After college

Every time I hear a Ted talk, every time I pass a salvation army or a bell-ringing Santa, every time I go to New York City, I feel the same thing: guilt, mixed with motivation. All of these make me want to quit school, move to Africa and dedicate my life to building homes or something like that. The unfortunate aspect of this feeling, is it makes the goals in my life seem trivial; what is the point of getting an expensive education when I could be actively spending that time helping people who really need it? And I always tell myself the same thing - I will do this after college.

After college, I'll start an organization that makes the lives of the homeless sparkly and perfect.

After college I'll donate five million coats to people who need them in winter time.

Essentially - After college, I'll save the world.
But I have to wait until after college.

The thing is, I also have all of these other dreams about what "after college" means, specifically, going to yet another educational institution and getting my masters or PhD, in some sort of specialized form of bullshit that may never help anyone except myself. At times, I *love* the idea of getting my masters in a certain type of literary critique/analysis, or in choreography and ballet, or obtaining a law degree. At other times, all of these "dreams" appear as though they are holding me back from being motivated and impulsive enough to dedicate my life to something that seems more important.

Of course, it has occurred to me that I can go and save the world AFTER grad school as well. Seems like a slippery slope though, doesn't it? First it's after college, then after grad school, then after I find a job, then after I buy a house, then after I have children, etc etc until the only suitable time to actually lay down my selfish life is when I'm dead and can donate my organs or something.

The reason this bothers me so much, is because everything is important to me at one time or another. Doing well in school is very important to me. Being educated and respectable, learning more about the subjects that I love, and being prominent in my field; all of these things matter to me. However, if I were on the outside looking in, it would seem like those things are so much more superficial, or maybe just selfish wants. These are not the aspects and acts that I see in other people that I wish I saw in myself. Namely, all of those amazing people who work in homeless shelters, food pantries, travel to places in desperate need and actually physically help. It seems that simply through donation, while I can still feel good about that, it is not giving me the tangible satisfaction that I want to feel, knowing that I have improved a life far less fortunate than my own. The unfairness of the situations we are born into is incredible; I say that, and I'm the one on the fortunate side.

I don't know when 'the time' will hit me; when I will know that it is time to put down the ties in my life and live for something that I can feel proud of. Being educated isn't enough; in my opinion, the only mark of how successful my education is, will be how strongly it equipped and motivated me to assist those who need it.

I want to be John Keats

There is something about Bruce Springsteen (apparently) that inspires me to write in my blog. It's probably not a trend, but just coincidental. Just something that I've noticed. Maybe, because his lyrics are so good, he makes me feel like I want to write something as well, and then it turns into something silly because I have a hard time writing seriously.

So I'm due for a post, even though I didn't know what I was going to write about before clicking 'new post.'

I want to be able to write really good poetry. I try every once in a while. In fact, I try all the time, but only sometimes do I write it down, and then much less often is it typed up. It is problematic to actually devote time to reading excellent poetry, and then think about sharing your own, because you have already been subjected to what you think is brilliant, beautiful, meaningful. When I look at my own piece it gives me that facial expression when you raise one eyebrow, lower one side of your lip, baring only that side of your teeth, and then delete all evidence of probably the worst bit of poetry ever written. I think it's because I'm not a suffering artist. If things were going really poorly for me, my poetry would improve by at least 146%.
Though I suppose there are some great "happy" poems out there...I'm going to pretend like that's not true.

I attempted some poetry today. I will force myself to share it because, let's be honest here, about 2 people tops will end up reading this blog. I wrote a bit, but I only ended up liking the first stanza, which has absolutely no technique, rhyme (ok, 2), meter, or formula of stresses. Here goes:

He is the text to my white-sheeted soul,
and gives my energy its potential.
I am titled.
My character and coffee stains have purpose
when accompanied by our story.
From our first conversation, he
turned to dialogue what was my diary.

Tada. I'm outtie.

I choose you, Pikachu!

Written while listening to The Boss.

For how much I enjoy writing, I sure do suck at keeping up with a blog. And it's not that I have nothing to say; I think my problem is that I'm too vain to post something that I don't think exemplifies either profundity or comic genius. However, saying that is a dangerous thing, because in no way do I believe that my previous posts have accomplished those. Therefore, I have resolved that if I am to have a blog, I shall no longer neglect it, and will post at least once a week regardless of it's literary merit.

Something that I like about college, is it transcends high school and middle school in a way that takes people back to elementary school. People recognize that the games we played, shows we watched, and comics we read, were actually some pretty good shit. I could safely say that most people in my dorm with be more than cool if I decided it was time to prance around in a power rangers outfit.

6-12th grades seem to be centered on shrugging off all of those things that you loved just years before; proving that you are no longer young enough to share in those same interests. Interesting that college, a place in which we are separated from parents and past friends, would allow us to regain our childhood in such a radical way. If anything, I would guess that college would cause more insecurity than less. Though, far from an expert, I'm kinda dumb about that kind of social hypothesis.

