Florence Summed Up: like writing a haiku to abridge Pride and Prejudice

I can't believe we've already been here a week. (Now a week and a half.. I started this on Monday but haven't had time to finish it) Time flies here as fast as the flow of vespas on the streets. Let's see what I can do to summarize my experiences.

As my class discussed today (Monday), there is something uniquely special about studying here rather than just vacationing. I never would have recognized the integration of art, culture and political ideas, or enjoyed art museums and actually felt like I needed more time in a cathedral. More time. That is certainly an issue. I would love to be able to read everything my professors assign but it's impossible. I'm still able to participate and understand class with quick scans or selective reading, but I wish there was time to explore of all Florence and still be studious at the same time. Oh well, Florence takes precedence!

Beautiful Things:

• The river Arno. A new friend of mine made a beautiful statement about this bloodstream of the city- how it has seen this city grow from the ground up, a constant reliable flow of nature through an ever changing city.
• The view from San Minata. Today, many of us trekked up a very steep hill for a view of the whole city. The Duomo and the Plazzo de Singoria stood in the center, like miniature figurines of their actual gigantic selves. The feeling of finally seeing trees and mountains and gardens on this mountain was a really great reminder that no matter how big of a building you man has built, nature is still so much grander and greater than anything man could ever create.
• Craftsmanship. Walking through backstreets, a little off the beaten tourist path, we see craftsman in every other doorway. Jewelers bent over metal work, painters hanging canvases, shoe makers cutting leather. Not only is their work  gorgeous but the sheer fact that they create handmade work for a living is truly romantic. 
• Art. I am learning an appreciation for art that I didn't think everyone had inside them. But they do. You see connections, symbology, ingenuity and subjects you don't expect, you have intellectual conversations with classmates about the works, you even think about taking an art history class in the future... and then you get "art-ed" out. We started with cathedrals where we saw the art in their natural settings which was really helpful. Now, we have been to so many art museums. Like my dorm closet shoved with ten too many hanging articles of clothing,  the works in these museums are often crammed. And like I have trouble even knowing what I actually have to wear, it was hard to focus on any one piece of art. While Michelangelo's David was a refreshing awaking to the monotony, I found it difficult to focus in the Borgello today. Interestingly enough, this was something that our art history professor understood and actually said was part of the point- glad I'm normal! 
• Meeting new friends. It was a little crazy trying to get to know new people while exploring a city. It may have been easier with people whose quirks, needs and inclinations I already new. But it would not have been as special. There's something about being in a completely different country with people that helps move along the getting-to-know-you process and I have thoroughly enjoyed getting to know many of my fellow travelers. 

Surprising things:

• Dogs are allowed everywhere. Italian dogs, which somehow look distinctly European, come into stores with their owners.
• There seems to be no established etiquette of which side to of the street to walk on. In the United States, if someone is coming toward you, both parties veer to the right. Here, it's like a game of chicken. And after being here a week, we're starting to hold our ground

I apologize for the lack of pictures. I am refraining from uploading my trip pictures for the sheer fact that I don't want to spend too much time with technology while I'm here. The break from the constant connection of a cell phone has been great and I want to prolong that feeling of relaxation and freedom as much as possible. I am trying to soak up every last drop of this city that I can. This is the trip of a lifetime and I refuse to spend it uploading pictures to facebook and a blog. I promise to spend oodles of time cropping and editing and publishing upon my return to the states.

There is so much more I could write about, but there is even more than I can't express in words. It's a sensation which I don't have the talent to relay to you. And that is why I'm a blogger, not a novelist. 

Arreverderci, readers!

Florence, Mio Amore

Food. Wine. Food. Churches covered in art. Food. Wine. Thus far, these, in addition to some evolving friendships, are the components of my trip to Italy.

While I pride myself on being an grown woman, fully independent and able, traveling abroad for the first time alone was intimidating. Days before I left, my head was swimming in anxiety. What if I miss one of my two connecting flights? What if I don't understand the signage in Paris? What if my baggage gets lost? Luckily, the worst that happened was lack of sleep. I arrived safely in Italy around 3:00 (9:00 am in the U.S.). I had slept about an hour and a half in nearly 30 hours. I was exhausted.

