esteem side of things.
But his island was the best place on earth. There was no hunger or pain or danger or hatred or indifference. There was only the kid and his pets and his love of the world. Soon, though, the kid was lonely, and he missed his abilities to help people. He felt the poorness of the world growing and knew there was nothing he could do because he was stuck on the island.
I should draw more. I don't even like drawing. I like doodling though, which is like the baby version of doodling. It's pretty great, even though I hate it when my notebooks are filled with random scribbles. I need a special notebook that I can just doodle in. And I need colorful pens to make everything more colorful. If someone wanted to get me those for my birthday, that would be pretty great.
He decided that he would use his new found magical powers to transport his island to a place where people didn't take helping others for granted. He waved his unicorn's horn above the island and the magic filled the air, swirling and dancing above the lush purple leaves of the Jenaple trees. The island took off from the water as if it were a helicopter. All the people who had exiled the kid stared in wonder and awe as the inexplicable kid flew his paradise to a new land.
Do you know what I'm about? I'll tell you. I'm about happiness and if not that then contentedness. I'm about tolerance. I'm about playing with children and making sure my brothers always think I'm weird, even if I don't talk to them everyday. I'm about thinking about things. I'm about worrying about things that won't matter a year from now. I'm about Spanish. I'm about figuring out how to tell people I love them, even if it's scary. I'm about grammar. I'm about learning and teaching and helping. I'm about working hard but making sure it's fun to sit still. I'm about music and wonder. I'm about toast (occasionally) and butter. I'm about judging in a completely not judgmental way. I'm about forgiveness and remembering. I'm about keeping the best friends I have. I'm about magic. Mostly about magic.
They begged and pleaded and screamed and cried for him to land his island. They wanted to share his magic, they finally understood what he meant by trying to be good. But the kid just shook his head sadly. He knew they would never be able to fully appreciate his magic and his words, because they had not yet lost their most fatal flaw. He almost took pity on the people, but there was nothing he would ever be able to do for them. He knew they had to come to the understanding, not through a magic which certainly could have cured their shallowness, but through their own suffering.
I think I've lost a lot of my clothes since coming to college eight-ish months ago. I was looking for shorts to change into, when I, you know, finally decided that sitting in a dress wasn't comfortable enough, but I could not find them. I know I brought like three pairs to school, and I could not find a single one and I was about to start dying, but then it turns out they were hiding at the front of my drawer. Which makes no sense, because I haven't worn shorts for a bunch of months, so why would they be at the front, riddle me this, Joker??
As he left the farthest corner of the land, he heard the faintest cry, the words of a little girl. She said, "Kid, I'll never stop looking for you." He peered over the edge of his island, and the girl, holding a tiny green balloon, missing all but her two front teeth, waved a tiny hand. "Kid, I'll never not believe in the goodness," she said. And he smiled back at her, revealing a grin of only two front teeth.
I wish I liked singing and dancing in front of other people. That would make life a lot more easier/funner maybe. Maybe people would think I like having fun! Maybe you don't need to sing and dance to have fun. Maybe that's a culturally perpetuated stereotype that we should be breaking down through sociology. Maybe I should be praised for my timidness.
He was not a kid anymore. He knew the world he was leaving would be safe in the new kid's hands.
You're the new kid.
Wednesday, May 6, 2015
Friday, May 1, 2015
How To: Surrealism
It's been a very strange week this week. For example, I thought that I had written a post just, like, yesterday. But it turns out that it was actually sixteen days ago. The fact that sixteen days ago feels like yesterday begins to concern me.
So, I shall now tell you how to deal with some of the surreal situations you might encounter. Please do exactly as I say, no more no less, lest you die. On the scale of things that are bad that can happen to you, dying is at the tippy-top.
Perhaps you have entered the kitchen of your college or university, and perhaps you see, so nicely, placed upon a tray, two legs. Yes. Legs. And they're probably, like, legs of lamb, or something that someone was once planning on cooking and serving to the unsuspecting students, but for right now, they sit, staring at you, whispering, "Why can we no longer walk, Jen? What has happened to us?" And you just don't even know what's going on, because they've been there for like three hours. To solve this problem, I recommend ignorance. Yes. Simply don't look at them, ever. Ever ever ever. Pretend like they don't exist. The end.
And let me introduce you to another scenario. Pretend you have always worked with a person, and you've always assumed her name is Joyce. Joyce, however, occasionally wears the name tag of Denise. But you know she is Joyce just the same. And so one day you go to work and say hi to Joyce as she passes you by, and as you round the corner, THERE JOYCE STANDS ONCE AGAIN. But you swear you just passed her, and you look back and indeed, Joyce is on the other side of the wall, but Joyce is also in front of you looking at you strangely, as if she knows that you've just discovered her secret. But the Joyce in front of you has "Denise" pinned upon her shirt. And it occurs to you that there must be two of them. That in fact one Joyce must be named Denise, and they just look exactly the same. To solve this problem, I recommend ignorance. Yes. Simply don't look at them, ever. Ever ever ever. Pretend like they don't exist. The end.
