For those of you who don't know, National Novel Writing Month occurs every year in November. It's a time when writers come out of their holes and join in an online race to the finish - 50,000 words written within the month. And I am doing it. Again.
I have "won" for the past two years (which means that I've written two novels) and participated for the past four. I feel like a seasoned veteran when I say that, but I also feel completely new every time I sit down to type out the requisite word count for each day, approximately 1667 words (if I have told you 2500, please forgive me!)
This year I will be busting through a long-held fear of mine: starting on my sci fi trilogy. I have always wanted to bridge the gap between literary fiction and sci fi, because in the Venn diagram of readers, there seems to be very little overlap in those who read each of those categories. A lofty goal? Perhaps. But that's what this month is all about - experimentation and improvement.
And this month I want to tack on another little experiment to this month: daily blogging. Maybe I'm going insane, but my mind is telling me that if I tack on just another hour spent writing (about something completely different, perhaps) in my blog will help me grow as a committed blogger. Which has been on my to-do list of things to become for much too long.
What will I write about? Perhaps a few sentences about how my novel is going. Perhaps about my daily outfits photo shoot (oh yeah, that's still going on). Or perhaps it will be about some amazing rally that I went to over the weekend...
And with that unsubtle segue, we come to how I am spending my fall break: in Washington DC as one of the 150,000 to 200,000 attendees of the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear!
My roommate graciously provided accommodations since her home is located in Alexandria, VA (very near to DC, for those not as knowledgeable about East Coast geography). We took a 6 hour bus ride (that should have been 4 hours) down here on Friday night, and then piled into the subway on Saturday morning for an exciting day of rally fever.
I must admit, the biggest rally I had been to before this one was the MLK Day rallies in Seattle. This rally outclassed them by about 149,000+ people. There was a fever in the air when we got on the subway. The entire Mall was filled up by the start of the rally, and we were fortunate enough to meet up with Mr. Stephen Bronskill and get tickets to go up front.
Here are the conclusions I've drawn from this rally:
1. Subways. New York subways are FAR superior to DC (and no, that's not me just being a snooty New Yorker - if your trains aren't large enough to fill the entire subway platform, you have a problem)
2. Signs. People are really creative when asked to make signs about anything. I was snapping photos of anything and everything I found interesting, and there was a lot!
3. Adam & Jamie As much as I love the Mythbusters, I really don't think they should perform live. Ever again.
4. Public Displays of Affection Perhaps my only complaint about the rally was a pair of teenagers making out in front of me the entire time... I think it was just inappropriate for that situation.
5. Stars The Roots? John Legend? Yusuf Islam (Cat Stevens)? OZZIE?! My excitement mounted each time they brought out a guest - it was so fantastic!
6. Songs I am going to be singing Love Train and The Greatest, Strongest Country in the World forever now... please look up videos of the rally for the second one, it was a skit by Jon and Stephen that was really addictive.
7. Message. Aside from the hilarity, it was really comforting to know that so many people understand that the media is overblowing the issues and that we shouldn't treat each other poorly based on their opinions.
Overall, I was extremely happy to be able to attend this event and even more excited that Stephen could provide us with such a great position in the crowd. So much thanks to be given to that man!
P.S.
My pictures are available at Deviantart!
Follow me around the world with my other On Location posts!
Check out some more posts featuring my photography.
Project x Project: NaNoWriMo 2010 & On Location: The Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear
Monday, November 1, 2010
Lists: 19x19 Birthday Lessons & Loves
Sunday, October 24, 2010
(click to see a larger version)
Today is my 19th birthday. It was a fairly low key affair spent with gourmet pizza, vegan desserts (Pala Pizza and Babycakes are both delicious!), and my dear roommate Liberty. For the workaholic in me, there was also a gift: I mandated that I could do no work today for any class, enforced by said roommate. And so, as I lounged around on subways and reflected on this year in my life, I thought I would do something rather silly and awesome. Make a list.But unlike regular lists of to-dos and goals for the future, this list is one that looks back on my life lessons and loves in my first 19 years. The collage above and the anecdotes below are representatives of some of my best-loved words of wisdom and material possessions nowadays. The items are in no particular order. So, without further ado, here is my 19 by 19 list.*
19. Big dreams, little steps
I have always been a big dreamer. When I was in kindergarten, I announced proudly that I wanted to be a writer, and that hasn't much changed in all my years of life. I have molded it to fit in with a practical lifestyle, but it persists in my mind as one of my most important goals. Becoming a writer, as defined by me, has come in a series of steps. Step one: write a lot. Step two: write badly. Step three: ameliorate said bad writing. Step four: repeat for years and years until finally you can look back on your writing and say 'hey, maybe that wasn't such a bad idea.' That's the stage I am at now. By this time, I have written three novels (unpublished as of yet), a running set of blogs, a set of short stories and poems, and several zines and personal essays. And I'm still going at it by forcing myself to write and finding the diamonds in the rough.
