The blonde, horse-lovin temptress is in Athens! a.k.a. Corinne Palmer. She just arrived for a night of mayhem and im ecstatic, to say the least. Getting ready to go out right now and she just convinced me to go to GA-FL for Halloween and offered her Queen-sized bed for all of my sleeping needs. Definitely gonna wear the baby-gma costume to that affair.
Mississippi State v UGA game tomorrow wooot wooot. Only been to one game this semester so kinda pumped. Maybe we'll be able to scalp a tick for Corinne tomorrow. fings crossed.
Bout to head out so ima bounce.
Classic City---Watch outt.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Salsa Rambles
About to go watch a Spanish movie at the Georgia Museum of Art for Lil Salsa Bean's class!
Recently, it's been pretty entertaining to watch her teach class. She has such a "lust for life", quirky, story-telling teaching style that I never want to miss out on.(Perf Attendance hollaaa). If I'm half as lively when I'm her age, I'll be lucky fasho.
Today, she talked to herself (and anyone who could keep up) for 30 minutes about random Athens ongoings, Obama, recipes for gespacho, and one time when she kissed a man who was not her husband(awkward?) In her mile-a-minute ramblings she constantly switched between Spanish and English. I couldn't believe how fast she could transition from one to the other, and back again. Made me so excited for Buenos Aires next year! (My study abroad meeting is tomorrow w0oot wooot)
Also, I know the way I keep portraying her makes her sound waaay loca but she's not. (Ok, maybe a wee bit) but she's so GUIA(cool en espanol) Can't wait to see her with her little husband. Mannnn, Spanish people are the best (especially Barcelonians).
Recently, it's been pretty entertaining to watch her teach class. She has such a "lust for life", quirky, story-telling teaching style that I never want to miss out on.(Perf Attendance hollaaa). If I'm half as lively when I'm her age, I'll be lucky fasho.
Today, she talked to herself (and anyone who could keep up) for 30 minutes about random Athens ongoings, Obama, recipes for gespacho, and one time when she kissed a man who was not her husband(awkward?) In her mile-a-minute ramblings she constantly switched between Spanish and English. I couldn't believe how fast she could transition from one to the other, and back again. Made me so excited for Buenos Aires next year! (My study abroad meeting is tomorrow w0oot wooot)
Also, I know the way I keep portraying her makes her sound waaay loca but she's not. (Ok, maybe a wee bit) but she's so GUIA(cool en espanol) Can't wait to see her with her little husband. Mannnn, Spanish people are the best (especially Barcelonians).
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Apple Tidbit Annoyances
To be honest, I have been in quite the little funk recently (RA duty calling me at 4 in da AM, Lil Salsa Bean giving me 'tude, my phone being a text message blackhole, and just an overall feeling of blah for still living in the dorms)
So, today, feeling down in the dumps and listening to the New Pornographes Challengers album on my way to class, I looked in my mailbox and discovered Tina Fey's humor-bound masterpiece. However, because I wasn't feeling too hot I tossed it in my backpack for later. Big mistake, huge. On a usual day, anything Tina Fey would have been top priority, trumping all things from social interaction to sleep. What I SHOULD have done is found a comfy chair, locked the door, and dove in.
Fast-forward to after class, weary, with a now amplified case of the blues due to an added workload. In need of food, I dragged my body to the nearest dining hall, BLOWtron, and proceeded to indulge in the greasiest of foods. In between one of my cheeseburger chomps, I caught a glimpse of the portrait of Tina Fey with hairy-man arms on the cover of "Bossypants". I had been looking for a pick-me-up all day and it finally dawned on me that she might have some potential. I picked it up and before even opening the book was rolling with laughter. The synopsis and praise for the book on the outside cover, alone, were enough to make me hysterical. I digested the first chapter, then the next, and before I knew it a weight was lifted off my shoulders. Tina had done it again.
