Adventure Time

In one week from today I will be in the airport waiting in long security lines with half naked people rushing to their boarding gates with rolling suitcases and crying children.  How exciting and scary is that?!!?  I’ll be taking one of those big ol’ jet planes across the world for an entire month of studying, learning, meeting people, and exploring at least seven wonderful cities in Europe!  I’ll take classes and visit big companies that have influences all over the world!  I’m so thrilled, and nervous, and scared, and jumping off the walls about this study abroad I can’t even explain it!  I have gone from extreme excitement to not-wanting-to-go-but-really-actually-wanting-to in a matter of seconds and then back again!  

While I’m there I plan on taking as many pictures as my memory cards allow and blogging every night (if I remember and am not too tired). So keep watching for even more once I’m in Spain, and France, and Italy, and Switzerland, and Greece, and wherever else I end up going in just one month!  

See you in a week!  First stop: Barcelona, Spain!!

P.S. If you know of any can’t miss sites to see in Europe, leave them as a comment or whatever!  I’d love to hear them!

Adventures in Dog Walking

Two days ago I was walking through my town with my dog and I heard a car speed off behind me.  Naturally, I turned around to see the taillights of the minivan disappear beneath the one small hill in my Stars-Hollow-like city and began to turn back to my dog and continue walking in the opposite direction. It must have been fate, because just then I saw someone running down the hill and kept my gaze.  He was pretty great looking, but then I realized he wasn't just some cross runner.  Well, to be honest, he could have been.  I not so subtly turned my head even farther to follow this graceful runner knowing he could definitely be who I thought he was.  The chances were higher than at any other time.    I mean, he was in the area directing a soon-to-be-top-100-movie.  I tried to grab my phone to snap a picture of Ryan Gosling speeding through my town, but he was too fast, and I was already being way too inappropriate.  I settled for my extreme excitement at seeing this guy sans photo, who could have very well been some regular nobody with a lucky twist in genetic fate.  

Then, today I was walking my dog at around the same time and a similar thing happened.  I'm headed for that one tornado blocking hill and just then speedy-mcspeedster runs past me.  I figure, hey, I'm headed in that direction, might as well quicken my pace?  All I want is a picture, a high five, to tell him he's awesome, and to invite him to dinner for some matzo ball soup.  What are the chances that he's had some really good matzo ball soup anyways?  Granted, what are the chances it was actually him...? Anyways, I get to the downward slope of the hill and he has already run a few blocks ahead.  Then, I stop for a car to drive past and he's gone.  I lost him.  It was really too bad.  I definitely would've taken a picture with Ryan Gosling's look-alike.  I mean if you look like that...  

Now I am fully aware of how crazy and stalker-like I sound, but hey, he decided to become famous and I'm pretty sure it comes with the territory.  If I were famous, hugging fans would probably be my favorite part of the job.  

So, Tuesday I was about 33% sure it was him.  Today, I am almost 97%.  That is a pretty amazing improvement.  If I was failing a class I would be very happy with that change in score.  Maybe I'll see him again and be 100% positive it was him, but the chances of that are about as slim as The Doctor landing the TARDIS outside my window and asking me to be his companion.  Even still, next time I walk the dog I am going to be ready with an invitation to dinner, and maybe a camera.     

P.S.  If Ryan Gosling ever reads this: I am super sorry I tried to somewhat follow you on your run. Also, if the guy it was that wasn't Ryan Gosling ever reads this: I am super sorry I tried to somewhat follow you on your run.

If We Could See the Context of Our Universe

I’ve never really liked poetry, but this is different.  I love this.  This is spoken word.  

My friends are in the poetry forum at my college and they held an open mic night a while ago.  I went because they asked me to, thinking I would hate it the whole time but not wanting to disappoint.  I sat in the second row because being in front seemed like too much pressure.  What if I smiled when I should have frowned? Snapped when I should have shouted? Laughed when I should have cried?

My friend came up to me before the first poet.  She was nervous to say her own poem, but I told her to, we all wanted to hear it.  She said it was sadder than usual but I had never heard any of her poems so I told her to go for it knowing whatever it was she would kill it.  What a girl.  Of course, everyone there was amazing, but she, she was a shooting star on a pitch black night.  She read a poem she wrote about her dad.  Not one of those happiest little elf things where her dad plays a game with her and then takes her to ice cream whether she wins or loses.  No.  She wasn’t that lucky.  I listened to her read and I thought to myself, “Wow.  So this is poetry”.  

I listened to all of the other performers and wanted to be them.  To have something to say that everyone wanted to hear because it was that important.  

It might not be that I hated poetry like I thought.  I was just never introduced to it in the right way.  I went back to my dorm and looked up other spoken word poets.  I read poetry I found online and in books and asked my friends for their favorite poems.  I wrote a poem in the shower and sat down to type it out the second my hair was brushed and my towel hung.  I’d like to say that I put pen to paper but in this day in age it would just be a lie.  I emailed a poet that I really liked and listened to him talk at a ceremony at my school he just happened to be speaking at. And tonight I watched a TED talk just because.  I  never knew I could like it so much, but I’m glad I found out.  

