tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35871954512683448052024-03-13T22:32:11.054-06:00Radiant Cool EyesStarving Hysterical Nakedloraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.comBlogger53125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-61591852226798393652009-12-15T11:14:00.000-06:002009-12-15T11:14:12.944-06:00New Blog!Hullo dere,<br />
<br />
In preparation for my time abroad in Amsterdam, I wanted to give my blog a makeover and change its URL (the whole "attractivegenius" thing is getting too tiresome to explain). <br />
<br />
I imported a few of the entries from this one onto the new one, but no subsequent blogs will be posted here. For all new posts see <a href="http://lesadventuresdulorax.blogspot.com/">lesadventuresdulorax.blogspot.com</a>.<br />
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Radiant Cool Eyes has expired.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPwUj1yNbfn_6UakFwKE5n8n6y3g-3g-0lXRNzcqYXM_b80W5_FAFb2IrUA1gwziPG0M4vSItS6Cww8kNzUdQiq2n81PhuiFI-9cRDeCmdhp2q5yiD-dLM42qHdXYuyYxgMjLSjK5jAc4r/s1600-h/books-retaken-01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPwUj1yNbfn_6UakFwKE5n8n6y3g-3g-0lXRNzcqYXM_b80W5_FAFb2IrUA1gwziPG0M4vSItS6Cww8kNzUdQiq2n81PhuiFI-9cRDeCmdhp2q5yiD-dLM42qHdXYuyYxgMjLSjK5jAc4r/s320/books-retaken-01.jpg" /></a><br />
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Au revoir!loraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-86465011988406855352009-12-15T10:29:00.002-06:002009-12-15T10:31:37.862-06:00The Little Steampunker In Me Is Bursting With ExcitementSo, PC knows that it is losing to Mac. It also knows that its desktops are losing to laptops. Solution? Make the PC desktop look like a combination <a href="http://www.unplggd.com/unplggd/concept/1950s-inspired-retro-philco-pc-looks-incredible-104013">1950s television set and typewriter</a> so that all of those fashion-crazed Apple hipsters will jump on the PC bandwagon (for at least one of their computers, that is).<br />
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The computer doesn't exist yet, but it should. It has hipster and artist written all over it.<br />
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Gorgeous, no? So sleek and unique. The keyboard even kind of looks like the older iMac keyboards from a distance, but up close, it is even better.<br />
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It's so hot. A keyboard that looks like a typewriter? Yes please! I would shell out a good deal of money for this alone. <br />
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The remaining details mesh 1950s kitsch with steampunk class. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtBV1yEEp9yTFakaP6bcUhfqkOdlZyDjYVY-8km42N2_EjrbglMrzkN_YmKn-mLVPcCeu9VZhbe5_i0n25EqjN5id9crGdcJusd7Co6AnJak2tNhGCqSCuTvN-2QXknQ7srr49O3PxcyBS/s1600-h/121409_rg_PhilcoPC_03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtBV1yEEp9yTFakaP6bcUhfqkOdlZyDjYVY-8km42N2_EjrbglMrzkN_YmKn-mLVPcCeu9VZhbe5_i0n25EqjN5id9crGdcJusd7Co6AnJak2tNhGCqSCuTvN-2QXknQ7srr49O3PxcyBS/s320/121409_rg_PhilcoPC_03.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-size: x-small;">(via <a href="http://www.yankodesign.com/2009/12/14/steampunk-pc-oh-so-retro/">Yanko</a>)</span><br />
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Seriously, if this concept comes to fruition, I will be buying one. No clue about the specs or its comparable performance, but I can't bring myself to care. It is the hottest technology I've seen since the <a href="http://www.apple.com/magicmouse/">Magic Mouse</a>.loraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-36249423838662448082009-12-12T23:08:00.003-06:002009-12-12T23:12:33.857-06:00Some Things Never Change<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>1999</b></span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>2009</b></span> <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEe7EeDviscyBlw7Yhfx1OPSYbnJkmW5wMNYoWo83vALx_ty_66iP_jCPP6wUCHPtJhWs2bY4lUznAUea8tqvH40zKw9EUoNipE395lxCiyu3-wawVwJwUZZucE9H7ZfHTOLs8DtfB2uNY/s1600-h/13732_201324082309_659702309_2932063_6632555_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEe7EeDviscyBlw7Yhfx1OPSYbnJkmW5wMNYoWo83vALx_ty_66iP_jCPP6wUCHPtJhWs2bY4lUznAUea8tqvH40zKw9EUoNipE395lxCiyu3-wawVwJwUZZucE9H7ZfHTOLs8DtfB2uNY/s400/13732_201324082309_659702309_2932063_6632555_n.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>loraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-45929412533823876112009-12-10T16:55:00.002-06:002009-12-10T17:07:43.435-06:00Rules for Surviving FinalsI was going to make a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/JbwockyAndFinch">Jabberwocky and Finch</a> video about this, but don't have the time or resources. So now it's a blog.<br />
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The reason I have no time? Finals.<br />
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This is my first semester to truly feel the brunt of finals. In the past, I've had a handful of final papers and some brief language exams that mostly fell during Hell Week (the week before exams has a very telling name, doesn't it?). This semester, I had a research paper due during finals as well as three exams each at 8:30 in the morning. <br />
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<a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2724/4171555979_fac3fed04a_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2724/4171555979_fac3fed04a_o.jpg" width="320" /></a>My roommate (who this semester has been dying a long, drawn out death called Organic Chemistry) and I began studying Friday evening. Since then we have stayed up until at least three every night studying, woken up at 8 to begin studying again and quite honestly done nothing else.<br />
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We've been studying so much that I even strained my eye. I thought it was pink eye, but the nurse assured me it is just a reaction to the nonstop reading I've been doing. My eye itches and hurts so badly that I can't wear eye make up. So those purple circles under my eyes? Way more noticeable. The only way my eye doesn't hate me is if I wear my reading glasses. I hadn't been wearing them all week (probably why I strained my eye in the first place) and when I put them on this morning, it was like I was seeing the world clearly for the first time ever.<br />