Feeling better already (Laughter really is the best medicine) I grabbed an apple and bounded down the stairs to meet my friend Anna Banana for coffee. Nom'ing on that Granny Smith delight, I accidentally bit off more than I could chew and got some apple skin wedged in my pearly whites. Rats! Now I would have pesky apple bits in my mouth all day. I was getting frustrated with each failed attempt to dislodge the apple bits with my tongue but then I realized something. I LOVE APPLES. And even though, from time to time, there'll be some bad bites, some apple tidbits that stick around, I still get to enjoy the great bites. The melt in your mouth ones that are enjoyed without interruption and that happen more often than not.
With this optimistic view in my sights, I trotted off to coffee, ignoring any annoyances that would try to get in the way of me and my apple.
So, today, feeling down in the dumps and listening to the New Pornographes Challengers album on my way to class, I looked in my mailbox and discovered Tina Fey's humor-bound masterpiece. However, because I wasn't feeling too hot I tossed it in my backpack for later. Big mistake, huge. On a usual day, anything Tina Fey would have been top priority, trumping all things from social interaction to sleep. What I SHOULD have done is found a comfy chair, locked the door, and dove in.
Fast-forward to after class, weary, with a now amplified case of the blues due to an added workload. In need of food, I dragged my body to the nearest dining hall, BLOWtron, and proceeded to indulge in the greasiest of foods. In between one of my cheeseburger chomps, I caught a glimpse of the portrait of Tina Fey with hairy-man arms on the cover of "Bossypants". I had been looking for a pick-me-up all day and it finally dawned on me that she might have some potential. I picked it up and before even opening the book was rolling with laughter. The synopsis and praise for the book on the outside cover, alone, were enough to make me hysterical. I digested the first chapter, then the next, and before I knew it a weight was lifted off my shoulders. Tina had done it again.
Feeling better already (Laughter really is the best medicine) I grabbed an apple and bounded down the stairs to meet my friend Anna Banana for coffee. Nom'ing on that Granny Smith delight, I accidentally bit off more than I could chew and got some apple skin wedged in my pearly whites. Rats! Now I would have pesky apple bits in my mouth all day. I was getting frustrated with each failed attempt to dislodge the apple bits with my tongue but then I realized something. I LOVE APPLES. And even though, from time to time, there'll be some bad bites, some apple tidbits that stick around, I still get to enjoy the great bites. The melt in your mouth ones that are enjoyed without interruption and that happen more often than not.
With this optimistic view in my sights, I trotted off to coffee, ignoring any annoyances that would try to get in the way of me and my apple.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
GQ Munchkin
Like I said before, persuasion was the name of the game for me as a kid. However, there were some instances persuasion just wouldn't cut it. For these special situations I would adopt a Carpe Omnia (Seize Everything), "my way or the highway" attitude with my parents. But could they have really known any better than to submit to my every wish? After all, I was the first-born.
Apparently, the first-born is a big deal. THAT baby is the one that gets a bunch of randommm shit from wide-eyed, Catholic grandparents who are ever so hopeful that more are on the way. THAT baby doesn't know it yet but they're about to be the one who is scrubbed, gorged, tickled, pampered, poked and experimented on by self-conscious, sleep-deprived first timers.
In my house, I was no exception and one thing my mom went bonkers for was dressing me up. Vests, trendy miniature hairstyles, and corduroys were among the many things my mother tried out on me and I went along with it like the drooling, powerless mooky that I was.
One day, the miniature version of me caught on and realized what was happening: I had become my mother's accessory. A baby dressed just perfectly to compliment every outfit. I eventually glanced at myself in the mirror and saw, for the first time, what my mother saw: A portable, GQ munchkin. That day I determined one thing: the baby fashion madness had to end. Realizing what I had become was the hard part. Everything else, from that point forward, was easy as pie. I simply put on my munchkin sweatpants that my mother had so conveniently placed in the back of my closet and waited. When Kelly came in with Baby Gap bags, I knew what I had to do. I held onto my sweatpants for dear life. When Kelly tried to dress me while still incorporating the sweatpants I wriggled free. I never saw another Baby Gap bag and ceased wearing all clothing with buttons, snaps, zippers, and ties. Elastic and velcro became my staples and I was happy as a clam.
For some reason, my sister was plighted by the same dress-the-baby-up fever of my mother. However, my sister was subject to many more outfits sported on many more outings than I had been. The reason my mother turned up the heat this time around? Maybe because my sister was the first girl. More likely, was the fact that I had established that there was no longer any hope for me to be categorized as a "trendy baby" and my sister was the last hope, the final frontier.
