Spending my summer away from the rest of my family in an alien territory which could be possibly dangerous seems like a rather drastic thing to do, and completely foolhardy. Well, damn the man and throw logic to the wind, I'm doing it anyway.
For the summer, I will be working an internship on the Cape, and for the summer I will be in my own apartment, away from my mom and dad and away from everything that is remotely familiar. Which is not to say that I've never been to the Cape, and I'm really quite familiar with the place.
The problem is that when you've been here as a tourist or a guest, you eat at nice restaurants, see pretty lighthouses, and find the task of avoiding shellfish as easy to do as dance naked in front of a pack of starving lions while doused in meat sauce.
Paints an image, doesn't it?
I can tell you how to get to the Chatham Lights. Sort of. I can name some delicious breakfast places by the Sagamore and Bourne Bridges. I can recommend the best place to go if you want to lie on the beach and catch a tan (who coined this phrase? Are you literally in camoflauge in the grass, watching the elusive tan as it eats at the watering hole nearby, unaware that you are about to jump out and nab it?). I can even name a joke shop or two.
But . . . supermarket? Home supply store? Post office? Please, ask someone else.
The Cape is an amazing place, I'll give you that. However, I wish that I had done one thing before I had set out for the Cape, which was carefully plot on a map exactly where everything is, and furthermore install a GPS chip in my brain so the police can track me when I accidentally wander into the sea.
Take some time, I dare you. You'll do this to. You can move to a new home somewhere, you can say it is perfect, but then step out that door and I DARE you to walk straight to the laundromat without asking for directions or consulting the map.
I'll wait.
Couldn't do it, could you? Ha. Well, we're in the same boat, all of us who move to a new place, even for a short time. The world may be pretty, but in between, you still have an alien world to live in and navigate.
The things that are necessary, you never consider that important until you're wandering the streets with a compass, trying to find them.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Go Ahead, Laugh
I laugh at you. I laugh in the face of every last one of you, and you know who you are, and I laugh and laugh and laugh until I'm blue in the face, which is not good considering it would clash horribly with my eyes.
You have exams. I have nothing. I have freedom. FREEDOM.
So . . . this is my way of saying "nyah nyah nyah" to everyone who isn't me.
The school year has come to a close, and with that close, I have seen the end of the world that was filled with desperation and misery in the form of fill-in-the-blanks and multiple-choice. For three months, at any rate, but that's all I have to worry about. Now, I move onwards to a job.
No, let's not talk about the job. I want to talk about the boundless mirth I have, stemming from the misfortune of everyone else and the fortune of me.
So . . . that's my way of saying, "nyah nyah nyah" but with more eloquence.
The library here is filled with priceless novels and computers on which you can completely ignore the novels and simply upload the Sparknotes version. At the moment, every computer terminal is occupied and every book that could be of concievable use (and right now, concievable use goes as far as being a flat surface for someone to write on top of while they hold a study sheet in their lap) has been checked out. The atmosphere of the library is one of panic and fear and hypertension.
Walking through it, I am allowed to snicker at everyone else, because I do not have any.
Everyone is eating. Every table in the dining hall is full, every table in the rec center is taken, and everyone is craming in as much food and caffience-pumped food as they can. Everyone is insane here, and I get to calmly eat an ice cream for the purpose of enjoyment, rather than to benefit off the sugar for study purposes.
Cake Batter flavor. Trust me, it is good.
And the grass? Don't get me started on how little of it I can actually see. If a plane flew overhead and looked down, there would be a sort of carpet of blankets and books on every inch of the ground available, what with the library being filled with crazies and the dining hall bursting at the seams. We are all trying to study and cram every last bit of knowledge into our tiny little brains because we know that one extra second might be all the difference between failure and brilliancy.
"We" excluding me, of course.
So . . . nyah nyah nyah.
You have exams. I have nothing. I have freedom. FREEDOM.
So . . . this is my way of saying "nyah nyah nyah" to everyone who isn't me.