Now pretend that you knew a person. And you really liked and respected this person, and they were a pretty great friend, and you liked to help them and talk to them and do the things with them. But all of a sudden, they began doing the not things. They began earning your disrespect and you find yourself at odds, because parts of you still think they're worth it, but most of you knows that they're just going to be pulling you down into the quicksand of pain and worry and you should just let them go, because the things they do, they're just not worth your brain and heart power. And you feel sad. To solve this problem, I recommend ignorance. Yes. Simply don't look at them, ever. Ever ever ever. Pretend like they don't exist. The end.
On to less scary things, children of mine.
Pretend like you were taking a shower, and you brought your clothes with you, because you're not about wandering around the hallway mostly naked except for a towel. But then pretend, all of a sudden there are five people waiting in line for the shower, and you definitely should hurry the heck up. So you finish and you try and bolt out of there as fast as you can, except you're mostly freaking out about having no clothes on. And people think you're weird and you can't handle your brain. To solve this problem, I recommend wearing clothes all the time. Even while showering.
Pretend your favorite chef has just yelled your name. Pretend that she wants help removing some of the pans that she has just taken from the pan rack, because they have holes in them to, you know, help drain water and things from them. But she doesn't want them. "I don't want the holey ones, Jen. I can't cook bacon on the holey ones!" And then she leaves and you have no idea what happened. To solve this problem, I recommend laughter. Laughter is the only thing you can do in these situations. Holey trays filled with bacon.
Pretend you had such a lovely week and that none of these strange things happened to you. Because they all happened to me, and them happening to just one person is enough for the entire world. Don't forget to not die. I'm opposed to dying! And I'm opposed to you dying! So there! Camilo Canegato would be proud of you. Just kidding. He basically killed someone. Yet another surreal experience! Poor Camilo, je je.
So, I shall now tell you how to deal with some of the surreal situations you might encounter. Please do exactly as I say, no more no less, lest you die. On the scale of things that are bad that can happen to you, dying is at the tippy-top.
Perhaps you have entered the kitchen of your college or university, and perhaps you see, so nicely, placed upon a tray, two legs. Yes. Legs. And they're probably, like, legs of lamb, or something that someone was once planning on cooking and serving to the unsuspecting students, but for right now, they sit, staring at you, whispering, "Why can we no longer walk, Jen? What has happened to us?" And you just don't even know what's going on, because they've been there for like three hours. To solve this problem, I recommend ignorance. Yes. Simply don't look at them, ever. Ever ever ever. Pretend like they don't exist. The end.
And let me introduce you to another scenario. Pretend you have always worked with a person, and you've always assumed her name is Joyce. Joyce, however, occasionally wears the name tag of Denise. But you know she is Joyce just the same. And so one day you go to work and say hi to Joyce as she passes you by, and as you round the corner, THERE JOYCE STANDS ONCE AGAIN. But you swear you just passed her, and you look back and indeed, Joyce is on the other side of the wall, but Joyce is also in front of you looking at you strangely, as if she knows that you've just discovered her secret. But the Joyce in front of you has "Denise" pinned upon her shirt. And it occurs to you that there must be two of them. That in fact one Joyce must be named Denise, and they just look exactly the same. To solve this problem, I recommend ignorance. Yes. Simply don't look at them, ever. Ever ever ever. Pretend like they don't exist. The end.
Now pretend that you knew a person. And you really liked and respected this person, and they were a pretty great friend, and you liked to help them and talk to them and do the things with them. But all of a sudden, they began doing the not things. They began earning your disrespect and you find yourself at odds, because parts of you still think they're worth it, but most of you knows that they're just going to be pulling you down into the quicksand of pain and worry and you should just let them go, because the things they do, they're just not worth your brain and heart power. And you feel sad. To solve this problem, I recommend ignorance. Yes. Simply don't look at them, ever. Ever ever ever. Pretend like they don't exist. The end.
On to less scary things, children of mine.
Pretend like you were taking a shower, and you brought your clothes with you, because you're not about wandering around the hallway mostly naked except for a towel. But then pretend, all of a sudden there are five people waiting in line for the shower, and you definitely should hurry the heck up. So you finish and you try and bolt out of there as fast as you can, except you're mostly freaking out about having no clothes on. And people think you're weird and you can't handle your brain. To solve this problem, I recommend wearing clothes all the time. Even while showering.
Pretend your favorite chef has just yelled your name. Pretend that she wants help removing some of the pans that she has just taken from the pan rack, because they have holes in them to, you know, help drain water and things from them. But she doesn't want them. "I don't want the holey ones, Jen. I can't cook bacon on the holey ones!" And then she leaves and you have no idea what happened. To solve this problem, I recommend laughter. Laughter is the only thing you can do in these situations. Holey trays filled with bacon.
