Meeting the Dog/Merry Christmas

So for those of you who read my post back in early October about the dog that my parents bought, for themselves, on my birthday, that made me really bitter here is an update.


I was completely set on disliking the new puppy simply because of what he represented (my parents disregard for the fact that buying him was like mocking the fact that all I ever wanted growing up was a puppy).


The dogs name is Buddy-Boy (apparently they weren't feeling overly creative when they got him), and despite my best efforts to ignore him, he seems attached to me.


When I got to my parents house I was not done with school, and still had two final papers to complete and email in to the professors. The normally hyper active dog decided that since I wouldn't play with him while I was working, he would instead curl up next to me. So went day one of our relationship.

yesterday he was not content with sitting idly by while I worked, however, and so in oder to appease him/take a break from my paper writing, I filmed him playing with a toy, and generally disrupting my work area.

Today, he ate a pack of mini-colored pencils that I received in my stocking. Although I was able to save all of the pencils, he left teeth marks on them and destroyed the case. Ergo, we are currently not friends.


I hope every one had a Happy Christmas, or Hanukah, or whatever you may have celebrated this year.


Thanks for reading and Happy Holidays,
Birdy

Studying

Blegh. I am currently studying for a final on the history of Ancient and Medieval Africa. It starts in one hour, and I am taking short break from studying flash cards to eat a muffin, drink some coffee, and post my life for you all! I took some picture of my study area, although they aren't completely accurate since I used Sepo, my computer, to take the pictures, and therefor he is not in them. However, I feel that they are still a good representation of my life at the moment.

My study site complete with flash cards, notes, muffin, and the remnants of my soul.

I am such an artist. This is my map of important sites in Medieval Africa. Mad skills, I know.

Thanks for reading and have a fantastic and wonderful Monday!

Birdy.

I only like it when it snows at night...

It has been very grey and cold and gross the last few days and so I decided to warm myself up by finding some of the brightest, summeryest pictures I have taken in the last year or so. I hope you enjoy their moments of warmth!

Thanks for reading,

Birdy

Nothing like a day trip to the hospital

Around 3 in the morning yesterday I received a phone call from a friend of mine who lives in my res hall, I almost didn't answer but it was so unexpected that I decided it must be important. I was expecting a "life changing conversation" similar to others that the two of us had enjoyed quite frequently last year, especially if she had been drinking. What I received instead was a worried request that if I wasn't sleeping, I come to our mutual friends room. She then went on to explain that our friend had fallen and hurt an old injury, and was now crying and asking for myself, and her mother.


I made my way down to find my friend in a sorry state, her make-up was smeared, her leg was sloppily elevated and she was crying. It wasn't any sort of typical crying however. She frequently switched from painful sobs, to pitiful tears, to out right angry fits. It was not a pretty sight.


I quickly jumped in (over a pile of her crap) and began my attempts to comfort her so that she could tell me what had happened. The nights tale was finally revealed and as her confused tears continued to fall I helped her to better elevate and ice her leg. Once I was done and she had finally gained some sense of calm I left after telling her roommates how to best take care of her, and to call me if anything else happened or they needed help.


Between 9:47 am and 1:09 pm I received calls and texts from my injured friend and her roommates. I would read, respond and then fall back into a light sleep, until finally I was informed that my still highly emotional friend was preparing to go to the hospital. I knew I actually had to go physically check in. I rolled out of bed, put on my shoes and called the elevator to take me down the six flights to her room. I was just expecting to check in, give my two cents, and see her on her way with someone else's help, so I left my coat, my socks, my gloves, my money, essentially all of my important goods other than my access card behind.


I walked into her room and realized I had just walked into a "shit show." One thing led to another and next thing I know I am standing in the cold, in nothing but my unlaced shoes, school sweats, a T-shirt, a thin hoodie, and a beanie, waiting for a cab to take my friend and I to the hospital. We spent five hours on a bed in the hallway of an overcrowded hospital, and after some xrays, a knee brace, and a pair of crutches, she was at last discharged.


This left us standing outside; her all bundled in her coat, gloves and winter boots, and me still in my unlaced shoes and hoodie. It had begun to Snow.


My friend was now alternating between pitifully crying at her situation and laughing about how ridiculous it was that this was her life, while I attempted to hail a cab on a Friday night and keep my shivering to a minimum. Thirty or so minutes and a block of helping my friend slowly maneuver down the sidewalk on her new crutches and we were in a cab working our way back to school.


Once back on campus I made her buy me dinner seeing as I had been unable to eat all day because of her.


The point of this story is this. . .


Sometimes you just need to cry for your parents, and are really pissed when they aren't there.
Sometimes you have to be someone else's parent for a while.
Never go assess a situation without a coat, some gloves, a pair of socks and enough money for a cup of coffee.
Being someone's sole companion at a hospital can really make you feel like an adult.
It feels nice to be needed, to a certain extent.

What is a small girl to do?

