So I'm just going to get this out there: I love tee shirts. I really do. It's becoming problematic.
I love how they fit, how easy it is to re-seam them to make them fit more tailored, or to have them loose and lounge-worthy. I love they don't require fussing or fixing to look right. Most importantly, I seem to view tees as a way to show off what I'm in to; my favorite movies, shows, activities, music, etc.
It's becoming a hobby, really. A collection I can wear. Teefury is NOT helping, either. The money I have spent on $10 tees adds up in the long run; money I could have spent on a DSLR, an ultralite tent or pack, or a sundress (contrary to popular belief, I DO enjoy wearing dresses...just never have the money to buy them :p). And I try not to wear a tee shirt every day. But still, I'd say 40% of my closet is shirts expressing my love for various things in the most obscure way possible.
The funny thing is that today, thanks to the internet, it's so much easier to connect with fandoms around the world; it's a community of strangers uniting under a common interest. It's becoming something to be proud of, a way to show others "Hey, I like Firefly/Star Wars/hiking, etc...do you?".
Not that I don't like dressing up a bit more; in fact, it tends to surprise people when I switch it up from my usual jeans and a tee ensemble. I really do, except with my weird self-esteem issues I've somehow subconciously convinced myself that on most days I don't deserve to look cute or pretty or well put together. I'm not saying that for pity, I'm including that as full disclosure into my thoughts. This is my blog. Digressing, that's not the reason I wear t-shirts...I'm not a slob. I don't wear oversized things or sweatpants out in public. I feel relaxed in a good tee. I feel relaxed and awesomely geeky in a tee shirt with Doctor Who on it.
It's a weird sense of pride, like maybe a tattoo...except I won't regret it in like 20 years. So if you see me rocking a tee shirt, don't think I'm just fashion lazy (well, okay, I am sometimes), but know I take pride in my knowledge of pop culture and the things I connect with. Afterall, I could be spending that money on drugs or booze instead and this way my fix is cottony-soft.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Thursday, June 23, 2011
A frustrated rant as to why I won't be seeing Cars 2
Ouch. It's not even out yet (as of my writing this at 10:48 p.m.) but Cars 2 already garners a 40% fresh on Rotten Tomatoes. In fairness, the critics may be a little harsher on Pixar than they would be on any other studio, but theres a reason for that. Pixar has never let down an audience; they make innovative, refreshing, heartwarming films that don't dumb down situations or humor to still keep their "family-friendly" image. A Bug's Life, Toy Story, Ratatouille, Up, Monsters Inc., Wall-E, etc. all tell their own interesting stories that tread beyond spewing out well-worn kiddy movie fare. But Cars....Cars is it's own problem.
I don't agree with critics a lot of the time...hell, I think Spice World and Speed Racer are great movies. But man....I cringe when I see the trailer for Cars Redeaux. I get snobbishly flustered as to why Pixar's relatively worst film is getting an even worse sequel. And I get downright angry when I go into Tomorrowland and find the world of Tomorrow to be suspiciously occupied by a lot of talking cars and variations of Stitch.
Let me set something straight here. Yes, I'm 24 and I still enjoy cartoons, but that's not what gets me upset and overly pessimistic over this blatent money making vehichle (see what I did there?)...as a self-respecting cinemaphile, I practically live and breathe movies. If I wasn't a biology major, I guarantee you I would have went into film. Pixar is successful not only for creating truly innovative movies that happen to be box office hits, but because they have an integrity towards all audiences (the only other studio, IMO, that comes close or even surpasses is Ghibli, and you can't go a damn interview with Lasseter without him mentioning what good buds he is with Hayao Miyazaki...). Any good true movie fan has Pixar's shorts or the Pixar Story on DVD. So I'm just writing this out as I get frustrated seeing the trailer for Cars 2 for, like, the billionth time. There's only so much I can take.
But Pixar is interesting in the likes of studios: their movies are usually funny and intelligent and quirky in a wonderfully charming way. Take the short "Your Friend the Rat", an extra on the Ratatouille DVD. Beautifully done, it's also one of the funniest pieces of film under 15 minutes I've ever seen. Actually, this paragraph has little to do with the rest of the rant. I'm just saying that short is hilarious. Seriously, I LOL everytime.
But I digress.
Cars was an okay film considering the fact I've already gone through puberty. It's definitely a film that has shown more potential with children because "OMG CARS AND THEY TALK!" My generation had Brave Little Toaster; kids today will have Cars. I get it. It was a fun little movie, although not nearly as thought-provoking or heartfelt as many of Pixar's other films. But then, MOYCHANDISING! Cars bedsheets, stuffed Cars, Cars....cars, etc. It's like the new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles; anything that can have Cars on it WILL and they WILL sell like hotcakes. Because kids love cars and they love Cars.
In other words: As Joe Morgenstern of the Wall Street Journal put it, "This is something new for Pixar, a movie in which characterization and deep feelings take a back seat to breakneck pace, and something new for Pixar lovers, including me, who may find themselves wondering if Disney's master merchandisers are starting to call the tune for Pixar's master storytellers."
My brother (a bigger Pixar fanatic than I am) and I would like to believe Lasseter and the gang sighed at the success and said "okay, fine. We'll make another Cars film to fund our other projects." For every ambitious film or so ("Okay, it's a story about an old guy, a little boy, and a dog...plus theres a miscarriage and a death in the first 15 minutes") they need something that will appeal to Disney's pockets once in awhile.
And really? Larry the Cable Guy is your headliner. Come on. Not even Pixar can take Cars 2 seriously. It looks like something Dreamworks would have crapped out a few years ago before they started stepping up their game. And not just this cringe-worthy comedian that make it shady; the plot looks too busy and flashy to have any real solid story behind it. It basically undermines everything else Pixar has produced to this point by insulting our intelligence. It's mediocre dribble, and they can do better. And honestly, I think they know it.
It won't be a bad movie; it'll be funny, and it'll be pretty to look at. But come on. Seriously. I'm speechless. Go read those reviews on RT again and tell me I'm wrong to be frustrated. It's not what we've come to expect from Pixar.
