There's Only One Way You Can Eat a Muffin Like an Adult

Step one: Enter Starbucks.
Step two: Flirt obnoxiously with barista.
Step three: Ask for a tall (none of that small, medium, large shit) coffee and a chocolate cream cheese muffin.

No. Don't tell me Starbucks stopped selling chocolate cream cheese muffins. I refuse.

Step four: Silently become outraged that you're shelling out what could feed a family for a day for a measly coffee, but outwardly pretend it's NBD.
Step five: Ask your teenaged child (for the childless, any teenager will do) what NBD means.
Step six: Lie and tell the barista that your cup name is "Nancy" or "Barb" or something equally grown up.
Step seven: Sit down and mention to your coffee date how much you love such-and-such jazz artist, but do not, I repeat, do not start jamming out to the beat.

That is never ever acceptable.

Pay no attention to the woman dancing behind the curtain

Step eight: Take a bite of your muffin. Comment on its deliciousness. You have one more time to say it's delicious. Use it well. Do anything but jam muffin into your mouth. Talk about politics with friend. Sip coffee politely. When you get the sudden urge to say "happy sexual Wednesday, friendship", don't.

Step nine: Finish muffin after ten minutes mark, but before fifteen minute mark. It's a tricky business, muffin timing. Make no jokes about muffin tops, only bemoan your own muffin top, if said coffee date is female.

Step ten: After a few bites are left on the wrapper, rub your stomach and proclaim that you couldn't eat another bite. Use second designated "this was so good" declaration.

Step eleven: Stop procrastinating and go the fuck to work. You're an adult, after all.

Namaste.

Thanks to MC for the muffin idea! You're made of awesome. 

YouTube, Revisited

About a year and a half ago, when the obsession all started, I published this post on a blog that is now obsolete. While at seventeen, I articulated only half-formed ideas and deemed them sooo clever (you mean I didn't know everything in 11th grade? Shock!), I had the right general idea the YouTube is much more conversational than television. There's a certain satisfaction in typing up a comment to a vlogger and thinking that maybe, just maybe, Nerimon's eyes glanced over your words. I mean, we all know that Amazing Phil reads all his comments. In that sense, we feel special because "internet celebrities" are paying attention to us. They are sharing their lives with us, encouraging us to, in return, share our lives with them.

Does that make us equal?

The thing that we have to be on the lookout for is that on YouTube, you are the product. Ratings are an integral part of television, and while we don't have the same vocabulary for YouTube, it's essentially the same thing. The more subscribers a vlogger gets, the more ads his/her page is going to attract. The more ads that get collected on the vlog page, the more revenue said YouTuber gains. The audience is pertinent to the vlogger's success. Does this mean they're trying to trick us into getting wrapped into their page just so they can win some dough? No, especially not in this generation. Many of the famous vloggers now had no idea how high their success levels would reach. There was no such thing as a "youtube" star before this generation. But now that it's a trend, we may, in the future have to scope out those vloggers who start a channel to get youtube famous and try to rope in a huge audience all for the sake of the moolah. Product placement is still rare among the best of the vloggers today, but demands are getting increasingly higher. People are getting increasingly desperate to become noticed on YouTube.

Let's take Alex Day for example. His video making/music playing started off as a hobby, but now that it's what he uses to buy NeriCool locations and, y'know, not starve, his demeanor has changed. He will enforce the idea that he is talking to us like he would talk to a friend, but after that story about first dates, Alex goes on to sell us that new album he's releasing. I appreciate that it's so exaggerated it's satiric, but still. He uses his everyday stories to talk about his music, which then entices us to buy those albums.

In television, we are a flat "audience." What's trickier about selling us on YouTube is that we feel more connected to the creators. Instead of being mere observers, we are Nerdfighters or Unicorn Warriors. These specified names, in turn, make us feel more special, like the vloggers are speaking directly to us.

On the flip side, YouTube isn't fully about selling. These vloggers do have to make a living, and at times they do try to cater to our expectations, seeing as that's how a job works. But YouTube stars sparked their career from inspiration to create. And not every YouTuber gets paid. The main point of YouTube is still to develop a community of thinkers and artists alike and engage in discourse. Of course, sometimes that discourse can seem elementary, dear Watson (YouTube comments, anyone?), but once you get an intelligent, thought out discussion going under a video, it can be pretty satisfying.

We tend to be less intimidated by YouTube because vloggers tend to stress the idea that our approval of them is high on the priority list. Our opinions matter. Our challenge ideas our accepted. Our comments show up on the screen. Even the negative comments on new vloggers tend to really get to these artists. YouTube lets us shape the artist. We told Charlieissocoollike we wanted more vlogs where he just sort of ranted at the camera, and he filmed more vlogs. YouTube is more of a give and take. Television, however, doesn't allow us to engage. It is presented to us under the idea that there is something wrong with us, and we should let that culture shape our lives. We see a TV show, and we tend to wonder why our lives aren't like those on the screen. We want to relate to these characters; we think we'll be happier somehow. Whereas on YouTube, we want those vloggers to relate to us. We intuitively know what a raw, normal human life looks like, and we expect vloggers to adhere to those values. Television distorts, YouTube, in its purest form, exposes, challenges, and converses.

Personally, I'm much more trusting of YouTube than television. But it could change. Because there is "star status" attached to YouTube, it could quickly come much more commodified and less about creative inspiration.

Let's hope that doesn't happen.

Namaste.
P.S. Carrie Hope Fletcher is my hair doppleganger, I'm almost sure of it.

