Sorry. Mary left me alone with her camera today.
Study, what? I thought I was going to college to take pictures of myself...
Saturday, September 30, 2006
like the rain...
I just walked back from Sage to my room in a downpour/thunderstorm.
I like the rain.
My jeans grew about a foot. And my cute velvet mary janes may never be the same.
Oh yeah, Portlandgirl!
My clothing choice for this morning's sunshine was ironic but prophetic. 
I like the rain.
My jeans grew about a foot. And my cute velvet mary janes may never be the same.
Oh yeah, Portlandgirl!
My clothing choice for this morning's sunshine was ironic but prophetic.
Friday, September 29, 2006
possibility of dwelling...
I have had a line of Emily Dickinson stuck in my head for two days. Every time I stop thinking about something else, it scrolls through my mind. I don't know why. I like the poem, and we've been studying my genius alter-ego in this semester's American Lit class, but why this one phrase?
It's just a poem, right? Does it mean something? Should it?
I thought that maybe using it in my daily poem, it would go away. Some artistic cavern opened up by my poetry expirement perhaps? But nope, it's still there, pounding out a message to every beat of my song - my heart - my feet on the pavement [see? even the dashes are dickinson's].
It's been one week and I'm starting to get the hang of this poetry thing. I even now have hope of one day referring to myself as a poet. Not a fifteen-year-old-myspace poet, but a real, life, thoughtful, dedicated, i-make-this-look-easy-but-it-took-me-three-months, this-is-my-artistic-philosophy kind of poet.
Day Eight pays homage to some of my favorite poets, poems, and my new metaphor for life.
i walk in conversation
a fairer house than most -
eating peaches - on beaches
and stopping to notice details
like a spider, or a star.
the path tears across an old brick wall
towards the end of town, i dream
of london - paris - cairo - rome.
and then we'll run, you and i
spread out against the sky
like cold turkey (with swiss)
and tomato - on rye.
Major stars if you can name all of the references. Until then...
It's just a poem, right? Does it mean something? Should it?
I thought that maybe using it in my daily poem, it would go away. Some artistic cavern opened up by my poetry expirement perhaps? But nope, it's still there, pounding out a message to every beat of my song - my heart - my feet on the pavement [see? even the dashes are dickinson's].
It's been one week and I'm starting to get the hang of this poetry thing. I even now have hope of one day referring to myself as a poet. Not a fifteen-year-old-myspace poet, but a real, life, thoughtful, dedicated, i-make-this-look-easy-but-it-took-me-three-months, this-is-my-artistic-philosophy kind of poet.
Day Eight pays homage to some of my favorite poets, poems, and my new metaphor for life.
i walk in conversation
a fairer house than most -
eating peaches - on beaches
and stopping to notice details
like a spider, or a star.
the path tears across an old brick wall
towards the end of town, i dream
of london - paris - cairo - rome.
and then we'll run, you and i
spread out against the sky
like cold turkey (with swiss)
and tomato - on rye.
Major stars if you can name all of the references. Until then...
I dwell in possibility, a fairer house than prose...
Thursday, September 28, 2006
tip of the week...
When it's suddenly after 1am and you find yourself overwhelmed by the clothes, dirty dishes, artsy leftovers, to-do lists, homework, chex mix remnants in your carpet, and messy personal spaces [most of which are due to the fabulous hang-out-with-your-hall time earlier this evening], I suggest you take a deep breath and start by brushing your teeth.
That clean, minty freshness not only improves your spirits [oh, wait, i am blessed, talented, lovely, and generally well liked?], but it gives you the boost of placebo-like energy needed to organize, fold, clean, wash, put away, and complete all the necessary tasks. Suddenly, your room is cleaner than it has been in nearly a week, the near-disasterous levels of stress have vanished, and all is again right with the world. [do i sound like mary poppins? i feel like mary poppins]
Try a Psalm or two before going to sleep [I'd suggest something in the 20s].
But whatever you do, don't look in the mirror.
