rant

I'm kind of pissed at true/false.

At noon today tickets went on sale for the remaining movies that havne't been reserved by people with passes. This is my first beef. Pass holders can fill up the whole theater if they want. So if you can't afford a pass, or really don't want to pay a minimum of $50 because you just want to see one or two movies, that's really to bad. There is a likely chance you might be able to fill the seat of a pass holder who never showed up, but there's just as likely as a chance that you won't. I think T/S should reserve seats for non pass holders. That is what I think.

Also, selling tickets at Cherry Street Artisan is the worst idea I've ever heard. I can think of many other places that could be adequate boxes offices. For example, Big Ragtag would be a good one. Cramming 200 people + their friends that want them to buy them tickets + the Artisan cliental + the Artisan staff + T/F volunteers + a band = a group of loud, hot, squished, confused people. You can't find a place to sit here on a Wednesday night, so I'm not sure why they thought releasing tickets to a festival that seems to double every year for three consecutive years seems to be a good idea.

And in dealing with all of the above, I only got tickets to two movies. That means I am going to have to wait in more lines to try to get into the other movies. But, I mean, at least I got those two. I was number 56. I have a sad feeling that the person with number 234 is probably going to get zero tickets. I'm sorry that the T/F Film festival is turning out just to be a waste of time for some people.

I ate too many sweet things today

For some reason, my family has turned Valentine's Day into the next biggest holiday behind Christmas . This means a lot of mail, mainly in package form. This week, I received three boxes from family members. Aside from the usual candy and cookies, each box is very personalized. Based on the contents, I could tell you who sent it without looking at the return address.

Box one. Homemade caramels and cookies in Valentine's Day themed tins. Cutesy gel stickers to put on windows. Pink shirt from dance store. A random ladle. Card. Aunt.

Box Two. Homemade Valentine's pajama pants (unusual item). Conversation hearts and three Valentine's Day peeps. Easy Mac and Instant Oatmeal. White polo shirt from Sears. Card. Grandparents.

Box Three. Envelope marked "IMPORTANT" (contains article and information about getting $25 from credit card settlement). Homesewn apron and repaired favorite purse. Chocolates in heart-shaped box. $50 check. Card. Mom (and dad).

Love you family. Also, I received a very nice Radiohead ticket today.

A final decision

I have decided to dedicate the following to lent:

1. spend less mindless time on interent
2. drink one or less than one caffeinated beverage daily
3. participate in the 6-pack challenge

MoB

Our next (first?) assignment assignment for Capstone is to write Moment of Being. This assignment is to write about a specific memory. In writing this memory, it is supposed become a revelation of sorts. I get the impression that a childhood memory is preferred. This is what I remember from my childhood: tree house with trapeze (MK doesn't like my tree house, she cut me off when I tried to tell the class about it), a forever messy room that my mother never made me clean, homemade pizza in the bright orange kitchen, phone numbers scribbled all over the wall next to the phone, buckets everywhere every time it rained, parents with heat guns on scaffolding every time it was sunny, whizzing down the railing from landing to first floor, taking naps under a large oak desk, trekking through a dandelion infested lawn and living off of honeysuckles.

I'm not going to say my childhood was better than yours.

But I am going to say it was weirder than yours. No, there was not a tv. Don't be mistaken and think that's because my parents were strict. An ending anecdote to prove how. My parents told me that when I was a baby, our Polish housekeeper wrapped me up in blankets and put me on the front porch in the icy Chicago winter air. The housekeeper said it was good for me. Even though my parents didn't understand, for some reason, they didn't object.

I hate the rec center. I really, really, do.

Last night I decided to drone out the repetitiveness of running in circles on the too-small track by running on the treadmill. Okay. Lack of logic, but okay. So I believe the Rec flew in the crappiest DJ from Kiss FM (Chicago shout-out anyone?) to DJ what they deemed a "Mardi Gras" party. That means they hung a cheap flag behind a skinny guido, who stood behind a red Apple and pretended to mix shitty songs. This, I can handle, and this I can even be entertained by. But the volume was turned up to 5,000 dB, and that I could not handle. Yet I decided to deal and punish myself. And it was really, really miserable. What did I learn from this experience? I really, really hate the rec center.

I don't do anything, ever (and I like it)

For the most part, my weeks and weeks of winter break do not consist of meeting up with old friends or working obscene holiday hours at my holiday-only job. They go like this instead: wake up. eat some breakfast and munch on Christmas cookies. maybe go running, but I probably do not. then I eat some more Christmas cookies. organize the books on shelf in my room, and decide which ones I want to get rid of trade into the used bookstore, so I can get more books. kick back on the couch, and read a little bit, which will attract all sorts of animals who also live here, because who doesn't like to lie on the couch, but that means I will have to break up interactions between Libby the cat and Addie the dog, because Addie the dog likes Libby the cat, but Libby the cat is scared of Addie the dog and will start sneezing uncontrollably if the dog gets too close. By this time, I am hungry again so I will heat up some soup and chow down on Christmas cookies as the soup warms. Then I will putz around in my room a little bit more and throw out things I have for some reason saved much longer than necessary, like dried up markers or pay stubs from jobs I haven't had for three years. I will next eat some Christmas cookies and work on a puzzle for a bit, while listening to NPR Iowa caucus coverage. I may or may not eat dinner, probably not because I am full after all the Christmas cookies. Then I will read and go to bed.

