Just was inspired by this blog (See entrance on 5/5/12). So much of her writing mirrored my own life now, from her Political Science/ Pre-law majors and dreams of being a lawyer to her INFJ personality.
I really try to look to others for wisdom, especially those older than me. I'm at a pretty uncertain point in my life right now. Here's what's going on:
--Should I take the CELTA or ITTT ESL course? I think the difference is between an Ivy League / Community college. I can afford the CELTA but it would hurt. And taking the ITTT class would mean I could stay in my city, continue derby and...
--Find a Job? Should I take the summer off and focus on babysitting/ traveling, or should I live with relatives in Canada, or should I find a waitressing job and get tipssssss. or should I try and intern somewhere "prestigious" (a PR or law firm?) or... what??
--Should I still go to Korea to teach English?
--Should I look for a man? Is it ok that most turn me off, and the only ones I feel comfortable with are those that I'm intellectually attracted to, and therefore am physically unattracted to? I want kids one day, but I have never had a serious relationship, and now that I've reached the ripe old age of 22 and two days, I wonder if I'll EVER find "someone special". Or, rephrase-- someone special who hasn't already been spoken for. The world is looking smaller and smaller and I doubt anyone will be able to "get" my weird sense of humor or any other quirks. Or if they do that they won't be of the male species and mom will not approve.
--I feel I'm losing my faith, but I want it back. I don't want to be ashamed of my roots, and sometimes I get annoyed with myself for being "embarrassed" by my faith, especially around my derby sisters.
--I am getting FAT and not impressed with that direction. I am currently 5'8 and 149 pounds. Yuck! Yuck! YUCK!!! My biggest problem is boredom eating. And binging. Especially on sweets. Today I started running again and really do want to get back into a fitness routine. Maybe I can use this blog to be more accountable. More sleep, more water, less sugars, less snacks, less binging = happier me.
ok. this is so negative, and boring, and BLAH. but I had to get it out there. Hopefully, when my future starts to shape itself, everything will fall into place and I'll look back on this entry as entertaining...
05 May 2012
04 May 2012
Another Earth
I just saw this film.
Really thought-provoking. Not just this clip but the entire movie. It ends on one of the best questions of all. I like movies that wrap up tidily, yet the way they decided to end this was probably better than anything I'd have come up with.
Anyway, just looked a bit more into the story of the Russian Cosmonaut (source). The real story is even "stranger than fiction"-- and in some ways, fits with the theme of the film. The real Russian Cosmonaut (or, at least one of them) was Vladimir Komarov. The Russians were racing the Americans to develop a space program. The plan was to have these guys go up and switch mid-flight. Komarov was to go first, but the space shuttle was poorly constructed. Komarov knew he was going to die, but suited up anyway because the alternate pilot-- Yuri Gagarin-- was his friend. And no one could stop the mission because no one dared approach Brezhnev.
No one can stop your life. You're speeding on a course that you didn't exactly pick and you can't derail yourself, and even if you manage to survive the crash, as you pick up the pieces you realize that there is nothing you can do to go back and undo what happened. You can't relive and undo your mistakes. You just have to move forward.
You can't hug them one last time. You can't stop them from going. You can't say, Just wait! Please! Don't go tonight! You don't need your hair cut. You don't need to go. Stay here. Stay with me. One more night. Please don't go. Please don't go.
I was going to be in the car that night. All set to go, excited to be with my big sister. I had my pink coat on. The soft one with the lamb stitched in the tag in the back. I am standing in the kitchen. It's December and dark outside. Jessie and Dad are standing in the hallway. The light is on. Mom is standing by the stove and tells me she's been thinking it over and has decided I should stay home after all. It's a school night and she doesn't know how late they'll be home. I'm mad and annoyed and frustrated but I can't argue. I say goodbye and hug them both. They leave. And I never see them again.
Except I do. I see them, puffy, pale, perfumed... lying so stiffly in the caskets. Jessie looks so different, and it's not just her hair shorter than the last time I saw it. She has makeup on-- more than she's ever worn before. It's caked on her face and looks awful. Her lips are a strange shade of peach. I remember watching her put on lip liner in the upstairs bathroom we shared. I watched, and ran into my room to grab a pencil. Except the pencil hurt my lips when I tried to press it to my mouth like she did. Jessie was frustrated with me for copying her. But I wanted to do everything she did, including follow her the last night she was alive to get her hair cut.
Even Dad has makeup on. I thought if I stared hard enough, I could see the necklace Jessie was wearing rise and fall. She wasn't dead! She wasn't dead! She was alive after all, it was all a big mistake and we could go home and forget the horrible event. Or, after they were burried-- the doorbell would ring and they would be at our front door, and it would turn out that it hand't been them in the accident-- that my real dad and sister were still alive somewhere, suffering from amnesia. And maybe it'd be awkward at first having them back, and maybe they wouldn't remember everything or remember me completely-- but that'd be ok, because they'd still be here, alive.
