Monday, February 6, 2012

Newspaper...

I write for a newspaper now, nothing big, just the school paper. But they apparently like to change a lot of my quirky comments and leave out much of my sarcasm. So, I feel like I wrote all that wit for nothing and am reposting it here. It's the principle of the thing.....


“Spaghetti Winner”
                Hungry for spaghetti? You should have attended the Alpha Omicon Pi Spaghetti Dinner on Thursday, February 02. Not only did the saucy noodles, salad and garlic bread, all donated from Costco, Panera Bread, Meijer, and Carrabba’s, satisfy the attendants’ appetites, but the profits will be given to Indian Trails Camp, a retreat for mentally and physically disabled adults and children on Lake Michigan Drive, to help satisfy their needs.
                Over the years, the sorority has assisted the Camp in a variety of ways. With the profits from their bevy of fundraisers, which includes ‘Strike Out Arthritis’, another large bowling event put on by ATTO and some annual events, the sorority has singlehandedly opened the camp’s pool and given them a craft room, among other support.
                “It’s nice to know where out money is going”, says Christine Nowak, a faithful member of ATTO since her freshman year.
The sisters also volunteer about once a month, whether it be to spring clean, help out at the Camp’s Trick or Treat event, or hunt for Easter eggs during one of their weekend ‘Respites’( retreats for the attendants).  In return for their help, Indian Trails Camp gives back by allowing the sorority to have their own retreat at the Camp.
Now a senior, Nowak reflects on her experience in the sorority.
                “One of the hardest things about graduating is going to be leaving the future of my chapter in the hands of other sisters; but seeing the fire in the younger members is really exciting and makes me comfortable passing down our sorority to them”.
If you’re like a lot of people, you’re seen those posts. On Facebook. A sorority sister turns 19 and every single sister, it seems, wishes her a happy birthday. Is this camaraderie real? Or are they paid to do this? Are they brainwashed?
When these questions were raised, Nowak shook her head in earnest and continues “One of our mottos is “Individually unique but together complete”. That really explains the atmosphere here.”
Kayla, a freshman and bubbly member of the sorority chimed in “You always have a sister here. I feel comfortable talking to and getting advice from any of the sisters.”
Friendships between the sisters isn’t limited to weekly chapter meetings, either.
“If anyone needs to go to Meijer, or want to watch a movie, they just ask around. We’ve turned the apartment into a house by having such a close-knit group”, said Nowak.
“We pretty much have an open door policy, too. We don’t even knock anymore,” notes Kayla.
This spaghetti dinner was not only delicious, but it exemplified that the Greek community here is very close and has good intentions.
Amber Cullison, the organizer of the spaghetti dinner, said “Indian Trails Camp is definitely close to our hearts. We love donating to them.”
 If every Greek house is like ATTO, Grand Valley State University can be proud of what their sisters and brothers are doing.


“Where’s the Toast?”
                       
            On February 2, 2012, members of GVSU’s Downtown Toastmasters Club held their second Speak-A-Thon of the semester, the first of which was last week. Attendants of the 7:30am meeting were lured awake with coffee and oatmeal raisin cookies. There was no toast on the premises.
            No toast? You may be wondering, “If there was no toast, then what is Toastmasters?”  According to the Toastmasters International website, “Toastmasters helps men and women learn the arts of speaking, listening, and thinking – vital skills that promote self-actualization, enhance leadership potential, foster human understanding, and contribute to the betterment of mankind”.
            Jenna Puisis, the Vice President of Public Relations and a Health Communications major in her last semester at GVSU said “This is a fun place to be. Really! We’re not here to tear anyone down. This is a comfortable place for people to improve their speaking skills, whether they are already good speakers of not. We’re here to work together”.
            It works like this: a manual, with specific guidelines for different types of speeches, called “Competent Communication”, requires speakers to follow certain rules or objectives. The speaker can pick any topic to meet these guidelines. Each speaker is paired with an evaluator who takes notes, and afterwards gives them the third degree (not really…most of the advice is quite uplifting. Otherwise the membership of the club would be smaller than the number of people who can lick their elbows). The audience also participates, giving informal evaluations to the speaker via a fill-out paper form provided.
             The club’s ‘Toastmaster’, or emcee for the meeting, Elaine Benoit, broke the ice with a few sly jokes. The evaluator, Asante Cain,  introduced the evaluation team, which included the ‘Ah Counter’, Jeff Blair, (Yes, he does just what his description states…he counts the number of times the speaker says ‘filler words’ such as ‘like’, ‘um’, or ‘so’. Imagine if Snookie or JWow had an ‘Ah Counter’…), and Elizabeth Blair, who played an equally important role as the meeting grammarian. (She looked for misuse of words and grammar). Both the ‘filler words’ and grammatical error tallies were revealed at the end of the meeting.
            Both Jeff and Elizabeth are college graduates. Elizabeth joined just three months ago, and has given two speeches thus far.