  

The Mightiest of the YouTube

Hello, lovely people from the internet! So I have a not so secret confession for you all:
I am addicted to YouTube. I am not the type to sit down and decide to watch a few short clips with the five extra minutes I have. No. I follow vloggers incessantly. I comment on their lives. I try to imitate their hairstyles. I reference Bryarly Bishop and Carrie Hope Fletcher by first name, like I'm friends with them or something.

It's turned into a bit of a problem. But with this addiction, comes great joy. So I thought I'd share the best (according to me), of the YouTubers. Here I shall present to you some quality VlogBrothers, Danisnotonfire, Itswaypastmybedtime, Jenna Marbles, Nerimon, Charlieissocoollike, Bryarly Bishop, Italktosnakes and Ninebrassmonkeys. Maybe they're the most thought provoking, or the funniest, or just something that strikes a chord in the oddness that is me. But being an avid follower of YouTube goes from a past time to an obsession pretty damn fast, so be forewarned: it will suck you in like a black hole.

Without further ado, I present to you, Kira's list of awesomely possumly youtube videos:
1) VlogBrothers--Translating Dance Songs
Yes, this is one of the most recent VlogBrother videos, but it's also one of the best. Hank takes an interesting pattern in the music industry and turns it into something both hilarious and thought provoking. And everyone likes a little Macarena.

2) Danisnotonfire--How to speak Internet
It was difficult to pick a favorite Dan video because he has such a wide range of funny/intellectual videos. But "how to speak internet" really speaks to how our generation works. Plus, Jack and Finn are a nice added bonus. 

3) Itswaypastmybedtime--There's a rhythm to making tea
It's a simple video, but I've watched it pretty much on repeat. It's so addictive, just like tea. 

4) Jenna Marbles--What Girls Do in the Car
This was actually the video that introduced me to Jenna Marbles. And as a driver, I can tell you with all certainty, it's so true. 

5) Nerimon--Alex Reads Twilight (preferably the whole series, but here's an example):
No explanation needed. This series just rocks. And it introduced me to the awesomeness that is Alex Day. 

6) Charlieissocoollike--The Purple Man
If you watch this video multiple times and don't end up singing the purple man song a gazillion times over, there's something wrong with you.

7) Bryarly Bishop--Welcome to Tumblr
This woman speaks the truth. 

8) Italktosnakes--The Nanowrimo song
Kristina has been one of my biggest Nanowrimo advocates, even if she doesn't know I exist. And this pinpoints exactly the feelings one experiences during Nanowrimo. 

9) Ninebrassmonkeys--Why is a Nerdfighter (and so can you!)
You should really check out the entire series, but this really speaks to the community that is addicted to John and Hank's channel, and gives an intellectual, complex look at YouTube culture.

Namaste.

The Introverted Voice--AKA my article got rejected a whole lot

So I wrote this thing about introversion amongst writers. I was quite proud of it. I had some witty dialogue and fun descriptions of my elementary school, which is one of my absolute places. And I submitted it to some places and they were all "yeah, it's okay, but not concrete enough, you should start writing about times of the day and wanting to drive a fork into your head and that would make it all lovely."

Maybe I'm exaggerating, but still. 

So that stung quite a bit. Obviously writers are just supposed to string some words together and have them appear magically on the internet.


...No? That's not how it works.

Damnit.

But never fear, my lovely mother emailed me with the saving news that there was another literary magazine! The Rumpus  (don't judge) was all about quality writing that really made you think. At this point, I was doing anything to stroke my little ego, so I submitted it, thinking that at 19, I would finally make my big break--Jodi Picoult and John Green would be calling me, demanding to know where I found my inspiration. And I'd be all "heh, heh, a writer never tells...just kidding, I got it at Wal Mart."

Yeah. No. Instead, this happened:

So that's fun. At least they appreciate the chance to "just say no."

Now, I realize that professional writers have to go through loads of rejection, and they're just scratching the surface when two literary magazines tell them they're not good enough for the literary world. But three things make this particularly difficult for me:
1) I'm a newbie to the publication world.
2) The first three times I submitted something to a literary magazine, I was Seventeen and eighteen, and they were all "this is great, of course it's going in the magazine!"
3) I have this nasty habit of wanting to dive under the covers and never emerge when someone implies they don't like something about me.

But I will never cease to be proud of this piece. As you regular blog readers know, I've struggled a lot with the idea of being introverted vs. extroverted. This piece deals with how a sociable introvert doesn't have to be a complete contradiction, and that to be able to write, you have to be able to detach yourself from the immediate chaos of the world. I also covered that a bit in the writing blog if you're interested.

Perhaps my insistence that this piece is pride-worthy is just my failure to accept rejection. But I still want to get it out in the world to show other intro-extroverts that they're not complete aliens in the writing world.

And so, I present to you...The Introverted Voice:

In my elementary school, there was a room that sat in stillness for most of the year; kindergarteners fidgeted in that room during meeting for worship, and quiet prayer was encouraged to happen in between these walls. I loved the feeling of solitude this little room gave me--I felt safe to just walk in and let my thoughts take over me, rather than drown my brain in anxiety over what small talk would sound most normal coming out of my mouth. It was in this room that I  developed story ideas, play ideas, and heightened illusions fourth graders tend to have about this world. The lack of discourse didn’t seem a problem to me--rather, it was an escape from the mundane conversation I had to conjure during the other seven hours of my school day.

    

It wasn’t until parent-teacher conferences that this room unveiled its true purpose: Dodgeball. While teachers told nervous parents in suits and tacky patterned ties that their fourth grader would go far in life and that their latest glue project showed great genius, kids flung balls at each other like they were competing for gold. Do not be fooled by the innocent Disney character clothing and round, naive eyes; these kids were vicious. My once safe haven turned into a war zone. After sporting several bruises from the battles of dodgeball, I slipped out of the room, rummaged through my backpack for a book, pencil and notebook, and found my new safe haven: fiction.     