So Pixar, I'm giving this to you. It's your free pass, because up until now you've been churning out solid gold storytelling. I still have high hopes for Monsters Inc. 2, and I'm expecting good things to come. And honestly, I'm still probably going to see this movie on DVD. But seriously, cool it with the B-list comedians. Once you hire Dane Cook for a movie, I'm officially out.
I don't agree with critics a lot of the time...hell, I think Spice World and Speed Racer are great movies. But man....I cringe when I see the trailer for Cars Redeaux. I get snobbishly flustered as to why Pixar's relatively worst film is getting an even worse sequel. And I get downright angry when I go into Tomorrowland and find the world of Tomorrow to be suspiciously occupied by a lot of talking cars and variations of Stitch.
Let me set something straight here. Yes, I'm 24 and I still enjoy cartoons, but that's not what gets me upset and overly pessimistic over this blatent money making vehichle (see what I did there?)...as a self-respecting cinemaphile, I practically live and breathe movies. If I wasn't a biology major, I guarantee you I would have went into film. Pixar is successful not only for creating truly innovative movies that happen to be box office hits, but because they have an integrity towards all audiences (the only other studio, IMO, that comes close or even surpasses is Ghibli, and you can't go a damn interview with Lasseter without him mentioning what good buds he is with Hayao Miyazaki...). Any good true movie fan has Pixar's shorts or the Pixar Story on DVD. So I'm just writing this out as I get frustrated seeing the trailer for Cars 2 for, like, the billionth time. There's only so much I can take.
But Pixar is interesting in the likes of studios: their movies are usually funny and intelligent and quirky in a wonderfully charming way. Take the short "Your Friend the Rat", an extra on the Ratatouille DVD. Beautifully done, it's also one of the funniest pieces of film under 15 minutes I've ever seen. Actually, this paragraph has little to do with the rest of the rant. I'm just saying that short is hilarious. Seriously, I LOL everytime.
But I digress.
Cars was an okay film considering the fact I've already gone through puberty. It's definitely a film that has shown more potential with children because "OMG CARS AND THEY TALK!" My generation had Brave Little Toaster; kids today will have Cars. I get it. It was a fun little movie, although not nearly as thought-provoking or heartfelt as many of Pixar's other films. But then, MOYCHANDISING! Cars bedsheets, stuffed Cars, Cars....cars, etc. It's like the new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles; anything that can have Cars on it WILL and they WILL sell like hotcakes. Because kids love cars and they love Cars.
In other words: As Joe Morgenstern of the Wall Street Journal put it, "This is something new for Pixar, a movie in which characterization and deep feelings take a back seat to breakneck pace, and something new for Pixar lovers, including me, who may find themselves wondering if Disney's master merchandisers are starting to call the tune for Pixar's master storytellers."
My brother (a bigger Pixar fanatic than I am) and I would like to believe Lasseter and the gang sighed at the success and said "okay, fine. We'll make another Cars film to fund our other projects." For every ambitious film or so ("Okay, it's a story about an old guy, a little boy, and a dog...plus theres a miscarriage and a death in the first 15 minutes") they need something that will appeal to Disney's pockets once in awhile.
And really? Larry the Cable Guy is your headliner. Come on. Not even Pixar can take Cars 2 seriously. It looks like something Dreamworks would have crapped out a few years ago before they started stepping up their game. And not just this cringe-worthy comedian that make it shady; the plot looks too busy and flashy to have any real solid story behind it. It basically undermines everything else Pixar has produced to this point by insulting our intelligence. It's mediocre dribble, and they can do better. And honestly, I think they know it.
It won't be a bad movie; it'll be funny, and it'll be pretty to look at. But come on. Seriously. I'm speechless. Go read those reviews on RT again and tell me I'm wrong to be frustrated. It's not what we've come to expect from Pixar.
So Pixar, I'm giving this to you. It's your free pass, because up until now you've been churning out solid gold storytelling. I still have high hopes for Monsters Inc. 2, and I'm expecting good things to come. And honestly, I'm still probably going to see this movie on DVD. But seriously, cool it with the B-list comedians. Once you hire Dane Cook for a movie, I'm officially out.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Cradle to the Grave: A Thief 3 musing
It's approximately 11:30, and I'm sitting in the basement by myself. Everyone else has gone to bed, and I'm scared. I honestly haven't been this spooked in my house since my junior year of high school when, home alone, I honestly thought someone was breaking in during a vicious storm raging outside.But I'm a big girl now, yeah? What has me so terrified? A video game, thats what. One that I've already played. When I heard Thief 3 was being sold on Steam at a discount, I finally gave in and started a Steam account. Breezing through the levels of Deadly Shadows, a game I last endeavored to play in 2008, I was anticipating my favorite level ever made: the Shalebridge Cradle. It's scary, to say the least, and I'm a person who loves all things supernaturally scary. If you do a google search, articles (professionally written ones at that) on the brilliance of the level are a dime a dozen.
My favorite, a walk-thru that also serves as an editorial on the brilliance behind the Cradle, scares the ever loving hell out of me just by reading it. If you've played this game, go read the article. Hell, if you haven't played the level (and don't intend to), go read it anyway. For those of you (all, what 2 of you that are gonna read) who see the screenshot and think "gee wilikers, it looks like the Boo mansion from Mario 64!" well....thats an astute observation. But ASIDE from that, you're missing out.
But I digress. I'm actually writing this post to work through some serious spine tingles right now. As I said, I'm in the perfect conditions for my mind to go into over-drive and hear bumps that are not really there. Playing as Garrett, the thief, you investigate the dilapidated ruins of an orphanage that had been, at one time, also an insane asylum. I won't ruin the nuances of the level, the horrors your mind recreates when reading the notes scattered inside, or anything like that. Again, the PCGamer feature linked above can cover that more eloquently than I ever could. Also note that this game came out in 2004 and is still successfully scaring the crap out of people.