18. Artichokes, mushrooms, and olives [my favorite veggies ever!]
17. Trying new things
I am a terrible beginner. I get frustrated if it doesn't come easily. When I was in my angst-riddled teen years, I used to throw things (knitting needles, video game controllers, dumbbells...) across the room. But, at my now great age and wisdom, I have learned to combat it. I will always get frustrated when I don't understand or feel completely uncoordinated at something (*cough* roller derby *cough*), but my desire to try new things will generally prevail. I tell myself: "You love to do these things. Why would you give up now?" And usually that's all I need.
16. Zines, podcasts and blogs [independent media rocks my socks off]
Some suggestions:
PODCASTS: Stuff Mom Never Told You, Stuff You Should Know, Body Love Wellness podcast, The Moth podcast, This American Life, and (for those of you ok with raunchy sometimes sexist humor) The Mens Room podcast
BLOGS: Already Pretty, Body Love Wellness, Weightless, New York Times Wellness blog, Sepia Mutiny, FunkyBrownChick, Racialicious, Feministing, Salon Broadsheet, How Stuff Works, GalaDarling, Refuse the Silence, and Well Woman (those are the ones I read daily or write for... I am an information nerd)
ZINES: Too many to count - check out the Barnard Zine Library if you're in NYC or ZAPP in Richard Hugo House if you're in the Seattle area! (my zines are featured in both these locations)
15. Body acceptance
This has been something I've struggled with since I was in my early teenage years. I learned that I didn't "look right" as compared to my white, thin, more developed peers, and my depressive years made that stick with me. But, since coming to college, there's been a profound change in this outlook. Culminating with my daily outfit photo project, I have become more used to the way my body looks and how I want it to look. The two have reconciled, which makes me feel much more safe in my own skin.
14. Handmade items & photographs
13. Long-distance relationships
I didn't know Josh and I were headed towards this until we got here. We were dating in high school and now... now it's bee 1 1/2 years, half of it when I was away at college. The internet makes it easier, but this type of relationship is inherently hard. I feel like we've proven our mettle as a couple just by attempting it, which makes me feel like - dare I say it? - we might stay together for a long time.
12. Letters/notebooks/paper [the tools of the trade]
11. Self-love
Yoga, sleep, reading, writing, taking long baths, crafting, moving my body, eating delicious things... these are some of my methods of self-love. What are yours?
10. Clothing from the thrift store [e.g. the majority of my wardrobe]
9. Passions & self-study
School is only (or even less than) half of all the learning you do in your young life. College has opened my horizons on a lot of things that I was interested beforehand, but never got the chance to see in depth. But I think that having a passion outside of school really enriches your life. I have many - from DIY to derby - but it's ok if you just have one or two. Josh has guitar and an encyclopedic knowledge of diseases. How about you?
8. Books [please, become as addicted to bookstores, manga and fiction as I am]
7. Small adventures in NYC [which you could argue are actually huge, but frequent]
6. Headphones & Sansa Fuze
5. Living with others
I can't imagine not living with other people. I was afraid to sleep alone at a friend's house for many years, and still feel some discomfort in empty rooms. I think it's a valuable experience to learn independence and how to set up boundaries, even if you decide you want to live alone later on.
4. Roller skates
3. Creating
Creating anything from a knitted scarf to a collage to a piece of writing is always an awesome feeling. It's something that is fundamentally yours and so personal.
2. Good food [and the occasional Top Ramen fix]
1. Growing
I have been wrong a lot in my life. Although, even now, I get a bit miffed if I am wrong about a subway train or a random fact, I also believe that being wrong is a source of growth. Of healing. I don't have to be correct all the time in order to be wanted or capable of something. I think that growing up enough to know that is perhaps one of the greatest lessons I've come to know.
*The idea for this list was inspired by Marissa Falco's mini-zine 39, which can be found on the shelves in the Barnard Zine Library (and I had to read it for work!)
If you enjoy this list, check out the plethora of lists I make on a regular basis.
Personal Healing: Contact
Saturday, October 16, 2010
I am theoretically happy.
I say theoretically because it sometimes feels like I am in a vacuum, all light and sound collapsing around me. I am holding in all the feelings that I've made myself too busy to feel, and sometimes things implode without me noticing it.