Through these afternoons of scrawling plays and “what-if” stories about adults disappearing off the face of the universe, I learned to appreciate the company of my characters, and spent more of my childhood with these fictional friends instead of my schoolmates. I had a strong hold on the line between fiction and reality, yet the concept of imaginary friends fascinated me. It seemed obvious that anyone would want to spend their time with a sixteen year old rock star rather than a scarily large fifth grader who steals your lunch. Through fiction, I was in control of my own life, and I had a group of comrades I could relate to, instead of having to explain to.   

At home, my creative endeavors were encouraged; my family chose to engage in quiet activities in their spare time, so I hardly seemed an outlier when I brought out my fuzzy pink pen and wrote about a set of twins entering a music video competition. Not only did I get my childish wish to be a star (mostly) out of my system, but I dealt with domineering personalities and rejection in a constructive way. I only half understood the kid who made fun of me for putting potato chips in the refrigerator, but instead of dwelling on that incident, I created a character who told the twins in my plays that their way of life was ridiculous, and must be changed immediately. I would spend hours in this world, comforted by the safety of being in charge of each plot twist. At school however, the structured time to write baffled me; why couldn’t I write when I was inspired, or wanted to get away from the world? When I wrote during recess or lunch, teachers came up to me with furrowed brows, asking what was wrong. The conclusion that my solitude showed distress shocked me; it seemed about as related as saying someone wore a jacket because they were afraid of spiders. I was a social kid, just not at the times teachers said it was okay to be. I used school to write my ideas down, then at home I would share the plays with my friends and use that opportunity to laugh and act silly. Yet I failed to understand how my writing was anti-social. I used these plays and stories to reflect on my own life, and through these revelations about my experiences, I was speaking as loud as I could.

The voice of fiction is not a quiet one--it’s different, but writers are still getting messages across. If I tried to talk through how I was feeling about the world, it would come out as a jumbled mess with too many stutters and “uh”s and “like”s. As Susan Cain, author of Quiet: The Power of Introverts points out, “The greatest speaker is not always the greatest thinker.” A talented speaker may hold great respect, but the voice of a writer should be no less powerful. I have always had difficulty looking someone in the eye and explaining what it’s like to have an eating disorder during the blurring lines of childhood and adulthood, or what it means to live in a family full of academics, but through writing, these messages are significantly cleaner and evoke much more pathos than if I walked up to someone and stumbled through “so yeah, there was a  time when...stuff happened.”

When you’re in a society where the spoken word is the main mode of communication, it can be challenging to get your point across through the obstacle of facial expressions, body language, or the judging eye of your peers. My friends consider me eccentric when I write them letters and publish a new blog post almost every day. But a sentence has so much more strength when you have time to reflect, to revise, to think. A friend once read a book written by an author I try to channel through my own writing; when she finished only then did she realize she finally understood me. I didn’t have to say anything; I knew both the author’s writing and my own explained everything.

We often hear that “actions speak louder than words,” but it seems more appropriate to make the claim that a thoughtful phrase speaks louder than a careless sentence. As a writer, I try to choose my words carefully, and to allow my poetry, plays and narrative to speak louder than any spoken word could.

What are your experiences in the introversion/extroversion battle in writing, or just art in general?
Happy Wednesday!
Namaste.

Yogic Pickup Lines

"I drank Kombucha in my bed last night...what did you do?"

"I can feel your shakti touching me from the other side of the room."

"I'll down your dog."

"Can I take you Ommmmmm?"

"Your beauty has blinded my third eye."

"Just doing my regular morning stretches."

"With you, I'll be your strongest warrior II."

"You make me want to jump on that airplane."

"I don't even need any ghee, you make me so clarified."
"I'll even stay up until 9PM for you."


Namaste.

You, with the Face...

Hey, you with the face and the hair.
That's right, you.
Since I obnoxiously post this on facebook, there's a good chance I know what you look like. I make it a habit to have at least one in person conversation with people before friending them on facebook. But, according to my statistics, I also have an audience in Germany and the UK (Alex Day, if you are reading this blog, my life is now complete). I don't know anyone from Germany. So there is also a portion of my audience whose appearance I know nothing about.

So that's a thing.

So. Being a person who blogs about issues, I thought I'd address the situation. Why? Because I said so. Also, it's BEDIF month.

Because I have no life
Even when I have tons of homework to ignore
During which I want to pull my hair out
If you understand
Frickin' read the blog, so you too can bemoan the existence of stressful lives.

So that was mighty unnecessary. Let's move on, shall we?

Maria was talking about, how at work, she sends invites and important mail to the same people. She's practically memorized their names and addresses, but she's never seen them in real life. Now, this is purely on a business level; it's not like she's digging into their personal lives. But it got me thinking. We're caught in a generation where we can hide behind the anonymity of our computers, and present a persona, rather than a person to the world. We make "internet" friends, who we still separate from our "real life" friends, but the distinction seems to be fading fast. It's cleaner to categorize ourselves online and to fit in, to be cooler somehow. As John Green says, it's the 21st century version of summer camp. Take Charlieissocoollike for example (two Nerdfighter references in one blog? The world will explode with awesomeness!). Charlie McDonnell keeps a youtube channel in which he presents himself as gregarious and outgoing. But, outside the internet, he is really quite shy.