These were the fantasies I entertained. And still sometimes I slip back into these familiar dreams. But the problem with dreaming is that sometimes you let go of reality. And slipping away from the real world won't bring them back, but neither will it help me. I'm not an island. I have ripples spreading throughout this world. And if I'm conscious of these ripples-- that my life isn't solely my own, that I owe it to other people to fully engage in the present-- than maybe I'll help myself in the process.
This movie asks the question, "What would it be like to meet yourself?" But it also toys with the idea of fate, and trying to alter your course, and how maybe you're stuck with the life you have but changing your perspective makes all the difference. The choices you make have a ripple effect on others around you, and draws a larger pool than you could have imagined.
I think about my own life. My dad and sister being killed. Their deaths didn't just affect me and make me sad, but they also affect how I live my life. And how I live my life affects others. One night changed everything for me-- but maybe it changed nothing. Maybe I would be me anyway. Would I? Quite existential tonight, aren't I?
Anyway, just looked a bit more into the story of the Russian Cosmonaut (source). The real story is even "stranger than fiction"-- and in some ways, fits with the theme of the film. The real Russian Cosmonaut (or, at least one of them) was Vladimir Komarov. The Russians were racing the Americans to develop a space program. The plan was to have these guys go up and switch mid-flight. Komarov was to go first, but the space shuttle was poorly constructed. Komarov knew he was going to die, but suited up anyway because the alternate pilot-- Yuri Gagarin-- was his friend. And no one could stop the mission because no one dared approach Brezhnev.
No one can stop your life. You're speeding on a course that you didn't exactly pick and you can't derail yourself, and even if you manage to survive the crash, as you pick up the pieces you realize that there is nothing you can do to go back and undo what happened. You can't relive and undo your mistakes. You just have to move forward.
You can't hug them one last time. You can't stop them from going. You can't say, Just wait! Please! Don't go tonight! You don't need your hair cut. You don't need to go. Stay here. Stay with me. One more night. Please don't go. Please don't go.
I was going to be in the car that night. All set to go, excited to be with my big sister. I had my pink coat on. The soft one with the lamb stitched in the tag in the back. I am standing in the kitchen. It's December and dark outside. Jessie and Dad are standing in the hallway. The light is on. Mom is standing by the stove and tells me she's been thinking it over and has decided I should stay home after all. It's a school night and she doesn't know how late they'll be home. I'm mad and annoyed and frustrated but I can't argue. I say goodbye and hug them both. They leave. And I never see them again.
Except I do. I see them, puffy, pale, perfumed... lying so stiffly in the caskets. Jessie looks so different, and it's not just her hair shorter than the last time I saw it. She has makeup on-- more than she's ever worn before. It's caked on her face and looks awful. Her lips are a strange shade of peach. I remember watching her put on lip liner in the upstairs bathroom we shared. I watched, and ran into my room to grab a pencil. Except the pencil hurt my lips when I tried to press it to my mouth like she did. Jessie was frustrated with me for copying her. But I wanted to do everything she did, including follow her the last night she was alive to get her hair cut.
Even Dad has makeup on. I thought if I stared hard enough, I could see the necklace Jessie was wearing rise and fall. She wasn't dead! She wasn't dead! She was alive after all, it was all a big mistake and we could go home and forget the horrible event. Or, after they were burried-- the doorbell would ring and they would be at our front door, and it would turn out that it hand't been them in the accident-- that my real dad and sister were still alive somewhere, suffering from amnesia. And maybe it'd be awkward at first having them back, and maybe they wouldn't remember everything or remember me completely-- but that'd be ok, because they'd still be here, alive.
These were the fantasies I entertained. And still sometimes I slip back into these familiar dreams. But the problem with dreaming is that sometimes you let go of reality. And slipping away from the real world won't bring them back, but neither will it help me. I'm not an island. I have ripples spreading throughout this world. And if I'm conscious of these ripples-- that my life isn't solely my own, that I owe it to other people to fully engage in the present-- than maybe I'll help myself in the process.
02 May 2012
Candles and cake and lighting the world on fire.
Happy Birthday to ME!
22 years ago I entered this world, and it's been a heckofa ride, let me tell you.
I'm thinking about getting a tattoo to commemorate this. I was going to wait 'till my 30th birthday... but hmmm... finding some cute ones on Pinterest.
Since this is likely never to happen, I'll share my top favorites (of the moment).
Beating heart... this is clever, and although a bit bizarre, also captivating...
