So... Studying for the GRE's and missing my boyfriend person are combining to make me an insomniac/crazy person. I've decided to use this blog as a way to vent all the crazy thoughts in my head and maybe once i've done that I'll be able to go to sleep instead of watching five episodes of (insert sci-fi show here) and then collapsing into a bizarre trance. The odd waking-dreams about robot monster attacks really make me see why tyler durden went nuts and started punching himself in the face.
Also, there is one more thing that is making it hard to sleep. fear. fear of the gift-ocalypse. This is what i've decided to rename christmas as since my fellow employees have instilled in me a terror of the mania and mayhem that will consume us the moment the christmas season begins.
Now, for those of you who don't own a calender we are quickly approaching the holiday season. I'm sure most of you have dreams of sugar plums dancing in your head (whatever that means), But I for one am terrified. The sheer volume of books we received today is daunting to say the least. I ran around for 8 hours today with purpose. Lately I sort of skip about with a vague idea of my responsibilities and machinations about how I can avoid performing said duties while still looking like i'm doing something. But today, looking at the absurd number of things that were supposed to be finished yesterday I thought to myself "dammit cynthia, you're gonna get shit done." And then, nothing happened. I ran around organizing, straightening, putting up signs where no signs had been before. I was taking things off of shelves and putting things on shelves as if my very life depended on it and at the end of the day it looked as though there were just as many items on the list as there had been at 9:45 am. Keep in mind, this is just the beginning. More stuff will be delivered on thursday. Not just books either. A cornucopia of items will be dragged in on pallets three times my size twice a week, and then five times a week as we near the gift-ocalypse you call christmas. There will be cd's, movies, games, puzzles novelty items, and things that are so crappy that they are only called "gift ideas." lame. All of this stuff will be purchased by the frazzled wives and mothers of the mainline. Hundreds of children will be dragged screaming through the store, knocking things off shelves as their parents pick out novelty gifts for friends, family, mailmen, neighbor's dogs, and probably a few gifts for people they don't even really like. All this to satisfy the pagan god of shopping (kidding). Christmas spirit will be trampled under the weight bills, gift receipts, planning, and overly high expectations.
Christmas reminds me of the trips to the theme park that my family used to take. Everyone woke up at 6 am intoxicated with ideas of the unbelievable times that were to be had. then you pile into the car for three hours while one brother is going "i'm not touching you, can't get mad" and the other one is saying "guys. hey guys. listen. guys. yo. hey. guess what." This goes on for three hours until the inevitable fighting ensues. Right when your parents threaten to "turn this car around" you pull into the parking lot and tumble out . Then, the day has finally arrived. You waltz in, expecting icecream, fireworks and roller coasters that reach the fricken moon. What you find instead are lines longer than the car ride it took to get there, water that costs five hundred dollars because the vendors know that it's 98 degrees outside, and rides that seem just a little bit smaller than you remember them.
This is what christmas, with its stupid materialistic traditions, feels like to me. I remember my childhood ones as being amazing but it won't be like that anymore. I won't be able to afford presents for all my relatives, and I probably won't be able to think of anything good enough for the people I really like. I will go into my yearly panic where I realize I really know nothing about the people I supposedly care about because if I did I would be able to think of an epic and awesome present. I will go shopping no less than six times and not find anything. I will cry. Then I will buy something at the last minute, (insert family member or friend here) will say "I love it" and I will not believe them. Here's the thing though. I can actually be a really great gift-giver, just not at holiday times. I am fantastic at buying a present on a completely random day in march because it seemed so perfect. But instead of holding onto that gift until said person's birthday or christmas I give it to them right away. Why would I hold on to something that they will enjoy? I bought it because I love them and was thinking "hey this will be great for__." I was not thinking "i should hold onto this until the opportune moment." Presents, especially little notes, or candies, should be given at completely random times. Once, someone got really excited about buying me an icecream maker then realized they didn't really know me that well because I don't like icecream. I mean, I'm not saying it's the reason we broke up, but i'm sure my fake enthusiasm and later unwillingness to make icecream probably didn't help the relationship.
And now I get to help hundreds attempt to attain their goal of the perfect christmas. I really hope they beat the odds. While I'm wishing for things, I also hope I don't get tackled by crazy grandma's the day after thanksgiving.
cheers
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
cool music alert!
How can I describe the constellations? I've seen them described as "ghettotech," which i'm pretty sure is a term their public relations guy made up. The thing about this band is that their songs defy genre trends really. Trashy funk-ified techno is the phrase that comes to mind when thinking about the songs felicia or or step right up. In "Step right up" the words alone (written by the illustrious tom waits) put your head smack dab in the kind of dive that leaves you smelling like cigarettes for days. Felicia has you imagining the Venus of the 21st century, who is naturally pretty trashy. Love is a murder and setback seem more indie electro-rock to me. They've got a bit of angst, anger and a lot of wit. They've got a rotating set of singers and rappers filling in on different songs, including someone who does a freaking fantastic tom waits impression if it isn't the man himself. I haven't gotten to all the songs on the album because there are five that i'm solidly addicted to (four of which i've mentioned here. But it was worth buying the album even if i only listen to those five songs. I mean, i'm sure i'll get to the rest eventually.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
A change of pace?