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It was during one of those droning hours of studying, squinting my eyes to see the dull print, that it occurred to me that finals are a lot like zombies. <br />
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They haunt your mind all semester as a vague impending specter. While you're trying to fight them (sometimes referred to as studying), the act of survival consumes you. Nothing else in the world matters except to survive finals. You stay up all day and night trying to stave them off. When they finally catch you, they eat your brains. You're left with a vacant skull and maybe a few pieces of mush about verb conjugation and linear regression.<br />
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At this point, you have become a zombie. The whites of your glazed eyeballs are circled in purple, your brain is gone, your limbs are stiff and you crave nothing more than human blood.<br />
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Oh wait, maybe not that last part. I think my metaphor got carried away. Maybe some people crave human blood when they're done with finals. I don't. Just to be clear.<br />
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I am not yet a zombie. As you may have noticed from my sentience. Being one of the few non-infected students left on campus, I thought it may be beneficial to share how I came to survive for this long. My survival is thanks to Columbus' list of rules in <i>Zombieland</i>.<br />
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<b>1. Cardio</b><br />
Combative studying requires staying up at all hours of the night and day. Being active is a part of being intelligent. Coffee, sodas and adderall will only last you so long. In order to retain optimum levels of energy, you have to work out, which brings me to my second rule:<br />
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<b>2. Limber Up</b><br />
Good stretching can give you hours of extra energy, but it is also important to do before sitting down in order to avoid stiffness or cramping while in the midst of a brawl with a zombie, by which I mean a study session. <br />
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<b>3. No Attachments</b><br />
You'll lose friends during finals. Better to not make them at all.<br />
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<b>4. The Buddy System</b><br />
In punitive contrast to Rule #4, you need a buddy. A partner in your guerrilla studying has got your back if you get overwhelmed or distracted. This rule only works if you keep in line with Rule #4 (otherwise, you may end up making a friend). To avoid wanting to have fun, don't even learn each others names. Refer to each other by major.<br />
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<b>5. Double Tap</b><br />
Just like zombies might not be dead on the first shot, you probably have not studied enough for an exam on the first go. One more shot will go a long way to ensuring your survival.<br />
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<b>6. Don't Kill Bill Murray</b><br />
This wasn't on Columbus' list, but definitely should have been. It Columbus' fatal flaw. Had he remembered this rule, things may have been <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ijgFZA5QPAE">easier for him</a>. Don't kill Bill Murray and you should be able to survival finals.<br />
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</div>loraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-82613876240139354882009-12-06T12:53:00.003-06:002009-12-06T14:08:25.662-06:00The Tell Tale HeartYesterday, I went to the Edgar Allan Poe exhibit at the <a href="http://www.hrc.utexas.edu/exhibitions/2009/poe/">Harry Ransom Center at UT</a> (which will continue through the end of year and is completely free). This year would have been the author's 200th birthday and cities all over the nation have been holding festivals, exhibitions and parties throughout this year to celebrate.<br />
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While this exhibit was nothing compared to some of the macabre graveyard parties I had hear rumors about in Baltimore, it was still cool to say that I did something to participate in what I consider an iconic year for literary hipsters. <br />
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I found out that Poe wrote a lot more than I realized. Certainly the giant tome of his complete works I saw one of my friends toting around in eighth grade led me to believe he wrote quite a bit, but I was unaware that he wrote a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Narrative-Arthur-Nantucket-Related-Classics/dp/0199540470/ref=sr_1_7?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1260123256&sr=8-7">novel</a> or so many poems (and even a few sonnets). It also became obvious by the many paintings, sketches, letters and reviews created by Frenchmen, that the French must have been crazier about Poe than modern-day hipsters.<br />
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Eventually, I figured out that after Poe's demeaning death (brought on by Rufus Griswold's slanderous <a href="http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Death_of_Edgar_Allan_Poe">obituary</a>), Charles Baudelaire essentially fell in love with Poe's works. And, like you do when you're in love with something, fought tirelessly to give Poe the reputation he deserved. Cue the explosion of Poe translations, artwork and man love in mid-nineteenth century France.<br />
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For one, I found this exciting for the opportunity to read Baudelaire and Poe at the same time. However, the cooler thing about this connection is what it means for those of <a href="http://ifeelyoujoanna.blogspot.com/">us</a> who are on a passionate, albeit halfhearted, adventure to uncover the hidden meaning to Lemony Snicket's <i>A Series of Unfortunate Events. </i><br />
