Please excuse my ranting. It is, on this occasion, necessary, unless everyone wants to hear about how Beatnik Belle went on an insane rampage in DeRoy the night before the last day of school.
Interlochen is brilliant. I'm not denying that. And it is a thousand times better than my old school. Here, your friends understand you even if not all of the adults do. Here, you have inside jokes with your teachers (some of them, anyway). Here you are given room to grow, to explore, to understand...
...until someone higher on the food chain doesn't like it.
Remember a few weeks ago when I blogged about shooting my thesis film, and made a few tongue-in-cheek references to arguing with my thesis advisor? That was, sadly enough, not a joke. What's really sad about that is that the man in question is truly a good person. He is not an evil, censorship-promoting troll. The problem is, he and I had extremely different opinions, and he is my teacher, and I had too much on the line to really fight for what I wanted. And looking back, I realize that there were things I could have done that I was too afraid to do. I can't change that. Much as I'd like to, I can't go back in time.
Here are the facts:
I wrote a screenplay over the summer and decided to use it for my junior thesis. Good idea, right? Maybe not. I had to condense thirteen pages into five. They call this process "baby-killing" for a reason. It's painful to condense ANYTHING. Really. But if you're going to do it, you'd damn well better keep some semblance of the story. I did not have that option. Almost literally.
The screenplay in question was called "Alien Water Torture," a title taken directly from a line of dialogue. In the story, a shy, awkward boy named Gavin falls for his roommate/childhood best friend Ronnie, who just so happens to be his polar opposite. The script is mostly a collection of awkward but intimate moments between the two of them, coming to a head when Ronnie, beginning to notice Gavin's affection for him, has a nightmare that a group of aliens is torturing him into admitting that he is in love with Gavin. Thanks to my utter lack of skill concerning dialogue (no, that is NOT self-hating there, that is just a FACT. I will make no secret of the fact that I HATE HATE HATE dialogue and if I had my way I would just let my actors come up with their own damn dialogue), the nightmare scene had comedic undertones, something that I greatly hoped my thesis advisor could assist me with. At the end of the script, Ronnie coerces Gavin into confessing his feelings and they have their happy ending and get together.
This was not meant to be a romantic comedy. It was meant to be something sweet, indie, and touching. The problem was, there wasn't enough time to make the story really WORK in five or six pages. Initially I cut the script down to the bare bones: See Gavin and Ronnie together, Ronnie finds out Gavin MIGHT be in love with him, Ronnie has nightmare, Gavin confesses, they get together, the end. "Not good enough," I was told. "There must be more STORY."
What I was not told was how I could do that.
Workshop was bad enough. I would get nailed every time. Why doesn't Ronnie already know? Why does Gavin choose to tell him NOW? If Ronnie really is in love with Gavin why does it take so long for him to admit it? Why does he wait for Gavin to make the first move if he knows that Gavin is so shy?
The biggest question was, why aliens? The answer: Because I don't like zombies and werewolves are too cliche.
No, really.
See, the idea of the film is not "gay love story." No, seriously, it's not! The idea is that it's frightening to fall in love with your best friend, no matter what gender you are and what gender they are. The whole same-sex thing served two purposes: One, they had to be roommates for this to work, and two, I thought it less of a cliche than a girl falling for her childhood guy friend. The aliens represent fear of losing your friend, and fear of admitting to your friend that you like them. Believe me, I have been here before, and anyone who has heard me ranting about "the Man in Black" knows JUST what I mean.
Rest assured that this will not turn into me saying "I could've made a great film if left alone." Hell no. The first thesis is overwhelming for ANYONE. It's NUTS. Writing, directing, and editing a film is not as easy as YouTube would have you believe. You need help. You need guidance. I'll be the first to admit, I needed help.
What I did NOT need was to hear "no" every time I went in for a thesis meeting.
"NO, they can't get together in the end." Why? "It's completely unrealistic. If a closeted boy found out that his friend had a crush on him he would freak out and call the other guy a fag and tell him to get away."
Not my Ronnie! Ronnie would never do that. Ronnie loves Gavin. Ronnie's been Gavin's protector since they met in kindergarten. Ronnie wouldn't call Gavin names and tell him to go away.
"NO, there can't be a kiss at the end!" Why? See answer to Why #1. With an added, "It doesn't further the story, you just want to get them smooching! It's what YOU want, not what the STORY wants."
Seriously. If you found out that your crush wanted you, even if you were nervous, would you let them kiss you? I know I would.
"NO, there cannot be an alien dream sequence!" Why? "Because it's impractical to film." (Well, you have a point there...) "Also, it doesn't further the story and it will only confuse your audience."
Really? Because just about everyone I asked outside the workshop knew exactly what it meant...
Finally, the story changed so it was unrecognizeable. I realized two days before my rehearsal that it was not the story I wanted at all. I'd tried to compromise. I took out the aliens, painful as it was. I changed the ending so that Ronnie rejected Gavin initially, then came back and admitted he was wrong. BIG MISTAKE. This just opened up more "why's."
"WHY is he rejecting him?"
That was the last straw. What I badly wanted to say was, I should ask you that! It was YOUR idea! YOU are the one who said that Ronnie would freak out at first! YOU are the one who said there shouldn't be a kiss! YOU are the one who essentially told me to take out everything that made sense in this script! Would you like to just write this for me? Here, have at it, because I'm sick of trying to write a script that YOU like! How about a script that I like? Uh, whose thesis film is this again?That's right, MINE!
Instead I meekly said, "Because he's scared?" Which everyone would know if you'd let me keep the aliens.
"So WHY does he come back?"
"Because...he loves Gavin. He really does." Which I've told you a million times, you freak.
Not good enough.
In desperation I added a scene at the end which showed Gavin meeting a new boy, Jackson, who was openly gay and had a pretty obvious crush on Gavin. Ronnie was "straight" and rejected Gavin clean, didn't look back. However, being me, I just had to put in that question "is he really...?" by giving Ronnie a talent for sketching, which he uses to draw a picture of himself with Gavin. In the end, he threw it away.
Wow. How's that for a happy ending? (Sarcasm hand is DEFINITELY raised.)
Please understand - I am not dissing my thesis advisor. Really, I am not. I love his work and I respect his opinions. It's just that I feel like that feeling maybe isn't mutual, because I felt condescended to and I don't like that. It's really sad, because he is a really talented filmmaker and I think if we'd been a better match in terms of personality, we might've been able to work together really well.
The problem with me is that I am a smartass. I really am, and I have no problem admitting that. I am strongly opinionated, and if I have an idea for something I don't want to let it go. The problem is that my thesis advisor was the same way.
What is it about opposites attracting?
But now I know. Next time we have an artist-in-rez who I like, I will ask their opinions. I will take their advice. But I won't ask them to be my advisor unless I am POSITIVE we can work together. Sound like a plan?
WARNING: SPOILERS. ONLY READ ON IF YOU HAVE ALREADY SEEN THE FILM.
So there will be some confusion about this particular matter. For those of you left scratching your heads after the thesis screening, here are all your questions answered (yes, these are all questions I have actually been asked):
1. If Ronnie is in love with Gavin, why does he reject him?
Two words: Snap decision. It's one of those moments where you want someone but you know you shouldn't. Basically, Ronnie DOES want Gavin--like, a lot--but it's been pounded into his head that it is WRONG to have a same-sex crush and if someone of your gender admits they like you in that way, you should BOOK IT. So Ronnie freaks out and makes the snap decision to walk away.
2. Why does Gavin ask Jackson out in the end?
Because he is, as my mum would say, "settling." Ronnie is, as far as he knows, straight. Jackson is pretty obviously gay. Gavin wants to feel loved, to use the common cliche, and since it's not hard to tell that Jackson has a crush on him, Gavin thinks this is his only shot.
3. Who the hell IS Jackson?
Jackson is a boy who has a crush on Gavin, but who has never gone for him because he knew--as did everyone else--that Gavin was in love with Ronnie. He's actually quite similar to Ronnie--very self-assured, bordering on arrogant, the kind of person that everyone THINKS is a slacker but they're really not. The difference is that he has completely accepted himself and knows exactly who he is--Ronnie's still a bit stuck on that.
Straight up: Jackson is a plot device. Little more. I will never, ever love him as much as I love Ronnie and Gavin. Sorry, Jackson. :(
4. Shy, sensitive Gavin suddenly and randomly decides to spill that he's in love with Ronnie. What the hell?
Sadly, that is another plot device. I went through so many variations of how Ronnie discovers that Gavin is in love with him, each more awkward than the last. The least-awkward way was for someone to be overheard discussing whether Gavin and Ronnie were dating. However, there wasn't enough time to put this into the script, so I went for the second-least awkward option, which was for Gavin to grow some balls and spit it out.
The difference is that there WAS some artistic choice in this one. I figured that since Gavin is so much like me (apparently; seeing as everyone insists that Gavin IS me and here I thought changing the protagonist to a male character would eliminate this problem) and I have taken the hard route of marching up to a guy and informing him that I like him, why can't my protagonist? Believe me, Gavin didn't want to. When I told him what he was going to do he looked at me like I was nuts and said, "Um, I can't even tell Ronnie that I don't want to clean the soundstage--how can I possibly tell him I'm in love with him? That makes no sense."
And I said, "Shut up, you sound like my thesis advisor. You're doing this, damn it," and I made him do it.
...And that is my insane moment for the day. MOVING ON!
5. So Gavin goes for Jackson and Ronnie gets left in the dust. What next? Do Ronnie and Gavin EVER make up?
Ooh, I love this one... Okay. In the original script, Ronnie walked away but came back when he realized that Gavin was his best friend and he DID love him and he COULDN'T walk away. That's kaput now, so in my mind here is what happens afterward:
--Jackson and Gavin have their date. Gavin realizes that while Jackson is sweet, he has absolutely no feelings for the poor guy whatsoever and is forced to admit that he only likes Jackson as a friend.
--While Gavin is on his date, Ronnie sulks on the soundstage (this is in the film). He realizes that no matter how allegedly "wrong" it is, he loves Gavin and he can't change that. He decides that Gavin should know this.
