Monday, February 11, 2013

Post-Graduation Confusion?

Don’t worry. I don’t have my life together either. Sometimes I don’t even think I’m a fully functional human being. Just now, in fact, I had to pause my writing mid-sentence because I felt something in my eye—a speck of dust, a rogue eyelash, perhaps.

So.

I got up to inspect my eyeball in the mirror, leaning way too close to my own reflection in an attempt to identify the offending object, and you know what? Nothing was there. And it was infuriating.

Earlier this evening I had misplaced the book I am currently reading, and in my search for it, I honestly began by picking up my phone and getting ready to call it. That’s right. To call my book in order to locate it. And that isn’t even the worst of it, I’m afraid. My next thought, instead of—oh, I don’t know—“Hahaha! My book is not a phone!”, was “Crap. That won’t work. I left it on silent.” Oh, sweet, naïve, technology-surrounded Kiera. You didn’t leave your book on silent. It is a book. Books are always on silent.

But more infuriating than unidentified eye invaders and misplaced objects that don’t have a “PAGE!” function is the fog that’s crept over my future lately. It’s gotten so bad that I can’t see forward more than a week or two.* I know I’ll go to my part-time job for a couple of hours every day; I know that I’ll work out in the morning; I know that I’ll snack on dry cereal throughout the day because dry cereal is delicious and that I’ll be watching sitcoms just about any given week night because I’m a tv junkie. What I don’t know is where I’ll be working or living long-term. I could get a real job and move tomorrow… or that might not happen for another year. It’s horrible not knowing! I’ve been earnestly hunting for jobs for the past two months to no avail. I’ve been contacted by a few places and I’ve gone for a couple of interviews, but so far nothing has taken.

This has a way of making me feel purposeless. Stagnant. Stuck. Like I don’t have any control over my own life. But that’s not completely true. What I’ve come to realize over the past few weeks is this: I don’t have control over when I get a full-time, benefited job, but I do have control over what I’m doing from day-to-day; right now that has to be enough, and I have to make the most of it. Sitting around feeling sorry for myself is not the right option—when employers reject me for a position they are leaving me stuck, but that doesn’t mean I should prevent myself from moving forward in other ways.

Despite my current underemployment, here are the things I’ve kept myself "employed" in doing:
  • I’ve taken to seriously working on my current novel. I always say I want to be an author, and I participate in NaNoWriMo every year, but I rarely spend time on personal writing projects outside of November. I have now changed that, and so far I am pleased with the results.
  • I’ve become very dedicated to my workout schedule, exercising for thirty minutes in the morning six days a week, and I am feeling great. All of my clothes are fitting better, I have way more energy, and it gives me a sense of accomplishment.**
  • I’ve been spending a little bit of time every day on duolingo.com working on my French. I took French for several years in school, but I haven’t had a class since 2005, so I’m definitely rusty. I was skeptical at first, but I can see myself improving, which makes me kind of ecstatic. I keep picturing myself in Paris one day.***
  • I’ve focused on how to improve my spiritual life. I am an active member of the LDS church and always have been, but I believe no matter where I am spiritually, there is always room to be a better person and to be closer to the Lord. My prayers have become more personal, and my scripture study has become more focused. Instead of stressing over the things I don’t have (the aforementioned job, benefits, security, etc.), I try to remember all the things I have been blessed with—health, tons of people who care about me, parents who put up with me still living at home and eating their food, a solid sense of self, intelligence, talent, etc.
  • I’ve fallen in love with listening to podcasts; after I graduated the thing I missed the most was thought-provoking class discussions. I love learning new things (RAVENCLAW!) and trying to understand differing viewpoints. Educational podcasts have helped me continue to learn about topics I’d never seek out on my own and have provided me with so many fascinating people.***
I’m not saying that I’m giving up on the job hunt, or that these self-improvement projects are taking the place of applying for jobs and waiting for calls from interviewers—I’m definitely still doing all of that on a daily basis—but doing these other things keeps me occupied and productive while in this limbo. I’m making the most of the moment and reminding myself that I don’t have to wait until I have a career or my own house to be happy. I can be happy any time I choose to be, because happiness is a state of mind, not a destination.

*I’ve just realized this makes me sound like some kind of fortune-teller. I’m being figurative, people. I’m not saying it’s normal to literally be able to see one’s future. Geez. Give me a break.

**Sometimes I like to look back at middle school Kiera and imagine how shocked she would be to see me today. “Wait… you’re working up a sweat in spandex shorts… on purpose?!” she would say to me suspiciously, a curly fry dangling inches away from her mouth.

***SCENE: I am in line at a pastry shop, and I’m wearing a chic little outfit—mostly black, but with a pop of color in the accessories: bright red flats, a yellow watch. A young Parisian guy starts talking to me in rapid French, then waits for me to respond. Since I don’t understand everything he said, I turn to him and—in very slow French—say, “I’m sorry, could you repeat that more slowly? I don’t speak French very well, but I think you are very cute and would like to talk with you some more.” He stares at me, astounded, and tells me he never would have guessed I was a foreigner because I blend in so well. Then he compliments me on my accent and grammar, which he says do not sound harsh or out of practice. He pays for my food and we sit together outside. Fin.

****If you’ve never listened to podcasts and want to know where to start, I recommend This American Life, WNYC’s RadioLab, Stuff You Should Know, and Third Coast International (Resound).

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Thinking Ahead

I'm sitting in the Writing Center where I sit for ten hours a week every week unless there happens to be a holiday on a Tuesday or Thursday or if school isn't in. Each day I'm here, I start to get freezing cold about halfway through my shift. I'm suddenly transported to this office tundra because I'm not moving, and also someone who has control over the temperature in the building must like it cold. Despite the fact that this happens on a weekly basis, I never remember to bring a cardigan with me to combat the chill. I leave the house, and it's warm outside. I don't bring cloth warmth. Why would it be cold inside, if it's not outside? Inside should always be warmer. Then I get here. My shift is from one to six, and by 3:30 I start to shiver.

But not today. Today I remembered a cardigan. Because I'm thinking. I'm thinking ahead.