Did you read all that? Why? Regardless, the point I wanted to make here is that I am not bored, and I am rather enjoying myself. I have seen some friends, I have been drunk once or twice, I'm not a total loser. But I just wanted to say that doing nothing is underrated, and I am here to bring it back.

e-mail from mom to the family. I believe family tells a lot about a person.

Let's plan our Christmas baking day for Dec. 24 - all day. If there are
requests for cookies, cakes, desserts, etc. that will require special
ingredients, such as nuts, candied cherries, dried apricots, jellies,
jams, brown sugar, powdered sugar, let me know by early next week. We
can try some new recipes if you want.

Dad can use this day to put tinsel on the tree and keep the Christmas
CDs going, as well as watch the oven timer and load the dishwasher. ; )
Addie, Rose, and Libby can help lick bowls. I'm not sure what Jake will
want to do, probably go in and out to check the weather.

Love,
Mom

a conversation between a local hipster clerk at thrift store and me as I was checking out:

me: can you judge someone's personality by the type of clothes they buy?
he: yes, to a certain extent. Would you like me to give you a reading?
me: yeah, sure.
(pause pause pause. silence, except for cash register ringing)
he: you have an eye for patterns and textures. You are aware of vintage and aren't stingy. You go to Mizzou and do relatively well in school. You have a fairly worthwhile major that will probably get you a reasonable job.
me: why do you say that I do well in school?
he: you have your priorities straight because you don't spend too much time choosing ridiculous clothes. You choose comfort over choosing something for the sake of its ridiculousness. But you still make an effort not to look like everyone else.


who knew a hipster knew so much?

good news for people who love good news

bad news: I stepped on the shirt of my interview outift when it fell off the hanger as I was walking
good news: I didn't end up doing the interview anyway, so she did not see that I was wearing a footprint

bad news: my dad cut off his finger
good news: the nice doctors and nurses sewed it back on

bad news: I'm receiving an imcomplete in one of my course
good news: I no longer need to study for the GRE, so can complete the course work during the time I would have been brushing up on my vocab and maths.

bad news: sometimes when I blow my nose, both ears pop, and I feel dizzy
good news: this is perhaps the least sick I have felt all semester

good news: this is going to be a great Christmas
good news: I have learned a great deal in the past months, and I do love to learn
good news: I am snowboarding for new years
good news: I get a new bed next week
good news: Mizzou is no. 1
bad news: I'm still not sure what I am going to do with my life

I wonder if

I am using facebook scrabble as a means to escape the more pressing and important things in my life. Probably.

I like libraries

There is no point to this post. I just have to sing my praise for libraries. Bored? Stop reading now.

I spent a lot of time growing up at the library. I can picture in my mind exactly where the Baby-sitters Club series was located at the Riverside Public Library. I remember where the romance paperbacks were, too: basement, in the back, black wire racks. I never read one, but the cover art of orgasming half-undressed Victorian-era characters may have perhaps been my first exposure to sex.

The bibliothèque in Lyon was a place where I could feel at home. Part-Dieu it was called. It was good to find a place to feel at home in a scary foreign country. It wasn't particularly welcoming. In fact the library was quite ugly. But the music section always had something good playing. I spent a lot of time flipping through the racks, trying to select which four albums I would take for that day, with maybe The Velvet Underground as my soundtrack.

The Lemont library sucks. I am not talking about it.

The Chicago library gave me Harry Potter. Spend $35 I don't have on Deathly Hallows? I think not. The main branch ordered 100 copies, no holds allowed. The morning the book was released, Amy and I went to the library and checked out one copy each. I remember she was incredibly bitchy on the way home because I got caught up talking to the reference librarian about the amazing things you can do with research these days.

This appreciation for libraries brought to you after some time spent at Daniel Boone Regional Library. Books, CDs, DVDs… yummmm. No late fees? Yes. Lakota coffee in the library. Hold placed on entire series of Planet Earth. Hope it gets here before Thanksgiving. Oh Thanksgiving. Love, you man.

this happened last wednesday

The sun had just risen, and it was drizzling. I was riding my bike to meet Kelly for a run. A few of Columbia's homeless addicts were standing together in a parking lot, mesmerized by a rainbow. It seemed to be a very childish scence, because they were amazed by something so simple. A few minutes later, as we took the first few steps of our run, Kelly noticed the rainbow, too. It was a great rainbow, spanning across the whole sky. It was a good start to the run.