Despite the reasoning (probably having something to do with people actually maturing), I love how college is more accepting, and even encouraging of those who walk around with teddy bears and a blanket worn as a cape. Okay, maybe that was just me doing that, but still.

For the reals though, when I go to the dining hall, my friend has his octopus teddy sitting in his pocket and a bright yellow full length rain jacket on, and then goes to sit with a big table of friends who don't think a thing of it, and if anything are jealous. I know I am. I mean, an octopus teddy?!?

Mortification seemed to define junior high years for me, and I'm glad to see that instead of just "growing out" of that awkwardness, college can allow you to return to where you did find your happiness and acceptance with friends.

I'm off to grab my blanket, "Fluffy."

Unacceptable

After a long, drawn out time of waiting to have the perfect story to tell to break my leave from my blog, I finally wrote a post last night. It was long and I was satisfied with it. As I was about to post it, I realized I needed to add a title, and went back to edit. By the time I did that, the blog was erased, and the only thing that had saved was one paragraph of an abandoned entry I didn't like. So I lost my blog, threw a fit, and to top it off, even though I erased that entry, it came back to haunt me this morning, as I just saw that the old draft (the one I didn't like) posted anyways.

So instead of a good (I thought) post, I'm going to annoyingly recap everything I said in my draft last night in bullet points. (The points are hyphenated, work with me here)

-sorry for not writing in recently
-I'm lazy
-I walk dogs at a humane shelter
-"Tiger" the beagle reminds me simultaneously of a bunny rabbit and my dog "Otto"
- I want to adopt Roly-Poly

I'll let you gather from those scraps what you will, and maybe eventually I'll explain. Though to be honest, I really was quite angry at losing my masterpiece last night, and if I were to be a true suffering artiste, I would say that it could never be rewritten, much less have justice done upon it. It is gone into the outer fabric of the cyberspace universe, and is thus irretrievable. Adieu!

Metro

I have to take the metro to work every morning, which at first felt very official and "honest, hard-working contributor to society"-esque. I got over that pretty quickly. Something that I enjoy is subway watching; namely observing those around me instead of listening to my headphones or reading a book as most do. People watching is more interesting when you are trapped with a certain group of people around you as opposed to watching people walk by, trying to catch the interesting or humorous snapshots of their lives. I often wonder if, while watching me, people feel that they have caught a glimpse into my life. I wonder what unintentionally humorous comments I've made just before stepping off a subway.

Today, going home I had the pleasure of sitting just behind a family of young parents and their two little girls. One of the girls was all over the place. She didn't want to sit unless it was on her father's lap, and when she finally got comfortable, it was time to stand up until her mother asked her to sit down again. Eventually her father grabbed her, plopped her on the seat next to him, held her close to him and started speaking softly into her ear, over her hair, in Spanish. The girl switched easily from English to Spanish, just as her father had done.

"!Claro que si!" the little girl said, in response to her father. Her mother looked down, "Claro que NO."

It made me laugh in surprise to see how this family had raised their little girl to switch back and forth between languages, speaking both with a beautiful, natural accent. I gathered that the father was Hispanic, mother Caucasian.

Raising children to be bilingual is one of the best gifts a person could give, if he or she was lucky enough to offer it. Hopefully someday American schools will actually prioritize learning a second language, as opposed to just relying on English being the international accepted language.

Other than my small judgmental rant, the girl was darling, and I fell as in love with that family as a person could with a grand total of 8 minutes spent observing.

Spit

In line this morning, the rain was doing what I affectionately like to call, "spitting." This is when, instead of nice fat rain droplets that obey the laws of gravity, the rain blows in the direction of your face, wherever may be. It is light, and obnoxious, and I don't really think it's worthy of being called "rain." When I ask what the weather is like outside when it's spitting rain, I don't want to hear, "It's raining," I want to hear, "It's annoying." That would be a better description.

Back to waiting in line. The man behind me was holding a large umbrella that was keeping most of the rain away, though only a complete body-encompassing shield could have worked with this stuff. I suppose he noticed that he was a gentlemen with an umbrella, surrounded by a few ladies sans umbrella, because offered to place it over the head of the woman behind him. It was quite endearing that he decided to extend an old-fashioned courtesy, and I smiled to myself as I walked in my building, glad I witnessed a little act of kindness.

When the majority of what I hear about in news, stories, etc., revolves around error, insufficiency and conflict, sometimes I forget that normal, and by normal I mean kind, people are out there. Good things happen too. It's funny how our news sources report mostly on everything bad that is happening, and generally have one little time designated to "the good life," or whatever they choose to call it. Aren't our victories and simple pleasures just as important to report as the little failures and petty occurrences? I'd like to think so.

