5 things that are overrated:
- most Apple products
- Oprah
- name brands
- rap music
- street smarts
5 things that are underrated:
- eye contact
- the power of self
- nights in
- expansive landscape view of El Cajon
- the perfect iced mocha
5 words that I love:
- snafu
- illumination
- epitome
- ethereal
- coquettish
5 words that I hate:
- epic
- masticate
- moist
- fuchsia
- congeal
5 goals this weekend:
- clean out my closet
- experimental art project
- study bone landmarks
- lake bike ride
- sleep in
2/27/09
2/25/09
If You're Into Slummin' It
I love reading editorials about random, unique places I have yet to visit. My friend recently tipped me off to Yelp.com, but I also keep tabs on the Entertainment section of the Union Tribune. Today, I was surprised to see that someone actually took the time to highlight some of La Mesa's 'must visit' spots ... I was unaware La Mesa even had those.
Anyway, I was incredibly surprised to see what was actually featured in this article, because being a resident of La Mesa for longer than I care to mention, I can tell you that this person is RIDICULOUS. Like, laugh-out-loud ridiculous that they would actually suggest innocent, unsuspecting souls visit these places. This author has obviously never spent time in these establishments. True, La Mesa isn't the most exciting place in the world, but there are far better destinations to visit than these! If you have read this piece, pretend it is opposite day. I guarantee severe disappointment if you take this author's advice and visit these 'gems' of western most East County after dark.
Here are a few of his fantastic suggestions ...
The Falcon's Lure - "Never underestimate the power of Kelly-green carpet and faux Tudor walls to transport you to a beer nook deep in the Swiss Alps."
Transported to Switzerland? Um, are you for real? You can't even turn around in this place it's so tiny. Also, carpet in a bar? RIDICULOUS.
The Chico Club - "The game's called "shipwrecked in La Mesa" and -- depending on the day -- you're welcome to play as early as 6 a.m."
Though playing 'shipwrecked in La Mesa' might sound like a fun theme night, do not be fooled. The Chico Club looks like child molester central/ a dilapidated strip club and the only thing 'pirate-y' about it is the regulars quite possibly have eye patches and missing limbs. Maybe after a few drinks, you can end your 'shipwrecked' night at The Tubs, as it is just down the street. RIDICULOUS.
Mr. G's Tavern - "Distressed frat house den room meets backyard bar" sums up Mr. G's to a T."
How does anything in that description sound at all alluring? And yes, this place does look (and smell) like a frat house. It is perfect for coug-hunting and I'm sure no one would care if you vomited in the corner. Just make sure to take your shoes off (instant party foul!) if you decide to pass out on the craigslist leather couch. RIDICULOUS.
I am so embarrassed that everyone living outside of La Mesa is going to read this guy's article and honestly think we are proud about these places. Ick! Heed this advice, my little chickadees. These La Mesa landmarks are great ... if you're into slummin' it.
Anyway, I was incredibly surprised to see what was actually featured in this article, because being a resident of La Mesa for longer than I care to mention, I can tell you that this person is RIDICULOUS. Like, laugh-out-loud ridiculous that they would actually suggest innocent, unsuspecting souls visit these places. This author has obviously never spent time in these establishments. True, La Mesa isn't the most exciting place in the world, but there are far better destinations to visit than these! If you have read this piece, pretend it is opposite day. I guarantee severe disappointment if you take this author's advice and visit these 'gems' of western most East County after dark.
Here are a few of his fantastic suggestions ...
The Falcon's Lure - "Never underestimate the power of Kelly-green carpet and faux Tudor walls to transport you to a beer nook deep in the Swiss Alps."
Transported to Switzerland? Um, are you for real? You can't even turn around in this place it's so tiny. Also, carpet in a bar? RIDICULOUS.
The Chico Club - "The game's called "shipwrecked in La Mesa" and -- depending on the day -- you're welcome to play as early as 6 a.m."
Though playing 'shipwrecked in La Mesa' might sound like a fun theme night, do not be fooled. The Chico Club looks like child molester central/ a dilapidated strip club and the only thing 'pirate-y' about it is the regulars quite possibly have eye patches and missing limbs. Maybe after a few drinks, you can end your 'shipwrecked' night at The Tubs, as it is just down the street. RIDICULOUS.
Mr. G's Tavern - "Distressed frat house den room meets backyard bar" sums up Mr. G's to a T."
How does anything in that description sound at all alluring? And yes, this place does look (and smell) like a frat house. It is perfect for coug-hunting and I'm sure no one would care if you vomited in the corner. Just make sure to take your shoes off (instant party foul!) if you decide to pass out on the craigslist leather couch. RIDICULOUS.
I am so embarrassed that everyone living outside of La Mesa is going to read this guy's article and honestly think we are proud about these places. Ick! Heed this advice, my little chickadees. These La Mesa landmarks are great ... if you're into slummin' it.
2/24/09
Distraction of the Week
I love Damien Rice. I've been listening to him a lot this week, when I can pull myself away from the Joshua Radin mix I've been obsessed with. Check out the album, O. Amazing lyrics, especially 'Cannonball'.
There's still a little bit of your taste in my mouth
Still a little bit of you laced with my doubt
It's still a little harder to say what's going on
There's still a little bit of your ghost, your witness
Still a little bit of your face I haven't kissed
You step a little closer each day
That I can't say what's going on
Stones taught me to fly
Love, it taught me to lie
Life, it taught me to die
So it's not hard to fall
When you float like a cannonball
There's still a little bit of your song in my ear
There's still a little bit of your words I long to hear
You step a little closer to me
So close that I can't see what's going on
Stones taught me to fly
Love, it taught me to lie
Life, taught me to die
So it's not hard to fall
When you float like a cannon
Stones taught me to fly
Love, it taught me to cry
So come on courage!
Teach me to be shy
'Cause it's not hard to fall
And I don't wanna scare her
It's not hard to fall
And I don't want to lose
It's not hard to grow
When you know that you're just don't know
- 'Cannonball', Damien Rice, O
There's still a little bit of your taste in my mouth
Still a little bit of you laced with my doubt
It's still a little harder to say what's going on
There's still a little bit of your ghost, your witness
Still a little bit of your face I haven't kissed
You step a little closer each day
That I can't say what's going on
Stones taught me to fly
Love, it taught me to lie
Life, it taught me to die
So it's not hard to fall
When you float like a cannonball
There's still a little bit of your song in my ear
There's still a little bit of your words I long to hear
You step a little closer to me
So close that I can't see what's going on
Stones taught me to fly
Love, it taught me to lie
Life, taught me to die
So it's not hard to fall
When you float like a cannon
Stones taught me to fly
Love, it taught me to cry
So come on courage!