I have had mild depressive episodes since I was a teenager and most of them were related to loneliness and apathy. I solved them then by finding more faith in God and religion or by busying myself to the point that I could ignore the feelings until they went away. I started to restructure my life to be more accepting of myself - my body, my likes and dislikes - and the depression began to fade away. It would come as blips in the radar, anomalies that could be explained away as they came up.
But moving to NYC has been hard on everything. Though I would reward myself for my independence, I would also feel like I was slipping away from something. I was losing contact. I am a social person by nature, but my sociability didn't make me happier. It didn't make me feel like I was doing any good. I was drowning in shallow water, and I didn't know anyone who could help me out.
Contact. The all-important necessity that a lot of New Yorkers don't get. The manufactured contact between my long distance boyfriend and myself was great, but it was still something that neither of us could touch. I had contact with a few friends, but most of the ones I could communicate deeply with were far away. And casual contact here means attending the same events and then parting ways, no follow-up date or growing partnership.
And sometimes I blame myself for this - why didn't I call her again or send more messages? Meanwhile, rather than proactively seeking ties and friendships, I slipped into more of my delusions; working and academics were what I was here for mainly, right? I was dunking my head in without even realizing it.
Is this what it feels like to be an adult? Perhaps that is the cold reality that I need to swallow, the water that I'm drowning in, this transition between youth and adult. But I still hold on to the hope that human contact is not so hard to achieve, that it is still lurking out there somewhere.
I don't think that this is my constant reality, this depression that dogs at me sometimes. But, on the rare occasion when I am yearning for something more than a club meeting or a casual conversation before class, it is sometimes hard to put that in perspective. I think of all the lonely things: how my boyfriend is 3000 miles away, how I won't get to hang out in Washington till summer, how I wish I had a pet to hold or something. It's a frustrating thing to have little motivation because it turns into a cycle of negative thoughts and actions. You're not helping yourself during this.
Recently, life in the city has been hard for this reason. I have to break my own cycles and get some help, but it's an exercise in positivity when I don't feel I have any. It's a weird charade. But I have to keep trying.
*This post was not meant to bother anybody or invite them to worry about my mental state. I think that most people get sad sometimes, and this is just my method of expressing it rather than holding it in. If you would like to chat with me about it, please send me an email or a private message on Facebook. Thanks for your consideration.
I say theoretically because it sometimes feels like I am in a vacuum, all light and sound collapsing around me. I am holding in all the feelings that I've made myself too busy to feel, and sometimes things implode without me noticing it.
I have had mild depressive episodes since I was a teenager and most of them were related to loneliness and apathy. I solved them then by finding more faith in God and religion or by busying myself to the point that I could ignore the feelings until they went away. I started to restructure my life to be more accepting of myself - my body, my likes and dislikes - and the depression began to fade away. It would come as blips in the radar, anomalies that could be explained away as they came up.
But moving to NYC has been hard on everything. Though I would reward myself for my independence, I would also feel like I was slipping away from something. I was losing contact. I am a social person by nature, but my sociability didn't make me happier. It didn't make me feel like I was doing any good. I was drowning in shallow water, and I didn't know anyone who could help me out.
Contact. The all-important necessity that a lot of New Yorkers don't get. The manufactured contact between my long distance boyfriend and myself was great, but it was still something that neither of us could touch. I had contact with a few friends, but most of the ones I could communicate deeply with were far away. And casual contact here means attending the same events and then parting ways, no follow-up date or growing partnership.
And sometimes I blame myself for this - why didn't I call her again or send more messages? Meanwhile, rather than proactively seeking ties and friendships, I slipped into more of my delusions; working and academics were what I was here for mainly, right? I was dunking my head in without even realizing it.
Is this what it feels like to be an adult? Perhaps that is the cold reality that I need to swallow, the water that I'm drowning in, this transition between youth and adult. But I still hold on to the hope that human contact is not so hard to achieve, that it is still lurking out there somewhere.
I don't think that this is my constant reality, this depression that dogs at me sometimes. But, on the rare occasion when I am yearning for something more than a club meeting or a casual conversation before class, it is sometimes hard to put that in perspective. I think of all the lonely things: how my boyfriend is 3000 miles away, how I won't get to hang out in Washington till summer, how I wish I had a pet to hold or something. It's a frustrating thing to have little motivation because it turns into a cycle of negative thoughts and actions. You're not helping yourself during this.
Recently, life in the city has been hard for this reason. I have to break my own cycles and get some help, but it's an exercise in positivity when I don't feel I have any. It's a weird charade. But I have to keep trying.