There's nothing inherently wrong with introversion (seeing as I am a total introvert), and there's nothing wrong with playing dress up for a while. But the purpose of vlogging seems to be to share your life with an audience...to be an internet friend, so to speak. I haven't necessarily felt lied to by Charlie because he's informed us that his internet persona differs from his regular personality, but to some degree, we all change our personalities on the internet. Is this a freeing thing? Or is it lying? I meet people online and I think "oh, if they just lived here, we could be the best of friends." But frankly, I don't know them as whole people; the internet serves a slice of one's life, but it doesn't give the whole entré. There's no disclaimer that says "this is a work of fiction; I'm not really this outgoing at home." The personalities I think I'd be besties with online are probably roaming around State College, but I'm just too shy to go out, meet them, and say anything more than "I have a name. And it is...................".

I'd probably be just as socially anxious sans internet, so this online persona is a lovely addition to my normally quiet life. I've met many Nerdfighters that I'd probably never talk to if I just saw them across the street. I'm involved in huge conversations on Youtube videos. Through the internet, I feel more connected. Even through watching Danisnotonfire, Nerimon, Jenna Marbles, and other vloggers I've never met, I feel involved in a large clique of nerds and people who appreciate sexual Wednesday. It's a decent feeling.

Just to note, I do have friends in the outside world. And we have lovely adventures.

But a part of me wonders, if I was forced to enter a world outside of avatars and blogs, would I meet those same personalities I click with online? Or would I continue to shy away from the outside world? I feel like social media benefits me more than it hinders me. Charlie McDonnell claimed the entirety of his confidence to come from YouTube. Then again, he could've found his confidence in other ways. Who knows? We live in the world we live in.

Sometimes, however, these online personas can be dangerous, and more than just suggestions of extroversion. I'm not going to lecture you about online sexual predators because we all got that spiel in middle school, but sometimes, before it happens to us, we can be all "yeah, yeah, don't be stupid online, I got it." But I do have a personal anecdote, so I wish to present the "Kira's stupid adolescent moments" portion of the post:

When I was twelve years old, I was a bit of rebel. Or, at least, I thought I was. My parents weren't fond of online chat rooms, but I was all desperate to meet people that weren't in my "sucky home town" as I so affectionately called it at the time. Most of the chat rooms were boring and went too fast for me to type anything. Mainly I just read people's arguments about god-knows-what during That's So Raven commercials (I was a cool kid). One day, however, someone took an interest in befriending "glittergirl" (me), and invited me to a private chat. I was ecstatic to have made a friend. We talked for a while, and all this time I was convinced that this friend was a girl. This person didn't hide his gender, but once he informed me he was a male, he started asking me strange questions and guessing my age (right on target, too). Luckily, my inner "this is creepy" senses tingled properly at age twelve, and I stopped the shinanigans before shit went down.

But still. The internet, used impulsively, can be a scary place.
Alternative moral of the story: Please, for the love of all things coffee, do not make your username "glittergirl." Ever. 


How do you feel the internet world helps/hinders your life?

Namaste.

Walk On Part 2: Your Guide to Pedestrian Awkward Moments

As a person who walks everywhere, I've experience some awkward moments with my fellow pedestrians. Finding your walking style is like finding your identity. It took me years to perfect the crazed, "I'm-walking-like-I'm-going-to-be-late-even-though-I'm-obscenely-early" look, so it's not always the best of times to zigzag between the sloth walkers. Throughout my traipses across campus, I've also encountered several awkward moments that make me wonder if I should invest in a car, or maybe even a bus pass:

1) The person you're about to catch up with.
So I'm walking to class, doo doo dee doo, and I'm clear of all bodies around me. But then, out of nowhere, BAM! There's someone right in front of me, listening to his ipod, or whatever it is normal people do these days. He's jamming along to some Eminem or whatever, and there I am, in my koala hat, feeling terribly awkward. I am faced with the pressing question: do I lag behind and pretend I'm a sloth walker, or do I act like some Olympian runner and sprint ahead of him? If I lag behind, I'm a stalker. If I run ahead, I'm an anti-social prick who can't stand to be around people for more than two questions. But walking at the same speed is simply not an option. That would imply I'm other desperate for friends, or I'm just really creepy. Solution? Pretend you need to cross the street because East Halls is right across from you and obviously every sane person just has to get to East Halls, amirite?

 2) The door-holder.
I'm glad chivalry isn't dead at PSU, but it can be a bit of a tricky situation. If there's a huge distance between me and the next person, I'm not going to assume the guy in front of me is a total dick for shutting the door. And yet. They hold the door open and then assess the situation. If it looks like I'm just mozying about, not really caring to get to the door anytime soon, they'll shut the door. If I see their generous act, I suddenly feel like I must do this:

...Even though I'm still 20 minutes early to class and I'm inconveniencing the person in front of me by making him wait a million seconds.

Is it just me, or do guys on campus sometimes seem to prove their screwability by the length of time they hold a door open?
Just a thought.

What's REALLY awkward though, is when you decide to go for it and sprint to the door. Then you realize you're like, a billion feet away from the door, and this guy is crazy for waiting for you. So you take a deep breath and slow down. You're perfectly capable of opening your own doors, thank you very much. But then you reconsider the situation. This person's just being courteous; would it kill you to respond? So you speed back up, nice and armed with a simple "thank you" and smile. By this point, however, you've failed to notice that the person in front of you observed your lack of enthusiasm towards the door-holders of the world, and slammed the door in front of your face. Win.

What are some of your pedestrian awkward moments?

Happy Thursday!
Namaste.

Just Say Yes, and Other Songs College has Kept Me from Enjoying...AKA I'm turning into an ultra-feminist

So I like Snow Patrol as much as the next person, but I've started to have this annoying habit of listening to songs critically. It's not very fun to read Stupid Ho with a feminist perspective, but as soon as a song that has even the slightest misogynistic tendencies, I'm going bat shit crazy. Didn't intend to be some lyric critic, it just kinda happened.

Ah, I see you want an example. Patience, dear grasshopper.