Teach me to be shy
'Cause it's not hard to fall
And I don't wanna scare her
It's not hard to fall
And I don't want to lose
It's not hard to grow
When you know that you're just don't know
- 'Cannonball', Damien Rice, O
2/23/09
Sexy People
My friend just turned me onto www.sexypeople-blog.com. It is a collection of the most deliciously awkward portraits separated into categories like styling, mullets, staches, backdrop, etc.
Best. Blog. Ever.
Don't believe me? Here are some highlights ...
Christine, 1989 - could be twins with Fizzgig from The Dark Crystal.
Ramon & Michelle, 1991 - Rawr, mi amor.
Chad, 1989 - Chippendales, eat your heart out!
Brothers & Brews, 1993 - a double exposure highlighting clinking beers together? Also, Busch?
Possessed Child, 1974 - Damien from The Omen's slightly more religious brother (or sister? I can't tell).
Best. Blog. Ever.
Don't believe me? Here are some highlights ...
Christine, 1989 - could be twins with Fizzgig from The Dark Crystal.
Ramon & Michelle, 1991 - Rawr, mi amor.
Chad, 1989 - Chippendales, eat your heart out!
Brothers & Brews, 1993 - a double exposure highlighting clinking beers together? Also, Busch?
Possessed Child, 1974 - Damien from The Omen's slightly more religious brother (or sister? I can't tell).
Milestone
I’ve been thinking a lot about growing up lately. I don’t think I will ever totally assimilate into adulthood (or at least I hope not), but I can feel myself thinking and acting more maturely. I can’t say I'm completely thrilled. I mean, I am 24 years old – this is something that is only to be expected, right? Still, my inner child is cross-armed and pouting in the corner.
I’m influenced by a lot of things, usually a particular poem or lyric. This whole growing up business has me in a reflective state at present and reminded me of a quote I love from the awesome and always relevant television series, The Wonder Years …
“Growing up is never easy. You hold on to things that were. You wonder what's to come ... I think we knew it was time to let go of what had been, and look ahead to what would be. Other days. New days. Days to come. The thing is, we didn't have to hate each other for getting older. We just had to forgive ourselves... for growing up.”
Getting older is a scary thing to do, not only because of the increased amount of responsibility or the crow’s feet, but because inevitability is frightening. Maturity, death, growing up, etc. are things that will happen, whether you like it or not. I don’t know if it has to do with new experiences or a different outlook on life, but in the short time since my 24th birthday, I feel like I have blossomed into the person I always imagined I could be when I thought about my potential. Yet, it’s hard for me to accept this. I’m not ready to let go of who I was, even if I’m healthier and happier now. I get upset at myself for wanting to leave the old Autumn behind.
I guess, if all else fails, we just need to revert to a younger philosophy, like that of the ten year olds on The Wonder Years. After all, there has to be a past to move to present and after my almost quarter century of life, this process has been repeated at least a few times. So, if I've done it before I should be able to do it again, right? I have to look ahead to what would be, not hate myself for growing older and forgive myself for growing up.
I’m influenced by a lot of things, usually a particular poem or lyric. This whole growing up business has me in a reflective state at present and reminded me of a quote I love from the awesome and always relevant television series, The Wonder Years …
“Growing up is never easy. You hold on to things that were. You wonder what's to come ... I think we knew it was time to let go of what had been, and look ahead to what would be. Other days. New days. Days to come. The thing is, we didn't have to hate each other for getting older. We just had to forgive ourselves... for growing up.”
Getting older is a scary thing to do, not only because of the increased amount of responsibility or the crow’s feet, but because inevitability is frightening. Maturity, death, growing up, etc. are things that will happen, whether you like it or not. I don’t know if it has to do with new experiences or a different outlook on life, but in the short time since my 24th birthday, I feel like I have blossomed into the person I always imagined I could be when I thought about my potential. Yet, it’s hard for me to accept this. I’m not ready to let go of who I was, even if I’m healthier and happier now. I get upset at myself for wanting to leave the old Autumn behind.
I guess, if all else fails, we just need to revert to a younger philosophy, like that of the ten year olds on The Wonder Years. After all, there has to be a past to move to present and after my almost quarter century of life, this process has been repeated at least a few times. So, if I've done it before I should be able to do it again, right? I have to look ahead to what would be, not hate myself for growing older and forgive myself for growing up.
FAIL
There is a cafe right outside the hospital where I work. They have a special Marti Gras menu for tomorrow and were passing out fliers today to all the offices. I kind of wanted to chase after the guy circulating these because ... I don't know how appetizing 'cajon' seasoned anything would be.
cajón
Function: masculine noun
Inflected Form(s): plural cajones
Language: Spanish
1 : drawer, till
2 : crate, case
Spellcheck. It's a hell of a resource.
2/19/09
Limited Time Offer! Act Now!
I have the most amazing news!
San Diego Union Tribune — The historic Old Police Headquarters near Seaport Village will be redeveloped by summer 2010 into shops and restaurants, but it is providing a home decoration opportunity now for San Diegans with a taste for the bizarre. Cell doors, bunks, sinks and even toilets used by decades of San Diego criminals.
Ahem, toilets? I'm all for one-of-a-kind conversation starters in the home, but used prisoner toilets? Really?
“Alcatraz sells little pieces of the bars that used to be on the cells, and they are quite popular,” said Steve Willard of the San Diego Police Historical Association. “There's people out there who collect all kinds of things.”
I don't see how bars from a prison that housed some of the most infamous criminals in history compares to used toilets from the local slammer. But hey, that's just me. If you are interested in some essential cell decor, including a 'historical' crapper at a steal of a deal ($25!), information is below.
Where: Old Police Headquarters, 700 W. Harbor Drive
When: 9 a.m. to noon Saturday
Prices: Cell panel, $300; cell door, $200; bunk, $150; sink, $100; toilet, $25
Proceeds benefit the San Diego Police Historical
Willard, vice president of the police charity that gets the proceeds, said there's precedent. One former police captain took home a cell door, welded on legs, topped it with glass and turned it into a bar.
I actually think this idea is fairly innovative and it made me brainstorm a few DIY ideas for the toilets ...
A flower planter? Make your garden snazzy! Shabby chic painted accents add that special something.
A serving dish? Mmm, appetizing. It's like reverse digestion!
An aphrodisiac? If you get two (you could probably finagle a buy one, get one 50% off situation) you could totally make a 'love toilet'. Nothing says romance more than pooping side by side. Nothing.
Or, there is always the boring normal use for prison toilets. So, if you must keep them for that purpose at least get one of these awesome toilet seats for it. We all know the best ideas come when on the john, so inspire the musician in you! Prison commode + butt cheeks on former guitar = AMAZING!