*This post was not meant to bother anybody or invite them to worry about my mental state. I think that most people get sad sometimes, and this is just my method of expressing it rather than holding it in. If you would like to chat with me about it, please send me an email or a private message on Facebook. Thanks for your consideration.
Nerd Girl Inc: My Favorite Sport
Monday, October 11, 2010
Roller derby is my football.
I attended my first bout last weekend on Saturday - two NYC teams (Manhattan Mayhem and Brooklyn Bombers) against two outsiders (Suburbia and Providence Pigeons). New York cleaned it up with some amazing wins - Brooklyn creamed the Pigeons and Manhattan pulled a close win in the second period against Suburbia.
But, other than the winning and the NY pride, I just felt giddy and pumped up to be there. Strong women on skates knocking each other over and scoringh points? Male cheerleaders in boat costumes? "Bout-fits?" Sign me up!
Although the sport I played in high school was tennis, I neer really watched many matches on TV or outside of the team. It was inaccessible to me - high prices, no talking or cheering during points, and tiny white skirts were all I saw in televised tennis (until, of course, the Williams sisters walked out). My only involvement in that game was actually playing it.
But derby invokes some hidden sports fan in me. I cheer loudly and watch intently. I buy the team drink cozy (pictured above) and develop girl crushes on players like Raggedy Animal. It excites me a different way than any other sport.
My intimacy with derby started - funnily enough - after listening to a Stuff Mom Never Told You podcast and ballooned into a full-blown lust. I bought some expensive skates during the summer and... immediately got frustrated with how hard it was to relearn those skills from childhood. But going to that bout cemented my desire to play. Maybe not now, maybe in a few years time, but eventually I'll be out on the track with those ladies I admire, ready to beat up some other team.
Want to learn about roller derby beyond my furious love for it? Here is a site that explains the rules and the history of the game: How Roller Derby Works. If you’re interested in watching a match – which are called “bouts” in derby lingo – you can head over to Derby News Network. And, if you’re interested in getting involved with an NYC team, Gotham Girls is the collection of NYC teams that have positions available for trying out, training, volunteering or refereeing. Check them out at the Gotham Girls website.
P.S. I'm trying out subject sections for this blog so I can keep track of what I'm posting/have interesting things to say. Hope it's not too awkward...
Read more Nerd Girl Inc. posts and check out the related series, Caught My Eye.
Another Month, Another List
Sunday, October 3, 2010
I have a love/hate relationship with lists.
At the beginning of every month, I get out my well-worn planner and write two lists down in red pen: Accomplishments and Goals. The notes can range from personal things (like, see more of the city) to academic things (make sure to get homework done in advance) to just practical things (make sure to buy groceries every week). I have completed this "tradition" since the end of last school year - and, so far, it has been pretty profitable.
It seems like just another to-do list, of which I make many over the course of just one day, but this one is slightly different. I rarely look back at these goals over the course of the month. I forget most of them in a few days. But, for some reason, I find myself at the end of the month having completed most - if not all - of the goals and then some. Somewhere in my subconscious, those goals are lurking around, predicating what I do with my time.
So, that's the good part about making lists. They can really program your brain to think linearly, to make things happen, to finish things off. But there are some things about making lists that also make me feel insane.
Have you ever made a list and felt that it was controlling your life? That it was going to judge you for not finishing it? These ideas sound absurd, but when you become a chronic list-maker like I am, it's hard to get away.
On the weekends, I will still make lists of what I need to do. Deviation from this list feels like breaking out from a padded cell - I spend some time lazing around on Low steps or walking through the city, and I feel both reckless and nervous. What if I don't get everything done on time? What if I don't finish the list?
I feel like I'm drowning in work and even my own free time activities feel like another burden to be ticked off. On top of that, it reduces my personal spontaneity and creativity.
So, what is there to do? Shall I be chained to my to-do list, never getting time to sleep in or wander the city without guilt? The predictable answer is 'no.'
I'm still learning as I go, but refraining from obsessive list making is the first step. Making a list only for specific things (homework, say, but not free time activities). And I have to make sure that I find a new down-time past time - yes, I make lists every time I am bored, even if they are repeats. Lists can never fully disappear from my life, but they don't need to take it over either.
At the beginning of every month, I get out my well-worn planner and write two lists down in red pen: Accomplishments and Goals. The notes can range from personal things (like, see more of the city) to academic things (make sure to get homework done in advance) to just practical things (make sure to buy groceries every week). I have completed this "tradition" since the end of last school year - and, so far, it has been pretty profitable.