Pretend you had such a lovely week and that none of these strange things happened to you. Because they all happened to me, and them happening to just one person is enough for the entire world. Don't forget to not die. I'm opposed to dying! And I'm opposed to you dying! So there! Camilo Canegato would be proud of you. Just kidding. He basically killed someone. Yet another surreal experience! Poor Camilo, je je.
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
How To: Have a Writing Career
A short anecdote by me:
So, I began writing a super long time ago. Like, probably when I was 4 or 5. I mean, you've seen that story I wrote with my brother when we were but wee ones. However, I like to think that I've improved since then.
I used to just have notebooks filled with random thoughts and things that would make good stories, but somehow, there always just happened to be a thing that was like, "All your stories are weird and no one would read them so you might as well stop writing because they're horrible." That's basically what my internal monologue is for a lot of stuff, actually, and it takes a lot of work to combat that stupid little voice.
In sixth grade, I wrote this story, and it was about a girl who kept being abducted, but then she found out that aliens were protecting her, but the aliens were really confusing and the people trying to kill/kidnap her were really evil and she had to get a little tiny baby alien to protect her as her personal body guard, and it was actually a really good story.
I'm pretty sure that I deleted it.
Unless it's miraculously saved on some flash drive somewhere, that 60 pages of writing by 11 year old me is gone forever.
That stupid little voice is why I have more than fifteen first ten pages of stories on my computer that I never look at again because they suddenly sound stupid in my head after I come back to write some more.
I think (know) that middle school made me stop writing. Suddenly people were grading my work, suddenly I didn't have enough time to think up my own plots, suddenly there was no extra space in my brain. I told myself that if I could just get through middle school, I would have plenty of time to write in high school. Ha. Yeah, that didn't happen.
And then, it was "get through high school and write in college!" And that's kind of happening. I write a blog. But it's not the same. But maybe some people aren't meant to write stories.
The fact that the last two years of my English classes have basically been people telling me that everything I write is bad doesn't really help this situation either.
Somehow, though, I think that all the people who ever try to write go through this process of WHY IS EVERYTHING I WRITE HORRIBLE AND WHY DO I SOUND LIKE A CAVE PERSON WHEN I READ THIS STUFF? Maybe that's the point. Maybe we can't be great at something unless we dedicate large amounts of time and effort and practice to it, unless you're born some kind of genius child. And I don't think I'm willing to spend my life writing. Actually, I would be, but I just don't think I'm good enough. I'm looking for something I'm good enough at.
Sometimes, I'll have these brilliant ideas or even just sentences that could be the perfect beginning or end to a story, but inevitably I'll be walking around campus or hiking through trees and won't have anything to transcribe my thoughts. Why can't I ever have thoughts when I'm at my desk or in class where I have an ample supply of paper?? Oh, right. Because indoors and education drag creativity back into the dark abyss of anti-individuality where everything must be the same and equal so we can all pass a test, goodness knows that's the most important measure of your abilities, so you gosh darn better not have an original idea about anything.
I'm very jealous of all the people who know how to write stories. You should teach me. But for now, I'll settle for this strange blog on which I share all my thoughts about thoughts. It can sustain me and my creative endeavors.
Mostly, I just hope I don't give up something that once made me so happy and excited (and still sometimes does!) just because I feel like I'm not good enough. I'm trying to learn to write for me and not my stupid little internal voice that hates things. That's not me. I'm better than that! Yeah! Optimist!
So, I began writing a super long time ago. Like, probably when I was 4 or 5. I mean, you've seen that story I wrote with my brother when we were but wee ones. However, I like to think that I've improved since then.
I used to just have notebooks filled with random thoughts and things that would make good stories, but somehow, there always just happened to be a thing that was like, "All your stories are weird and no one would read them so you might as well stop writing because they're horrible." That's basically what my internal monologue is for a lot of stuff, actually, and it takes a lot of work to combat that stupid little voice.
In sixth grade, I wrote this story, and it was about a girl who kept being abducted, but then she found out that aliens were protecting her, but the aliens were really confusing and the people trying to kill/kidnap her were really evil and she had to get a little tiny baby alien to protect her as her personal body guard, and it was actually a really good story.
I'm pretty sure that I deleted it.
Unless it's miraculously saved on some flash drive somewhere, that 60 pages of writing by 11 year old me is gone forever.
That stupid little voice is why I have more than fifteen first ten pages of stories on my computer that I never look at again because they suddenly sound stupid in my head after I come back to write some more.
I think (know) that middle school made me stop writing. Suddenly people were grading my work, suddenly I didn't have enough time to think up my own plots, suddenly there was no extra space in my brain. I told myself that if I could just get through middle school, I would have plenty of time to write in high school. Ha. Yeah, that didn't happen.
