Short Term Goals

1. Write!

Laziness and apathy are allowing good ideas to go to waste... not okay.

2. Journal! I'm taking the Polka Dot Robot Art Journal Class. It is going to be a significant challenge, but I am already finding inspiration and/or supplies all over my apartment...

I'm hoping that I can complete the course in a timely matter with absolute artistic integrity. I've BS'ed my way through a lot of opportunities, and this will not be one of them.

3. Study! Because I have to...

4. More goofy pictures! Like these...

Then I'll have more stuff to journal with, because I just ordered an HP photo printer :D

4. Read! I will soon catch my reading up to my book-buying... it's currently a little unbalanced.

6. Flute! My first lesson is March 3rd. I hope to apply the same principle of artistic integrity (see #2) here, as well. I can't say I have always brought that attitude to my music studies...

7. Oboe? Now, I am not a vengeful person by any means, but I have the kind of noisy neighbors that make finally learning Oboe, which I have wanted to for years, a rather appealing new hobby. This probably won't happen.

A Silly Fairytale!

Once upon a time, there lived a princess named Megan. She was the princess of contact lenses, the best eye receptionist in all the land!

But Princess Megan had one major problem: her desk drawer smelled like feet! She tried and tried to ignore the problem, keeping the drawer open for only a short time, and changing shoes in solitude, but soon the whole second floor reception desk began to smell of feet!

Megan knew what she had to do. One windy, Wisconsin winter day, she set out into the wilderness in search of shoes not yet smelling of feet. But the rugged terrain of downtown Madison had many tricks and traps in store for our brave heroine!

(via)

After narrowly avoiding the University Bookstore vortex, from which she might never emerge, she was greeted by the bright shining lights of the island of Urban Outfitters! Steadfast, she did not let the sale signs sway her. Not even the tantalizing aroma of Za's Italian eatery could tempt her off course!

(via)

She made her way up State Street, past the 600 block, through the 500 block, even up the 400 block. But then, the terrain became less and less familiar. How long has this shop been here, she thought to herself; what kind of food does this cafe serve? She made her way closer and closer to the dark forest of upper State, where trees grow in bars! As the cold midwestern air began to take its toll, she thought one little stop can't hurt. The shiny banner and familiar warmth of Pop Deluxe seemed the perfect pit stop, and OH the lights! The stationery! The insulated lunch bags! The kitchen accessories! The evil queen of marketing must have been near, yet she ignored the warnings and shopped anyway.

(via)

Amid a sea of hello kitty and pretty purses, appeared a counter nymph, bearing colorful tattoos and a shiny nose ring. "Have you seen the Uglydolls?" she asked, "They each have an interesting backstory!" Could it be, Megan wondered, that the evil queen of marketing is acting through this adorable shop girl? Proceeding with caution, she read a few Uglydoll backstories. Suddenly, an Uglydoll with three eyes popped up. Her name was Tray, and she had three brains which were always active, pondering the mysteries of the universe and other trivialities leading her to a constant state of confusion, just like our heroine, Megan and her (one) brain!

Tray the Uglydoll led Megan to the cash registers, where she presented her plastic-magnetic-strip ticket out of the land of Pop Deluxe! She was almost there - just a few storefronts farther, and she reached the kingdom of shoes. King Jack of Jack's shoes was not there, but his wench, the cashier authorized the release of Prince Chuck Taylor from the back room, for a swipe of the plastic ticket. Freedom at last!

Princess Megan ran home, dodging snow drifts, traffic, and coasties. She was so pleased with Tray's help navigating the treacherous 200 block of State, she was awarded a throne on Megan's table! She was first introduced to Megan's best friends, Robot and Dinosaur, who were at first a bit apprehensive.

When the new-shoe smell permeated the kingdom, it was a joyous moment for all - and there was much rejoicing!

The next day, order was restored in the castle of contact lens, and Princess Megan could again rest easy knowing her workstation had been freed from the foot stench for at least a few more months.