“I visited a few times after repeatedly seeing this event of GVSU’s calendar. I realized it was a great club and a good place to be”, said Elizabeth.

The three speakers for this meeting, Monica Kaiser, Diane Hvizdos, and Jenna Puisis, spoke for five to seven minutes apiece. The subject matter ranged from butterflies to Aminatta Forna to skin cancer, keeping the audience of roughly a dozen people entertained and attentive. After each speech, feedback was given by the evaluator politely, constructively, and supportively.

“It can be kind of intimidating, but even if you give a bad speech, the goal is to improve, and everyone here will give you their support”, said Jeff Blair. “You just power through”.

If you’re looking for a place to improve your speaking skills and build up confidence, Toastmasters is your locale. Everyone, despite age or profession, is welcome every Thursday, except on Thanksgiving and Christmas, at 7:30am. Just don’t expect there to be any toast at the next meeting.

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Travel 2012

In 2012, there is really only one place I want to go.
I want to visit the Italian island of Capri.
I want to go to the Blue Grotto.
I want to take a gondola into the Grotto.
I don't care if I get to eat pizza from Napoli.
I don't care if I get to peruse the designer shoppes.
All I want to see is that azure water, shining bizarrely against those cave walls.

In reality...the farthest I'll probably get this year is Oklahoma.


http://www.travelbelles.com/2012/01/11/2012-where-to-travel/

Sunday, January 1, 2012

Resolutions

I'm not making any resolutions for 2012. Know why? Because that's just setting yourself up for failure. My goals may be low and this may be rather self-deprecating, but I feel like it's the only way to go.
Sure, I can hope for things----a 3.8 GPA, a stellar job in GR for the summer, a perfect day for skydiving on my 21st: but I can't hang my hat on anything. Nothing in this life is guaranteed, and CERTAINLY nothing I personally desire is inevitable.
So you go on and strive to work out 4 times a week and eat 700 calories or less a day.
You challenge yourself to show your wife more love with cute notes and crap like that.
Go ahead and plan to get a raise and buy a house in the suburbs.

I'm going to save myself a lot of heart ache and make no such self-undermining and useless resolutions. When the year's over, let's compare.

Monday, December 12, 2011

Happy? Content...

I'm currently reading a book. About marriage so far, (which is totally beside the point of this post). And though I'm only 55 pages in, so far it's about this chick who enters marriage hoping for a strawberries and cream life, where everything's rosy and idyllic; moonlit sonnets on the balcony and lovin' in the garden. But she is completely disappointed and thus far spends her time dreaming of being elsewhere, all the while trying to convince herself she's content and that her life could be in perfect harmony with her dreams if only she thinks it to be as such. It ain't happening for her, big surprise.

I'm forced to analyze such emotions and can only hope in complete futility that the number of people living this way is fewer than I know it to be. Too many people romanticize life. They still cling to the idea that their childhood dreams are going to come true; they will be wealthy and in love and live in a castle on a lake, and they will never be discontent and fury and uneasiness will never knock at their door, and god forbid these things enter into their soul. It's a rather happy little scenario and theoretically a gorgeous little fantasy...and in a way I envy the people who think this very way, because somewhere in the 20 years of my life, I threw this ridiculous possibility out the kitchen window.

