The Idealistic Things I Believe.

I'm 19 and trying to make the most of this prime-numbered year of my life.

Apr 24
clitc0mmander:

woah that’s sick

clitc0mmander:

woah that’s sick

(via newsweek)


Apr 10
It’s been over three weeks. But I’m back on my bike! (Taken with instagram)

It’s been over three weeks. But I’m back on my bike! (Taken with instagram)


Dec 17
This morning I had (which should hopefully be the last in a very long time) a kidney scan and appointment at the hospital. It was early, and I was up way earlier than the appointment, so I decided to travel there on way of the bicycle. But first, I wanted to see the sun rise in New Orleans.
So I left on a two-hour trek around Uptown, the Garden District, the French Quarter, the Marigny, CBD and Jefferson Parish. Instead of going the 3 miles down River Road to get to Oschner, I took a 35 mile circuitous route by way of what happened to be, maddeningly, some of the city’s most gravely streets. And despite the fact that it ended with a pretty gnarly fall (the second in two weeks), it was a very remarkable morning. Plus, my kidneys are great and there was a code red in the hospital. 
The most spectacular thing about getting out early is having the chance to wake up with the world. Things take on this very ephemeral feeling, like dominos falling one after another, unstoppable and flowing, when you have the chance to watch things wake up. When you’re up before the sun, you’re part of this very small slice of the world. Everyone else is put away, quiet, on pause. And here you are, moving and alert and aware. Here you are, there, out, open. And there the rest of the world is, tucked under the covers, dreading the alarm, reticent to roll over and slip out of the cocoon of covers. But there’s this moment where you feel a sense of ownership over the quiet world in front of you. Everyone is entitled to that powerful solitary feeling you get when you sense being alone in the world, but it’s hard to feel when the world is awake and loud around you. Being awake early, you’re able to see this very different world, and be there when it opens it eyes. 
And when you can time it right, something kind of magnificent happens. If you wake up early and stay moving, you can see different stages of all this happening. I left at 6:20 when Tulane was silent. Then went through Uptown where the fog created these vertical stripes down St. Charles that, enveloped between the streetcar lines, the cars, the mansions, and empty lanes of traffic, created these very balanced lines of symmetry. As the fog cleared, by 6:30, people were emerging, misty and misty-eyed — students waiting for a ride to school, runners, old couples. Then after to downtown, where the carefree tudor mansions give way to Spanish architecture, flashing neon signs and rickety cobble stone streets replete with history and mistakes. It’s a different kind of wakeup there, where strippers from Bourbon were waking up after a night of club darkness, men were stumbling and women were following them and fatigued street cleaners were blasting the area with soapy water.  By 7:10, the horses in front of Jackson Square were starting to line up, Cafe Du Monde was warming up the oil and powdered sugar and jazz artists were flirting around with their trumpets and trombones in front of the cathedral. 
This summer I tried for a week to see seven different sunrises in DC. It didn’t work perfectly, because it’s always harder to get up at 5:30 then you think it’s going to be the night people in your wave of romantic idealism. And in a way, I’m glad I only got to see four. Because part of what makes moments like this — the kind of moment were you are sitting on the River Walk in front of St. Louisa Cathedral looking out as the sun rises through the fog over the Mississippi — so moving is that they aren’t routine. 
What did I get out of this morning? I got to see the sun rise over the Mississippi River downtown, three pretty nice scratches in my bike frame, a road rash on my hip, scrapes and bruises all over, a bruise that feels and looks like an eggplant under my quad, blood on my handle bar tape, an appreciation of irony in waking into the hospital for my appointment and having a hard time finding a first aid kit, the play count of “Shell Games” by Bright Eyes go up to 54, seeing New Orleans on pause, and seeing it blink its eyes open and stutter a bit and then finally turn on. And it all happened before 8:30.
And the events of today were enough that I was in bed asleep when the sun set. That’ll be a moment for another day. 