It seems like just another to-do list, of which I make many over the course of just one day, but this one is slightly different. I rarely look back at these goals over the course of the month. I forget most of them in a few days. But, for some reason, I find myself at the end of the month having completed most - if not all - of the goals and then some. Somewhere in my subconscious, those goals are lurking around, predicating what I do with my time.
So, that's the good part about making lists. They can really program your brain to think linearly, to make things happen, to finish things off. But there are some things about making lists that also make me feel insane.
Have you ever made a list and felt that it was controlling your life? That it was going to judge you for not finishing it? These ideas sound absurd, but when you become a chronic list-maker like I am, it's hard to get away.
On the weekends, I will still make lists of what I need to do. Deviation from this list feels like breaking out from a padded cell - I spend some time lazing around on Low steps or walking through the city, and I feel both reckless and nervous. What if I don't get everything done on time? What if I don't finish the list?
I feel like I'm drowning in work and even my own free time activities feel like another burden to be ticked off. On top of that, it reduces my personal spontaneity and creativity.
So, what is there to do? Shall I be chained to my to-do list, never getting time to sleep in or wander the city without guilt? The predictable answer is 'no.'
I'm still learning as I go, but refraining from obsessive list making is the first step. Making a list only for specific things (homework, say, but not free time activities). And I have to make sure that I find a new down-time past time - yes, I make lists every time I am bored, even if they are repeats. Lists can never fully disappear from my life, but they don't need to take it over either.
Out of Work Slam Poet
Friday, September 24, 2010
My job at the library is reading zines. For 8-9 hours per week, I am forced (forced!) to read and write up descriptions of zines from the 70s all the way through the present. And, unlike other mundane jobs, it actually makes me want to do many things - like roller derby, feminist activism, writing up a South Asian dictionary (not of a South Asian language), read a million books about lesbians and trans people and multi-racial people and black people and white people and Asian people...
But the most recent of my inspirations has been to write a slam poem. And actually perform it. Since most of the zines I have been reading are intensely personal and talk about their experiences through personal essay, fiction, and - obviously - poetry, it has made me wonder about expressing myself in that way once more.
But I feel like a lion that has lost its fangs. I have been wondering about where my rhythm went as of late. In high school, I was unafraid. I wrote whatever the hell I wanted to and somehow it worked. I would read it at Hugo House and feel some sparkly confidence after the audience started applauding. But somehow... after my high school graduation speech (which was, itself, a slam poem), I have felt that I've used up all the beats. I get anxious when thinking of the stage. I worry about what people will think and I worry about whether there's even a venue for my type of stuff.
I know that a lot of my fears are unfounded, but I feel like this post is a good starting point to work on it. There are a lot of things I want to say and I know that if I work on it, they'll fit. It's all a matter of time...
To make this a little more interesting, I'm going to post up my graduation speech slam. I wish I had a video of it... it must be out there somewhere!
Grad Slam
I had a crush in the eighth grade.
Thought we could be forever,
Through stormy Washington weather,
Through bad pop music and TV clichés,
Through all the internet abbreviations – lol, rofl, omg – that became our new phase
Through all the cheesy movie musicals and awkward first days…
I was in love with high school.
And not Highland Middle School, no,
That place was a joke.
I was too old for the activity bus-riding, Yu-Gi-Oh gaming, Reflections-writing, D.A.R.E. abiding hoax that tried to tie our elementary days with all of the other grades.
Now that seems like light years away.
My love affair with high school lasted much longer than that.
9th grade wasn’t that cool.
High school and I were like buddies on AIM chat who thought we knew each other but were just strangers meeting for the first time.
He was a fan of Calvert 5 page essays and I was a fan of sleeping in on Saturdays.
Still, he tried to be nice;
Linked me up with a Crew to show off the new two-story school,
Taught me to bark at football games,
But as soon as we found the breakdown of senior, junior sophomore, and… us (the little freshmen with the whole maturity thing comin’ our way)
We stayed wrapped up in the insecurities – the awkward shuffle at tolo, the braces, eyeglasses, gym class miles and stuttering
The answers just trapped… on the tip of our tongues
Who wasn’t lost when they told us we’d eventually end up getting such strange diseases?
Like School Spirit, Spring Fever and Senioritis?
It was confusing enough even without all that MLA formatting. Uh, how do we cite this again?
But then it was sophomore year, and we had no time for any of these questions.
High school and I, we had some better dates back then.
Homecoming and its glossy thrill – the light rain and freezing temperatures on the field (we’d learned that the cheering was mostly for drill; high school wasn’t the best football player)
We were still kind of kids back then.
