I lost my camera somewhere between 112th and my apartment some time in the last three weeks of November. I remember having it around the time of Opening Day, but I don't remember where I have left it. I doubt that it has been stolen, but I have terminally misplaced it. So, I'm trying to find a copy of it on Ebay for cheap. Wish me luck!
Also, I have to tell a heavy story about my life to the entire CYLA staff and corps on Friday. I did my first dry run with my team today, and I felt like the story wandered and didn't necessarily have the impact that I was looking for. I want it to be relateable and heartfelt. We'll see what happens. Plus, the ending sucked. I don't know what I'm going to do about that, but I can't just very well say, "The End," and just be done with it. This is something that is going to require major tweaking over the next couple of days so that it doesn't blow right at the end of the day.
Early Morning Snooping
Some mornings, I wake up and I go read in our living room until the rest of my roommates wake up. It's peaceful, relaxing, and it's one of the few times when it feels like I have the entire apartment to my self.
So, this morning when I woke up, I go in there, as per usual, after having some really weird dreams (like that I was dating this girl and we went out to dinner and had a $250 check and I was freaking out...so strange...and the restaurant kind of looked like Stix in Birmingham). Regardless, I was going to go sit on the couch, read some of Vonnegut's Hocus Pocus, and plan my day hanging out with Val and Sophie.
But, then I started looking around. Okay, Tom and Hollywood's bedroom door is closed. That's a little odd, because Tom usually leaves it cracked when he stumbles in late from a night of debauchery. But I don't really think anything of it.
Then, I see a pair of jeans laying on the ground. I pick them up and try to remember if they're mine. No, I threw my jeans in my closet last night. So, I just assume their Tom's, but they don't really look like his. So, I start going through the pockets. I find an iPhone with a text message that I don't recognize (hey, I'm an amateur detective, and his stuff was in my house), but, then again, Tom has an iPhone, so that wasn't definitive proof.
Further, the underwear that had been carelessly left on the couch did not necessarily serve as proof positive that this was someone new...I mean, Tommy could have been plastered, gotten naked in the living room, and then gone to bed. Hasn't that happened to the best of us? (not really, no...)
But, then Sophie got up and joined the hunt, finding the dude's wallet. I always carry my wallet in my bag, jacket, or front pocket because I don't like to be off-center when I'm sitting down, so I completely missed it. But, apparently "America" (name changed to protect the probably hungover) spent the night last night, and spent some naked time on my couch. Which means I have to buy some Lysol while I'm out today.
And I almost slept on the couch last night. God, that would have been awkward.
My roommates may not be the classiest bitches west of the Mississippi, but life in 205 is never not interesting.
Update: Upon further investigation (aka we found his keys), we discovered that he is a Stanford alum who drives a BMW, and is a member of the YMCA. The jeans are Rock and Republic, the shoes are Kenneth Cole. God, we're some nosy bitches.
Update 2: "He was about average, and I am not about average." So, at least we know that about this guy now. He got up and left. Tom is a hot mess. The guy was Middle Eastern and seemed sort of closeted, but then again, how well do you know somebody from glaring at them over a gin and tonic as they walk of shame?
So, this morning when I woke up, I go in there, as per usual, after having some really weird dreams (like that I was dating this girl and we went out to dinner and had a $250 check and I was freaking out...so strange...and the restaurant kind of looked like Stix in Birmingham). Regardless, I was going to go sit on the couch, read some of Vonnegut's Hocus Pocus, and plan my day hanging out with Val and Sophie.
But, then I started looking around. Okay, Tom and Hollywood's bedroom door is closed. That's a little odd, because Tom usually leaves it cracked when he stumbles in late from a night of debauchery. But I don't really think anything of it.
Then, I see a pair of jeans laying on the ground. I pick them up and try to remember if they're mine. No, I threw my jeans in my closet last night. So, I just assume their Tom's, but they don't really look like his. So, I start going through the pockets. I find an iPhone with a text message that I don't recognize (hey, I'm an amateur detective, and his stuff was in my house), but, then again, Tom has an iPhone, so that wasn't definitive proof.