In any case, my sister soon caught on, as I had years before, only this time her reaction was to wear a hand-me-down dress from our cousin Dana for two weeks straight. She slept in it, played in it, and, to my knowledge, even bathed in it.
How my parents dealt with the most stubborn monkeys east of the Mississippi still boggles me. I can only hope any future monkeys to come won't follow in our footsteps.
Apparently, the first-born is a big deal. THAT baby is the one that gets a bunch of randommm shit from wide-eyed, Catholic grandparents who are ever so hopeful that more are on the way. THAT baby doesn't know it yet but they're about to be the one who is scrubbed, gorged, tickled, pampered, poked and experimented on by self-conscious, sleep-deprived first timers.
In my house, I was no exception and one thing my mom went bonkers for was dressing me up. Vests, trendy miniature hairstyles, and corduroys were among the many things my mother tried out on me and I went along with it like the drooling, powerless mooky that I was.
One day, the miniature version of me caught on and realized what was happening: I had become my mother's accessory. A baby dressed just perfectly to compliment every outfit. I eventually glanced at myself in the mirror and saw, for the first time, what my mother saw: A portable, GQ munchkin. That day I determined one thing: the baby fashion madness had to end. Realizing what I had become was the hard part. Everything else, from that point forward, was easy as pie. I simply put on my munchkin sweatpants that my mother had so conveniently placed in the back of my closet and waited. When Kelly came in with Baby Gap bags, I knew what I had to do. I held onto my sweatpants for dear life. When Kelly tried to dress me while still incorporating the sweatpants I wriggled free. I never saw another Baby Gap bag and ceased wearing all clothing with buttons, snaps, zippers, and ties. Elastic and velcro became my staples and I was happy as a clam.
For some reason, my sister was plighted by the same dress-the-baby-up fever of my mother. However, my sister was subject to many more outfits sported on many more outings than I had been. The reason my mother turned up the heat this time around? Maybe because my sister was the first girl. More likely, was the fact that I had established that there was no longer any hope for me to be categorized as a "trendy baby" and my sister was the last hope, the final frontier.
In any case, my sister soon caught on, as I had years before, only this time her reaction was to wear a hand-me-down dress from our cousin Dana for two weeks straight. She slept in it, played in it, and, to my knowledge, even bathed in it.
How my parents dealt with the most stubborn monkeys east of the Mississippi still boggles me. I can only hope any future monkeys to come won't follow in our footsteps.
Monday, September 26, 2011
A Longing to Be Spoiled Rotten
Looking back on my childhood years at 2820 Chapman Way, there is one thing of which I can be certain: My sister and I had a knack for persuasion.
While most of the early 90s blur into Super Smash Bro'ing, trampoline bounding, sunny days, for some reason, the ploys of persuasion cooked up by Allison and I remain vivid in my memory.
Before my baby sister was even capable of consuming solid foods, let alone developing and executing a successful siege strategy on the minds, hearts, and pocketbooks of my parents, I planted a tiny seed of persuasion in her little baby head. It was a typical day in suburbia and the sister and I were laying on the "oh-so-90s" linoleum kitchen floor. It was too Georgia-hot to play outside so I offered that we play with my new Pokemon cards while absorbing what little coolness we could from that sticky, kitchen surface.
During this time, I was on a huge Pokemon binge. (cards, gameboy games, tv shows, THE WORKS) Later on, I would even attempt to convince my father to buy me a special edition Charizard for 40 dollars. Obviously, a petition to spend 40 dollars on a piece of cardboard was squashed instantly by Tom. (I'm good, but not THAT good.)
Anyways, I didn't even really know the rules of Pokemon card battling so I thought to myself..Bingo! I can make the rules up as I go along. #winning. Sooo, I came up with some crazy, I'm-not-even-following my-own-rules system and in the end convinced my sister that 1. my Pikachu had rocked her Squirtle's shit, 2. that she had lost at a legitimate Pokemon battle, and 3. that I was the champion of Pokemoning.