In a moment of wishful thinking I decided to see if Blogger would load on my computer for what was probably around the 500th time in the last two weeks. I was shocked when it actually worked, and utterly relieved, for I needed to write about an experience I had just had. By the time I had typed the following story out however, Blogger of course stopped working again so I copied it into Word and it has been haunting my sidebar since/ Blogger seems to be working right now so here’s to hoping…

When walking back to my dorm from class I cross between a construction site and a hospital, and in true New York fashion, this entire walkway is covered by scaffolding. It is a short section of walkway, situated directly across from the school, and as I mentioned one of the buildings lining the path is a hospital. For this reason I have never felt particularly worried while passing through, despite the fact that it is not brightly lit, but today changed that.

By the time I got out of class it was already growing dark, and it was raining which made everything appear that much more eerie. I was busy thinking about the two papers I have left to write this week when I noticed a bit of a commotion a few feet ahead of me, a guy walking from the nook near the entrance to the construction site had his head turned back over his shoulder and was yelling violently at a person who was blocked from my view by the oversized construction dumpster. I knew that something was wrong but kept walking until the man passed me, and I passed the dumpster, I then saw a young woman who couldn't have been much older than myself, and who was at least two inches shorter.

My first thought was to mind my own business, but then I noticed that she was sobbing and looked as if she might collapse at any moment. Half a second was all my mind needed before it confirmed that none of the other passersby were going to stop to make sure she was ok, so instead I took two steps off of the sidewalk in her direction and asked "Are you alright?" As I did this a man in his business suit holding his umbrella at his side unopened walked by. He was probably on his way home after a day down at Wall Street and I knew that like most New Yorkers he wanted nothing to do with a stranger, he wasn't going to stop, but our eyes met briefly before he was gone out of sight, covered by the dumpster.

My focus went back to the young woman who hastily hid her face by looking at the ground and claiming that she had simply lost her necklace. I knew she was covering something up, so I asked "Are you sure you're ok, do you need any help?" and simultaneously took one step in her direction. I was close enough now that I could hear her ragged breathing and despite her best attempt to keep the crying out of her voice, I could hear the chokey sound that inevitably happens when a person cries. She seemed intent on shutting me out however, and like the other ten or so people who had passed by since I first noticed her, I also felt it was not my place to get involved in a strangers life, besides the man who was obviously troubling her seemed to have gone about his way and there wasn't much else I could do. This is how I justified my decision to turn and carry on, but I hadn't turned all the way when I heard the angry man again. 

I kept rotating until I had completed a full circle and saw that the man had returned, apparently out of nowhere, and was now shouting, pressed against the sobbing girl who was trying to worm her way out of his grasp without actually looking at him. Outraged at his behavior and emboldened by the knowledge that I was in fact in front of a hospital, I called him out with a rather pathetic "Hey! Leave her alone." It worked. He looked at me and she took a few steps back. I knew I was in a dangerous position, but also quickly calculated that should he become violent, I was far enough away from him that I could probably make it into the hospital before he caught up to me. Comforted by this fact I called out again. "Leave her alone, just go walk away." He promptly told me to fuck off, and the girl chimed in with "It's fine, I just lost my necklace."

It was not fine.

I repeated my request that he simply leave wondering how long it would take me to locate my phone, unlock it and call 911 should he decide to turn around a carry on his ordeal with the woman. He looked back at the woman and I leaned in a bit preparing myself to cause a scene if he became violent with her. His attitude and her response told me that he was not afraid of public violence, and I had an inkling that his violence had started the current situation. Just as I really began to get worried and as he started to yell again, the man with the umbrella also reappeared, "Thank goodness." I thought, "Someone else in New York does actually care, and it just so happens to be a big athletic looking business man with a sturdy looking umbrella."

Umbrella Man chimed in with an "Is everything ok here..." that was less of a question and more of a warning that he would take action if it wasn't. Violent Man began yelling at the woman again, pretending that we weren't here, and without thinking I added my plea of "Just keep walking, just walk away and leave her alone" to the mix. 

Before I even knew it, Umbrella Man was gone, Violent Man was making his way off by squeezing between the dumpster and the scaffolding while still yelling, and the woman unable to stand any longer had collapsed to the ground where she sat crying. I knew she didn't want me to approach her so I stood still and just watched helpless, unable to help. I noticed that Violent Man was standing not far off just behind the dumpster, but I was ready to leave, the last few minutes had drained me. I decided to wait a bit longer and turned a few inches so that I was facing him, but could still see her. I puffed myself up, took as intimidating a stance as I could, and nonchalantly put my hands in my coat pockets, wrapping my right one around my cell phone.

I then proceeded to stare him down, attempting to tell him through my body language that he was wrong and that I was not afraid to stand up to him. Really though I just wanted him to leave so that I could go berate myself for foolishly getting involved in a strangers life when in reality there was very little I could do to help. 

A few minutes passed and the woman, who seemed to be regaining her composure, looked up at me and told me that it was ok, that she was ok, and that I should go. Startled that she could actually say anything other than, "I lost my necklace" I looked at her for a moment before responding "Are you sure?" "Yes." "Do you want me to walk you somewhere?" "No." "Are you really ok?" "Yes, I'm ok now."