And then, it was "get through high school and write in college!" And that's kind of happening. I write a blog. But it's not the same. But maybe some people aren't meant to write stories.
The fact that the last two years of my English classes have basically been people telling me that everything I write is bad doesn't really help this situation either.
Somehow, though, I think that all the people who ever try to write go through this process of WHY IS EVERYTHING I WRITE HORRIBLE AND WHY DO I SOUND LIKE A CAVE PERSON WHEN I READ THIS STUFF? Maybe that's the point. Maybe we can't be great at something unless we dedicate large amounts of time and effort and practice to it, unless you're born some kind of genius child. And I don't think I'm willing to spend my life writing. Actually, I would be, but I just don't think I'm good enough. I'm looking for something I'm good enough at.
Sometimes, I'll have these brilliant ideas or even just sentences that could be the perfect beginning or end to a story, but inevitably I'll be walking around campus or hiking through trees and won't have anything to transcribe my thoughts. Why can't I ever have thoughts when I'm at my desk or in class where I have an ample supply of paper?? Oh, right. Because indoors and education drag creativity back into the dark abyss of anti-individuality where everything must be the same and equal so we can all pass a test, goodness knows that's the most important measure of your abilities, so you gosh darn better not have an original idea about anything.
I'm very jealous of all the people who know how to write stories. You should teach me. But for now, I'll settle for this strange blog on which I share all my thoughts about thoughts. It can sustain me and my creative endeavors.
Mostly, I just hope I don't give up something that once made me so happy and excited (and still sometimes does!) just because I feel like I'm not good enough. I'm trying to learn to write for me and not my stupid little internal voice that hates things. That's not me. I'm better than that! Yeah! Optimist!
Monday, April 13, 2015
Random Thoughts with Me
That's because I don't really have anything that can be written about for an entire post, even though--YES I KNOW I HAVEN'T WRITTEN IN FOREVER SORRY FOR FIGURING OUT HOW TO HAVE A SOCIAL LIFE IN COLLEGE--I've been away for so long. So here are a collection of things that I've been thinking about since I've not been writing.
1. Today I had to watch a movie for my scholar's class tomorrow. It was about a guy who walked the tight rope between the Twin Towers. And they tried to make it less scary by playing calming flute music over all the terrifying footage of the guy tilting and swaying 200 feet above the ground, but in my head I just scream: BE CAREFUL PHILIPPE, YOU'RE GONNA DIE. THERE'S A REASON NORMAL PEOPLE DON'T WALK ON TIGHT ROPES WITHOUT NETS.
2. Also, a lot of this movie is in French, and so as I read the subtitles, there's one part where Philippe says, "Out of frustration, I took all my clothes off." I'm kind of hoping this was just a phrase that couldn't be correctly translated from French to English, but at the same time, I hope this was what he actually said.
3. At work last Friday, I got assigned to work a serving line that I don't usually work, because there are never enough workers on Fridays. Anyway, this line is the one where you get to cut up giant chunks of meat into little slices. But since I'm not supposed to work it, I was excited when this other guy came to replace me so I could go back to my normal job! But apparently, he didn't really know what he was supposed to do. So I showed him, but I was really weird about it, because that's who I am. And somehow, knowing how to do something that other people don't know how to do gives me weird confidence. So this is how I instructed him: "FIRST!" I said, scarily, "you need to put on this plastic glove. THEN! You put on this cutting glove and your hand will get all gross and weird and it might fall off. THEN! You put on this other plastic glove. Then you take this giant chunk of meat and drop it here and then you SLICE IT LIKE IT'S DONE EVIL. Do you think you can handle that?" And then, I don't know why, he just looked at me like I was really weird. So I left him to fend for himself. The weirdie.
4. I'm thinking about getting a pet turtle.
5. Then again, that thought really isn't a new thought. I'm basically always thinking about getting a pet turtle.
6. Someone made a comment about marching band the other day, and made me kind of frustrated. I'm not even in marching band anymore, but that doesn't mean that I didn't dedicate of 1,000 hours of my life to it in high school. The comment went something like, "Why do schools give so much money to the marching band? They get to buy new tubas and we only got new uniforms two years ago!" Okay, this may have been an exaggeration, but the point is the same. So, strange comment maker, allow me to say some things. 1. In our band lobby in high school, there were pictures from 1999 in which the people were wearing the same uniforms that they wear today. If I can do some math here (which I maybe can't but I'll try), that means we've had the same uniforms for 16 years. That's 8 times more years than you. Also, tubas are expensive, and we don't buy new ones. We get to use rented ones from someone else, if we're lucky. I feel like I have more things to say about this. Maybe I should make this topic an entire post sometime. Okay.