You could tell by the expression on my little sister's face that she was peeved about losing a game of trickery where rules could form anytime, about anything. But it was more than that. Something in the way her youthful brow wrinkled in astonishment said, "I want in on how to be tricky", " "I want the formula to #winning"
From that day forward, I took her under my wing as my apprentice in persuasion, my cohort in charisma. And together we waged war against the "we don't want to spoil you" psyches of our parents. Don't spoil us?? We were determined to be spoiled rotten, it was just a matter of PERSUASION.
While most of the early 90s blur into Super Smash Bro'ing, trampoline bounding, sunny days, for some reason, the ploys of persuasion cooked up by Allison and I remain vivid in my memory.
Before my baby sister was even capable of consuming solid foods, let alone developing and executing a successful siege strategy on the minds, hearts, and pocketbooks of my parents, I planted a tiny seed of persuasion in her little baby head. It was a typical day in suburbia and the sister and I were laying on the "oh-so-90s" linoleum kitchen floor. It was too Georgia-hot to play outside so I offered that we play with my new Pokemon cards while absorbing what little coolness we could from that sticky, kitchen surface.
During this time, I was on a huge Pokemon binge. (cards, gameboy games, tv shows, THE WORKS) Later on, I would even attempt to convince my father to buy me a special edition Charizard for 40 dollars. Obviously, a petition to spend 40 dollars on a piece of cardboard was squashed instantly by Tom. (I'm good, but not THAT good.)
Anyways, I didn't even really know the rules of Pokemon card battling so I thought to myself..Bingo! I can make the rules up as I go along. #winning. Sooo, I came up with some crazy, I'm-not-even-following my-own-rules system and in the end convinced my sister that 1. my Pikachu had rocked her Squirtle's shit, 2. that she had lost at a legitimate Pokemon battle, and 3. that I was the champion of Pokemoning.
You could tell by the expression on my little sister's face that she was peeved about losing a game of trickery where rules could form anytime, about anything. But it was more than that. Something in the way her youthful brow wrinkled in astonishment said, "I want in on how to be tricky", " "I want the formula to #winning"
From that day forward, I took her under my wing as my apprentice in persuasion, my cohort in charisma. And together we waged war against the "we don't want to spoil you" psyches of our parents. Don't spoil us?? We were determined to be spoiled rotten, it was just a matter of PERSUASION.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Rope Swing Kaboomin
Went kayaking today with my hall of freshmen (I'm an RA) and feeling sor sorrr dead and sore right about now. The river was way shallow. Translation: lots o getting shipwrecked, tryna scoot the rest of the way, and, finally, surrendering to the mighty low-tide of the Middle Oconee River by walking the kayak to deeper, more promising waters.
Also, shallow waters meant NO rope swing :( a.k.a. no swinging, trapezing, free-falling, or splash kaboomin.
It turned out alright though because we still went on the rope, there was just no rope-to-water action. Instead we swung out, ran on the water, and tumbled back onto dry land. #crouchingtigerhiddendragon. At first, the prospect of swinging on a rope with no icy cold-water destination seemed pointless but once Romik went for it I had to Yes And him and so glad I did.
All-in-all, pretty solid nature immersing, paddle slappin, sketch limo riding (the vehicle to the kayak deployment site) day.
Also, and this is a huge also, Boardwalk Empire Season 2 premiered tonight. My Sundays just got a whole lot saucier.
Also, shallow waters meant NO rope swing :( a.k.a. no swinging, trapezing, free-falling, or splash kaboomin.
It turned out alright though because we still went on the rope, there was just no rope-to-water action. Instead we swung out, ran on the water, and tumbled back onto dry land. #crouchingtigerhiddendragon. At first, the prospect of swinging on a rope with no icy cold-water destination seemed pointless but once Romik went for it I had to Yes And him and so glad I did.
All-in-all, pretty solid nature immersing, paddle slappin, sketch limo riding (the vehicle to the kayak deployment site) day.
Also, and this is a huge also, Boardwalk Empire Season 2 premiered tonight. My Sundays just got a whole lot saucier.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Tome Time
Restarted Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen today. The first time around I got through the first 100 pages and was like errr nexttttt. It felt like I was being stampeded by an elephant hoard of wordy descriptions but wasn't moving anywhere plot-wise.