She still didn't have the strength to move herself, but I could tell that she really did seem sincere so I looked back at the Violent Man unblinkingly for a few seconds, I knew he couldn't hear what we were saying, but still I was afraid that he would come back when he saw me leave. Right then I noticed a very steady stream of people crossing the street towards the walkway, the rest of the 4:30-6 classes were getting out, students would be walking this path in groups for the next 30 minutes or so. I turned and walked away.

Part of me is really worried that he continued on with his tirade as soon as I left, but the other part is telling me that "there were enough people passing through to prevent him from doing anything too extreme, besides what is a small girl like yourself really to do?"

AHHH! Sorry.

So Blogger has not been friends with my dear Macbook, Seppo. The last week and a half or so I have been compleatly unable to access my acount, and finally I became so frustrated that I decided to take my five free minutes of time and attempt logging in on a school computer. WHADAYANO! It works. Phew. In my overdramatic style I was starting to get worried that I would never be able to log on and rant about my life ever again! I have a lot to share, aka to rant about in this "young adult" phase of my life. That term is such an oxymoron. Unfourtunatly I do not have time to express my thoughts fully right now, because my presence was just requested else where, but once I do get some time (probably not until Thursday night/Friday) I shall indeed locate a Blogger compatable device and put my life back on display for those of you who have not abandoned me in my semi-forced absence. Until then...

Thanks for reading,
Birdy

Harry Potter.

Last night was the release of Part 1 of the "Epic Finale" of the Harry Potter saga, and indeed it was Epic. It seemed oddly fitting that this particular film ended up being the first Harry Potter midnight premier that I attended outside of Arizona, and as I left the theatre I seemed capable of saying very little other than "Damn, DAMN!"

As excited as I was for the film, I was also extremely sad, this film really does represent the begining of the end of my childhood. So long has my life been influenced and inspired by J.K. Rowlings novels & characters and the subsequent film adaptations. The first American version of a Harry Potter book was published in 1998, and I read my first Harry Potter (number 3, The Prisoner of Azkaban) not long after when I was in the third grade. 

Fifth grade was when I became thoroughly obsessed, not without the encouragement of my two best friends. (Shout out to Ben, who I hope saw the Part 1 even though he is in Korea!) I related particularly well to the novels of the lost little boy with this double life he didn't know about, because of these two best friends. As mentioned in an earlier post, my best friends growing up were a set of twin boys, and together we created our own little Harry , Ron, and Hermione trio. Much like the group in the books, my two friends helped keep me going each day with their support, their family as a whole becoming my own version of The Weasleys.

With the release of the first Harry Potter movie in 2001, my love for the characters grew deeper, now they weren't just figures in my head, but real living characters I could share and watch with others.

Do the math, Harry Potter has been such a force for over half of my life. The books were released over a period of just under ten years (with the final novel, number 7, being released in 2007). With every successive release of books four through seven I devoured the words on the page, repeatedly. I dressed up to attend the midnight release parties and ordered the each online as soon as it was allowed, I even went so far as thievery, stealing the first three books from my older sister who had gotten them as presents, but had never actually read them.

By the time that Part 2 of Deathly Hallows is released next year the films will have also spanned ten years of my life.

Leaving the movie theatre at 2:30 on Friday morning a discussion ensued about how important Harry Potter really has been to my generation. We could think of no other generation that was bonded together for so long by one thing, let alone one series of books. The conclusion was made that while those both older and younger than ourselves may enjoy Harry Potter, it will never mean as much to them as it has to  us, to the ones who literally grew up with Harry, Ron, Hermione and all of their peers at Hogwarts. Because of this I do hereby (un)officially claim the Harry Potter saga as the marker for my generation, for us who devoured thousands of pages about The Boy Who Lived, while learning how to live ourselves.

Thanks for reading,

Birdy

Someday

Someday I will have an apartment. In it will be a vast, eclectic, collection of cereal, and a dog. The dog's name will most likely be stolen from the obscure depths of some piece of literature, that in bringing back to the surface in the form of a dog's name will show just how intelligent I am. There will also be a large collection of books, and if I have any self-will, there will be no TV, or at the very least a small, out of date, awkwardly placed television in the kitchen, just so that I can watch the news while eating breakfast, which I will eat several times a day, thanks to my impressive cereal collection. There will be orchids in the window panes, and perhaps, another person or two strategically placed down the hall to stave off loneliness.


Today I borrow a dorm. It is not my home, but instead a small box in which I have packed a few possessions and myself for storage until Someday. I have a penguin whose name Zeus, was chosen by a stranger and copied at his feet, and a dinosaur named Felicia who wears her price tag as if it were a pendant, around her neck. I have two boxes of cereal, one is empty, and by tomorrow morning the other will be as well. Books are numerous, but most have been read several times or are purposefully neglected due to their connections with my classes. I have more screens than I approve of, and can't seem to help but feel that the stranger who shares my box is an invader, coming in to condense my life even further. There is no kitchen, there is no art on the walls save for a small fiber glass flower. The rest hides in a suit case, the small box and its occupants are not worthy of the presence of art on the walls. There are no orchids, and the blinds to the window seem permanently drawn shut. The only other body causes resentment, it reminds me that I am not alone, but does nothing to fight the loneliness.