San Diego Union Tribune — The historic Old Police Headquarters near Seaport Village will be redeveloped by summer 2010 into shops and restaurants, but it is providing a home decoration opportunity now for San Diegans with a taste for the bizarre. Cell doors, bunks, sinks and even toilets used by decades of San Diego criminals.
Ahem, toilets? I'm all for one-of-a-kind conversation starters in the home, but used prisoner toilets? Really?
“Alcatraz sells little pieces of the bars that used to be on the cells, and they are quite popular,” said Steve Willard of the San Diego Police Historical Association. “There's people out there who collect all kinds of things.”
I don't see how bars from a prison that housed some of the most infamous criminals in history compares to used toilets from the local slammer. But hey, that's just me. If you are interested in some essential cell decor, including a 'historical' crapper at a steal of a deal ($25!), information is below.
Where: Old Police Headquarters, 700 W. Harbor Drive
When: 9 a.m. to noon Saturday
Prices: Cell panel, $300; cell door, $200; bunk, $150; sink, $100; toilet, $25
Proceeds benefit the San Diego Police Historical
Willard, vice president of the police charity that gets the proceeds, said there's precedent. One former police captain took home a cell door, welded on legs, topped it with glass and turned it into a bar.
I actually think this idea is fairly innovative and it made me brainstorm a few DIY ideas for the toilets ...
A flower planter? Make your garden snazzy! Shabby chic painted accents add that special something.
A serving dish? Mmm, appetizing. It's like reverse digestion!
An aphrodisiac? If you get two (you could probably finagle a buy one, get one 50% off situation) you could totally make a 'love toilet'. Nothing says romance more than pooping side by side. Nothing.
Or, there is always the boring normal use for prison toilets. So, if you must keep them for that purpose at least get one of these awesome toilet seats for it. We all know the best ideas come when on the john, so inspire the musician in you! Prison commode + butt cheeks on former guitar = AMAZING!
This Shhh is Bananas
Dear Banana, I peeled you like I always do, but you broke in the middle. What fruit does that? I know you did this just to spite me, so I'm going to eat you anyway.
Regards,
Autumn
2/18/09
A Pictorial Tribute
I love Flight of the Conchords.
Far too much for my own good.
Maybe I'm obsessed? Affirmative.
And do you know what time it is?
Oh ... it's business time, baby.
Far too much for my own good.
Maybe I'm obsessed? Affirmative.
And do you know what time it is?
Oh ... it's business time, baby.
A Pocket Guide to Crazy
I had another bizarre dream last night. I woke up this morning a little disgusted by my own imagination and that it is able to concoct such nonsense. I have somehow became severely disturbed.
So ... I was walking along a lonely highway, not a car in sight, picking up trash with one of those metal claws and a big trash bag slung over my back. I was wearing an orange community service vest, so this action was clearly court ordered. What did I do to deserve this punishment? I have no idea. The dream did not come with a back story and I woke up before I ever found out. Anyway, I continue to pick up trash until I come across a naked corpse. Yes, a corpse ... and that isn't even the strangest part. I don't get scared or start hyperventilating, I just say to myself, "I need to get this cadaver out of here before other people see it and freak out". So I pick it up and put it in the bag on my back. What in the hell?! Gross! How do I just randomly lift a dead, rotting corpse off the ground with ease? Ew. All of a sudden I'm back home, but it's not my 'real' house, its my house in the dream. I live in one of those studio apartment complexes that are so tiny they have a community kitchen, instead of individual ones in each unit. You know the ones ... they have a lot of them downtown.
Anyway, I walk to the kitchen, with the bag of trash and dead body, and proceed to shove the whole thing into a pantry space above the sink. At the risk of repeating myself - what in the hell?! Gross! After this, I finally start feeling panicked, but only because I'm afraid people will still find the body, not because I stuffed it next to some canned goods. I decide that if I paint the kitchen red no one will think to look for a body (seemed like a good idea mid-REM sleep). The body is not bleeding or anything, so why red? Not sure, but I'm guessing it's just blatant foreshadowing. After painting it, I sit there and watch people come in and out of the kitchen, feeling very proud of myself that they are none the wiser. Obviously, I need therapy.
Okay, there are two established facts in this hallucination - first, I did not kill the person, even though I am obviously some sort of delinquent, considering I found it while serving mandatory community service. Second, the body doesn't scare me, the only reason I am so anxious is because I don't want people to find it. Needless to say, the dream was much more detailed than what I can remember so I may have forgotten some key points. The more complicated this dream gets, the more unsettled I become. I hope you don't label me a psychopath after reading this, because I'm 97% sure I am not.
I bought "A Pocket Guide to Dreams" today at Borders to further investigate the meaning behind my dead body stashing/ DIY kitchen makeover. It was $3.99 and I am choosing to believe that I just found a fantastic deal and it is not a reflection of the content quality.
Why am I so weird?
So ... I was walking along a lonely highway, not a car in sight, picking up trash with one of those metal claws and a big trash bag slung over my back. I was wearing an orange community service vest, so this action was clearly court ordered. What did I do to deserve this punishment? I have no idea. The dream did not come with a back story and I woke up before I ever found out. Anyway, I continue to pick up trash until I come across a naked corpse. Yes, a corpse ... and that isn't even the strangest part. I don't get scared or start hyperventilating, I just say to myself, "I need to get this cadaver out of here before other people see it and freak out". So I pick it up and put it in the bag on my back. What in the hell?! Gross! How do I just randomly lift a dead, rotting corpse off the ground with ease? Ew. All of a sudden I'm back home, but it's not my 'real' house, its my house in the dream. I live in one of those studio apartment complexes that are so tiny they have a community kitchen, instead of individual ones in each unit. You know the ones ... they have a lot of them downtown.
Anyway, I walk to the kitchen, with the bag of trash and dead body, and proceed to shove the whole thing into a pantry space above the sink. At the risk of repeating myself - what in the hell?! Gross! After this, I finally start feeling panicked, but only because I'm afraid people will still find the body, not because I stuffed it next to some canned goods. I decide that if I paint the kitchen red no one will think to look for a body (seemed like a good idea mid-REM sleep). The body is not bleeding or anything, so why red? Not sure, but I'm guessing it's just blatant foreshadowing. After painting it, I sit there and watch people come in and out of the kitchen, feeling very proud of myself that they are none the wiser. Obviously, I need therapy.
Okay, there are two established facts in this hallucination - first, I did not kill the person, even though I am obviously some sort of delinquent, considering I found it while serving mandatory community service. Second, the body doesn't scare me, the only reason I am so anxious is because I don't want people to find it. Needless to say, the dream was much more detailed than what I can remember so I may have forgotten some key points. The more complicated this dream gets, the more unsettled I become. I hope you don't label me a psychopath after reading this, because I'm 97% sure I am not.