7. Do you know how hard it is to shop for clothes? Maybe that's just me. I don't know. But inevitably I end up buying two of the same thing in different colors just because I found something that I like, finally, after being in the store for like three hours. Just kidding. You probably couldn't force me to be in a store for three hours. ALSO: I was trying to buy a swimsuit, and they're all called things like "Sexy Swimsuit for Women" or "Sexy Red Swimsuit with Cats" like, maybe I just wanted to buy a normal swimsuit that doesn't make me feel weird about either purchasing or wearing it. Can that be a thing? Not that being sexy is weird. Oh, gosh, now that I've offended all the people.....
8. I have to go eat dinner. I wonder if there's anything delicious.... Stay tuned to see if I survive! (It might be a couple of weeks, the way this is going so far...)
1. Today I had to watch a movie for my scholar's class tomorrow. It was about a guy who walked the tight rope between the Twin Towers. And they tried to make it less scary by playing calming flute music over all the terrifying footage of the guy tilting and swaying 200 feet above the ground, but in my head I just scream: BE CAREFUL PHILIPPE, YOU'RE GONNA DIE. THERE'S A REASON NORMAL PEOPLE DON'T WALK ON TIGHT ROPES WITHOUT NETS.
2. Also, a lot of this movie is in French, and so as I read the subtitles, there's one part where Philippe says, "Out of frustration, I took all my clothes off." I'm kind of hoping this was just a phrase that couldn't be correctly translated from French to English, but at the same time, I hope this was what he actually said.
3. At work last Friday, I got assigned to work a serving line that I don't usually work, because there are never enough workers on Fridays. Anyway, this line is the one where you get to cut up giant chunks of meat into little slices. But since I'm not supposed to work it, I was excited when this other guy came to replace me so I could go back to my normal job! But apparently, he didn't really know what he was supposed to do. So I showed him, but I was really weird about it, because that's who I am. And somehow, knowing how to do something that other people don't know how to do gives me weird confidence. So this is how I instructed him: "FIRST!" I said, scarily, "you need to put on this plastic glove. THEN! You put on this cutting glove and your hand will get all gross and weird and it might fall off. THEN! You put on this other plastic glove. Then you take this giant chunk of meat and drop it here and then you SLICE IT LIKE IT'S DONE EVIL. Do you think you can handle that?" And then, I don't know why, he just looked at me like I was really weird. So I left him to fend for himself. The weirdie.
4. I'm thinking about getting a pet turtle.
5. Then again, that thought really isn't a new thought. I'm basically always thinking about getting a pet turtle.
6. Someone made a comment about marching band the other day, and made me kind of frustrated. I'm not even in marching band anymore, but that doesn't mean that I didn't dedicate of 1,000 hours of my life to it in high school. The comment went something like, "Why do schools give so much money to the marching band? They get to buy new tubas and we only got new uniforms two years ago!" Okay, this may have been an exaggeration, but the point is the same. So, strange comment maker, allow me to say some things. 1. In our band lobby in high school, there were pictures from 1999 in which the people were wearing the same uniforms that they wear today. If I can do some math here (which I maybe can't but I'll try), that means we've had the same uniforms for 16 years. That's 8 times more years than you. Also, tubas are expensive, and we don't buy new ones. We get to use rented ones from someone else, if we're lucky. I feel like I have more things to say about this. Maybe I should make this topic an entire post sometime. Okay.
7. Do you know how hard it is to shop for clothes? Maybe that's just me. I don't know. But inevitably I end up buying two of the same thing in different colors just because I found something that I like, finally, after being in the store for like three hours. Just kidding. You probably couldn't force me to be in a store for three hours. ALSO: I was trying to buy a swimsuit, and they're all called things like "Sexy Swimsuit for Women" or "Sexy Red Swimsuit with Cats" like, maybe I just wanted to buy a normal swimsuit that doesn't make me feel weird about either purchasing or wearing it. Can that be a thing? Not that being sexy is weird. Oh, gosh, now that I've offended all the people.....
8. I have to go eat dinner. I wonder if there's anything delicious.... Stay tuned to see if I survive! (It might be a couple of weeks, the way this is going so far...)
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
How To: Chalkboards
You would think, this being the age of technology and computers and basically mind reading, that a college that charges upward of $45,000 a year to attend and use its facilities could find the place in its budget for upgrading from the typical, probably antique chalkboard to a more user friendly, technologically advanced whiteboard. But no. That would just be too practical.
And you don't learn practicality at college.
You learn other life skills, like the sound [f] is a voiceless labiodental fricative.
Or that sometimes the adjectives go in front of the noun in Spanish, but only if the adjective is not comparative, or if it is subjective to the person describing said noun.
Or that in some Hindu philosophy, everything is the same thing, and everything is different things, all at the same time.
But practicality? Nope. Never. Who would ever need to learn things like self-discipline or efficiency or time management or how to cook something besides eggs, all things that come with learning practicality?
It wouldn't be that hard, college! To teach us how to be practical. All it would take on your part is showing that chalkboards are a thing of the past, and that you understand that having a more efficient writing surface in your classrooms is the PRACTICAL thing to do.