New Post Coming

There will indeed be a new post coming. The blog stork will probably drop it off sometime tonight or early tomorrow. Until then I got you some pictures to tide you over.

These are nothing much, just a few shots I've snapped this semester. I figured I'd give you something nice and simple to help you prepare yourself for tonight's rant!

It's a lovely day in New York...

and these are the things on my mind.

Why is it that handwritten letters seem so much more precious than any other form of communication?

The weather outside is lovely. The sun is out, the air is cool and crisp, and New York just seems so happy and alive.

The NEACURH conference at SUNY Oneanta was a wonderful experience, but it left me with a sense of unraveling. I can't yet tell if what will remain after the unraveling will be good or bad.

Why are some people content with raising their children to be ignorant and rude?

Words impassion me. More and more am I realizing their loveliness, charm and the pleasure they evoke.

If I commandeered a Harry Potter and the deathly Hallows Part 1 banner off of a telephone both, would that make me a bad person?

What's on your mind?

Whoa. Weird.

Taking a break from studying some serious serious shit, I decided to check up on my blog, and post a little quickie, when I noticed, that I am two views away from 500 all time views. This blows my mind.  I've only been writing this for a month. Crazy, but cool. Crazy cool.


Thanks for reading!
Birdy (-:

This last week

This last week has been amazing. One week ago I started with my first day at the theatre for my Ethnography project, I was nervous and excited, and they made me feel like a welcome guest, showing me all of the little intricacies that make the theatre work, less than two minutes after I got there they were cracking jokes, offering me coffee and discussing where I was to go during the show. I left several hours later overwhelmed with excitement and as soon as I was in the street and had put a bit of distance between myself and the patrons of the theatre I did my little jumpy dance train wreck sort of thing, I got a few stares but didn't mind, I felt the need to share my emotions with the world an the jumpy dance is my preferred method.


On Sunday I spent time with friends. I went with one of my friends to visit with another who was on her lunch break at work. It was nice to just hangout and talk while walking around New York. This little adventure reconfirmed my belief that I don't get out of the FiDi often enough. I then spent several hours in meetings, not as much fun, but they made me feel productive.


I worked on a project all day Monday (and also did laundry, gotta love having clean clothes to start off your week), Tuesday was school and writing things for midterms, Wednesday saw me back at the theatre.


Wednesday was even more exciting and nerve wracking than Saturday. I was worried that they might all have gotten over their interests in myself and my project, that they would not be as interested in showing me things, or being interviewed, or that they simply would have forgotten I was coming and I would not be allowed in. 


All of these were wrong, I entered and was allowed to just go in without an escort, where I was quickly thrown into a group of people who were all waiting to be interviewed, and behind me I could here the others arguing about were I would go. Even more than the first time I visited, I felt like a new foreign toy that one of the kids had brought home, and subsequently every other kid was interested in. Most of the kids wanted time with the new toy, some just wanted to stare at it and ask others questions about it, and others still just wanted to prod it see what it was made of.  I did not mind being that toy. Wednesday involved much more for me, I felt as if I had been accepted in and it was decided I was worthy of truly seeing their lives. More people talked to me, asked questions or answered mine. I followed one of the SMs during part of the run and watched the set changes,  the prop set ups and all of the back stage magic, at intermission I was lucky to be privy to what seemed to be a rather selective and hilarious exchange with one of the actors. I then watched the rest of the show while sitting at the conductors side, here I was told stories, advice information, and all other sorts of things that are hard to categorize. Talking with the conductor really made me understand a whole lot about theatre, and the world in general. it was brilliant.


Thursday was all preparing for Friday, Friday was all preparing for Haunted House, and Saturday #2 was all about sleep. 


I learned and did a lot this week, and one of the things I learned is that the most passionate people often seem the most child like to others, yet they tend to hold great amounts of wisdom. 


I would rather be wise, passionate and child like, than old, frumpy, and foolish.

The introduction to the book that I will probably never write.

Hello. My name is Robyn. The friends I had in High School call me Robs, Roby, or Mamma Robs. The friends I have in College call me Birdy, my friend Jake calls me Danner, and my dad calls me Junior. No one else calls me Junior, because if they do, I will punch them in the face and they know it. The exception to this is an old friend who once upon a time mentored me in the art of stage-managing youth theatre. He worked hard to earn the privilege of calling me Junior though, so don’t get any ideas.