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Most older readers (or those who grew old while the series progressed) can easily identify the man in charge of the Baudelaire childrens' affairs, Mr. Poe, as named after Edgar Allan Poe and Mr. Poe's eternal coughing as a throwback to one of the many ailments that led to Poe's death. Until now, I've always thought his namesake was simply due to Lemony Snicket's own gothic interests and style. However, I have finally made the connection!....and desperately wish there was someone I could tell other than my partner in literary pursuits who would care. Alas, no one at the exhibit yesterday was particularly intrigued by my discovery.<br />
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As I slowly glided through the display boxes and many portraits of Poe, it was difficult to remember that this was the man who had once written such genial poems as "Annabel Lee" and "The Bells." Reading on through the disturbing artifacts of his life, I could only recall his terrifying stories such as "The Fall of the House of Usher" and "The Cask of Amontillado." <br />
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I was in a dark room set aside from the main exhibit viewing the more grotesque images that have been created of his stories when I noticed you could hear the loud bass of music coming from next door. This is something I've been wondering about Austin recently. A lot of the venues where full-blown concerts happen are directly adjacent to other buildings and apartments. Surely there's got to a pretty expensive noise license to get for that. But what venue was next to the Ransom center? Weren't we in the middle of campus? And no red light lasts <i>that</i> long. It couldn't simply be coming from a car.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGduF9YsLcb6-hpNXCkWkOwVJrSbyr8hyprtY21XzrnxGk38RfaR-PMERXUK9bQgPjQFXDZulEn1nl_BBXzCeE9hG8LhsUsI-Ci7NziUgmCRUS9tTpb8EL-_x-WYxwpDAfEV55UJU6LdDi/s1600/PitPendulum_Rackham.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGduF9YsLcb6-hpNXCkWkOwVJrSbyr8hyprtY21XzrnxGk38RfaR-PMERXUK9bQgPjQFXDZulEn1nl_BBXzCeE9hG8LhsUsI-Ci7NziUgmCRUS9tTpb8EL-_x-WYxwpDAfEV55UJU6LdDi/s400/PitPendulum_Rackham.jpg" /></a>I mentioned the sound to my friend who was viewing the paintings with me. He paused to listen. I continued studying Arthur Rackham's watercolor of "The Pit and the Pendulum."<br />
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I was staring into the empty eyes of the demons in the background when my friend commented that the bass was too inconsistent to be coming from music. I listened, not taking my eyes off the watercolor painting. The sound <i>was</i> a bit odd. Not something you would hear in music and, come to think of it, I couldn't hear any background noise that would be the music to go with the bass. It was a very clean beating sound, almost like a...<br />
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Seriously?<br />
<br />
Had the museum done that on purpose? In the creepiest, most poorly lit portion of the exhibit did they have a recording of a heartbeat playing all day?<br />
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Or were we going crazy? Usually if two people can hear something, you can be assurred you're not going mad....but wasn't the sound of the heart beating supposed to be a sign of a guilty conscience? If that was the case, than anyone who had done something wrong could hear the heart. Or perhaps Poe is a distressed spirit, upset with the way the nation is putting his most personal items, failures and humiliations out on display, and anywhere people go to see celebrations of his birthday this year, you will hear his own heart beating. A sad, unfinished heart beating.loraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-1806544676800719642009-10-27T19:46:00.000-06:002009-10-27T19:46:09.122-06:00Amsterdam, Here I ComeI can finally say, with complete confidence, that I will be spending this coming semester studying at the Universiteit van Amsterdam in The Netherlands. <br />
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This means that I will finally have a use for this blog!<br />
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As a blogger for my university, there will undoubtedly be many things I should not or cannot write about on that blog. Therefore, I'm going to use this blog as a sort of rough draft version of my real blog. I'll write my real experiences and thoughts here (with pictures, of course!) and then edit it to go on the real blog.<br />
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I'll also post contact information here. Stay posted for more exciting Amsterdam updates!<br />
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</div>loraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-55135436117210233572009-09-26T00:27:00.003-05:002009-09-26T14:31:23.702-05:00You Have To Be Cool To Be A Blogger...which is why I am not a blogger.<br /><br />Well, technically I am. For my school, I mean. This is not a blog. Not really. I don't consider it one. I mean, not a real one. This is a play blog. Do you get it? If not, then I justify my point of why I don't deserve to call this a real blog.<br /><br />Anyways, I came to the conclusion that you must be cool to be a blogger in attempting to write my student blog this evening. Usually, I write my blogs about once a week and there's no problem. This time, however, I got a reminder email from my boss telling me I had one due. The first thing I thought: but I have nothing to write about. I have literally done nothing blog-worthy in the past week. The most exciting part of my week was making waffles and watching <span style="font-style: italic;">Muppets From Space</span>. But I've already talked about waffles in another blog and I'm pretty sure everyone would assume I was high if I was watching a muppet movie while eating excessive amounts of food.<br /><br />That's another thing. I can't imply anything about drugs or alcohol usage in my student blogs. Now, I'm not a huge frequenter of either of those, but a lot of my stories are so ridiculous and lame that most people would assume I was on something and therefore I can't write about it on my student blog.<br /><br />But I digress.