--Ronnie seeks Gavin out and finds him at the waterfront. He offers Gavin the picture that he drew of the two of them together and admits that he wants to be with Gavin. Gavin, overjoyed, kisses him without a second thought. Ronnie is so shocked he nearly runs away again. This time Gavin stops him and basically says "What the hell is your problem?" Ronnie spills his guts. Kiss again. The end.
...Doesn't that sound so much better?
6. Where the heck does the title "Possession" come from?
The simple meaning: At one point in the film, Ronnie jokes about ghosts possessing him and Gavin if they don't clean the soundstage.
The actual meaning: When you love someone, like Gavin loves Ronnie, you feel almost as if they "possess" you. They have power over you that your closest friends and even your parents do not have. This is why we often make fools of ourselves around our crushes. It's also why Ronnie walks out, scared - because he isn't sure if he's ready for Gavin to "possess" him.
STOLEN DIALOGUE (long overdue, I might add)
Person one: [Hall counselor], what's the best way to mail a slice of pizza?
Person two: Don't. Why on earth would you need to mail a slice of pizza?
Person one: Because it's sexy!
Person two: That is definitely not the answer I wanted to hear...
"He's suffering from a bad case of smart-ass."
"He is so far in the closet he's actually in Narnia. It's like, c'mon, man. Come out already. You're too old to chill with magical lions."
Person one: You can tell if I like you because I'll say you're badass or I'll call you dude. It's, like, pretty much my ultimate sign of respect.
Person two: Have you ever called me 'dude'?
Person one: Yeah.
Person two: Oh, good. I like you too.
[referring to a math lesson involving imaginary numbers] "My objective is to get through my show tonight without my brain exploding. My obstacle is THAT." [points to whiteboard]
"Aww, my little iPod touch is all growed up!"
"You are a cute, innocent, awkward baby deer. Go with it. Embrace it."
"I hate everyone today. It's nothing personal. I just hate everyone. I know that love always wins out, so hating everyone is fighting a losing battle, but that just makes me more determined to hate everyone."
Person: How do you get me into this stuff?
Me: Magic powers. [line from my movie]
Person: If you throw a teddy bear at me next, I will beat you.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Woodward Dreams
With literally no time and not enough material for a normal post, instead I'll paste in an excerpt from an essay I wrote for a creative writing class, called "Woodward Dream Cruise." Written about one of my favorite days, dedicated to my dad (who, by the way, I HOPE reads and comments on this blog post), let's hope it makes more sense after the revision than it did when I presented it to my class.
Later this week there should be a REAL post.
Woodward Dream Cruise
I stood in the corner of my dorm room, looking around at the piles of suitcases and boxes around me. September seventh, classes would begin the next day and I didn’t want them to, I was too scared. My roommate was a summer camp friend, but already I felt that she did not want me. I looked around the room again. “Mom,” I whispered under my breath. “Mom, Dad, I need you.”
The tears came to my eyes as I fumbled for my phone. It was out of battery. Perfect. God forbid that something in this new, unfamiliar environment should go my way.
I threw the malfunctioning device across the room so that it landed on my bed, sank into the corner, and swallowed the noisy sobs threatening to burst out of me.
I will be brave. I will not cry. I have forced through so much before—I can do it again.
I can do it for you.
We walk down the street together in downtown Pontiac. Everything about this place feels so familiar, so perfect. The sun is blinding and the heat is stifling. Every now and then the vaguest breeze will drift by, but other than that it is still. It’s so hot that we sweat through our clothes and when you hold my hand, I can feel that your palm is as sweat-slicked as mine. People watching probably wonder why you are holding my hand—after all, I’m sixteen and far too old to rely heavily on my father. Too bad for them if they can’t understand how close we are.
As we walk, we occasionally stop to look at cars. You point out ones that you think I should know about—the sixties Mustangs, the fifties Chevys, the seventies Firebirds. My favorite is a turquoise Firebird that looks as if it were stolen from a seventies teen movie. I stop and tug your sleeve, and I point. “I like that one.”
You lead me to the car, where you proceed to unleash the power of your long-passed teen years. You spout off all kinds of things that I don’t want to know—I’m no car person, as anyone could tell from a mile away—but I listen anyway as you tell me the ignition timing, the miles per gallon, the fabric of the interior, the model of the tires, and the most important thing of all: How fast the car could go.
As we walk away I look up to you and you squeeze my hand. “Ready to go?” you ask.
I shake my head vehemently. “No!”
“Let’s get ice cream,” you say suddenly, and pull me into a small café.
I’m not supposed to be eating junk food. But you know I love sweets, and you know that mint-chocolate-chip ice cream is more than just welcome relief on a hot day, it is a rare treat that I will still taste long after the last drops have melted and slid down my throat. And so you take me into the café and buy me the biggest size mint chocolate chip ice cream cone available. For yourself you order whatever flavor has the most pecans—I don’t remember if it’s butter pecan or straight-up pecan-flavored, but I do know that it is full of nuts.
Which, come to think of it, currently describes the state of Pontiac. The Woodward Dream Cruise is a mess of cars, some old and some new—all of them American. I feel self-conscious when I remember the silver 2001 Toyota pickup truck currently parked behind the Crowfoot Ballroom. But then I think, we can’t be the only ones out here today with a foreign car. And so when you nod towards the ballroom and ask if I would like to “cruise” down Woodward with all of the others I immediately say, “Yes!”
We get into the car and I immediately reach for the CD player. We both know that music is much more than something that people dance to. Moreover we both know that most of what goes onto the “Now that’s what I call music” CDs is not music. I put in an album that we both love, Don’t You Fake It by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, and turn the volume up. The sound of the band that we will see live in two days fills the car, and within moments, we are roaring down Woodward in our silver Toyota, surrounded by American cars.
I turn the music down when I see something that I don’t like. It is a huge flatbed truck, Ford I think, with a crowd of college-age boys riding in the back. They are holding up a sign that says, “CRUISING IS FOR AMERICANS. TAKE YOUR FOREIGN CARS HOME!” When they see us in our foreign car, our Toyota, they laugh and point and make ugly faces at us. One of them flips us the bird.
“What the—?” you mutter when you notice the commotion. I nervously nod to the sign, and you shake your head. “Idiots,” you mutter scornfully, and switch lanes so as to put as much distance between us and the boys as possible.
“I hate it when people do that,” I say softly.
You reach across the gearshift and pat my hand reassuringly. “People are stupid,” you tell me. “Let them honk their horns all they like. We have as much right to be on this road as anyone else.”
Something in your voice makes me sit up straight and stare proudly out the window, instead of hunching over and thinking Please God don’t let them see who is inside this car as most probably would. I turn the volume up again and roll the windows down. We sing along together, not caring if we attract attention.
People always tell me that I have your eyes. I think I do. They’re large and dark-blue, with long eyelashes and constant dark circles beneath them, just like yours. We have the same curly hair, the same loud and obnoxious laugh, the same disregard for any rule that we deem unnecessary.
What it took me sixteen years to realize was that we also have the same courage.
This is not the first time I have understood that fact. Indeed, driving down Woodward during the Dream Cruise in a Toyota truck is on the list of less-risky things that we have done together.
The first time I went off a diving board, when I was six years old—that was with you. You held my hand as we walked to the diving board, and you cheered me on as I jumped into the twelve-foot-deep water. I was so scared—but it was worth it. It was worth the exhilaration and worth seeing the pride on your face when I surfaced.
You took me to my first carnival two years later. I was terrified of clowns and did not want to go just because I was afraid I might see one, but you promised me there would be no clowns and if there were, you would not let them come near me. You held my hand while we waited in line for the Ferris wheel; while I tossed rings and won an inflatable hammer; while we rode the tilt-a-whirl together.
Just last spring we went whitewater rafting together with my school’s Adventure Club. I was afraid that I would drown. You assured me that you would not let that happen. You buckled me into my life jacket and helmet and squeezed my hand reassuringly before we took our places in the huge rubber raft. Within the first fifteen minutes of our trip down the river I was squealing with excitement, all fear forgotten.
What you taught me over the years is not that courage means you are never scared. It means that eventually, you have to let go of your protector’s hand and take the bull by the horns.
And so while we cruise down Woodward, I let go of your hand and wave merrily to the people sitting on the sidelines, sitting on their folding chairs consuming hot dogs and pretzels, and smirk to myself as they stare in shock and I hope that they are not thinking, Those people are crazy, but, Wow, those people are brave.
Later this week there should be a REAL post.
Woodward Dream Cruise
I stood in the corner of my dorm room, looking around at the piles of suitcases and boxes around me. September seventh, classes would begin the next day and I didn’t want them to, I was too scared. My roommate was a summer camp friend, but already I felt that she did not want me. I looked around the room again. “Mom,” I whispered under my breath. “Mom, Dad, I need you.”
The tears came to my eyes as I fumbled for my phone. It was out of battery. Perfect. God forbid that something in this new, unfamiliar environment should go my way.
I threw the malfunctioning device across the room so that it landed on my bed, sank into the corner, and swallowed the noisy sobs threatening to burst out of me.
I will be brave. I will not cry. I have forced through so much before—I can do it again.
I can do it for you.
We walk down the street together in downtown Pontiac. Everything about this place feels so familiar, so perfect. The sun is blinding and the heat is stifling. Every now and then the vaguest breeze will drift by, but other than that it is still. It’s so hot that we sweat through our clothes and when you hold my hand, I can feel that your palm is as sweat-slicked as mine. People watching probably wonder why you are holding my hand—after all, I’m sixteen and far too old to rely heavily on my father. Too bad for them if they can’t understand how close we are.
As we walk, we occasionally stop to look at cars. You point out ones that you think I should know about—the sixties Mustangs, the fifties Chevys, the seventies Firebirds. My favorite is a turquoise Firebird that looks as if it were stolen from a seventies teen movie. I stop and tug your sleeve, and I point. “I like that one.”