Because I thought ahead this afternoon when I left my house, I am now content. I am comfortable. I wish I could think ahead all of the time so I'd never have to experience the cold. But that's the thing about thinking ahead--you can't know to bring the cardigan until you've experienced not knowing to bring the cardigan. You've felt the shivers.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Vintage Hairstyles

I love to do hair. Updos are a lot of fun for me, and I'm a big fan of pin curls, waves, and little embellishments. Here are some of the hairstyles I've tried out on myself and other people. :)
I did this in Celin'es hair for fun at a sleepover.

I did this for my little sister's homecoming look.

This is just me in my typical vintage style.
I created this for a British-style afternoon tea party.
More of an everyday kind of fun bun.
Pin curls!


Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Pottermore House Welcome Messages

I recently was sorted into Ravenclaw on Pottermore, and I found the house welcome message very interesting. It made me curious as to what the other houses' messages said, so I collected them from friends who were sorted into the other three houses. Thanks CeCe, Laurel, and Kayla! :D Anyways, I thought I'd post them all here for anyone else who was interested in reading them all. I think Ravenclaw's and Hufflepuff's in particular offer some cool facts about the houses that we hear a lot less about in the books.

RAVENCLAW WELCOME MESSAGE

Congratulations! I’m Prefect Robert Hilliard, and I’m delighted to welcome you to RAVENCLAW HOUSE. Our emblem is the eagle, which soars where others cannot climb; our house colours are blue and bronze, and our common room is found at the top of Ravenclaw Tower, behind a door with an enchanted knocker. The arched windows set into the walls of our circular common room look down at the school grounds: the lake, the Forbidden Forest, the Quidditch pitch and the Herbology gardens. No other house in the school has such stunning views.

Without wishing to boast, this is the house where the cleverest witches and wizards live. Our founder, Rowena Ravenclaw, prized learning above all else – and so do we. Unlike the other houses, who all have concealed entrances to their common rooms, we don’t need one. The door to our common room lies at the top of a tall, winding staircase. It has no handle, but an enchanted bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle. When you rap on the door, this knocker will ask you a question, and if you can answer it correctly, you are allowed in. This simple barrier has kept out everyone but Ravenclaws for nearly a thousand years.

Some first-years are scared by having to answer the eagle’s questions, but don’t worry. Ravenclaws learn quickly, and you’ll soon enjoy the challenges the door sets. It’s not unusual to find twenty people standing outside the common room door, all trying to work out the answer to the day’s question together. This is a great way to meet fellow Ravenclaws from other years, and to learn from them – although it is a bit annoying if you’ve forgotten your Quidditch robes and need to get in and out in a hurry. In fact, I’d advise you to triple-check your bag for everything you need before leaving Ravenclaw Tower.

Another cool thing about Ravenclaw is that our people are the most individual – some might even call them eccentrics. But geniuses are often out of step with ordinary folk, and unlike some other houses we could mention, we think you’ve got the right to wear what you like, believe what you want, and say what you feel. We aren’t put off by people who march to a different tune; on the contrary, we value them!

Speaking of eccentrics, you’ll like our Head of house, Professor Filius Flitwick. People often underestimate him, because he’s really tiny (we think he’s part elf, but we’ve never been rude enough to ask) and he’s got a squeaky voice, but he’s the best and most knowledgeable Charms master alive in the world today. His office door is always open to any Ravenclaw with a problem, and if you’re in a real state he’ll get out these delicious little cupcakes he keeps in a tin in his desk drawer and make them do a little dance for you. In fact, it’s worth pretending you’re in a real state just to see them jive.

Ravenclaw house has an illustrious history. Most of the greatest wizarding inventors and innovators were in our house, including Perpetua Fancourt, the inventor of the lunascope, Laverne de Montmorency, a great pioneer of love potions, and Ignatia Wildsmith, the inventor of Floo powder. Famous Ravenclaw Ministers for Magic include Millicent Bagnold, who was in power on the night that Harry Potter survived the Dark Lord’s curse, and defended the wizarding celebrations all over Britain with the words, ‘I assert our inalienable right to party'. There was also Minister Lorcan McLaird, who was a quite brilliant wizard, but preferred to communicate by puffing smoke out of the end of his wand. Well, I did say we produce eccentrics. In fact, we are also the house that gave the wizarding world Uric the Oddball, who used a jellyfish for a hat. He’s the punch line of a lot of wizarding jokes.

As for our relationship with the other three houses: well, you’ve probably heard about the Slytherins. They’re not all bad, but you’d do well to be on your guard until you know them well. They’ve got a long house tradition of doing whatever it takes to win – so watch out, especially in Quidditch matches and exams.

The Gryffindors are OK. If I had a criticism, I’d say Gryffindors tend to be show-offs. They’re also much less tolerant than we are of people who are different; in fact, they’ve been known to make jokes about Ravenclaws who have developed an interest in levitation, or the possible magical uses of troll bogies, or ovomancy, which (as you probably know) is a method of divination using eggs. Gryffindors haven’t got our intellectual curiosity, whereas we’ve got no problem if you want to spend your days and nights cracking eggs in a corner of the common room and writing down your predictions according to the way the yolks fall. In fact, you’ll probably find a few people to help you.

As for the Hufflepuffs, well, nobody could say they’re not nice people. In fact, they’re some of the nicest people in the school. Let’s just say you needn’t worry too much about them when it comes to competition at exam time.

I think that’s nearly everything. Oh yes, our house ghost is the Grey Lady. The rest of the school thinks she never speaks, but she’ll talk to Ravenclaws. She’s particularly useful if you’re lost, or you’ve mislaid something.

I’m sure you’ll have a good night. Our dormitories are in turrets off the main tower; our four-poster beds are covered in sky blue silk eiderdowns and the sound of the wind whistling around the windows is very relaxing.

And once again: well done on becoming a member of the cleverest, quirkiest and most interesting house at Hogwarts.


SLYTHERIN WELCOME MESSAGE

Congratulations! I’m Prefect Gemma Farley, and I’m delighted to welcome you to SLYTHERIN HOUSE. Our emblem is the serpent, the wisest of creatures; our house colours are emerald green and silver, and our common room lies behind a concealed entrance down in the dungeons. As you’ll see, its windows look out into the depths of the Hogwarts lake. We often see the giant squid swooshing by – and sometimes more interesting creatures. We like to feel that our hangout has the aura of a mysterious, underwater shipwreck.

Now, there are a few things you should know about Slytherin – and a few you should forget.