And they all lived happily ever after!

Life, Art and Imitation

I just got home from my first time ever attending the Madison Comedy Club on State and I'm pretty sure I will never not go there again. By which I mean invite me there anytime and I'll come with you. I was as nervous as anyone about to attend some random venue featuring amateur comedians as entertainment, and the night was really doomed from the start. First off, the only person I knew there is pretty much the only friend I have left in Madison (yes, the one who moves to Minneapolis February 1st). I had absolutely no clue where this place was, besides "near the overture center" which could mean any number of things. When I thought I was there, I was among a group of loud "buddies" type guys whom I didn't want to follow, so I did a fake-out and took a lap around the block (seriously).

By the time I finally got into the comedy area, I found that the only way to be sure you get a table with your friends is to actually show up with your friends and sit down at the same time as them. And it's hard to send a text message to a person in a dark room full of your average downtown-Madison d-bags to say, "look out for me, i'll be in the standard-issue urban outfitters tee and black north face fleece!"

I eventually found a table tucked well-enough in a corner for me to sit inconspicuously without looking like I was trying to hide my obvious cluelessness. Well played, if I do say so myself. I did manage to say hi to Dinah and even though I wasn't able to pull up a chair, it was much more like being at the movies than being at a bar so that didn't matter too much. I did not stay until the end, because I'm not a fan of walking around in the dark by myself. BUT I made it home without incident, I was only a block and a half away from my building before the freezing rain the meteorologists promised began, and it was the first time I went out wearing shoes since the first of December. Oh, plus I laughed my ass off for like a solid hour.

So I had fun for reasons compelling enough to blog, that's cool, but I also was reminded of a story. Not just any story it's "THE STORY" by which I mean it is the random ass true-as-shit personal account you tell at a party after about the third drink when you realize you desperately want everyone in the room to remember you the next day when they see you've requested their friendship on the facebook. So I'm going to share it on my blog, because this is about the closest to the aforementioned situation I can probably get on the internet.

About halfway through the line-up - the seventh or eighth comedian - I recognized my neighbor from last year. About four days after he moved into my building, I was in my apartment drunk, stoned, and hopped up on no-doz around four in the morning (seriously) when I heard a loud noise down the hall. At this time, the apartment across the hall was occupied by an older woman who lived alone and immediately considering her well-being, ventured into the hallway. This is where I encountered my neighbor: a charming, sweet MATC student studying to be a police officer and all-around "good kid." What I saw, however, was a black guy I had never met accompanied by a cohort surrounded by what looked like smoke with bandannas over their mouths, hoods up, and a pistol.

For the second time in my life, I picked up a phone and dialed everyone's favorite three-digit number.

The actual version of the story involves a bat which had flown into the building during move-in. My neighbor and his friend, who had just returned from working as bouncers at a State Street bar were trying as hard as they could to get rid of the bat. The fire extinguisher was their first attempt, which explains the "smoke" bandannas and hoodies, and the bb gun that looked to me like a pistol was blan b(b). Everyone had a good laugh, and he even brought me a photocopy of the police report to keep as a souvenier, admitting he'd totally have done the same thing if in my shoes. It totally could have been worse.

As my former neighbor took the stage tonight, the only thing running through my head was, "oh, shit." His stage persona is far different from the guy who will forever be an amicable acquaintance of mine, with being black in Wisconsin basically being his schtick, complete with a few n-words, a punchline that even the black clouds mean bad weather, and, yes, a Hurricane Katrina reference. Overall, he was pretty funny, and I really wish I could have seen him a year ago, when he undoubtedly must have worked the bat story into his routine and I would have loved to have heard the story from his stage persona's perspective, knowing full well I was the butt of the joke.

All in all, lessons learned: the Comedy Club on State is an okay place and that secret fear of unwittingly being some stand-up comedian's punchline is probably universal, but really not all that bad.

20 Questions

The original post I saw of this was on a blog far more artistic than my own, but that doesn't mean I can't do a google image search and take some crappy snapshots anyway!