And for that I am actually pretty glad, because while they may enjoy fooling themselves now, these people are going to wake up 5, 10, 37 years from now and realize that this dream fizzled out a long time ago. That their life didn't go as planned---they saw strife and they felt grief and they felt anger and disappointment and hate. And they fell out of love and learned to detest the world. They were led to settle, dashing their dreams to broken bits of glass akin to Kristallnacht. They work a 9-5 job, drink the same dull cup of coffee every morning, skimp on luxury to pay the daycare bills, live in a suburb, and never have sex anymore. Which happens to a lot of people, let's face it. But it's far worse when you hoped for so much more.

There are two things that could have happened along the way to this disappointing life: they fully acknowledged they were losing their lovely mirage of a life as it was happening, which would be devastating. Or---they literally wake up and recall that dream existence, one they had forgotten due to all the shit in their life. This is equally dismal of a revelation. What a drag.

But here I propose a third happening: how about you come to your senses early in life, don't make unrealistic dumb plans that are set up for failure, let come what may, and thus guarantee a happier end result? I retract that....happier, no (at best, maybe).  More content, though---now, you can hang your hat on that for sure. And isn't contentment better than a fleeting happiness, which is a shallow emotion as it is? Stop grasping for things that aren't going to happen for anyone. Even the people who seem to have it all rarely do. Don't strive for anything---keep it simple. Enjoy the journey, good and bad. Love and lose, live and grieve, laugh and cry. Just don't build up hopes or lies in your brain that are going to be the end to your contentment. Even lives stricken with the worst happenings imaginable can be fulfilling---most of the time they prove to be more satisfying!

I know, I know....I'm just soooo depressing. But quite honestly, life isn't a pristine and sentimental manufactured Hallmark card sitting in a store, all white and shiny, with a bouquet of flowers on it...a card that's never been touched and yet the heart-warming message inside is predictable by even a blind man; and I personally wouldn't want it to be. I'd rather have a hand-made, imperfect, stained-with-tears card, one that's been put through a lot and is from someone who traveled that journey with me. I'd rather not know what the card is going to say, and I'd rather it be something that doesn't sound like it came from a Disney movie. In my life's card....I hope the message is in hand-written scrawl and I hope it's lopsided and it's cheery and sarcastic and sad all at the same time. Most of all, I want the card to be something totally unpredictable, something I had never thought of or seen and am therefore completely content with. Satisfaction.

Friday, October 7, 2011

Normality

I find it peculiar when mundane things define my life. When the crossword is replaced by a stupid SuDoku in the newspaper...when I have to stoop to eating plain English muffins because the plaza cafe closed before I could get butter or peanut butter or jam...when the lack of notifications on facebook infuriates me...
BUT THEN: when something exciting happens, such as putting on a animal print dress to attend a ritzy event by default, getting picked up over tomato cheese soup in a cup, and thought of something less that straight for the third time in one week, then I am happy.
I hate to be forced to ponder the lame-ness of my life. This over-analysis is such a flaw in myself; but I find I only ponder the lame-ness when my life is indeed lame, and actually, when a broader perspective is taken, my life is not lame at all. So as long as semi-entertaining things happen, or as long as I make them happen (i.e. frequenting a parlor on West Leonard, buying a Woodstock T-shirt, pretending to be British...) I'm a pretty damn content person.
On the ironic flip side...when these 'exciting' events do occur, sometimes I miss the routine things. I miss my morning coffee from the Keurig, I miss my large double bed all to myself, I long for a day full of nothing. And visa versa. It's this horrible circular pattern that I maintain: either catastrophic events or simple pleasures make life all worth it to me. I don't know if this is due to my particular frame of mind and mood on any given day. But.
There are days I want to lie in a bed that's not my own; to have a totally irregular weekend, full of both nothing and everything, back and forth; where I eat at strange times and sleep at even more odd intervals; where I meet people I don't know, and can say and do whatever I want.
And then there are days when I want to wake up at 7:35am, dry off from the steamy shower with my yellow towels, wear the jeans I've had since sophomore year of high school, go to work and do absolutely nothing productive, not pay attention in class, and then go home, eat a toasted cheese, fiddle around of stumbleupon, hardly talk to anyone, and go to bed between the green jersey sheets of my double bed, the venice canal poster not even catching my eye.
And then there are days when I want to GO out and DO things and SEE things and be someone totally new; someone full of hot air, vibrant and self secure and strangely friendly yet standoffish...and I want to be alone and with others all at the same time.
I think. I might be like....tri-polar.

