Dress-Up Time

Costumes. When we were children, they were an exciting excuse to play dress up. I don't know about you, but I had a great dress up box. This was not a store-bought cardboard box with thin pink tops and tutus. Nor was it a computerized "dress-your-avatar" game. This was a homemade box of real grown up clothes. I never asked my mom where they were from, or who pulled them all together, because it seemed like these pieces of clothing had magically congregated in that plastic storage box just for me. I assume they were hand-me-downs or yard-sale items, but to me they didn't have any previous lives. They were just mine.

I remember its contents well. There was a teal satin dress with big puffy sleeves, a pair of black wooden sandals with green fuzzy straps and a pair of red sparkly Dorothy high heels which I wore even once my feet had clearly outgrown them. There was a royal blue nighty and robe set and a pair of yellow Tweety Bird suspenders. When my dad went on a business to somewhere Asian (I want to say Singapore), oriental-looking outfits in blue for my brother and pink for me were added. There were a couple hats and bags as well as fake pearls and clip on costume earrings. Each year Halloween items were added to the box after their tour of the neighborhood. I was often wedded in those dresses and sometimes died in them. I wore them to balls and shared them with friends. Even my brother dawned one of them once. (He's going to hate me for that). Nevertheless, imagination was a HUGE part of my play as a child and mt dress-up-box certainly aided my creativity.

Imagination, though now when I say it I always picture spongebob spreading his hands and the appearance of a rainbow, is something I cherish. I think the fact that I played pretend games- not just house, but orphans, kidnapped, animal rescuer, power rangers and more- shaped who I am. I didn't just sit in front of the TV. We didn't have cable for a while and although I loved the Kratt brothers BEFORE Zaboomafoo and watched a couple other educational childrens' shows, this was not how I spent the majority of my time. Playing imaginary games often led me to the outdoors. It fostered creativity and forced me to share plot line decisions with siblings and friends.

Seeing the electronic-based way a lot of kids grow up today, I can really appreciate the arts and crafts we did, the outings we went on and the children's museums we visited. I think my parents did a lot of things right. And perhaps providing that dress-up box was also one of them.

When we were children, Halloween was just a glorified dress-up day. You got to stay up late and eat candy, so your costume. If you were like me, you probably changed your mind about your costume every week leading up to the big night. On those nights, I was transformed into a ghost and a cowgirl, a magician or a clown. Of course, it was hardly any different than everyday play- except these costumes were often newly bought or made and now, everyone could see the characters which I had already been in my imagination.

This weekend, in this college town, it is once again okay for us children to play dress up. Around the nation, there is a certain age when costumes are once again adorned, but this time for adult parties rather than door-to-door candy begging. College students, moms and dads and even the retirement homes throw parties, encouraging all to play dress up. Like when we were seven, we plan our costumes for weeks, pour through our closets and attics and ask friends what they're going to be. Sure, some of the college girls may use less fabric than their childhood costumes did, to cover (or not cover) much more body. The drink of choice may not necessarily be hot chocolate. And our choice of costume is no longer based on favorite action figure, but being the most creative, or the cutest....or the down right trashiest.

But in the end, our subconscious intentions remain unchanged. We want to be someone else for the night. And perhaps now, as adults, we have even more reason to want to escape our everyday lives. We have tests and papers, conference calls and presentations, bills and well.. "grown up" stuff. This weekend, however, we have chance to escape. I think that's part of the reason that college students and adults enjoy dressing up almost more than the trick-or-treating children down the street. We have more to escape. And while I am completely excited to join in the imaginary games, I wonder: If I am so eager to be someone else for the night, am I really living a happy healthy life? Or am I simply reverting to the healthily stimulating, creative outlet of my childhood?

Snail Mail Gets a Bad Rep

One day this crazy midterm week (note my sly insertion of an excuse for the lack of posts), I decided to stop by the mail room on my way to the computer lab. It was mostly just a form of procrastination- I didn't expect anything other than advertisements for university events and off-campus housing. I turned the combination lock on my mail slot and... had to redo it it. Even after three years of using a locker in middle school, and many combo locks on band and gym lockers throughout high school, I still hate those dang things.