Firstly, let’s dispel a few myths. You might have heard rumours about Slytherin house – that we’re all into the Dark Arts, and will only talk to you if your great-grandfather was a famous wizard, and rubbish like that. Well, you don’t want to believe everything you hear from competing houses. I’m not denying that we’ve produced our share of Dark wizards, but so have the other three houses – they just don’t like admitting it. And yes, we have traditionally tended to take students who come from long lines of witches and wizards, but nowadays you’ll find plenty of people in Slytherin house who have at least one Muggle parent.

Here’s a little-known fact that the other three houses don’t bring up much: Merlin was a Slytherin. Yes, Merlin himself, the most famous wizard in history! He learned all he knew in this very house! Do you want to follow in the footsteps of Merlin? Or would you rather sit at the old desk of that illustrious ex-Hufflepuff, Eglantine Puffett, inventor of the Self-Soaping Dishcloth?

I didn’t think so.

But that’s enough about what we’re not. Let’s talk about what we are, which is the coolest and edgiest house in this school. We play to win, because we care about the honour and traditions of Slytherin.

We also get respect from our fellow students. Yes, some of that respect might be tinged with fear, because of our Dark reputation, but you know what? It can be fun, having a reputation for walking on the wild side. Chuck out a few hints that you’ve got access to a whole library of curses, and see whether anyone feels like nicking your pencil case.

But we’re not bad people. We’re like our emblem, the snake: sleek, powerful, and frequently misunderstood.

For instance, we Slytherins look after our own – which is more than you can say for Ravenclaw. Apart from being the biggest bunch of swots you ever met, Ravenclaws are famous for clambering over each other to get good marks, whereas we Slytherins are brothers. The corridors of Hogwarts can throw up surprises for the unwary, and you’ll be glad you’ve got the Serpents on your side as you move around the school. As far as we’re concerned, once you’ve become a snake, you’re one of ours – one of the elite.

Because you know what Salazar Slytherin looked for in his chosen students? The seeds of greatness. You’ve been chosen by this house because you’ve got the potential to be great, in the true sense of the word. All right, you might see a couple of people hanging around the common room whom you might not think are destined for anything special. Well, keep that to yourself. If the Sorting Hat put them in here, there’s something great about them, and don’t you forget it.

And talking of people who aren’t destined for greatness, I haven’t mentioned the Gryffindors. Now, a lot of people say that Slytherins and Gryffindors represent two sides of the same coin. Personally, I think Gryffindors are nothing more than wannabe Slytherins. Mind you, some people say that Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor prized the same kinds of students, so perhaps we are more similar than we like to think. But that doesn’t mean that we cosy up with Gryffindors. They like beating us only slightly less than we like beating them.

A few more things you might need to know: our house ghost is the Bloody Baron. If you get on the right side of him he’ll sometimes agree to frighten people for you. Just don’t ask him how he got bloodstained; he doesn’t like it.

The password to the common room changes every fortnight. Keep an eye on the noticeboard. Never bring anyone from another house into our common room or tell them our password. No outsider has entered it for more than seven centuries.

Well, I think that’s all for now. I’m sure you’ll like our dormitories. We sleep in ancient four-posters with green silk hangings, and bedspreads embroidered with silver thread. Medieval tapestries depicting the adventures of famous Slytherins cover the walls, and silver lanterns hang from the ceilings. You’ll sleep well; it’s very soothing, listening to the lake water lapping against the windows at night.


GRYFFINDOR WELCOME MESSAGE

Congratulations! I’m Prefect Percy Weasley, and I’m delighted to welcome you to GRYFFINDOR HOUSE. Our emblem is the lion, the bravest of all creatures; our house colours are scarlet and gold, and our common room lies up in Gryffindor Tower.

This is, quite simply, the best house at Hogwarts. It’s where the bravest and boldest end up – for instance: Albus Dumbledore! Yes, Dumbledore himself, the greatest wizard of our time, was a Gryffindor! If that’s not enough for you, I don’t know what is.

I won’t keep you long, as all you need to do to find out more about your house is to follow Harry Potter and his friends as I lead them up to their dormitories. Enjoy your time at Hogwarts – but how could you fail to? You’ve become part of the best house in the school.


HUFFLEPUFF WELCOME MESSAGE

Congratulations! I’m Prefect Gabriel Truman, and I’m delighted to welcome you to HUFFLEPUFF HOUSE. Our emblem is the badger, an animal that is often underestimated, because it lives quietly until attacked, but which, when provoked, can fight off animals much larger than itself, including wolves. Our house colours are yellow and black, and our common room lies one floor below the ground, on the same corridor as the kitchens.

Now, there are a few things you should know about Hufflepuff house. First of all, let’s deal with a perennial myth about the place, which is that we’re the least clever house. WRONG. Hufflepuff is certainly the least boastful house, but we’ve produced just as many brilliant witches and wizards as any other. Want proof? Look up Grogan Stump, one of the most popular Ministers for Magic of all time. He was a Hufflepuff – as were the successful Ministers Artemesia Lufkin and Dugald McPhail. Then there’s the world authority on magical creatures, Newt Scamander; Bridget Wenlock, the famous thirteenth-century Arithmancer who first discovered the magical properties of the number seven, and Hengist of Woodcroft, who founded the all-wizarding village of Hogsmeade, which lies very near Hogwarts School. Hufflepuffs all.

So, as you can see, we’ve produced more than our fair share of powerful, brilliant and daring witches and wizards, but, just because we don’t shout about it, we don’t get the credit we deserve. Ravenclaws, in particular, assume that any outstanding achiever must have come from their house. I got into big trouble during my third year for duelling a Ravenclaw prefect who insisted that Bridget Wenlock had come from his house, not mine. I should have got a week of detentions, but Professor Sprout let me off with a warning and a box of coconut ice.

Hufflepuffs are trustworthy and loyal. We don’t shoot our mouths off, but cross us at your peril; like our emblem, the badger, we will protect ourselves, our friends and our families against all-comers. Nobody intimidates us.

However, it’s true that Hufflepuff is a bit lacking in one area. We’ve produced the fewest Dark wizards of any house in this school. Of course, you’d expect Slytherin to churn out evil-doers, seeing as they’ve never heard of fair play and prefer cheating over hard work any day, but even Gryffindor (the house we get on best with) has produced a few dodgy characters.