This one, especially, is never happening... but that doesn't stop me from finding it ADORABLE! I was toying with the idea of Bambi or Bambino for a derby name, and this would have been perfect!
...dang it, now I'm reconsidering that derby name... :P
And for my favorite...
Not so much the wording or the script, but I love the placement and the bird!
ta ta for now, my bloggy friends...
People Are [sometimes] Awesome 2011
While I disagree with the title... this is a pretty cool collection of stunts:
01 May 2012
Death Threats
Excuse me, folks... we interrupt your regular scheduled programming to bring you word of a death threat overheard on campus today...
I just have to write this down, and then I plan to contact the counseling department tomorrow or (less ideally) the Campus "Safety"... how safe they keep me is open to interpretation but I suppose they are one option.
Tonight I was in the IT department happily filling out an application (side topic!) when I became aware of a rather loud conversation occurring behind me. Initially I was just annoyed that these folks were talking in a regular voice when all the other students were hushed, bent over their work. Finals are next week and the campus has remembered its purpose and newly serious students abound. As I cursed myself for forgetting earplugs, I started to actually listen to what these students were saying and became rather disturbed.
I knew the male student. We were even Facebook friends for a period of time. This fellow is quite an odd duck... I would say on the aspergers end of the social spectrum. He can often be found running up and down a hallway, muttering and correcting himself. I used to call his name and say hello, but rarely would he acknowledge me. He seems intelligent but lacking in social graces-- or just viewing these customs as irrelevant. The female student he was talking to I had never seen before. Nor was I even aware he could carry on an intelligible conversation for so long. Their conversation sounded very pretentious, as conversations between intelligent-people-lacking-in-social-cues often do.
Boy: "...my father is actually highly intelligent. I believe he could have had any job he wanted to, but he chose not to, and I respect him for that."
Girl: "Yeah, he could be a millionaire."
B: No... much more than that. You don't understand.
G: Oh, well when I said millionaire, I meant multi-millionaire.
...
At this point I rolled my eyes and tuned out, until I heard...
G: Your mother is despicable. I just want her to die. I just wish she would choke on something and die.
B: Well, that's not likely to happen...
G: But it could! Does your mother have a predisposition for long life?
B: Yes, well my mother's family is actually quite well known for living a very long while...
G: Is your mother in good health?
B: Yes, she seems to be taking very good care of herself, actually...
G: Well is she a diabetic? Does she like red meat?
B: I don't know...
This line of questioning seemed incredibly bizarre to me... like she was trying to plot ways to kill off the guy's mother. I felt I had to intervene in some way... and I couldn't believe the disdain I was hearing in her voice.
Next thing I know, the guy was saying, "Well, I don't want my mother to actually die!" To which the girl retorted, "Kyle, she's a cancer. She's a cancer in your life that needs to be cut out!"
I couldn't stay silent any longer.
I turned around and said, "Hey, guys, I don't really want to hear these kinds of things being said."
"Oh, ok, sorry..." they mumbled. The guy showed no sign of recognition-- in fact, he didn't even look up at me, once.
But I wasn't finished.
I turned to the girl and said, "You know, I'm reminded of a quote by Anne Lamott... she says that you can safely assume that you've created God in your image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do." I was trying to imply that maybe there was more to this "despicable mother" than she saw, and that no matter how much she detested the woman, she had no right to wish these horrible things on her.
The girl was unimpressed with my sermon, to say the least.
"Well, I'm not normally like this..." and I started to nod my head, only to be told, "...but I don't think you have any right to be judgmental!"
Whoa whoa whoa. I hate the j-word. Kids these days... toss it around so flippantly. Chick, listen here. You're making death threats on this guys' mother! I'm not "judging" you by telling you to stop it.
But my brilliant retort was only, "I am not being judgmental, I'd just appreciate not hearing things like this... so just... keep it down."
Yeah, really socked it to her there.
Anyway, I e-mailed my mom telling her I might be murdered before I returned home. She was only slightly aroused. The more I thought about it, the more disturbed I became. I told her and my sister the story later. Mom suggested I get in contact with someone on campus about it, just in case. I called one of my best friends who works on campus. I figured E would have a pretty good idea of who I should talk to, if anyone. E suggested I e-mail this guy's residence director, which I am about to do. It could be nothing and probably is... but then again, I'd rather it be not on my conscience any longer.
So... what did you overhear today?
(And no, Kyle is definitely not his real name.)
I just have to write this down, and then I plan to contact the counseling department tomorrow or (less ideally) the Campus "Safety"... how safe they keep me is open to interpretation but I suppose they are one option.
Tonight I was in the IT department happily filling out an application (side topic!) when I became aware of a rather loud conversation occurring behind me. Initially I was just annoyed that these folks were talking in a regular voice when all the other students were hushed, bent over their work. Finals are next week and the campus has remembered its purpose and newly serious students abound. As I cursed myself for forgetting earplugs, I started to actually listen to what these students were saying and became rather disturbed.
