Food, Family, and a little bit of Fun

Thanksgiving Day

I've never particularly enjoyed Thanksgiving. I've always seen it as a uneventful, useless holiday. Everybody gets together and hugs each other and eats, for no reason other than to eat (with, of course, the cover of being thankful).

Sometimes, though, eating and drinking yourself silly with a bunch of strange, even neurotic people, can be such a joy.

We had my Mom's side of the family come over tonight, all of whom are Catholic, conservative, and have several children. Needless to say, we hosted a lot of loud children and talkative grown-ups. It's funny -- I'm eighteen years old and in college and I think my Aunts and Uncles still view me as a little kid. I was sitting with some of them in the family room, and they attempted to cover my ears when they mentioned the "f-word." (They didn't even say it out loud. They just hinted at it.) I think some adults forget that a good percentage of the world's bad language is spoken quite liberally in its high schools. When my aunts and uncles started talking about how they used to lie to their Mom, my aunt tried to shield me from such concepts. "Don't give her any ideas!" she exclaimed in horror. My Uncle, the oldest in my mother's family (I hold a certain respect for firstborns), then came to my rescue, saying, "She's been thinking about this stuff since she was thirteen. She's been doing it for the past 5 years."

It's nice to be treated more like a real human being. I'm not a sheltered youngster who thinks, Sneaking out? Why, who would even DREAM of such things? I'm also not a goth or a gangster, immersed in drugs, sex or crime.

Still, it's difficult sometimes to connect with older people in my family. For most of the Thanksgiving dinner, nobody talked about anything but politics. I'm fairly interested in politics, but not enough to spend all my time talking about what so-and-so said on whatever radio show.

It was nice, then, to spend some time downstairs with the few teenagers in the family. We picked at my brother's guitars, had a fascinating discussion about aliens and other such otherworldly activity, and I dominated at the question game.

Then we watched Wall-E, which was incredibly cute.

All in all, it was a great night. I'm happy to know that, while oftentimes strange and annoying, my family isn't quite as awful as I sometimes imagine them to be.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody.

Heavier Thoughts

My mind's stomping around dark alleys tonight.

I don't know why the whole concept of my friends and their romantic relationships gives me headaches. I suppose all it really comes down to is a jealousy thing. How dare any of my friends enjoy other people's company when I'm not doing the same thing? This suggests that I'm a total asshole, and I guess that's true.

I don't know what I expect of people. I'm afraid that many times I hold a mindset of, I can enjoy life, and you can watch me do so. It's disturbing to think that I lead such a self-centered existence, but I'd be lying to say that I didn't.

I don't like to post despairing posts about my character, but I've recently resolved to post every day, and it was either writing this or telling you that I don't like Thanksgiving.

I'll find something funny to say some other time.

Life Was (Is...) Good

I still miss high school sometimes.

Watching Charlie Bartlett today made me remember high school days. Maybe I'm a broken record when I talk about how wonderful high school was, but I do still miss it.

I experienced a sense of comfortable belonging in high school that I haven't yet encountered in college. Of course, I've only been at DU for 2 1/2 months, and I'm certainly not expecting it to be anything like my high school was. College is full of freedoms and opportunities that high school never offered, and I'm very happy about that. But--I'm sure I've written about this before--I miss my high school community. I was in a graduating class of 55 kids. We were a family, whether we wanted to be or not.

I was reliving some high school memories this morning, and it feels like ages ago that I was sitting in the back row of first period English, laughing with Cindy, Victor and Johnny. It seems that years have passed since I used to write cute notes to my locker-mate on our magnetic dry erase board. It's strange to realize that I once had a life in which I rode the short white Arrupe bus to work every Thursday morning. I used to spend after-school hours in the computer lab, never getting any work done but talking loudly to whoever happened to be in there with me, which usually got me yelled at by supervising teachers. I used to scramble to get all my neglected calculus homework done at 7:30 AM every day in the cafeteria. I used to stomp through school hallways with loud high heel shoes, (Arrupe dress code was such a pain in the ass.) I used to joke and laugh through yearbook meetings, then spend hours alone after school trying to create perfect photo pages. What a life that was. I don't miss it too terribly, though it would be nice to relive it for a day or two.

By the time I was a senior, I was really comfortable in school. I was usually happy hanging out anywhere -- in the computer lab, cafeteria, front lobby, gym, or front steps. I could always find someone to talk to. Arrupe was small enough that everybody knew everybody.

But there are no "front steps" at DU. It's a very different environment. I'm happy to be there, but I still miss my comfort zone. Arrupe was my second home; it held a certain warmth, even a certain smell that I miss.

But life changes, not necessarily for the better or worse; it just changes. There's no need to lug around 3 tons of nostalgia when life is just as interesting today as it was six months ago.