About 30 minutes later, it started raining, and I couldn't keep my glasses clean of rain quickly enough. A few minutes after that, it started pouring, and I was screwed.

I was thinking about starting a food blog,

for these reasons. I like to eat food. I like to make food. I hate spending money on food when I go out to eat. I always resort to the same recipes, and for some reason I feel that a blog about food would force me to be more creative in my cooking. I don't know why, because I don't know who would read it. But then again, I don't know who reads this one.

Anyways, it would be great! I could call it something spectacular like… Betsy's Kitschy Kitch. It would be all about my adventures in the kitchen. How more worthwhile could this project get? I don't believe there is an answer to that question.

Tonight's dinner proposed a problem, however. I burned my grilled cheese sammich and the soup I ate wasn't anything to tell mom about. I'm not even that good of a cook.

it's a new week!

AND the radiohead album comes out in two days. Also, I don't hate puppies. Check out this adorable puppy picture I took over the weekend:

This is what happens when I decide to work 30+ hours in one mon-fri span:

Stressed. There are not enough hours in the day to do the things I need to do: study, write, run, go to the grocery story, interview, eat, shower, sleep. Thus, there is no chance of time to do the things I want to do: laugh, have nice dreams, clean my room, read, send mail, journal, have friends.

I start to hate people who are not as stressed as I am. I hate my sister for going to Vegas. I hate my friends who go out on Thursday. I hate people eating burritos outside Chipotle. I hate puppies. Now I am filled not only with stress, but hate. Add little sleep and general grumpiness mood.

I feel gross. I haven't done any running except between class/work/interviews/class/work. I haven't taken a shower since… I forget. I am driving myself into coldsoredom.

I wake up after six hours of sleep this morning, all thanks to my redank schedule and I hate my life. I hate that I have to do two interviews back-to-back, I hate the journalism school and I even hate all the music on my "Greatest Songs in the World" itunes playlist. I hate happy people.

And what is the point of all of this? Basically, I need to never do this again. Is all the money I made this week worth it? Maybe later, but not now. Definitely not now. I cannot do this to myself. This will be a constant reminder of how to rank priorities. Certain things are more important than I originally thought. Like being happy. Like taking showers.

Yesterday:

As I exhaustedly collapsed onto bed last night, I thought about what a day of extremes it had been.

Before I left for work at preschool, I was in the worst of moods. Too much to do, too much work, too much school. Too many assignments, too litle time to do them all. And when am I going to have time to train for a marathon in all of this? I was stressed to the maximum.

Then, preschool. I completely forgot about everything. The kids are so simple and so real. We ate Jello for snack, and did you know four-year-olds eating Jello is adorable? When I finished school, I was worry free. Sure, I still had all that stuff to worry about, but meh… it's really not a big deal. I had 45 minutes to cram in some Foucault, and then I ran over to babysit the most adorable kids ever. I ran around like a crazy and almost melted when Jackson screamed "J'AI UN DRAGON!" (I am a dragon). I was happy happy happy.

Then, home to get some reading done and write a paper before sleep. I got distracted and did some writing for a different class because I felt like writing something. Suddenly, I started writing this really personal thing about my grandpa and became really upset and started to cry. I cried until the last word and gathered myself together to finish my homework so I could finally sleep.

And, like I said, I was exhausted once I finally got there. I feel like I felt too many things in one day. That's okay though. I am the toughest person I know. ha, that was a joke.

in case you didn't know me, I am a very judgemental

The other night, which may or may not have been last night because the whole week has had no specifics for me, some kids I know left Lakota to go watch the OC. I was all hunched over studying and thought to myself mean things about these people. Seriously guys. The OC? Why don't you go read some Kant or something of the sort and spend your time in a worthwhile fashion? Then I forgot about it and continued crafting complex-compound sentences.

Tonight, I spent a worthless hour watching The Office, and it was brilliant. And I hated myself for hating the OC-watchers. Because the non-depth of it completely took my mind of ELT I have been concerned about lately. I am now refreshed to read John Locke with a cheerful mind.

I seem to consistently attract creeps. That's all I'm saying.

Found

I was cleaning up my desktop and found this paragraph I transcribed from a This American Life episode. I can't remember which one it was. But it goes like this:

I think most of us are like that, like Phillip Dick or Ellery’s father. Most of us are toiling away at daily work that doesn’t seem as important to us as the ambitious dreams we have for ourselves. We’re convinced that we’re not living up to our potential, that there’s a better part of our ourselves that just hasn’t expressed itself yet. Until our daily lives are over and what’s left is that daily work. Whatever it is. Whatever we gave it.

Remember when?

Today is September 11, 2007. Did you remember? I feel sad mostly. I have a great deal of work to finish, but I'm not quite in the mood.

To quote a simple song titled Colours by Donovan "Freedom is a word I rarely use without thinking."