You lead me to the car, where you proceed to unleash the power of your long-passed teen years. You spout off all kinds of things that I don’t want to know—I’m no car person, as anyone could tell from a mile away—but I listen anyway as you tell me the ignition timing, the miles per gallon, the fabric of the interior, the model of the tires, and the most important thing of all: How fast the car could go.
As we walk away I look up to you and you squeeze my hand. “Ready to go?” you ask.
I shake my head vehemently. “No!”
“Let’s get ice cream,” you say suddenly, and pull me into a small café.
I’m not supposed to be eating junk food. But you know I love sweets, and you know that mint-chocolate-chip ice cream is more than just welcome relief on a hot day, it is a rare treat that I will still taste long after the last drops have melted and slid down my throat. And so you take me into the café and buy me the biggest size mint chocolate chip ice cream cone available. For yourself you order whatever flavor has the most pecans—I don’t remember if it’s butter pecan or straight-up pecan-flavored, but I do know that it is full of nuts.
Which, come to think of it, currently describes the state of Pontiac. The Woodward Dream Cruise is a mess of cars, some old and some new—all of them American. I feel self-conscious when I remember the silver 2001 Toyota pickup truck currently parked behind the Crowfoot Ballroom. But then I think, we can’t be the only ones out here today with a foreign car. And so when you nod towards the ballroom and ask if I would like to “cruise” down Woodward with all of the others I immediately say, “Yes!”
We get into the car and I immediately reach for the CD player. We both know that music is much more than something that people dance to. Moreover we both know that most of what goes onto the “Now that’s what I call music” CDs is not music. I put in an album that we both love, Don’t You Fake It by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, and turn the volume up. The sound of the band that we will see live in two days fills the car, and within moments, we are roaring down Woodward in our silver Toyota, surrounded by American cars.
I turn the music down when I see something that I don’t like. It is a huge flatbed truck, Ford I think, with a crowd of college-age boys riding in the back. They are holding up a sign that says, “CRUISING IS FOR AMERICANS. TAKE YOUR FOREIGN CARS HOME!” When they see us in our foreign car, our Toyota, they laugh and point and make ugly faces at us. One of them flips us the bird.
“What the—?” you mutter when you notice the commotion. I nervously nod to the sign, and you shake your head. “Idiots,” you mutter scornfully, and switch lanes so as to put as much distance between us and the boys as possible.
“I hate it when people do that,” I say softly.
You reach across the gearshift and pat my hand reassuringly. “People are stupid,” you tell me. “Let them honk their horns all they like. We have as much right to be on this road as anyone else.”
Something in your voice makes me sit up straight and stare proudly out the window, instead of hunching over and thinking Please God don’t let them see who is inside this car as most probably would. I turn the volume up again and roll the windows down. We sing along together, not caring if we attract attention.
People always tell me that I have your eyes. I think I do. They’re large and dark-blue, with long eyelashes and constant dark circles beneath them, just like yours. We have the same curly hair, the same loud and obnoxious laugh, the same disregard for any rule that we deem unnecessary.
What it took me sixteen years to realize was that we also have the same courage.
This is not the first time I have understood that fact. Indeed, driving down Woodward during the Dream Cruise in a Toyota truck is on the list of less-risky things that we have done together.
The first time I went off a diving board, when I was six years old—that was with you. You held my hand as we walked to the diving board, and you cheered me on as I jumped into the twelve-foot-deep water. I was so scared—but it was worth it. It was worth the exhilaration and worth seeing the pride on your face when I surfaced.
You took me to my first carnival two years later. I was terrified of clowns and did not want to go just because I was afraid I might see one, but you promised me there would be no clowns and if there were, you would not let them come near me. You held my hand while we waited in line for the Ferris wheel; while I tossed rings and won an inflatable hammer; while we rode the tilt-a-whirl together.
Just last spring we went whitewater rafting together with my school’s Adventure Club. I was afraid that I would drown. You assured me that you would not let that happen. You buckled me into my life jacket and helmet and squeezed my hand reassuringly before we took our places in the huge rubber raft. Within the first fifteen minutes of our trip down the river I was squealing with excitement, all fear forgotten.
What you taught me over the years is not that courage means you are never scared. It means that eventually, you have to let go of your protector’s hand and take the bull by the horns.
And so while we cruise down Woodward, I let go of your hand and wave merrily to the people sitting on the sidelines, sitting on their folding chairs consuming hot dogs and pretzels, and smirk to myself as they stare in shock and I hope that they are not thinking, Those people are crazy, but, Wow, those people are brave.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Bored...waiting for paint (a.k.a. nail polish) to dry...
Ohkaaaay. So. I KNOW that a certain someone will begin the verbal prodding for me to blog if I don't do it soon (two or three days between posts? Jesus!), so I'll do it. With nothing better to blog about, I shall steal a 100-question quiz from a DeviantArt buddy's journal and do that, simply because I think it looks like fun.
1) Full name: If you're reading this blog, you already know it. (And for those of you who DON'T know this already, my middle name is Elizabeth.)
2) Male/Female: Teenage girl - OMG, like, everyone run for, like, your lives! ;)
3) Were you named after anyone?: Not that I'm aware of.
4) Does your name mean anything? Damned if I know.
5) Nickname(s): Lulubelle, AE, Blondie (even though my hair is NOT any lighter than that of the person who calls me that).
6) What do you think you look like... name wise: Uhh. Whaaat? This question makes no sense. Moving on!
7) Date of birth: The very last month of Autumn. Also the soggiest month of the year.
8) Place of birth and current location: Place of birth: Michigan; current location: Michigan. Hmm, I need to get out more...
9) Nationality: Scottish, Welsh, Irish, German and Cherokee (but no one believes that last one)
10) Astrology sign: Scorpio.
11) Chinese astrology sign: Monkey. I THINK. I'm too lazy to look it up.
12) Religion: Unitarian. Yes, I am aware that most people think we're all tree-huggers. Not true, I tell you!
13) What's your favorite smell?: LAVENDER!!!!!!!
14) Political Position?: See question #4.
15) What do you prefer to drink in the morning?: Cold water.
16) Hair + eye color: Hair, either VERY dark blonde or VERY light brown, Eyes, dark blue or sometimes grayish-blue, depending on the light.
17) Do you look like anyone famous?: I have been told that I have "Taylor Swift Hair," however, by no means do I EVER resemble Taylor Swift.
18) What do you look like?: Ridiculously short. Out-of-control curly hair. Eyes that don't like to decide on a color.
19) Any unusual talents?: I can burp the word "Hawaii." Apparently it runs in the family.
20) Righty, lefty, or ambidextrous?: Right-handed and right-footed, however, once in Tae Kwon Do lessons I managed to break a board with my left foot.
21) Gay, straight, bi, or other?: Meh. Does it really matter?
22) What do you do for a living?: Absolutely nothing. I go to boarding school for heaven's sake.
23) What do you do for fun?: Depends on what kind of mood I'm in.
24) What are your favorite art materials to work with?: Does a camcorder count? If not, then definitely pastels.
25) What kind of materials would you like to work with?: I'd love to try charcoal, but I'm too chicken.
26) Have you met your grandparents?: Yeeees.
27) Boyfriend/Girlfriend: In the words of my facebook status, It's Complicated. I like seals.
28) Crush: Uhh. Yeah, because I'm TOTALLY going to put that online.
29) What celebrity would you date if you could?: Hmm...if I could go back in time, Jim Steinman or Bob Geldof.
30) Current worries?: My thesis film!!!!
31) Favorite online guy/girl(s): Do facebook friends count?
32) Favorite place to be?: Interlochen!
33) Least favorite place to be?: Dentist's office, eye doctor.
34) Do you burn or tan?: Generally, I burn. Or, if I haven't been in the sun for a long time, I sort of glow because I am ridiculously pale.
35) Ever break a bone?: Never, thank God.
36) What is your favorite cereal?: Cinnamon toast crunch or frosted flakes
37) Person you cry with: Usually my Mom or my best friend.
Do you have...
38) Any sisters: See #31.
39) Any brothers: See #31 (again).
40) Any pets: Nope.
41) An illness: Well, right now, a cold...
42) A pager: Nooo.
43) A personal phone line: I share one with my roommate.
44) A cell phone: Yep.
45) A visible birthmark: Not that I'm aware of...
46) A pool or hot tub: Yes, in my backyard!
47) A car: Not yet.
Describe your...
48) Personality: Absolutely batshit crazy. I mean it. I cry easily, I laugh even more easily. My friends think it's cute. My opposition does not.
49) Driving: you, up a wall.
50) Your clothing style: Whatever the heck I feel like wearing that day.
51) Room: Messy!
52) What’s missing: Organization.
53) School: Interlochen! 2011 FTW!
54) Bed: Uncomfortable.
55) Relationship with your parent(s): They read my blog, what do you think I'm going to say here? ;)
56) Do you believe in yourself?: Sometimes.
57) Do you believe in love at first sight?: Childishly enough, yes.
58) Consider yourself a good listener?: Only when I'm not tired.
59) Have a future dream that you would like to share?: Being a filmmaker.
60) Get along with your parents?: Yes!!!!
61) Save your e-mail conversations?: Sometimes.
62) Pray?: Yes.
63) Believe in reincarnation?: Yes.
64) Brush your teeth twice a day?: Yes.
65) Like to talk on the phone? I prefer talking in person.
66) Like to eat?: Meh, I'm kind of a picky eater.
67) Like to exercise?: Dancing, ice skating, and MPAing!
68) Like to watch sports?: Figure skating.
69) Sing in the car?: Only if my dad is with me.
70) What is a dream that you have all the time?: I have had a recurring dream that Amy Lee is kissing a random band frontman in my basement while celery stalks try to chop their way into my house using rubber axes. If this makes sense to you, please let me know now.
71) Dream in color?: Yeah. I would LOVE to have a black-and-white dream, though.
72) Do you have nightmares?: Unfortunately, yes.
73) Sleep with a stuffed animal?: Usually it ends up on the floor; I am not exactly known for staying still while I sleep, half the time I wake up and my blankets are on the floor.