Friday, September 16, 2011

Well this is new

Grand Rapids. It's been a hypothetical eye sore imposing on my life all the time I've lived here. The dread that ensued when school started back up again, or even just returning after a weekend from home...dirty, corporate, dull. So many times I've said "I'll be ok as long as I don't end up in Grand Rapids..."

But..............

Artists preparing for Art Prize in the crispy autumnal atmosphere. Hispanic Festivals where man-ish Che Guevara bracelets were purchased. Parking garages and steam curling out of man holes, the homeless man who smokes and holds a conversation with the friend only he can see; the white-haired parking lot attendant who knows and waves at me every day with a jolly smile but I've never talked to; chalk art under the bridge; swing dancing in Rosa Parks, amidst the beams of light that pop out from the Circle's holes; a man in the river creating a heart out of mere rocks; a man smoking a pipe, blazered and be-wrinkled, watching the man in the river; a indistinguishable figure playing guitar on the side of the river; profs at the janky Burger King who know the burger-flippers; bus drivers who hit on the cashier girls at said BK; the Varnum building, the shiny DeVos Perfromance Hall; Sanchez tapas and MoJos dueling piano bar; crosswalks and irate drivers; rows of hot cars parked along the side of the road; college kids who look like they're lost in Costco, trying to find their mother without looking like losers; women who take their lunch break to walk together, wearing tennis shoes with their business casual attire; the 1913 room waiter, debonair as hell, giving directions to a smiling middle aged blonde, who's obviously late for something; a random band and potential birthday party gone sour at Rosa Parks; couples dressed to the 9s, holding hands, in love beneath the brick and glass sided sky; never-ending Fulton street, loitered by white trash bag-holding pedestrians; the Bitter End manager, black and rotund, kicking out unwanted customers at 2am; the run-down gas stations converted into free parking; the austerity of the river....the bridges....the buildings......

The distaste that's festered in my very soul for you, Grand Rapids, somehow is being pushed aside. It's been replaced by a black hole of adoration and appreciation for you---something that must have been there alongside the hate for you all along, but is only now surfacing, coming on stronger than anticipated, arising as the most surprising of feelings.

Somewhere along the way, I've fallen into deep like with you.

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

There's a lake here? What?

I went to the beach the other day. Never in my life have I lived somewhere in which I had to drive 2 horrible hours to get to a beach, where said beach is only accessed by descending a flight of 100 jankity stairs.

Living in Leelanau county nearly my whole life, beaches are on the same level as the rest of the world. You can park and walk directly onto sand. There's no risk of falling on to the beach from a cliff above; there isn't the wind tunnel created by the barren surroundings.
You drive along and look out at eye level and AHHHH there's a beach! A wavy watery entity skid upon by Hobie Cats and water skiers and seagulls. There's a downtown directly across from many beaches, complete with speedo-wearers and ice cream eaters. You can't get this when you gotta travel ages to get to the middle of nowhere before going to the beach.........
I prefer my northern Michigan beaches to your Western Michigan ones any day....

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

You'd think working in a spa, I'd have exquisitely manicured hands and feet, smell like lavender and mint all the time, and just really really love the simplicity of the job.
Apparently, this romantic picture of the spa atmosphere is a crock to the highest extreme. No, not apparently. It IS. That one day of spa management study in Commercial Recreation really screwed me over. Sure, a spa is idyllic if you're the once participating, and not the one running the damn thing. It offers relaxation and pampering solely if you're the one putting up the insane amounts of cash to do it.
Don't get me wrong...this summer hasn't been ruined by the spa...the stupid stupid spa. But it sure opened my eyes to what I DON'T want to do with my life. The artificiality, the customer service, the monotony and the upset customers---get me outta there.
I want to sit in a room. Preferably alone, or with maybe one person, since I might get lonely, but that person would have to be really really really quiet...like a sleeping ninja. A room with chic furniture that no one ever sees but me and the ninja, and stacks and stacks of papers that need editing and proofreading. Stacks that I can liberally throw on the cutting room floor; things I can mutate and criticize and change as I wish. Then when the bloodbath of words is over, I can go home to my quiet house in the middle of nowhere but next to somewhere, with a lake view and gorgeous sunsets and a heated infinity pool...and not think about my job at all, except when I see my finished work in publication.
So long spa. We had a good run, but it's time for me to break up with you.