That clean, minty freshness not only improves your spirits [oh, wait, i am blessed, talented, lovely, and generally well liked?], but it gives you the boost of placebo-like energy needed to organize, fold, clean, wash, put away, and complete all the necessary tasks. Suddenly, your room is cleaner than it has been in nearly a week, the near-disasterous levels of stress have vanished, and all is again right with the world. [do i sound like mary poppins? i feel like mary poppins]
Try a Psalm or two before going to sleep [I'd suggest something in the 20s].
But whatever you do, don't look in the mirror.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
lately...
College students seem to always be complaining about "the long week," but this last one actually was... I had three midterms: Monday (Art History), Wednesday (WWII: A Global History), and Friday (Classical Mythology). Hey, winning two out of three isn't bad, right?
One of my main hang outs this year is the Blue House, home to Stephanie, Kristi, and Megan. It's also the closest off-campus house to my dorm, which is highly convenient. I love my room, but it's so different to be able to relax in a home rather than a dorm room. These girls are so hospitable (though I haven't slept on their couch as much as I did at the Statehouse), they inspire me to keep up the search for my own house next year. Seriously, it is such a blessing.
Steph and Kristi have also started a little trend, which happens to be my favorite thing about this year: bonfire nights! They dug a little firepit in their backyard and, with signed approval from the fire chief, they warm our hearts and our toes on a semi-regular basis. This past Friday, it rained. Hard. The lightning cut out the power to my fridge (something I didn't discover til the next morning. room temperature cheese is so gross!), but the fire kept burning. I missed most of the downpour/lightning while eating Mr. Bills' cookies and catching up on The Office with the rest of my crowd, but there was still plenty of drizzle left in the sky when I headed over to the Blue House. [btw, i love how portlanders describe rain. you all know exactly what i'm talking about when i say 'drizzle' vs. 'mist' vs. 'rain' vs 'downpour']
Fall fires are one of the things I miss the most about my lovely old house in Portland. We don't usually turn on the heat until nearly November, because eight people and a fireplace in a small house keep us nice and cozy. Blue House Bonfires are the best possible alternative [although they don't have marshmallow roasting sticks! i am going to buy some for them, because a bonfire without the possibility of s'mores is more tragic than hamlet].
eMay, Stephanie, Kristi
Seriously, though, you need to be really jealous of my life. When was the last time you read T.S. Eliot, recited A.A. Milne and liturgical prayers, and listened to amazing bluegrass ballads with amazing people...around a campfire...in the rain...long after a proper bedtime? Yeah, I thought so.
One of my main hang outs this year is the Blue House, home to Stephanie, Kristi, and Megan. It's also the closest off-campus house to my dorm, which is highly convenient. I love my room, but it's so different to be able to relax in a home rather than a dorm room. These girls are so hospitable (though I haven't slept on their couch as much as I did at the Statehouse), they inspire me to keep up the search for my own house next year. Seriously, it is such a blessing.
Steph and Kristi have also started a little trend, which happens to be my favorite thing about this year: bonfire nights! They dug a little firepit in their backyard and, with signed approval from the fire chief, they warm our hearts and our toes on a semi-regular basis. This past Friday, it rained. Hard. The lightning cut out the power to my fridge (something I didn't discover til the next morning. room temperature cheese is so gross!), but the fire kept burning. I missed most of the downpour/lightning while eating Mr. Bills' cookies and catching up on The Office with the rest of my crowd, but there was still plenty of drizzle left in the sky when I headed over to the Blue House. [btw, i love how portlanders describe rain. you all know exactly what i'm talking about when i say 'drizzle' vs. 'mist' vs. 'rain' vs 'downpour']
Fall fires are one of the things I miss the most about my lovely old house in Portland. We don't usually turn on the heat until nearly November, because eight people and a fireplace in a small house keep us nice and cozy. Blue House Bonfires are the best possible alternative [although they don't have marshmallow roasting sticks! i am going to buy some for them, because a bonfire without the possibility of s'mores is more tragic than hamlet].
eMay, Stephanie, Kristi
Seriously, though, you need to be really jealous of my life. When was the last time you read T.S. Eliot, recited A.A. Milne and liturgical prayers, and listened to amazing bluegrass ballads with amazing people...around a campfire...in the rain...long after a proper bedtime? Yeah, I thought so.