The school year has come to a close, and with that close, I have seen the end of the world that was filled with desperation and misery in the form of fill-in-the-blanks and multiple-choice. For three months, at any rate, but that's all I have to worry about. Now, I move onwards to a job.
No, let's not talk about the job. I want to talk about the boundless mirth I have, stemming from the misfortune of everyone else and the fortune of me.
So . . . that's my way of saying, "nyah nyah nyah" but with more eloquence.
The library here is filled with priceless novels and computers on which you can completely ignore the novels and simply upload the Sparknotes version. At the moment, every computer terminal is occupied and every book that could be of concievable use (and right now, concievable use goes as far as being a flat surface for someone to write on top of while they hold a study sheet in their lap) has been checked out. The atmosphere of the library is one of panic and fear and hypertension.
Walking through it, I am allowed to snicker at everyone else, because I do not have any.
Everyone is eating. Every table in the dining hall is full, every table in the rec center is taken, and everyone is craming in as much food and caffience-pumped food as they can. Everyone is insane here, and I get to calmly eat an ice cream for the purpose of enjoyment, rather than to benefit off the sugar for study purposes.
Cake Batter flavor. Trust me, it is good.
And the grass? Don't get me started on how little of it I can actually see. If a plane flew overhead and looked down, there would be a sort of carpet of blankets and books on every inch of the ground available, what with the library being filled with crazies and the dining hall bursting at the seams. We are all trying to study and cram every last bit of knowledge into our tiny little brains because we know that one extra second might be all the difference between failure and brilliancy.
"We" excluding me, of course.
So . . . nyah nyah nyah.
Friday, May 4, 2007
I Like The Way You "Move"
To begin with, this blog entry is about the fact that I'm moving out of my college dorm room next week, and I decided in light of the fact that I've been busily packing all week and putting things away that possibly the blog title should reflect this in some sort of humorous way.
Do you have any idea how many songs have "Move" in the title? I swear, I spent about twenty minutes trying to figure out just which one to use.
Movin' Out - Billy Joel
Move Your Body - Nina Sky
I Like To Move It - . . . . the name will come to me
Movin' On - Good Charlotte, Default
Dare You To Move - Switchfoot
I Like The Way You Move - Bodyrockers
And there are others. There are many others, but for the sake of this blog being a reasonable song, I mean size, I will not list them.
So! Moving! Moving Out! Of College! Next Week!
That's the gist of it.
I am to leave this place of education and love in about a week, and to leave this place of education and love means that I have to get rid of all of the crap that has somehow accumulated in my dorm room over the year. And if you ever saw it, you'd wonder how I lived there.
No, I'm not a slob. What I am is one person who believes that everything has a place, and therefore should be in one, and this includes every draw being filled to maximum capacity until they threaten to burst from the hinges. Also, if the hanger rod in the closet isn't hanging halfway to the floor, it isn't carrying enough things, and the same goes for the pile of books, the desk drawers with all the papers and writing supplies, the weird little knick-knacks that are everywhere, the microfridge leaning onto the floor under the weight of a hundred magnets . . .
So I'm a hopeless packrat. I get that. But the time is MOVING OUT time, so I have to get rid of my carefully organized mess.
The food in the fridge and under my bed in the containers? It all has to go. As of this minute, it is all sitting out, with the open invitation to anyone passing by to take what they want and take it far away.
My desk drawers are empty. That was a struggle, half the crud inside them was determined to escape. I swear, my stapler tried to bite me as I took it out of the drawer.
My clothes? I won't get started on those, but I will say this:
WHOEVER YOU ARE, STOP SENDING ME CLOTHES!
I leave home every year with only what I need, and then it snowballs.
An aunt sends me a shirt.
My parents by me something they saw in the mall.
My best friend can't resist a wordshirt he saw for me.
Every organization I'm a part of decides to renew their club t-shirts for the year.