<br /><br />You must be cool to be a blogger. The other student bloggers are really involved on campus or doing internships. Me? I eat waffles and make couch forts. Seriously, that's all my blog says about me so far.<br /><br />I hope that one day I'll be interesting enough to be a real blogger, but until then I'll stick to these pointless, self-absorbed blogs for my close friends.loraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-80326180538392168982009-09-18T01:05:00.003-05:002009-09-18T01:07:43.834-05:00So, um...Guess I don't use this blog much anymoreMy semester is pretty packed with other interweb outlets. Ergo, I haven't thought about posting on here for quite some time.<br /><br />Next semester, I hope to use this as a travel blog for all of the things that I can't write on my SU blog.<br /><br />Until then, check out my other projects for the semester:<br /><br />My SU blog:<br /><a href="http://www.southwestern.edu/studentsviews">http://www.southwestern.edu/studentsviews</a><br /><br />Jabberwocky and Finch:<br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/JbwockyAndFinch">http://www.youtube.com/JbwockyAndFinch</a>loraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-82762965710476810222009-07-28T23:12:00.002-05:002009-07-28T23:14:36.323-05:00My Current Idealized Life PlanFinish up this last semester at SU(cks)<br /><br />Study abroad in Amsterdam<br /><br />Transfer to NYU where I will live with Kate and Leslie<br /><br />Go to grad school at Stanford and live with Joanna<br /><br />Get my doctorate at Cambridge? Perhaps...<br /><br />Become wildly successful and live a badass life in the realms of art and academia<br /><br />Ahhh...I love my futureloraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-9715618537383562862009-07-11T11:12:00.003-05:002009-07-11T16:17:05.197-05:00To Do ListAfter my vacation next week, I know that summer is going to fly by in a second and I have so much to do.<br /><br />Finish renovating my room<br />Put all of my books on shelves organized by the Dewey Decimal System<br />Pack everything for college<br />Read <span style="font-style: italic;">The Omnivore's Dilemma</span><br />Read at least a few other books on my giant list<br />Complete admissions video editing<br />Edit a video for scholarship<br />Edit a video for NYU Film School app<br />Make a video to "Let's Get Fucked Up"<br />Make Kate's <span style="font-style: italic;">Solipsist</span> film<br />Go to the Bollywood theater<br />Send out StuFo letters<br />Begin study abroad and transfer applications<br />Go to the Army Base with Kate<br />Go to more thrift stores<br />Get my typewriter fixed<br />Make a dermatologist appointment<br />Sign up for online health insurance<br />Laze around by a pool<br />Watch some foreign movies with Kate<br />Get around to starting that podcast with Joanna<br /><br />to be continued...loraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-31779043271701554142009-07-06T23:40:00.002-05:002009-07-07T00:52:12.712-05:001...2...minus 1...oh 2...3...(2)loraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-37588691306347309912009-06-14T13:38:00.004-05:002009-06-14T13:39:33.299-05:00Poll: MajorsI don't know how to post a poll within a blog. So just leave a comment please!<br /><br />Which concentration should I choose?<br /><br />A. Comparative literature<br />B. Linguistics<br />C. Medieval studies<br />D. Comparative religion<br />E. Film productionloraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-69362491727480325242009-05-31T01:24:00.003-05:002009-05-31T01:30:36.493-05:0050There are things that I just don't understand<br />The whole world. It's so<br />overwhelming<br /><br />But I can't take small doses<br />Nothing small<br />I need more<br />Always more<br /><br />I stand too firmly<br />My feet don't flow with<br />everyone elses'<br />They stay<br />Not moving<br />Not seeing<br /><br />A glance caught<br />A step taken<br /><br />Nothing changes<br /><br />I return<br />Not understanding<br />How<br />Why<br /><br />All I see is redloraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-19219450814031724582009-05-22T23:36:00.002-05:002009-05-22T23:42:45.033-05:00Children of the RevolutionTonight I finally heard the Bono/<span style="font-style: italic;">Moulin Rouge </span>version of Marc Bolan's "Children of the Revolution." As usual, I like the original better, but I listened to this one as I drove past a crime scene near my old house. All the flashing lights of authority, the speeding of my car in the night and the spirit of this song awakened my eternal desires of innocence, freedom and charging against oppression.<br /><br />The experience inspired me to unearth an old poem of mine. I don't have a time stamp on this poem, but I believe I initially wrote it in seventh or eighth grade. It serves as a prologue to the novel I've been working on since seventh grade. Though unwritten before then and sparsely added to for a few years now, the story is always alive in my mind. So, here's my poetic narrative version of "Children of the Revolution:"<br /><br />Links of a chain,<br />jointed with strength and passion,<br />on the plain<br />of creation.<br /><br />Feet firm<br />locked in the fresh grass.<br />United shoulders confirm<br />confidence to surpass.<br /><br />The bleak eruption<br />in the heavens above<br />echoes the corruption<br />of a land once filled with love.<br /><br />Clouds converge.<br />Darkness attains.<br />Thunders surge.<br />Battle reigns.<br /><br />Through the damp and hurling winds of strife,<br />a crusade for salvation<br />becomes a fight for life.<br />Faith is replaced with desperation.<br /><br />Death.<br />Annihilation.<br />Last breath.<br />Termination.<br /><br />All is gone.<br />And, yet, with the rising sun<br />all is reborn.<br />Resurrection when the worst is done.<br /><br />Warmth sheds on the innocent<br />and denies the criminal.<br />Grass reeds sing in merriment<br />a song that is eternal.<br /><br />Love is no longer torn.<br />Life returns from execution.<br />A New World is born.