74) What's right next to you?: A bottle of dried-out nail polish and a very annoying alarm clock.
75) What's on your favorite mug?: Red and white hearts. Yes, I'm aware of how cheesy that is.
76) What's on your mouse pad?: I don't use a mouse.
77) Your favorite flavor of gum: Trident cherry!
78) Your brand of deodorant: Anything that helps me NOT stink.
79) Your dream honeymoon spot: Greece.
80) Your dream husband/wife: ...? Dude, I'm in HIGH SCHOOL.
81) What's hiding in your closet?: A lot of stuff that I have to pack in a few days.
82) Under your bed: Drawers...?
83) The name of one of your closest/best friends: Mishka! Gus! Aaron! Elli! Oh my God, I can't choose ONE!!!! What kind of nutty quiz is this?
84) Your bad time of the day: That time when I realize I have four homework assignments that I have to do in one hour.
85) Your worst fear(s): Drowning, being abandoned...oh yes, how could I forget, ZOMBIES!!! I HATEHATEHATE ZOMBIES!!!!!!
86) What's the weather like: Warm, for once!
87) Your favorite time of year?: AUTUMN! FALL! WHATEVER YOU WANNA CALL IT! I LOVE IT!!!!
88) Your favorite holiday?: Halloween. Ironic, considering that I am the world's biggest scaredy-cat.
89) A material weakness?: Movies!
90) The weirdest food or drink that you like: Pizza topped with candy corn.
91) At the top of your "to-do list"?: Edit.
92) The hardest thing about growing up: Do you really want me to answer that?
93) A pet peeve?: The word "pimple," idk why but I HATE it.
94) Your scariest moment: Doing a superman slide down a hill after falling off my scooter.
95) Your attitude about love?: It's amazing but it also kind of sucks.
96) The funniest or most desperate thing you've done to get the attention of the opposite sex?: I can't remember...knowing me, I probably just cursed.
97) The worst feeling in the world: Disappointment.
98) The best feeling in the world: Acceptance.
99) Who sent this to you? No one, I did it because I was bored.
100) people you tag - Nobody...although if you have a blog and you want to do this, feel free.
So tonight I went to the senior creative writing reading, lined up some shoots, talked to people, made some bromance jokes (in honor of Pat, of course)...and no homework. None. God, I love not having a quiz tomorrow!
By the way, I made a facebook page for my thesis...if you are on my crew (you know who you are) please join? And Mr. Stills Guy, please post the stills on that page? Pleeeease? :)
1) Full name: If you're reading this blog, you already know it. (And for those of you who DON'T know this already, my middle name is Elizabeth.)
2) Male/Female: Teenage girl - OMG, like, everyone run for, like, your lives! ;)
3) Were you named after anyone?: Not that I'm aware of.
4) Does your name mean anything? Damned if I know.
5) Nickname(s): Lulubelle, AE, Blondie (even though my hair is NOT any lighter than that of the person who calls me that).
6) What do you think you look like... name wise: Uhh. Whaaat? This question makes no sense. Moving on!
7) Date of birth: The very last month of Autumn. Also the soggiest month of the year.
8) Place of birth and current location: Place of birth: Michigan; current location: Michigan. Hmm, I need to get out more...
9) Nationality: Scottish, Welsh, Irish, German and Cherokee (but no one believes that last one)
10) Astrology sign: Scorpio.
11) Chinese astrology sign: Monkey. I THINK. I'm too lazy to look it up.
12) Religion: Unitarian. Yes, I am aware that most people think we're all tree-huggers. Not true, I tell you!
13) What's your favorite smell?: LAVENDER!!!!!!!
14) Political Position?: See question #4.
15) What do you prefer to drink in the morning?: Cold water.
16) Hair + eye color: Hair, either VERY dark blonde or VERY light brown, Eyes, dark blue or sometimes grayish-blue, depending on the light.
17) Do you look like anyone famous?: I have been told that I have "Taylor Swift Hair," however, by no means do I EVER resemble Taylor Swift.
18) What do you look like?: Ridiculously short. Out-of-control curly hair. Eyes that don't like to decide on a color.
19) Any unusual talents?: I can burp the word "Hawaii." Apparently it runs in the family.
20) Righty, lefty, or ambidextrous?: Right-handed and right-footed, however, once in Tae Kwon Do lessons I managed to break a board with my left foot.
21) Gay, straight, bi, or other?: Meh. Does it really matter?
22) What do you do for a living?: Absolutely nothing. I go to boarding school for heaven's sake.
23) What do you do for fun?: Depends on what kind of mood I'm in.
24) What are your favorite art materials to work with?: Does a camcorder count? If not, then definitely pastels.
25) What kind of materials would you like to work with?: I'd love to try charcoal, but I'm too chicken.
26) Have you met your grandparents?: Yeeees.
27) Boyfriend/Girlfriend: In the words of my facebook status, It's Complicated. I like seals.
28) Crush: Uhh. Yeah, because I'm TOTALLY going to put that online.
29) What celebrity would you date if you could?: Hmm...if I could go back in time, Jim Steinman or Bob Geldof.
30) Current worries?: My thesis film!!!!
31) Favorite online guy/girl(s): Do facebook friends count?
32) Favorite place to be?: Interlochen!
33) Least favorite place to be?: Dentist's office, eye doctor.
34) Do you burn or tan?: Generally, I burn. Or, if I haven't been in the sun for a long time, I sort of glow because I am ridiculously pale.
35) Ever break a bone?: Never, thank God.
36) What is your favorite cereal?: Cinnamon toast crunch or frosted flakes
37) Person you cry with: Usually my Mom or my best friend.
Do you have...
38) Any sisters: See #31.
39) Any brothers: See #31 (again).
40) Any pets: Nope.
41) An illness: Well, right now, a cold...
42) A pager: Nooo.
43) A personal phone line: I share one with my roommate.
44) A cell phone: Yep.
45) A visible birthmark: Not that I'm aware of...
46) A pool or hot tub: Yes, in my backyard!
47) A car: Not yet.
Describe your...
48) Personality: Absolutely batshit crazy. I mean it. I cry easily, I laugh even more easily. My friends think it's cute. My opposition does not.
49) Driving: you, up a wall.
50) Your clothing style: Whatever the heck I feel like wearing that day.
51) Room: Messy!
52) What’s missing: Organization.
53) School: Interlochen! 2011 FTW!
54) Bed: Uncomfortable.
55) Relationship with your parent(s): They read my blog, what do you think I'm going to say here? ;)
56) Do you believe in yourself?: Sometimes.
57) Do you believe in love at first sight?: Childishly enough, yes.
58) Consider yourself a good listener?: Only when I'm not tired.
59) Have a future dream that you would like to share?: Being a filmmaker.
60) Get along with your parents?: Yes!!!!
61) Save your e-mail conversations?: Sometimes.
62) Pray?: Yes.
63) Believe in reincarnation?: Yes.
64) Brush your teeth twice a day?: Yes.
65) Like to talk on the phone? I prefer talking in person.
66) Like to eat?: Meh, I'm kind of a picky eater.
67) Like to exercise?: Dancing, ice skating, and MPAing!
68) Like to watch sports?: Figure skating.
69) Sing in the car?: Only if my dad is with me.
70) What is a dream that you have all the time?: I have had a recurring dream that Amy Lee is kissing a random band frontman in my basement while celery stalks try to chop their way into my house using rubber axes. If this makes sense to you, please let me know now.
71) Dream in color?: Yeah. I would LOVE to have a black-and-white dream, though.
72) Do you have nightmares?: Unfortunately, yes.
73) Sleep with a stuffed animal?: Usually it ends up on the floor; I am not exactly known for staying still while I sleep, half the time I wake up and my blankets are on the floor.
74) What's right next to you?: A bottle of dried-out nail polish and a very annoying alarm clock.
75) What's on your favorite mug?: Red and white hearts. Yes, I'm aware of how cheesy that is.
76) What's on your mouse pad?: I don't use a mouse.
77) Your favorite flavor of gum: Trident cherry!
78) Your brand of deodorant: Anything that helps me NOT stink.
79) Your dream honeymoon spot: Greece.
80) Your dream husband/wife: ...? Dude, I'm in HIGH SCHOOL.
81) What's hiding in your closet?: A lot of stuff that I have to pack in a few days.
82) Under your bed: Drawers...?
83) The name of one of your closest/best friends: Mishka! Gus! Aaron! Elli! Oh my God, I can't choose ONE!!!! What kind of nutty quiz is this?
84) Your bad time of the day: That time when I realize I have four homework assignments that I have to do in one hour.
85) Your worst fear(s): Drowning, being abandoned...oh yes, how could I forget, ZOMBIES!!! I HATEHATEHATE ZOMBIES!!!!!!
86) What's the weather like: Warm, for once!
87) Your favorite time of year?: AUTUMN! FALL! WHATEVER YOU WANNA CALL IT! I LOVE IT!!!!
88) Your favorite holiday?: Halloween. Ironic, considering that I am the world's biggest scaredy-cat.
89) A material weakness?: Movies!
90) The weirdest food or drink that you like: Pizza topped with candy corn.
91) At the top of your "to-do list"?: Edit.
92) The hardest thing about growing up: Do you really want me to answer that?
93) A pet peeve?: The word "pimple," idk why but I HATE it.
94) Your scariest moment: Doing a superman slide down a hill after falling off my scooter.
95) Your attitude about love?: It's amazing but it also kind of sucks.
96) The funniest or most desperate thing you've done to get the attention of the opposite sex?: I can't remember...knowing me, I probably just cursed.
97) The worst feeling in the world: Disappointment.
98) The best feeling in the world: Acceptance.
99) Who sent this to you? No one, I did it because I was bored.
100) people you tag - Nobody...although if you have a blog and you want to do this, feel free.
So tonight I went to the senior creative writing reading, lined up some shoots, talked to people, made some bromance jokes (in honor of Pat, of course)...and no homework. None. God, I love not having a quiz tomorrow!