Now that you know who I am, let me fill in other details of my life that I often find fruitless to give out. I am currently 19 years old, I was born and raised in Arizona, I had mediocre grades in high school, I love theatre, I played soccer until I broke my foot, then I kept playing until I had surgery, then I auditioned for a play. I got into that play, that was my freshman year in high school, theatre has been my metaphorical security blanket ever since. I have what people often refer to as issues of concentration, where as I have come to refer to it as issues of getting bored with mundane stupidities. I also am a self proclaimed socially awkward person, with a good ability to determine the character of other people. As I have gotten older I have found that my train of speech more closely follows my train of thought than when I was younger, and that I honestly don’t give a crap about censoring my grammar. It sucks, I know. Either I didn’t pay attention during grammar lessons when I was younger, or the grammar lessons were simply few and far between. I also love ending sentences with prepositions. And starting new ones with the word and.

It often takes me hours to fall asleep at night due to the swirling mist of random thoughts, ideas and stories that filter through my brain. During the day however I tend to make feeble attempts to filter these thoughts into words to be placed on paper. As a general rule of thumb, I don’t finish what I start writing, and I am not very good at it. However, since I was a small child I have found that starting to write out my silly thinks often removes the think from my head making room for the other thinks. How crazy must I seem right now? I am jumping all over the place, breaking several rules of writing and providing little information in return. That is not true. The first two points were true, yes, but the third is not. You see my ramblings provide a sense of what is to come in the following pages (assuming I ever finish them) and an insight into my brain that I am fairly certain many a psychologist will attempt to explain as some weird pathological thing. Anyways, back to my story that doesn’t read like a story.

I have one full sibling, a sister who is two years older than myself, and then a collection of half siblings (four in total to date) who are all much younger than me and not currently old enough to read this, therefore they cannot be offended by my collectively naming them. I grew up primarily with my Fantastic Father, my Strict but Supportive Step-mother, my Sassy Sister, and my (currently) Smaller Sassafras half sister, who seems to have inherited equal parts from my older sister and myself. While this information is meek, scant and generally lacking it is all you will get for now. I hope that you will suffer through this introduction to what I like to think of as “the good part.” The following pages contain everything from stories, poems, songs, plays, doodles, quotes, conversations and thoughts that I have managed to put on paper over the last few years of my short life. They collectively contain an insight  into who I am as a person, and how I perceive the world, culture and people around me. Most of what you will find behind this page are half ideas incomplete in their presentation, however I think they are good ideas and my paranoid self is going to warn you right now, if you attempt to steal, use, borrow or modify any of them with out my permission, you will end up regretting it. Remember that part at the beginning where I mentioned punching people in the face? Pointless pause for those who have decided to relocate the afore mentioned passage in paragraph one…. Moving on. I will implement that mentality of mine with lawyers, legal jargon and bad publicity for you. Now that you understand my terms and conditions for allowing you to continue reading please, do continue.

Everything is split up into to categories, such as poems, essays, quotes etc. and each piece is dated, or given an approximation of when I put it down on paper. This should give you an idea of my age at the time. Also, interspersed throughout the works are my random and rambling commentary to help you better understand what I was thinking when I originally wrote it, or what I am thinking now whilst editing it into one collection.

Sections, From my moleskin, From my notebook, essays I faked my way through, and the grade I got, poetry, songs, plays, quotes, extra doodles and “art.”

This post is random, I know. I wrote this over the summer while house sitting. It was dark, and scary and I was alone in someone else's unfamiliar home. For the most part I wrote everything in this passage as it cam into my head, therefore most of it either makes no sense or is completely random. I was reading through it however and most of what I wanted to include in my book I have added to this Blog, or intend to add to this Blog. I copy and pasted this word for word from my notes, with the exception of removing my last name from the second sentence. Because I have pridefully refused to edit this post there are several mistakes and areas that make no sense what so ever. Good. This is how my mind works, embrace it or move on. Part of me is also thinking that I will delete this post at some point over the next few days, so don't be surprised if it disappears. Also, sorry it is so long. I like to ramble. In fact this excerpt came from a document entitled, Ramblings of an Inarticulate Teenager. (I wrote it back when I was still a teenager.)

Notebook doodle #2

Here are some notebook doodles from the last few weeks. None of them were actually drawn in my notebook, but all of them were drawn in class!

Pink Gel Pen on New York Times (randomness from Is/Pal. last week)

Irrigating the desert.
(We were discussing advancements to irrigation in Egypt during the Middle Kingdom, I threw the pyramids in out of habit. Two weeks ago in His. of Af.)

Dinosaurs, Super Boy, Hatshepsut and Wegener.
(I apparently had Next to Normal stuck in my head while focusing on these notes. This is three class periods of doodles from the first two weeks of His. of Af.)

Yeah, so these are more of my random doodles for you. I may be posting some of my actual class notes later this week, and when I get some time I may actually right something!! Who knows.


Thanks for "reading,"
Birdy (-:

New section/Notebook doodles

So I have decided to create a new series of posts dedicated to things you might find in my notebooks. Most of these will focus on doodles, but some may be notes on the topic, or notes for myself. This just seemed like a good way to give everyone who is not me insight into how my mind works at various points in my life. While I do think it is rather narcissistic of me to assume that anyone actually cares about my notebook doodles (or really anything I post on here),  I shall submit them to the universe, allowing my narcissism to win this round.