I knew the male student. We were even Facebook friends for a period of time. This fellow is quite an odd duck... I would say on the aspergers end of the social spectrum. He can often be found running up and down a hallway, muttering and correcting himself. I used to call his name and say hello, but rarely would he acknowledge me. He seems intelligent but lacking in social graces-- or just viewing these customs as irrelevant. The female student he was talking to I had never seen before. Nor was I even aware he could carry on an intelligible conversation for so long. Their conversation sounded very pretentious, as conversations between intelligent-people-lacking-in-social-cues often do.
Boy: "...my father is actually highly intelligent. I believe he could have had any job he wanted to, but he chose not to, and I respect him for that."
Girl: "Yeah, he could be a millionaire."
B: No... much more than that. You don't understand.
G: Oh, well when I said millionaire, I meant multi-millionaire.
...
At this point I rolled my eyes and tuned out, until I heard...
G: Your mother is despicable. I just want her to die. I just wish she would choke on something and die.
B: Well, that's not likely to happen...
G: But it could! Does your mother have a predisposition for long life?
B: Yes, well my mother's family is actually quite well known for living a very long while...
G: Is your mother in good health?
B: Yes, she seems to be taking very good care of herself, actually...
G: Well is she a diabetic? Does she like red meat?
B: I don't know...
This line of questioning seemed incredibly bizarre to me... like she was trying to plot ways to kill off the guy's mother. I felt I had to intervene in some way... and I couldn't believe the disdain I was hearing in her voice.
Next thing I know, the guy was saying, "Well, I don't want my mother to actually die!" To which the girl retorted, "Kyle, she's a cancer. She's a cancer in your life that needs to be cut out!"
I couldn't stay silent any longer.
I turned around and said, "Hey, guys, I don't really want to hear these kinds of things being said."
"Oh, ok, sorry..." they mumbled. The guy showed no sign of recognition-- in fact, he didn't even look up at me, once.
But I wasn't finished.
I turned to the girl and said, "You know, I'm reminded of a quote by Anne Lamott... she says that you can safely assume that you've created God in your image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do." I was trying to imply that maybe there was more to this "despicable mother" than she saw, and that no matter how much she detested the woman, she had no right to wish these horrible things on her.
The girl was unimpressed with my sermon, to say the least.
"Well, I'm not normally like this..." and I started to nod my head, only to be told, "...but I don't think you have any right to be judgmental!"
Whoa whoa whoa. I hate the j-word. Kids these days... toss it around so flippantly. Chick, listen here. You're making death threats on this guys' mother! I'm not "judging" you by telling you to stop it.
But my brilliant retort was only, "I am not being judgmental, I'd just appreciate not hearing things like this... so just... keep it down."
Yeah, really socked it to her there.
Anyway, I e-mailed my mom telling her I might be murdered before I returned home. She was only slightly aroused. The more I thought about it, the more disturbed I became. I told her and my sister the story later. Mom suggested I get in contact with someone on campus about it, just in case. I called one of my best friends who works on campus. I figured E would have a pretty good idea of who I should talk to, if anyone. E suggested I e-mail this guy's residence director, which I am about to do. It could be nothing and probably is... but then again, I'd rather it be not on my conscience any longer.
So... what did you overhear today?
(And no, Kyle is definitely not his real name.)
meh.
They warned me there'd be practices where I felt lousy, and last night was one of them. I couldn't seem to do anything right, I kept feeling self-conscious that others (e.g. Tony Hawk) were watching, and I just felt so far behind everyone else-- even the "new" newbies!!
I'm determined to get better. I want to go trail skating, and thankfully it's stopped raining... however I have so many things needing to be done that I can't justify taking the time.
Robbing Peter to pay Paul leaves lots of debts unpaid. I am not feeling successful in any area of life right now. I'll quit this whiny post and come back later with some more derbsperation!
P.S. On a brighter note... Tony said "Thank you" when I held the door open for her! Lucy says it doesn't count since even strangers do this, but I am chalking it up to SUCCESS! Point TWO for me, zilch for Lucy.
I'm determined to get better. I want to go trail skating, and thankfully it's stopped raining... however I have so many things needing to be done that I can't justify taking the time.
Robbing Peter to pay Paul leaves lots of debts unpaid. I am not feeling successful in any area of life right now. I'll quit this whiny post and come back later with some more derbsperation!
P.S. On a brighter note... Tony said "Thank you" when I held the door open for her! Lucy says it doesn't count since even strangers do this, but I am chalking it up to SUCCESS! Point TWO for me, zilch for Lucy.
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