I suddenly realize that I can my toes through the shoe I am wearing and rush to replace them.
My socks mysteriously disappear and I must get new ones.
Someone stopping at my room leaves a shirt and it winds up in my laundry bag.
It never stops, so I leave college with more clothes than I came here with.
In the end, you see my point: moving out of college is harder, much harder, than moving in.
And don't even get me started on unplugging my computer wires. Not yet.
Do you have any idea how many songs have "Move" in the title? I swear, I spent about twenty minutes trying to figure out just which one to use.
Movin' Out - Billy Joel
Move Your Body - Nina Sky
I Like To Move It - . . . . the name will come to me
Movin' On - Good Charlotte, Default
Dare You To Move - Switchfoot
I Like The Way You Move - Bodyrockers
And there are others. There are many others, but for the sake of this blog being a reasonable song, I mean size, I will not list them.
So! Moving! Moving Out! Of College! Next Week!
That's the gist of it.
I am to leave this place of education and love in about a week, and to leave this place of education and love means that I have to get rid of all of the crap that has somehow accumulated in my dorm room over the year. And if you ever saw it, you'd wonder how I lived there.
No, I'm not a slob. What I am is one person who believes that everything has a place, and therefore should be in one, and this includes every draw being filled to maximum capacity until they threaten to burst from the hinges. Also, if the hanger rod in the closet isn't hanging halfway to the floor, it isn't carrying enough things, and the same goes for the pile of books, the desk drawers with all the papers and writing supplies, the weird little knick-knacks that are everywhere, the microfridge leaning onto the floor under the weight of a hundred magnets . . .
So I'm a hopeless packrat. I get that. But the time is MOVING OUT time, so I have to get rid of my carefully organized mess.
The food in the fridge and under my bed in the containers? It all has to go. As of this minute, it is all sitting out, with the open invitation to anyone passing by to take what they want and take it far away.
My desk drawers are empty. That was a struggle, half the crud inside them was determined to escape. I swear, my stapler tried to bite me as I took it out of the drawer.
My clothes? I won't get started on those, but I will say this:
WHOEVER YOU ARE, STOP SENDING ME CLOTHES!
I leave home every year with only what I need, and then it snowballs.
An aunt sends me a shirt.
My parents by me something they saw in the mall.
My best friend can't resist a wordshirt he saw for me.
Every organization I'm a part of decides to renew their club t-shirts for the year.
I suddenly realize that I can my toes through the shoe I am wearing and rush to replace them.
My socks mysteriously disappear and I must get new ones.
Someone stopping at my room leaves a shirt and it winds up in my laundry bag.
It never stops, so I leave college with more clothes than I came here with.
In the end, you see my point: moving out of college is harder, much harder, than moving in.
And don't even get me started on unplugging my computer wires. Not yet.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
That's The Spirit!
Schools have these things they refer to as "Spirit Week." Obviously a misguided attempt by officials somewhere to promote school unity and school spirit through random acts of wackiness, Spirit Weeks are often the bane of my existence.
The bane, because I find myself playing along anyway.
The details of the Spirit Week are as follows: a school decides that the feeling of community is lacking and therefore everyone must wear silly hats and costumes and pretend that by doing this, we're all moving closer together as one big family which will graduate in a few months and lose half of the branches of this family tree, which needed trimming anyway.
Get it? Good.
You think it is weird. Me too.
Somehow, I think that making everyone do something strange on scheduled days of a given week out of a year does not constitute unity. I think it constitutes the masses being beaten by a shadow-lurking leadership figure who is intent on making us act like nutballs.
For instance:
Monday was Case of the Mondays. For those of you not into the whole "Office Space"/"must work and then collapse after a week" mentality, we all hate Mondays. We hate them as they make it necessary for the workloads to reload. The week has started again - so we were all instructed to come into school in our pajamas. The number of bunny slippers and tank tops I saw got to me after a while and I left early.