For the first set I have chosen three doodles from the notebook that is right in front of me.

Az v. NY  (during Hist. of Africa last week)

To clarify, it says... NY- "Damn it's raining again." "I know, lame"
AZ- "AHH it's raining!" "Oh my god! Oh my god! It's wet!"

Monotheism v. Polytheism (during World Civs. first semester Freshman yr.)

I'm fairly certain the Professor described monotheism as being a large creature that ate everything else up, I don't actually remember though.

Magic Carpet (during Hist. of Africa while watching video on Islam today)

Self explanatory I feel.

It's Offical

Here is a short list of things that are officially official in my life right now...


1. I am going to Iceland for ten hopefully fantastic days over my spring break.
2. I am participant observing at a very cool theatre for my very cool Ethnography class this Saturday.
3. I have said Ethnography class in ten minutes, and I am still in my room, in my pajamas.
4. Iceland, ten days, spring break. SO EXCITED. You don't even know.
5. Also, so broke after buying my ticket to Iceland, but I am excellent at living off of a meal card.


(-:
Birdy!

Why Emma Watson has my life.

Let me start by saying that I think Emma Watson is fantastic, I truly admire her and I wish her the best in life, but secretly I am a bitter ball of misguided hate. Hate is a strong and inaccurate word in this case, but I shall use it anyways because it makes me feel empowered and helps relieve the above mentioned bitterness. 

Now that you are aware of the very one sided love-hate relationship I have with Emma Watson, please do let me explain why I feel the way I do. This is a post I have been wanting to do since I first started this blog, but I have held off in order to be sure that I really had everything down pat in my own head, to prevent has much confusion as possible on paper. All of this being said here is why Emma Watson has my life.

Before you begin reading I should not that italicized section are stories of my own life that often hold little if any relevance to what the other things I am writing, so feel free to skip over them and cut down on your reading experience!

Emma and I are very close in age, we were both born in 1990 (I'm to lazy to look up her actual birthdate at the moment, plus that's a bit to creepy, but I believe she is five or six months older). Sharing a birth year is the only similarity between the two of us, other than that she has lead a life I am envious of, not a perfect life no, but a life of excellent adventures and experiences, starting with where she was born.

Emma Watson was born in France (somewhere in Paris I believe), and she later moved to England. This is epicly cool because like many other Americans my age I am OBSESSED with foreigners. 

Random unnecessary anecdote: When I decided upon entering high school that I was going to take French instead of Spanish someone asked me "Why, especially when Spanish is much more useful in the States, especially Arizona?" I responded "Uhmm, because I don't plan on living in Arizona for ever, I want to move to Europe."

After moving to England, Emma lived her life for a few years and then on one magical day in around 1999, young Emma was given a fantastic opportunity, the chance to audition for the film version of the books that defined my childhood. Well as if being born in France and raised in England wasn't reason enough to 'hate' Emma Watson, her landing the role of Hermione Granger in the film adaptations was.

Random unnecessary anecdote #2: Growing up I had two best friends, both boys, a set of twins. I spent so much time at their house that I had a change of clothes and a pair of pajamas stashed in one of their drawers for the all to common nights when we would trick our parents into letting us have a sleepover. Sometimes I would spend entire weekends at their house, getting in and out of trouble doing school projects, chores, and of course reading, talking about, watching and reenacting Harry Potter. The younger of the two was always Harry (he fit the description marvelously) the older was always Ron (he did not fit the looks, but played his part well) and I was Hermione, complete with ridiculously unmanageable hair. If I can find some pictures of us in our outfits, I'll post them.

Emma preformed exceedingly well in her role and at the same time managed to do well in school. Did I mention I 'hate' her? Because up until this point in my life I just thought she was very cool, and then in all of her awesomeness she was accepted into Brown University.

Random unnecessary anecdote #3: Brown, for anyone who doesn't know me, is one of my most prominent obsessions, I fell in LOVE with the school after visiting it and sitting in on a class during the inevitable "fit as many college tours as possible into one weekend" trip.

When I found out that Emma had decided to attend Brown, I also decided that she lived my life, all of these things that I loved and looked at longingly from afar were things that define who she is in the public eye. 

Random unnecessary anecdote #4: I thought I had gotten over my initial jealousy of Emma when I went to visit some friends in Boston a month or so into my freshman year, nope I was wrong. While in Boston we came across several large adds for the British trench coat company, Burberry. The relevance? The adds centered not around models, but around Emma. She was accompanied by her brother and a series of other young British males (who if I'm not mistaken are rather well known in the U.K.). Now I have never paid much attention to Burberry, I am not a fashionable person nor do I have the ducats to spend on their products, but the adds stirred up my bitter 'hatred' again, WHY DOES SHE GET TO BE SO PRETTY AND FASHIONABLE, AS WELL AS INTELLIGENT, TALENTED, AND FROM FRANCE/ENGLAND?! Not fair, if you ask me.