Anyways, after finally opening my box, I reached inside and felt something thicker than than the postcard advertisements I typically receive. It was a letter. Not from the bank, or from some organization asking for a donation, but a hand-addressed periwinkle envelope from Eugene, Oregon. I opened the letter as I moseyed (yes, that's actually how you spell it!- learn something new everyday) toward the lab. It was from a cousin. She's older than me, so we were never playmates and only lived in the same state for a couple of years, but she is awesome. I love seeing her at family gatherings because she is always so happy and always interested in everyone's story, no matter how insignificant.

Now, she was an even awesomer cousin. (No boys and girls, "awesomer" is not a word, but I am evoking my creative license.) Turns out, she saw a particularly excited facebook post of mine about pumpkin frappuccinos and was inspired to get herself her own pumpkin flavored drink sent from heaven. But this was no "thanks for the idea" note. My cousin, for no holiday or occasion, sent me a Starbucks gift card to ensure that I got to indulge in a little more heaven before the pumpkin season wore out. What a nice thought! I was so taken aback by her generosity and thoughtfulness. It was inspiring.

As nice and heart-warming as this story is, there is another point I have. Snail mail. Even if that card had not contained a gift card to the golden gates of coffee drinks, it still would have made my day. Getting a hand written letter or card these days is as exciting as a new episode of Glee. Perhaps, if the dysphemistic retronym had not been coined, "snail mail" would not have died to quickly. Now, I know you're thinking, "Geez Sarah, you expect me to know what a "dysphemistic retronym" is?" No I don't. In fact, wikipedia just informed me of the existence of this term, but it is so relevant to my discussion, that I felt inclined to share. Apparently, "dysphemistic" means intentionally harsh, as in the antonym of euphemism. "Retronym" is a new term, often developed due to the development of technology. There you have it.

Wikipedia also informed me that the term "snail mail" was first used in the 1840's with the development of the telegraph. The Philadelphia North American stated: "The markets will no longer be dependent upon snail paced mails." However, the man credited with the first use of the term contrasted to e-mail is Jim Rutt who eventually become CEO of Network Solutions. Well *&^% you, Mr. Rutt! Why the harsh words about my beloved paper mail?

If receiving a letter is watching Glee, writing a letter is belting one of Rachel's ballads in your car. It's not as exciting as hearing her do it, but it's relaxing and it clears your mind. I wrote back to my cousin, full of gratitude, but also updating her on my life. I wrote to another friend as well. She and I had decided to be pen pals, but writing regularly is more difficult than it sounds. When I actually hunker down with pen and paper I always feel good though. And when I lick the envelop and seal it, I feel accomplished and also nostalgic. It reminds me of other times I wrote letters as a child and I feel connected to all the great letter writers throughout history. I am reminded of the important correspondences between literary characters such as Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. (I had to look up his first name- gotta love Wikipedia.)

As often as I check e-mail, love the convenience of texting and enjoy calling home, I sometimes wish we still lived in a world of letter-writers. There's something about hand-written word that is so much more personal.

Isn't it Ironic

So I was hit with major writer's block the other night. I sat in front of the computer trying to think of something to write, but the only thing that came to me was squirrels. Writing a whole post about how under appreciated squirrels are was... just bad. Believe me, you're glad I didn't post that one. After surfing the web looking for inspiration for a while, I decided sleep was more important.

Of course, the second I Iaid down, three new ideas flooded my brain. Well isn't that ironic, I thought. While I don't have time to delve into those ideas yet, I did just want to touch on irony. In fact, do you guys remember vending machine guy from the Automatic Responses post? Well, before I embarrassingly told him I'd see him later, we were discussing this very topic. He asked if I needed to get into the vending machine he was working in, saying that usually it was the second he opened it up, that students flocked in to use it.

"Of course it would be," I told him. "Just like if you bring your umbrella the rain will hold out and the one day you forget your umbrella, it will downpour." It's true. It's practically science. There's probably some smart person's law about this. We love irony, too. Our television and movies are just a cleverly construed examples of irony and we eat it up.

Anyways, I have to run to class, but what ironic situations have you had? And of course, if you haven't already been reminded of the song, here's a little Alanis Morissette breakfast for your ears. Seriously go listen.

P.S. the puppy has nothing to do with irony, but he's cute.

I Want my Car

At my school, no freshman are allowed to have cars on campus. This seems like a reasonable way to encourage students to get involved with campus. I did that last year. I went through looking up bus schedules, walking everywhere, begging upperclassmen for rides. It wasn't bad. We have a great public transportation system and I enjoyed walking around and seeing the town.

