Thank you Adam Murphy for the virus. I waited all summer to see you, and when I finally did, you came bearing gifts. That's what friends are for, right?
So yes, first day of school I had a sore throat. My body feels exhausted, and I almost slept in for my 9:00 class, which is pathetic because I have been going to class or practice at 6 or 7 a.m. all summer. I have been going to school nonstop since my freshman year, and ever since my first winter semester I have had a 7 or 8 a.m class every day. I'm not a morning person per se, but I try to force myself to be. At heart, I'm really a night owl. I always have been.
Despite being under the weather, I'm actually farely optimistic about this semester.
Tissue Biology
Developmental Biology
Reproductive Physiology
Spanish Literature
Research Lab
and Dance...hopefully.
Happy Schooling!
Just a weird girl writing about sometimes funny, sometimes serious things...
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Nicest thing
You know what I love? Irony.
You know what I love even more? How my life is so predictable sometimes.
Shame on me for expecting differently.
You know what I love even more? How my life is so predictable sometimes.
Shame on me for expecting differently.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
A certain sense of missing
I ran by my old house today. I've lived in two houses my whole life. The first was from birth to fourth grade. The second is from then until now. I've lived in my current house for more time now actually than my old house, but this will always be classified as the new house to me. Not that it doesn't feel like home, because it does. It's just a different home. A different period of my life.
I first run on the road in the back of my house. My dad's superior fence is still standing. I try to look through the boards or look over the top to see the backyard. The playset with the fading red canopy that marked the presence of children is now gone--understandably so. The shed my dad built [where I used to sneak into and kiss the neighbor boy] is still there. I wonder if it still smells the same, like new wood and old possessions. The people moved The Rock to the backyard. It is where that mysterious wooden wheel used to be. I don't see the wheel anymore, but The Rock is out of place. They cut down the leafy tree in the "Jungle" side of the backyard--the one that helped us hop the fence or pretend we were monkeys. They cut down trees in the "Forest" side of our backyard as well. It's not as dense nor as adventurous. I still see the huckleberry bushes begging to be picked. Those used to sustain us for afternoon upon afternoon. The grass is dead. The backyard just seems...tired. It's just there with a hunch in its back and wrinkles in its hands. Years of unuse has left it lonely and dormant. I want to climb fence and give the backyard one last sprint, one last search, one last breath. I feel entitled to break in. This is my yard. The other people are merely borrowing it...for eleven years.
I run around the front up my old street, which is a lot shorter than I remember. I passed Amber's house, the woman who had no children, but had the Garden of Eden for a yard. Her flowers were her babies. As children we were forbidden to go near the masterpiece she had created. But she has since moved away. Her flowers left soon after. There was Felicia's house. Still the same. Pride Rock was in it's rightful place and there were pine cones all over the lawn from the towering pine tree--just like always. Dave's house was different because Dave no longer lives there. The grass is cut in the backyard--no longer three feet high, and the overgrown blackberry bushes have disappeared. I passed the house with the meanest parents, the house with the myriad of pets, the house where the people got a divorce and where I stole from their garage sale, the house where the man kept to himself even when he saw my brother crash his bike, the house where Robin lived whose house always smelled like smoke and perfume--a smell I came to be fond of, the house where the bus driver lived and with the only teenagers on the block, and the house with never-ending kittens.
The neighborhood is quiet now. It got older just as I did. Some people moved away; most stayed. I miss that neighborhood. I miss that house. And it's the kind of missing where you know you can't ever have it again. The kind of missing where it scares you when your memory starts fading. When people miss other people, most of the time it's with the expectation of seeing them again. This is different. You know it's gone, and that it's been gone a long time. It's been gone so long that you wonder if it even happened or if it is the same life. Eventually nostalgia becomes heavy and unbearable.
So I turned around and ran from home to...home.
I first run on the road in the back of my house. My dad's superior fence is still standing. I try to look through the boards or look over the top to see the backyard. The playset with the fading red canopy that marked the presence of children is now gone--understandably so. The shed my dad built [where I used to sneak into and kiss the neighbor boy] is still there. I wonder if it still smells the same, like new wood and old possessions. The people moved The Rock to the backyard. It is where that mysterious wooden wheel used to be. I don't see the wheel anymore, but The Rock is out of place. They cut down the leafy tree in the "Jungle" side of the backyard--the one that helped us hop the fence or pretend we were monkeys. They cut down trees in the "Forest" side of our backyard as well. It's not as dense nor as adventurous. I still see the huckleberry bushes begging to be picked. Those used to sustain us for afternoon upon afternoon. The grass is dead. The backyard just seems...tired. It's just there with a hunch in its back and wrinkles in its hands. Years of unuse has left it lonely and dormant. I want to climb fence and give the backyard one last sprint, one last search, one last breath. I feel entitled to break in. This is my yard. The other people are merely borrowing it...for eleven years.