Further, the underwear that had been carelessly left on the couch did not necessarily serve as proof positive that this was someone new...I mean, Tommy could have been plastered, gotten naked in the living room, and then gone to bed. Hasn't that happened to the best of us? (not really, no...)
But, then Sophie got up and joined the hunt, finding the dude's wallet. I always carry my wallet in my bag, jacket, or front pocket because I don't like to be off-center when I'm sitting down, so I completely missed it. But, apparently "America" (name changed to protect the probably hungover) spent the night last night, and spent some naked time on my couch. Which means I have to buy some Lysol while I'm out today.
And I almost slept on the couch last night. God, that would have been awkward.
My roommates may not be the classiest bitches west of the Mississippi, but life in 205 is never not interesting.
Update: Upon further investigation (aka we found his keys), we discovered that he is a Stanford alum who drives a BMW, and is a member of the YMCA. The jeans are Rock and Republic, the shoes are Kenneth Cole. God, we're some nosy bitches.
Update 2: "He was about average, and I am not about average." So, at least we know that about this guy now. He got up and left. Tom is a hot mess. The guy was Middle Eastern and seemed sort of closeted, but then again, how well do you know somebody from glaring at them over a gin and tonic as they walk of shame?
Thanksgiving
My mother says that my last few entries haven't sounded like me. I guess working in the elementary schools has quelled my sardonic-ness and my penchant for language. I just hope it doesn't destroy my wit to be working in schools. Anywho, that's something to obsess about late at night when I'm falling asleep, not on this fine day off.
No, today is a day to talk about Thanksgiving. I don't do Black Friday, so today is recovery from the event.
I hosted my first Thanksgiving ever yesterday. My family was all split up, and my mom, dad, and Morgan went to see my mom's family in north GA. I didn't fly home because I'll be home in a month anyway. So, I hosted Thanksgiving for some of the City Year folks that didn't have any plans. So, the final guest list ended up being smaller: me, Sophie, Tom, Kat, Jyrell, Valerie, Charles, Will, and Jake. Everybody brought stuff, but my job was to make the stuffing and the turkey. I figured if I was going to host, I could at least knock out the "must-haves."
So, I started on my mother's dressing recipe. Made the eggs, no sweat. Crock-potted the hen, no problem. Made the cornbread. Okay, some issues. There is no self-rising corn meal in California, so you have to make it out of normal corn meal. And then I forgot that there was a difference in baking soda and baking powder, thus nearly poisoning my entire T'giving party with an overdose of sodium bicarbonate. Luckily, Val tasted and made a face like she was dying, so I went back to the grocery store late Wednesday night to buy ingredients to redo the cornbread correctly.
Day of, I got up early (like 7 AM...so, technically, I slept in two more hours than I usually would have done on a Friday) and started making the turkey. I have never made a turkey before, so I didn't really know what was going on. I took out my thawed turkey, removed all the bits (that always make me want to vomit, touching raw meat. Why is poultry so much more disgusting than anything else?), and prepped it, put it in the oven, and waited around. Watched a documentary on Burlesque dancing. (This post is becoming a boring point-by-point...)
People started arriving and I started chugging mimosas. Football and tennis were watched. I made dressing and helped Val finish up the vegetables. We made a spread that covered my entire dining room table. Some people said some things that they were thankful for and we all dug in. We had so many leftovers, it looked like we hadn't even touched the food.
Then, we played some drinking games. Some people got plastered. Everybody passed out. People army-crawled to throw up. Then, we cut some pies and ate some more. I fell asleep from being up so early, and loved it.
My first T'giving by myself was a success...and I'm going to write up a list of the things that I'm thankful for a little later today, but for now, I'm thankful that the day rocked.