Overall I think Emma has thus far grown up gracefully, she has yet to display any signs of the tragic downfalls so common among young celebrities these days, she is focusing on her education above her career, she is not afraid to be herself (her new short, short haircut is another point of jealousy. RUA#5 I had a bowl cut for a long time, and it NEVER made me look cute, ever.) She is a great example of Harry Potter's influence on my life, because I do admire her and although she is less than a year older than me, I see her as a great example of a flawless transition into adulthood.

Thanks for reading,

Birdy

Sorry.

I have neglected you dear Blog. I have been busy, thoughts have been plentiful, and yet the urges to write have been few and far between. This is not your fault however Blog, this is because writing essays for class, and emails for various things that one may need to write long boring emails for, temporally sucked the fun out of writing. Also, I went to Boston this weekend, and not once did I log onto the internet the entire time, excepting a few minutes on the bus ride back that ended when the wifi stopped working suddenly. I do not have much time before I fall asleep, but I just wanted to let you know that I have not forgotten about you, that you do still matter, and that I hope we can still be friends after my week long neglection of you. Yes, I know that neglection is not a real word, it is however now a fake word, a neologism if you will. (For those of you less obsessed with random words, well I shall let you enjoy the adventure of looking neologism it up for yourself.) To make it up to you Blog, I shall write at least one decent (in my own opinion at least, I understand that writing is a subjective art) post, possibly even two, because I have several that I have been meaning to write for a while now. Please do accept my humble apology and forgive me. I shall visit with you more on the morrow. 


Birdy


P.S. I got you a present because, as I said I am obsessed with random words, and as I didn't say, I am obsessed with random facts, so I hope you enjoy my small token of my apology. I am also obsessed with commas, even those essays that I previously mentioned were told so.

Anonymous Coment

First off, hello, thank you for being the first official comment on this particular blog. Seriously, thank you, I was starting to think I was on my own here. Secondly, great question.


I've decide to answer your question as a post, and not simply as another comment for one main reason, it was also a question that I myself asked. Just to make it easy for any other possible readers here was the question...


Anonymous said...

Why did you choose the premiere of (what I assume to be) the first movie? Wouldn't the second film make more sense as it will be the conclusion of the Harry Potter Saga as our generation knows it.[sic]

As previously mentioned, this was something that I myself wondered. Before starting this blog I knew I needed a point of reference, something of symbolic value with a set date to try and figure adulthood out by. I decided on using the U.S. premier of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1 as this symbolic standard. 

Part 1 was chosen for three reasons: First, I liked that it premiered not long after my birthday, thus condensing my quest to find out what it means to be an adult. Second, I figured that if I wasn't satisfied with my findings by the time Part 1 premiered, I could then use Part 2 as a back up, giving myself a few more months to navigate my way into adulthood. Third, I decided that Part 1 is really the beginning of the end, and true it isn't the absolute conclusion of the saga thus far, BUT it is the turning point of the series. I don't want to leave any spoilers but the events and turmoil that I am assuming will take place in Part 1 represent (in my "weird brain") the turmoil and changes that I am currently experiencing in my quest for adulthood.

I hope this answers your question, and I apologize, I am half asleep and fairly certain that most of this is incomprehensible, so if that is the case, leave another comment and I will fix it! (-;


Also, I am not sure why there are so many numbers (first, second etc) I guess I'm just in a counting mood, and also also, sorry if the font/spacing shows up all weird, I'm also not sure why that is happening, also also also wondering if anyone will catch my not so sneaky reference.

Love.

Sometimes you love a person for no other reason then that you know they deserve the love more than anyone else you know. You are not the only person who loves them, you are one of many. You love inexplicably with a fierce passion this person whom you hardly know, but it is the closest equivalent to love at first sight that you will ever know, and they are worthy. You are happy when they succeed, when they do more than you even dreamed possible, more than you will ever do, and you cannot be jealous of them not matter how hard you may try, because they are a bred above the rest, they are the epitome of love, and you love them for it. This is why I love you, why I miss you, and why I am glad that you are my friend.

Story Time

AKA my week so far in eclectic, often uninteresting stories.


1. My parents bought a dog for my little sister, on (or very close to) my 20th birthday. I saw this as an inexcusable slap in the face, and boy did it sting. 


You see, I asked my parents for a dog from right around the time I moved in with them until I went away to college (approximately 13 years). The answer was always "No, this family will NEVER get a dog."According to them dogs were to hard to take care of. Still, I asked every birthday, every Christmas, every time I saw a stray, and I even used to visit the shelter and moon over all of the dirty mutts, I would have taken anything from a Chihuahua to a Saint Bernard, as long as it was mine. Then one day Joan came home with Penny, an alien-dog hybrid that someone had found on the street. I thought, "There's no way we are keeping this, my family hates dogs." (I was like eight and very fond of dramatic yet simple logic.) I was wrong we kept Penny, and I kept asking for a dog of my own, one that I could pick out, that I could name, that would sleep at the foot of my bed. The answer was always a definite and unyielding "No. This family will NEVER get a dog, except for Penny." Despite my persistence, my letters to Santa, all of my reasoning, crying and arguing, it was the same answer every time. 