Today, I was walking my usual hike all the way across campus, and I had my iTunes playing in order to make the sprint a little more bearable. Through Katy Perry and Alex Day, I couldn't find anything to critique from the musical world. I had almost made it to Sackett; I was almost safe. But then this song comes on:

And the hulkish feminist just kinda leaped out of me.

How could you, oh Snow Patrol, assume that a woman is "aching" to have sex with you? Or to categorize her as a beating heart that is there for the very pleasure of this dude's sensations? Sure he's asking for consent, but he's going "oh pretty please? I'll get you candy and shiny things...you know you want to." I don't know why this song got to me so much; Snow Patrol and I generally have a pretty amiable repertoire. But to assume that a woman wants sexy time just as much as you is so flawed and so ignorant.

So that was feminist moment number one. Later on, to get away from the disgust that is the sexist-lyrics world, I went adventuring on Tumblr. For a while, I was liberated by makeup tips to make me look prettier (can you just smell the irony?), John Green quotes, and yogic discussions. Then I find this:

...Yeah. Not a good day for female independence, folks.

Let's hope tomorrow's better.

Namaste.

Side note: Snow Patrol, I still love you.

I'll Be There For You, When the Rain Starts to Pour...

Last night in my yoga discussion group, we talked about the idea of friendship and what its ultimate "goals" are. Should we strive to be accepted by that person? Does it matter if we share common interests? Do we manipulate our friends? We all like to believe we're selfless and share ourselves with other people for the good of humanity, but does that survival instinct of making connections also come into play.

Unless we're all living in a Mean Girls world here, we seldom outright manipulate our friends. I mean, we don't choose who we hang out with because their Daddy is the president of so-and-so record company, or because they have a new car. But I've often wondered if we "use" our friends for that feeling of elation one gets when going out and adventuring with friends.

In middle school and the beginning of high school, I didn't have a shit ton of friends (cue pity sighs here). I instantly assumed that being alone meant that you had to be lonely, but that's another topic for another time. But because I was alone for so many years of my life, the happiness of being around other people was even more pressing. I appreciated the unique-ness of the people I associated with, but like every school counselor in the world reminds us, "everyone is unique." If I had associated with group A rather than group B, would I still have had that feeling of elation when going shopping/dancing/creating fantasy countries with them?

I like to think not. I genuinely care about the friends I have, and they are so terrifically random that I couldn't imagine anyone else being up for Jack attacking or making dance videos to The Bad Touch. When you have friends purely based on going out to parties, you could easily fill in any face. But you can't just have any replacement for anyone you actually talk to--where you display your insecurities/fears/deepest excitements. I mean, imagine if I had gone up to a non-nerd and was all "OMFG JOHN GREEN HAS A NEW VIDEO COMING OUT TODAY!" They'd be all "that's cool, and I'm having greesy pizza for lunch today, omfg." Someone to go out with and someone to actually spend time with can distinguish who we tolerate and who we identify with.

That tolerance, however, can shift. In middle school (you know, that painful time when I was convinced the world hated me? Yeah, that one), I hung out with two other girls that I got in constant fights with. It wasn't a particularly pleasant time, but society told me I had to talk to other people, so talk I did. And scream. And fight. At the time, I thought these were people I would merely tolerate through those awful adolescent years; we couldn't really confide in one another about our problems, so we just sorta glared at each other and pretended our fights were the biggest thing since World War II. Being the escapist that I tend to be, I went to Delta to avoid the drama. Enter the part where frienemies parents are friends.

As this friend's father and my mother continued to hang out, she and I continued to tolerate each other. Our family gatherings were always a bit tense. But we never stopped going. We'd continue to grit our teeth through "so...how's Delta?" and "so...how's history?" without really expecting an answer. Somewhere between 9th and 10th grade, we began entering territory that didn't really pertain to our personal lives: books. TV shows. Movies. All safe zones. We started to hang out outside of the family gatherings without wanting to tear each other's hair out.

Sounds like a not very lasting friendship, right?

WRONG.

Once we got past the zone of indifference, we slowly began to discuss our own lives. We'd ask "how's Delta?" and "how's history?" and really care what the person said. It didn't happen overnight, but because our parents remained friends, we went from "tolerance friends" to best friends (cue the "d'awwwww"s).

So sometimes the true, lasting friendship aren't the most romanticized ones. But they also take time. We might on the surface "use people" for that feeling that we are part of a group, but we are also capable of growing to truly care about and love those people that we first latched onto. You can't really go "friend shopping" and expect it to work out instantly, because in the beginning, we do kinda "use" our friends, for lack of a better word. It's not a bad thing to start out as a superficial friendship, as long as there's some sort of inkling that it could last.

Friendship is a large, complex, mystery-wrapped enigma, so I obviously don't have all the answers. I'm still feeling my way around friendship. But it's safe to know that friends don't just have friends for the sake of using one another (the good kind, anyway).

To all my friends out there, I love you guys, and remember: DFTBA.

Namaste.

Welcome To Your Existential Crisis

I like to think of myself as a pretty "go-with-the-flow" kinda person...hrm, okay, I like to think of myself as someone who tries her damn best to allow her life to unfurl, and if something isn't planned to the last second, that's okay. If something wasn't going well in my life (like, it was more than mildly unpleasant and for an extended period of time), I fixed it. Torturous middle school not your thing? Go to Delta instead. Can't stand the concept of being an adult? Go live in an ashram. I didn't plan for these things to happen, but I'm pleased with these impulsive decisions; what I first deemed as cowardly and escapist where actually some of the greatest experiences of my life.