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Some decisions...

There are some situations in which a lot of thought it required. Research, comparative or not, plus much contemplation and assessment---like if you're going to buy a BMW, or a Nook, or even Crocs online.
But other decisions don't require much thought. A comforter for your new apartment...a vegetable peeler...a room fan. Just buy it already. Don't listen to raving customers, or ones who bash the very existence of the product. Do you like how it looks? Is it well-priced? Does it say it'll do what you want? Good. Buy it, dammit.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Warts, shots, and latex gloves...

Have you ever analyzed a word to the point it sounds like a non-word? You say and think and ponder it as a word apart from its definition so darn much that it sounds like foreign jibberish.
Some words are just gross in nature without over-analysis. Like wart. It just sounds nasty the first time. It sounds even nastier when combined with its meaning. Grotesque beings have warts. Toads sport warts. Diseased unhygenic people are covered in warts. Little kids who pick noses have warts.
Worse than having a wart is having a wart frozen off. They tell you it'll hurt, and it does, and they tell you it'll blister, and it does. They don't tell you how big the blisters will get or how much they'll hurt or how disgustingly they will ruin your aesthetics. They don't tell you you'll feel like someone who got in a fight with a rabid feline, only satiated by your hand flesh. They don't tell you people will look at you like you're a leper. But in 2 to 3 weeks, you may or may not have any warts left.
To top off the wart removal situation, which topped the having warts situation, working at a bakery with bandaged hands raw from recent removal is just about as fun as eating sandpaper with no hands. Especially when the raw flesh is present on parts of the hands that bend a lot...and have a lot of pressure applied to them...and are easy to knock on things. This is just the best experience ever. You should try it yourself.
To make it all even more enjoyable, the tetanus shot on your arm in fine now, but they tell you it'll make you wish you were armless tomorrow, and your blisters from the warts probably will be worse and Tylenol will be your main source of comfort.
They just don't tell you. That it'll hurt to even type this out.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Coconut...

Have you ever had coconut water?
Sounds delicious, does it not?
Associated with coconut are things like macaroons, pina coladas, and a romanticized desire to stick a hot pink straw into a coconut directly as to suck the sweet milk out, while lying on a sugar sand beach somewhere.
Well...
Coconut water is super nasty. Despite all the vitamins it provides and the deceivingly adventurous and exotic idealistic images it demonically plants in minds of those who have not fallen to it's grotesque-ness, coconut water is more or less like drinking unfiltered, cloudy city water from a run down rusty faucet in the Bronx. And if you're lucky, they'll have tried to mask the flavor with artificial and hardly sweet pineapple and citrus flavors that taste like candles. MMMM.
So the next time you see coconut water on the Target shelf market down to $2.08---there was a reason for the discount, and please forgo the temptation to live on the wild side and stick with a Sobe.

Monday, June 27, 2011

Snap

There comes a time when things just change. It's not something traceable, not something clear, not something controllable at all. Without warrant: feelings, thoughts, and emotions just *snap* from what they were to the polar opposite. Whether it's realizing you all of a sudden can't stand liverwurst, that you have a insatiable taste for cottage cheese, or even that you actually detest someone you used to even...love.
These changes go unnoticed in humans, and are therefore unconscious changes that don't affect one's life at all. However, if the individual experiencing said changes is so in tune with the changes that they do in fact recognize them, there can be some odd consequences. Knowing you are changing and there is not a motion you can partake in to stop it can/must be an disconcerting and alarming occurrence.
That's all a part of life. If we all stayed the same person we were at age six, how immature and dull the human race would end up being.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Passenger

I have a high aversion to riding in cars. Preferably, I am the one in control, the road ruler, the driver. When you're the passenger...
you're jostled and
lurched &
tossed
and unexpectedly made tense
by a turn in the road, a lead foot, a sudden brake employment, a raged driver pulling in front of you, a sighting of a cop car, a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants ice cream pit stop, a urgent need for a bathroom or puking site.
I'd much rather be the driver without passengers.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

The Cow with the Wow!