Wellllllll this time around I was prepared for Gruen's verbose, dramatic style and, to be honest, I'm kinda diggin it. Looking back now, I don't think the problem for me was that it was too wordy. I think the thing is, is that Gruen, like the circus train Jacob jumps on, takes some time before she picks up speed. At first there were secrets kept from the reader and sequences of nursing home ongoings(exciting!) but now that I'm into the meat of the book, the Gruen Express is chug-a-luggin at full speed. Can't wait for more
Also, just bought Tina Fey's BossyPants, Hunter Thompson's The Rum Diaries, and the oh-so-appropriate tome for any YesAnder, Sara Lewis Holmes' Operation Yes.
#NewBooksOnDeck
Wellllllll this time around I was prepared for Gruen's verbose, dramatic style and, to be honest, I'm kinda diggin it. Looking back now, I don't think the problem for me was that it was too wordy. I think the thing is, is that Gruen, like the circus train Jacob jumps on, takes some time before she picks up speed. At first there were secrets kept from the reader and sequences of nursing home ongoings(exciting!) but now that I'm into the meat of the book, the Gruen Express is chug-a-luggin at full speed. Can't wait for more
Also, just bought Tina Fey's BossyPants, Hunter Thompson's The Rum Diaries, and the oh-so-appropriate tome for any YesAnder, Sara Lewis Holmes' Operation Yes.
#NewBooksOnDeck
Friday, September 23, 2011
Spotting the Brown-Spotted Nanner
I'm temper-trapped on a Love Lost binge.
Love Love by the Temper Trap is a song, nay an anthem, that's been on repeat on my itunes for an unhealthily long time.
The song itself has the chilling, ghostly instrumentals and high-pitched, androgynous vocals indicative of the Indie-esqe style. However, I think it's the music video, not the song, that make me revisit Love Lost, in particular, over and over. I replay the song with the video in my head and I get so much more meaning from it than just.the.song.
Lemme break it down----
The song alone is like a green-yellowy banana, I'll eat it and it'll taste good and I'll still get a healthy dose of potassium and vitamin A&B but the song-vid combo is like the yellow-brown-spotted Nanner. It is at its ripest, peak of potential, eat-it-right-this-very-moment, don't-even-need-peanutbutter stage.
Now I've expressed my love for the music video but it's even more than that. I think the reason I've been infatuated by it so much recently is because it's such a rare little gem. It's a prime example of that hard-to-find perfect brown-spotted Nanner version of something. That "feels-oh-so-right" formula that gives you goosebumps allover, whether it's a thing, idea, or person.
And even though it's hard to find those topshelf Nanners, I think looking for them is worth it because once you start paying attention and snatchin em up bushel by bushel you'll eventually hone in on a pretty awesome thing, a version of the world that makes you the most happy. And in the end, isn't that what it's really all about anyways?
Love Love by the Temper Trap is a song, nay an anthem, that's been on repeat on my itunes for an unhealthily long time.
The song itself has the chilling, ghostly instrumentals and high-pitched, androgynous vocals indicative of the Indie-esqe style. However, I think it's the music video, not the song, that make me revisit Love Lost, in particular, over and over. I replay the song with the video in my head and I get so much more meaning from it than just.the.song.
Lemme break it down----
The song alone is like a green-yellowy banana, I'll eat it and it'll taste good and I'll still get a healthy dose of potassium and vitamin A&B but the song-vid combo is like the yellow-brown-spotted Nanner. It is at its ripest, peak of potential, eat-it-right-this-very-moment, don't-even-need-peanutbutter stage.
Now I've expressed my love for the music video but it's even more than that. I think the reason I've been infatuated by it so much recently is because it's such a rare little gem. It's a prime example of that hard-to-find perfect brown-spotted Nanner version of something. That "feels-oh-so-right" formula that gives you goosebumps allover, whether it's a thing, idea, or person.
And even though it's hard to find those topshelf Nanners, I think looking for them is worth it because once you start paying attention and snatchin em up bushel by bushel you'll eventually hone in on a pretty awesome thing, a version of the world that makes you the most happy. And in the end, isn't that what it's really all about anyways?