I bought "A Pocket Guide to Dreams" today at Borders to further investigate the meaning behind my dead body stashing/ DIY kitchen makeover. It was $3.99 and I am choosing to believe that I just found a fantastic deal and it is not a reflection of the content quality.
Why am I so weird?
2/17/09
Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?
My brother Troy and I have always been very close. He was born 16 months after me and as soon as I was old enough to understand what being a big sister encompassed, I tried my hardest to live up to the title. I introduced him to Sesame Street, sang to him, showed him the nice way to pet kittens, read him my favorite books and didn’t even mind when he bit me, because that’s what baby brothers do. Before my sister was born, we used to share a room - I remember our bunk beds and matching solar system comforters well, he gallantly took the top bunk because being so close to the ceiling made me claustrophobic. In grade school, he had a harder time than I did with the anti-Mormonism we experienced living in the Bible belt. You would never believe it to look at him now, at over six feet tall, but I knuckle-sandwiched a few kids in my day on behalf of my little bro. No one messes with my blood! I love him, so much. And that is why the past 11 months have been so difficult.
For two years of his life, my brother served a religious mission in Resistencia, Argentina. He lived in several different areas, usually the most destitute parts of town. He walked endless miles in sweltering heat and extreme rain, enough to go through multiple pairs of shoes. Sometimes, the hovels he had to live in didn’t have floors, real roofs and at one point, running water. He had to assimilate into a new culture, learn a foreign language, adapt to the area dialects, walk countless miles every single day and try to teach unwilling people about his beliefs. I don’t know how his spirit didn’t break with every let down and hardship he encountered. Mine would have. A few weeks before he was scheduled to return home, he developed appendicitis leading to a severe infection on his bowel, resulting in emergency endoscopic surgery … in South America (yikes!). Poor guy was having major abdominal pain for over a week and thought he just wasn’t eating enough fiber. When he started vomiting nonstop and was unable to walk to his appointments, he finally went to a hospital. Now, that’s dedication. It was one of the scariest times in my life. I remember the surgery was supposed to last two hours and ended up going for almost six. Every hour that passed was agony, my mind racing over the hypothetical situation of something going wrong and losing my brother forever. A few days after the surgery, he was still out serving the last few people he could before jetting back to the states.
This act of dedication sometimes leaves me speechless. It was such a selfless thing to do, to give up a portion of your life (and bowel, ha) to lobby for something you believe would change the lives of strangers for the better. When people say that they are ‘touched’ by something, I can’t always relate to the feeling. When I think about this, however, I do understand. Troy returned home in late March of last year, gaunt and malnourished, he looked like he had been to Hell and back. Little did we know, this would turn out to be a literal description of his experiences. For the first month or so of being home, he seemed to be dealing with reverse culture-shock relatively well. He was reconnecting with old friends, looking for a job, excited about starting up with school again … everything seemed great. My brother was back. No more waiting for his holiday phone calls and weekly emails that hardly provided enough information, I could talk to him whenever I wanted.
But as the weeks went by, my brother slowly recoiled from all of his social activities, he even stopped looking for a job. He would sit alone in his room or on the computer every moment he was not in school. This was completely out of character for him, he was a social creature and it was strange to see him shrink into something I barely recognized anymore. Each of us (mom, dad, little sister) would try separately to figure out what happened but he wouldn't talk about it. I called depression, possibly PTSD, back in the third month of this behavior, but everyone else believed he would snap out of it. It was going on 11 months, with my poor brother slowly growing more detached as the time passed. No one knew what to do or how to be there for him.
This week he finally broke down and asked for help. Thank God. My parents went to our bishop at church to see if there were some other missionaries that might be able to talk with him, since he wouldn’t talk about his negative mission experiences with us. He also started going to a therapist, by his own free will no less. On the downside, he was diagnosed as clinically depressed (duh!), but wouldn’t talk about medication. I think he was embarrassed. I just want my brother back! And I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen. My sister and I went to church with him this Sunday to support him. We even went to youth group with him last night where I got pummeled at dodge ball (yes, Mormons do this for fun) and if that doesn’t say sisterly love, I don’t know what does. He has been stuck in the missionary frame of mind for far longer than necessary … it’s been almost a year since he was released from that title. I hope that he will continue to harmonize with the world around him. I hold a certain respect for Elder Rashak, but he’ll always be Troy Boy to me.
For two years of his life, my brother served a religious mission in Resistencia, Argentina. He lived in several different areas, usually the most destitute parts of town. He walked endless miles in sweltering heat and extreme rain, enough to go through multiple pairs of shoes. Sometimes, the hovels he had to live in didn’t have floors, real roofs and at one point, running water. He had to assimilate into a new culture, learn a foreign language, adapt to the area dialects, walk countless miles every single day and try to teach unwilling people about his beliefs. I don’t know how his spirit didn’t break with every let down and hardship he encountered. Mine would have. A few weeks before he was scheduled to return home, he developed appendicitis leading to a severe infection on his bowel, resulting in emergency endoscopic surgery … in South America (yikes!). Poor guy was having major abdominal pain for over a week and thought he just wasn’t eating enough fiber. When he started vomiting nonstop and was unable to walk to his appointments, he finally went to a hospital. Now, that’s dedication. It was one of the scariest times in my life. I remember the surgery was supposed to last two hours and ended up going for almost six. Every hour that passed was agony, my mind racing over the hypothetical situation of something going wrong and losing my brother forever. A few days after the surgery, he was still out serving the last few people he could before jetting back to the states.
This act of dedication sometimes leaves me speechless. It was such a selfless thing to do, to give up a portion of your life (and bowel, ha) to lobby for something you believe would change the lives of strangers for the better. When people say that they are ‘touched’ by something, I can’t always relate to the feeling. When I think about this, however, I do understand. Troy returned home in late March of last year, gaunt and malnourished, he looked like he had been to Hell and back. Little did we know, this would turn out to be a literal description of his experiences. For the first month or so of being home, he seemed to be dealing with reverse culture-shock relatively well. He was reconnecting with old friends, looking for a job, excited about starting up with school again … everything seemed great. My brother was back. No more waiting for his holiday phone calls and weekly emails that hardly provided enough information, I could talk to him whenever I wanted.
But as the weeks went by, my brother slowly recoiled from all of his social activities, he even stopped looking for a job. He would sit alone in his room or on the computer every moment he was not in school. This was completely out of character for him, he was a social creature and it was strange to see him shrink into something I barely recognized anymore. Each of us (mom, dad, little sister) would try separately to figure out what happened but he wouldn't talk about it. I called depression, possibly PTSD, back in the third month of this behavior, but everyone else believed he would snap out of it. It was going on 11 months, with my poor brother slowly growing more detached as the time passed. No one knew what to do or how to be there for him.