What else do you need to know? Oh yes, the entrance to the common room is concealed in a stack of large barrels in a nook on the right hand side of the kitchen corridor. Tap the barrel two from the bottom, middle of the second row, in the rhythm of ‘Helga Hufflepuff’, and the lid will swing open. We are the only house at Hogwarts that also has a repelling device for would-be intruders. If the wrong lid is tapped, or if the rhythm of the tapping is wrong, the illegal entrant is doused in vinegar.

You will hear other houses boast of their security arrangements, but it so happens that in more than a thousand years, the Hufflepuff common room and dormitories have never been seen by outsiders. Like badgers, we know exactly how to lie low – and how to defend ourselves.

Once you’ve opened the barrel, crawl inside and along the passageway behind it, and you will emerge into the cosiest common room of them all. It is round and earthy and low-ceilinged; it always feels sunny, and its circular windows have a view of rippling grass and dandelions.

There is a lot of burnished copper about the place, and many plants, which either hang from the ceiling or sit on the windowsills. Our Head of house, Professor Pomona Sprout, is Head of Herbology, and she brings the most interesting specimens (some of which dance and talk) to decorate our room – one reason why Hufflepuffs are often very good at Herbology. Our overstuffed sofas and chairs are upholstered in yellow and black, and our dormitories are reached through round doors in the walls of the common room. Copper lamps cast a warm light over our four-posters, all of which are covered in patchwork quilts, and copper bed warmers hang on the walls, should you have cold feet.

Our house ghost is the friendliest of them all: the Fat Friar. You’ll recognise him easily enough; he’s plump and wears monk’s robes, and he’s very helpful if you get lost or are in any kind of trouble.

I think that’s nearly everything. I must say, I hope some of you are good Quidditch players. Hufflepuff hasn’t done as well as I’d like in the Quidditch tournament lately.

You should sleep comfortably. We’re protected from storms and wind down in our dormitories; we never have the disturbed nights those in the towers sometimes experience.

And once again: congratulations on becoming a member of the friendliest, most decent and most tenacious house of them all.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Why I Love Old Films

Yes, the acting style is outdated and the kissing is stiff and far too dramatic, but when it comes to class, old films certainly know how to deliver. The dance between the lighting and the grayscale images is choreographed beautifully; the gorgeous close ups of those FACES that lit up the silver screen suck me right in; the decadent wardrobes make me gasp at each entrance of the characters; the little throwaway lines that are absolutely, subtly brilliant delight me to the core.

When I'm watching an old film I feel like I'm home. Like I'm wrapped in a fleece blanket, drinking hot cocoa with extra marshmallows late at night during a thunderstorm. They're just so beautiful.

Old films offer an escape from reality--one that is more complete than contemporary films; in a contemporary film (even one set in a different time period) the picture quality, the color correction, and the editing styles are constant reminders of today's technology, trapping the audience in the present. Old films allow us to time travel. The grainy picture, the simple shots, the rough lighting--it's all a ticket to the past. We get to experience not only the story in the film, but the time in which it was released.

This week after watching a number of old Audrey Hepburn films (Breakfast at Tiffany's, Roman Holiday, and Sabrina), I am absolutely clamoring to invite a little more class into my life. I want to BE Audrey Hepburn . . . or rather, I want to be ME but . . . Audrey Hepburn-er. ;) (If that wasn't a classy statement, I don't know what is. Ha. Ha. Ha.)

I guess what I'm saying is, here's my "To Do" list:
  1. Go to NYC, wear silk gloves, and eat a pastry in front of Tiffany's.
  2. Learn "Moon River" on the guitar and sing it while sitting on a window ledge.
  3. Spend a day strictly doing things I've never done before.
  4. Have the time of my life in Rome.
  5. Dance with a barber.
  6. Fall in love with Gregory Peck. (DONE)
  7. Re-invent myself in Paris.
  8. Make a positively stunning entrance at an evening party.
  9. Rock a fabulous look.
  10. Never settle for the idiotic womanizer.
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UNDER-APPRECIATED VOCABULARY WORD OF THE DAY:
panache n. flamboyant confidence of style or manner.

QUEEN OF CLASS QUOTE FOR YOUR PERUSAL:
"People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone."--Audrey Hepburn

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Nostalgic for School

It's that time of year again: tuition, textbooks, school supplies, and girls who unfortunately wear leggings in lieu of pants. Summer's ending, and fall is just beginning to tiptoe into the scene.

Having just graduated in May, I haven't had much time to absorb the fact that I am done with school. It's just felt like every other summer... until recently. Now that I'm back from several awesome trips in July, it's finally hit me that I'm not going back to USU. Though my university did not come with moving staircases, secret passages, or school feasts, I feel a bit like Harry Potter missing Hogwarts in book seven when he knows he won't be returning for the school year. I long for the required reading I dreaded; I'm almost sad that I don't have to tow a three foot high stack of textbooks out to my car; I crave the class discussions about classic literature; I think longingly of how certain essays and certain professors were so awful that they caused friendships to be formed between the students subjected to them.

That's not to say I want to go back... NO, SIR. I'm still very happy to be finished, but I've reached a new appreciation for the parts of school that made it all worth it, even if I didn't see it at the time. I've come to the conclusion that blogging more often will partially fill the void left by written assignments, so expect me to be posting here fairly frequently for the next little while.

Are any of you in the same boat? Leave me a comment telling me how you're dealing with it!

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UNDER-APPRECIATED VOCABULARY WORD OF THE DAY:

sorghum: n. something cloyingly sentimental.

BOOK QUOTE FOR YOUR PERUSAL:
"Imagining the future is a kind of nostalgia. [...] You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking about how you'll escape it one day, and how awesome it will be, and imagining that future keeps you going, but you never do it. You just use the future to escape the present."
--John Green, Looking for Alaska

Monday, February 21, 2011

To Cheese

I’m not sure exactly what it is about you that makes you so irresistible, but I want you to know that it’s working. I am yours and yours alone, and you will have me for as long as you will stick around. I’m prepared to throw many other things aside for just a shot at you—I’ve driven miles to get you at your best, and I never want you to change. I like you for you and will never desert you for some “skinny” version of you, so please, never think for a single second that I want you to go down the path of low-fat-zero-calories-fat-free-whatever. As many songwriters have proclaimed, you’re beautiful just the way you are. You’re always there for me when I need you—I can’t even remember a time when you weren’t around; you’ve had a definite presence in my life since the time when I could barely chew. I love you and want to thank you for how good you’ve been to me in the past, no matter what color you are (white, yellow, some kind of… mixed race…) and no matter who else you’ve been with (Seniora Macaroni, Ms. Cracker, Mademoiselle de Salade, etc.). At the moment you are single, and I just wanted to make sure you knew I was interested.