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Mr. Mustachio and FunnyBone Tickled Enthusiasts
Due to my "you must take this if you want to graduate while you're still in your 20s" class selection last semester, I promised myself I would take at least one class this semester with a little pizazz and a whole lotta pass/fail grading, the Holy Grail of grading scales. (Hallelujah!)
Flash forward to the first week of class, I'm sitting pretty in my new-found DocFilm class that not only comes with Holy Grail grading and pizazz, but the added bonus of a gung-ho professor with a full-bodied, mysterious mustachio. Not everyday does one get the chance to see a mustache of that magnitude, seriously.
The assignment given to us by Mr. Mustachio? Pick something you're passionate about and film a documentary. Beyond psyched.
I got to brainstorming and remembered that Gypsy had been talking about a group of people known as "party monsters" in New York who dressed as wildly and eccentrically as possible and get paid to appear at clubs. I'm a costume fiend (baby-on-a-grandma's back, hotdog, etc) so I thought this'd be perfect. Only problem: my filming never got off the ground once I got to the big apple. womp womp womppp. Seriously though, doing work in The City That Never Sleeps? ForgetAboutIt.
So, I regrouped from this lazy-on-my-part speed bump and, a couple days ago, came up with a new focus that, I think, is way more up my alley. Instead, I'm going to highlight an Athens-based group RubberSoul Yoga who specialize in LAUGH yoga. People come together and feed off of each other's spontaneous laughs, giggles, chuckles, ha-has, and ho-hos to gain the health benefits of laughter/to just have a spankin good time!(And this is an assignment??)
Next week, with camera in hand, I'm going to my first laugh-a-palooza yoga session to document the experience and interview people on what tickles their funnybones. Maybe, just maybeee, I can even get enough quality footage to put a smile on the well-groomed, bristly face of Mr. Mustachio.
Flash forward to the first week of class, I'm sitting pretty in my new-found DocFilm class that not only comes with Holy Grail grading and pizazz, but the added bonus of a gung-ho professor with a full-bodied, mysterious mustachio. Not everyday does one get the chance to see a mustache of that magnitude, seriously.
The assignment given to us by Mr. Mustachio? Pick something you're passionate about and film a documentary. Beyond psyched.
 |
| The classic baby on a grandma |
I got to brainstorming and remembered that Gypsy had been talking about a group of people known as "party monsters" in New York who dressed as wildly and eccentrically as possible and get paid to appear at clubs. I'm a costume fiend (baby-on-a-grandma's back, hotdog, etc) so I thought this'd be perfect. Only problem: my filming never got off the ground once I got to the big apple. womp womp womppp. Seriously though, doing work in The City That Never Sleeps? ForgetAboutIt.
So, I regrouped from this lazy-on-my-part speed bump and, a couple days ago, came up with a new focus that, I think, is way more up my alley. Instead, I'm going to highlight an Athens-based group RubberSoul Yoga who specialize in LAUGH yoga. People come together and feed off of each other's spontaneous laughs, giggles, chuckles, ha-has, and ho-hos to gain the health benefits of laughter/to just have a spankin good time!(And this is an assignment??)
Next week, with camera in hand, I'm going to my first laugh-a-palooza yoga session to document the experience and interview people on what tickles their funnybones. Maybe, just maybeee, I can even get enough quality footage to put a smile on the well-groomed, bristly face of Mr. Mustachio.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Yes And, But!
Roasted garlic hummus enthusiast, thrift store jungle junkie, and "Rock, paper, scissors solves all problems from Obama healthcare to who gets that last slice of Hawaiian pizza"decision-maker.
These are the the titles I wish my "Resume-Building Consultant", Cory, had taken seriously yesterday as we sat in her Ikea-furnished, closet of an office in the Career Center. In addition, I wishfully hoped these thoroughly developed, self-awarded labels would fly at the Career Fair today but, let's all be honest, the business world is not nearly progressive enough for the likes of "Rock, paper, scissor" decision-making. It's far too New Age.