This morning I had (which should hopefully be the last in a very long time) a kidney scan and appointment at the hospital. It was early, and I was up way earlier than the appointment, so I decided to travel there on way of the bicycle. But first, I wanted to see the sun rise in New Orleans.

So I left on a two-hour trek around Uptown, the Garden District, the French Quarter, the Marigny, CBD and Jefferson Parish. Instead of going the 3 miles down River Road to get to Oschner, I took a 35 mile circuitous route by way of what happened to be, maddeningly, some of the city’s most gravely streets. And despite the fact that it ended with a pretty gnarly fall (the second in two weeks), it was a very remarkable morning. Plus, my kidneys are great and there was a code red in the hospital. 

The most spectacular thing about getting out early is having the chance to wake up with the world. Things take on this very ephemeral feeling, like dominos falling one after another, unstoppable and flowing, when you have the chance to watch things wake up. When you’re up before the sun, you’re part of this very small slice of the world. Everyone else is put away, quiet, on pause. And here you are, moving and alert and aware. Here you are, there, out, open. And there the rest of the world is, tucked under the covers, dreading the alarm, reticent to roll over and slip out of the cocoon of covers. But there’s this moment where you feel a sense of ownership over the quiet world in front of you. Everyone is entitled to that powerful solitary feeling you get when you sense being alone in the world, but it’s hard to feel when the world is awake and loud around you. Being awake early, you’re able to see this very different world, and be there when it opens it eyes. 

And when you can time it right, something kind of magnificent happens. If you wake up early and stay moving, you can see different stages of all this happening. I left at 6:20 when Tulane was silent. Then went through Uptown where the fog created these vertical stripes down St. Charles that, enveloped between the streetcar lines, the cars, the mansions, and empty lanes of traffic, created these very balanced lines of symmetry. As the fog cleared, by 6:30, people were emerging, misty and misty-eyed — students waiting for a ride to school, runners, old couples. Then after to downtown, where the carefree tudor mansions give way to Spanish architecture, flashing neon signs and rickety cobble stone streets replete with history and mistakes. It’s a different kind of wakeup there, where strippers from Bourbon were waking up after a night of club darkness, men were stumbling and women were following them and fatigued street cleaners were blasting the area with soapy water.  By 7:10, the horses in front of Jackson Square were starting to line up, Cafe Du Monde was warming up the oil and powdered sugar and jazz artists were flirting around with their trumpets and trombones in front of the cathedral. 

This summer I tried for a week to see seven different sunrises in DC. It didn’t work perfectly, because it’s always harder to get up at 5:30 then you think it’s going to be the night people in your wave of romantic idealism. And in a way, I’m glad I only got to see four. Because part of what makes moments like this — the kind of moment were you are sitting on the River Walk in front of St. Louisa Cathedral looking out as the sun rises through the fog over the Mississippi — so moving is that they aren’t routine. 

What did I get out of this morning? I got to see the sun rise over the Mississippi River downtown, three pretty nice scratches in my bike frame, a road rash on my hip, scrapes and bruises all over, a bruise that feels and looks like an eggplant under my quad, blood on my handle bar tape, an appreciation of irony in waking into the hospital for my appointment and having a hard time finding a first aid kit, the play count of “Shell Games” by Bright Eyes go up to 54, seeing New Orleans on pause, and seeing it blink its eyes open and stutter a bit and then finally turn on. And it all happened before 8:30.

And the events of today were enough that I was in bed asleep when the sun set. That’ll be a moment for another day. 


Dec 12

for anyone still reading, come visit new blog here:

http://oldgirlsmallcity.tumblr.com/


Jun 26

Interesting things regarding the Wicked tour

-everyone on cast is highly unionized and of the 28 ish people, they all make near six figure salaries -there are about 70 people in the cast and crew -the company gives each cast member a really generous ($800 a week) living stipend plus a per diem in each city. They can either opt to live in a hotel together or use the money to find housing on their own -Mondays are blackout days for most shows, which means Tuesday is usually the worst day to see a show -this means Wednesday is the best day to see the show -other than Elphaba, all other cast members have a thirty minute call time and are done and ready to go home within 15 minutes of curtain close


Jun 16

After accidentally going on a date with a Portuguese reality TV show star who is one hundred percent insane and frightening, I think I am going to focus on my career for a while, and bask in the work life balance imbalance.