<br />Thanks to the Children of the Revolutionloraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-71739524959395344192009-05-17T00:20:00.002-05:002009-05-17T00:22:53.787-05:00So...There's this epic blog entry I've been planning. And I do mean epic. Best effing night of my life. For some reason, I keep forgetting to write it whenever I actually have the time. I've also been determined to not post another blog until I get this up. So...that's why I haven't written anything. Ok. Cool.loraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-30915899770576722942009-05-05T23:43:00.007-05:002009-05-06T00:15:06.509-05:00An Illustrated BlogThe rest of my birthday continued much in the same vein. In addition to Kate's song, I also got a singing voicemail from Kelly and an awesome song from Max. The one from Max was particularly special because I currently have songs from him about just about all of our other friends, but this was the first one about me and it was amazing.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-0lUUR2pMvhVDMHzX3IQzskhWnoj_uZCa2MCCkXlYCSstDUd2L663Dr84TbPNZPFCHR88uATVgao2pW0hn9xmLu8C08w_PWd8qJXD-R6QAPfK4Jx5_IU_pRoyhEO982d9poMBpmcOU_XI/s1600-h/IMG_0073.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-0lUUR2pMvhVDMHzX3IQzskhWnoj_uZCa2MCCkXlYCSstDUd2L663Dr84TbPNZPFCHR88uATVgao2pW0hn9xmLu8C08w_PWd8qJXD-R6QAPfK4Jx5_IU_pRoyhEO982d9poMBpmcOU_XI/s200/IMG_0073.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332568307150891010" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Around four o'clock, as I was finishing the editing of some videos, I received a call from the campus post office. I already knew I had a package because they sent me an e-mail so I was pretty perturbed to receive a call. They told me that I had an edible package waiting for me and I had to come pick it up immediately. An edible package? What is that like the edible diapers on that SNL commercial? Turns out, my dad sent me a bouquet of chocolate covered strawberries! I didn't even know such things existed. Also, my main source of delicious chocolate covered strawberries has been over a thousand miles away from me for months! Due to all of the other food and candy people have given me (six York Peppermint patties, two dozen cookies and brownies, a loaf of french bread), I wasn't able to eat them all in one sitting so they're kind of melting in my mini-fridge right now....I've had to put ziploc bags around each strawberry and wrap the pot in paper towels...yeah, it's kind of a mess.<br /><br />Another great little birthday surprise came from my suitemates. They left a little message on the back of our toile<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMUy436BS2KEuAhZXjyPUh78bEJLPpWz8z5IAmVAXZjzTmyaAZL3ceRfCD6FmIcWS65TG3vIBhjqQa9OGD7t_9cgqrsoz1dZg9RfTg0p72t8d3rU34XP54CjVvTqEBbUxq-tXsTm7228cX/s1600-h/IMG_4971.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMUy436BS2KEuAhZXjyPUh78bEJLPpWz8z5IAmVAXZjzTmyaAZL3ceRfCD6FmIcWS65TG3vIBhjqQa9OGD7t_9cgqrsoz1dZg9RfTg0p72t8d3rU34XP54CjVvTqEBbUxq-tXsTm7228cX/s200/IMG_4971.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332569534650870818" border="0" /></a>t stall door. I can say that I've never before read a birthday greeting while in such a vulnerable state.<br /><br />So the whole birthday thing turned out fairly well. People have much more desire to show how much they care when you're far away from each other, which is nice because the caring thing is what I really like. I've never been big on material presents. I just want to know that people care about me. I'm a needy attention seeker in that way.<br /><br /><br />Tonight also ended up being a lot of fun. I had been sitting in my bed since returning from my French exam at 10 am this morning (no joke, I actually stayed in bed watching The Office on hulu and sleeping for eleven hours ---- ps, I now have a major crush on Jim<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuD2D6h3wSnidakCu0Ej_WA8szAh9O3u0cID8fyDFxdTExZ1sgEr3DgBC_K_6nkc4bc2klE0TsExUzASDFSYwbt9HNixG7WsSvgZEWBAInyt46dbh-9SSFpag26s59pm7dMx9eZJ1vD1HA/s1600-h/IMG_0074.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuD2D6h3wSnidakCu0Ej_WA8szAh9O3u0cID8fyDFxdTExZ1sgEr3DgBC_K_6nkc4bc2klE0TsExUzASDFSYwbt9HNixG7WsSvgZEWBAInyt46dbh-9SSFpag26s59pm7dMx9eZJ1vD1HA/s200/IMG_0074.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332572315801225378" border="0" /></a>) and had totally forgotten that tonight is the traditional Midnight Breakfast. Every week of finals, some of the faculty and staff serve the entire student body breakfast in the Commons and there's karaoke or Rock Band as well. Last semester, there was a horrid sleet storm the night of Midnight Breakfast so my friends and I opted not to go. This year, however, my lovely suitemate invited me to go with some of her friends. I am so glad she reminded me about it. I had fears about going to a place where most of the student body would be (I have a whole list of people who I have a lot of trouble being near and, as a result, stick to my room as much as possible), but it ended up being a ton of fun. One of my favorite professors (who I have been awkwardly corresponding with via facebook message for the last few days), served me a cinnamon roll, which I cherished greatly because she said that every cinnamon roll was special and therefore we got to choose which one we wanted. Here's a picture!<br /><br />Clearly, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUpOlDeQVi5OcYy7Vl1fXbU61z6ZSDnHiOdpz092VEPig_Rw6RdzkNxCiKYKVi8m4s2rHcnKx6_Dt3SOYzsh1tJUIBHG40jjNn4Q9OnK2HxeWENlOQ_jtOlepM1a5lNOeIx3ZwDdbECxkR/s1600-h/IMG_0077.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 158px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUpOlDeQVi5OcYy7Vl1fXbU61z6ZSDnHiOdpz092VEPig_Rw6RdzkNxCiKYKVi8m4s2rHcnKx6_Dt3SOYzsh1tJUIBHG40jjNn4Q9OnK2HxeWENlOQ_jtOlepM1a5lNOeIx3ZwDdbECxkR/s200/IMG_0077.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332573357629636370" border="0" /></a>I did not participate in karaoke, but watching it was a ton of fun. When one group went up to sing "Hakuna Matata," the entire commons joined in the chorus because it is so apropos for finals week. Actually, most of the commons joined in for all of the songs. My personal favorite was when the group of cute (read: awkward) RAs sang a song from <span style="font-style: italic;">The Little Mermaid</span>. Note: I hate <span style="font-style: italic;">The Little Mermaid</span>, but they were so adorable singing it that I couldn't help loving it.