Playing the level through, though, even when you know by now what to expect....doesn't really make it easier. Especially when its been years. Especially when you've (stupidly) got the audio cranked up and it's late. By the time I accomplished my first objective (restore power to the Cradle) my stress levels are so elevated that I'm getting a headache. In many ways, this is almost worse; I know what's coming, but I forget when. I get so tense walking slowly, creeping, through the building that I am literally on the verge of tears. Yes, people, this is my idea of fun gaming.
There is ambiance. Lots of it. The place is supposed to be haunted and dripping with evil, so of course you're going to hear plenty of spooky noises. But these aren't of the Scooby-Doo variety; the usual horror cliches played out by video games are not really found here. Here, in a level thrown into a game where the norm is creeping aroud (and bonking out) guards and stealing stuff, your mind is your own worst enemy. No other game I've played, movie I've seen, book I've read comes close to this kind of paranoia. The level establishes early on that the Cradle was a nursery for young life, and also a death rattle for the insane. It sounds stupid, but it inherently eats at you while you play.
Making my way, turning at shadows, desperately trying to remember when I need to flee and when I need to act I finally make it to the glowy purple door that tells me it's time to progress. Yup, all this mind..er...fudging that had wound me up was within, what, the first 10 minutes of the level.
Against my better judgement I save and then enter through the door..wait...doesn't something happen soon? Creeping through the shadows to the entrance of the psychiatric ward, I suddenly remember a split second before it happens:
oh. yeah. THIS is when it REALLY gets fun. And this is also the moment I made the decision to take up the level tomorrow...in the daylight. With people around. Because what I've described above does not do justice to what happens after this point.
oh. yeah. THIS is when it REALLY gets fun. And this is also the moment I made the decision to take up the level tomorrow...in the daylight. With people around. Because what I've described above does not do justice to what happens after this point.
Regardless of my serious wussing out right now, the reaction the level garners from me time after time is, again, why I purchased the game. I'm leaving a save at the very beginning so I can play through anytime I want, just for a good scare.
Whew. I finally feel brave enough to retreat upstairs and hide under my covers.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
The weird introspective blog post; AKA the love/hate letter to trichotillomania
Trichotillomania. It's a very weird word, and it's kinda hard to say. It's even harder to explain.
Over the last decade, I've struggled to find the words to describe to people why and how I do what I do, I look how I look. Trichotillomania. Described as an impulsive control disorder, it shares DSM-IV listing space with pyromania, gambling, kleptomania, compulsive nail biting, and compulsive skin picking.
Trichotillomania: literally; to obsessively pull hair. It really sucks.
I've had TTM since I was in the 7th grade, and that was reaaaalllly not a convenient time to be ostracized from teenage society. Imagine: having bald patches from picking your hair so much due to stress and anxiety just furthers a vicious cycle; friends no longer want you to cramp their style, boys mock you, and a lot of self esteem issues arise. You learn from a young age that you can't be pretty if you don't have pretty hair.
It's so stupid, really. It's just dead protein, and it sounds stupid to be worried about something like that. Anyone reading this, however, I challenge you to imagine pulling out your own hair and contending with the realization and horror of how illogical the action is, how ashamed you feel. I challenge you to imagine having a perpetual bad hair day. It seems like such a stupid, stupid thing to worry about.
And yet...there are entire industries around hair care, growing hair, hair styling; business is booming for cancer patients affected by hair loss from chemotherapy. Hair is seen as a symbol of beauty and health in many cultures. WTF, trichotillomania?
There's so many worse things in life to deal with on a day-to-day basis. There are, and I recognize this. But to think of all the things in life I missed out on, that I LET myself miss out on for fear of being noticed in a wrong light...it's not fair. But life isn't fair. All of the things I didn't do in high school, or in the years after, because I felt gross and stupid and ugly. If I wasn't being ridiculed, I was being ignored, and I learned to prefer the latter while aching to worry about the regular kind of high school misfit business.
Of course it's easy to push forward and try to make people see you for who you are, but when your personality is altered during the formative years, what kind of person does that make you? I wonder what I'd be like if I didn't have trichotillomania. If I continued being the loud-mouthed outgoing person I was as a little girl. Would I be different, or would I allow myself the continued emotional detachment in some other neurosis. I miss being goofy, and I miss allowing myself to attach to people without being petrified if I'm socially acceptable enough. I miss being able to talk to people about how I feel about things without saying "this happened, then this happened" and that be that.
For those of you actually reading this saying "oh please get over yourself"....duh. Here's the thing, I say all this stuff because its on my mind and I'm exercising being more open, especially about something so visible. I'm trying to get people to see where I'm coming from because ultimately I need to vent this out. But I can't blame every flaw on trichotillomania and societal expectations; a lot of my problems stem from me, plain and simple. I'm trying to work on those things, too...but I don't know how. I'm 24 and I still don't know how to vocalize and change.
A few friends advised that I need to stop spending so much time in my head and just let things fall where they may. I need to let things go, and I need to be less of a bitch while standing my ground more effectively. I need to get a hobby and actually be interesting to other people. I also need those people to call me in the middle of the night to talk to me when they know I'm freaking out...and for those that do, I thank you. I need more adventures in my life, and more chances to be silly.
But still, wtf trichotillomania...you could at least be easier to pronounce.
Over the last decade, I've struggled to find the words to describe to people why and how I do what I do, I look how I look. Trichotillomania. Described as an impulsive control disorder, it shares DSM-IV listing space with pyromania, gambling, kleptomania, compulsive nail biting, and compulsive skin picking.
Trichotillomania: literally; to obsessively pull hair. It really sucks.
I've had TTM since I was in the 7th grade, and that was reaaaalllly not a convenient time to be ostracized from teenage society. Imagine: having bald patches from picking your hair so much due to stress and anxiety just furthers a vicious cycle; friends no longer want you to cramp their style, boys mock you, and a lot of self esteem issues arise. You learn from a young age that you can't be pretty if you don't have pretty hair.
It's so stupid, really. It's just dead protein, and it sounds stupid to be worried about something like that. Anyone reading this, however, I challenge you to imagine pulling out your own hair and contending with the realization and horror of how illogical the action is, how ashamed you feel. I challenge you to imagine having a perpetual bad hair day. It seems like such a stupid, stupid thing to worry about.