I run around the front up my old street, which is a lot shorter than I remember. I passed Amber's house, the woman who had no children, but had the Garden of Eden for a yard. Her flowers were her babies. As children we were forbidden to go near the masterpiece she had created. But she has since moved away. Her flowers left soon after. There was Felicia's house. Still the same. Pride Rock was in it's rightful place and there were pine cones all over the lawn from the towering pine tree--just like always. Dave's house was different because Dave no longer lives there. The grass is cut in the backyard--no longer three feet high, and the overgrown blackberry bushes have disappeared. I passed the house with the meanest parents, the house with the myriad of pets, the house where the people got a divorce and where I stole from their garage sale, the house where the man kept to himself even when he saw my brother crash his bike, the house where Robin lived whose house always smelled like smoke and perfume--a smell I came to be fond of, the house where the bus driver lived and with the only teenagers on the block, and the house with never-ending kittens.
The neighborhood is quiet now. It got older just as I did. Some people moved away; most stayed. I miss that neighborhood. I miss that house. And it's the kind of missing where you know you can't ever have it again. The kind of missing where it scares you when your memory starts fading. When people miss other people, most of the time it's with the expectation of seeing them again. This is different. You know it's gone, and that it's been gone a long time. It's been gone so long that you wonder if it even happened or if it is the same life. Eventually nostalgia becomes heavy and unbearable.
So I turned around and ran from home to...home.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Vegas!
I just went to Vegas for the weekend for a dance competition. Everyone always asks how I do, and I just want to say, I'm not that good, but it's okay. I learn a lot, and I enjoy a lot. My partner and I have a long way to go. It's hard to stay constructive about the experience. Part of me is sitting on the edge of the floor desperately wishing I had ten years of previous dance training and hyperextended knees and the ability to move and spin like lightning. I develop such a hatred for what my body cannot do. I see so many people who actually have success in their dance endeavors, and I cannot help but flush green with envy. I start developing these grandiose dreams of moving to New York, getting a Russian partner, and spending all extra money on dance lessons. On the edge of the floor, nothing else seems to matter.
But a flush is all it is. Then I come back to reality. I'm grateful for what my body can do. I have ten more years to work on everything I want to. Success is individual.
I just want to live up to my ridiculous standards, that's all.
But a flush is all it is. Then I come back to reality. I'm grateful for what my body can do. I have ten more years to work on everything I want to. Success is individual.
I just want to live up to my ridiculous standards, that's all.
Scar Tissue
I forgot to mention that a couple of weeks ago I got in a four-wheeling accident. I guess I was feeling a little to invinsible and took a curve too sharply. I hit the edge of a trench, which made my four-wheeler stall, but sent my body flying. When I was on the ground, my four-wheeler continued to run me over, and I was left with the wind knocked out of me for a good minute or two.
Things that went through my mind as I flew off: Vegas competition!, it's over, ohmygoshi'llneverdanceagain, am I dead??, why can't I breath?, bloody hell I should have had a helmet on, maybe I'm paralyzed, ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh.
Yeah a little dramatic. Eventually I could stand and breath again, which was a relief, but I do have this sweet scar on my leg now. There goes my career as a Venus razor blade model.
Things that went through my mind as I flew off: Vegas competition!, it's over, ohmygoshi'llneverdanceagain, am I dead??, why can't I breath?, bloody hell I should have had a helmet on, maybe I'm paralyzed, ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh.
Yeah a little dramatic. Eventually I could stand and breath again, which was a relief, but I do have this sweet scar on my leg now. There goes my career as a Venus razor blade model.
No Words
Back in Bonney Lake, the newspaper covers are splashed with the latest investigation of a 16 year-old mentally disabled girl, Kimmie Daily, who was killed and sexually assaulted post mortem by her 18-year neighbor Tyler Savage. (Does anyone else feel the unsettling irony of that name...?)
Today in the paper, Tyler was described by his neighbor Jenny Berto as a "good kid" whom she trusted "wholeheartedly."
????