Hellooo, invisible blog readers!
So as some of you may or may know, I have been talking about starting a "band" for well, forever. But, as of late I actually managed to wrangle a guitarist into writing songs with me (thanks dan!). Now I just need a bassist. Maybe a drummer as well since I can't drum and sing at the same time. But I digress. So lately I've been working on songs, and they are okay, but I've noticed my writing has become a little stagnant now that I'm not engrossed in creative writing and poetry classes. So, I picked up a songwriting book at borders today (yayyyy discount.)It's got a number of exercises in it but I thought I would do the first one here.
Exercise One: pick an object in your room and write about it using the senses of sight, smell, taste, touch, hearing, organic, and kinesthetic. Keep in mind this is free verse, full sentences not necessary.also keep in mind i haven't been writing a lot lately so this is probably going to be terrible.
The drum set in the corner of my room
When I fell in love with a drummer I fell in love with drumming itself. On our third or fourth date we went to a block party, with a rotating set of local musicians. Most of them were professors or worked for the college or municipality to some extent. They all had graying hair and hidden tattoos. Aging rockers of small town america. And there was (name redacted), black hair a tousled, fluffy mess, eyes closed, biting his lip and banging on the drums in frenetic, overexcited abandoned. My very own, much more adorable keith moon. I sipped his mother's tart sangria and snacked on their vegetarian picnic foods. It was the first time that I had drank in front of and with what I thought of as "adults," and I fell in love that day. Later, I would ask him to teach me how to play. It was only partially a ploy to spend more time with him. While the veggie filled meal of the day would cook in the kitchen,in the living room the smells would fill me with hunger as I dutifully practiced the rudimentary rhythms and fills that make up basic rock songs. He didn't want to disturb the neighbors with the deep boom of the bass drum or the crashing cymbal, so instead we practiced on an 8 piece electric drum set, hard black plastic drums with giant headphones that refused to rest comfortably on my tiny ears. When I was cooking and he was playing, I could hear the click of his sticks on the plastic. it was mesmerizing in it's intricacy. when I had the headphones on myself and the worn, splintering sticks in my hands, the clicking disappeared. Instead, I could hear the blasting beats of traditional drums. If I wanted I could have connected any odd effect to the sensors on the toms, but I wanted it to sound as realistic as possible. I wanted to be prepared in the event that I one day played a set of "true" drums. On my own, I started paying more attention when listening to music. I found that if it was loud enough, if it was good enough I could feel it in my stomach. with a band like rush it would almost feel as if your pulse was syncing to the music, though i knew that wasn't really possible.with my headphones on, walking down the street, the world around me would disappear though my eyes were still open. I was obsessed with the beats behind every song I loved. Long after our relationship imploded, he gave me the electric drum set as a favor. At first it was a loan, but we both kept forgetting to arrange a return so I suppose it's now one of my possessions. I don't feel like I've gotten much better. Unlike when I am tap dancing, singing, or drawing, I am a hesitant drummer. I am a timid. While i can relax into beats I am comfortable with, I tense up and blank out when unsure of myself. This feeling, where everything from my thoughts to my fingertips just stops, is uncomfortable. But I keep trying. Even though I'm no longer in love with the drummer, I'm still in love with the drums.
For Reference
organic sense: awareness of inner body functions (muscles, heartbeat, etc)
kinesthetic sense: sense of relationship to world around you (like when you spin in a chair and even when you stop it still feels like it's spinning)
So as some of you may or may know, I have been talking about starting a "band" for well, forever. But, as of late I actually managed to wrangle a guitarist into writing songs with me (thanks dan!). Now I just need a bassist. Maybe a drummer as well since I can't drum and sing at the same time. But I digress. So lately I've been working on songs, and they are okay, but I've noticed my writing has become a little stagnant now that I'm not engrossed in creative writing and poetry classes. So, I picked up a songwriting book at borders today (yayyyy discount.)It's got a number of exercises in it but I thought I would do the first one here.
Exercise One: pick an object in your room and write about it using the senses of sight, smell, taste, touch, hearing, organic, and kinesthetic. Keep in mind this is free verse, full sentences not necessary.also keep in mind i haven't been writing a lot lately so this is probably going to be terrible.