The 2nd Annual Dairy Festival was held today in the Village at the Commons, by the old State Hospital in Traverse City. There were at least a few hundred in attendance on this sunny yet cool Sunday. The festival can only get bigger and better!
I arrived around 1pm, missing the parade and the walk out to the prized dairy cow's grave site. However, the vendors were varied, from recycled glass jewelry and hardware, to natural pumpkin seed butter, to martial artist schools, and even falafel and pita. There was a live band, someone and the True Falsettos, none of which sang falsetto...either way, we set up our folding chairs and swatted away the flies, watching kids run around with Moomer's Blue Moon, witnessed a raffle for Doo Dairy Compost, and drinking free un-homogenized chocolate milk.
At 3pm, 5 restaurants competed in a Grilled Cheese Grill-Off. We sampled 4 out of 6 for $5, and picked and voted for our two favorites (spinach and pesto on Bay Bread & The Underground Cheesecake Company's smoked gouda---we also got a slice of their Blueberry Swirl Cheesecake--my oh my). There were coffee sack races, a variety of baby goats and chickens to pet, and a calf named Oscar who sat docile in the shade, having photo after photo being taken of him. The aromas of pulled pork, hot dogs, and waffles cones tempted attendants as they made their way to the various craft tables, demonstrations, and into the wine tasting building.
All in all, this Festival, despite the ill-planned belly dancing with warranted our departure, is one that will hopefully grow and attract more locals and visitors! Maybe it'll rival the Cherry Fest one day.

Sunday, June 5, 2011

Sometimes I tend to think ultra-grammatically, just for fun. Today, it was alliterations.

Toby lays like a lion lounging lazily late on the lawn.
Thor throws thrilling things thoroughly throughout Thursdays.
Hannah heats hamburgers handily hereto hasten hankerings.
Mom must meander meaningfully amidst millions of mindless, much-money, Michigan mansions.
Summer squelches squash sewn sadly in soppy, stinky, sub-par sandy squares.

This is how my brain works...bizarre,  I know~

Thursday, June 2, 2011

ode to an old pj shirt

PJ shirt, oh PJ shirt, how we have grown together---you stretched, and ripped, and grew holes like Swiss cheese, and I grew taller and out of the child's section at Old Navy, where we first met. At first you were not a PJ shirt, no; rather, you were a lavender, or maybe lilac (which is more pink that purple) camisole I wore under sweaters, black sweaters; a shirt my sister once was envious of, or maybe mocking, but one she inquired about our relationship standing outside in the driveway, as we were ready to board the car on the way to a dinner party. I paired you with a hideous cool-hued scarf, though I'm not sure where this was on my body, but I know I wore it along with you.
Oh PJ shirt. When was it that you were dubbed no longer fit for everyday clothes and dubbed a sleeping article? Do you remember? I do not. Your twin, in pink, is still lost at sea (or at Lindsay Little's house), and you are soon to be thrown away. You've seen my tears, and felt my sweat; your tender, thin straps dug into my shoulders in restless nights of non-sleep once they rid themselves of thread and strangely did not disintegrate. You bear the marks of fabric well washed----fading, thin patches, drooping thread count. Alas, we shall not be together much longer, for you embarrass me with your XL girls' section tag and your failure to match any pajama pants I own.
We've been through much, old PJ shirt. You're destined for the dump....but maybe I'll fold you into a box and refer to this ode once a year.