1. Show us the inside of something cute



2. What's the last homecooking you had?

[Christmas]

3. What do you miss? (no dead people please)



4. What makes you laugh often?



5. What's your favorite word?

[the]

6. What are you trying to quit?



7. What's your favorite commercial right now?


8. Whose style do you dig?



9. Link to a great blog you've discovered lately...

[Color Me Katie]

10. What's the last craft you made?




11. A photo of the last happy mail you got :]



12. Something you've got lately?



13. What are you looking forward to?



[tied with]



14. Post a recent snapshot of yourself.



15. Recent Favorite Movie?



16. Something you're working on right now?



17. If a movie were made about you, who would play you?



18. What gives you goosebumps?



19. Share a new obsession.



20. What's the meaning of your life?





[Original post by Polka Dot Robot]

Creativity Project 2010

I have been muddled and lacking focus; I've come to realize that times I feel I am at my best happen to be times I have a solid, satisfying creative outlet.

SO, call it a New Years resolution, a relevation, or ridiculous; starting now I am making a conscious effort to push myself toward creative pursuits. For example, I am currently writing. I can play my flute. I could learn how to [something cool]. Whatever. I didn't write a novel in November, and I may never write fiction or poetry again but that's okay I guess.

The entire point of sharing all this is in doing so, maybe I'll actually follow through. Here, I have two goals: 1. blog more. 2. get into a good ensemble this fall(?) when I go to Whitewater.

#1 sets the bar pretty low, but #2 is a legitimate, attainable challenge. I did earn a creative writing/english degree on a music scholarship. The least I could do is try to prove it wasn't completely pointless. That would suck.

Ocho

This month my younger brother turns eight. All day I have been asking myself, what do you get for an eight-year-old boy? More specifically, an eight-year-old boy who tires of his toys after a month if they have not broken by then.

Luckily, I did not have to agonize over it for long, as Walgreen's had Wisconsin Badgers wallets and keychains on the cheap. Insert cash, and voila: birthday gift!

But the challenge did not end there; eight-year-olds, for the most part, are not terribly interested in opening cards, and this issue was only complicated further by my bland card stash. Greeting cards are horrendously overpriced, but packets of ten or twelve blank cards are not only reasonable but also force you to write an original message. What's the point of sending a card if you're not going to write anything in it? And what kid enjoys his family forcing him to read each card aloud before ripping into its corresponding gift!? Yes, ours does. Especially when you are learning to read.

Somewhere between selecting a gift box and searching for tissue paper, I had an idea. Here's the thing - I LOVE giving gifts, and I can't stand having to do with a candle or gift card for lack of any better idea. I got to work, and the finished product turned out even better than I ever could have imagined, and I am so EXCITED about it, that (despite how narcissistic it may make me look, this is my blog)- I just have to share. Without further ado:

Many thanks to Google and Wikipedia.

The only problem now? How do I follow THAT with Christmas right around the corner??? Hahahaha!!!

And I Can Breathe In A Small Town

I moved out of my parents' house permanently in 2005. In the time between then and now, my hometown acquired its first set of stoplights, and a mechanical bull.

Not even a week after I'd settled into my first apartment, my remaining belongings were packed up, and my old room became my little brother's room, and his old room became the spare bedroom.

And THEN, my mom painted the bathroom orange. Not a bathroomy pink-orange coral shade, not some kind of dark rustic burnt sienna shade, ORANGE. Like a pumpkin.

Even though I spent my senior year there, I still can not get used to the presence of the "new" high school, and when I attended the homecoming game a couple fridays ago, my Blue Devils played a team that was not even in our conference when I was a student.

They say that after you grow up and move out, you can never actually go "home" and they always say it like it's a bad thing... but... I think it's awesome!