But sometimes it's just so nice to remember things...

Do You Mean to Tell Me I'm a Muggle?

The Time Traveler's Wife



This book has been astounding. This is the kind of book that I can't wait to get home to. It is, so far, one of the most fascinating and convincing love stories I have ever read. I wouldn't classify it as chick lit, though I'm sure most of its readers are women. We females just eat this stuff up.

Reading love stories, though, makes me wonder how fictional love really is. I risk sounding like a sentimental little girl here, but reading books like this makes me wish I could know someone so perfect as the man described on the page. I realize this is an impossibility, seeing that my future husband has never traveled back in time to meet me. (Read the book, and you will understand.) Even so, I can't help but think, Damn. That would sure be awesome.

I'm really no better than the broken-hearted Harry Potter fans who never receive Hogwarts letters--those children who, upon turning eleven, have to confront the sad reality that they are muggles.

It's frustrating sometimes, to be only human, when the people you are reading about are so much more.

I don't have much of a solution for this, other than to say, "Real life is interesting, anyways." While good fiction is fascinating, one must never forget that it is always based on reality -- which is, in fact, exactly what makes that fiction so good. No matter how structured the plotline, no matter how developed the characters, the story is pointless if it does not reflect reality. If the reader cannot somehow link the story to the world he lives in, the story will be neither interesting nor meaningful. If good fiction is based on reality, and if that good fiction inspires and astounds us, should we not assume that reality can do the same?

There is hope for us yet.

Nice to Meet You...Maybe?

Being judgmental just never serves me well.

I was thinking the other day about my first impressions; they seem, oftentimes, to be wildly inaccurate. When I think of the people I love most in the world, I realize that I thought most of them were kind of weird when I first met them. The first time I talked to my now best friend, many years ago, I was really annoyed with how she wouldn't leave me alone; I was just trying to get my third grade homework done, and she wouldn't stop babbling to me about all the boys in her class. Years later, I began to love her, and we spent hours together talking, mostly about boys. I'm glad, at age 18, we're finally growing out of our boy craziness (though of course not yet entirely), but I'm gladder still that we grow continually closer.

In another instance, I first met one of my eighth grade younger brother's friends a year or two ago. He struck me as an annoying, obnoxious little kid. He was that weird little person I drove home from basketball practice that one time. And then, quite recently, I began, a little bit, to actually know him. He's one of the sweetest kids I've ever met--the kind of kid that makes my heart melt, the kind of kid that gives me hope that I may actually like kids.

My point is, there's no use in form an opinion of someone that you haven't discovered much about. Humans are complex; there is no way of knowing them at first glance. There's no telling when a person you've never cared about could suddenly become an important figure in your life. There's just no way of looking at someone and knowing just how much they might come to mean to you.

Life is a surprise this way, which makes it all the more enjoyable.

Library Slave

I admit, I'm a bit of a book nerd.

I've always held a special place in my heart for the library. In high school, I'd beg my Mom several times a week to stop at the library on the way home after school so I could run in and pick up my hold items. "You just went to the library on Monday!" she would exclaim.
"I know. And now it's Wednesday!" I would tell her.
"I don't understand why you're such a slave to the library," she'd reply, pulling over begrudgingly to the side of the street so I could sprint in to pick up another book or set of music CD's.

I still find the libraries to be some of the most comforting and inspiring places on earth. They are so much better than bookstores, in that all their services are free. I can read, watch and listen to whatever I want, for absolutely no cost, plus fines. (Unfortunately, fines have been kicking my ass for years. I'd rather not think of the amount of money I've lost due to my inability to find books and give them back on time.)

I recently discovered a beautiful library with a large music and movie collection, a café, and a used bookstore. I wouldn't typically care about the bookstore... but paperbacks are only one dollar!! You would think that these one dollar paperbacks would be the kind of crappy thrift store books that were printed 60 years ago and have since been dropped in toilets or eaten by pet dogs. These books, however, are in perfect condition. Not only that, they are good books. I bought The Time Traveller's Wife today, which I am so excited about. This book has been on many national bestselling lists, and I've been wanting to get to it for months.

Of course, these days, being a bestseller doesn't guarantee good value. I'm still having a hard time understanding why the Twilight series is so popular. I've read one Twilight book--the first one--and I don't think I want to read anything like it ever again. I believe in real romance; I don't want to feel dizzy over Edward Cullen just because he's a vampire and because he's hot. I really don't see much more to Twilight than that--sexy , sparkling vampires. If that's what you like, if you're willing to give up reading good writing or substantial plotline for that, then I guess I can't stop you.
Of course, Edward Cullen drives a Volvo, which does make him pretty cool. (Have I mentioned that I am now the proud driver of a '99 Volvo S7O?) ;)

In my ongoing library ventures, I hope to discover more literary gems, such as Douglas Adams's Hitchhiker's Guide or David Sedaris's witty anecdotes. (Like right now, I'm reading The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis, and it is AMAZING!) I will, undoubtedly, encounter many more Twilights, but that's a risk I am more than willing to take. :)

A Little Bit of Love for Humanity

Thought of the day: 8th grade basketball games.