Your adoring servant,

Kiera Jo

UNDER-APPRECIATED VOCABULARY WORD OF THE DAY:
imperium, n. 1. Absolute rule; supreme power. 2. A sphere of power or dominion; empire. (As in, “Cheese has attained quite the imperium in my stomach and heart.”)

COMMITTED-TO-MEMORY MOVIE QUOTE FOR YOUR ENTERTAINMENT:
“Do you like… cheese?” (She’s the Man)

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Hourly Comic Day

6:00am
7:00am
*Sparknotes
8:00am
9:00am
10:00am
11:00am
12:00pm
1:00pm
2:00pm
3:00pm
4:00pm
5:00pm
6:00pm
7:00pm
8:00pm
9:00pm
10:00pm
11:00pm



Monday, September 27, 2010

A Soliloquy

As can be evidenced by my tweets the last twenty-four hours, I have been working on a soliloquy assignment for my Shakespeare class. It's pass/fail and we're supposed to compose a soliloquy of ten lines or more in iambic pentameter spoken by a character of our choice (we could make up our own, pick a celebrity, pick a book/movie/tv character, a person from history, whatever). I chose Severus Snape. Yep. If you have not read the Harry Potter series and do not want to be spoiled on important plot points in it, DO NOT GO ON. You've been warned. Without further ado. Ahem.

The Soliloquy of Severus Snape

This soliloquy would be expressed by J.K. Rowling’s enigmatic character, Professor Severus Snape, towards the climax of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the last book in her Harry Potter series. At this point Snape is looking back at the choices he’s made in his life just before he dies—looking into Harry’s eyes—and passes on his memories to Harry.

His dad was such a cocky jock; it’s true,

Yet I can see his mother in his eyes.

Her floral grace—it seems to beckon me

Within those spheres of green beneath the scar.

The scar and eyes cement me to this side

Of good, which forces trickery of me:

A deathly dance among the pure of blood

Who bear an evil mark to match my own.

I dread them delving far beneath my mark

To where I am a being much in love

With someone long past dead—all due to me.

In every taunting look her son shoots me,

An arrow penetrates my heart and leaves

A gaping hole of mis’ry and remorse

For what I’ve lost but never can get back.

Though I despise her son, he offers up

A chance for me to cure my past mistakes—

Redeem myself for all I did before,

So I will aid and help him find the way

To vanquish Voldemort—to be The One.

We, both of us, are marked by The Dark Lord:

He, by his scar, and I, my telling stain.

My life begins to fade far from my reach—

I’ll gaze one final time into his eyes—

Her eyes—those verdant eyes—and I’ll be gone.

Monday, August 30, 2010

The Sound of Silence

I know it's only been a few days since my last post...but as I keep promising myself and twitter, I really do want to start blogging more often. And it's a lot easier for me to do now that I have a laptop in my room with me every night--when the blogging urge hits I can just start immediately before I lose motivation. And tonight, the urge is persistent. It's like this little kid tugging my sleeve and whining, "Kiera...Kiera...Kiera?! BLOG. Please blog. When can we blog? Are you going to blog? Huh? Huh, Kiera? Are you?! Kiera!!!" Obviously it's pretty annoying. And how do you expect me to sleep under those conditions?

I find myself quietly tucked away in my room this evening after my penultimate first day of school. It's been an unusually short summer, not as in it went quickly--though it did--but as in "it already freaking feels like fall even though it's still technically freaking AUGUST". My window's cracked open and letting in a cool, after-rain breeze, and the periodic sound of water slowly slipping off my roof to the ground pulls me in and out of my own thoughts. My room's a little chilly at the moment, but I like it that way since it gives me an excuse to pull out my (always comforting) lavender footie pajamas covered in penguins--these (the pajamas...not the penguins) have gone significantly unnoticed and unused since about March. I value times like these when I can just sit on my own and think to the noise of late-at-night-in-a-small-town.

Tonight I'm thinking about silences. Silence seems like something that's very straightforward: the absence of noise. But it's far more than that. There are many different types of silences. They each have a noise and a tone all their own within their soundlessness.

There are library silences and test-taking silences, where everyone is quiet because of an almost unwritten rule and social agreement that those are settings in which a low sound level should prevail. There are conversational silences--some natural and comfortable, some entirely awkward and nearly unbearable. There are shocked silences, and there are disappointed silences. There are silences that defy connection. But there are also silences in which communication and understanding are still taking place--in which words can become unnecessary. Tonight's silence is a relieved silence. I've made it through DAY 1 of the new semester and am perfectly happy to just sit inside while still experiencing the air from outside, knowing that everyone else in my house and most of the people on my block are sound asleep as I type these words.

I'm reminded of one of my favorite Simon & Garfunkel songs, which has a line in it about no one daring to disturb the sound of silence. But as those fabulous lyricists encourage, I do dare disturb the sound of silence--I add my own punctuating rhythm of clicking letters, making it my silence: a silence in which I express my muddled thoughts, but in many ways am still saying nothing at all.
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Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
lacuna (lah-kyoon'-uh) n. a blank space or a missing part; gap.

Random Song Lyrics for Your Entertainment (and/or Enlightenment):
"The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls
And whispered in the sound of silence"
--Simon & Garfunkel in "The Sound of Silence"

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Emerging Enlightened

As a college student, it’s pretty much my job to get really stressed out on occasion. School isn’t always exactly a cakewalk, and sometimes it’s best to just ignore my looming pictures of the future and focus only on things immediately at hand; the future is a scary thing to think about—I’m graduating soon. While I’m excited to be done with school, I’m not excited at the prospect of trying to find a job with my degree in English (emphasis: Literary Studies). I feel like my whole life has been leading up to this point where I get to go off and really show the world who I am—become a hardworking adult with not just a job but a CAREER: a life of my own choosing. It’s terrifying to think that any of the choices I’ve made could have been wrong.