By the way, I made a facebook page for my thesis...if you are on my crew (you know who you are) please join? And Mr. Stills Guy, please post the stills on that page? Pleeeease? :)
Saturday, May 15, 2010
I'll Bet Those Years, You Won't Be Here...
...But that doesn't mean I'll forget you.
Seriously, after tonight, I've come to the conclusion that I have the best friends anyone could possibly ask for.
Today, three people listened to me rant and ramble without so much as one inquiry of "Are you insane?" A girl who I sometimes actually think of as a sister hugged me and informed me that I am "amazing." (Insert blush here...) A person who I've only met once and haven't had more than a few awkward IM sessions with actually took the time to stop and say hello to me. I blurted out "I like seals" to someone I barely know and he did not bat an eyelash. (Of course he did laugh at me, but come on...wouldn't anyone laugh if some random chick informed them that she likes seals?)
This would only be a big deal if you know how it feels to be the typecast "loner." One friend came to a show with me, stood there with me afterward while I greeted the friends of mine who had performed in said show, came to the after-party with me, and then talked me into going to a dance. During a good chunk of this time, she patiently listened to me railing against a guy we both know I like, and never once did she say, "What are you, nuts?" even though she would've been fully justified.
But my favorite friend-moment tonight would have to be what happened immediately after signing in.
You know those moments when suddenly you just realize, "Oh my God, we actually are friends?" This was one of those times. I don't even know why he was the first person I thought of, because believe me, we are not that type of come-to-me-for-every-problem-we-tell-each-other-everything kind of friends. But we've known each other awhile, and I like to think we're close. It's kind of hard not to feel close to someone when they candidly tell you what they think you need to hear, even if it's not necessarily what you want to hear.
I ran into said friend after sign-in. Knowing that he was in a relationship with someone, and that it was an extremely strong relationship, and feeling down because I had just made a fool of myself in front of someone I really like, I blurted out, "Can I talk to you?" Magic words. Next thing you know, we're sitting in the dorm lounge having a heart-to-heart. And I feel really, really damn lucky right now to have a friend who is honest but not pessimistic--does anyone out there understand how rare that is?
It made me think...
So many of my friends are leaving next year.
Most of them are seniors.
But a few of them are not.
This sucks. It sucks because I know that I will say to these people, "I'll keep in touch," and they'll say to me, "Me too," but come September we will all be so busy with school that we will barely talk. It hurts because once you feel so close to someone you think you'll be friends with them forever. But you won't really, because sooner or later, you will grow apart in some way. It doesn't mean you don't still love them. But you grow apart anyway, because it's just what happens when you have long-distance friendships.
So what do you do?
Skype.
No, I'm serious.
I don't know what's going to happen in the next year. I don't know what will happen tomorrow, let alone something that will happen three months from now. I don't know what's going to happen by next May. I don't even know what's going to happen as soon as I hit that lovely little orange "publish post" button and put this blog post up.
Here's what I do know: I will try my damndest to not let go of my friends over this summer. Or, in the case of my senior/PG/nonreturning friends, in the next year.
And all I have to say to You-Know-Who is--thank you. You are a good friend. Why do I always forget that? I don't know. All I know is, you'd darn well better come back next year, mister. I mean it. And you had better be my A.D. next year. You, Harry, and Aaron are gonna be my "trifecta." ;)
Next year is OUR YEAR. MPA YEAR. ASS-KICKING YEAR.
...Who's with me? :D
Okay. Subject change. What in the hell is going on outside right now? It's almost one in the morning. People should not be outside blaring music and screaming. What the f#$%?
Okay. I'm off to see what's going on. Good night.
Seriously, after tonight, I've come to the conclusion that I have the best friends anyone could possibly ask for.
Today, three people listened to me rant and ramble without so much as one inquiry of "Are you insane?" A girl who I sometimes actually think of as a sister hugged me and informed me that I am "amazing." (Insert blush here...) A person who I've only met once and haven't had more than a few awkward IM sessions with actually took the time to stop and say hello to me. I blurted out "I like seals" to someone I barely know and he did not bat an eyelash. (Of course he did laugh at me, but come on...wouldn't anyone laugh if some random chick informed them that she likes seals?)
This would only be a big deal if you know how it feels to be the typecast "loner." One friend came to a show with me, stood there with me afterward while I greeted the friends of mine who had performed in said show, came to the after-party with me, and then talked me into going to a dance. During a good chunk of this time, she patiently listened to me railing against a guy we both know I like, and never once did she say, "What are you, nuts?" even though she would've been fully justified.
But my favorite friend-moment tonight would have to be what happened immediately after signing in.
You know those moments when suddenly you just realize, "Oh my God, we actually are friends?" This was one of those times. I don't even know why he was the first person I thought of, because believe me, we are not that type of come-to-me-for-every-problem-we-tell-each-other-everything kind of friends. But we've known each other awhile, and I like to think we're close. It's kind of hard not to feel close to someone when they candidly tell you what they think you need to hear, even if it's not necessarily what you want to hear.
I ran into said friend after sign-in. Knowing that he was in a relationship with someone, and that it was an extremely strong relationship, and feeling down because I had just made a fool of myself in front of someone I really like, I blurted out, "Can I talk to you?" Magic words. Next thing you know, we're sitting in the dorm lounge having a heart-to-heart. And I feel really, really damn lucky right now to have a friend who is honest but not pessimistic--does anyone out there understand how rare that is?
It made me think...
So many of my friends are leaving next year.
Most of them are seniors.
But a few of them are not.
This sucks. It sucks because I know that I will say to these people, "I'll keep in touch," and they'll say to me, "Me too," but come September we will all be so busy with school that we will barely talk. It hurts because once you feel so close to someone you think you'll be friends with them forever. But you won't really, because sooner or later, you will grow apart in some way. It doesn't mean you don't still love them. But you grow apart anyway, because it's just what happens when you have long-distance friendships.
So what do you do?
Skype.
No, I'm serious.
I don't know what's going to happen in the next year. I don't know what will happen tomorrow, let alone something that will happen three months from now. I don't know what's going to happen by next May. I don't even know what's going to happen as soon as I hit that lovely little orange "publish post" button and put this blog post up.
Here's what I do know: I will try my damndest to not let go of my friends over this summer. Or, in the case of my senior/PG/nonreturning friends, in the next year.
And all I have to say to You-Know-Who is--thank you. You are a good friend. Why do I always forget that? I don't know. All I know is, you'd darn well better come back next year, mister. I mean it. And you had better be my A.D. next year. You, Harry, and Aaron are gonna be my "trifecta." ;)
Next year is OUR YEAR. MPA YEAR. ASS-KICKING YEAR.
...Who's with me? :D
Okay. Subject change. What in the hell is going on outside right now? It's almost one in the morning. People should not be outside blaring music and screaming. What the f#$%?
Okay. I'm off to see what's going on. Good night.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Save the Fire Drills for Prom Night
I honestly don't have a point for this post. I just need to blog for the sake of blogging...and because a certain follower reminded me that I haven't blogged for ten freakin' days. Shame on me. I did promise to update more often. So instead of trying to give my usual pep talk/advisory post, I'll simply tell you what's been going down the past 10 days.
Starting off with the FUTURE OF CINEMA FILM FESTIVAL...dude, that was just made of epic win...I can't even begin to describe all the awesomeness that happened there. All I have to say is...
1. Cory McAbee!
2. STINGRAY SAM (in accordance with #1)
3. BEN BUSCH!!!!!!!!!!!
4. Daniel Pearl
5. Student films!
6. Student documentaries!
7. Sceenplay readings!
8. Autographs!
9. Free popcorn!
10. Excuse to skip world history class!
And there's more...
My friend from my old high school came up to show her film and I got to catch up with her...THAT was epic...and I got to see my friend Ned's film and he dedicated it to the "2009 MPAs"...three of which were at said screening to witness this...also, we got to hear "Stingray Sam" playing his uklele...it was awesome with added awesomeness...all around, this weekend was amazing.
The great thing about FoC is that you can see just how many other amazing teen filmmakers there are in this world. I saw an animated short from Germany. I saw two French narrative shorts. I saw documentaries made by kids around my age that, in my opinion, were better than anything on the Discovery Channel. These kids aren't IAA students. Most of them hadn't had much formal training in film. But they were good enough to submit to this festival, they were good enough to get in, and a few lucky ones were good enough to win.
The FoC festival was only the tip of the iceberg. For anyone who has never been to Interlochen in May, I will tell you, straight out: It. Is. INSANE!
MORP! Dude, if there's an example of insanity, MORP is most definitely it. Normal proms involve corsages and contraband spiked punch. Our prom, or MORP, involved cross dressing, balloon arches, 80s music, bowling, blacklight, and the Cheshire Cat.
MORP is not just a prom. It is a full-out party. Ordinary proms are couples-only dances, and if you don't go with a date--watch out! With an ordinary prom, the poor freshmen and sophomores plan it, raise the money for it, execute it--and then aren't allowed to attend. But Interlochen says, "Screw that!" and pulls together a MORP committee made up of ALL grades, gets the entire student body in on voting for a theme, and allows freshmen and sophomores to come to the dinner, the dance, and the afterparty.
Here's the MORP schedule:
5:00 - Reception on campus.
6:00 - Leave for fancy ballroom in Traverse City.
6:30 - Dinner, complete with vegetarian or vegan options...and for dessert, cookies that say, "Eat me!"
7:30 - Start dancin', fools! :)
Anytime after 9:30-10 - Leave for the afterparty.
10-2 - Bowling party in Traverse City, complete with blacklight, all you can eat pizza, music, friends, and of course the immense excitement of watching chaperones (aka teachers) bowling! :)
And of course in there, we had soooo many photo ops. I even brought my video camera. Now, as we all know, MORP is a senior sappiness hotbed. All of this, "Oh, my God, you're leaving next year!" from the juniors, and "Oh, my God, this is my last big high school party!" from the seniors. So I took advantage of the emotions running high on this particular night and got pictures of almost EVERY SINGLE ONE of my senior/postgrad friends. I took pictures of just about every friend who attended, actually. Juniors, seniors, freshmen, sophomores, postgrads...EVERYONE.