This week he finally broke down and asked for help. Thank God. My parents went to our bishop at church to see if there were some other missionaries that might be able to talk with him, since he wouldn’t talk about his negative mission experiences with us. He also started going to a therapist, by his own free will no less. On the downside, he was diagnosed as clinically depressed (duh!), but wouldn’t talk about medication. I think he was embarrassed. I just want my brother back! And I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen. My sister and I went to church with him this Sunday to support him. We even went to youth group with him last night where I got pummeled at dodge ball (yes, Mormons do this for fun) and if that doesn’t say sisterly love, I don’t know what does. He has been stuck in the missionary frame of mind for far longer than necessary … it’s been almost a year since he was released from that title. I hope that he will continue to harmonize with the world around him. I hold a certain respect for Elder Rashak, but he’ll always be Troy Boy to me.
2/16/09
In Rememberance
I get President’s Day off every year, paid. And while I’m shopping or sleeping in or participating in any number of random activities other than working, I have never really stopped and thought ... why?
February 16th is George Washington’s birthday and used to be celebrated specifically for him. Abraham Lincoln, another especially influential President, also celebrates his birthday this month (February 12 to be exact). We couldn’t choose which one was more deserving, a debatable task in of itself, so we combined the birthdays of two of the most inspirational and important leaders in the history of our country. Now, February 16th is a national holiday, a day to commemorate all Presidents, with the emphasis lying on President Washington and Lincoln.
The more I think about this holiday, the more I like it. George Washington was the first President of the United States of America. He was the father of our country. His birthday is February 16th. Abraham Lincoln was the 16th President of the United States and the first republican one in office. He is responsible for the Emancipation Proclamation and passing of the 13th amendment. He was a former Illinois senator. Earlier this year, Barack Obama was sworn into office as the 44th President of the United States. He is the first African-American president and also a former Illinois senator ... needless to say, this slipstream of thought could go on for a while.
Anyway, I get 13 paid holidays off a year, 7 of which don’t really count, as they are major holidays.
New Year’s Eve
New Year’s Day
Independence Day
Thanksgiving Day
Friday after Thanksgiving Day
Christmas Eve
Christmas Day
To me, these paid days off are self-explanatory. We get New Year’s off to recuperate, July 4th to celebrate our independence, Thanksgiving to recognize our blessings, the day after to deal with visiting relatives and Christmas to focus on family and religious significance (if we so desire).
But, what about these? I don't put enough thought or excitement into these …
Martin Luther King Jr. Day
President's Day
Cesar Chavez Day
Memorial Day
Labor Day
Veterans Day
I have a vague memory of mentally thanking Cesar Chavez on my way to the beach last year, which I find pathetic and to be honest, a little ungrateful. I need to start making an effort to pay my respects throughout the year. These days are national/ state holidays for a reason.
February 16th is George Washington’s birthday and used to be celebrated specifically for him. Abraham Lincoln, another especially influential President, also celebrates his birthday this month (February 12 to be exact). We couldn’t choose which one was more deserving, a debatable task in of itself, so we combined the birthdays of two of the most inspirational and important leaders in the history of our country. Now, February 16th is a national holiday, a day to commemorate all Presidents, with the emphasis lying on President Washington and Lincoln.
The more I think about this holiday, the more I like it. George Washington was the first President of the United States of America. He was the father of our country. His birthday is February 16th. Abraham Lincoln was the 16th President of the United States and the first republican one in office. He is responsible for the Emancipation Proclamation and passing of the 13th amendment. He was a former Illinois senator. Earlier this year, Barack Obama was sworn into office as the 44th President of the United States. He is the first African-American president and also a former Illinois senator ... needless to say, this slipstream of thought could go on for a while.
Anyway, I get 13 paid holidays off a year, 7 of which don’t really count, as they are major holidays.
New Year’s Eve
New Year’s Day
Independence Day
Thanksgiving Day
Friday after Thanksgiving Day
Christmas Eve
Christmas Day
To me, these paid days off are self-explanatory. We get New Year’s off to recuperate, July 4th to celebrate our independence, Thanksgiving to recognize our blessings, the day after to deal with visiting relatives and Christmas to focus on family and religious significance (if we so desire).
But, what about these? I don't put enough thought or excitement into these …
Martin Luther King Jr. Day
President's Day
Cesar Chavez Day
Memorial Day
Labor Day
Veterans Day
I have a vague memory of mentally thanking Cesar Chavez on my way to the beach last year, which I find pathetic and to be honest, a little ungrateful. I need to start making an effort to pay my respects throughout the year. These days are national/ state holidays for a reason.
2/11/09
Sorry ...
Blog is having technical difficulties undergoing transformation. Stay tuned, well be right back after these messages.
2/9/09
BS
Have you ever wondered how you would react in certain hypothetical situations? I find myself wondering this from time to time, in both moral and physical arenas, but can't settle on a specific action I would take. I’d like to think my character speaks volumes, but in reality, things might not always work out the way I’d like them to. And, to be honest, I don’t think anyone can truly know how they will react in a predicament unless they are actually experiencing it.
Last night my roommate and I were watching one of those crazy I-should-have-died-but-I-escaped-instead shows which included a story about some guy who barely missed being chomped by a Great White shark. He was a self described adrenaline junkie and decided that being submerged into the ocean 30 miles off the shore of Cape Town, South Africa to observe Great White sharks from a shoddy metal cage would be the ultimate experience. In case you didn’t know, Cape Town has a higher concentration of these prehistoric beasts than any other area on the planet and therefore, is the place with the highest probability to get up close and personal with one (if you’re into that sort of thing). Needless to say, the cage this guy was in had a huge gap in between some of the bars and you can guess what happened next. Within a few minutes, he and the tour guide were pinned to the bottom of the cage as a Great White shark thrashed wildly above them, stuck in the huge bar gap. Horrifying, right?
I am extremely afraid of the deep ocean. More specifically, the creatures that are residents to said environment. Whales, sharks, weird transparent fish that never developed eyes because they live in pitch-black caves at 10, 000 leagues … you name it. Scary! I don’t care that whales are supposedly “nice” - they are huge, make freaky sounds and can totally swallow you. Sharks are not supposedly anything except frightening killing machines that roll their beady eyeballs back into their head, curl their lips behind multiple rows of teeth and jam themselves into metal cages with the sole purpose of eating you. I have no idea what my next move would be if I were to be stuck on the bottom of a cage with that nightmare flailing around, it's razor sharp teeth just a few feet away. I sincerely believe I would crap my pants, but from there it’s a toss up.