But now I'm a sophomore. Most of my friends live off campus and brought their cars and even many of my friends still living on campus (like me) brought theirs. You would think that would be enough for me: having friends that drive. They are all very accommodating and drive me around when we hang out and just to help me out when available. And yet, I still have this crazy, unexplainable craving desire for my car.

When I say my car, I mean the midnight purple (it looks black, you can only see purple in the right light) 1990 Saturn that my family owns. My dad used to drive it but has since moved on to Mustang, and now Harley Davidson. I drove it when I lived at home, and now my brother does and we share it when we're both home. It has roll-up windows, no automatic lock system, manual transmission and a starry night sky fabric for internal roof fabric. It has all my personalized bumper-stickers, advertising for places and things that I love. And I miss that dang car.

It's crazy how often I say "I wish I had my car." There are those inconvenient times when it would just be more efficient to be able to drive. There are also times when my friends don't mind driving me, but I hate being a mooch and wish I could drive places myself. There are other times when I simply crave being in the driver's seat with my windows down and the music blasting. There's something about driving stick shift that increases the awesomeness of that feeling exponentially.

However, when I stop and think about it logically, I wonder if having a car is really necessary. If I truly follow the environmental consciousness I promote and respect, wouldn't I be proud to walk and use carpooling and public transportation. What is this crazy notion that has corrupted me? Personally, I blame America. Now don't get me wrong. I'm all for purple mountain majesties and those broad stripes and bright stars. I'm American though and through. But we have some issues. As a nation, we are extremely materialistic. We live extravagantly compared with the rest of the world. We buy a lot of stuff and we are really wasteful. (I'm lazy and I'm not finding legitimate data to support these statements- but I know you've all heard it before.) As much as I despise this ideology, it is a part of me. I don't have 100 shoes, but I have many more than I actually need. Media teaches us that everyone should own their own car, that it's not only one of the luxuries of life, but a necessity. Although I know I can function perfectly fine in my college town without a car, I want my it. It's become part of my identification of who I am, of what I like to do. And I'm not sure I like that.

In addition to proving my materialism, this craving for my car shows another American fault. We are always crunched for time. We want to get where we have to go as fast as we can and we need things now, now, now. As much as I could argue that I'm a busy college student who needs more time, this is an unhealthy way to live. I'm not going to use the overused maxim, but we all know we should stop and smell the you know whats. So why don't we? I love efficiency, but sometimes we overuse it. Somethings should be done slowly. Maybe getting from point A to point B is one of those....once and a while.

Maybe it's a good thing that I'm sometimes forced to walk or use the bus system. I often meet people I never would have all cooped up with my self blasting my music in my car. I witness things I would not have. I smell subtle hints of things I never would have have. I even get a workout I would not have.

But especially since I know my parents are some of my few followers, I can't end this post with the lie that I am completely changed and rid of my American materialism and need for efficiency. No mom and dad, I do still wish I had my car in town. (Hint hint: maybe next year?) But I do recognize that it's not a necessity. I wish I could be one of those hipster simpleton people who get everywhere with a bike or on foot. But I'm not. Driving is a guilty pleasure of mine. Like taking an extra long showers and eating meat. I know these things are wasteful, but our culture has brought me up with them. Baby steps, people. Baby steps.

Who Invented Whiteboards?

Thank God for the man who invented whiteboards! Dry-erase board, dry-wipe board, pen-board... Whatever you call 'em, they're awesome.

I hate chalk. My mom always told me "hate" is a strong word, but gosh darn it, this is pure hatred. Black and white chalkboards or big fat sidewalk chalk are like old fashioned telephones. They look pretty, but I would never actually want to dial with that spinning holey thing. (Apparently, the technical term is rotary dial, but I like my description better.) Chalk is the same way. The old-fashion symbol of education, the tool by which youthful imagination is spread accross the sidewalk, the medium of Bert in Marry Poppins: it will always be a pretty thought. But it's gross. The sounds it makes, the texture on your hands. I get shivers just imagining it. Bleh!

So thank you, Mr. Whiteboard-Inventor-Man. I think it was around middle school when my classrooms were graced by your ingenious creation, and I could not have learned the same on a chalkboard. I'm convinced, I would have failed out of high school from skipping so I didn't have to hear those awful sounds. Not only does your invention aid my education, by my organization, my sanity. My lists are constantly scribbled upon that white glossy slate, without the hassle or disgust of a dry, powdery substance covering my fingers. I can erase with ease rather than dusty fits of coughing. What would I do without my whiteboard? Probably waste a LOT more paper on lists.