My first glimpse of Florence was through a taxi window. A taxi that felt like a roller coaster. Though his driving was a little crazy, I was impressed by the taxi driver's genial remarks and attempts to communicate with us, telling us his favorite gelato shop, etc. After all, service charges are built in in Italy- he had no need to shmooze us. Maybe he thought we would be unaware of that custom as ignorant American tourists. Heck no buddy! We know our stuff! I'd like to think he was just being nice to be nice- but it seems pretty hit or miss so far. Some people seem keen on conversing with us, patient about the language barrier when ordering food and calling "buongiorno!" on the street. Others seem annoyed by these loud, silly Americans looking at their maps or unsure of what they want to order. Maybe there's a divide amongst natives between anti-tourists and those who appreciate what they bring to the city as far as life and economy. Or maybe some people are just having a good days and others are not- like Americans. Hey what do you know? Maybe we're not so different after all.

Well, its getting late and despite my successful acclimation to the time change, I'm tired. So I'm just going to try to list some highlights...and by that I mean everything I have done so far, because let's face it- when in Italy, everything's a highlight.

Food: Monday dinner of MANY courses- YUM.. it seems that everything is more local, less mass-produced. The meat is more savory, the produce fresher. Gelato on the bridge over the Arno that night= amazing. breakfast in the Istituto Guold (where we're staying every morning): it's different, but good- not crazy special like the lunches and dinners. Tues lunch: pizza-ish thing covered in all kinds of meat. I love eating lunch on the steps of nearby churches- the piazzas, where everyone congregates. Tues dinner: at Restaurante Dante- again, MANY courses and really great company- got to know one of the professor couples better while dining on the best pesto ever! that was probably my favorite part though the brushetta and liver paste on bread, the red pasta, the chicken, french fries and dessert were all also good. Yeah, I'm telling you- a TON of food. We felt like the waitresses there were giving us some stink eyes, but were later told it may have been because we left some food on the serving dishes uneaten seeming ungrateful-- I think we would have all burst trying to make the food disapear! Today's lunch: a spinach pastryish sandwich and a small nutella filled desert! Dinner- cafe/dinner place with 13 of the group members- Most of us got  yummy pasta and we shared a liter of white wine and a liter of red.

Sites: CRAP I need to go to bed. Basically everything is gorgeous, like you see in movies and postcards but the amazing part is the integration of historical, ancient artistic buildings and everyday life. These are not sites to be preserved by fencing off but loved through experience and utilization. I love the giant windows with shutters- we have one to open wide in our room :) We've been on a walking tour that was a quick glimpse of everything including the giant duomo as well as two cathedrals today! WOOO okay bedtime. Love to all- Arrivederci! Pictures to come. Promise. 

Thrift Stores: a Haven from the Hampster Wheel

So it's been a while. In fact, it's been a while since I've done anything leisurely for myself. Don't start feeling too bad for me. In between studying for exams, writing 13 page papers, producing videos and beginning some copy editing duties, I did have time to see friends and other special people. But it was still go, go, go. Rendezvous were treats or breaks from the busy flow of to-do list items and appointments. There's a part of me that really thrives on that kind of mode. It's helped me a lot in life, but I can't run on that hampster wheel forever.

So I'm sitting here working my last shift at my on-campus job. My car is packed, my dorm completely empty. And I'm so ready for a change of gear. But before I completely discard all the papers from this year and forget about the projects I've done, I wanted to share something with this blog's readers (if there are any left). One of the main things consuming my time this semester was another blog for a class. We each chose a micro-beat to blog and tweet about. (Still unsure what I think about twitter.) When I chose to cover Harrisonburg thrift stores for the semester, I got some weird looks. People wondered how I would pull topics from such a narrow, seemingly dull topic.

But I really enjoyed getting to know the managers, volunteers and causes that these thrift stores support. Harrisonburg has four locally run thrift stores plus two Goodwills and Salvation Army and they're really a cool thing. (All Hburg stores are listed on my blog with hours and addresses!) As a kid, when we cleaned out our closets my mom would tell us to set aside things to pass down to cousins, etc. and others to go to Goodwill. I didn't think a whole lot about that- it was just where the old clothes went. But donation and resale practices are really significant in many ways. I feel like enumerating them so ha! now you have to read them. (I mean.... don't leave my blog! PLEASE read them!)