And yet...there are entire industries around hair care, growing hair, hair styling; business is booming for cancer patients affected by hair loss from chemotherapy. Hair is seen as a symbol of beauty and health in many cultures. WTF, trichotillomania?
There's so many worse things in life to deal with on a day-to-day basis. There are, and I recognize this. But to think of all the things in life I missed out on, that I LET myself miss out on for fear of being noticed in a wrong light...it's not fair. But life isn't fair. All of the things I didn't do in high school, or in the years after, because I felt gross and stupid and ugly. If I wasn't being ridiculed, I was being ignored, and I learned to prefer the latter while aching to worry about the regular kind of high school misfit business.
Of course it's easy to push forward and try to make people see you for who you are, but when your personality is altered during the formative years, what kind of person does that make you? I wonder what I'd be like if I didn't have trichotillomania. If I continued being the loud-mouthed outgoing person I was as a little girl. Would I be different, or would I allow myself the continued emotional detachment in some other neurosis. I miss being goofy, and I miss allowing myself to attach to people without being petrified if I'm socially acceptable enough. I miss being able to talk to people about how I feel about things without saying "this happened, then this happened" and that be that.
For those of you actually reading this saying "oh please get over yourself"....duh. Here's the thing, I say all this stuff because its on my mind and I'm exercising being more open, especially about something so visible. I'm trying to get people to see where I'm coming from because ultimately I need to vent this out. But I can't blame every flaw on trichotillomania and societal expectations; a lot of my problems stem from me, plain and simple. I'm trying to work on those things, too...but I don't know how. I'm 24 and I still don't know how to vocalize and change.
A few friends advised that I need to stop spending so much time in my head and just let things fall where they may. I need to let things go, and I need to be less of a bitch while standing my ground more effectively. I need to get a hobby and actually be interesting to other people. I also need those people to call me in the middle of the night to talk to me when they know I'm freaking out...and for those that do, I thank you. I need more adventures in my life, and more chances to be silly.
But still, wtf trichotillomania...you could at least be easier to pronounce.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Memory Lane is More Cluttered Than I Thought
I tend to do weird things at night. No, this post isn't going where you might think its going...for instance, after watching the Producers on Netflix, I decided that 2:48 a.m. was an excellent time to scrounge around my room looking for the periwinkle digital watch I owned my senior year of high school. I never wear watches (I HATE the feeling of things on my wrists, for some reason). The one exception to this is my Jurassic Park watch that I wore proudly until the stego came unglued in the watch face and now floats aimlessly in no-mans land, lorded over by gravity like a sad pair of googly eyes. I would still be wearing it today, I assure you.
But I digress. There are two things that people need to know about me and my room. This is the same room I've been in since I was a baby, and I never throw anything of even minor consequence away. Not like hoarder style amounts of stuff, but a decent amount of clutter. I'm sentimental like that. The problem with my sentimentality is that I'm also extremely lazy, and tend to forget about the stuff I've kept.
I knew where this particular watch was a couple years ago, so SURELY that's a good starting place, yeah? I wore the watch when I went (pardon the alliteration) to Japan in 2004. After the trip, I set it down on my set of bookshelves that holds no books (only things I've collected over the years), and that was that. The battery lasted a long time, and as of 2008 the alarm still went off for 1 minute, beeping every 5 seconds, at 1:00 p.m. (on it's time); mind you I never set the alarm, nor did I know how to shut it off, so this just goes to show how watches generally frighten and confuse me.
I started at this bookshelf and proceeded to dig my way through the knick-knacks and souvenirs here and there. Wading through these by-gone objects, I came across things I hadn't seen in years, or had forgotten existed completely. Pulling out the drawers from a little portable cabinet thingo, I came across pictures from jr. high and high school, and all the negatives carefully kept in the little photo pouch. A Magellan (you know, from Eureeka's Castle) foam stamp top, 2004 Destination Imagination GRF and State pins, video games for my Game Boy Advance, stickers, cards, newspaper clippings. A set of unopened Powerpuff Girls Halloween cards (who gives cards out on Halloween?)
One small jewelry box I had bought from Claires, probably when I was 11 or so, contained two Odyssey of the Mind rings, no less than 4 pesos (??), a "friends forever" ring thats counterpart probably went to a person I no longer keep in contact with (which is why the owner of the other one escapes my mind), a Walt Disney World token with Nala on it from 1995, and a Susan B. Anthony dollar.
I tried on my light up Disney princess crown, the one I bought in Downtown Disney with Margaret on our senior trip in 2005. I had no idea a little over a year later I'd be working in the area. Gleefully finding a telescope on the bottom shelf with my pirate stuff (I had a big pirate phase before it was cool *sticks nose up in air*), I looked through it and promptly gave myself a headache. The admissions bracelet to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, and a card from one of my best friends given to me on our last night as Disney College Program participants. Alas, the watch wasn't anywhere to be found.
Moving on to the nightstand that sits between my door and my closet thinking perhaps at some point in an attempt to clean I had moved it. Behind the tiger head lunchbox I got at Busch Gardens (also on the 2005 senior trip), my elephant bank, and my zen waterfall thingo that never works, I found boxes I had been storing away. Fun fact; in Japan, some chocolate candies come in little boxes that open up like a briefcase or lunchbox (sans clasp, they're not that fancy. It's just cardboard). I had gotten these from Chikako, my friend in high school, at some point and kept them. But why? Deterring from my watch mission, I decided to take a peek at them. Some still held contents (still wrapped individually...ewww though), a couple were empty. One held nothing but stickers.
The last, most spacious box (I think previously held chocolate covered graham crisp thingies that were in the shape of tree stumps), surprised me when I opened it. Notes from friends passed stealthily during class, a graduation card, even my first bank statement. And that's when it hit me; these are the things that define my life. Not in my actions or anything, but a trail of destruction and clutter that, when inspected carefully, are actually just pieces of my history. I was reminded of things that I hadn't thought about in literally years, but this is all part of who I am. It felt good.