Some memorable quotes from the day:
"I met the bar-back of my dreams last night."
"(Name removed) is coming over? Shit, I can't be nice when I'm drunk!"
No, today is a day to talk about Thanksgiving. I don't do Black Friday, so today is recovery from the event.
I hosted my first Thanksgiving ever yesterday. My family was all split up, and my mom, dad, and Morgan went to see my mom's family in north GA. I didn't fly home because I'll be home in a month anyway. So, I hosted Thanksgiving for some of the City Year folks that didn't have any plans. So, the final guest list ended up being smaller: me, Sophie, Tom, Kat, Jyrell, Valerie, Charles, Will, and Jake. Everybody brought stuff, but my job was to make the stuffing and the turkey. I figured if I was going to host, I could at least knock out the "must-haves."
So, I started on my mother's dressing recipe. Made the eggs, no sweat. Crock-potted the hen, no problem. Made the cornbread. Okay, some issues. There is no self-rising corn meal in California, so you have to make it out of normal corn meal. And then I forgot that there was a difference in baking soda and baking powder, thus nearly poisoning my entire T'giving party with an overdose of sodium bicarbonate. Luckily, Val tasted and made a face like she was dying, so I went back to the grocery store late Wednesday night to buy ingredients to redo the cornbread correctly.
Day of, I got up early (like 7 AM...so, technically, I slept in two more hours than I usually would have done on a Friday) and started making the turkey. I have never made a turkey before, so I didn't really know what was going on. I took out my thawed turkey, removed all the bits (that always make me want to vomit, touching raw meat. Why is poultry so much more disgusting than anything else?), and prepped it, put it in the oven, and waited around. Watched a documentary on Burlesque dancing. (This post is becoming a boring point-by-point...)
People started arriving and I started chugging mimosas. Football and tennis were watched. I made dressing and helped Val finish up the vegetables. We made a spread that covered my entire dining room table. Some people said some things that they were thankful for and we all dug in. We had so many leftovers, it looked like we hadn't even touched the food.
Then, we played some drinking games. Some people got plastered. Everybody passed out. People army-crawled to throw up. Then, we cut some pies and ate some more. I fell asleep from being up so early, and loved it.
My first T'giving by myself was a success...and I'm going to write up a list of the things that I'm thankful for a little later today, but for now, I'm thankful that the day rocked.
Some memorable quotes from the day:
"I met the bar-back of my dreams last night."
"(Name removed) is coming over? Shit, I can't be nice when I'm drunk!"
Reflections on the Day
Today was a lazy day, but I kind of loved that. I read Book 4 of Y: The Last Man, watched Outfoxed, Smokin' Aces, Dr. Horrible, and Scream 3. It's been a media heavy day, and I needed that after the week I just had. Seriously, there were two days this week when I left my apartment at 6 AM and I didn't get home until after 10 PM because work was crazy and there were things that I needed to do for America.
In other news, the CYLA newsletter, The Young Idealist, was released on Friday. Someone had messed with my design, though, and it was starting to piss me off. Then I realized that they had removed the sponsor block. I talked to the editor, and she said that because of my article on inter-corps dating, the newsletter could not be shown to persons outside of the office.
Now, while I think my article was tame (and if they were going to keep it internal, I could have cranked the volume to make it a lot better of a read), the possibilities of an internal newsletter to me are a lot more interesting than some sort of weird mix of internal/external. But, not everyone agrees with me, so this is going to be something I'll have to attack over time.
Also, Watts C might be getting a sponsor (I need to do a post to decode CYLA lingo...that'll be tomorrow.), but we'll see how the meeting on Dec. 1st with them goes.
I'm hosting Thanksgiving in four days, so I have to learn to cook a turkey and get all of that stuff together. Here goes nothing!
In other news, the CYLA newsletter, The Young Idealist, was released on Friday. Someone had messed with my design, though, and it was starting to piss me off. Then I realized that they had removed the sponsor block. I talked to the editor, and she said that because of my article on inter-corps dating, the newsletter could not be shown to persons outside of the office.