Alas, I went with more professional, albeit phony, descriptions like "Team Builder" and "You Can Always Count on this By-The-Book, Truth Teller". Cory was impressed so I took my leave from her office, making sure to not get up too quickly, lest the Ikea chair beneath me shatter into tiny toothpicks (I swear I'm not this high-brow! To be real, I shop at Ikea for all my furniture and fake-plant needs too)
As I proceeded to pick out my attire for the Career Fair last night in my clothing swampland (Similar to Gypsy's) I noticed my honey badger body start to slow in movement. First my legs, then my arms, to the point where I felt like I was moving in honey. Could it be ready to sleep already? Hurry, jump in bed quick, it's time! But as I frantically scrambled into my memory-foam futon (I'm fancy, huh?) I realized it was not sleep honey badger was communicating. Rather, it was disinterest. The only reason I was going through with these pain-in-the-ass meetings with Ikea Cory, and picking out fancy clothes from the swampland was to get an internship with a company I didn't really care about. I was just drawn by the fact that they're based in NYC which isn't, my honey badger body let me realize, a good enough reason.
So, although I was trying to "Yes And" with Ikea Cory, the internship process, and my desire to be in the Big Apple, I was ignoring how I felt towards the key point: The actual internship (language translation for business). Don't get me wrong, I love language, but I don't want to make a job out of it. So, thanks to the honey badger, I didn't waste time applying.
This brought me to an epiphany about the "Yes And" ideology: "Yes But". Yes, I want an internship. Yes, NYC. Yes, experience, travel, garlic roasted hummus. But sometimes when adding your own jazzy spin to an idea you go in a direction that sheds layers of the orignal idea and requires one itsy-bitsy word, the "but". With the "Yes And" ideology culminating in a world of improvisation, evolution, and "on your feet", "anything goes" rapid change, the "Yes But" seems to fit in just right.
These are the the titles I wish my "Resume-Building Consultant", Cory, had taken seriously yesterday as we sat in her Ikea-furnished, closet of an office in the Career Center. In addition, I wishfully hoped these thoroughly developed, self-awarded labels would fly at the Career Fair today but, let's all be honest, the business world is not nearly progressive enough for the likes of "Rock, paper, scissor" decision-making. It's far too New Age.
Alas, I went with more professional, albeit phony, descriptions like "Team Builder" and "You Can Always Count on this By-The-Book, Truth Teller". Cory was impressed so I took my leave from her office, making sure to not get up too quickly, lest the Ikea chair beneath me shatter into tiny toothpicks (I swear I'm not this high-brow! To be real, I shop at Ikea for all my furniture and fake-plant needs too)
As I proceeded to pick out my attire for the Career Fair last night in my clothing swampland (Similar to Gypsy's) I noticed my honey badger body start to slow in movement. First my legs, then my arms, to the point where I felt like I was moving in honey. Could it be ready to sleep already? Hurry, jump in bed quick, it's time! But as I frantically scrambled into my memory-foam futon (I'm fancy, huh?) I realized it was not sleep honey badger was communicating. Rather, it was disinterest. The only reason I was going through with these pain-in-the-ass meetings with Ikea Cory, and picking out fancy clothes from the swampland was to get an internship with a company I didn't really care about. I was just drawn by the fact that they're based in NYC which isn't, my honey badger body let me realize, a good enough reason.
So, although I was trying to "Yes And" with Ikea Cory, the internship process, and my desire to be in the Big Apple, I was ignoring how I felt towards the key point: The actual internship (language translation for business). Don't get me wrong, I love language, but I don't want to make a job out of it. So, thanks to the honey badger, I didn't waste time applying.
This brought me to an epiphany about the "Yes And" ideology: "Yes But". Yes, I want an internship. Yes, NYC. Yes, experience, travel, garlic roasted hummus. But sometimes when adding your own jazzy spin to an idea you go in a direction that sheds layers of the orignal idea and requires one itsy-bitsy word, the "but". With the "Yes And" ideology culminating in a world of improvisation, evolution, and "on your feet", "anything goes" rapid change, the "Yes But" seems to fit in just right.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
My Body, The Honeybadger
Like the majestic, nastyass honey badger who takes what he wants, I've determined that my body sleeps when it wants. Eat turkey, drink warm milk, count sheep. put on a snuggie (Kelly(mom) has zebra print) To some these are words of sleep wisdom. Little tricks that assert your authority over your noncompliant body to which it can only reply "Got me!" However, to the owner of a honey badger body there can be no short-cuttery, only waiting.