Monday, September 18, 2006
der-ek-zoo-lan-der...
I'm pretty sure there's a lot more to life than being really, really good looking. And I plan on finding out what that is.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
to toledo, and beyond...
It has been a non-homework, lots of driving, lots of good conversation weekend. And now that it's over and I want to write about it, it's time to do that homework...
This afternoon, I went to the Toledo Art Museum for the afternoon. I carried around a fat little notebook for scribbling purposes. I wrote down a lot of artist's names for further investigation. And then, I just started writing down my thoughts.
This is a little glimpse of what it's like to be in Emily's head while spending time in an art gallery:
-Mosaics are hot. I want one.
-I feel like I should stand longer at the paintings I don't like, so I at least try to understand or appreciate them.
-I ask two questions when I come to a work of art. They represent two different ways of looking at this: a. do I like it? b. would I put this on my wall?
-I'm sitting in front of two Van Gogh's. [group of houses and wheat fields with reaper] I am trying to determine what appeals so much in these paintings. I like the rhythm, the texture, and the depth of his colors. I like the fuzziness of impressionism, but I love it best in Van Gogh. The sheaves of wheat look like women dancing across a ballroom floor in full, elegant dresses. It appeals to me like a mosaic: all the little pieces and squiggles and experiences fir together to make the painting of who I am. I like the squiggles best. They represent something.
-I like pictures of ships, but I'm glad I don't have to wear Victorian era clothes. They make me tired.
-What is The Thinker thinking about? He looks sad.
-Dutch, Danish, French. I like them.
-I see this room [the great room, with 17th century paintings] as a whole, more than the individual paintings on the walls. High ceilings, red walls, long. I like the pattern on the wood floor and I like that my cute gold flats don't make any noise.
-One smiling guy. He looks like a fun time.
-I wish the people around me were speaking French. One should only speak French in art museums.
-I have never found a still life of flowers or fruit that I liked.
-This Japanese exhibit is making me want Sushi. And a Samurai sword.
-Hey, a little tiny carved mouse!
-In here, a small cough echoes like thunder. I feel like I should apologize for clearing my throat. And the growlings of my stomach.
-I am definitely going to Italy.
-Ansel Adams. Once again, I am reminded of the Eternal Question: what the heck am I doing in Michigan?
-Good art does represent reality. It doesn't always look like reality, but it describes it in some way. Bad art is a reality of a fallen world. In Heaven, there will only be good art. That will be pretty sweet.
This afternoon, I went to the Toledo Art Museum for the afternoon. I carried around a fat little notebook for scribbling purposes. I wrote down a lot of artist's names for further investigation. And then, I just started writing down my thoughts.
This is a little glimpse of what it's like to be in Emily's head while spending time in an art gallery:
-Mosaics are hot. I want one.
-I feel like I should stand longer at the paintings I don't like, so I at least try to understand or appreciate them.
-I ask two questions when I come to a work of art. They represent two different ways of looking at this: a. do I like it? b. would I put this on my wall?
-I'm sitting in front of two Van Gogh's. [group of houses and wheat fields with reaper] I am trying to determine what appeals so much in these paintings. I like the rhythm, the texture, and the depth of his colors. I like the fuzziness of impressionism, but I love it best in Van Gogh. The sheaves of wheat look like women dancing across a ballroom floor in full, elegant dresses. It appeals to me like a mosaic: all the little pieces and squiggles and experiences fir together to make the painting of who I am. I like the squiggles best. They represent something.
-I like pictures of ships, but I'm glad I don't have to wear Victorian era clothes. They make me tired.
-What is The Thinker thinking about? He looks sad.
-Dutch, Danish, French. I like them.