Now, while I think my article was tame (and if they were going to keep it internal, I could have cranked the volume to make it a lot better of a read), the possibilities of an internal newsletter to me are a lot more interesting than some sort of weird mix of internal/external. But, not everyone agrees with me, so this is going to be something I'll have to attack over time.
Also, Watts C might be getting a sponsor (I need to do a post to decode CYLA lingo...that'll be tomorrow.), but we'll see how the meeting on Dec. 1st with them goes.
I'm hosting Thanksgiving in four days, so I have to learn to cook a turkey and get all of that stuff together. Here goes nothing!
Mikhail Was a Friend of Mine
Whenever my past intersects my present, I always take a second to stop and consider whether I wish that this thing or person were still in my life. Usually, it's people from Tifton or Shorter that look me on FB.
And, sadly, usually I don't miss them.
Take tonight's find. We'll call him Mikhail in this age of Googling ourselves. Mikhail was someone that I was friendly with in high school. He acted the part of the philosopher. If we had gone to school in the city, I'm sure he would have read a lot of Camus and psychedelic poetry while preaching that everything we were taught was simultaneously beneath him and a lie. He was someone who believed that truth came from pop culture. He was one of the few people I knew who still believed in the power of parables. He could play chess. For some reason, it seemed like he wasn't built to any model. I stole pieces of him that I liked and modeled parts of my life after that. He left before my junior year.
The one time I saw him after he left my daily existence, he proved himself to be one of the most homophobic people in my social set. Until that point, I thought that ignorance equated to prejudice, but on that Halloween night, that illusion was shattered. (On a side note, that was one of two nights that proved to me that I will never want to be a cool kid).
I guess I like that Mikhail friended me on FB. It gave me the chance to think of old conversations and old lies. He's a great example from my high school life of when I realized that everyone had the potential for great good and great evil at the same time. And it proved to me what I've come to internalize recently: pretension blows. People consistently describe what I say or write, no matter how much work is put into it, as "raw." Maybe it's because I don't give a shit what other people think about the words I say, I want them to get the message, and I'll use whatever verbal weaponry is necessary to do that.
And people who talk and circles and argue for its own sake and break out of boxes for the sake of breaking and nothing more, I guess that's their prerogative. But if I'm going to do something to waste time, I'd rather watch SVU.
And, sadly, usually I don't miss them.
Take tonight's find. We'll call him Mikhail in this age of Googling ourselves. Mikhail was someone that I was friendly with in high school. He acted the part of the philosopher. If we had gone to school in the city, I'm sure he would have read a lot of Camus and psychedelic poetry while preaching that everything we were taught was simultaneously beneath him and a lie. He was someone who believed that truth came from pop culture. He was one of the few people I knew who still believed in the power of parables. He could play chess. For some reason, it seemed like he wasn't built to any model. I stole pieces of him that I liked and modeled parts of my life after that. He left before my junior year.
The one time I saw him after he left my daily existence, he proved himself to be one of the most homophobic people in my social set. Until that point, I thought that ignorance equated to prejudice, but on that Halloween night, that illusion was shattered. (On a side note, that was one of two nights that proved to me that I will never want to be a cool kid).
I guess I like that Mikhail friended me on FB. It gave me the chance to think of old conversations and old lies. He's a great example from my high school life of when I realized that everyone had the potential for great good and great evil at the same time. And it proved to me what I've come to internalize recently: pretension blows. People consistently describe what I say or write, no matter how much work is put into it, as "raw." Maybe it's because I don't give a shit what other people think about the words I say, I want them to get the message, and I'll use whatever verbal weaponry is necessary to do that.
And people who talk and circles and argue for its own sake and break out of boxes for the sake of breaking and nothing more, I guess that's their prerogative. But if I'm going to do something to waste time, I'd rather watch SVU.
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