There is a lot to love in Evansville. And the fact that it is so unbelievably different from when I truly lived there makes it possible. I cut a lot of ties, dropped the nostalgia that was beginning to feel like baggage, and I just love that I don't come from a town that never changes. When YOU change, and your old town stays the same, it's depressing. It taints your memories when you realize what a dump you really came from and you see how totally insignificant everything you ever cared about actually is. That sucks so bad...

I don't know if I could ever actually live in a small town, but I am BLESSED to live so close to one as dynamic yet quaint and old-timey and hip all at the same time. I love love LOVE Madison, but I'm also extremely proud of where I've come from. It has taken nearly five years to figure this all out, but it was worth the wait.

Forever Young

It all started on the fail blog, where somebody posted this little gem:

As utterly idiotic as the question was, it made me think. In a few decades, an entire generation will be immortalized through facebook a-la Anne Frank's diary, and I just don't know what to make of it.

I was putzing around on one of my facebook apps (farm town, btw) and I had received an automated message from a facebook friend who recently passed away. My first thought was "UN-FRIEND ASAP," but I went to look at his page, and found that it was filled entirely with stories his close friends would never forget, condolences to his family, and even a few messages TO him from folks whose beliefs promised that was not weird. It was very nice. A virtual memorial, in a sense, so I kept him as a "friend."

This is not about facebook, though, the real story here goes back to livejournal. Livejournal was my best friend from 2001-2009. It helped me keep in touch with old friends who moved away, it was a place I could vent or gush about whatever was happening in my life, and it opened doors to a few quite intimate virtual friendships that opened my eyes to things, helped me, changed me, etc.

There was one girl in particular, whom I added because her profile really grabbed me - a quirky, outspoken bibliophile from Texas who seemed to have quite the unique outlook on life. Her journal drew me in instantly - she was immensely intelligent far beyond her years, and the comments she left on my own journal entries always made me think.

In 2007, she sort of disappeared off the face of the internet - and I worried. Between her accidental pregnancy and toxic boyfriend and everything else in her life it was not too surprising, though very curious. Her sudden absence became as permeating as her effervescent presence, so I searched, though not obsessively, and soon stopped.

I recently had e-mail correspondence with another individual sincerely wondering what had happened. I said I did not know, but hoped he'd let me know if he learned anything. This afternoon my worst fears were confirmed. The only relief lay in the fact that it was not an overdose or suicide or anything else that could have been prevented, but a serious medical condition.

She has been gone for two-and-a-half years, in which time I have mourned her absence, yet I still am completely blown away by her death. I lit a candle and began writing, because that is what I do. Of course I wanted it to be some sort of tribute or memorial, but I just don't know what to say. I'm sure I will publish this, but it is more for me and not you. I was hoping I might make sense of the whole thing through writing, but I can't. I hoped to bring myself to a profound conclusion, but one can not be drawn. It is what it is - life&death - because of the photo he sent me, I will always remember her smille. And so to S: I will miss you forever. Love, Megan (NOT Meghan).

[respectfully added 1/10/10 courtesy of postsecret]

Ikea Fevah

Over the course of the last twenty-five years and seventeen days, I have been to Ikea once. It. Was. Amazing.

Today I found out that my mom hates Ikea. Is that even possible? AND she gets to go tomorrow! The day is actually about spending time with her sister and their friend, and they're wonderful, she would go anywhere with them, so that's what's going on there.

So I tried to be an adult having a conversation with another adult - any adult with whom I can have meaningful conversations (not like, you know, MOM). I told her she would probably have fun if she wasn't so negative about Ikea furniture, that the day isn't really about her, and to try to make the best of it. She goes, yeah yeah... same as I'd say had our roles been reversed.

Since that didn't really ignite a spark, I tried plan B: share MY Ikea experience, which would surely end with some form of "you are so weird." But oh, well. I spent the next few minutes raving about how cool it is that they have sample rooms all set up where all the furniture matches and everything is always perfect and cool-looking and expertly-designed. Here, you play the Ikea game: you go find a nice, sterile example room, sit down, and pretend you live there for a while. When you get sick of it, find another one! Pretty juvenile, but when you are trying to have fun at a store where you don't particularly enjoy shopping, every remotely fun alternative is going to be juvenile. See: 50 things to do at Wal-Mart, a popular e-mail forward back when people actually forwarded that shit.

