Thursday, January 27, 2011

"My Sober"

At first I thought this song was so beautiful, sweet, and humble. Then I learned it's about Coffee. And I realized this song is probably more true than most love songs. Doesn't she have a great voice?

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

'Nuff Said

The point now is to find yourself, not lose yourself in more distractions.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Homesick cure

I don't know if this happens to anyone, but I get homesick! I'm 22 and yes, sometimes I get homesick. And it's hard for someone like me who lives 6+ hours away without a car--it's near impossible to ever visit, especially with school. I realize that a lot of kids would kill to be 300 miles away from their parents, and while I'm glad I don't live at home, it would be nice to be able to visit every now and then.

To make me feel better, my dad sent me this pic of our kitty Sylvia who has been battling a strong and disgusting urge to lick her wound instead of letting it heal (hence, the cone).

A) I have a great kitty and B) I have a great dad who knows what a sad face needs to make it glad.

Do you ever get homesick? What causes it and how do you cure it?

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Play Time

I been feeling a little dry of inspiration or creativity or worthy-of-blogging-about.

Something I was thinking about as I walked home from ballet class at the Joffrey on Tuesday night (the teacher told me I was flexible--oh ya!) was on the subject of why I'm glad to be 22. Or more specifically, why I'm glad I'm not 19 any more. I know I know, 3 years difference, big deal. But looking back, 3 years ago I was such a different person, much more flighty, and I let people treat me like crap. Not to get all after-school-special on you, but I think it was in my lack of confidence, my lack of faith that everything will work out OK and that it's OK to say goodbye.

Example: I used to put up with a lot of stupid crap from boys and girlfriends. Most of the kind of stuff I'm talking about I'm too embarrassed to write even here, but believe me, it was bad. Just really crappy, hurtful things. But really, I can't blame anyone, because I let them do it to me. And I don't think it's because I thought I deserved it. I think I did that because I thought I was supposed to. I was supposed to be their punching bags and that was why I was in their lives.

Flash-forward to 2011 and my belief system is still the same, only the beliefs that make it up are much different. While I still think that people are in our lives for a reason, I've also realized that if a person makes you feel bad more than they make you feel good, God must have gotten busy with something else and forgotten to remove this person from your Stage (I have a vision of God as a gay director with a skinny mustache and red beret, ordering people stage left and stage right, drawing the curtains, etc). And so, in the interest of time, politely call a "CUT!" stop the show momentarily, and kick that person off of your Play Bill.

I did it. I did. I think some think I did it for other reasons, but I know in my heart why. It's simple math: more bad than good equals no good which is equal to good-bye. And off I went, onto a life much more fulfilling, relaxing, and un-dramatic.

Easier said than done of course, but if life is a play, with a certain amount of time, a budget, and an audience and critics to please, so why waste your time with crummy actors and a repeated dramatic story line? While some things are out of our control, not everything is. And just because you intervene with "The Plans" doesn't mean you don't learn a divine lesson. It simply means you're still the main character.

A tiny iron and trivet for my tiny LIFE play. Courtesy of Ann Wood.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Don't get fat

Today, my dad sent me a picture he took of himself with his new iPhone app called FatBooth. I'm curious to know what it would do for me, but honestly, not that curious.

This got me thinking: if I was 40 pounds heavier, would I be happy? Does it even matter? What would 40 more pounds of ME do in this world?

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Stop Talking

Today, I bought these cards. They are made by a woman named Alison Riley and she is a cousin of my friend Jarrett Hothan. Her cards are simple, clean, and oh so sardonic (and from Brooklyn). Right up my alley! The brand of her cards is Set Editions. I’m not sure of its meaning, but I don’t currr.

As you can see, the cards I bought read “Stop Talking.” I plan on sending them as thank-yous, Hellos, and anything else I need to communicate by writing. The straightforward, blunt command really got me thinking. Stop talking. Stop it. Stop the discourse. Stop the yelling. Stop the diatribe. Stop the whining. Stop the bitching. Stop it all. In the wake of the recent shootings, and the incessant back and forth of political and cultural debates, has left me sad, exhausted, and totally fed up. I hope that in 2011, we can stop talking. And start thinking.