For most of my life, I've taken the un-traditional route, not realizing that there was a "normal" path that so many of my peers took. I didn't realize that my mode of education could be looked at as inferior or sub-standard. I just went to school, went home, ate my snack, and proceeded to watch episodes of That's So Raven. In high school I crept out from underneath that rock enough to realize the connotations "alternative school" held, but I chose to ignore it. It was only 11th grade--when I took a full year of grade level/AP courses--that I could title as "traditional." And even then I would traipse between Delta and State High to learn about romantic poets.

Now I've entered the time of my life that has been planned ever since I was born. My dad started setting aside my college fund, and while it wasn't named "PSU fund," my father calculated about how much he would need for the discounted price. In 6th grade our class wrote letters to our future selves, and even when I was convinced that my greatest goal in life was to meet Raven Symone, my future collegiate aspirations never wavered. Everyone in my family has gone to college; hell, everyone in my immediate family has either gone to or is attending grad school. It was just a thing that Marshalls and/or McKelveys did. I never questioned the choice one had in going to college. It seemed as normal to me as breathing, or drinking coffee. I didn't have a problem extending my education--I liked learning well enough--but I wasn't in love with learning. I didn't hole up in my room and read Shakespeare (I did, however, hole up in my room and read Jodi Picoult). I tolerated my education, but I didn't realize the massive impact it could have on me. It makes me wonder--if I had grown up where continuing one's education wasn't the norm, would I have had a strong desire to attend college?

Don't get me wrong, I love Penn State. And ever since my first semester here, I've become obsessed with learning. I realize I've spent 18 years in a bit of a haze (but that's a whole other blog post waiting to happen), so it's refreshing to really grasp the reading I'm assigned, or to get a thrill out of a math exam (I know, right? A MATH EXAM). But there are other ways to learn--I mean, that guy from Good Will Hunting never stepped foot in a classroom, and he beat intellectual battles with people from Harvard. And was he drowning in student loans? Sure, college has become the societal norm, and it's increasingly difficult to get a job without at least a Bachelor's Degree, but how many people actually want to be here, sprinting in those fifteen minutes in between $500 classes?

I don't have an answer. I've grown up to appreciate learning and to realize the values of a college and post-grad degree, but did I choose to apply to college because it was ingrained in my head, or because deep-down, I knew that was the best course of action to take?

The planned is sometimes scarier than the un-planned. (Unless it's a baby).

Namaste. 

Book Survey!

I found this survey on Bryarly Bishop's page (who I don't know personally, but who is fantastically epic nonetheless), and thought that it looked quite fun, so I thought I'd give it a go. Re-post with your answers if you're a fan of reading! (Or if you're not).

1. Favorite childhood book?

A Series of Unfortunate Events-Lemony Snicket

2. What are you reading right now?

The Casual Vacancy-J.K. Rowling

3. What books do you have on request at the library?

None. I have this pesky habit of buying books when I could easily get them for free.

4. Bad book habit?

I dog-ear pages, fold them in half, and write in the margins. Yeah, I'm brutal.

5. What do you currently have checked out at the library?

The Casual Vacancy, though it's technically checked out under Maria's card, so if I lose it, it's death for Kira.

6. Do you have an e-reader?

Call me old fashioned, but I prefer to have the physical book in front of me.

7. Do you prefer to read one book at a time, or several at once?

 My attention span is such that I pretty much have to read several books at once. And write several books at once. It's kind of a thing.

8. Have your reading habits changed since starting a blog?

Seeing as I'm following like 12 million blogs, yes absolutely. 

9. Least favorite book you read this year (so far?)

Forever Amber by Kathleen Winsor

10. Favorite book you’ve read this year?

The Fault in Our Stars by John Green

11. How often do you read out of your comfort zone?

It used to be extremely rarely, but now that I'm in college, it's quite a lot. I've taken a liking to Wordsworth, Shakespeare, and Byron.

12. What is your reading comfort zone?

Memoirs, realistic fiction

13. Can you read on the bus?

 Yes--I get a lot of my reading done there!

14. Favorite place to read?

 My bed, next to Ernest the pillow pet.

15. What is your policy on book lending?

If I trust you, go for it! But if I meet you at camp and you PROMISE to return that Sarah Dessen book, sorry (I'm still a little sore about it, and it happened like 5 years ago).

16. Do you ever dog-ear books?

 ALL THE TIME. I don't think I own any bookmarks.

17. Do you ever write in the margins of your books?

Yeah--learned it from my parents. Silly English professors.

18. Not even with text books?

I tend to underline from textbooks. But I'm highly tempted to write silly notes to people who will buy those textbooks in the future.

19. What is your favorite language to read in?

Icelandic. JK, English.

20. What makes you love a book?

If it's chock full of metaphors, if it's about people and their lives, if it contains loveable characters, if it contains witty dialogue. I love delving into how people's minds work.

21. What will inspire you to recommend a book?

If it's by John Green, if it's well written, if I know the reading style of the person I'm talking to.

22. Favorite genre?

Realistic fiction.

23. Genre you rarely read (but wish you did?)

Fantasy.

24. Favorite biography?

Anything about Johnny Depp.

25. Have you ever read a self-help book?

*Hides head in shame* Yes...

26. Favorite cookbook?

I don't really have one.

27. Most inspirational book you’ve read this year (fiction or non-fiction)?

The Fault in Our Stars

28. Favorite reading snack?

Cookies.

29. Name a case in which hype ruined your reading experience.

The Hunger Games. It was an agreeable plot, I enjoyed it, but it wasn't particularly extraordinary.

30. How often do you agree with critics about a book?

The critics seem to be particularly harsh on The Casual Vacancy, but I enjoy it.

31. How do you feel about giving bad/negative reviews?

I wouldn't feel too terrible if it was constructive criticism, because remember kids, the text is separate from the author. And sometimes you need negativity to allow yourself to improve.