Anyway, this adrenaline junkie/ total retard managed to quickly slip past the shark, out of the cage and swim away, hopefully to the boat nearby. I would like to think this is what I would have the courage to do, if I were in this situation (which I will never be, because I am not stupid enough to stick myself in a shark habitat). Sheesh, my heart rate is increasing just thinking about it. I would try to swim to the top of the cage and pull myself up to the boat by the attached rope, especially since I would reek of fear and it would only be a matter of time until that shark’s friends found me. My roommate had a different view on how she would handle this situation. She knew, without a doubt, that she would punch the shark in the nose and grab its gills until it went away. Um … YEAH RIGHT.
Forget that I believe there is no way you can definitively decide how you would react in an encounter like this until you actually experience it. Your body will not and does not work this way. Unless you are unafraid of being torn limb from limb by an enormous sea creature, your physiological make-up will not allow you to react that way to fear (or even severe stress). Your autonomic nervous system kicks into gear during a disaster, pumping adrenaline through your body to prepare it for action while basically shutting down the brain. The part of your brain that is responsible for judgment and reasoning is impaired when your body senses fear because its main objective is survival. Shutting down your brain is not always a good thing, this reaction can be slowed by taking deep breaths and the like, but let's be real – are you going to stop and take a moment to meditate with that Great White bastard practically on top of you? I think not. The ANS reaction in this situation is definitely appropriate and I invite any of you to challenge me on this. Keep in mind, you must have experience in this specific situation, ie. have been pinned to the bottom of a metal cage by an enormous Great White shark off the coast of South Africa and instead of swimming past it to safety, you chose to punch it in the snout and grab its gills, resulting in its retreat and your survival.
Garbage.
Last night my roommate and I were watching one of those crazy I-should-have-died-but-I-escaped-instead shows which included a story about some guy who barely missed being chomped by a Great White shark. He was a self described adrenaline junkie and decided that being submerged into the ocean 30 miles off the shore of Cape Town, South Africa to observe Great White sharks from a shoddy metal cage would be the ultimate experience. In case you didn’t know, Cape Town has a higher concentration of these prehistoric beasts than any other area on the planet and therefore, is the place with the highest probability to get up close and personal with one (if you’re into that sort of thing). Needless to say, the cage this guy was in had a huge gap in between some of the bars and you can guess what happened next. Within a few minutes, he and the tour guide were pinned to the bottom of the cage as a Great White shark thrashed wildly above them, stuck in the huge bar gap. Horrifying, right?
I am extremely afraid of the deep ocean. More specifically, the creatures that are residents to said environment. Whales, sharks, weird transparent fish that never developed eyes because they live in pitch-black caves at 10, 000 leagues … you name it. Scary! I don’t care that whales are supposedly “nice” - they are huge, make freaky sounds and can totally swallow you. Sharks are not supposedly anything except frightening killing machines that roll their beady eyeballs back into their head, curl their lips behind multiple rows of teeth and jam themselves into metal cages with the sole purpose of eating you. I have no idea what my next move would be if I were to be stuck on the bottom of a cage with that nightmare flailing around, it's razor sharp teeth just a few feet away. I sincerely believe I would crap my pants, but from there it’s a toss up.
Anyway, this adrenaline junkie/ total retard managed to quickly slip past the shark, out of the cage and swim away, hopefully to the boat nearby. I would like to think this is what I would have the courage to do, if I were in this situation (which I will never be, because I am not stupid enough to stick myself in a shark habitat). Sheesh, my heart rate is increasing just thinking about it. I would try to swim to the top of the cage and pull myself up to the boat by the attached rope, especially since I would reek of fear and it would only be a matter of time until that shark’s friends found me. My roommate had a different view on how she would handle this situation. She knew, without a doubt, that she would punch the shark in the nose and grab its gills until it went away. Um … YEAH RIGHT.
Forget that I believe there is no way you can definitively decide how you would react in an encounter like this until you actually experience it. Your body will not and does not work this way. Unless you are unafraid of being torn limb from limb by an enormous sea creature, your physiological make-up will not allow you to react that way to fear (or even severe stress). Your autonomic nervous system kicks into gear during a disaster, pumping adrenaline through your body to prepare it for action while basically shutting down the brain. The part of your brain that is responsible for judgment and reasoning is impaired when your body senses fear because its main objective is survival. Shutting down your brain is not always a good thing, this reaction can be slowed by taking deep breaths and the like, but let's be real – are you going to stop and take a moment to meditate with that Great White bastard practically on top of you? I think not. The ANS reaction in this situation is definitely appropriate and I invite any of you to challenge me on this. Keep in mind, you must have experience in this specific situation, ie. have been pinned to the bottom of a metal cage by an enormous Great White shark off the coast of South Africa and instead of swimming past it to safety, you chose to punch it in the snout and grab its gills, resulting in its retreat and your survival.
Garbage.
2/6/09
FYI
It's true. I had extensive experience with this practice while my right ring finger was in a brace for almost a month.
Say Cheese
I have one strange reoccurring dream. Or maybe it's more of a nightmare. Either way, I had it again last night. I dread waking up after it because I'm afraid to check and see if what my subconscious invented is reality. It never is, but still ... scaaary.
I'm usually talking to someone or reading out loud and then ... my teeth start falling out. The plot is never identical, but the situation always ends the same way. My gums get mushy and when I bite down, my teeth relinquish their oral attachments. I catch them in my hand or spit them onto the ground. Gross, right? Sometimes the person I'm talking to won't even notice what has happened and I'm left standing in front of them, silenced by the horror of the situation. They keep talking or wait for me to continue speaking, but I can't.
There must be some underlying meaning to these dreams, but I'm not having a lot of luck finding out what that might be. Especially since this isn't something that can be definitively answered by Wikipedia ... or science for that matter.
According to some dream dictionaries, if my teeth were rotting or decaying, the message could be that I "may have uttered some false or foul words and those words are coming back to haunt" me. However, my teeth are always in perfect condition before the falling out starts. If my dream involved brushing teeth, it might "signify [my] level of confidence, struggles and aggressiveness". But, I'm never brushing. Always talking.
This subconscious experience is especially terrifying to me because I have pre-existing complexes about teeth. First, I'm really creeped out by people that have small teeth. Like too small for their normal-sized smile. Plus, when someone has really tiny teeth, they tend to have a lot of them. I'm guessing this is anatomy's attempt at symmetry, trying to fill all the empty space in their mouths leftover from being born with minuscule chompers. Next, I'm not afraid the dentist, but I am obsessive-compulsive about oral hygiene. I've never had a cavity and never plan to. Lastly, when I had braces, I developed a slight phobia about walking up and down stairs because I might trip, fall and knock my teeth out (still attached together by the brackets). Why do the things I fear always involve teeth in some capacity? I don't know.