<br /><br />Basically, Midnight Breakfast rocked and so did my birthday, but I still cannot (absolutely, positively cannot) wait until I get to go home. Despite these little pockets of happiness, I'm still pretty miserable here. I long to see all of my friends and chillax at all our old haunts. I haven't yet found the kind of fun here that I have back home and I really really miss having fun.loraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-69782291456736952872009-05-04T11:06:00.003-05:002009-05-04T11:28:42.490-05:00BirthdaynessIt's hardly begun and technically I won't even be 19 until 5:25 pm, but I'm having a great day so far!<br /><br />Around 11 last night, I began being bombarded by facebook wall posts saying happy birthday and soon after midnight received phone calls from my two best friends, Joanna and Kate.<br /><br />All of the greetings, texts, videos/singing grams have been wonderful...<br /><br />OH MY GOSH! AS I WAS WRITING THIS I GOT A GIANT BOX OF COOKIES AND A BALLOON DELIVERED TO MY DORM!!!! FROM MAX AND JOANNA WHICH MAKES IT LIKE TEN TIMES BETTER!!! AHHHH!!!!<br /><br />Well....that may have just surpassed everything I was going to say, but I'll try to get back to the direction I was going.<br /><br />Up until the box of my three all-time favorite types of cookies + death by chocolate-esque brownies, I had received two gifts that aren't actually gifts at all, but have made this day really great.<br /><br />Soon after midnight, I remembered that a professor had mentioned to me in passing that he had posted grades already. I decided to check online. You have to understand that I royally screwed up a few times in this class. I did not put my full effort into any of the essays and, for the first time in my life, I did not make a 100 participation grade (in fact, from what the professor has implied, I almost failed the participation grade). I was so prepared to accept my first B in college, I was even planning an emo blog entry about how I ruined my chances of getting into Phi Beta Kappa. Well, I'm sure you can guess, when I went to look up my grade, I had succeeded in making an A minus. Considering A minuses are not a 4.0 at SU, I didn't think I'd ever be so happy about an A minus, but I fully started screaming and ran into my suitemates' room to share my joy. Seriously, I could not have asked for anything better.<br /><br />The other not-actually-a-gift gift is that someone who I've really wanted to get to know better sent me a birthday message via facebook and we have been corresponding all morning. It's exciting, trust me. Maybe not as exciting as a cookie gram or a singing Harry Potter birthday card, but it's still pretty damn exciting.<br /><br />I don't think I've ever gotten this much recognition for my birthday before. There were always little surprises here and there in secondary school (usually "Josh Brownies" from Josh or giant potatoes from Quirks), but I have never felt such an overflowing warmth of friendship and love from so many people on my birthday. I'm certain it's because we're all so far away from each other now, but it's way special none the less.<br /><br />There will be more birthday ponderings to come, but for now, a huge thank you to Joanna and Max for the cookies and to Kate for the video!!loraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-12835244617797247512009-04-29T14:35:00.002-05:002009-04-29T14:56:46.371-05:00Fire AlarmsI had just returned from class and sat down to write this blog when the fire alarm went off.<br /><br />Again.<br /><br />For the third time in the past fourteen hours.<br /><br />Last night, I had just stepped into the shower when the fire alarm went off. I madly dashed around my room stark naked trying to find clothes and hoping that my RAs wouldn't walk in to make sure I was evacuating.<br /><br />We were finally let back in, I took a shower and fell asleep. At four am, the blaring erupted again. Frustrated and exhausted, I dragged myself downstairs with the rest of the herd and hoped that no one noticed how revealing my drawstring shorts were with no underwear on.<br /><br />In my lifetime, I've had some pretty interesting experiences with fire alarms. Last winter, the fire alarm went off five times in one day. As soon as everyone had piled back in, taken off their coats and scarves, the alarm began again. And again. And again. And again.<br /><br />In high school, our fire alarm had a knack for going off anytime the theatre department hosted the One Act Play competition. Without fail, as soon as the visiting schools had put on their costumes (often Victorian formal wear or togas), the alarm would go off.<br /><br />The fire alarm went off on the very first day of sixth grade because it was a new building and there was some sort of malfunction with the ovens. That particular instance was recorded in several newspapers who had been on campus reporting the opening of the school's new building.<br /><br />And then early elementary school was rife with instances of "fire drills," which were actually evacuations due to gas leaks.<br /><br />However, my very favorite fire alarm moment comes from my sojourn at Cambridge University. One night, around two am, we had just returned from a day trip to London. A few of my friends and I were on our way back from doing laundry in the next building over when we heard the fire alarm go off. We stood outside the building and watched hoardes of screaming teenage girls run out of the building --- the majority of them dripping wet and wrapped in towels.<br /><br />My roommate, a hyperactive "goth" (I don't really know how those properly go together), found me on the lawn and told me her account of what she had been doing when the alarm went off. Apparently, she -for what reason, I'll never know- had been jumping on my bed when the fire alarm went off and, for one wild moment, had thought it was the police coming for her because she wasn't supposed to be jumping on my bed.<br /><br />We all had a good laugh at this and soon the Porters were letting us back inside (now that I look back on this, I don't ever remember seeing any firemen). My roommate and I got stopped as we filed inside with the others. One of the Porters escorted us into our room where my bed had been turned on its side. Behind the place where my bed had been was some sort of square electrical thing. The Porter told us that it was very sensitive and that hitting it was what set off the fire alarm.