32. If you could read in a foreign language, which language would you choose?

  Russian.

33. Most intimidating book you’ve ever read? 

I'm still a little intimidate by Shakespeare. But the most intimidating reading I've had by far, is Derrida.

34. Most intimidating book you’re too nervous to begin?

Ivan ho

35. Favorite Poet?

I'm a fan of William Blake.

36. How many books do you usually have checked out of the library at any given time?

3-4

37. How often have you returned book to the library unread?

Often. Too often.

38. Favorite fictional character? 

  I like Briony from Atonement, Hermione Granger, Hazel Grace from TFIOS, Tibby from Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants and Charlie from Perks of Being a Wallflower

39. Favorite fictional villain?

Lord Voldemort

40. Books you’re most likely to bring on vacation?

Anything by David Sedaris

41. The longest you’ve gone without reading.

There was a period of a few years that I didn't dive into any serious reading. Dreadful.

42. Name a book that you could/would not finish.

Forever Amber.

43. What distracts you easily when you’re reading?

Facebook, Tumblr, Blogger, email. TECHNOLOGY, WHY YOU HATIN'?

44. Favorite film adaptation of a novel?

Few come to mind, but I heard Perks of Being a Wallflower does it justice.

45. Most disappointing film adaptation?

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

46. Most money spent at a bookstore?
Like, I don't even know. $100 maybe? That's a lot in college student world. 

47. How often do you skim a book before reading it?

Full disclosure: I read the last page of a book before I read it. You can yell at me later.

48. What would cause you to stop reading a book half-way through?

 If I'm bored, or a new book interests me more.

49. Do you like to keep your books organized?

What is this organization you speak of?

50. Do you prefer to keep books or give them away once you’ve read them?

Depends on how attached I am to the book.

51. Are there any books you’ve been avoiding?

  Frankenstein, which is kind of an issue because I have to read it by Monday and I'm blogging instead. 

52. Name a book that made you angry.

Twilight.

53. A book you didn’t expect to like but did?

Jane Eyre.

54. A book that you expected to like but didn’t?

Firefly Lane by Kristen Hannah. I normally love stories about people and their lives, but this one just dragged on and on.

55. Favorite guilt-free, pleasure reading?

Sisterhood of The Traveling Pants.

You are Not Your Eyeliner

You are not the raging fear
of wrong-doing.
You are not the dripping blood
of disdain for injustice
and cruelty.
You are not sorrow,
you are not cold indifference.
You are not a straight line,
nor are you a mass of skin
that wears chains,
or points middle fingers
at the world.
You have felt the rage
once neon innocence
has faded into a deep black,
you have seen cruelty,
but you are not bound by it.
You are not boxed into the mask
that makes us easy to stick a label upon.
You are not your eyeliner--
you are compassion one day,
angst the next.
You are a wave of emotions--
do we title an ocean as a constant calm,
or an uproar of tides?
Do we classify this ocean as what we see,
or what it embodies,
what is under its surface?
An ocean is not its visibility.
You are not your eyeliner.

I don't know if it's cooler to just let a poem stand by itself in the blogesphere or to explain how this came about, but I know when I come across a poem, I'm always like:

Not so creative writer-esque of me, but hey, I'm also being trained to be a critical thinker, so there ya' go. This poem came about from a lovely run-in with a friend. We got to talking about the permanence of emotions, and how our society is expected to be happy-go-lucky-kittens-and-fucking-rainbows-let's-sit-in-a-friend-circle. I mean, when you think about it, the ultimate goal society presses on us is to be happy. But what does that look like? In one instance, we're persuaded to believe that happiness looks like this:

Then, minutes later, happiness is described as this:

They can't both be true, can they? Yet we strive for these results, because we think it is the final solution to eliminating all sadness so that we can constantly giggle and smile at the world. In the end, it's just confusing. Having that shiny new car doesn't keep us crying when so-and-so breaks our hearts, but isolating ourselves from the world doesn't shield us from the pit-in-stomach feeling.

So with the pressing expectations to constantly be happy and productive and cheerful, we just feel confused. I know I've felt like society was messing with my head more that it was helping me. I always suspected there was some evil mastermind in some corner, pouring out these paradoxical ideas of happiness, and when he saw the confused, head-spinning reactions, he was all:

I'm sorry for all the gifs. If you haven't guessed, I've just discovered Tumblr. 

Anyway. So for those of us who are prone to listen to everything that's thrown at us, we get confused and try to back out of all these promises for happiness. We reject what hasn't work, and because this "always happy" ideal has never worked in the past, we go to the exact opposite:

THE EMO STAGE!
(DUN DUN DUNNNN)
I never had a full fledged emo stage, but I sure had my share of self-wallowing, "the world will never understand me" phases. I just hadn't perfected the art of eye makeup yet. But because we are brought up in a world where we believe we are our emotions, we identify ourselves as this sadness, rather than a core self who is a mere observer of that sadness.

But if we lived in a world where happiness and sadness were both widely accepted as a passing emotion, I believe we would live with far less expectations to "be happy," and subsequently, we'd have far less lashing out by identifying with the polar opposite.

You will not always be happy-go-lucky, but you are not your sadness either.

Namaste.

Life Deserves a Skunk Day

In sixth grade, teachers looked at us like we were atom bombs about to go off. If we gave a slightly frowny expression, counselors told us to just say no to self harm and that it gets better, somewhere in between your chicken nugget lunch and marathon Bingo games. While it was slightly bothersome to be treated as a repairable machine rather than a human being with highs and lows, the height of adolescence did gain quite a bit of pity. Teachers perfected what we call "the concerned look": the raised eyebrows, the softened eyes, the "tut tut," followed by "why don't you just go sit down for a bit, hun?" I appreciated what these teachers did to put a pool in hell, but what really stuck out to me was music class.