But my thoughts continually return to my favorite class I’ve had to date—we’re not just talking my favorite college course; I really mean it is my favorite class EVER. I’ve had a lot of teachers I’ve loved and learned so much from, but this class has stuck in my mind the way no other ever has. The themes of it return to me all the time—it’s honestly changed many aspects of my perspective on life and experience. This class was my Literary Theory class last semester.

On the surface, it shouldn’t have been as life changing to me as it was; on the surface it just looks like any other university literature course—no, I take that back. On the surface it looks more pointless than your average university literature course. I confess as I read through the syllabus on the first day I couldn’t really remember why I’d signed up for the class beyond the fact that I’d heard the teacher was fabulous: the course description basically sounded like, “This class is going to be about spooky ghost stories in literature and the roles of the supernatural in our daily lives.” I was thinking it would be crazy and useless and asking myself why ON EARTH I was going to spend an entire semester reading and discussing the supernatural—that is really not my kind of thing at all. I don’t buy into ghost stories; I’d never become a “ghost-hunter”.

But for whatever reason (probably because the extremely clever and perhaps slightly eccentric professor intrigued me from day one) I stuck with the class. It’s one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

That class helped me come to a realization that I suppose I’ve known all along, but that I’d never given much thought to previous to taking the class. THE REALIZATION: We don’t have control over a lot of what surrounds us, only of how we react to those surroundings; the world is chuck full of chaos—chaos that’s nearly impossible to decipher. Sometimes it’s overwhelming, yet it’s our natural instinct and desire as mankind to make sense of the things we don’t understand. While in many cases this is fantastic—giving us new technologies or medicines or ways to accomplish things—sometimes we become so fixated on complete understanding and control that it tears us apart and impedes further progress in other areas. There comes a time when we just have to accept that we can’t control everything or know everything or understand everything—to accept the chaos for what it is—to willingly plunge ourselves into it at times and come away from it not fully comprehending it all, but feeling enlightened on some aspect of it…and knowing that that’s okay. “Willingly fling yourself down the rabbit hole and emerge enlightened instead of insane,” became the constant motto of the course.

And that was just the message I needed to hear. Now as I look to my not-entirely-certain future, I try to de-stress a little: it’s okay that I don’t know exactly what I’m doing after I graduate; it’s okay that school feels chaotic at times and that the real world is even more so. As long as I emerge from the rabbit hole feeling enlightened—as long as I come away from every chaotic experience having learned something—having improved myself—it was all worth it.

EMBRACE THE CHAOS!

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Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:

gallimaufry (gal-li-maw'-free) n. a hodgepodge, jumble; a mixture of diverse things

Random Movie Quote for Your Entertainment:

“My journey took me somewhat further down the rabbit-hole than I'd initially intended and, though I dirtied my fluffy white tail, I've emerged… enlightened.”

—Sherlock Holmes in Sherlock Holmes (2009)

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Self-Narrative

Hey people. It's been quite some time. And I'm sorry this isn't a real blogpost, but a copy of my final paper for my Non-Fiction class. I'm supposed to write a short autobiographical piece of writing for part one of this assignment. Part two is for me to take a step back from it and analyze it for themes and such as if I were an unconnected third party. Here's where you come in: I would love you forever if you would read through this and give me your general impressions so I know what an outside third party is actually thinking as they read this. I've already written a rough draft of my critical analysis, but I could tweak it or even this original short story thing based on your thoughtful responses. Thanks in advance if you decide to help me out with this! And without further ado, I give you...

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SCHRODINGER'S CHIPMUNK

"Hmm..." mused Jarin, "I wonder if we could trap it with a marshmallow..." He bent over the pile of sticks and rocks we'd collected in the last twenty minutes, his young face scrunched up in concentration.

Wiping my dirt-covered hands on my worn-out overalls, I suggested that a s'more would probably be better in case it was picky and didn't like marshmallows plain; I knew I didn't. "If it's got chocolate and graham crackers and marshmallows, there's no way it won't want some," I added matter-of-factly.

We agreed that we'd sneak an extra s'more away with us from the campfire later that night and went to work assembling our trap.

It was an annual tradition in our extended family to go on one big camping trip together in the middle of the Summer. For the past several camp-outs my cousins and I had turned making chipmunk traps into something of a ritual, as well. In the back of our minds I think we always knew we wouldn't actually catch anything. Our traps were handmade, wholly unreliable, and not very stable. They had very little real logic behind them. We didn't care; it was just something we did to do something. It made us feel adventurous. Like we could go out and become Daniel Boone.

The color of our hands progressed to increasingly darkening shades of brown and gray as we strategically stacked stones on top of each other and used sticks to line the inside of our structure for support. After about an hour and much trial and error, we had what looked like a miniature stone hut, complete with a smooth rock roof concealed by dead leaves. The finishing touch was a tiny trapdoor at the front so we could slip the pilfered s'more inside as bait.

As we sat testing it out in our isolated corner of the campsite, Brooke meandered over to us. "Hey, Brooke!" we greeted her warmly, eager to show her how good our trap was this time and have her admire our handiwork.

Peering down at us, she crossed her arms and looked skeptical. "What are you guys doing?" she asked, furrowing her brow.

We glanced back up at her, slightly crestfallen and somewhat confused. "Brooke...you know what we're doing..." I said tentatively. Up until this year she'd always helped us with this project. As the oldest grandchild in our family, she had been the leader: the one who had started this whole trapping thing in the first place. Now at the wizened age of 10, she seemed to have lost interest in it altogether. Previous years, Jarin and I had always just followed her lead because we looked up to her. This year we were leading ourselves.

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, she responded, "Of course I know what you're doing--but why?!" She sounded exasperated. Irritated.

"Maybe we'll catch something this ti--" Jarin began. But Brooke cut him off before he could finish.

"You're not going to catch anything. It never works." She walked away haughtily to do whatever it was that she thought was so much cooler than us or our project.

I tried not to look or feel disappointed as I watched her go. Turning to Jarin, I smiled wildly and exclaimed, "This time it will."

"Yeah," he said, returning my pre-braces, crooked grin. "This time we'll catch something."