As I'm sitting in crowded, parent-filled bleachers at interminable grade school basketball games, every sentence that runs through my head seems absolutely genius, a scintillating gem of wit that I just have to release into the world.

Okay, well, maybe it's not that wonderful. But I do enjoy those moments where everything I think seems smart and funny. It good be a good sense of humor, it could be awesome creativity, but it could, of course, just be mild insanity.

What I find funny, though, is 8th grade basketball games. Tonight I played chauffeur for a handful of middle school athletes. (That kind of stuff just happens when your family owns a 12-passenger van.) I sat through their games, watching the parents and coaches jump and yell about the 5-foot boys stomping their way around the court. There was a grandma next to me videotaping the entire game. I wonder--is she really going to watch it again later?

But I must admit, some of those boys were amazing. 8th grade boys can be cooler than I thought.
That's a weird thing to say.

I don't understand this, but I have a place in my heart for younger children. Especially for middle schoolers, for those pubescent kids for whom life seems to suck ALL THE TIME. I'm surprised by this; I'm not a huge fan of kids, especially of preteens. 12-14 were some of the worst years of my life...and yet I find that I can really feel for kids that age.

...I don't know where I'm going with that.

That's enough for tonight.

You see what I mean about never having anything to say?

It's always nice to get a little love...

Anonymous blog comments sure make me happy.

I never mind being told that I look good, that I'm funny, or that I sing well. (I am not, of course, told that very often, but nevertheless, it's nice.) But when I hear that somebody enjoyed something that I wrote, I feel accomplished.

My new anonymous blog comment has just inspired another blog post. Thank you!

I don't generally like to write long posts about writing, but all too often, when I sit down to write, that's all that's in my head. Ideally, I'd have a brilliant idea or hilarious story for every night of the year. But most days, I have a really hard time finding something to say.

I suppose I could write blogs like, "Wow, guys. I sat at a lot of red lights today." Or, "This homework is so hard!! Damn this homework!"

Unfortunately, that's all I can really think to say.

It's not that nothing has been happening for me. In fact, I've experienced more precariousness and excitement in these past few months than ever before. I'm hesitant, though, to throw such personal things into cyberspace. And the last thing I want this blog to be is a "Dear Diary." I have other notebooks for that.

I guess I could tell you about how my first quarter at DU has been--good, I guess. But in all honesty, my classes weren't especially enlightening. I took one freshman seminar class, theatre-based, in which I wrote and performed a ten minute solo piece. That was my one good class--it was challenging, a lot of work and at times a pain in the ass, but I accomplished something. I was amazed to discover that I could write, memorize and perform, while making people laugh in the process.

My other classes--Honors Literature, Intro to Creative Writing, and Foundations in Music--weren't as great. Creative Writing was okay, in that I got to write and actually came up with some interesting stuff. But I was disappointed to discover that in the creative writing world, anything is acceptable. I learned nothing in that class about what distinguishes good writing from bad writing. Instead, I was encouraged to write silly writing prompts like, "What does this picture look like?" or "Write from the perspective of a shark." I participated in these prompts, managing on some occasions to produce a semi-interesting piece of writing, but then all I did with that was announce to my classmates, "This assignment was weird for me, because I generally don't consider copying sentences out of a textbook to be real writing (And yes, that was an actual assignment), but this is what I wrote."

That was just about all that happened in that class. And this blog is boring enough already--I won't go into detail about the other two.

All ranting set aside, though, DU has been okay. I'm still figuring out whether I like it or not. There are good days and bad days, new friends and creepy psychopaths. It's all falling into place quite nicely, though.

I'd promise to keep you posted, but I know I would be lying. Nobody really cares about DU that much.

Some days, though, that's just all there is to say.

A Small Truth

One thing I've discovered about honesty is that it really pisses people off.

I suppose an important life skill to have would be to know exactly what to say, when to say it, and how exactly to say it in order to not offend anyone. Then again, living like that would be a bit ridiculous. In fact, there's probably something really wrong if everybody likes you.

Take Jesus, for instance. He was the only perfect person ever to have set foot on earth, and most everybody ended up hating him.

The long and short of what I am trying to say is: Life is confusing; Humanity doubly so.

But what would life be without all the weird stuff? It wouldn't be much, that's for certain.

Goodnight, readers.