Other theories about dreams specifically involving teeth falling out include a "fear of being embarrassed or making a fool of yourself in some specific situation". That can't be right though, I make a fool out of myself on a daily basis. I've accepted that fact. These dreams are interpreted differently depending on your culture as well. The Chinese believe it is linked with telling lies. The Greek believe it to be an omen of sickness or death. I'm not Greek or Chinese. It has also been linked to the onset of menopause. This is also not applicable.
The best interpretation I have found so far attributes my dreams about teeth falling out to "experiencing feelings of inferiority and a lack of self-confidence in some situation or relationship in your life". I guess that makes sense considering my current emotional state ... but I'm not always in the same mood when the dream strikes. Urgh! This is frustrating! I give up.
2/5/09
Dreams Do Come True
There have been a few situations in my life where I've forgotten my keys. To date, the most memorable (not a good memory) was in high school when I tried to break into my house through a window. It resulted in shattered glass, a 12 inch gash down my left forearm and almost 30 stitches. I have never forgotten or lost my keys since, but that doesn't mean it couldn't happen sometime in the future. Which brings me to ...
Mustache key holder! Oh. My. Goodness. Now, I don't think I grasp the point of a mustache ... actually, I just don't understand them at all. But, I think they are hilarious. They are scruffy and every one is different, kind of like a hairy fingerprint.
With the option to hang my keys on something this awesome, I would never forget or lose them again. I must have this!
Mustache key holder! Oh. My. Goodness. Now, I don't think I grasp the point of a mustache ... actually, I just don't understand them at all. But, I think they are hilarious. They are scruffy and every one is different, kind of like a hairy fingerprint.
With the option to hang my keys on something this awesome, I would never forget or lose them again. I must have this!
2/4/09
Seven Deadly Lists
You all know how much I love lists, so what did you expect? I totally stole this idea from someone and tweaked it to my specifications. Does theft count as one of the 7 deadly sins? Oh wait, I'm thinking 10 commandments ...
P.S. These are in no particular order.
7 favorite random things:
-Blogs
-Silliness
-Crunchy leaves
-Bifocals
-Chapstick
-My family
-Harry Potter
7 things I did yesterday:
-Woke up super late because I pressed snooze about 4 times
-Forgot to wear make-up for the third day in a row
-Ate a weird tostada for lunch
-Behaved inappropriately on several social networking sites
-Whipped my ass into shape after procrastinating the gym for almost three weeks
-Idiotically dug up the past
7 things I'm looking forward to:
-Body World at the San Diego Natural History Museum
-Transferring to real college after this semester
-Perfecting my swagger
-Working on my tan
-Finding a new job
-Learning a song on the guitar
-Falling in love
7 favorite things to do:
-Live music
-Bike rides
-Reading
-Singing
-Dancing
-Writing
-Being spontaneous
7 things on my wish list:
-Canon Powershot SX10IS 10 MP digital camera
-The Mel Brooks DVD Collection
-Journeys of a Lifetime: 500 of the World's Greatest Trips
-The Legend of Johnny Cash
-History: The Definitive Visual Guide
-Alfred Hitchcock: The Masterpiece DVD Collection
-Nintendo Wii
7 things I hate about myself:
-My love handles
-My obnoxiously anxious nature
-My chubby toes
-My posture
-My wandering focus
-My sinus issues
-My defense mechanisms
7 Things I love about myself:
-My smooth skin
-My sense of humor
-My sweet dance moves
-My devilish side
-My imagination
-My moral code
-My determination
P.S. These are in no particular order.
7 favorite random things:
-Blogs
-Silliness
-Crunchy leaves
-Bifocals
-Chapstick
-My family
-Harry Potter
7 things I did yesterday:
-Woke up super late because I pressed snooze about 4 times
-Forgot to wear make-up for the third day in a row
-Ate a weird tostada for lunch
-Behaved inappropriately on several social networking sites
-Whipped my ass into shape after procrastinating the gym for almost three weeks
-Idiotically dug up the past
7 things I'm looking forward to:
-Body World at the San Diego Natural History Museum
-Transferring to real college after this semester
-Perfecting my swagger
-Working on my tan
-Finding a new job
-Learning a song on the guitar
-Falling in love
7 favorite things to do:
-Live music
-Bike rides
-Reading
-Singing
-Dancing
-Writing
-Being spontaneous
7 things on my wish list:
-Canon Powershot SX10IS 10 MP digital camera
-The Mel Brooks DVD Collection
-Journeys of a Lifetime: 500 of the World's Greatest Trips
-The Legend of Johnny Cash
-History: The Definitive Visual Guide
-Alfred Hitchcock: The Masterpiece DVD Collection
-Nintendo Wii
7 things I hate about myself:
-My love handles
-My obnoxiously anxious nature
-My chubby toes
-My posture
-My wandering focus
-My sinus issues
-My defense mechanisms
7 Things I love about myself:
-My smooth skin
-My sense of humor
-My sweet dance moves
-My devilish side
-My imagination
-My moral code
-My determination
Let Fate Handle It
Ask anyone, I’m a great project. Make-overs, April Fools pranks … bring ‘em on. Lately, I've been being set up with potentially perfect-for-me guys by my friends, family, etc. The process always starts one of two ways: “What are you doing on (insert date/ time here)?” or “What do you look for in the perfect man?”. Describe the perfect man? Does ‘um’ count as a trait?
I honestly don’t know how to respond to that question. I’m that girl who sincerely does not have a specific type of male that appeals to her. I could tell you that I like brunettes, but my longest relationship to date involved a blond idiot. I could state that I like sensitive guys, but overly emotional men sometimes affect my gag reflex. See? I have no idea what I’m taking about, even if I’m talking about myself! I generally don’t like being pigeon-holed in any area of my life, but in this case I’d be glad to make an exception. At least then, I can release my matchmaker minions onto the poor, unsuspecting opposite sex with some vague idea of what to bring home to Mama.
How about a tall, dark, handsome paramedic, who is intelligent and loves to read, has hobbies that do not include passing the dutchie, unpretentiously gets my random references and thinks my retainer is just as hot as my Victoria’s Secret. Is that sufficient? Does that even exist? Because paramedics, though we have similar career interests, tend to be annoying jocks that were taught by their mothers to think way too highly of themselves. By that thought process alone, intelligence is probably out the door and that imaginary dreamboat no longer appeals to me. I am able blurt out adjectives I find attractive until I am blue in the face, but that long run-on sentence would still hardly encompass everything I consider my ideal companion to be.