I kept looking around my room, actually looking and observing the things I had placed here and there, and was just overtaken with memories: Pictures in cute frames from Okinawa, my Dewey's Pizza glasses (I have the whole set now!) from St. Louis, the Will Power bracelet showing support for my late cousin who at the time was battling cancer...all set in front of the many books I read and re-read over my formative years. The earrings I wore to prom set next to a photo taken of the night my senior year, and that was next to a shell covered jewelry box that belonged to my grandmother. The Jurassic Park watch, sitting dejectedly next to my action figures.
I started noticing the things on my walls, placed over the years; a pawprint from one of the wolves I helped to capture and sedate for a checkup at the Wild Canid Center (now the Wolf Sanctuary) near St. Louis when I was interning at the zoo. A wall hanging that belonged to Beth Carsmen, one of the coolest ladies that ever lived; Beth had traveled around the world and had such a spirit and passion for life, even up until the last days of her long life, that made such an impact on me.
Even the floor held memories; the carpeting in my room is a rust red (ya rly), so when I was little I liked to pretend it was lava at night. Monsters couldn't get into my room because they'd have to cross the lava and they'd burn up. I was jealous of my brother's room; they had a nice green carpet. I could pretend it was a field when I played with my barbies and other toys.
Alf keychains, old cameras, school pictures of friends hidden away in drawers. Silly knick-knacks, and even an old piece of concrete ticky-tacked to the side of a drawer (an in-joke with a friend that had given it to me saying it was a symbol of friendship and unity xD). The guitar that sits in the corner, only 3 chords learned, that made it to Florida with me but had to be rescued from an ex. Stupid, little insignificant things that just made me realize that there is so much more to my life, who I am, than necessarily what I recall now.
It's easy to breeze through life and look back down to where you've already been and think you know everything already about that place in time. It's easy to glaze over it all and define it in a sentence or two. "I was lonely in high school, and don't really remember doing much of anything anyway". Maybe. But maybe not so much, either. Thanks, room, for being kinda bad-ass.
I didn't find that watch, but I have come to two conclusions; pick up the guitar again and see if I can't actually learn something on it, and dust my room.
But I digress. There are two things that people need to know about me and my room. This is the same room I've been in since I was a baby, and I never throw anything of even minor consequence away. Not like hoarder style amounts of stuff, but a decent amount of clutter. I'm sentimental like that. The problem with my sentimentality is that I'm also extremely lazy, and tend to forget about the stuff I've kept.
I knew where this particular watch was a couple years ago, so SURELY that's a good starting place, yeah? I wore the watch when I went (pardon the alliteration) to Japan in 2004. After the trip, I set it down on my set of bookshelves that holds no books (only things I've collected over the years), and that was that. The battery lasted a long time, and as of 2008 the alarm still went off for 1 minute, beeping every 5 seconds, at 1:00 p.m. (on it's time); mind you I never set the alarm, nor did I know how to shut it off, so this just goes to show how watches generally frighten and confuse me.
I started at this bookshelf and proceeded to dig my way through the knick-knacks and souvenirs here and there. Wading through these by-gone objects, I came across things I hadn't seen in years, or had forgotten existed completely. Pulling out the drawers from a little portable cabinet thingo, I came across pictures from jr. high and high school, and all the negatives carefully kept in the little photo pouch. A Magellan (you know, from Eureeka's Castle) foam stamp top, 2004 Destination Imagination GRF and State pins, video games for my Game Boy Advance, stickers, cards, newspaper clippings. A set of unopened Powerpuff Girls Halloween cards (who gives cards out on Halloween?)
One small jewelry box I had bought from Claires, probably when I was 11 or so, contained two Odyssey of the Mind rings, no less than 4 pesos (??), a "friends forever" ring thats counterpart probably went to a person I no longer keep in contact with (which is why the owner of the other one escapes my mind), a Walt Disney World token with Nala on it from 1995, and a Susan B. Anthony dollar.
I tried on my light up Disney princess crown, the one I bought in Downtown Disney with Margaret on our senior trip in 2005. I had no idea a little over a year later I'd be working in the area. Gleefully finding a telescope on the bottom shelf with my pirate stuff (I had a big pirate phase before it was cool *sticks nose up in air*), I looked through it and promptly gave myself a headache. The admissions bracelet to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, and a card from one of my best friends given to me on our last night as Disney College Program participants. Alas, the watch wasn't anywhere to be found.
Moving on to the nightstand that sits between my door and my closet thinking perhaps at some point in an attempt to clean I had moved it. Behind the tiger head lunchbox I got at Busch Gardens (also on the 2005 senior trip), my elephant bank, and my zen waterfall thingo that never works, I found boxes I had been storing away. Fun fact; in Japan, some chocolate candies come in little boxes that open up like a briefcase or lunchbox (sans clasp, they're not that fancy. It's just cardboard). I had gotten these from Chikako, my friend in high school, at some point and kept them. But why? Deterring from my watch mission, I decided to take a peek at them. Some still held contents (still wrapped individually...ewww though), a couple were empty. One held nothing but stickers.
The last, most spacious box (I think previously held chocolate covered graham crisp thingies that were in the shape of tree stumps), surprised me when I opened it. Notes from friends passed stealthily during class, a graduation card, even my first bank statement. And that's when it hit me; these are the things that define my life. Not in my actions or anything, but a trail of destruction and clutter that, when inspected carefully, are actually just pieces of my history. I was reminded of things that I hadn't thought about in literally years, but this is all part of who I am. It felt good.
I kept looking around my room, actually looking and observing the things I had placed here and there, and was just overtaken with memories: Pictures in cute frames from Okinawa, my Dewey's Pizza glasses (I have the whole set now!) from St. Louis, the Will Power bracelet showing support for my late cousin who at the time was battling cancer...all set in front of the many books I read and re-read over my formative years. The earrings I wore to prom set next to a photo taken of the night my senior year, and that was next to a shell covered jewelry box that belonged to my grandmother. The Jurassic Park watch, sitting dejectedly next to my action figures.