<br /><br />Crazily enough, my roommate had indeed set off the fire alarm by jumping on my bed.<br /><br />Now if only the problem with the alarm in Mabee could be solved so simply. I fully expect that alarm to go off as soon as I lie down for a nap.loraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-9831051872065631482009-04-28T20:01:00.003-05:002009-04-28T23:02:56.075-05:00Lily AllenLily Allen is going to be at ACL!<br /><br />In honor of that, here's her song "Smile," which -incidentally- fits my life <span style="font-style: italic;">perfectly</span> right now (or maybe that should be "sadly").<br /><br />When you first left me<br />I was wanting more<br />But you were fucking that girl next door<br />What'd you do that for?<br /><br />When you first left me<br />I didn't know what to say<br />I've never been on my own that way<br />Just sat by myself all day<br /><br />I was so lost back then<br />But with a little help from my friends<br />I found a light in the tunnel at the end<br /><br />Now you're calling me up on the phone<br />So you can have a little whine and a moan<br />It's only because you're feeling alone<br /><br />At first when I see you cry<br />It makes me smile<br />Yeah it makes me smile<br /><br />At worst I feel bad for a while<br />But then I just smile<br />I go ahead and smile<br /><br />Whenever you see me<br />You say that you want me back<br />And I tell you it don't mean jack<br />No it don't mean jack<br /><br />I couldn't stop laughing<br />No I just couldn't help myself<br />See you messed up my mental health<br />I was quite unwell<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">etc.</span>loraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-39528386092834972672009-04-23T23:17:00.007-05:002009-04-24T22:57:06.026-05:00Elaboration to the SubtitleI hated him.<br /><br />That stupid shimmering crucifix appeared around his neck looking like the thin gold necklaces of mustached men in the seventies against his tan skin. He always takes souvenirs. <span style="font-style: italic;">What girl did you fuck and take that off of?</span><br /><br />The coke makes him angrier, but I deserved the cold shoulder. I deserved the rage that followed me for the rest of the day. Ashamed of myself, but knowing that he has earned every harsh word I've ever uttered to him. We still weren't square.<br /><br />We were no longer going to remain friends. That much he had made clear when he refused to speak to me, refused to look at me as we, along with the other angelheaded hipsters, hollow-eyed and high, trekked to the Story Tree --- his friend's invitation, not his.<br /><br />Yet, there it was, a curious offer to go on a late night errand. Modest, subdued and apparently meaningless as usual.<br /><br />No talking on the drive. No talking while there. I make an attempt on the way back. No talking.<br /><br />He strikes the match. The smell is intoxicating. Thicker than the swarming smell of gasoline. I love it. The matches are better than the cigarettes.<br /><br />He takes a drag and begins to talk. Papers, professors, academia. The customary arrogance, an increase of hardships. He's not going to drink tonight. He wants to sleep. He can't sleep. He's killing himself. I'm happy that he finally knows that he's killing himself and happier still that he, for once, is not enthused about this, his mortality.<br /><br />Apologies. Intense, unaccepted apologies. Misunderstandings resolved that barely open my eyes, but calm me slightly.<br /><br />A confession, reassurance rather, follows an unnecessary apology (he never would've breached forgiveness for such an act in what seems like a previous life). With the confession, he takes my arm, arrests my hand, situates his own----------- the tears fall. <span style="font-style: italic;">It was supposed to be funny.</span><br /><br />The night rolls on. Cigarettes matches. Matches cigarettes. Music. So-called students passing all around in the haze of the night. Mad from study break. Music. The hum of the car.<br /><br />The disc player changes to the mix I made for him when we were in love.<br /><br />The talk is still sporadic, academic, neurotic. I watch the passing so-called students riding stolen golf carts instead of watching his face.<br /><br />Why he does it? I don't know. He questions me. I avoid, at all costs, being struck by the Imp of the Perverse. I avoid. I cast aside. I turn away. The night rolls on.<br /><br />I'm looking at him now. He's talking and I'm looking at him. His hand has moved. He's talking and I'm looking at him. <span style="font-style: italic;">She needs to stop</span>, I agree with his words. <span style="font-style: italic;">I need to stop?</span> He misheard me. I spit out my reply. Too hasty.<br /><br />Too hasty? Who the fuck cares anymore? I pounce.<br /><br />I will not regret what has forced me to tears for the past three weeks. I will not sit idly by when, for the first time in three weeks, I am ardently happy.<br /><br />He hands me the white-tipped, brown bud. Windows up. Reverse. Turn. Tires squeal on to highway twenty-nine.<br /><br />Rocketing down the narrow country road, streetlights spasmodically flood the car with an opalescent haze. We become ghosts. Illuminated to the world. Whispers of the immured past.<br /><br />We slow and turn into a small church. Park in the field behind the building. I don't waste a second. The thrill has electrified me. My body is on fire. Ravenous. He has missed me. He has missed me just as much as I missed him. Why did I ever doubt?<br /><br />My mix is still playing in the background. <span style="font-style: italic;">Take this sinking boat and point it home, we've still got time</span>.<br /><br />Maybe not, but the cool night air knows no enemies. In the dark night with the crisp smell of grass, I lean my head back and can't bring myself to care about a thing. I have felt happiness.<br /><br />Bless me Father, for I have sinned.<br />I hated your stupid crucifix, and I still do.<br />But, Father,<br />I will not apologize.