Last night, on the cusp of being granted sweet sleep from the honey badger, a chance to recharge my batteries, start anew, and lolligag in dreamland---my all too timely alarm sounded off. Have I mentioned that I'm a big fan of waking up in the morning? You betcho bottom dollar.
I arrived half-dozing, half-dreading my first Spanish essay. A weird feeling, to say the least. Señora Picas (Lil' Salsa bean) hobbled in talking to herself in Spanish either about the weather, eating a hot dog for breakfast (girl after my own heart), or if she remembered to put deodorant on. I'm a Spanish minor? As I struggled to contact any sliver of Hispanic ancestry I might have for inspiration (I have none but a boy can dream, can't he?) I realized that Lil' Salsa Bean had switched her rantings to English.
She began venting about the talkative French woman outside the door who must have been on cappuccino #6, how this was a busy week for Lil' Salsa Bean and she was so stressed with work as it was/didn't know if she could make it through the week. I shared dislike for this Frenchie's blabbering seeing as I had 10 more minutes to power out 200 Spanish words/contact my Hispanic great grandparents. Soon after this venting, she switched back to her native tongue but for a moment there, me and Lil' Salsa Bean were united against a common enemy. Standing shoulder to shoulder, a hateful, passive-aggressive force to be reckoned with. And for a moment there, I saw a layer of Lil' Salsa Bean I had never seen before. Something soft and human beyond that hard, outer shell.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Yes Anding Got The Posts Rolling
Improv comedy has 1 golden rule: YES AND, that is, agree with the people/environment of the scene and add a little sumthin sumthin of your own. Perfect Ex: Someone's doing a British accent, do a British accent and comment on the splennnddiid Yorkshire countryside and the taste-tastic scones. BAM, just "yes anded" like a champ.
When I did Improv in high school I went crazy for the optimistic potential of the "yes and" (You're selling imaginary ice cream? Favorite flavor's Choco-choco chip, You're flying a kite? Let's race em down the beach, You've got a poodle named Phoebe? Lemme pet her) The "yes and" was a playground for my imagination that beckoned to try, touch, experience, and experiment.
When I started traveling over the summers with my pilot dad (Tom, as I will be referring to him), even though I wasn't doing Improv, the "yes and" kept creeping back into my mind. I'd find myself eating testicles of bull and sand-duning through the deserts of Dubai, all as a challenge to myself to spontaneously "yes and" wherever possible. To jump as high as I could at every chance. This coming from a kid whose diet consisted of hotdogs, followed by hotdogs, accompanied by a side of hotdogs and whose biggest idea of adventure was getting the next installment of the Sims.
This "yes anding" mentality is how I approach any situation these days. So, as I sat in an Advertising lecture (I'm an Ad Major) about blogging with Miram Kamin a little light went bing! and here I go again. Goal: 30 days writing straight. Leyy-go.
When I did Improv in high school I went crazy for the optimistic potential of the "yes and" (You're selling imaginary ice cream? Favorite flavor's Choco-choco chip, You're flying a kite? Let's race em down the beach, You've got a poodle named Phoebe? Lemme pet her) The "yes and" was a playground for my imagination that beckoned to try, touch, experience, and experiment.
When I started traveling over the summers with my pilot dad (Tom, as I will be referring to him), even though I wasn't doing Improv, the "yes and" kept creeping back into my mind. I'd find myself eating testicles of bull and sand-duning through the deserts of Dubai, all as a challenge to myself to spontaneously "yes and" wherever possible. To jump as high as I could at every chance. This coming from a kid whose diet consisted of hotdogs, followed by hotdogs, accompanied by a side of hotdogs and whose biggest idea of adventure was getting the next installment of the Sims.
This "yes anding" mentality is how I approach any situation these days. So, as I sat in an Advertising lecture (I'm an Ad Major) about blogging with Miram Kamin a little light went bing! and here I go again. Goal: 30 days writing straight. Leyy-go.
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