Joining our first AP classes and fancying ourselves little women and men
But it wasn’t so long ago when we wouldn’t have dreamed, wouldn’t have schemed
To skip classes or copy notes at the age of 15.
We were good kids, more or less.
But add on some stress and the morning math tables just couldn’t express
The interest of Halo and pointless internet quests
(Myspace and Youtube are guilty no less
Than our crazy parents who always wanted to test
Whether we could take on the WASL and Ms. Boness
Without our foreheads exploding and leaving a mess)
And high school and I? We learned how to argue.
My parents thought him a bad influence – taking the precious sleep I had left,
Dinner or vacation or even “conversation” all became things of the past,
I had no time to put together syllables and sentences; we were hermits studying for the next big exam… or tuned out in front of the television, trying to trip that final security switch and pass the next level without a hitch
There were shouting matches, indeed, but the sound of our yelling finally receded
AP World finally retreated
And the summer broke open that repeated desire that, at the time, very few knew.
College, that trickster, was about to ensue.
So when high school and I met again, as upperclassmen I knew where we’d been.
Now AP and IB would blend
Our mood swings and social deprivation – leave the fortunate ones laughing at our desperation
To spend hours and hours on school work and clubs
We begged and we pleaded, but the teachers’d say ‘tough’
As we filled that 24 hours with Millhollen’s math packets, an essay or two, a physics lab, a makeup test, some theater work, and then – maybe – some rest? Alas…
High school always wanted more – but I’d had enough.
To tell you the truth: I knew.
That those lyrical voices were about to ensue,
All the friends who came out of hibernation to advise,
That high school had been feeding more than a spoonful of lies;
He’d want me to work for him, and I’d said sure,
But now…
I didn’t know where we were.
He was the master at his own chess game,
Telling me to make a move, take another test, never rest,
Until the school year seemed like it was surely a jest – what kind of life was it when you were only a guest?
Barely staying overnight in your own bed and chained more often to that high-tech desk.
Finally, we asked for guidance, and here came the reply:
College.
Just work for college, we were told, the almighty counselors and past seniors would preach;
Start early, don’t look back,
But at that time with high school, all we knew was the past.
So we were old soldiers before we knew it.
Battling down through a hallway of freshmen and spewing word vomit to complete the next oral presentation, the next essay, the next line of code, about to explode… then,
Then the dust cleared, June came, and we knew where we stood.
High school, remember when I came in saying, that I’d never catch senioritis?
Haha, well… it caught me.
It was the downward slide,
In a relationship that’d lost all it’s steam.
Now we relinquished our hold on the work we had done – essays weren’t exciting, in fact, neither was class. Seriously, we only had to pass. {}
We thought we could breathe when we were blessed with snow – no!
High school still drove us to work for the next moment, the next second counts,
But hey, procrastination felt all the sweeter,
When it was taken with a snowball fight and some hot cocoa.
Over the years, this little freshman girl had grown more rebellious,
Now, owing my ammunition,
To the armies from the pages of novels and violent video games,
The arsenal had built up to buck the Man, the system, in any way, shape, or form.
But our parents, well, they still threatened (or “asked”) us to toe the line.
So instead, we huddled up, put our fingers to keyboards, pen to paper, and applied ourselves into the future realm,
Of dorm rooms, sleepless nights, and foreign lands…
People we hadn’t known for years at a time and…
COLLEGE! It was on everyone’s lips like a delicious secret to be kept from high school at all costs; a tasty tidbit of the “real world” (if there ever was such a thing)
But we were careful to trip over our own tongues and mask our delight with knocks on wood and plenty of shaking – we still had tests to take after all.
We started counting on June 5th, which became June 22nd, which became only a few months, weeks, days away, until…
Graduation. The end game, crash-land paradise, that emptied us into the pool of a new summer, a new situation. Not just a vacation, but an escape from the ordinary – and who didn’t want that after so many years?
So here’s to celebrating the moments:
Prom on a warm night in Seattle – subjecting ourselves to an onslaught of photographic nostalgia, parents and faculty reminding us to “be safe” and “have fun”
The final minute of your final (last, latest, penultimate) final, finally come to meet you with a hoot and holler.
The crying/laughing hysterics of the going-away party, the roads all spreading out in front of you and your friends… but there’s an epilogue to the story that just has to end.
So, high school and I, we’ve gone our separate ways.
Our head-butt drag-out relationship just wasn’t going anywhere.
He wanted me to stay, but I had to leave,
The cramped hallways, 7 periods a day, claustrophobic 35 minute lunch – hey, I don’t know about you, but this dog just got too big for her cage.