Thrift stores reduce landfill and incineration waste. 

1. Your donations are not going to a landfill. Most thrift stores I've encountered are pretty sustainable about what they do with things they can't sell as well- things are recycled, metal parts are picked up by other vendors to use, etc. 
2. Profits go to good causes- from shelters, to international mission groups, thrift store money is doing good things in the world. 
3. You can get good prices on stuff. Some of my favorite items are thrifted and cost me less than $5. While that's awesome for anyone trying to save a buck, it's even better when you think about how they provide discount books for families that couldn't otherwise afford them. One woman told me she likes to shop at thrift stores because it allows her to have extra money to donate at church. 
4. Voucher programs- if a community member looses their possessions to a fire or some other tragedy, they can pick out things they need for free. (Wish I had heard about this earlier- I would have done a profile on a local woman whose house burned down.)
5. Great volunteer opportunity- The thrift stores in Harrisonburg have huge volunteer bases- often giving senior citizens a fulfilling activity to do in retirement, or court-mandated-community-service workers a really loving atmosphere to work in.
6. The people. Sometimes I visit thrift stores without intending to buy anything because the ladies I've met are just delightful. There are some really spunky, funny, kind, caring people out there and thrift stores are like a magnet for them. 

Well there you have it folks. And THAT is why I will never be a typical objective, un-biased reporter. It's not in my blood. But I will be a passionate storyteller. While the deadlines have not always been the kindest and there are some projects I wish I had filmed differently or spent more time editing, I have really enjoyed telling peoples' stories and look forward to doing it more in the future. As far as thrifting goes, I am excited to return to the activity as recreation rather than homework. Maybe that will be my next activity of leisure as I wind down from this semester. If I were to continue my hampster analogy, I guess I'd be hopping of the wheel for a little hay-burrowing or something, but I'm not sure that image really works quite as well. Hope you all get some time off the wheel!  

Groovy Dude

Jock. Hippie. Prep. Valley Girl. Jersey. Biddie. Emo. Goth. We've been learning about stereotypes forever- how you can't judge people by the group they seem to fit into or how they're portrayed in media (I get a lot of that in my classes). We are always told not to stereotype people. But we still do.


When I go shopping for new clothes, I don't think "okay I'm a outdoorsy girl so I better not get any polos." That's ridiculous. And yet lately, I've gotten a couple comments about what I wear that made me laugh. Nothing mean- in fact they were from two of my closest friends. 

The first comment was from a camp counselor friend. I guess she usually sees me when I'm outside or wearing jeans with busted knees (holes I made not the manufacturer thank you very much), TOMs, and my Pantagonia jacket (which my -excuse the stereotype- Tennessee cowboy-boot-wearing friend called "hippie"). So when I threw on an argyle sweater for a movie with my parents the other day, it surprised my friend. I just like the colors. Plus it was comfortable. Plus I went to the preppiest high school ever so I guess it's in my roots. Either way, I hadn't really thought about the sweater not fitting "my image" or anything like that. It was just part of my wardrobe.

The next comment was just the opposite. In an attempt to celebrate the coming of spring (as if my love note didn't do it enough), I painted my nails a bright lime green. Yesterday morning, I put on some dark skinny jeans and a black shirt and to add some color I wore my painted TOMs (which happened to match my nails) and a rainbow-ish shoestring for a headband. I usually wear the shoestring-headband at camp because it's bright and silly. Plus, I got the idea from our awesome assistant camp director who wears a ruler tape for a headband. So I guess I may have worn the headband in my excitement for camp. Either way when I saw friend #2 on campus, she said I looked like a hippie with my nails and headband and all. Our gay friend corrected her that I was "boho chic." Or was it "hobo chic"? Shows how much I know.

It's funny how my more-conservative-clothes-wearing friends often call me a hippie. I've gotten it before because I like tie dye, wearing my hiking boots around and I am an environmentalist I guess. I'm sure the curly hair ads to the image somewhat. And I don't really mind the label- when it refers to my clothing, I guess it's often correct. However, if you wikipedia "hippie" there are some things the term is associated with that I don't do or accept.