Now, to be fair, I'm not sure if buildings like, say, the science and math buildings, have whiteboards. I don't really have classes in there. But if they do, then I refuse to be fair anymore, because this is going to turn into a rant about why society places higher value on math and science and engineering and "things that take real brain power" than English and history and languages and humanities, even though you better know how to read and write and talk before you know how to do high level calculus if you want to get along in society, but that's besides the point. And maybe freaking out about math getting whiteboards long before the languages even get to know what a whiteboard is is not the best way to draw attention to this strangely inequitable divide that has haunted me through most of my high school career and all of my college career, but you have to start somewhere. But anyway. I was talking about chalkboards.
So, the classrooms I frequent are generally not equipped with such grand technology. I don't know if you remember this (because you'd probably have to be alive during the Middle Ages), but chalk is not the most pleasant of substances. It's all dusty, and if you do it wrong, it makes hideous, eardrum shattering noises. And, did I mention that it's dusty? There's no good way to get it off of your person. Either you leave it on your hands and suffer through having scary, probably flammable chalk dust all over your important appendages, or you wipe it off on your clothes, and then people laugh at you all day because you have white splotches all over your otherwise excellent appearance.
Or, of course, you could just leave the room to go wash your hands, but the bathroom is probably six floors away, because whoever designed the building decided that it was only necessary to have one bathroom in the entire place. (Did I mention that this building was the languages building, not the math one, which happens to have bathrooms galore? Oh, sorry. Off topic again.) But then you waste precious class time. And you're basically paying for all that class time, class time that you had to spend in a bathroom, washing terrifying chalk dust off your hands because your in danger of being too expensive college REFUSES TO BUY WHITEBOARDS FOR YOU.
Is this a sign that I care too much about little things? I don't know. Maybe. But maybe the little things make all the difference.
Here. Advice to the children who are choosing a college right now: Disregard everything else about the college of your choice, and go make sure it has whiteboards in every single classroom. Do it. Do it now. Drive to your college and break into the buildings and check out the whiteboard situation. Once you've done that, then go back to all your other requirements. Trust me, though. Whiteboards can make or break your day.
Just make sure you break them before they break you.
And you don't learn practicality at college.
You learn other life skills, like the sound [f] is a voiceless labiodental fricative.
Or that sometimes the adjectives go in front of the noun in Spanish, but only if the adjective is not comparative, or if it is subjective to the person describing said noun.
Or that in some Hindu philosophy, everything is the same thing, and everything is different things, all at the same time.
But practicality? Nope. Never. Who would ever need to learn things like self-discipline or efficiency or time management or how to cook something besides eggs, all things that come with learning practicality?
It wouldn't be that hard, college! To teach us how to be practical. All it would take on your part is showing that chalkboards are a thing of the past, and that you understand that having a more efficient writing surface in your classrooms is the PRACTICAL thing to do.
Now, to be fair, I'm not sure if buildings like, say, the science and math buildings, have whiteboards. I don't really have classes in there. But if they do, then I refuse to be fair anymore, because this is going to turn into a rant about why society places higher value on math and science and engineering and "things that take real brain power" than English and history and languages and humanities, even though you better know how to read and write and talk before you know how to do high level calculus if you want to get along in society, but that's besides the point. And maybe freaking out about math getting whiteboards long before the languages even get to know what a whiteboard is is not the best way to draw attention to this strangely inequitable divide that has haunted me through most of my high school career and all of my college career, but you have to start somewhere. But anyway. I was talking about chalkboards.
So, the classrooms I frequent are generally not equipped with such grand technology. I don't know if you remember this (because you'd probably have to be alive during the Middle Ages), but chalk is not the most pleasant of substances. It's all dusty, and if you do it wrong, it makes hideous, eardrum shattering noises. And, did I mention that it's dusty? There's no good way to get it off of your person. Either you leave it on your hands and suffer through having scary, probably flammable chalk dust all over your important appendages, or you wipe it off on your clothes, and then people laugh at you all day because you have white splotches all over your otherwise excellent appearance.
Or, of course, you could just leave the room to go wash your hands, but the bathroom is probably six floors away, because whoever designed the building decided that it was only necessary to have one bathroom in the entire place. (Did I mention that this building was the languages building, not the math one, which happens to have bathrooms galore? Oh, sorry. Off topic again.) But then you waste precious class time. And you're basically paying for all that class time, class time that you had to spend in a bathroom, washing terrifying chalk dust off your hands because your in danger of being too expensive college REFUSES TO BUY WHITEBOARDS FOR YOU.
Is this a sign that I care too much about little things? I don't know. Maybe. But maybe the little things make all the difference.