So this is my news flash for the day: Man saves dying chivalry by holding umbrella for woman standing behind him. And he didn't even ask for her number.

In the oven

Soon, wafting through the air like fairies in a dream, will be the sweet smell of baking chocolate-chip cookies. I lick the remnants of the cookie dough from my wooden spoon.


So I think for now, the easier way for me to write this blog is to tell one story a day. I'll stick with that trend for a while, until different inspiration strikes. Maybe this will turn into the 'one story per day' blog, or some such thing.

I was reading the paper in my office today, and came upon a humorous article about how Jersey Shore star "Snooki" endorsed John McCain, "cause ya know...he's cute and I like it when he gives speeches." The article tried to justify itself as legitimate by revolving around Snooki's tragic story of being taxed on her tanning. "Obamacare" is meaner than what cutie McCain would have done. My advice Snooki? Get a bit more sun, and a little less toxic radiation. It's getting to your eyesight. Though "McCainMcCare" sounds kinda catchy.

I laughed out loud in my office as I read. That is, until I realized I was the only one making noise. Considering how healthy and stress-relieving laughter is, it would probably be more efficient for workplaces to promote laughter. I'm sure it wouldn't be that difficult to come up with incentive devices. I think lunch break should be a ritual gathering to watch an episode of the Colbert Report. Added bonus: Natalie doesn't feel awkward when she realizes that her unexplained snorts of joy are the only sound resonating in the office.

Cheese sauce

Is there anything more glorious than the sound of rain pounding against your window, when you are warm in your robe?

The answer to that question is yes. But it's still nice.

It's interesting how one can feel particularly cozy if there are actually undesirable conditions outside, so long as one is separate from them. It reinforces the fact that even though there is snow, rain, or whatever conditions outside, one is safe, sound and surrounded by soft fabric. Even better when there is that someone to cuddle with.

(quick and awkward transition inserted here)

I don't like spending money, unless it's on coffee. Going out to dinner with a coworker today, I was excited at the prospect of the famous free soft pretzels that accompany our meal. Worcestershire sauce included. I don't like Worcestershire sauce. When our server was taking our order, he offered us our free pretzels, and asked if we would like some cheese sauce with them? On that idea like white on rice, I quickly agreed. Only to later look at the menu and realize that the "cheese sauce" was actually us ordering a full appetizer of pretzels with jalapeno cheese sauce. These pretzels were a facsimile with my almost, oh-so-sweet, free pretzels I could have gotten. Only difference was, we got some hot cheese.

Well played, Mr. Sly, Swindling Server. You have bested me and my frugality.

On the bright side, he asked me if I wanted cheese on my black-bean burger later on.

"Does it come with cheese?"

"...No."

Smiling, "No thanks!"

Touche.

Initial thoughts

I have decided somewhat late in the game to start blogging about my summer in Washington, DC. Like many others, I love to write, and desire to one day be read out of choice, as opposed to forcing my essays upon professors. Hopefully my blog will be as enjoyable for my readers to sift through as it is for me to compose. I hope to keep this blog from being just another diary of a 19 year young girl, and stick with stories, ideas, and observations. (Which might consequently turn into a diary, unfortunately.)

A funny quote I can't remember word-for-word describes the tendency for people to judge what is in other people's shopping carts when we get groceries. Ever since I heard that, I think of it when I shop, and intentionally look at what other people pick up, and introspectively judge myself on whether or not I am judging them. It's a fun game, you should try it sometime. So today at Trader Joe's, as I was in the famously winding check-out line, I peeked over at a young woman's cart parallel to mine. In it was about 10 cartons of fat-free yogurt, along with other items that were not noticeable in comparison to the copious amounts of yogurt. I realized I was judging her. Unfairly too, considering my cart was just filled with different boxes of frozen goodies. You know, food with calories? I am pretty proud about finding frozen, curried, fried rice though. Score.
Back to the lacking point in this, I thought it was interesting how I could actually care about what this woman was getting to eat. Why should I think twice about her and her yogurt eating habits? As I reached some closure about the subject, I reached to the conveniently placed stand of chocolates and picked out a $0.40 milk chocolate bar. You can't argue with that, seriously. As I dropped it in my cart, I imagined what Ms. Fat-free would think of my indulgence. Picturing her lifting her eyebrows, and possibly making some sort of huff, I felt slightly rebellious in making the decision to eat chocolate. Chocolate with full fat, full sugar, and a 100% yumminess factor.
Looking back at it, I probably formed a poor opinion of this girl I hardly knew just based on the food in her cart. It's interesting, and probably healthy, to think about how easy it is to mindlessly judge others.
So thank you, yogurt-consuming Trader Joe's shopper, for letting me subconsciously judge and then retract judgments about you, in order to take some sort of lesson out of my grocery shopping today. I wish you all the best, and enjoy the blueberry flavoring.