-I see this room [the great room, with 17th century paintings] as a whole, more than the individual paintings on the walls. High ceilings, red walls, long. I like the pattern on the wood floor and I like that my cute gold flats don't make any noise.
-One smiling guy. He looks like a fun time.
-I wish the people around me were speaking French. One should only speak French in art museums.
-I have never found a still life of flowers or fruit that I liked.
-This Japanese exhibit is making me want Sushi. And a Samurai sword.
-Hey, a little tiny carved mouse!
-In here, a small cough echoes like thunder. I feel like I should apologize for clearing my throat. And the growlings of my stomach.
-I am definitely going to Italy.
-Ansel Adams. Once again, I am reminded of the Eternal Question: what the heck am I doing in Michigan?
-Good art does represent reality. It doesn't always look like reality, but it describes it in some way. Bad art is a reality of a fallen world. In Heaven, there will only be good art. That will be pretty sweet.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
garden party...
Another fabulous Friday in Hillsdale! The Arboretum was all decorated, they didn't run out of cake, and the band was good [although, i'm pretty sure they played all the good songs at the beginning of the night. big mistake]. Please note that it took me 1 minute to do my hair and 5 minutes to do my eyes. Oh, yeah.
Alisa, Emily, Audree, and Mary
Mauldo and I were matching! Black and green were the colors of the night [even though i do have a pink thing in my hair. but that was kind of on accident].
Kristi and I
Me and Mary know all about the smiles...keep 'em big, keep 'em cheesy!
Alisa, Emily, Audree, and Mary
Mauldo and I were matching! Black and green were the colors of the night [even though i do have a pink thing in my hair. but that was kind of on accident].
Kristi and I
Me and Mary know all about the smiles...keep 'em big, keep 'em cheesy!
Thursday, September 14, 2006
chasing the air..
I just got off desk sitting duty, very tired and looking forward to actually getting a decent number of sleep hours tonight. But then I made the mistake of stepping outside for a moment before locking up...
Now the thing I want most in the world is to take a walk. There's something in the air tonight. It feels...mysterious. I can't really explain it. It's heavy, but not oppressive. Thoughtful, but not condescending. Elusive without being unapproachable. I don't know yet, but I want to know. Have to know.
It's 12:18 am, and I'm putting on a hoody and jeans to go to chase the Air.
Is something wrong with me?
Now the thing I want most in the world is to take a walk. There's something in the air tonight. It feels...mysterious. I can't really explain it. It's heavy, but not oppressive. Thoughtful, but not condescending. Elusive without being unapproachable. I don't know yet, but I want to know. Have to know.
It's 12:18 am, and I'm putting on a hoody and jeans to go to chase the Air.
Is something wrong with me?
Monday, September 04, 2006
completed...
Completed Summer 2006 Book List
.Moby Dick [herman melville]
.Lies of the Saints [erin mcgraw]
.The Uncollected Wodehouse [pg wodehouse]
.The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn [mark twain]
.The Plot Against America [phillip roth]
.The Devil Wears Prada [lauren weisberger]
.Reading Lolita in Tehran [azar nafisi]
.The Great Gatsby [f. scott fitzgerald]
.To Kill a Mockingbird [harper lee]
.Frankenstein [mary wollstonecraft shelley]
.Dubliners [james joyce]
.Lord of the Flies [william golding]
.My Name is Asher Lev [chaim potok]
.Moby Dick [herman melville]
.Lies of the Saints [erin mcgraw]
.The Uncollected Wodehouse [pg wodehouse]
.The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn [mark twain]
.The Plot Against America [phillip roth]
.The Devil Wears Prada [lauren weisberger]
.Reading Lolita in Tehran [azar nafisi]
.The Great Gatsby [f. scott fitzgerald]
.To Kill a Mockingbird [harper lee]
.Frankenstein [mary wollstonecraft shelley]
.Dubliners [james joyce]
.Lord of the Flies [william golding]
.My Name is Asher Lev [chaim potok]
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