And here's the part you'll never believe. She totally went along with it. My mom, who thinks I have the STRANGEST sense of humor and an even weirder taste in just about everything - who knows me better than anyone in the world, yet still has some pretty WTF moments with me - she chimed in about camping out on a comfy couch (her favorite way to unwind at the end of the day) and I was all, yeah, maybe they'll turn on some HGTV for you! And we had a moment.

What's the point of this story? For a while, I don't think my mom very well liked who she thought I was becoming. She's always loved me in that mothers'-unconditional-love kind of way, and she's always been good to me. LATELY, however, we talk about stuff and connect and at times ARE just two adults shooting the shit. Like maybe she would enjoy my company, even if she wasn't obligated to. And... cue the sappy soundtrack... it means the WORLD to me.

I'll Take My Swine Flu With a Grain of Salt, Please

I should preface the following paragraphs with a sort of a disclaimer - I am not, nor do I ever claim to be an expert on anything. If there are holes in my theories, flaws in my logic then get in touch because I would LOVE to hear what other people think about this stuff.

Influenza is a big deal, I wouldn't wish it upon anyone. And I mean a knock-down, drag-out, butt-kicking, three-miserable-weeks-in-bed INFLUENZA, not "the flu" which has somehow come to mean a day or two of gastroenteritis; it's not the same thing. If I constructed a "Top Ten Pet Peeves" list, that one would fall somewhere between extra-over-privileged girls who don't understand sidewalk etiquitte and people who don't like to repeat themselves yet don't speak clearly.

Now that I've gotten that off my chest, chew on this: "In the U.S., an estimated 25–50 million cases of the flu are currently reported each year — leading to 150,000 hospitalizations and 30,000–40,000 deaths yearly (via). Okay - so that's just influenza. I would venture to guess these numbers were compiled long before an H1N1 outbreak scare made it onto the radar. And here is the kicker: the total number of reported swine flu/H1N1 cases reported in the U.S. has been a whopping 33,902 with 170 deaths (via). Not to mention it's only such an issue at all because of how easily it spreads, but that's only a problem if you don't wash your hands or you go around licking things or whatever you people who are always sick do.

But I didn't log in to Blogger today to complain about my pet peeves or post inadequately checked facts. No, no, no, I wanted to throw my two cents in about the hysteria. Actually, hysteria is a really misogynistic term, so I'm going to call it PANIC. And please don't.

I just want to point out that the media, be it radio, tv or print runs on ad revenue. If your content is NEWS, then there is great incentive to gain viewers. More viewers means more ad exposure. So now every company wants to have a commercial during YOUR show, and that drives the price up (basic economics, people). ERGO a larger audience = more money in media outlets' pockets. Of course, news outlets really don't have the same kind of creative liberty as a sitcom so they have go figure out other ways to generate viewership. They DO have the ability to exaggerate and/or selectively withhold information. So then information becomes a commodity of sorts and if you don't "watch at 10" you are made to feel as though you are missing out and if you DO watch, you're likely to hear a startling statistic out of context that just might not be so startling IN its proper context. They do this all the time (via).

The whole H1N1/Swine Flu pandemic is a veritable GOLD MINE for news outlets looking to increase viewership to inflate ad prices and make more money. And PLEASE don't get me wrong - WASH YOUR HANDS, wash them ALL the time, and keep that habit long after flu threat subsides. DON'T GO TO WORK SICK! What did the rest of us ever do to you? My fourth grade teacher said that all rules/principles to live by fall into two categories: respect and responsibility. So be responsible for keeping good hygeine habits year-round, and respect your peers by not exposing them to your illness. Can we all just agree on this and let the media go on to their next apocalyptic prediction?