Jester, I think her name was, though she was too kind to jest by any means. She was new enough to believe that twelve year olds could neither mess with minds, nor take advantage. She had two small skunk statues in the classrooms. These were magical skunks. They allowed you to tell the world "fuck off, I'm having a bad day" without having to actually use such obscenities. If Jester saw you with a skunk on your desk, she wouldn't ask you to participate. I'm not sure if she caught on that people tend to have bad days when the exam rolls around, but nevertheless, the skunks never left the classroom. When I felt particularly growly towards the world, or my acne was seeking revenge after being covered up by expensive makeup, I would grab a skunk, lose myself in some Cheetah Girls books (I was a weird kid), and all would be right with the world.

So why did this skunkiness disappear after middle school? Do people just stop having bad days when you go to big kid classes and get a real, "suit-up" big kid job? Sure, those around you expect that you have the maturity level to deal with less-than-fabulous-moments, and that a bad mood won't effect that happy/smiley/I love people all the time person the world knows and loves.

I would admit (or hope) that I'm more mature than I was in sixth grade (here is the part where you give me a reassuring pat and tell me "sure, sure you are..."), but there are times when I'm particularly pissed off at the world, and I'm just like:

Touch me, human, and you die.

So here's my proposal: The world should have a skunk day. No matter how old you are, how far past the hellish days of middle school you've gotten, you too deserve a skunk day. Maybe, since the whole world seems to have an iPhone, there can be a skunk app that you just flash at people when you just can't. even. talk. anymore. You may be allowed two skunk days per month, so choose wisely! I mean, sure, one can call in sick to work and cuddle up with a good book instead, but it would do us all a whole lot of good to be honest, call up our bosses and say "hey, you know what? Today's a skunk day." I mean, can that become a socially acceptable thing? I feel like the world would be a whole lot healthier if that were the case, because when we ignore our skunk days, this happens:

And that's just not cool, man.
Okay, it's a little cool. But people die because of skunk days! I mean, imagine if Hitler was given the opportunity to reflect on his emotions; he could have stayed home and reveled in some self-pity on the day he decided to become a mass-murdering fuckhead. Maybe that skunk day would've given him the opportunity to paint something peaceful and see everything beautiful in the world.

Okay, maybe not. It was a gradual process, I know. But I'm just saying, socially-acceptable pity days are good for the soul. Just as long as they're not every day.

Have a sad skunk day, everyone, and a happy all-the-rest-of-the-days!

Namaste.

A rose is a rose is a rose: An examination of Valentine's Day

Valentine's day is notorious for being the "feel-like-shit-about-yourself-and-eat-buckets-of-chocolate" holiday. Granted, it kinda implies that if you're single, you suck. What fun. I've been single for for more Valentine's Days than I care to admit, so I've never been fond of the Hallmark Holiday. Sure, in elementary school it was an excuse to pierce ourselves with scissors and eat glue exhibit creativity, but once you hit the ripe age of twelve, it becomes a "who likes who" deal. Even when you're in a relationship, you either talk about how over V-Day you are, or how pressured you feel because roses and anything above Hershey's chocolate is fucking expensive.

I hear ya'. And I'm aware how laughable it is how our consumerist society believes we can justify our love through material goods. Last year I had this boyfriend, right? Let's call him El Diablo. So El Diablo lived a whole town outside of State College, which, to us State-College-ites, feels like countries away. So because he may as well have lived in Timbuktu, and neither of us believed in the art of complex texting conversations, we didn't see each other much. Because Skype would just be too easy, wouldn't it? So anyway. I had it in my head that El Diablo could redeem himself for his lack of communication through a bunch of fluffy affirmations and calories. Not only that, but I was also convinced that February 13th was the 14th. So when the evening came and went and I didn't get any V-Cards (valentine's cards you silly person, get your mind out of the gutter), I was ready to storm over to his house and be all "you little shithead, you didn't aggressively pour your love all over me and spend way too much money!"

Let's just say I felt a little stupid when, the next day, El Diablo showed up with a lovely little bouquet and some peppermint bark, and I was one of THOSE PEOPLE with the pesky little facebook statuses that go something like "I have the best bf in the worldddddddddd <3 <3...lovers 4 lifee," or something equally inappropriate.

The thing is, this was a nice act of generosity and all, but it's not some marked "tell-all" about a relationship. If the best boyfriend in the world gains that status just by shelling out some cash at Wal-Mart, well then, you're all a bunch of winners. Gifts are nice. Chocolate is always appreciated. But Valentine's Day is not some grand indicator of your loneliness/happiness in relationship scale. It's a day based on exclusivity: who's having sex, who's not. Who's got her flower (mind. gutter. out), who's been left empty handed.

So that being said, I don't take V-Day too seriously. In the past, I've had a bit of disdain for it. But today, I had quite an experience that showed the lovely inclusivity that love should be.

So I was in English class, right? We were in the midst of discussing some Freud and theories and all that jazz, when this guy walks in ten minutes late. The prof gave him a noticeable eye-roll, but he had that air of confidence that said "it's cool, it's all good." He slid into his seat after a smooth "how's it going," only to walk straight back to the podium, claim how bad he felt about being late, and stride out the door. By this point the rest of the class was looking at each other like "da fuq?" like English majors tend to say. The kid waltzed back in with a bouquet of pink roses and handed one out to everyone in the class. I hadn't said a word to this guy, but the fact that I was included in the rose giving made my day. It's sitting right next to my computer as we speak.

It's the random acts of kindness to everyone that make this silly little holiday special. It doesn't have to be a competition, rather, an admiration of people, single or not.

Namaste.