And I'd be remiss not to mention that after running into Grant and Scott, who were carrying an emptied Heineken box full of Rockstar Energy Drink, red cups, two ping-pong balls, and--for some reason--orange juice, I have now seen two "grown" college men play energy drink pong in an emptied library tower past closing time. And now we are sitting in the dark, backed up against a wall and testing our computers to make sure they will turn off at a moment's notice if someone should open the door to this room to make sure it's empited.
I guess it's college, and I'll enjoy it while it lasts.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
It's Finals Week
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Because I can't get enough Mary Poppins...
Here's a theory.
Remember the scene in Mary Poppins when she teaches Michael and Jane that "In every job that must be done, there's an element fun. Find the fun, and snap! The job's a game!"?
I'm pretty sure that scene ruined not just me, but my future as well.
Let's get real. There is no work being done in this scene. Mary, Michael and Jane run around the nursery, half-playing with toys and half-snapping their fingers, causing the toys to jump back into place, cupboards to shut in orderly fashion, and clothes to fly into the air, folding themselves mid-launch, and plop into dressers. I'd happily do that "job" every day.
Now, I know we're supposed to look through this scene and see the true message, but I can't. My brain remains childlishly literal: They weren't having fun while cleaning! They were just having fun!!!
That said, I seem to expect that things will simply drop into place for me. That a job will come by my door, that I will become some discovered actress/writer/illustrator/blogger/trapeze artist and things will be set. Unfortunately, life doesn't work that way. I'm singing showtunes and snapping my fingers when I really need to be tidying the nursery.
Monday, March 5, 2007
Inconsistencies
Perhaps I'm crude, but I couldn't help but comment the other night as I watched the last hour of DM on Julie's computer that it seemed strange to see all those strobe lights and lasers for a dance marathon to benefit people living with epilepsy.
I remember vividly my freshman year when our efforts to raise money for autism research were personified as a mother and her autistic son took the stage to thank us for all of our hard work. How was the thanking handled this year?
I know, I'm horrible. But aside from the fact that this was a legitimate question, I took note that this was yet another in a string of incidents marked by irony and inconsistencies.
In an art store, it turns out, you get all types. Not just the crazy sculptors or the anal architects...
Last weekend, I helped a blind woman to the paint aisle to pick out black paint for her. As I asked her which "black" she wanted--Mars Black, Ivory Black, etc.--I wondered what her artwork looked like, if it was somehow prophetic, or if maybe people's praise precipitated from their discomfort with looking at the artwork of a blind woman. I later found out she is not just a painter--she is a teacher.
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