<br />No, I will not apologize for desecrating your land.<br />For I have sanctified it with more love than your parishioners shall ever know.<br />You will never know, never understand<br />the feverish power within and without that detonates when two as one are<br />starving, hysterical, naked.loraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-41499042271079580922009-04-19T22:27:00.003-05:002009-04-24T22:57:24.860-05:00Dear Life,Please stop pouring down on me.<br /><br />A little breather here and there would be nice. Honestly, I will not be offended if you ignore me/forget about me for a while. Your 6.3 billion minions are getting pretty fucking annoying. Especially the arrogant youths.<br /><br />Perhaps you could give me some place to hide? A dark shroud to conceal me so no one will see me as I traverse campus. Do you have anything so I can't see them either? That's the bigger problem.<br /><br />Maybe you could fast forward time? Summer will be nice. Oh, but what to do about next semester? I don't suppose you could delete it all together... do you have the power to create alternate realities?<br /><br />Yes, I've become quite jaded with your little charades. More than jaded, in fact. Down right peeved, if I may be frank.<br /><br />I promise not to hurt you, but you must start giving me a little slack. I'm working 24/7 for you and you seem to be assigning me all the grunt work. Give me a handful more of the nice colleagues and better view and I'll be happy.<br /><br />Sincerely,<br />laurenlorraineloraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-57547609083010002082009-04-17T18:16:00.004-05:002009-04-24T22:58:39.276-05:00I Want to Live In the Pacific Northwest So BadI found a new school.<br /><br />It's in Salem, Oregon and it's called Willamette University.<br /><br />Yes, it's exactly like SU except ranked higher and in a prettier place.<br /><br />It's in a city, but it's also in the middle of the un-rivaled Oregon wildlife. There are rivers running through campus and the ocean isn't too far away. Also, Salem is the capital so the city is very government-based.<br /><br />I would get my love of urban political centers, trees and water.<br /><br />Oregon has the most parks of any state. It's also the most bicycle friendly and most vegetarian friendly.<br /><br />It's basically 50 degrees all year round.<br /><br />It also has really good coffee.<br /><br />Even WU's website, on the their Top 5 list of coffee shops in Salem, said Starbucks isn't real coffee. Evidence that everyone is cool in Oregon.<br /><br />The Pacific Northwest also has strong Native American influences. Native American culture is clearly the most badass thing ever.<br /><br />Case in point, I'm dying to live in Oregon. Or Washington.loraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-88573914021439464082009-04-16T23:32:00.002-05:002009-04-16T23:38:38.728-05:00There a million things that I can't get over.<br /><br />The fact that I'll never lie in his arms again, never kiss his lips again, never spend the night with him or even watch him write poetry.<br /><br />One of the hardest things is that I don't know Southwestern without him. I never had a roommate to develop a close bond with. He was my close friend. Without him, Southwestern loses its magic.<br /><br />Yet, whenever I think about how hard it is to come to terms with the fact that it's really over and that I've lost a sense of self...I think about my mom and how what she is going through/going to go through is a million times harder than this. I mean, try never knowing who you are without a person. To have gone through your formative years and the next thirty-five years of your life as a person that someone else wanted you to be. It makes my emotions so futile. I don't know how I'll begin to help my mom. This pain hurts so bad, how can it be a million times worse? I don't know that I would survive. I really don't. The tears, the heartache, the confusion, the disassociation...<br /><br />Sometimes it helps to know that your problems aren't as bad as other ones in the world, but you never want the problems of someone you love to be worse than yours.loraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-37779275902197714812009-04-16T00:07:00.004-05:002009-04-16T00:15:56.158-05:00A Sign From IdLast night, I dreamt of a living game of solitaire (<span style="font-style: italic;">Through the Looking Glass</span> - esque) with the Gosselin family of <span style="font-style: italic;">Jon and Kate Plus 8</span> as the players.<br /><br />I seriously need to get a life.<br /><br />I have found (and watched) every episode from all four seasons of <span style="font-style: italic;">Jon and Kate Plus 8</span> online. In every other moment of the day, I play solitaire on my phone.<br /><br />Currently, I am waiting for an episode to load while I eat pistachio-Cocoa Puff trail mix.<br /><br />I need a change.loraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3587195451268344805.post-40293219278201988482009-04-13T02:19:00.005-05:002009-04-13T02:41:32.463-05:00What I Have Learned TodayAlways mix in vinegar with the water when dyeing eggs<br /><br />Do not eat an entire bag of Whopper's Robin's Eggs in one sitting<br /><br />Especially if all you've eaten that day is four cinnamon rolls, three pieces of pizza, a couple of hardboiled egg whites and two pairs of chocolate bunny ears<br /><br />How to drive to the Domino's in Georgetown<br /><br />The rule about breaking up with guys when they start regularly using hard drugs is NOT just a naive high school ideal<br /><br />Live podcasts are a lot more fun than they may sound like<br /><br />I actually can do homework while listening to music<br /><br />In the Christian faith, today (meaning Sunday, Easter) is about renewal and beginning again<br /><br />Ok, yes, I already knew that, but I woke up to a reminder of that from my mother and it helped me stay strong all day.<br /><br />Being yourself is more rewarding than anything else. Ever.<br /><br />Even if it takes 80s rock and a couple of cigarettes to get there.<br /><br />"It happened, and I wish it didn't. That's just life, isn't it?"loraxhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07129909108313764775noreply@blogger.com2