And then, the next day, I posted every single picture, tagged every friend, wrote silly things under each picture. (In fact I honestly skipped out on some homework doing this...oops.) And then I compared notes with all of my friends from other schools about proms, and who had the best time, and who wore what, and what drama went down and what kind of epic funnies went down.
And then I went to sleep for the first time in a week.
Speaking of sleep, or lack thereof, has anyone else noticed this who-can-come-off-worst competition among art school students? I'm just curious. Remember that blog post I wrote earlier about complaining? It seems there's a method to that madness. The stuff we all complain about (yes, I'm guilty of this too) seems pretty minor when you think of how incredible this school is. I've said that before and I will most definitely say it again.
And at first I didn't understand this. But now, after a summer and a school year at an arts school, I understand the insanity.
You see, we aren't complaining because we actually have things to complain about. We are complaining because we are tortured artists and, at all costs, we absolutely have to fit that profile.
We are art students! We MUST suffer for our art! We must endure such horrors as walking to class in the rain, skipping showers because our suitemates refuse to let us into the bathroom, eating food that tastes like chalk mixed with arsenic, smelling awful because we have no time to do laundry, wasting time on reports about Emily Dickinson when we SHOULD be practicing our craft. We can't have things TOO easy. I mean, come on...this school is so amazing; how can we possibly fit into the "suffering artists" stereotypes unless we make that happen?
Yes, I'm totally poking fun here, and yes, I TOTALLY do this too. To my friends: Does this sound familiar?
"I swear, I must've gotten three hours of sleep last night."
"I'm starving! I skipped lunch to work on McCall's essay and--oh damn it, it's meat loaf night!"
"Yes, I know my socks are mismatched. I overslept and in the confusion I put on mismatching socks. Why'd I oversleep? Oh, that's just because I was up so late writing that script."
"My feet are soaked. I can't afford rain boots. I drained my account on props for my thesis."
"I haven't showered for two days! I keep getting locked out of the bathroom!"
Ah, the life of a teenage filmmaker. Isn't it glamorous? ;) I know, I know. "Shut up and move on." Okay, I will. To something I'm sure we can all relate to...
FIRE DRILLS!
Seriously, what in this school is more annoying than a late-night fire drill? You all know what I mean. You change into your pajamas after a long day. Snuggle up in bed with your laptop or maybe a good book. Or maybe you call your friends from home, or your parents. You're all nestled into bed, cozy and sleepy and happy and so ready to just chill out. And then...
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Now this is bad enough to begin with. But if you make the mistakes that I made last night, fire drills are just so much worse
Mistake #1: Wearing fleece shorts that just BARELY reached my thighs to bed. God forbid we ever have a fire drill when I'm wearing PANTS!
Seriously, this ALWAYS happens. Either I'm in shorts, I'm in a dress, or--one God-awful occasion that I hope to never repeat--I'm in a nightgown. That was just so horrifically FAIL that I can't even begin to describe it. Not only was I freezing, but I spent most of the drill desperately attempting to cover up some--ahem--distinctly female body parts that this low-cut garmet did NOT do its theoretical job of hiding. While I'm guessing that all three (or four; I can't tell about one of you yet) of the straight guys in my dorm enjoyed this, I can tell you that I certainly did not.
You may be scratching your head right now, and giving me that what are you, insane? look, or asking, "Why the hell don't you wear more clothes to bed, then?" Well, I'll tell you why. For those of you who don't live in DeRoy, I am here to say that it is not as glamorous as you think, and here is why: It is ONE MILLION DEGREES in our rooms. And we open windows. And we have fans. And we try (and usually fail) to work the climate control. But it's still very hard to sleep in million-degree rooms, unless you are cold-blooded and depend on outer sources for heat. And so I sleep with one blanket and, even in the dead of February, I sleep in shorts and t-shirts. Because I'd rather not die of heatstroke in the middle of the night, thankyouverymuch.
Mistake #2: Not wearing proper shoes. I was already freezing, thanks to my shorts (or lack thereof) because it's just not as warm outside at night as it is in the DeRoy rooms. And so thanks to my bare legs, I was cold. And as if that wasn't bad enough, I had to wear flipflops because I didn't have time to find and put on proper shoes.
When one of my friends realized that I was shivering, he did what I'm sure any of you would have done: He gave me a very encouraging smile, tore off a shred of a paper napkin, and said, "Here's a strip of napkin to keep you warm!" Now, this may sound mean to some of you, but trust me, it was the best possible thing he could've done. I cracked up and totally forgot that I was freezing because I was so busy laughing at him.
Okay, so after the fire drill we all go back to our rooms and chill, right? Oh, hell no. That would be too easy.
Instead, Otha brings us all into the boys' lobby and proceeds to inform us that should some selfish person prop the side door again, we will have no visitors or lobby privileges in DeRoy for the rest of the year.
I just love this. Okay, I will say here and now, I have never propped the side door. And I will tell you why: It's simply not worth it to me. I'll admit that there are times when I've wished that door was open, so I wouldn't have to walk an extra minute in the rain or snow to get into the nice warm (too warm) building. But to me, it's just not worth it to get dormed or get your whole building in trouble. An extra 45 seconds outdoors vs. having everyone in your dorm pissed at you? Hmm. Do the math.
However, I think the reaction to the door-propping is utterly ridiculous.
Let me reiterate here that I don't bother with that door except to occasionally exit from it. But to make such a stink about propping that door? Come on, hall people. Is it really such a big deal that you have to threaten to close DeRoy because someone props it?
I understand that people can and probably have used that door for not-so-great purposes. But really, think about it: The door is clearly visible from MB. It exits onto a public street. It's not easy to sneak people up through that staircase because just about any fool can walk by and see exactly what you're doing. Now, what I really don't understand, especially with that in mind, is this: Why don't they just unlock that door and let us swipe in and out of it and put an end to all this door-propping drama?
Seriously. Whether you approve or not, people are GOING to enter through that door. And I'm going to hedge a bet here and say that even if visitors are banned from DeRoy, people will just sneak visitors to their rooms...probably using that door. Seriously, we're creative, we will find a way. Impossible as it seems, people probably HAVE used that door to sneak visitors inside. This would happen whether the door was functioning or not.
Pick your battles, hall counselors. And when you get annoyed, please don't hold fire drills to punish us.
STOLEN DIALOGUE:
"I have to write an essay on Crime and Punishment...which is in itself a crime and a punishment."
"The only reason I signed up for Welcome Wagon was to get the orange t-shirt."
[talking about roommaate applications]
Person one: I should put "fan fiction" as one of my interests.
Person two: I would disown you.
[as a scooter is falling off a table]
"Timber!"
"You see, this is why I love the bastard..."
Person one: Please stop overthinking.
Person two: I can't help it, it's in my DNA!
Person one: Well, get rid of that DNA!
"Oh, hell. I forgot about the ducklings."
Person one: Ugh, three papers by Saturday and two quizzes this week? You know, I think I'm just going to go kill myself.
Person two: Have fun and be careful.
Starting off with the FUTURE OF CINEMA FILM FESTIVAL...dude, that was just made of epic win...I can't even begin to describe all the awesomeness that happened there. All I have to say is...
1. Cory McAbee!
2. STINGRAY SAM (in accordance with #1)
3. BEN BUSCH!!!!!!!!!!!
4. Daniel Pearl
5. Student films!
6. Student documentaries!
7. Sceenplay readings!
8. Autographs!
9. Free popcorn!
10. Excuse to skip world history class!
And there's more...
My friend from my old high school came up to show her film and I got to catch up with her...THAT was epic...and I got to see my friend Ned's film and he dedicated it to the "2009 MPAs"...three of which were at said screening to witness this...also, we got to hear "Stingray Sam" playing his uklele...it was awesome with added awesomeness...all around, this weekend was amazing.
The great thing about FoC is that you can see just how many other amazing teen filmmakers there are in this world. I saw an animated short from Germany. I saw two French narrative shorts. I saw documentaries made by kids around my age that, in my opinion, were better than anything on the Discovery Channel. These kids aren't IAA students. Most of them hadn't had much formal training in film. But they were good enough to submit to this festival, they were good enough to get in, and a few lucky ones were good enough to win.
The FoC festival was only the tip of the iceberg. For anyone who has never been to Interlochen in May, I will tell you, straight out: It. Is. INSANE!
MORP! Dude, if there's an example of insanity, MORP is most definitely it. Normal proms involve corsages and contraband spiked punch. Our prom, or MORP, involved cross dressing, balloon arches, 80s music, bowling, blacklight, and the Cheshire Cat.
MORP is not just a prom. It is a full-out party. Ordinary proms are couples-only dances, and if you don't go with a date--watch out! With an ordinary prom, the poor freshmen and sophomores plan it, raise the money for it, execute it--and then aren't allowed to attend. But Interlochen says, "Screw that!" and pulls together a MORP committee made up of ALL grades, gets the entire student body in on voting for a theme, and allows freshmen and sophomores to come to the dinner, the dance, and the afterparty.
Here's the MORP schedule:
5:00 - Reception on campus.
6:00 - Leave for fancy ballroom in Traverse City.
6:30 - Dinner, complete with vegetarian or vegan options...and for dessert, cookies that say, "Eat me!"
7:30 - Start dancin', fools! :)
Anytime after 9:30-10 - Leave for the afterparty.
10-2 - Bowling party in Traverse City, complete with blacklight, all you can eat pizza, music, friends, and of course the immense excitement of watching chaperones (aka teachers) bowling! :)
And of course in there, we had soooo many photo ops. I even brought my video camera. Now, as we all know, MORP is a senior sappiness hotbed. All of this, "Oh, my God, you're leaving next year!" from the juniors, and "Oh, my God, this is my last big high school party!" from the seniors. So I took advantage of the emotions running high on this particular night and got pictures of almost EVERY SINGLE ONE of my senior/postgrad friends. I took pictures of just about every friend who attended, actually. Juniors, seniors, freshmen, sophomores, postgrads...EVERYONE.