After dinner, with s'more bait in place, we went to bed hardly able to wait until morning when we could check our trap. Undeterred by past experience, we were just as confident and hopeful as always that our trap would work and we'd have a pet chipmunk for the remainder of camp. As I tossed and turned in my sleeping bag, trying to fall asleep to the rhythmic sounds of my dad snoring and the rushing water of the creek near our tent, it felt like tomorrow would never come.

When it finally did, the kids--as usual--were up before the parents. Jarin and I found each other as quickly as we could so we could check our trap together. "Do you think--?" I half asked him with bare enthusiasm.

"I don't know--let's go find out!" he answered back hopefully. Both of our voices were dry and crackly from having just woken up, but unmistakably laced with excitement like on Christmas morning.

We raced each other to our little stone trap and were surprised to find Brooke already there, standing beside it. We stopped in our tracks, not sure what to make of it. We stared at her. She stared back, looking smug.

We nodded uncertainly at her, and Jarin spoke quickly to no one in particular, "C'mon! Let's see what's in there!" He started to move towards the trap but didn't quite make it before Brooke blew:

"This is so stupid," she said angrily. Her voice rose to a volume kind of shocking for that early in the morning. "There is not going to be anything in there!" On this last heightened note, she dramatically swung her foot back behind her and kicked over our primitive little construction, blasting it apart. It separated back into it's composite parts at an astonishing speed.

But amid the dead rocks and sticks and leaves and dirt, all three of us saw something small--something living--dart away and disappear into the trees behind us. We could read in each other's puzzled faces that yes, we had finally caught our chipmunk. And because of Brooke it had gotten away.

After the initial shock had worn off, Jarin and I glared at Brooke, unable to believe that we'd finally succeeded only to have her literally tear apart all of our hard work. We were left with the scattered remnants of the only trap that had ever worked and had to content ourselves with the guilt and bragging rights we could hold over Brooke's head for the remainder of the trip. We never did catch another chipmunk.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Half Cray-Cray, Half Philosophical

SERIOUSLY?! The last post I made was IN OCTOBER?! That is absolutely unacceptable. UNACCEPTABLE, I SAY! I'll understand if none of you ever want to speak to me EVER AGAIN. Or...leave me comments or whatever...just sayin'. This blog has been so neglected.

But NO MORE. I am here to save the day and to attack you with useless information! Dun-dun-dun-dun! (That? Oh...that's just my hero music.)

Honestly, what is this blog without me writing in it? It's like...a play without a leading lady. Or a ship without a captain. Or a quidditch team with no seeker. Or...like a week that's only Mondays; only ice cream--never sundaes; like a circle with no center; like a door marked, "DO NOT ENTER." Darling, I'll be yours forever 'cause I never wanna be without lo-o-o-o-o-ve, so baby never set me free. Or something. (Clearly my lengthy absence hasn't addled with my propensity to random lyric quoting without warning. Good to know.)

So now that I'm here and you're here, you probably want me to actually write about something, huh?--Crap. I hadn't foreseen this...you know, earlier when I was consulting my crystal ball and reading tarot cards...How's about I rationalize why I seem so cray-cray?

REASONS WHY KIERA SEEMS CRAY-CRAY (FOR TODAY)
  • As you may or may not know, I have returned to The Institution of Cognitive Chaos. On the surface (and based on context clues) that may sound like I'm talking about a mental institution, which isn't too far from the truth: I am back at uni. (I know "uni" is a British/Australian term, but I don't care. I'm using it. TAKE THAT. It's cooler than "college" or "school", okay. Just admit it already.)
  • Being back in classes is messing with my brain. It has to work so much harder now than when I was just working. Seriously, my cognitive exercise routine is so rigorous that I'm actually burning TONS OF CALORIES thinking. I get ravenously hungry SO OFTEN lately because my brain needs more fuel just to keep going!
  • I just barely got back from work, finished two annotations on scholarly journal articles, AND filled out an intense psychology study guide, so I need to release my creative energy that I had to hold back all day in order to sound ultra-professional and straightforward and all that scholarly poop. (You see that? Poop. That is what work and homework-filled days reduce me to: joy at using immature words in leisurely writing. Yep. Really.)
So...such is life at the moment. And in all sincerity, I am actually enjoying being back in school. (It's really busy and FRYING my brain and making my social life dangerously approach the brink of extinction, but I love learning things everyday.) My classes--for the most part--are very interesting and full of insightful discussions that keep my brain occupied long after class ends. It also helps that we cover different aspects of related themes in each of my classes because I get perspectives and input from not only different classmates, but also different professors. It's kind of awesome.

One of the things that keeps coming back is different theories of self and how each person's actions, behavior, looks, etc. are really just a representation of their inner self. (Naturally what keeps running through my brain during these discussions is Paper Towns. Paper Towns. Paper Towns. Great Gatsby. Paper Towns.) We've hit upon this topic particularly in my Studies in Non-Fiction Prose class and my Literary and Cultural Theory class, and I keep making connections from that to the complex nature of the brain which we keep studying in my Cognitive Psychology class. This stuff is mind-boggling to me and constantly reminds me to take no one as just a surface--humanity is insanely complicated and intricate.

I don't want you to feel like you're reading an essay here, and I don't want to feel like I'm writing one, but I seriously find this concept fascinating and inarguably true. Which is a perfect segway into what I want you guys to do: leave me a comment that allows me to "imagine you more complexly." It doesn't have to be deep or life-changing or anything; just tell me something about you that I probably don't know yet. I'm really looking forward to your responses!

And with that, I depart!!! Dun-dun-dun-dun! (<--hero exit music)

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
repurple (v) to make purple again; to become purple again. (I KID YOU NOT, FAITHFUL BLOG READERS. THAT IS SERIOUSLY A REAL WORD IN THE OED. HILARIOUS. MUST BEGIN USING IN DAILY LIFE.)

Random Movie Quote for Your Entertainment:
"Four for you, Glenn Coco! You go, Glenn Coco!"
--Damien dressed as Santa in Mean Girls

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Do I really have to respect ALL my elders?!