Congratulations class of 2009, you’ve earned it! Have a great summer!
More poetry is also available for your perusal.
But the most recent of my inspirations has been to write a slam poem. And actually perform it. Since most of the zines I have been reading are intensely personal and talk about their experiences through personal essay, fiction, and - obviously - poetry, it has made me wonder about expressing myself in that way once more.
But I feel like a lion that has lost its fangs. I have been wondering about where my rhythm went as of late. In high school, I was unafraid. I wrote whatever the hell I wanted to and somehow it worked. I would read it at Hugo House and feel some sparkly confidence after the audience started applauding. But somehow... after my high school graduation speech (which was, itself, a slam poem), I have felt that I've used up all the beats. I get anxious when thinking of the stage. I worry about what people will think and I worry about whether there's even a venue for my type of stuff.
I know that a lot of my fears are unfounded, but I feel like this post is a good starting point to work on it. There are a lot of things I want to say and I know that if I work on it, they'll fit. It's all a matter of time...
To make this a little more interesting, I'm going to post up my graduation speech slam. I wish I had a video of it... it must be out there somewhere!
Grad Slam
I had a crush in the eighth grade.
Thought we could be forever,
Through stormy Washington weather,
Through bad pop music and TV clichés,
Through all the internet abbreviations – lol, rofl, omg – that became our new phase
Through all the cheesy movie musicals and awkward first days…
I was in love with high school.
And not Highland Middle School, no,
That place was a joke.
I was too old for the activity bus-riding, Yu-Gi-Oh gaming, Reflections-writing, D.A.R.E. abiding hoax that tried to tie our elementary days with all of the other grades.
Now that seems like light years away.
My love affair with high school lasted much longer than that.
9th grade wasn’t that cool.
High school and I were like buddies on AIM chat who thought we knew each other but were just strangers meeting for the first time.
He was a fan of Calvert 5 page essays and I was a fan of sleeping in on Saturdays.
Still, he tried to be nice;
Linked me up with a Crew to show off the new two-story school,
Taught me to bark at football games,
But as soon as we found the breakdown of senior, junior sophomore, and… us (the little freshmen with the whole maturity thing comin’ our way)
We stayed wrapped up in the insecurities – the awkward shuffle at tolo, the braces, eyeglasses, gym class miles and stuttering
The answers just trapped… on the tip of our tongues
Who wasn’t lost when they told us we’d eventually end up getting such strange diseases?
Like School Spirit, Spring Fever and Senioritis?
It was confusing enough even without all that MLA formatting. Uh, how do we cite this again?
But then it was sophomore year, and we had no time for any of these questions.
High school and I, we had some better dates back then.
Homecoming and its glossy thrill – the light rain and freezing temperatures on the field (we’d learned that the cheering was mostly for drill; high school wasn’t the best football player)
We were still kind of kids back then.
Joining our first AP classes and fancying ourselves little women and men
But it wasn’t so long ago when we wouldn’t have dreamed, wouldn’t have schemed
To skip classes or copy notes at the age of 15.
We were good kids, more or less.
But add on some stress and the morning math tables just couldn’t express
The interest of Halo and pointless internet quests
(Myspace and Youtube are guilty no less
Than our crazy parents who always wanted to test
Whether we could take on the WASL and Ms. Boness
Without our foreheads exploding and leaving a mess)
And high school and I? We learned how to argue.
My parents thought him a bad influence – taking the precious sleep I had left,
Dinner or vacation or even “conversation” all became things of the past,
I had no time to put together syllables and sentences; we were hermits studying for the next big exam… or tuned out in front of the television, trying to trip that final security switch and pass the next level without a hitch
There were shouting matches, indeed, but the sound of our yelling finally receded
AP World finally retreated
And the summer broke open that repeated desire that, at the time, very few knew.
College, that trickster, was about to ensue.
So when high school and I met again, as upperclassmen I knew where we’d been.
Now AP and IB would blend
Our mood swings and social deprivation – leave the fortunate ones laughing at our desperation
To spend hours and hours on school work and clubs
We begged and we pleaded, but the teachers’d say ‘tough’
As we filled that 24 hours with Millhollen’s math packets, an essay or two, a physics lab, a makeup test, some theater work, and then – maybe – some rest? Alas…
High school always wanted more – but I’d had enough.
To tell you the truth: I knew.
That those lyrical voices were about to ensue,
All the friends who came out of hibernation to advise,
That high school had been feeding more than a spoonful of lies;
He’d want me to work for him, and I’d said sure,
But now…
I didn’t know where we were.