This post is more of a thank you than anything else.  Thank you to the poetry forum.  You guys helped me see that there is more to poetry than just analyzing them for AP exams and English tests.  I never liked analyzing the slavery-representing lobsters, but maybe now it seems okay.

And It Rained For Forty Days and Forty Nights

So it’s finally springtime in April in the wonderful mitten state and we all know what that means.  April showers have begun!  And what better a way to exemplify the way the entire UofM campus felt after losing the championship game than by turning on the waterworks and shattering the sky with bolts of lightning and crashes of thunder?  I can’t think of any either.  So let’s begin with a little bit of story time.  That always made me feel better when there was a thunderstorm.

(This post is about to be pretty long since I haven’t written one in a while, so sorry.  Get your Oreos, snuggle up under your covers, and listen to the patter of rain on your windowsill while you enjoy a nice cup of tea and some light reading. Enjoy.)

So Friday my friend Claire came to visit me from MSU.  We went to a GMen concert (they rocked) and walked around with all of the strangely glowing people at the full moon festival.  The lanterns and lights were fantastic, but unfortunately, being dressed completely normally and having nothing paper-mached on a stick to hold up and dance to, we felt out of place and left to go to sleep.  Which we promptly did two hours later.  Oops. 

Saturday was great.  We woke up early and Claire did some exploring in A2 while I went with the RC to the DIA, Mexican Town, and John K King (not all of us made it there, but at least no one got stuck in Canada?)  

So we arrive at the DIA to find that The Bedroom is on loan from Paris!  I was so excited.  I have a weird obsession with Van Gogh, and no, this was not because of Vincent and the Doctor, however that episode was pretty great, I loved him way before then.  The DIA normally has 4 paintings by Van Gogh and I always loved them.  They were my favorites, aside from The Nut Gatherers, which I was always convinced was my cousin and myself and wanted to take home with me. It isn’t us, in case you were wondering.  So we wandered around the DIA, watched a woman hold milk for 13 minutes, saw Diego Rivera’s mural and a giant plug, and made our way to Mexican Town!

Once there, we ate at the only restaurant people seem to go to in Mexican Town, just because it is super big and fairly tasty.  That was fun.  I was an expert at spilling all of the table’s water, twice, and we had some good food.  Then we walked across the street to a bakery that had the cheapest Mexican pastries ever.  You walk in, take a tray, fill it up with everything yummy, and then pay this snobby teenager who hated working there but needed the money and was being forced by his dad.  He was not impressed with my Spanish at all, but then again, he probably just thinks I’m one of those stupid Americans.  

Then we made our way to the book store.  Well, sort of. My car got stuck in traffic from some horrible accident and an “event” going on at the casino.  We ended up turning around to go back to A2, blasting Disney songs the entire way home and singing at the top of our lungs. 

Once back I met back up with Claire.  Explained to her what Hash Bash is and why there were so many Bob Marley look-a-likes in town and it smelled ridiculous, and why we were not going to the Diag in the middle of the day.  I have no problem with what other people do, but this whole city was crazy and I really wasn’t feeling it.

Then we went to my friends house to watch some Wolverines eat some Oranges.  That rocked and the amount of people that rushed the Diag after was awesome!  Everyone was pumped and excited for Monday Night and we felt practically invincible.

Sunday we woke up, ate, and went to Westifest where we heard some awesome activism through art stories.  Claire went home and I tried to get as much homework done as possible so I could be a crazy college kid the next day and maize out in the Crisler Arena.  

Monday was insane.  Everyone was so excited and so happy.  We all wore yellow and loud “hails” and “go blues” echoed throughout every building on campus.  We went to the game and cheered our boys on for an amazingly great night.  When we lost, it was like 12,000+ people going from extremely happy to depressingly sad, all in one place,all at once, in about 15 seconds.  It was heartbreaking.  But spirits are high for next year!!  We got this!  We on!  We went back to our dorm, the fire alarm was pulled the minute we walked in, as usual, so we kept walking straight to the Union and got some free nachos.  Came back, heard that I missed a Watsky concert during the game, got more sad, and went to sleep.

My phone broke the next day. I spent 2.5 hours trying to fix it with my brother only to find that, come morning today, it was more broken. The soundless alarm that seems to have gone off graciously allowed me to sleep through my Anthro class so that I now have to actually read the book. Woohoo. 

And of course, this all happened with gray clouds over our heads and puddles of rain under our shoes.  

Happy Spring!

No damn cat, no damn cradle

So, there is something that has bothered me since the end of 11th grade honors english.  Why do the ants know what to do in times of crisis?  Why do humans think they are so wonderfully high and mighty when something/someone as small as an ant can figure out how to use body heat to survive the aftermath of an Ice Nine world and humans can't?  Now I know this book isn't real, but it brings up an interesting point.  We really aren't as incredibly smart as we think we are.  I have teachers (well one teacher really) who thinks their word is the be-all and end-all of all things worth writing or talking about.  To me, this professor is the most ridiculous human being on this wonderful blue planet.  If a person doesn't have the time or energy to listen and really consider other people's thoughts, what kind of person are they?  How can someone who teaches as a living not learn from his or her students?  I believe humans were given those big beautiful brains to think and learn, and then share everything they have thought and learned about through however many years of their existence with as many of the other billions of people in the world as possible.  So why don't people do this? Why do some people try to close themselves off from the world and hide away the secrets of life they have picked up from living?  