Ironically, "many thoughtful hippies distanced themselves from the very idea that the way a person dresses could be a reliable signal of who he was." So I guess, maybe I am a hippie in that sense. I wear what I wear not because of who I am but because of what colors I like, what fits me well, what is comfortable, what is useful and even sometimes what is in fashion. Do those things define who I am? No. But I guess they do show a part of my character or who I am on a particlar day. But I don't consider my look as part of a label or stereotype. It's just Sarah.

To Spring, a love note.

Dearest Spring, 

My drive home today was perfect. Albert (my bonsai tree) and I cruised 64 with the windows down and the music blasting. It was that kind of weather. And the moment I came over a small hill and saw the mountains ahead of me was kind of glorious. I felt like there should be triumphant french horn soaring through an orchestra. They say you don't realize you miss something until it's taken away, but sometimes you don't realize you missed something until you have it back. Though I hadn't really thought about it during spring break, I realized that I really missed those dang mountains. I mean, who wouldn't? They're gorgeous.

In the grand scheme of things, a week isn't a whole lot. But it's enough for quite a lot to happen. On my way home, I wore a jacket with the windows up and a wintery cloudy sky watched me drive through barren trees. Today, I wore a tshirt, sunglasses and flip flops and rolled down the window for Paul's sake (why should Pete get all the attention?). The world wasn't exactly blossoming with color, but there was a little more green on fields, a little more life in each tree. Maybe the blue sky was creating a facade, helping them look their spring-y-est, but I bought it. 

Groundhog's day is a tradition I will never really understand. I think it's silly and unhelpful. It can present false hope or false gloom and it really is just plain useless. This year, according to Wikipedia records, there were were 15 predictions for an early summer and 10 for six more weeks of winter from groundhogs around the country. If that kind of contradiction from various groundhogs don't turn you off the holiday, you are an idiot. Im sorry, I mean you are ignorant. No, no I'm going to be PC and say I agree to disagree with you (ya dummy!) Anyways, whether you believe in that goffer crap or not, those six weeks are almost up and March 21, the official first day of spring is almost here. 

Welcome sun, welcome green, welcome procrastination. I am ready. I'm getting out my sandals, shoving my sweaters to the back of my closet and crossing my fingers for no more cold days. Oh springtime, my love, do come quickly. I have missed you.

Your ardent admirer, 

Sarah 

The Data Plan Trap

Alright February, I've got this. Everyone loves a good rant, right? I think this is one thing almost everyone has had a problem with at least once. Phone companies. I'm thinking Verizon, but this rant is probably applicable to most phone companies. Which makes it a universal subject, something everyone can relate to, right? Okay here goes.

I got my first cell phone in 9th grade. My sister got her first phone in 6th grade. I know 8 year olds that have cell phones. Over the past decade, our society has become incredibly dependent on cell phones to the point where it's hard to imagine life without them. If I forget my phone at home, I turn around and grab it.

Every phone I've had has struggled to make it to the two year upgrade date. Verizon is a quintessential performer of planned obsolesce, a phenomenon where companies purposely make materials that will quickly break or need upgrades in order to manipulate the consumer into a lifetime of buying. Because we are so dependent on cell phones, its very easy for Verizon to do. First, their products and phones are made to break quickly. We are constantly inundated new and improved versions in our face at a rate faster than typical technological growth. Case and point: the smart phone. I should be writing a paper incorporating this very concept by Molotch, so at least I'm putting it to practice right?

I love technology, I really do, but I know that getting a smart phone will be bitter sweet. It will be saying "hello" to the world at my fingertips and "goodbye" to...to being normal. I already find myself constantly connected via texting, facebook, reading blogs and the twittering I'm forced to for a class (it's not really my thing). With a smart phone, I feel like I will become one of those fat red-suited lumps from Wall-E in front of a screen every waking moment.

Despite this reluctance to give up my classic flip phone, I also really want a Droid. I could read the news on the bus (I'd probably just play games), I could get e-mails from teachers canceling class while away from my computer, I can scan random barcodes and well, do just about anything. So here's where my main complaint is to that conniving phone company.