Here. Advice to the children who are choosing a college right now: Disregard everything else about the college of your choice, and go make sure it has whiteboards in every single classroom. Do it. Do it now. Drive to your college and break into the buildings and check out the whiteboard situation. Once you've done that, then go back to all your other requirements. Trust me, though. Whiteboards can make or break your day.
Just make sure you break them before they break you.
Thursday, March 19, 2015
A Life Update
Oh hey. Hey. Long time, no see. Sorry about that.
Do you understand how much busier life is once you're taking 18 credits instead of 14? It's a lot busier. PLUS: the classes are harder and scarier and filled with danger-er. And I had to write about the plague. I think you probably knew that, if you've been reading this blog and its scarce updates. But anyway. All I'll say about that is that I finished it, for now. So there.
In other news, I'm currently on spring break! It's almost spring, so, you know, they can call it spring break. Apparently it's usually next week, in which case, it would actually be spring, but no guarantees that it would actually be warmer. Because this is Minnesota. Gosh.
Anyway, when it was nice out, I got play some sports with some weird siblings I have. We even got all of them involved, at least for a little bit! Except when we were all playing hockey, Dan smashed my thumb with his hockey stick, and basically broke my finger, except not really, but I like to complain. He says he only did that because I kept grabbing his hockey stick and pushing it out of the way, but that's probably not true. He's basically a meanie.
I also went to work. It was terrifying. Actually, not really, but still. I stared at a machine that said, "DANGER: PIECES CAN CAUSE SERIOUS INJURY OR DEATH" all day for two entire days. That doesn't make me confident that it wasn't a dangerous job. Plus, all the little tiny pieces of steel sliced and diced my hands. That's probably bad, right? Don't worry. I'll be fine though.
Also! I found out that I got a promotion for next school year! I get to run around and yell at children! And by children, I mean other college students. And by run around and yell, I mean manage in a calm and collected manner, because that's what I said I was going to do in my interview, and they can probably fire me if I do it wrong. But that's exciting, anyway. It means more money for less work, which I could definitely use!
There's a bright red cardinal sitting outside on the tree, and he's being very distracting. Gosh, cardinal guy. Don't you understand I'm trying to write a thing??
In other, other, less important news, I'm currently being addicted to Maroon 5. For some reason. I don't know how long it will be until it wears off, because that's what addiction means, right? That the thing you're addicted to will wear off? Yeah. But--OH NO A BLACK COLORED BIRD SCARED THE CARDINAL AWAY. WHY WOULD YOU BE SO MEAN, BLACK COLORED BIRD? WHY???--their songs are currently playing on repeat on Spotify forever, and ever, ____. (I left that blank there to see if any of you fill it in the same way I do. Hint: It's probably because I went to Catholic school for nine years.)
And now I'm pondering what I should have for lunch.... That's probably the most important decision I'll make all day..... We'll see. Yeah..... Lunch.....
But beyond that, nothing interesting really has happened.... Um.... I guess I'm winning against the girl in my Spanish class who thinks she's amazing at Spanish, and that if you haven't studied in a different country, you can't possibly know anything about Spanish (a comment she's directed at me more than once). So there's some victory in there! Whose essays get used in class as an example of what to do, girl? That's right: mine. Not yours. So.
And on the topic of languages, I think it's now my life goal to learn as many languages as I possibly can. Maybe I'll drop out of college and travel the world to learn all the languages. (Probably not. But it would be a nice thought.)
DON'T DROP OUT OF COLLEGE TO FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS, GUYS. HOW ELSE WILL YOU GET A JOB TO SUPPORT YOUR LIFE THAT ISN'T FOLLOWING YOUR DREAMS?
Do you understand how much busier life is once you're taking 18 credits instead of 14? It's a lot busier. PLUS: the classes are harder and scarier and filled with danger-er. And I had to write about the plague. I think you probably knew that, if you've been reading this blog and its scarce updates. But anyway. All I'll say about that is that I finished it, for now. So there.
In other news, I'm currently on spring break! It's almost spring, so, you know, they can call it spring break. Apparently it's usually next week, in which case, it would actually be spring, but no guarantees that it would actually be warmer. Because this is Minnesota. Gosh.
Anyway, when it was nice out, I got play some sports with some weird siblings I have. We even got all of them involved, at least for a little bit! Except when we were all playing hockey, Dan smashed my thumb with his hockey stick, and basically broke my finger, except not really, but I like to complain. He says he only did that because I kept grabbing his hockey stick and pushing it out of the way, but that's probably not true. He's basically a meanie.
I also went to work. It was terrifying. Actually, not really, but still. I stared at a machine that said, "DANGER: PIECES CAN CAUSE SERIOUS INJURY OR DEATH" all day for two entire days. That doesn't make me confident that it wasn't a dangerous job. Plus, all the little tiny pieces of steel sliced and diced my hands. That's probably bad, right? Don't worry. I'll be fine though.