Oddly enough, I cannot uncover your true identity, my hero. Not even wikipedia knows who invented the whiteboard. Ceramic whiteboards have been around since 1960, but did not become popular until the 90's. I thank my lucky asterisks they did!

Zoom Zoom Zoom

You sung the title, didn't you? Well this post is not about Mazda, or cars, or going fast for that matter. Today we're talking about zooming, as in camera focal length.

One of my video professors was talking about how cameras do something that our eyes cannot. We can pan, truck (move laterally) and dolly (move front-to-back) like a camera, but our eyes cannot zoom. I had never really thought about that before. It's obvious, but just something I had never come across in my discussions or imagination. Zooming is kind of a novel concept, in the sense that we can't find an example of it in nature.

That got me thinking... What if our eyes could zoom? It would be a lot easier to stalk people, and we would never catch peeping toms, but come on, how cool would that be? Can't see the slides during class? No problem.. just neurologically, naturally zoom in!

I've never even come across a superhero with this power. There are plenty of laser and infrared eyes or goggles and glasses that can may zoom or collect data in the fictional world. I'm not a comic book master, so correct me if I'm wrong, but I've never heard of zooming eyeballs.

Who knows? Maybe in the next century, humans will have invented zooming contacts. Or perhaps we'll just wait another 100,000 years and evolution will grant us zooming eyeballs. What would you do them? (Keep it clean, please!)

On Automatic Responses

"See you later," I said to guy filling the vending machine, pulling my bag of potato skins out of the machine next to his. The guy I would never see again. See you later? I thought to myself, Where did that come from?

Don't try to say you've never done it. Who hasn't responded with "you too" to the ticket sales girl's "enjoy the show" or "that's cool" to a friend who was telling you about what a rough days he's having?

Okay, those are usually mistakes that you quickly realize. But even the habitual American greeting "hey, how are you?" is contradictory. If someone stopped to give you a wordy account of their exact disposition, let's face it, you'd be surprised. We are used to saying "good, how are you?" even if we got locked out of the house that morning and are on the way to take a test we stayed up all night studying for. There are a few close friends with whom you may develop a custom of sharing details, but generally that passing by "how are you?" is pretty meaningless.

It's all about tone. Say "how are you" as if you're passing someone you know and don't expect a real response. (Maybe in your head if you're around other people; they may think you're crazy.) Now say the exact same words, but really mean it. Doesn't that sound nice? (They're all staring at you, aren't they? I told you not to say it out loud!)

So why do we end up responding without thinking and asking without caring? Perhaps we are all zombies controlled by evil Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz's newest invention (Phineas and Ferb anyone?). Or maybe we're just acting like zombies. We get so entrenched in our schedules, our to-do lists, the next task, that we forget to stop and be human. When you step outside of the normal meaningless salutations, it means a lot. Imagine how she will feel when you actually ask the checkout lady at the cafeteria or the grocery story how she is. (Now's where that tone comes into play.)


I catch myself in zombie mode all the time. When I say "see you later" to the vending machine guy, I feel embarrassed. But when I return to earth and compliment a stranger's shoes or start a conversation on the bus it feels good. Not even because I "did a good deed" or anything like that, just to have human interaction.

What automatic/incorrect responses have you made lately? Post them here for a good laugh and then snap out of it and be human. But before you do, obey my command to click "follow" on my blog! I borrowed Doofenshmirtz's make-people-do-what-I-say-or-they-turn-into-jello invention, you must obey or you will soon be consumed by unsuspecting jello lovers!

Chivalry, dead or alive?

Who doesn't like a gentlemen? Ok, maybe Rihanna is looking for a "rude boy," but I think the rest of us can appreciate the simple gestures of a southern gentlemen. Not to discriminate against northern boys, but let's face it, "The Situation" is not helping your rep for knowing how to take care of a lady. It has recently come to my attention that some men continue the longstanding tradition of chivalry while others have clearly not been taught common respect. I have witnessed some acts which I felt necessary to gush over and other that I would love to rant about. Let's start with the good.