And then, the next day, I posted every single picture, tagged every friend, wrote silly things under each picture. (In fact I honestly skipped out on some homework doing this...oops.) And then I compared notes with all of my friends from other schools about proms, and who had the best time, and who wore what, and what drama went down and what kind of epic funnies went down.
And then I went to sleep for the first time in a week.
Speaking of sleep, or lack thereof, has anyone else noticed this who-can-come-off-worst competition among art school students? I'm just curious. Remember that blog post I wrote earlier about complaining? It seems there's a method to that madness. The stuff we all complain about (yes, I'm guilty of this too) seems pretty minor when you think of how incredible this school is. I've said that before and I will most definitely say it again.
And at first I didn't understand this. But now, after a summer and a school year at an arts school, I understand the insanity.
You see, we aren't complaining because we actually have things to complain about. We are complaining because we are tortured artists and, at all costs, we absolutely have to fit that profile.
We are art students! We MUST suffer for our art! We must endure such horrors as walking to class in the rain, skipping showers because our suitemates refuse to let us into the bathroom, eating food that tastes like chalk mixed with arsenic, smelling awful because we have no time to do laundry, wasting time on reports about Emily Dickinson when we SHOULD be practicing our craft. We can't have things TOO easy. I mean, come on...this school is so amazing; how can we possibly fit into the "suffering artists" stereotypes unless we make that happen?
Yes, I'm totally poking fun here, and yes, I TOTALLY do this too. To my friends: Does this sound familiar?
"I swear, I must've gotten three hours of sleep last night."
"I'm starving! I skipped lunch to work on McCall's essay and--oh damn it, it's meat loaf night!"
"Yes, I know my socks are mismatched. I overslept and in the confusion I put on mismatching socks. Why'd I oversleep? Oh, that's just because I was up so late writing that script."
"My feet are soaked. I can't afford rain boots. I drained my account on props for my thesis."
"I haven't showered for two days! I keep getting locked out of the bathroom!"
Ah, the life of a teenage filmmaker. Isn't it glamorous? ;) I know, I know. "Shut up and move on." Okay, I will. To something I'm sure we can all relate to...
FIRE DRILLS!
Seriously, what in this school is more annoying than a late-night fire drill? You all know what I mean. You change into your pajamas after a long day. Snuggle up in bed with your laptop or maybe a good book. Or maybe you call your friends from home, or your parents. You're all nestled into bed, cozy and sleepy and happy and so ready to just chill out. And then...
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Now this is bad enough to begin with. But if you make the mistakes that I made last night, fire drills are just so much worse
Mistake #1: Wearing fleece shorts that just BARELY reached my thighs to bed. God forbid we ever have a fire drill when I'm wearing PANTS!
Seriously, this ALWAYS happens. Either I'm in shorts, I'm in a dress, or--one God-awful occasion that I hope to never repeat--I'm in a nightgown. That was just so horrifically FAIL that I can't even begin to describe it. Not only was I freezing, but I spent most of the drill desperately attempting to cover up some--ahem--distinctly female body parts that this low-cut garmet did NOT do its theoretical job of hiding. While I'm guessing that all three (or four; I can't tell about one of you yet) of the straight guys in my dorm enjoyed this, I can tell you that I certainly did not.
You may be scratching your head right now, and giving me that what are you, insane? look, or asking, "Why the hell don't you wear more clothes to bed, then?" Well, I'll tell you why. For those of you who don't live in DeRoy, I am here to say that it is not as glamorous as you think, and here is why: It is ONE MILLION DEGREES in our rooms. And we open windows. And we have fans. And we try (and usually fail) to work the climate control. But it's still very hard to sleep in million-degree rooms, unless you are cold-blooded and depend on outer sources for heat. And so I sleep with one blanket and, even in the dead of February, I sleep in shorts and t-shirts. Because I'd rather not die of heatstroke in the middle of the night, thankyouverymuch.
Mistake #2: Not wearing proper shoes. I was already freezing, thanks to my shorts (or lack thereof) because it's just not as warm outside at night as it is in the DeRoy rooms. And so thanks to my bare legs, I was cold. And as if that wasn't bad enough, I had to wear flipflops because I didn't have time to find and put on proper shoes.
When one of my friends realized that I was shivering, he did what I'm sure any of you would have done: He gave me a very encouraging smile, tore off a shred of a paper napkin, and said, "Here's a strip of napkin to keep you warm!" Now, this may sound mean to some of you, but trust me, it was the best possible thing he could've done. I cracked up and totally forgot that I was freezing because I was so busy laughing at him.
Okay, so after the fire drill we all go back to our rooms and chill, right? Oh, hell no. That would be too easy.
Instead, Otha brings us all into the boys' lobby and proceeds to inform us that should some selfish person prop the side door again, we will have no visitors or lobby privileges in DeRoy for the rest of the year.
I just love this. Okay, I will say here and now, I have never propped the side door. And I will tell you why: It's simply not worth it to me. I'll admit that there are times when I've wished that door was open, so I wouldn't have to walk an extra minute in the rain or snow to get into the nice warm (too warm) building. But to me, it's just not worth it to get dormed or get your whole building in trouble. An extra 45 seconds outdoors vs. having everyone in your dorm pissed at you? Hmm. Do the math.
However, I think the reaction to the door-propping is utterly ridiculous.
Let me reiterate here that I don't bother with that door except to occasionally exit from it. But to make such a stink about propping that door? Come on, hall people. Is it really such a big deal that you have to threaten to close DeRoy because someone props it?
I understand that people can and probably have used that door for not-so-great purposes. But really, think about it: The door is clearly visible from MB. It exits onto a public street. It's not easy to sneak people up through that staircase because just about any fool can walk by and see exactly what you're doing. Now, what I really don't understand, especially with that in mind, is this: Why don't they just unlock that door and let us swipe in and out of it and put an end to all this door-propping drama?
Seriously. Whether you approve or not, people are GOING to enter through that door. And I'm going to hedge a bet here and say that even if visitors are banned from DeRoy, people will just sneak visitors to their rooms...probably using that door. Seriously, we're creative, we will find a way. Impossible as it seems, people probably HAVE used that door to sneak visitors inside. This would happen whether the door was functioning or not.
Pick your battles, hall counselors. And when you get annoyed, please don't hold fire drills to punish us.
STOLEN DIALOGUE:
"I have to write an essay on Crime and Punishment...which is in itself a crime and a punishment."
"The only reason I signed up for Welcome Wagon was to get the orange t-shirt."
[talking about roommaate applications]
Person one: I should put "fan fiction" as one of my interests.
Person two: I would disown you.
[as a scooter is falling off a table]
"Timber!"
"You see, this is why I love the bastard..."
Person one: Please stop overthinking.
Person two: I can't help it, it's in my DNA!
Person one: Well, get rid of that DNA!
"Oh, hell. I forgot about the ducklings."
Person one: Ugh, three papers by Saturday and two quizzes this week? You know, I think I'm just going to go kill myself.
Person two: Have fun and be careful.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Here is Where We Both Go Wrong
Okay. So it took me awhile to figure out that putting yourself down is possibly the worst thing you can do if you are trying to make friends. Modesty = good, self-deprecation = not so good. So we all know that, right? Great. So, if we all know that, why do I still freak out when I do something the tiniest bit embarrassing?
Well, the thing is, I pretty much set myself up for it. Embarrassment, I mean. Such as tonight, when I agreed to participate in a comedic "Spelling Bee" and realized the minute I signed up that I was basically agreeing to embarrass the hell out of myself in front of an audience. As I jokingly said to another red-faced participant, "God forbid I retain any amount of dignity for over 24 hours."
That's just it, though...who the hell needs dignity? This is art school for Pete's sake. We LIVE off lack of dignity. Dignity just slows us down. (Theater Majors, you especially should know what I'm talking about. How could anyone worried about dignity participate in a show so amazingly funny as Hotel Paradiso?) And you know what, I'll take fun over dignity any day.
That said, a little judgement couldn't hurt.
But onto more important things, such as THE RAIN!!!! Anyone who lives in DeRoy, McWhorter, MB, or Picasso should know what I'm talking about. A.k.a., the freaking AWESOME mudslide/rain dance/puddle jumping session held in front of the DeRoy building last night! Seriously. I don't know how this happened. All I know is that one minute I'm taking out the trash, and then the next thing I know, I'm running around in the rain like a crazy person, along with a few dozen other crazy people who all have the same idea of fun as I do: Puddle-stomping and mud-sliding in pajamas, hearing people whoop, scream, and yell some rather inappropriate things while doing so. Seriously, whoever started that is my new hero.
Let me just ask you - how often do YOU do things like that?
How often do YOU run around in the rain with your friends, screaming nonsense and jumping in ankle-deep puddles?
How often do YOU tear off your coat and jump into a pile of fresh, fluffy snow on your way from the Writing House to your dorm?
How often do YOU roll around on the beach/in the grass by the waterfront while it's raining, hearing the rain hit the water and looking up into the clouds?
How often do YOU randomly agree to participate in silly things like a schoolwide mock spelling bee?
How often do YOU march up to the guy/girl that you like and flat-out TELL them, "Hey, idiot, I like you!"
How often do YOU say, "To hell with homework and academics and perfection, I'm going to spend three hours editing this piece because it's what I love to do, it's what I came here to do and damn it, no one can stop me?" (Other majors, feel free to substitute "editing" with "writing," "dancing," "playing," ect.)
Do you see what I mean?
I dare anyone who reads this blog to do things like that, if you don't already. If you've never jumped into a pile of snow, danced in the rain, or participated in a Coffeehouse or other open-mic style/comedic show, TRY IT. Is it terrifying? Somewhat. Is it embarrassing? Usually. But it's worth it. I'm telling you, it is SO worth it.
Embarrassment lasts a few minutes. Thrilling memories last a lifetime.
(Wow, I'm so full of philosophical cliches tonight...)