The drum set in the corner of my room
When I fell in love with a drummer I fell in love with drumming itself. On our third or fourth date we went to a block party, with a rotating set of local musicians. Most of them were professors or worked for the college or municipality to some extent. They all had graying hair and hidden tattoos. Aging rockers of small town america. And there was (name redacted), black hair a tousled, fluffy mess, eyes closed, biting his lip and banging on the drums in frenetic, overexcited abandoned. My very own, much more adorable keith moon. I sipped his mother's tart sangria and snacked on their vegetarian picnic foods. It was the first time that I had drank in front of and with what I thought of as "adults," and I fell in love that day. Later, I would ask him to teach me how to play. It was only partially a ploy to spend more time with him. While the veggie filled meal of the day would cook in the kitchen,in the living room the smells would fill me with hunger as I dutifully practiced the rudimentary rhythms and fills that make up basic rock songs. He didn't want to disturb the neighbors with the deep boom of the bass drum or the crashing cymbal, so instead we practiced on an 8 piece electric drum set, hard black plastic drums with giant headphones that refused to rest comfortably on my tiny ears. When I was cooking and he was playing, I could hear the click of his sticks on the plastic. it was mesmerizing in it's intricacy. when I had the headphones on myself and the worn, splintering sticks in my hands, the clicking disappeared. Instead, I could hear the blasting beats of traditional drums. If I wanted I could have connected any odd effect to the sensors on the toms, but I wanted it to sound as realistic as possible. I wanted to be prepared in the event that I one day played a set of "true" drums. On my own, I started paying more attention when listening to music. I found that if it was loud enough, if it was good enough I could feel it in my stomach. with a band like rush it would almost feel as if your pulse was syncing to the music, though i knew that wasn't really possible.with my headphones on, walking down the street, the world around me would disappear though my eyes were still open. I was obsessed with the beats behind every song I loved. Long after our relationship imploded, he gave me the electric drum set as a favor. At first it was a loan, but we both kept forgetting to arrange a return so I suppose it's now one of my possessions. I don't feel like I've gotten much better. Unlike when I am tap dancing, singing, or drawing, I am a hesitant drummer. I am a timid. While i can relax into beats I am comfortable with, I tense up and blank out when unsure of myself. This feeling, where everything from my thoughts to my fingertips just stops, is uncomfortable. But I keep trying. Even though I'm no longer in love with the drummer, I'm still in love with the drums.
For Reference
organic sense: awareness of inner body functions (muscles, heartbeat, etc)
kinesthetic sense: sense of relationship to world around you (like when you spin in a chair and even when you stop it still feels like it's spinning)
Friday, August 20, 2010
It's been almost a year since my last update.
Did you miss me? I missed you, though not in an aching, insistent "why am I not telling my three readers what I'm doing with my life?!?!!" sort of way. Rather, it would float in from the back of my head where the things I forget about like to dwell. "Hey haven't done that in awhile" I'd think to myself, then continue on with my day.
Have you changed, three readers? I think I have, but then again maybe I haven't. From the outset many things seem the same. I still eat, sleep, work and daydream. I still learn new things, though in this case it's karate instead of college classes. I still wish I exercised more, even when I was exercising an hour a day six days a week. I still draw, sing, and joke my way through daily life. But I think, having graduated, things that seemed desperately important at the time no longer do. I think I'm learning to accept life and the people in my world as they are and not as I wish they were. Though I worry about complacency. If I don't pick a direction I might just stay in one spot forever and that isn't exactly optimal. But I have friends, so that's something.
I haven't been writing too much in all honesty. Well, I've been writing down my dreams, when they happen, and writing down ideas for comics. But the poetry, and stories, and snippets of characterization and dialogue that used to fill up my overly-pretentious moleskin notebook? those have sadly dwindled to a halt.
I'm almost halfway to my black-belt, which is cool! I only need to learn sword-fighting and stunt-driving and then I swear I'm gonna move to California and fulfill my life-long goal of being a stunt double. Or maybe not, you know how I am.
Hope You're Well!
Cynthia
Have you changed, three readers? I think I have, but then again maybe I haven't. From the outset many things seem the same. I still eat, sleep, work and daydream. I still learn new things, though in this case it's karate instead of college classes. I still wish I exercised more, even when I was exercising an hour a day six days a week. I still draw, sing, and joke my way through daily life. But I think, having graduated, things that seemed desperately important at the time no longer do. I think I'm learning to accept life and the people in my world as they are and not as I wish they were. Though I worry about complacency. If I don't pick a direction I might just stay in one spot forever and that isn't exactly optimal. But I have friends, so that's something.
I haven't been writing too much in all honesty. Well, I've been writing down my dreams, when they happen, and writing down ideas for comics. But the poetry, and stories, and snippets of characterization and dialogue that used to fill up my overly-pretentious moleskin notebook? those have sadly dwindled to a halt.
I'm almost halfway to my black-belt, which is cool! I only need to learn sword-fighting and stunt-driving and then I swear I'm gonna move to California and fulfill my life-long goal of being a stunt double. Or maybe not, you know how I am.
Hope You're Well!
Cynthia
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