I know this rant isn't really anything, but these questions have been on my mind for quite some time now.  If anyone has an answer, or thoughts, or comments, please leave them.  Got a question on life? Ask it.  We can all learn from each other.  We like to think we are so much better than ants, now lets prove it! 

Dancing the Boogie with the Company B

Some places are great for people watching.  The mall, busy restaurants, and parks are hot spots for sure, but I never knew how great a Valentine's Day Swing Dance could be.  Trust me, they are wonderful.  You can watch couples and single old men with no hair go crazy.  

At this dance, I had the privilege of seeing one old man being one of the cutest people while he danced all alone in his pale green shirt.  You could totally tell he was one of those white haired men who look in the mirror every morning thinking "how did I get this old?".  He definitely pictures himself as a young soldier from World War II or something when he wakes up, and the reflection in his mirror never meets these expectations.  I could just imagine him seeing some girl with bright red lipstick and soft curls singing in front of a big band with one of those big circle microphones and knowing that one day, after the war, he would marry her. You know, one of those classic 40s love stories that have so much cheese you'd think you're a mouse.  Well, anyways, seeing him dancing all alone I knew (well not really, but I did) that he was thinking about dancing with his girl, the singer from the war who he proposed to and married the minute the bombs stopped dropping and the guns stopped firing.  He clearly missed her very much, but since their first dance together as a married couple was swing, and they danced together every Valentine's Day after, he had to come to The League in his dancing shoes to spend the night thinking of her in the best way he knew how, and I loved him for that.  

Now I know this story is probably far from the truth, but the best way to people watch is to make up their stories. Well so this old man, with the white hair and the green button down, spurred story after story in my brain while he silently danced the night away all alone.  I could probably write a whole book about this old man, he was that inspiring, and again, I don't even know his name.  I never danced with him. I only ever smiled once, and then continued to do my own thing, too nervous to approach him and ask for a dance like my more brave friends.  Although every time you go to a new place you can find a mess of characters to fill your brain with stories, this one, this old man, was definitely my favorite.  He had so much history to make up and so much future to fulfill.  Thanks old man for rocking it out at the Valentine's Dance! If you haven't done this, try it, it's super rewarding.  




Also, totally random yet totally important side note: Sporks were made for Ramen Noodle Soup. If you have not discovered this, you're welcome.  If you have, share the knowledge because seriously, it has revolutionized my life.

What's in a name?

What's in a name?  We've all heard it.  Whether it was in Merlin, or the Princess Diaries, or maybe even its original use in William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, we know that phrase.  But how important is a name really? 

In some cultures, having a few names to share is extremely important; you have a special connection with your namesake.  In others, there are so many names that sharing a name is almost impossible, or at least unlikely.  Some name after the living, other the dead.  Some after saints and some are all made up.  So what do these names really mean?  

Talking to someone for a few seconds and not knowing their name after the limited conversation seems acceptable, but at what point does that stop being true?  At what point is it unacceptable to not know the person whom you are talking to's name?  A minute? Five? A half hour?  An hour?  What about over the span of a few days?  What happens when you talk and talk and realize days, or even months, later that you don't know your friend's name?!  You have passed that acceptable time window of asking, but really you should know, then what do you do?  Who are you? Surely not a friend, not even an acquaintance, if you can't say their name.  

This has happened to everyone (I hope), but the other day I realized a person who is very important in my life held no name in my mind.  She was just a caring face that I could always count on.  I have talked to her numerous times since September and she always has something nice to say.  I see her everyday walking to and from Spanish Lunch Tables and she is the most adorable person ever.  She has told me on countless occasions that she keeps me, and all the other students she meets, in her prayers and she knows she will be okay as long as she can remember to do that.  She prays for our success and for our happiness.  She is incredibly kind and an altogether amazing human being, but she just revealed to my friend and me that she plans on retiring at the end of the school year.  I am sad about this, but she told us she wants to do something with her life, to travel, to do more than just sit and swipe kids cards into the cafeteria, but that she will always, always keep us in her prayers.  I know! What an amazing person!  But until three days ago, I did not even know her name!  I realized that I had been too consumed in my own inability to carry a tray of food from one room to another without spilling while also converting my thoughts from English to Spanish to actually ask this kind lady's name!  How could I be so self-absorbed?  The second I realized I asked all of my friends and only one knew.  Only one.  And I'm glad she did.    

Mary.  Mary is her name.  And thank you Mary for always being there and for keeping us in your prayers.  I know you will probably never read this, but I hope you know that you are a ray of sun and I will be sad to see you leave but oh so happy for you to have all the adventures life has in store for you.  Please enjoy them to the fullest. 

Thank you. Mary.