Also! I found out that I got a promotion for next school year! I get to run around and yell at children! And by children, I mean other college students. And by run around and yell, I mean manage in a calm and collected manner, because that's what I said I was going to do in my interview, and they can probably fire me if I do it wrong. But that's exciting, anyway. It means more money for less work, which I could definitely use!
There's a bright red cardinal sitting outside on the tree, and he's being very distracting. Gosh, cardinal guy. Don't you understand I'm trying to write a thing??
In other, other, less important news, I'm currently being addicted to Maroon 5. For some reason. I don't know how long it will be until it wears off, because that's what addiction means, right? That the thing you're addicted to will wear off? Yeah. But--OH NO A BLACK COLORED BIRD SCARED THE CARDINAL AWAY. WHY WOULD YOU BE SO MEAN, BLACK COLORED BIRD? WHY???--their songs are currently playing on repeat on Spotify forever, and ever, ____. (I left that blank there to see if any of you fill it in the same way I do. Hint: It's probably because I went to Catholic school for nine years.)
And now I'm pondering what I should have for lunch.... That's probably the most important decision I'll make all day..... We'll see. Yeah..... Lunch.....
But beyond that, nothing interesting really has happened.... Um.... I guess I'm winning against the girl in my Spanish class who thinks she's amazing at Spanish, and that if you haven't studied in a different country, you can't possibly know anything about Spanish (a comment she's directed at me more than once). So there's some victory in there! Whose essays get used in class as an example of what to do, girl? That's right: mine. Not yours. So.
And on the topic of languages, I think it's now my life goal to learn as many languages as I possibly can. Maybe I'll drop out of college and travel the world to learn all the languages. (Probably not. But it would be a nice thought.)
DON'T DROP OUT OF COLLEGE TO FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS, GUYS. HOW ELSE WILL YOU GET A JOB TO SUPPORT YOUR LIFE THAT ISN'T FOLLOWING YOUR DREAMS?
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
How To: Self-Induced Panic
I only have a week and a half to write a 12 page paper. And yet, here I am, writing this post instead. Because who wants to write papers? Not me.
Except by choosing to not do things that are important, I kind of limit myself to two states of being: 1. (the rarer option by far) Working on my project, or 2. Panic.
It would probably be a lot easier if the things I thought I wanted to research were actually things that were important in the 14th century. It turns out witchcraft wasn't important. So then I just started looking up random things. Because that always ends well.
And now I mostly just go to bed super worried and stressed about the lack of progress I am making. Plus I should work on all the other things that I should work on, like Spanish and linguistics and religion and actually just writing this post is very very concerning to me I might die. And I have to work.
On the other hand, occasionally it's not my fault that I can't work on stuff. Like when the internet is basically shut down for a day (most likely because of the 500 students trying to do research all at the same time, not to mention any normal internet activity). I was going to research things yesterday. I really really was. But noooooo. The internet was being lame, and I was forced to watch Fringe! Ahhh! Way to go internet.
But because of this strange inability to use the internet, I found a book to read about things, and then I kind of decided on a topic and probably even created a thesis, which was excellent and filled with magic, and then I decided that I was progressing too fast, much faster than was healthy, probably, so I stopped doing research.
One thesis a day is enough. No need to work strenuously.
Plus, there are only so many minutes one can force themself to read about death and people whipping themselves. So, you know, no need to get so macabre.
Ha. That was a joke, because my topic is Danse Macabre. (Yeah, marching band! Yeah!)
The end. Because I should probably go at least pretend to do important things.
Except by choosing to not do things that are important, I kind of limit myself to two states of being: 1. (the rarer option by far) Working on my project, or 2. Panic.
It would probably be a lot easier if the things I thought I wanted to research were actually things that were important in the 14th century. It turns out witchcraft wasn't important. So then I just started looking up random things. Because that always ends well.
And now I mostly just go to bed super worried and stressed about the lack of progress I am making. Plus I should work on all the other things that I should work on, like Spanish and linguistics and religion and actually just writing this post is very very concerning to me I might die. And I have to work.
On the other hand, occasionally it's not my fault that I can't work on stuff. Like when the internet is basically shut down for a day (most likely because of the 500 students trying to do research all at the same time, not to mention any normal internet activity). I was going to research things yesterday. I really really was. But noooooo. The internet was being lame, and I was forced to watch Fringe! Ahhh! Way to go internet.
But because of this strange inability to use the internet, I found a book to read about things, and then I kind of decided on a topic and probably even created a thesis, which was excellent and filled with magic, and then I decided that I was progressing too fast, much faster than was healthy, probably, so I stopped doing research.
One thesis a day is enough. No need to work strenuously.
Plus, there are only so many minutes one can force themself to read about death and people whipping themselves. So, you know, no need to get so macabre.
Ha. That was a joke, because my topic is Danse Macabre. (Yeah, marching band! Yeah!)
The end. Because I should probably go at least pretend to do important things.
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