He was the master at his own chess game,
Telling me to make a move, take another test, never rest,
Until the school year seemed like it was surely a jest – what kind of life was it when you were only a guest?
Barely staying overnight in your own bed and chained more often to that high-tech desk.
Finally, we asked for guidance, and here came the reply:
College.
Just work for college, we were told, the almighty counselors and past seniors would preach;
Start early, don’t look back,
But at that time with high school, all we knew was the past.
So we were old soldiers before we knew it.
Battling down through a hallway of freshmen and spewing word vomit to complete the next oral presentation, the next essay, the next line of code, about to explode… then,
Then the dust cleared, June came, and we knew where we stood.
High school, remember when I came in saying, that I’d never catch senioritis?
Haha, well… it caught me.
It was the downward slide,
In a relationship that’d lost all it’s steam.
Now we relinquished our hold on the work we had done – essays weren’t exciting, in fact, neither was class. Seriously, we only had to pass. {}
We thought we could breathe when we were blessed with snow – no!
High school still drove us to work for the next moment, the next second counts,
But hey, procrastination felt all the sweeter,
When it was taken with a snowball fight and some hot cocoa.
Over the years, this little freshman girl had grown more rebellious,
Now, owing my ammunition,
To the armies from the pages of novels and violent video games,
The arsenal had built up to buck the Man, the system, in any way, shape, or form.
But our parents, well, they still threatened (or “asked”) us to toe the line.
So instead, we huddled up, put our fingers to keyboards, pen to paper, and applied ourselves into the future realm,
Of dorm rooms, sleepless nights, and foreign lands…
People we hadn’t known for years at a time and…
COLLEGE! It was on everyone’s lips like a delicious secret to be kept from high school at all costs; a tasty tidbit of the “real world” (if there ever was such a thing)
But we were careful to trip over our own tongues and mask our delight with knocks on wood and plenty of shaking – we still had tests to take after all.
We started counting on June 5th, which became June 22nd, which became only a few months, weeks, days away, until…
Graduation. The end game, crash-land paradise, that emptied us into the pool of a new summer, a new situation. Not just a vacation, but an escape from the ordinary – and who didn’t want that after so many years?
So here’s to celebrating the moments:
Prom on a warm night in Seattle – subjecting ourselves to an onslaught of photographic nostalgia, parents and faculty reminding us to “be safe” and “have fun”
The final minute of your final (last, latest, penultimate) final, finally come to meet you with a hoot and holler.
The crying/laughing hysterics of the going-away party, the roads all spreading out in front of you and your friends… but there’s an epilogue to the story that just has to end.
So, high school and I, we’ve gone our separate ways.
Our head-butt drag-out relationship just wasn’t going anywhere.
He wanted me to stay, but I had to leave,
The cramped hallways, 7 periods a day, claustrophobic 35 minute lunch – hey, I don’t know about you, but this dog just got too big for her cage.
Congratulations class of 2009, you’ve earned it! Have a great summer!
More poetry is also available for your perusal.
Art Crash!
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Sometimes, when you work on a project for too long, it starts to look like a mass of craziness. You heave an internal sigh whenever you look at the thing and hope to God that it passes for something not hideous. That, my friends, is what happened to me with my negative space note card project.
Negative space, defined to us Basic Drawing students as "the spaces around an object," is hard to see if you're not looking for it. Shown above in its final form, the assignment was to isolate negative space, draw 100 note cards of it, and then paint in a colored ink around the negative space you drew. But, in this pursuit of exalting negative space, many mishaps may arise.
The first one was that we were supposed to isolate negative space rather than draw the entire area around an object; that means that what you get are non-distinct shapes rather than something that looks like, say, a necklace or something. I had already finished 10 note cards by the time I knew this.
My second mistake was underestimating the drawing time it takes to make 100 cards. I spent a 2 hours during the week and 5 hours at the Met on Saturday working on drawing those cards - it catches up with you if you don't plan ahead!
Finally, my third mistake was thinking that taping and painting was going to be the quickest part. While it took 3 hours less time than drawing the cards, a few issues arose. I couldn't get the studio door lock to open. My tape ran out. I didn't bring any music. My brush skills make me cringe... but, after 4 hours in the studio, this piece was finished.
Looking at it now, I think the whole looks much better than the sum of its parts. It is a work of art when looked at not as a laborious process of 11 total man hours, but as a piece that I myself made from start to finish. Overall, I am glad that all the individual mistakes did not hinder this project's outcome - but I am mostly glad that it is now finished for good!
Take a look at further art and drawings that I have created.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)