Monday, January 10, 2011


This is a post I wrote for our Northwestern MSC blog. It's about how to get yourself out of a crappy mood when life is hard:

Ok ok so I'm beginning to realize that first quarter isn't at all indicative, nor good time-management training, for the following quarters. It's Day Two of the second quarter and already things are heating up--reading, papers, presentations, seminars...I MISS ROLOFF!

Admittedly, I was throwing a bit of a pity-party for myself today. With the two-hundred plus pages I have to read this weekend, on top of two papers due on the same day (in three and a half weeks), plus a savings account to worry about, a job, finding a new roommate, and all the other little life moments that get thrown into the mix, I was stressin'. Yep, it wasn't good, and worse, I was beginning to wonder why I don't just give up.

So let's humor my neuroses for a minute and think about what "giving up" would mean. It would mean not contributing to inspiring classes. It would mean leaving a world-renowned university that offers a program more inclusive and compromising than most. It would mean quitting a job that, although frustrating, has taught me more about the working world than any amount of scholarly reading could do. It would mean leaving an amazing city, chock-full of world-class sports, food, music, art...the list goes on. And most importantly, it would mean letting go of a dream that, less than six months ago, was making me anxiously sick with excitement.

So, when the going gets tough, don't concede. Don't let yourself get going, playing into the fears and paranoia that's so easy to let take over. Put it in perspective. Remind yourself of why you're here. And what you've learned. And what will be in-store for you once it's complete. It's tough now, and my life isn't nearly as busy as those with families, illnesses, births, moves, etc that others are also have to balance. Let's be grateful for the opportunity bestowed on us, that of being able to earn an education. It's one of those great gifts, expensive, rare, and so fantastically un-returnable. It's mine forever.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011


Hard to believe that one year ago today I landed in Paris. It was early in the morning when we arrived. The Alice-in-Wonderland-esque Charles de Gaulle airport configuration and lights had me reeling even more than the jet-lag. I had met the world’s “first male Albino supermodel” Shaun Ross whose chauffer gave me a ride to my new home at 29 rue Tholoze. I was tired, I was scared, but my friend Eulalie came from Lyon to stay with me for a night, and having her there made everything a little better.

We explored a little, watched a movie, slept, and soon it was Thursday, time for me to start my internship with Janou Pakter. I felt like a nerd, never looking half as cool as all the girls in Paris, and certainly not any of those in my office. I was constantly stressing about money. The Euro shot to an exchange higher than ever before, and every transaction created a dollar sign in my eyes. I had no idea where anything was, the streets of Paris going round like a spiral. My apartment was freezing. I had a cold. And I was so confused why I had ever come in the first place.

But soon, my friend Martin arrived. And I got a better grasp on the streets. My cold went away and my friends Molly and JP stayed with me for four days. I made friends with the girls at work. We started to go out together, hitting bars in Le Marais, in the 15th, and wherever else our nights took us. I bought a crepe pan. I got addicted to espressos and Drum. I went to England and fell in love with London, Banksy, curry and fish. Mark came for a week and we had the most amazing week filled with food, laughs, a trip to Germany and a boat party.

And suddenly, the weather changed, the sun shined and the once sultry Paris became warm, inviting and light-hearted. It was a completely different world and I was a completely different person. I was calmer, I better understood my fears, my inability to focus, my love of nature, my need for friends and family around me, my love of fresh food, the amazing ease of the Paris Metro…

I miss it, I miss the arrangement of Paris. It’s size, transportation, the non-skyscrapers, the celebrities, the non-celebrities who were just as fabulous, and the awe you felt standing on a street corner in one of the capitals of Western Civilization. But I know I’ll be back one day. I know that one day, God will make a plan for me to return, be it a week or a decade and it will be the most magical, lesson-giving experience I will have ever experienced…since my last trip to Paris…