Through out conspicuous consumption habits we have a need for the newest and latest technology. I'm not saying its a good thing. In fact it makes us very vulnerable to getting caught in Verizon's net. The data plan net. I think it's absolutely ridiculous that I can have a phone plan, with a promise of new phone deals in two years, and have more MONTHLY charges attached to a new phone. I should get the same plan price. I realize that smart phones are practically a mini computer and therefore should probably cost more, and while MAYBE there are reasonable explanation for the costs of using the internet blah blah blah, I doubt its that much per person per month and I just don't WANT to pay for them.

So here I am, desiring the next new thing, but there's quite a price jump. $360 extra dollars a year jump in fact and that doesn't even include the price of the phone. Needless to say, this Samsung Intensity whose QWERTY keyboard has already started to fail (it's okay I prefer T9 anyways!) better last until my plan is up. And at that point there better be a cost reduction.

I mean that's what happened with texting right? When texting first came out, it was like 5 cents a text, but now nearly everyone has unlimited. Hopefully, like memory sticks at $40 for 1GB two years ago that are now $10 for 4GB, data plans for smart phones will decrease in price.

And while you probably do have the best coverage, Verizon, you're a jerk. I'm on to you. While I realize that I have made myself susceptible to your trap through my consumer habits, you're charging us ridiculous amount of mulah for this crap and I'm not having it. I'm sorry, Feb, that's all I got. There's always next year. 

February I failed you.

Wow February, we've had some good times together. I mean my birthday, after all, rests in your beautiful month. Plus you warmed up quite a bit this year, have the prettiest birth stone, gave me an early pay check (Hooray for short months!) and well all those other things that have been really awesome this month. (What happens in February stays in February!)

All your awesomeness, dear Feb- can I call you that?- is why I feel particularly bad about letting you down. That's right, I blogged like twice this month and your page view numbers are dismal. Even January has double the page views you have so far. And its the last day of the month. There has to be something I can do to resolve this issue. I must write the best blog post ever. It has to go viral and soar your popularity like Susan Boyle's overnight popularity. Where is she now anyways? Okay apparently, she's on her second album after her second broke a record for the fastest selling female album so that analogy fails a little.

But February, I will think of something interesting by the end of today, I promise! I will be back. I haven't let you down yet!

I see London, I see France...

Everyone has favorite underwear. Personally, I always end up buying underwear from a ton of different places, so I end up liking some styles more than others. Then there's the stretch factor. When you're dancing around in your drawers in the morning, you mirror does not want to see saggy underwear. Suddenly your favorite underwear no longer qualifies for its glorified title.

But, you have to keep the unfavorites around in case you run out of the good ones. As a college student who has to pay an arm and a leg for laundry, I don't do wash enough to always get to wear my favorite underwear. So that got me thinking, what's better: wearing all your favorite underwear first, or spreading it out over the length of a laundry period. It's a challenging predicament.

Anyways, last Tuesday, I was working the late shift at my desk job in the basement of the library when the happiest person I've ever met came down. He had a project due the next day, but you wouldn't have known. He was just so cheery. He asked if he could check out a camera to shoot a quick video to supplement the project and we showed him his options. He was so incredibly excited that he could check out a camera and he was so sincere in his, "Have a great night!" I'm not sure how to explain the sheer happiness this guy exuded. My fellow-desk assistant and I giggled as he left, proclaiming that he had made our night. And he had. If anyone had on his or her best underwear, it was him.

The same night, walking home after my shift ended at midnight, I was verbally assaulted by a character who must not even own good underwear. It was a cold rainy night and he stuck his head out the passenger window to shout gay obscenities out the window. I'm not sure what about my hooded, rain-drenched figure made me a "queer" or "faggot"to him or if those were just the words on his mind, but either way it was disheartening.

I thought about what it would have felt like if this jerk was right, if I was on the brink of questioning my sexuality, or recently out of the closet. I felt for all the brave gay people I know, because unfortunately this jerk I encountered is not the only ignorant person left in the world. What about yelling those words out the car window was funny or pleasing? It really baffled me.

On my walk home, I reflected on the duality of my night. One thing was certain. My encounter with the happy guy and his radiating warmth and smiles far overpowered the negativity of the passing car jerk. It was a clear reminder of the ability of optimism, a compliment or a smile to a stranger.