I started noticing the things on my walls, placed over the years; a pawprint from one of the wolves I helped to capture and sedate for a checkup at the Wild Canid Center (now the Wolf Sanctuary) near St. Louis when I was interning at the zoo. A wall hanging that belonged to Beth Carsmen, one of the coolest ladies that ever lived; Beth had traveled around the world and had such a spirit and passion for life, even up until the last days of her long life, that made such an impact on me.
Even the floor held memories; the carpeting in my room is a rust red (ya rly), so when I was little I liked to pretend it was lava at night. Monsters couldn't get into my room because they'd have to cross the lava and they'd burn up. I was jealous of my brother's room; they had a nice green carpet. I could pretend it was a field when I played with my barbies and other toys.
Alf keychains, old cameras, school pictures of friends hidden away in drawers. Silly knick-knacks, and even an old piece of concrete ticky-tacked to the side of a drawer (an in-joke with a friend that had given it to me saying it was a symbol of friendship and unity xD). The guitar that sits in the corner, only 3 chords learned, that made it to Florida with me but had to be rescued from an ex. Stupid, little insignificant things that just made me realize that there is so much more to my life, who I am, than necessarily what I recall now.
It's easy to breeze through life and look back down to where you've already been and think you know everything already about that place in time. It's easy to glaze over it all and define it in a sentence or two. "I was lonely in high school, and don't really remember doing much of anything anyway". Maybe. But maybe not so much, either. Thanks, room, for being kinda bad-ass.
I didn't find that watch, but I have come to two conclusions; pick up the guitar again and see if I can't actually learn something on it, and dust my room.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Take whatcha got and fly with it
A week ago today marked the 21st anniversary of the death of Jim Henson. I was flying home from Tampa on that day, and with my traveling adventures I had forgotten about this occasion. I had remembered the night I went to the movie theater with my brother to see Thor, and had seen seen a poster for the new Muppet movie due to come out.
21 years gone, and Henson still has an impact on this world in such positive ways. I think if anyone can make a new, quirky muppet movie work, I'm hoping Jason Segel can do it. I hate how Disney has taken the muppets and wrote Henson out of the picture.
I know these sound like musings of a person with nothing better to do than dote over a dead puppeteer, and maybe the magic of the Muppets isn't seen with everyone. To a lot of people, I realize, they are just foam and googly eyes and relics of decades past, like Spongebob or the Jersey Shore will be someday.
Think of it this way; Henson was just a basically good, kind person with a flair for creating and being silly. He saw imagination in every object and found a lesson in every creation. Kermit, Miss Piggy, Gonzo, Big Bird, Bert, Gobo, Red, Uncle Matt, and all of the other wonderful creatures weren't just puppets; they grew up in the conciousness of Americans and citizens around the world. To a lot of people, the Muppets were as real as any human being...of course you know they're NOT, but they kinda are. Work with me here. (On a side note, I've found that many people continuously enchanted by Henson find the same with Calvin and Hobbes; Hobbes is real, but he isn't. Nobody questions it, and it's fantastic that way).
In the Muppet special that aired after his death, the Muppets went on a bit of an introspective journey to find out who this "Jim" is that they're throwing a special for. As they get to know him, they are shocked and saddended to find out Kermit's closest friend has passed away.
The best summarization of Jim's legacy is submitted by a fan, read carefully by Scooter.
"perhaps the substance of Jim Henson's genius was the ability to see wonder far-off in crazy directions, and get people to follow him there"
This video also marks the first time Kermit speaks with a new, different voice. It's easy to spend an entire day watching the memorials, the tributes on youtube. I didn't know which one to post; all of them have their own special way of making people see why this man was, and still is, a role-model to all of humanity. The song that truly defines Henson and all he created is "Just One Person", a song that debuted on the Muppet Show with Bernadette Peters encouraging Robin to never give up.
I have very few inspirational heroes, but Jim Henson will always, always be one of the people I look to for finding a way in life. Working at Disney World, I met many people who found the same vein of inspiration from Walt Disney. I do not. I find Disney to be a cold, unapproachable icon, somewhat cutthroat and too business minded for my tastes, and I can't connect with him on a personal level. Henson always seems like an old friend, and the world is truly a better place because he was here, even though he didn't give us theme parks or crank out impersonal movies. He made the world better because of his passion for being silly, and showing us that sometimes being silly is okay, and being silly can have heart. He was always so involved in every aspect of his work, and it showed through to the people who worked with him.
This post is getting to be way longer than I had meant; I kinda just started typing and didn't really think to pull all of these thoughts together. I was barely 3 when Henson died. I do remember, though, being a child and being able to recognize him on tv or in magazines (it was probably the beard). My all time favorite muppet movie is "A Muppet Family Christmas", in which the Muppets, the Sesame Street gang, and the Fraggles all spend Christmas together. At the end Henson, bids farewell as he's drying dishes in the kitchen.
Jim was an all around good guy. Of course he was human, and I'm sure he had plenty of flaws. But he was not just a puppeteer; he was a friend to everyone, a creator, a teacher, a master of sentiment and personality. He was humble yet straight-forward. As Richard Hunt said of Henson, "he did not live for the moment, he lived in the moment...it's important that we all stop giving ourselves such a hard time; we've got to remind and push ourselves to let go." This is the kind of person I want to be.
This is why when I speak of Henson, I speak passionately. I speak of him the way the way others speak of their heroes, and to me he was so much more than "just an entertainer". To hear Richard Hunt, Frank Oz, his children, his co-workers and collaborators, he was so much more than just an entertainer. His world was one filled with color, and song, and perfect dynamics of teaching and learning. Frank Oz was correct in saying Henson was a singularity.
I close on my sappy, naive fan worship of Henson with the hope that I can also someday be a shining beacon of friendship to everyone that surrounds me. I know that's a tall order..I'm not much good at making things or making friends, and like Kermit I feel a bit too green, easily passed over... but maybe, if just one person believes in me...
So Farewell, Jim, wherever you are. Almost a quarter of a century later, and you're not forgotten. You've found that Rainbow Connection, and so will the lovers, the dreamers, and me.