The Good Guys: I love a man who will hold the door for me. Not just walk through and hold it back for me, but actually open the door, step back and let me in first. Lately, I've come across more and more men who actually do this for me... and I don't even know them! It definitely catches me off guard, but always makes me happy. For those who say, "why do this for a woman? they are not better than men," I can see where you're coming from. I'm all for egalitarianism, but after all the discrimination women have endured (and still do), men could stand to show a lady a little respect. We brought you into this world after all.

The Rude Boys: Not only do you squeeze your way in front of me to get to the door, but then you open said door, go through and give it a pathetic attempt of a shove, without so much as a glance back to make sure that the door did not collide with my head. Thanks, bud. I was just starting to rally hope for your gender when suddenly I am "rudely" awakened by your less-than-polite action. I understand if you're in a rush, but will you really be any more late to class (or work, or lunch) if you take two seconds to hold the door?

The Good Guys: My favorite knight-in-shining-armor moment was on the public bus. I'm a lazy girl who lives on the opposite side of campus from where my classes are, therefore I am a common bus passenger. In all my bus riding, I have never witnessed this simple act..until a few days ago. So we pull up to a stop, and a decent crowd loads onto the bus. A boy (let's call him Sir Adorable) gets up and and offers the closest girl his seat. She was shocked, as, I'm sure, were most of my fellow eavesdroppers. She gladly and gratefully took the the seat. Sir Adorable and his new maiden proceeded with introductions and mild flirtation. I wouldn't be surprised if he got her number. So what did we learn, boys? First of all, being nice to us female folk makes us feel good. Sir adorable's fair maiden was beaming and every other girl on the bus was definitely jealous (or at least, I was). Second, using good ol' southern charm is beneficial to you too- it's survival of the fittest boys, and I'm not talking about muscles and brute strength! (Though we don't mind a gun show either-as much as we hate that phrase!) Every other boy sitting on the bus looked pretty weak to me. They better take a lesson from Sir Cutie-pants because evolution may just wipe them out.

The Rude Boys: Okay class, good work, not let's look at how "rude boy" handles himself on the bus. Shall we call this one Chris Brown? I hop on the bus this morning and at the next stop we reach nearly reach capacity. These new passengers, many possessing female genitalia, are are standing and fairly squished. As I look around to see if there are any empty seats left, I spot this kid sitting on the outside of two seats. Brown has arrogantly decided that it's necessary to keep the seat on the inside for his backpack. If we give this kid the benefit of the doubt, maybe he has an imaginary friend following him around. In that case, I wouldn't want to sit his pal and upset him (considering he's probably crazy). But let's for a second not give Brown this excuse. WHAT ARE YOU THINKING, BOY?? What prevents you from realizing that other people might enjoy to rest their weary butts too? Scoot over and let someone sit down! Even if its a guy.. believe me we won't assume anything because you're bumping shoulders with another man. And if you're worried about having "No Air," Chris, don't worry, the rest of us are still breathing.

I just don't understand when people are inconsiderate about common sense etiquette rules like these. I find that the bus is a common place for dropping all sense of courtesy. It's like we're on a ship the New World and it's every man for himself. And even though I'm harping on the guys tonight, girls are in the wrong here too. It can be an amusing to watch people acting stupidly from my usual seat in the back left corner, but in the end every rude act witnessed causes me to loose another pinch of faith in humanity. What is this world coming to when we can't hold a door or share a bus seat?

Please post comments about what you think! When have you witnessed or experienced a similar act of chivalry or rudeness?

Hello

My first journal was pink with a gold lock. It came with glue-on jewels for optimum personalization. In fact, if I remember correctly, I believe I had one of those plastic jewels stuck up my nose for about seven scary minutes. Well everyone, the lock’s coming off, and the jewels have been upgraded to links, pics and videos. Unlike my childhood diaries, however, I will not be spilling every mundane moment of my day. In fact, I will probably disclose very few personal details. (Hint for any creepy stalkers looking for that kind of stuff.)

Rather, what I’m going to focus more on is my thoughts. Those things that stay with me throughout the day. Because what I’ve realized in college is that this is the time when questions really start ringing. As Gregory Mcguire wrote in Wicked, “Is it only in youth that we can have the nerve to ask ourselves such serious questions?” If not now, when? (That doesn’t mean this blog isn’t for all ages. Youth is more of a mindset in my opinion.) Oh and by the way, we’re talking the big questions, people: poverty, environmental issues, political issues and of course the truly important pancakes or waffles. If you’re not ready for that kind of intensity, you might as well stop reading now.