Hello loyal blog readers! It's been a disgustingly long time since I've blogged. I know when it's been too long since I've blogged by a few signs: 1. When my offline friends start reminding me persistently that I haven't posted anything new and are clamoring for another entry (special shout-out to Erica and Lisa who like to read my blog sometimes: Hey girls, sup yo?!), 2. When I haven't signed in to blogger for so long that I can't remember my username and password, and 3. When I feel super rusty EVEN AS I AM TYPING THIS.

Today's topic? Old people. (This is for you, Erica!)

In our society it is blatantly emphasized that we should revere old people and treat them with the utmost respect, seemingly just because they are, in fact, old. I guess this is because of the general assumption that their advanced years must have made them very wise and knowledgeable. Come to think of it, the only old people I've noticed who aren't given the automatic "Respect the Elderly Code of Conduct" treatment are those who are homeless drunks. Every other type of old person has free reign in the department of etiquette, decorum, and respect. What is not so often conceded is the fact that some of those old people, in their younger years, had to have been--quite frankly--complete idiots. My logic is as follows:

I see absolute morons around me somewhat frequently--in fact, I daresay on a daily basis. I'd be willing to bet that something like 30% of the people my age are idiots. And guess what: one day those idiots are going to be old, and some poor future generation is going to be forced to treat them as wise sages of infinite knowledge and ability, despite their continued immaturity and stupidity.

That's right--that idiot that just cut you off in traffic is going to be treated as if he were Confucius in a mere fifty years or so. And that teenager who just keyed someone's car in the parking lot for fun? Yep. The children of the future are going to be expected to look up to him as they would Atticus Finch or Mr. Miyagi, were they non-fictional. And that girl that just fervently prayed during her history test that she was right--that Benjamin Franklin was indeed the first president of the United States?! Well, she'll be seen as a regular Grandmother Willow as soon as she crosses over into senior citizen land.

I've known plenty of peers in my day who I simply can't imagine being revered by a later generation. Take for example the case of Dummy McIdiotpants* who attended high school with me: Dummy McIdiotpants thought he was all that and a bag of potato chips. Dummy McIdiotpants rarely, if ever, attended classes--and when he did, he was a massive disruption to everyone around him. Dummy McIdiotpants was evidently operating under the delusion that every time he said a swear word, made an inappropriate comment, refused to participate in class, talked back to the teacher, told a fart joke, or was sent to the principal's office/in-school suspension, he would be rewarded with a one hundred dollar bill. I say this because Dummy McIdiotpants did these things and more with so much fervor and persistence that it was almost as if he were being bribed to act out. And yet, someday I just know some child's parent is going to say, "Billy, you need to show respect to Mr. McIdiotpants. He's a very wise old man and has experienced many things in his life. You could learn a lot from him." Yeah. Like how to make meth in the comfort of your very own garage without getting caught!

Now, I'm not saying that all old people are idiots who don't deserve our respect. I'm not saying that AT ALL. I'm just saying we shouldn't completely rule out the possibility that someone much older than ourselves could be every bit as much of a screwball as Dummy McIdiotpants...or Dingbat Stupidsen, your delinquent next door neighbor. Likewise, lots of really great teenagers get short changed; they don't get nearly as much trust or credit as they deserve merely because they belong to a category of individuals seen as being out-of-hand and destructive. I've come to the conclusion that we should take each person we come into contact with as being exactly that: a person; a person who should be given respect, merit, and reverence based on his behavior, character, and action--not his age and the not-so-accurate stereotypes that accompany it.

*Names have been changed to protect the inescapably idiotic.

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:

porphyrophobia (n): A persistent, abnormal, unwarranted fear of the color purple.

Random Movie Quote for Your Entertainment:
"How long have you been seventeen?"
"A while."
--Bella Swan and Edward Cullen in Twilight.

Friday, August 21, 2009

When No One Is Looking

Hey, hey, hey! :)

Once again--as usual when I sit down to blog--I do not have a planned out topic. Basically, I'm blogging because I was hanging out with my lovely group of friends last night and Erica (who I've mentioned before as my hot dog-selling buddy when we were kids) mentioned that she'd checked on my blog, hoping to find some entertainment, and was disappointed to see I hadn't posted anything new. SORRY, ERICA!

So here I am.

Today's topic is what I do when no one is looking!

Now, there are various types of people in the world: there are those who need people around them ALL THE TIME, there are those who prefer to be alone ALL THE TIME, and all sorts of people in between the two. I am a person who appreciates spending time with others, but still very much values her alone time. I honestly think I could go longer without seeing any other human beings than I could without having a moment to myself. (Not that I don't love having friends and stuff, I'm just saying I need sufficient time to myself to do with what I will.)

So, if you're a person that likes having people around all the time, allow me to give you some suggestions of things you can do in your alone time. Here's how I spend mine:

*Do something that is socially unacceptable.
  • Crank up the most embarrassing music you own and blast it through your whole house. (For me this would probably be Miley Cyrus music, the first Britney Spears CD, or the Boy Band albums I still own, originally purchased when I was in 5th grade.) Dance around to it--be sure that the dance moves are tragically awkward and quite possibly unflattering. In fact, it's all the better if they ARE unflattering; NO ONE CAN SEE YOU!
  • Talk to yourself in a fake accent. You can even make one up if you want.
  • Dress up in something horrendous and put on some dreadful make up. Do your hair to match/clash.
  • Sing along to a song that's WAAAAAAY out of your vocal range at the top of your lungs. (For guys, perhaps some Mariah Carey or Whitney Huston? For girls, Barry White anyone?)
  • Watch T.V. shows that you would never watch were others present--spanish soap operas (if you don't speak spanish), children's tv (if you're not a child), and trashy reality shows all fall into this category.
*Do something relaxing/creative that requires quiet time.
  • Read a book you've been wanting to read.
  • Write something. (A story, a poem, a journal entry, whatever)
  • Make something artsy--draw/paint whatever you're feeling like you used to when you were little and you didn't care what other people thought about your picture.
  • Write a song whether or not you think you are musical. If it's bad, no one needs to hear it.
  • Play a musical instrument.
I was planning on thinking of more things, but then I realized that pretty much everything I do when I'm alone falls into one of those two categories!

Under-Appreciated Vocabulary Word of the Day:
inculcate (v): to implant by repeated statement or admonition; teach persistently and earnestly.


Random Song Lyric Quote for Your Entertainment:
"Sometimes I get so weird I even freak myself out."
~Avril Lavigne, Anything But Ordinary