Monday, May 30, 2011

Twenty years have gone by. Granted, I hardly remember the dewy, young, soft-skinned days of my first 5 or so years. Flashes of birthday parties and scrunchies and ill-applied costume makeup and confetti cakes and costume jewelry and torn pink gowns and bead kits spring into my old mature twenty year old as of sometime between 9pm and 11:59 brain.
I think I'm rather the same person as that twiggy, verbose, shy fresh red head. My likes are still highly in line with that young thing. My wants and visions may have changed drastically, just about as drastically as the chemical change from liquid water to steam.
I'm still me----Hannah, the gingery, pale-skinned, dancer-esque, contemplative, monotonal-at-times girl. but clearly stature and mind set have developed immensely, and though I am young and directionless in moments, I do know a few things about myself that I find as giant stepping stones to who I want to be and who I know I can become. These are mine, and mine alone, and don't need to be publicized (oh the secrecy).
I simply know that I am proud of me, not vain, but truly proud of the place I am in life and the sheer knowledge and awareness of myself I've come to grasp.

Saturday, May 28, 2011

The yellow glow of the bulb lights on the State Theatre.

The gads of T-shirted kids and their parents crowding in the waiting area of a pizza joint.

Toned bodies showing off their athleticism despite the cool blast of the not-yet-summer Lake Michigan breeze.

Bittersweet chocolate gelato from American Spoon; more frozen liquid chocolate bar than iced cream concoction.

The sunroof down, bad radio music blaring, throwback sunglasses jauntily perched on nose, hair whirling.

                              THIS IS MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND IN TRAVERSE CITY.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

It wasn't the first time. That this idea had occurred to me. It was not the first passing of this observation through my overly-spa'd, muddle-with-sleeplessness, summer vacation brain. It had happened before, countless times, and is not anything but a small notice of a common and shared and accepted idea.
Everyone's mind is like a series of wheels and tines, much like that of a music box or any machine, really. Not two people alive are 'wired' the same way. All of us have wheels of different sizes, tines in varying locales, and a generally unique method to the madness of the human mind, all jumbled, complex, and on information overload!!! No human being will ever again be formulated with the same brain as Einstein was, therefore comparison of intelligencia and gifts, so to speak, are intensely futile and nothing but nonsense.
This is clearly why we are not all talented in the same way; therefore, we cannot all be neuro-surgeons, cannot all be accountants, and cannot all be rock stars. This has nothing to do with IQ, nor does it have to do with brain capacity. The tines in our brain are where things 'click'. For me, I like words and I like stats---I don't have a tine where my brother does for accounting, nor a tine where my mother does for genuine friendliness. I'd rather work in a room alone with a box chalk full of words than to be put in any sort of compromising teamwork-oriented or socially awkward setting. But what is awkward and compromising for me probably isn't for outgoing, lime-light-loving people like JLo or Muse.
All I'm saying is we all have out knacks. One should never put another down for not getting something or not being comfortable with something: just because a human can't figure out standard deviation is no reason to dis their intelligence. Some of us have waffle brains, some spaghetti, some like words, and some like letters.
The fact is you have a brain. Use it.

Monday, May 23, 2011

I know it's a normal experience, but it still gets me every time.
I crave something alllllllll day, or alllllll week or even for months, and after I satisfy my appetite for it, the mere bubble-thought of it repulses me such as milk turns away a lactose intolerant man who's eaten 14 pints of ice cream
For instance, our town got a Jimmy John's not long ago, and I'd been saving the french bread and sprouts experience for the exactly opportune time, which I concluded to be my birthday week. Well, I got insatiably hungry in stats today, and concluded I could have a birthday double-week; therefore I went to the place of free smells directly from class---meaning I shot out of my class, into my car, and one measly 1/2 block down the road in about 1 minute.
I ate my JJ's, a #6, while driving, in roughly 6 minutes, probably amusing one too many drivers, seeing a ginger nomming un-ladylike on a gourmet sub sandwich with '80s inspired sunglasses on, listening to Real Rock. It was quite delicious, till about half way through; then it got rather a chore to eat this monotonous card and veggie loaf.
I don't want Jimmy John's again for an eon. My throat feels like mayonnaise is coating it like pipe cleaner to a cruddy shower drain. When I think 'alfalfa sprouts', my gelatinous-encompassed throat closes up and my stomach churns like an old milk maids butter maker.
I don't want any more gourmet subs for a while. I'll be ok with the Free Smells, as they advertise.