Tom Smith's "A Boy and His Frog"
21 years gone, and Henson still has an impact on this world in such positive ways. I think if anyone can make a new, quirky muppet movie work, I'm hoping Jason Segel can do it. I hate how Disney has taken the muppets and wrote Henson out of the picture.
I know these sound like musings of a person with nothing better to do than dote over a dead puppeteer, and maybe the magic of the Muppets isn't seen with everyone. To a lot of people, I realize, they are just foam and googly eyes and relics of decades past, like Spongebob or the Jersey Shore will be someday.
Think of it this way; Henson was just a basically good, kind person with a flair for creating and being silly. He saw imagination in every object and found a lesson in every creation. Kermit, Miss Piggy, Gonzo, Big Bird, Bert, Gobo, Red, Uncle Matt, and all of the other wonderful creatures weren't just puppets; they grew up in the conciousness of Americans and citizens around the world. To a lot of people, the Muppets were as real as any human being...of course you know they're NOT, but they kinda are. Work with me here. (On a side note, I've found that many people continuously enchanted by Henson find the same with Calvin and Hobbes; Hobbes is real, but he isn't. Nobody questions it, and it's fantastic that way).
In the Muppet special that aired after his death, the Muppets went on a bit of an introspective journey to find out who this "Jim" is that they're throwing a special for. As they get to know him, they are shocked and saddended to find out Kermit's closest friend has passed away.
The best summarization of Jim's legacy is submitted by a fan, read carefully by Scooter.
"perhaps the substance of Jim Henson's genius was the ability to see wonder far-off in crazy directions, and get people to follow him there"
This video also marks the first time Kermit speaks with a new, different voice. It's easy to spend an entire day watching the memorials, the tributes on youtube. I didn't know which one to post; all of them have their own special way of making people see why this man was, and still is, a role-model to all of humanity. The song that truly defines Henson and all he created is "Just One Person", a song that debuted on the Muppet Show with Bernadette Peters encouraging Robin to never give up.
I have very few inspirational heroes, but Jim Henson will always, always be one of the people I look to for finding a way in life. Working at Disney World, I met many people who found the same vein of inspiration from Walt Disney. I do not. I find Disney to be a cold, unapproachable icon, somewhat cutthroat and too business minded for my tastes, and I can't connect with him on a personal level. Henson always seems like an old friend, and the world is truly a better place because he was here, even though he didn't give us theme parks or crank out impersonal movies. He made the world better because of his passion for being silly, and showing us that sometimes being silly is okay, and being silly can have heart. He was always so involved in every aspect of his work, and it showed through to the people who worked with him.
This post is getting to be way longer than I had meant; I kinda just started typing and didn't really think to pull all of these thoughts together. I was barely 3 when Henson died. I do remember, though, being a child and being able to recognize him on tv or in magazines (it was probably the beard). My all time favorite muppet movie is "A Muppet Family Christmas", in which the Muppets, the Sesame Street gang, and the Fraggles all spend Christmas together. At the end Henson, bids farewell as he's drying dishes in the kitchen.
Jim was an all around good guy. Of course he was human, and I'm sure he had plenty of flaws. But he was not just a puppeteer; he was a friend to everyone, a creator, a teacher, a master of sentiment and personality. He was humble yet straight-forward. As Richard Hunt said of Henson, "he did not live for the moment, he lived in the moment...it's important that we all stop giving ourselves such a hard time; we've got to remind and push ourselves to let go." This is the kind of person I want to be.
This is why when I speak of Henson, I speak passionately. I speak of him the way the way others speak of their heroes, and to me he was so much more than "just an entertainer". To hear Richard Hunt, Frank Oz, his children, his co-workers and collaborators, he was so much more than just an entertainer. His world was one filled with color, and song, and perfect dynamics of teaching and learning. Frank Oz was correct in saying Henson was a singularity.
I close on my sappy, naive fan worship of Henson with the hope that I can also someday be a shining beacon of friendship to everyone that surrounds me. I know that's a tall order..I'm not much good at making things or making friends, and like Kermit I feel a bit too green, easily passed over... but maybe, if just one person believes in me...
So Farewell, Jim, wherever you are. Almost a quarter of a century later, and you're not forgotten. You've found that Rainbow Connection, and so will the lovers, the dreamers, and me.
Tom Smith's "A Boy and His Frog"
Sunday, May 22, 2011
This life that pass before my eyes
Oh hello, there, blog. I kind of forgot about you. I don't really write like I used to (although you didn't always have only 3 posts...I did some spring cleaning). I don't really write in my journal anymore, either...so I'm a bit rusty at this.
Not that anyone really reads these things, anyway. Blogs are for people to put their thoughts in, and if someone has something to say, well thats okay too. I think its the peace of mind that people are listening, even if they're really not. I've found that's why Facebook is so gosh darn convenient; everyone from every aspect of my life with any consequence can stay in contact, and best of all the 140 character limit and news feed appeals to short attention spans (read: everyone).
So even if its only me, and maybe my immediate family cuz they're all supportive like that, reading this post or blog, that's okay.
It's weird being 24 now. It's weird that its 2011, and it's weird that 6 years ago, I was graduating high school and my childhood proper. 4 years ago I was leaving the Disney College Program, and leaving behind some of my best friends. 2 years ago I was in St. Louis, living in the most fabulous neighborhood and working at the Zoo, bittersweet on leaving to start a new life in Tampa to finally finish school amongst the young'uns.
Tampa isn't really all I hoped to be; I've worked hard, and studied hard, and academically I hope it will pay off. Maybe I should have stayed in St. Louis, applied to Wash U. Maybe I should have given Eastern and the U of I another chance. Maybe I should have looked into Ivy League (yeah right). I lament that I have few memories these past two years though. When people look back at their college years full of memories, I will look back and instead remember and lament the years I didn't spend in school.