This whole idea is further complicated by the fact that I don’t really care about physical characteristics. One could argue that physical attraction is what makes you fall for someone and without that initial, carnal, physiological magnetism it is not real or doesn’t matter. That, however, is exactly my point. The bottom line is - if I’m attracted, I’m attracted. The end. You could have stupid hair or different sized feet or consider Sarah Silverman a comedian … all things I say I dislike. I would still overlook these annoying traits if you enjoyed reading side by side in bed like old people or couldn't dance but did anyway or had cheeks so chompable I could hardly contain myself.
So, what do I look for in the 'perfect' man? It’s simple. The imperfections specific to him.
I honestly don’t know how to respond to that question. I’m that girl who sincerely does not have a specific type of male that appeals to her. I could tell you that I like brunettes, but my longest relationship to date involved a blond idiot. I could state that I like sensitive guys, but overly emotional men sometimes affect my gag reflex. See? I have no idea what I’m taking about, even if I’m talking about myself! I generally don’t like being pigeon-holed in any area of my life, but in this case I’d be glad to make an exception. At least then, I can release my matchmaker minions onto the poor, unsuspecting opposite sex with some vague idea of what to bring home to Mama.
How about a tall, dark, handsome paramedic, who is intelligent and loves to read, has hobbies that do not include passing the dutchie, unpretentiously gets my random references and thinks my retainer is just as hot as my Victoria’s Secret. Is that sufficient? Does that even exist? Because paramedics, though we have similar career interests, tend to be annoying jocks that were taught by their mothers to think way too highly of themselves. By that thought process alone, intelligence is probably out the door and that imaginary dreamboat no longer appeals to me. I am able blurt out adjectives I find attractive until I am blue in the face, but that long run-on sentence would still hardly encompass everything I consider my ideal companion to be.
This whole idea is further complicated by the fact that I don’t really care about physical characteristics. One could argue that physical attraction is what makes you fall for someone and without that initial, carnal, physiological magnetism it is not real or doesn’t matter. That, however, is exactly my point. The bottom line is - if I’m attracted, I’m attracted. The end. You could have stupid hair or different sized feet or consider Sarah Silverman a comedian … all things I say I dislike. I would still overlook these annoying traits if you enjoyed reading side by side in bed like old people or couldn't dance but did anyway or had cheeks so chompable I could hardly contain myself.
So, what do I look for in the 'perfect' man? It’s simple. The imperfections specific to him.
2/3/09
On the Fence
Thinking about investing in a new signature scent? I happened across this intriguing, but strange perfume shop online called CB I Hate Perfume. The company was founded by Christopher Brosius (thus, the CB) who decided to combine his childhood love of both art and science into one lucrative career. The Perfumer was born. Apparently, he knows what he is doing because he's won all kinds of awards and recognition for his creations world wide.
There is so much to look at on his site, I've barely scratched the surface of what he has to offer. However, I could hardly contain my brow-raising when I found this "In The Library" scent. Too bad I love the library, especially the smell! What an awesomely random idea. The scent is specifically “English Novel" and taken from a "Signed First Edition of one of [his] very favorite novels, Russian & Moroccan leather bindings, worn cloth and a hint of wood polish". My senses would be so confused (in a good way) if I were to catch a whiff of someone wearing this.
I'm not sure if I would actually sport this scent, but that's coming from someone who usually abstains from perfume. Anyway, I think it is definitely unique and could attract an intellectual from miles away.
P.S. This Brosius guy is super intense about his work. Exhibit A - his company's manifesto (below).
CB Manifesto
I hate perfume.
Perfume is too often an ethereal corset trapping everyone in the same unnatural shape
A lazy and inelegant concession to fashionable ego
Too often a substitute for true allure and style
An opaque shell concealing everything – revealing nothing
A childish masque hiding the timid and unimaginative
An arrogant slap in the face from across the room
People who smell like everyone else disgust me
* * * * * * *
Perfume is a veil that reveals the soul
Perfume is the fanfare of our individuality sounding differently to everyone who listens
Perfume is a signpost to our true selves – a different journey for the brave to travel
Perfume is the weather of our inner world bringing life to a personal landscape
Perfume is an art that shows us who we can be if we dare – an invisible portrait of who we are
Perfume is discovered fully only by our lovers when we are together - naked.
Um ... okay. If you are not at all creeped out after reading that, you would most likely enjoy the 2006 film, Perfume: The Story of a Murderer. Enjoy!
There is so much to look at on his site, I've barely scratched the surface of what he has to offer. However, I could hardly contain my brow-raising when I found this "In The Library" scent. Too bad I love the library, especially the smell! What an awesomely random idea. The scent is specifically “English Novel" and taken from a "Signed First Edition of one of [his] very favorite novels, Russian & Moroccan leather bindings, worn cloth and a hint of wood polish". My senses would be so confused (in a good way) if I were to catch a whiff of someone wearing this.
I'm not sure if I would actually sport this scent, but that's coming from someone who usually abstains from perfume. Anyway, I think it is definitely unique and could attract an intellectual from miles away.
P.S. This Brosius guy is super intense about his work. Exhibit A - his company's manifesto (below).
CB Manifesto
I hate perfume.
Perfume is too often an ethereal corset trapping everyone in the same unnatural shape
A lazy and inelegant concession to fashionable ego
Too often a substitute for true allure and style
An opaque shell concealing everything – revealing nothing
A childish masque hiding the timid and unimaginative
An arrogant slap in the face from across the room
People who smell like everyone else disgust me
* * * * * * *
Perfume is a veil that reveals the soul
Perfume is the fanfare of our individuality sounding differently to everyone who listens
Perfume is a signpost to our true selves – a different journey for the brave to travel
Perfume is the weather of our inner world bringing life to a personal landscape
Perfume is an art that shows us who we can be if we dare – an invisible portrait of who we are
Perfume is discovered fully only by our lovers when we are together - naked.
Um ... okay. If you are not at all creeped out after reading that, you would most likely enjoy the 2006 film, Perfume: The Story of a Murderer. Enjoy!
2/2/09
I'm Rich!
Today I checked my bank account to see what measly dollars I had left to live on until payday … and was pleasantly surprised to see that my federal tax return had beefed-up my balance substantially. Hooray! It wasn’t even supposed to come until this Friday. Besides getting the brakes on my car checked and trying to save a little (yes, I’m spending sagaciously first), I’m extremely excited to buy a new camera. Nothing too fancy, just something to get my creative juices flowing. I figure since my artistic talent peaked in sixth grade, I can barely play an instrument and my “poetry” will never see the light of day … photography is something I can absolutely succeed at. Plus, I'm excited to try out some of the techniques from the many photography books I own/ have yet to put to good use. Stay tuned ... photos to follow soon!
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