I suppose it doesn't matter if you wear all your good underwear at once or force yourself to wear a couple bad pairs in between, because if you're not wearing your favorite underwear, you can at least act like it. 

New Year, New Crafts

So this was a blog post that I wrote for my new blog, "The Thrift Drift." Turns out, I'm now in a class where I'm required to write a blog through wordpress. I decided to choose Harrisonburg Thrift as my beat. Therefore, my new personal blog became a moot point (I really just wanted to use the word "moot" so I concocted this entire string of events.) So here's the post from the blog I am now deleting. Because even though I write for myself, I have to admit that I like the thought of other people reading it. We're all a little narcissitic. So here you go...

When I visited friends for New Years, one of my fellow book-lovers asked me how many books I'd plowed through over break. While I usually would have relished the snuggle in your bed and crack open a good (or trashy) novel weather, I realized that I had few titles to share. So what on earth have I been doing?

Arts and crafts. At least that's what I called it when I was little. One of the best things in our playroom when I was a kid was the craft table. My dad shortened the legs of a simple heavy kitchen table to the perfect height for our plastic children's chairs. It was okay when you accidently colored off the page or wiped some paint on its welcoming surface. And after a couple years of paper mâché, decapage, markers, paint and beads, the table was tattooed with the memory of our projects. Now, as a "grown up" I don't have a craft table, but my desk has assumed the responsibilities.

This winter, I opened up my craft drawer and worked on a couple projects. My last day in Harrisonburg before break, I visited the Mercy House Thrift Store, where I picked up two 75 cent wooden wall hooks. They weren't necessarily meant to go with each other, but I thought with a little paint I could make them a set. The unpainted one only had a straight thin dowel for the hook so I replaced that with a sturdier hook and gave both items a layer of white. I originally pictured delicate tree branches and blossoms, but then I remembered my lack of artistic skills. Just because I can whip up a graphics digitally, does not mean my hand and the paint brush get along. But sometimes I forget that I never developed their relationship. Unfortunately, I was doomed to inscribe the wood with girly childish words and shapes. Nonetheless, they were fun to paint and may end up in my room next year, if not wrapped as a gift for someone else. (Click on the picture for a closer look.)

While my other projects were not thrift store related, I'll tell their tales as well. My next project was rather unexpected. I was out Christmas shopping with my mom and she asks what I'm getting my brother. I already have a bunch of ideas, but she informs me that he's expecting something very specific. A Calvin and Hobbes lunch box. I remembered mentioning the idea to him. He was talking about how he never eats lunch because paper bag lunches get squashed in his backpack and school lunches cost too much. Laughing at the ridiculousness of a 17-year-old boy not eating lunch I asked if he would eat if I bought him a tin Calvin and Hobbes lunch box. The thought of this item seemed to excite him, but I didn't inventory it on my "stuff-I could-get-Josh-list." Turns out, he had. And he was excited to open this gift Christmas morning. So I had to find one, but I didn't. Calvin and Hobbes lunch boxes don't exist. I looked and looked but realized that i would have to make one exist. So I bought a used Calvin and Hobbes book. (Check out Better World Books, you can get cheap used books and support a good cause!) I painted, decapaged and sealed a King Kong lunch box I bought at 5 Below. At last, the boy can eat. 

My final holiday project was part of a gift I received. A pair of white TOMS. A blank canvas awaiting my creativity. If you are unaware, TOMS Shoes is a company founded by one of heroes, Blake Mycoskie. I covered an article about the commencement ceremony at my school where he happened to be the guest speaker. I wore my TOMS to that speech, already digging the company, but his speech made me a customer for life. The name stands for tomorrow, meaning Shoes for Tomorrow, because for every pair you buy, a pair is given to a child in need. These shoes not only protect the once shoe-less children from disease, but also allow them to go to school.

Anyways, I spent days checking out other custom TOMS, drawing sketches of my ideas and trying out different color schemes. I had recently underlined a line in Emerson's Nature that I wanted to incorporate. "In the woods is perpetual youth." With that in mind, I designed one shoe with a city scape and a business woman who is presumably transformed into a youthful dancing silhouette when she enters the wilderness of the left shoe. So here's the end result.

Can you tell I've been on a bit of a green streak? I didn't even realize that I'd been using it so much, but what can I say, it compliments my favorite color (purple) so well!