No stolen dialogue tonight. Instead, I shall present to you a short anthology of my most embarrassing/hilarious moments that I can recall at this moment in time:
1. Breakfast in Bed
A few weeks ago, I had to get up for church on Sunday, so on Saturday night I did the sensible thing and set my alarm clock. Only problem is, I also got hungry on Saturday night, so I ate some cereal. Now, I don't actually have cereal bowls in my dorm room, so I used a tupperware bowl and left it beside my alarm clock...see where I'm going with this? So, when the alarm went off, I reached for my alarm clock so I could pick it up and shut the damn thing off. Instead, I picked up the Rice Krispies bowl...and, because I am useless without my glasses and I was still half-asleep, I did not realize just what I had picked up until I blinked and realized that I was covered in Rice Krispies.
FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE WONDERING...
No, there was not milk in the bowl, thank God. I don't eat cereal with milk. However, there WAS sugar in the bowl, and this provided a rather uncomfortable situation.
Yes, I SHOULD have taken care of the bowl the previous night. However, I was tired, so I did not.
No, my roommate somehow did NOT wake up during all this. She did, however, pose a confused question as to how cereal got all over our floor when I got back from church.
Yes, this WAS the highlight of my day.
2. A la Cart
Every Tuesday and Thursday I work in the cafeteria at my school, as part of mandatory community service. There are these huge gray plastic carts that are used to transfer food and dishes to and from the salad bar, cereal station, ect. So one night I was in the back area, by the kitchen, as opposed to the dining room, and out of nowhere this cart comes careening out of the dishroom and pins me to the wall. To add insult to injury, ANOTHER cart flew out moments later, hit the first cart, and fell over. A kitchen personnel came out of the dishroom and gasped, "Oh my God, what happened?" Unable to keep myself from being a smartass, I said innocently, "A cart fell over."
3. But I'm A Filmmaker!
(Bonus points to anyone who understands the reference in the title of this one...)
While dressing the set for my first-ever thesis shoot, which just happened to be two friends' dorm room, I noticed a whiteboard on one side of the room. In my film, one of the characters inhabiting the dorm was gay, and the other was straight. The whiteboard was on the "gay" side of the room, but I still thought it'd be fun to have the straight character write a note to his best friend/roommate. After a brief, nowhere conversation with my (male) assistant director concerning what should be written on the whiteboard, I turned to my audio recordist and said, "Okay, then. You're my 'straight ambassador.' What should we write on this...?" and then promptly remembered that my AD was straight as well. This, as you can imagine, resulted in a hell of a lot of laughing...and, on my part, blushing.
4. Lamb-a-dam-a-ding-dong
So I was hanging out with one of my friends a couple of days ago, and said friend dared me to make sheep noises (don't ask me how we got to this point). So, being the dork that I am, I did it. And because we both read Twilight, and Twilight for those of you who don't know occasionally depics Edward calling Bella his "lamb," we began making some rather stupid Twilight references as well as the sheep noises. We were in an open field (I think this MIGHT be what inspired the lamb noises, but I'm not sure) and eventually, while we were bleating and quoting Twilight, a few boys came into the field to play soccer. Well, of course they noticed us, and of course being the hams we are, we couldn't resist putting on even more of a show for them and really exaggerating our lamb noises and dramatizing scenes from the books. We kept this up until we realized that one of the Soccer Boys was one that I had a bit of a crush on. Oops.
5. Yes, Another 'Gay' One...
At the beginning of the school year I confided in two friends that my first boyfriend turned out to be gay. One of my friends (male) immediately said, "Oh, that sucks. Yeah, I kind of had the same experience, only in reverse." In my defense, it was late, I'd been up all day, and I had no idea at the time that this particular friend was gay. And so my reply made perfect sense, in my mind: "Oh my God, you dated a lesbian?"
Well, the thing is, I pretty much set myself up for it. Embarrassment, I mean. Such as tonight, when I agreed to participate in a comedic "Spelling Bee" and realized the minute I signed up that I was basically agreeing to embarrass the hell out of myself in front of an audience. As I jokingly said to another red-faced participant, "God forbid I retain any amount of dignity for over 24 hours."
That's just it, though...who the hell needs dignity? This is art school for Pete's sake. We LIVE off lack of dignity. Dignity just slows us down. (Theater Majors, you especially should know what I'm talking about. How could anyone worried about dignity participate in a show so amazingly funny as Hotel Paradiso?) And you know what, I'll take fun over dignity any day.
That said, a little judgement couldn't hurt.
But onto more important things, such as THE RAIN!!!! Anyone who lives in DeRoy, McWhorter, MB, or Picasso should know what I'm talking about. A.k.a., the freaking AWESOME mudslide/rain dance/puddle jumping session held in front of the DeRoy building last night! Seriously. I don't know how this happened. All I know is that one minute I'm taking out the trash, and then the next thing I know, I'm running around in the rain like a crazy person, along with a few dozen other crazy people who all have the same idea of fun as I do: Puddle-stomping and mud-sliding in pajamas, hearing people whoop, scream, and yell some rather inappropriate things while doing so. Seriously, whoever started that is my new hero.
Let me just ask you - how often do YOU do things like that?
How often do YOU run around in the rain with your friends, screaming nonsense and jumping in ankle-deep puddles?
How often do YOU tear off your coat and jump into a pile of fresh, fluffy snow on your way from the Writing House to your dorm?
How often do YOU roll around on the beach/in the grass by the waterfront while it's raining, hearing the rain hit the water and looking up into the clouds?
How often do YOU randomly agree to participate in silly things like a schoolwide mock spelling bee?
How often do YOU march up to the guy/girl that you like and flat-out TELL them, "Hey, idiot, I like you!"
How often do YOU say, "To hell with homework and academics and perfection, I'm going to spend three hours editing this piece because it's what I love to do, it's what I came here to do and damn it, no one can stop me?" (Other majors, feel free to substitute "editing" with "writing," "dancing," "playing," ect.)
Do you see what I mean?
I dare anyone who reads this blog to do things like that, if you don't already. If you've never jumped into a pile of snow, danced in the rain, or participated in a Coffeehouse or other open-mic style/comedic show, TRY IT. Is it terrifying? Somewhat. Is it embarrassing? Usually. But it's worth it. I'm telling you, it is SO worth it.
Embarrassment lasts a few minutes. Thrilling memories last a lifetime.
(Wow, I'm so full of philosophical cliches tonight...)
No stolen dialogue tonight. Instead, I shall present to you a short anthology of my most embarrassing/hilarious moments that I can recall at this moment in time:
1. Breakfast in Bed
A few weeks ago, I had to get up for church on Sunday, so on Saturday night I did the sensible thing and set my alarm clock. Only problem is, I also got hungry on Saturday night, so I ate some cereal. Now, I don't actually have cereal bowls in my dorm room, so I used a tupperware bowl and left it beside my alarm clock...see where I'm going with this? So, when the alarm went off, I reached for my alarm clock so I could pick it up and shut the damn thing off. Instead, I picked up the Rice Krispies bowl...and, because I am useless without my glasses and I was still half-asleep, I did not realize just what I had picked up until I blinked and realized that I was covered in Rice Krispies.
FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE WONDERING...
No, there was not milk in the bowl, thank God. I don't eat cereal with milk. However, there WAS sugar in the bowl, and this provided a rather uncomfortable situation.
Yes, I SHOULD have taken care of the bowl the previous night. However, I was tired, so I did not.
No, my roommate somehow did NOT wake up during all this. She did, however, pose a confused question as to how cereal got all over our floor when I got back from church.
Yes, this WAS the highlight of my day.
2. A la Cart
Every Tuesday and Thursday I work in the cafeteria at my school, as part of mandatory community service. There are these huge gray plastic carts that are used to transfer food and dishes to and from the salad bar, cereal station, ect. So one night I was in the back area, by the kitchen, as opposed to the dining room, and out of nowhere this cart comes careening out of the dishroom and pins me to the wall. To add insult to injury, ANOTHER cart flew out moments later, hit the first cart, and fell over. A kitchen personnel came out of the dishroom and gasped, "Oh my God, what happened?" Unable to keep myself from being a smartass, I said innocently, "A cart fell over."
3. But I'm A Filmmaker!
(Bonus points to anyone who understands the reference in the title of this one...)
While dressing the set for my first-ever thesis shoot, which just happened to be two friends' dorm room, I noticed a whiteboard on one side of the room. In my film, one of the characters inhabiting the dorm was gay, and the other was straight. The whiteboard was on the "gay" side of the room, but I still thought it'd be fun to have the straight character write a note to his best friend/roommate. After a brief, nowhere conversation with my (male) assistant director concerning what should be written on the whiteboard, I turned to my audio recordist and said, "Okay, then. You're my 'straight ambassador.' What should we write on this...?" and then promptly remembered that my AD was straight as well. This, as you can imagine, resulted in a hell of a lot of laughing...and, on my part, blushing.
4. Lamb-a-dam-a-ding-dong
So I was hanging out with one of my friends a couple of days ago, and said friend dared me to make sheep noises (don't ask me how we got to this point). So, being the dork that I am, I did it. And because we both read Twilight, and Twilight for those of you who don't know occasionally depics Edward calling Bella his "lamb," we began making some rather stupid Twilight references as well as the sheep noises. We were in an open field (I think this MIGHT be what inspired the lamb noises, but I'm not sure) and eventually, while we were bleating and quoting Twilight, a few boys came into the field to play soccer. Well, of course they noticed us, and of course being the hams we are, we couldn't resist putting on even more of a show for them and really exaggerating our lamb noises and dramatizing scenes from the books. We kept this up until we realized that one of the Soccer Boys was one that I had a bit of a crush on. Oops.
5. Yes, Another 'Gay' One...
At the beginning of the school year I confided in two friends that my first boyfriend turned out to be gay. One of my friends (male) immediately said, "Oh, that sucks. Yeah, I kind of had the same experience, only in reverse." In my defense, it was late, I'd been up all day, and I had no idea at the time that this particular friend was gay. And so my reply made perfect sense, in my mind: "Oh my God, you dated a lesbian?"
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