Jun 11
Making a deliberate effort to not be a tourist.

Making a deliberate effort to not be a tourist.


Jul 29

The Skokie Swift kind of sucks

Journey: thoroughly experience the yellow line, everything along the way, and get to Skokie.

Reflection: Very, very boring. Got off the train, walked around for less than an hour, got on the train back to Howard, took the purple line to Davis and spent the day reading at Northwestern, trying to glean a feeling of intelligence through osmosis from all the other studious college kids. For the time (too much) that I was in Skokie, I observed lots of Jewish stores, eateries and bagel markets. Not friendly to single girls walking around anchorless, direction-less and without conviction. The coolest thing was a car dealership that sold pimped out minivans for disabled people.

I need to stop taking the train to nondescript suburbs hoping for some epiphanic moment. It never happens.


Jun 8

May 2
Sometimes broken things are prettier than perfect things.

Sometimes broken things are prettier than perfect things.


Apr 25

Sheecagoh

In thirteen days, I’m moving to Chicago. I have an apartment, an invitation to be a crew member on a Sydney 41 and an unpaid internship at an organization that holds summer-long cooking classes for inner-city kids. If I had a source of income, my life’d be perfect.


Region Specific Education

One of the suggested classes for the Tulane Teacher Certification Program is PSYC 461: Black Youth.


Apr 15

Jumping In

I like to listen to Such Great Heights by the Postal Service when I start writing papers. There’s something outstanding about the beat and the build up and the crescendos and all that. There’s something that pushes you along in a way that almost forces artistic creativity. There’s something that induces that acute — albeit crucial — instant of academic internalization where you realize that you do have something to say, that you know how to say it, and that, yes, in fact, you want to express yourself in this way. It’s the important moment, and one that is imperative in all kinds of writing, where your hazy nebulous thoughts collide with your repertoire of words. It’s their conversation. It’s the marriage of the intangible that is your thoughts and the tangible that is your words. 

Knowing that this moment will come, always, is what makes writing things manaegable. And it’s why I think that people who are intimidated by the prospect of composing things are not giving themselves enough credit. Because it will come. The frustrating part, like bubbling relationships, is when there is flirting. But nothing real. The thoughts and the words are there but not there. So then the instant it all kind of clicks into place is a miraculous one. And it’s only made better by good music and a really comfortable chair.


Apr 5

Thank the Lord for good medical insurance

I would have much, much more preferred an Easter Egg hunt to spending the day and night in the Emergency Room yesterday. But sometimes you don’t always get what you want.  Or you don’t always get to feel how you want to feel.

The only redeeming quality of last night was when a chubby prostitute broke out of her stretcher and skipped-galloped down the hallway shouting things no one could understand. Once she disappeared into the slow flicking of the swinging ward doors, it got terrible again.


Mar 24

"It seemed to Ellen at moments that George regarded them, and regarded things - just things, in the outside world - with a passion which held him so still that it resembled indifference. Perhaps it was indifference - as though they, having given him this astonishing feeling, might for a time float away and he not care.”

-Delta Wedding, Eudora Welty

That’s what happens in this city sometimes, I think. For why-ever and what-ever reason, the elements here can desensitize you to their charm and spunk and funk. And you forget too easily how magical, for example, the smell of magnolia trees is, or the feeling of biking down a smooth street after 10 miles of broken concrete can be, or the power of perspective you get while sitting next to the river. The awesomeness of any place is partly obfuscated by the seeing-it-everyday.

Sometimes you get a D- on a test and want to avoid your room and kind of feel in a listless, floaty state. And no magical city cures that.

But mostly, it’s great here.


Page 1 of 17