I know it sounds goofy and cliche to say "I didn't make any friends in Tampa! boohoo!" but...9 times out of 10, when I met people with similar interests...I still got pushed to the side. We're cool, and then we're friends on facebook, and suddenly that's good enough. I've decided something about my personality must be offputting. So many of my friends on facebook are people I've met, thinking, hey, I could make memories with this person. Life doesn't work that way. Instead, I reflect on the friendships that blossomed out of nothing, the friends I grew up with, the friends I made in Disney and in St. Louis. For instance, I've never had a group of people I could rely on the way I did with my zoobots. To many people I know at school, I'm just an extra number in their outrageous friend count on facebook. I do not play well with others, I guess. It's lonely, and Tampa has given me more grief than I ever thought a place could.
I've always been so ready to move on and finish school. I've always had a plan for everything; Peace Corps, Jet Programme, hike the AT (thanks brudda, for planting that idea!), internships, internships, internships...but since I didn't get the internship at my second home, the zoo, this summer my confidence is shaken. What if things don't go as planned? What will I do after I graduate? Holy crap, I need to be lining these up. What if I apply for the Peace Corps as a back up in case I don't get the internship I've had my eye on at Disney and then I DO get the internship and then I have to turn down this other thing but I still want to do it eventually? These are the stupid things that keep me up at night. I'm not growing up at all.
In the meantime, I have 3 months to get back to a good place. This year has been a mess; lots of ups and downs, but overall I haven't been working at full capacity cognitively. I never could focus, and the projects I would have normally given my all on I settled for "good enough". I'm still kicking myself for not giving my all on my importance of National Parks and BLM policy paper (yeah, nerd).
I'll recharge. I haven't had a true summer break in...3 years now. I'll learn to sew. I'll get back into trail running (slowly...man, this Christmas break was killer! My family spent an entire day legit deep-frying everything in the freezer just for fun...this is how people bond in the Mid-West). I'm going to do some soul searching, and find a way to fill my life with things other than movie references and snarky comments. I just don't feel like me anymore, and its time to change that.
Finally, in case anyone enjoys useless trivia as much as I do (seriously, it's the only thing in the world I'm good at), the blog name, url, and this post title refer to R.E.M.'s "Find the River". I had a big R.E.M. phase in high school, and this song has always stuck with me. Word on the street is that Michael Stipe based the song on Kerouac's On the Road. Read it. Regardless, the song to me is about finding a place in life. So my personal motto, when I get confused or overwhelmed is simply "find the river".
Not that anyone really reads these things, anyway. Blogs are for people to put their thoughts in, and if someone has something to say, well thats okay too. I think its the peace of mind that people are listening, even if they're really not. I've found that's why Facebook is so gosh darn convenient; everyone from every aspect of my life with any consequence can stay in contact, and best of all the 140 character limit and news feed appeals to short attention spans (read: everyone).
So even if its only me, and maybe my immediate family cuz they're all supportive like that, reading this post or blog, that's okay.
It's weird being 24 now. It's weird that its 2011, and it's weird that 6 years ago, I was graduating high school and my childhood proper. 4 years ago I was leaving the Disney College Program, and leaving behind some of my best friends. 2 years ago I was in St. Louis, living in the most fabulous neighborhood and working at the Zoo, bittersweet on leaving to start a new life in Tampa to finally finish school amongst the young'uns.
Tampa isn't really all I hoped to be; I've worked hard, and studied hard, and academically I hope it will pay off. Maybe I should have stayed in St. Louis, applied to Wash U. Maybe I should have given Eastern and the U of I another chance. Maybe I should have looked into Ivy League (yeah right). I lament that I have few memories these past two years though. When people look back at their college years full of memories, I will look back and instead remember and lament the years I didn't spend in school.
I know it sounds goofy and cliche to say "I didn't make any friends in Tampa! boohoo!" but...9 times out of 10, when I met people with similar interests...I still got pushed to the side. We're cool, and then we're friends on facebook, and suddenly that's good enough. I've decided something about my personality must be offputting. So many of my friends on facebook are people I've met, thinking, hey, I could make memories with this person. Life doesn't work that way. Instead, I reflect on the friendships that blossomed out of nothing, the friends I grew up with, the friends I made in Disney and in St. Louis. For instance, I've never had a group of people I could rely on the way I did with my zoobots. To many people I know at school, I'm just an extra number in their outrageous friend count on facebook. I do not play well with others, I guess. It's lonely, and Tampa has given me more grief than I ever thought a place could.
I've always been so ready to move on and finish school. I've always had a plan for everything; Peace Corps, Jet Programme, hike the AT (thanks brudda, for planting that idea!), internships, internships, internships...but since I didn't get the internship at my second home, the zoo, this summer my confidence is shaken. What if things don't go as planned? What will I do after I graduate? Holy crap, I need to be lining these up. What if I apply for the Peace Corps as a back up in case I don't get the internship I've had my eye on at Disney and then I DO get the internship and then I have to turn down this other thing but I still want to do it eventually? These are the stupid things that keep me up at night. I'm not growing up at all.
In the meantime, I have 3 months to get back to a good place. This year has been a mess; lots of ups and downs, but overall I haven't been working at full capacity cognitively. I never could focus, and the projects I would have normally given my all on I settled for "good enough". I'm still kicking myself for not giving my all on my importance of National Parks and BLM policy paper (yeah, nerd).
I'll recharge. I haven't had a true summer break in...3 years now. I'll learn to sew. I'll get back into trail running (slowly...man, this Christmas break was killer! My family spent an entire day legit deep-frying everything in the freezer just for fun...this is how people bond in the Mid-West). I'm going to do some soul searching, and find a way to fill my life with things other than movie references and snarky comments. I just don't feel like me anymore, and its time to change that.
Finally, in case anyone enjoys useless trivia as much as I do (seriously, it's the only thing in the world I'm good at), the blog name, url, and this post title refer to R.E.M.'s "Find the River". I had a big R.E.M. phase in high school, and this song has always stuck with me. Word on the street is that Michael Stipe based the song on Kerouac's On the Road. Read it. Regardless, the song to me is about finding a place in life. So my personal motto, when I get confused or overwhelmed is simply "find the river".
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