Rip Tides

A girl walked out of the dining hall today and exclaimed “what am I going to do?” to her friend. Presumably, this was part of a conversation detailing the issue or issues going on in said girl’s life. However, since this last exclamation was what she said as she went through the doors, and since she either had a rather loud voice or had escalated her volume in frustration, a lot of bystanders (or bybustlers) heard her. I was one of them, and like a lot of my fellow by-people, I turned and kind of laughed to myself. Not at her. In fact, at the cliché-ness of the comment. Isn’t that what we all were feeling?

My professor just gave me a zillion assignments and seems to think that I am a full-time reporter for his class alone rather than a full-time student, part-time worker and part-time writer for a school publication. You can go ahead and knock part-time friend, family member, and “live”-er of the list.

If you assume my lack of blogging is any indication of my busy-ness, you’d be right. Assuming I am a typical college student/person in general, than most people are probably really busy right now. Of course, if you could assume that, then you could also assume that no one reads the news just because one person does not. And if that were true, my schooling as a journalist would be for nothing and I could sit here and write about how lazy and bored I was instead of this.

However, I think it’s still a pretty safe assumption that a lot of us are busy. Heck, I’m late to a gym date with a friend right now, because this felt necessary. I needed to write sometime not for a grade, not for a requirement but just for myself. Because the thoughts in my head are getting really loud. So loud that when I read other people’s thoughts, my eyes see them, by brain cannot absorb them. All this reading I have due is undoable. Therefore, this is necessary. Of course, I could probably blog this on the treadmill at the gym if I had a smart phone, but wouldn’t having a smart phone make me feel more busy? The extra work hours I would have to pick up to pay for it and its data plan would be and I guess that’s enough for now.

So, readers, if there are any of you left, please excuse the typos, the madeup words and the lack of pics and join me in taking a deep breath- and going with the flow and ride the waves, or rip tides (whichever be occurring in your life). 

Leaving Neverland.

You would think I would have more time to blog over winter break. The thing is, ideas kept sprouting, but they never blossomed. I was going to write a followup to the weekday veg post's enormous response. Then I was going to write about the disappointment of finding out that those hits were for a past post because my blog had become a popular source on a image search engine for "treasure map." I wrote a couple paragraphs on the craft projects that have entertained me over break, but I decided that those may be better suited for my new endeaver. Today, however, I thought of a subject that's been coming up a lot lately. Growing up.

I've always been like a lost boys shoved back into the real world. I age kicking and screaming. I rarely go through a birthday without a couple tears about how much I miss being a kid. I'm sure the big two-oh will prove too overwhelming for my tear ducts this year. It's not like I don't like the responsibility and freedom of being older. I've always embraced that, but I guess aging is always bitter-sweet for me. I wish I could concoct a new phrase to describe that cliche feeling, but it really is so correct. I guess I could call it a sour patch moment? Not quite as elegant, but if you've seen the "first they're sour, then they're sweet" commercials, I think you know exactly what I mean.

Anyways, tonight I find myself writing a list of things I've discovered or come across this winter. So with out further ado:

You know you're a grown up when....

• You find yourself grocery shopping with a cart instead of a handful of junk food in your hand. 
• You go on a ski trip and worry about all the possible injuries the loved ones in your party could go home with.
• You tell your parents you're going out for the night and you mean you'll be home in the morning, not the 11pm curfew.
• People you knew in high school are engaged or married.
• You don't go out and play in the first snow of the season. (Don't worry, another snowpocalypse -knock on wood- and I'll bring out my new sled.)
• Instead of asking you what you want to be when you grow up, people speculate about whether they think your area of study will bring success in the job market. (Wanting to be a princess no longer receives the same response.)
• You check out at a store and think the cashier looks significantly younger than you.

That list is surprisingly short. It seems like I've been saying "wow I feel so grown up" a lot lately. I'm sure there are a million other things list, but right now, they've escaped me. For now, I'm still, as the five-year-old I watch called it, a "girl-woman." I haven't started mailing my own Christmas card or going to bed at 9 or anything scary like that. In fact, I would argue am the quintessential Hannah Montana right now... yup that's right I used it.. I have the "best of both worlds."