Then when I was about eleven I was informed that a new little bundle of joy would be brought into the family. I distinctly remember using this as my passionate argument for a dog later that year, the exchange went something like this... "No, you can't have a dog!" "How come you guys got to get a dog AND a baby?" "You'll have fun with a new baby in the house." "I don't want a baby, I want a dog damnit! You want a baby, babies are harder to take care of than dogs, WHY CAN YOU GET A BABY BUT I CAN'T GET A DOG?!" Ok I toned it down for this, I believe I actually said things that were rather inappropriate at the time... Moving on. I cried so hard when I found this out, and although I love my little sister, I still don't see what logic they had in thinking that a baby would be easier to take care of than a dog.


Damn near every book I ever read growing up involved a dog as an influential character, as such I did (and secretly still do) believe that a childhood is not complete without a dog. Because of this I am still pissed that I never got one.

Flash forward to five days ago, I am on Facebook the day after my birthday, and what do I see? Pictures of a cute, BIG, puppy sitting on my parents floor. I quickly read the caption to discover that the dog was their new gift to my little sister, apparently in exchange for her not getting a little brother. 

I was already in a vulnerable state after just having faced down my scariest birthday yet, and to see that just overwhelmed me. To be honest it was all I could do not to start crying. Literally the most important thing to me throughout my entire childhood was getting a dog, and it had been denied me year after year, only to be given to my little sister, on my birthday. (This is something that my generation calls a "Bitch Move.")


Instead of crying however I analyzed my thoughts (how Adult of me), what exactly about all of this made me so upset? Once I realized why, I wrote my dad a very thought out letter about my feelings, calling it "Are you shitting me?" (What can I say, the dramatic little kid came out in me.) 


Now since most people in my family probably think that I have shared too much information already, I won't share the whole letter, but I will tell you the gist. The fact that my little sister got a dog on my birthday, upset me so much because it made me feel like she is loved more than I was. (It also made me feel like she already acts too spoiled, and this wasn't going to help.) Now whether or not this is true isn't the issue, the issue is that my heart broke when I saw those pictures of the cute puppy that I never got to have, and as much as I love my dad and the response I got back from him regarding my email, I seriously don't think I will ever completely get over that feeling.


Now, this is the eclectic part of Story Time that I mentioned...


2. I received an email from the Stage Manager of a very prominent show regarding my request to observe what goes on "behind the curtain" so to speak, in the theatre community. The response essentially said that I was welcome to pick some shows that I could attend, and we would go from there to pick one that fits in with the "rotations" (I'm only vaguely aware of what this term means, but hopefully that's one of the things observing will help me understand better). In other words, I now have a theatre to observe for my Ethnography project. This. Is. Awesome. End of story.


3. I had to write field site notes about the community that I chose for my Ethnography, my Professor edited it, leaving comments and such and her main concern was that she thought I spelt theatre wrong. No, I lived in a theatre for four years, it is actually one of the few words I know how to spell without expunging massive amounts of brain cells. Although apparently expunging is one of those words as well. Weird. Instead of telling her though, I decided to let it slide (I still got a perfect grade) and instead include why I end theatre with re in my final Ethnography.


4. I originally planed on going to bed three hours ago. Instead I spent a great deal of time looking up the costs of flights from New York to essentially everywhere, and then after a text from my dad I spent about an hour writing this over worded, ridiculously long shlop. Sorry dad, I know this probably wasn't what you had in mind when you mentioned my next blog update two and a half hours ago. Ya win some ya lose some.




Tomorrow I will actually edit this, I know I made a lot of stupid mistakes in my writing. I may also just update it a bit with another little story in hopes of childishly and ineffectively getting back at my parents.




Oh, also it should be noted that I am going to Reykjavík for Spring Break, just FYI.

Adulthood Wisdom #1

When you are an Adult, it is not ok to punch someone in the face, even if they are a meany pants.

Penguins and Mass Organized Chaos

Paying his fare

A little lost in the big city

 Unlike most kids my age, I didn't go out and party on my birthday, shocking right? Instead I tried to go see a Broadway show (I want to punch those people who won FOUR sets of lotto tickets and then rubbed it in our faces), and then when that failed, we took my penguin Zeus on an excellent adventure around Times Square. I've included a few shots of Zeus in the subway, he also made pizza, fell in love, made friends, rode a rickshaw, got in some trouble with the police, and had many other adventures!

Not following directions

Chad Nicholson

The day after my birthday I went with a friend to participate in the Improv Everywhere Mp3 Experiment Seven. Over 4,000 people showed up it was great! One of the photographers for the event took this picture of our mummy dance party in Bryant park! I was some where near the center (right next to the guy who's birthday the event was celebrating too!) It was great, and although I lost my Ipod, I still had a blast and am so excited that I got to be part of such a HUGE event! More info, pictures, video etc from the event can be found here http://improveverywhere.com/. What a crazy weekend so far!!