Tuesday was Organization Day. I could barely contain my joy. If you are part of one of the five-hundred-thousand organizations on this campus, including the Harry Potter is Immoral Club, or the Harry Potter Is So Not Immoral Club, or even the No One Cares If Harry Potter Is Immoral, So Why Don't The Two Of You Just Lay Down And Be Quiet For A Change? Club, then you wear the shirt to school. There were a lot of organizations represented on that fine day.
Wednesday is Beach Day. I'll also point out that it is pouring rain outside at the moment on this Wednesday, so everyone is wet, miserable, cold, and definitely not wearing beach clothes. Wait, no, I take that back - all those who are in charge are still cold and miserable, but have decided to wear beach clothes to uphold the tradition anyway.
Thursday will be Class Day. Go online, look up your class colors! Freshmen in white! Sophomores in green! Juniors in fuschia! Seniors in tangerine! Graduates in apricot! Faculty members in teal! Not that any of these are real, but the idea is that if the color is mandated, then it will be worn. Trust me.
Friday will be School Colors Day. So, in a last-ditch effort to preserve the feeling of togetherness that the previous four days of this week have not inspired in every man, woman, and domesticated animal being hidden behind the pipes of the boiler room in the dorm, we will all proudly march about wearing colors of our school and feel proud. Proud to all be wearing face paint, similarly tinted shirts, and generally reminding ourselves that Spirit Week is finally over.
Saturday will be the day of rest. Because there will be at least twelve months until the next Spirit Week, and you have all that time to prepare yourself for the next round.
The bane, because I find myself playing along anyway.
The details of the Spirit Week are as follows: a school decides that the feeling of community is lacking and therefore everyone must wear silly hats and costumes and pretend that by doing this, we're all moving closer together as one big family which will graduate in a few months and lose half of the branches of this family tree, which needed trimming anyway.
Get it? Good.
You think it is weird. Me too.
Somehow, I think that making everyone do something strange on scheduled days of a given week out of a year does not constitute unity. I think it constitutes the masses being beaten by a shadow-lurking leadership figure who is intent on making us act like nutballs.
For instance:
Monday was Case of the Mondays. For those of you not into the whole "Office Space"/"must work and then collapse after a week" mentality, we all hate Mondays. We hate them as they make it necessary for the workloads to reload. The week has started again - so we were all instructed to come into school in our pajamas. The number of bunny slippers and tank tops I saw got to me after a while and I left early.
Tuesday was Organization Day. I could barely contain my joy. If you are part of one of the five-hundred-thousand organizations on this campus, including the Harry Potter is Immoral Club, or the Harry Potter Is So Not Immoral Club, or even the No One Cares If Harry Potter Is Immoral, So Why Don't The Two Of You Just Lay Down And Be Quiet For A Change? Club, then you wear the shirt to school. There were a lot of organizations represented on that fine day.
Wednesday is Beach Day. I'll also point out that it is pouring rain outside at the moment on this Wednesday, so everyone is wet, miserable, cold, and definitely not wearing beach clothes. Wait, no, I take that back - all those who are in charge are still cold and miserable, but have decided to wear beach clothes to uphold the tradition anyway.
Thursday will be Class Day. Go online, look up your class colors! Freshmen in white! Sophomores in green! Juniors in fuschia! Seniors in tangerine! Graduates in apricot! Faculty members in teal! Not that any of these are real, but the idea is that if the color is mandated, then it will be worn. Trust me.
Friday will be School Colors Day. So, in a last-ditch effort to preserve the feeling of togetherness that the previous four days of this week have not inspired in every man, woman, and domesticated animal being hidden behind the pipes of the boiler room in the dorm, we will all proudly march about wearing colors of our school and feel proud. Proud to all be wearing face paint, similarly tinted shirts, and generally reminding ourselves that Spirit Week is finally over.
Saturday will be the day of rest. Because there will be at least twelve months until the next Spirit Week, and you have all that time to prepare yourself for the next round.
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