I'm sorry Jenny, but you lose all credibilty with that statement. No one is going to even begin to sympathize with the sociopath. No matter what you say, no one will believe that a necrophilic murderer was a "good kid," and that this is so unexpectedly out of character. I don't want to make a serious subject into sarcasm, but there are these things called warning signs that you so blissfully neglected. Even without a criminal record, no one up and kills someone. Maybe you should look at your own son's behavior because there is this cute saying that goes "birds of a feather, flock together." That's a little scary.
Lastly, this was a girl who was developmentally disabled due to Fetal Alcohol Syndrome (thanks Mom). A loving, innocent disposition is what ultimately led to her death. I hate the term RIP, but I hope she is finding more joy, happiness, and understanding in a world beyond this one.
Today in the paper, Tyler was described by his neighbor Jenny Berto as a "good kid" whom she trusted "wholeheartedly."
????
I'm sorry Jenny, but you lose all credibilty with that statement. No one is going to even begin to sympathize with the sociopath. No matter what you say, no one will believe that a necrophilic murderer was a "good kid," and that this is so unexpectedly out of character. I don't want to make a serious subject into sarcasm, but there are these things called warning signs that you so blissfully neglected. Even without a criminal record, no one up and kills someone. Maybe you should look at your own son's behavior because there is this cute saying that goes "birds of a feather, flock together." That's a little scary.
Lastly, this was a girl who was developmentally disabled due to Fetal Alcohol Syndrome (thanks Mom). A loving, innocent disposition is what ultimately led to her death. I hate the term RIP, but I hope she is finding more joy, happiness, and understanding in a world beyond this one.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Ellipsis
"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet." ~Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar 
Please don't ask me what I want to do with my life anymore. I just might break down and cry.
Please don't ask me what I want to do with my life anymore. I just might break down and cry.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
If music be the fruit of love...
I really love music. But I guess everyone does too. Sometimes I feel unworthy to be a music enthusiast because I can't play any instrument or sing that well. I don't know all about scales and keys and pitches and whatnot. I just know I like when I connect with something, and that's all that matters. I've had two new music interests lately: Matisyahu and She & Him.
Matisyahu: After my chemistry final on Thursday, my friend texted me about going to a Matisyahu concert. Most people have heard of him, and I had heard one song before (which I liked), but other than that, I didn't know a lot about him. Sometimes that's more fun to just go to a concert and discover something you've never heard before. I loved the concert. I realized I couldn't sing along to the songs like everyone else, but I just liked letting it all sink in. All in all, it was a really good time. Free concerts in Salt Lake are the best. It's basically a calling to all hipsters in the area to gather to the mothership. I felt a little out of place with the high schoolers and their interesting trends, but it's supposed to be about the music, right?
She & Him: This is a recent duo band with Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward (I don't know who that is). On the way to Matisyahu, this band came up, and I had heard a couple of songs before, and it was hit and miss for me. But this conversation made me want to look them up again. Zooey Deschanel is my girl crush, so I really like anything she does. My verdict of this band is that their sound is very retro-indie-pop, so it's not conducive to all situations, but it's better than the pop that's on the radio now. It's not lyrically groundbreaking or anything, but that's not really their goal. I think they are just trying to create a fun light-hearted band, and it works for that purpose. Zooey has a lot of soul and sincerity in her voice. I'm a fan.
Matisyahu: After my chemistry final on Thursday, my friend texted me about going to a Matisyahu concert. Most people have heard of him, and I had heard one song before (which I liked), but other than that, I didn't know a lot about him. Sometimes that's more fun to just go to a concert and discover something you've never heard before. I loved the concert. I realized I couldn't sing along to the songs like everyone else, but I just liked letting it all sink in. All in all, it was a really good time. Free concerts in Salt Lake are the best. It's basically a calling to all hipsters in the area to gather to the mothership. I felt a little out of place with the high schoolers and their interesting trends, but it's supposed to be about the music, right?
She & Him: This is a recent duo band with Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward (I don't know who that is). On the way to Matisyahu, this band came up, and I had heard a couple of songs before, and it was hit and miss for me. But this conversation made me want to look them up again. Zooey Deschanel is my girl crush, so I really like anything she does. My verdict of this band is that their sound is very retro-indie-pop, so it's not conducive to all situations, but it's better than the pop that's on the radio now. It's not lyrically groundbreaking or anything, but that's not really their goal. I think they are just trying to create a fun light-hearted band, and it works for that purpose. Zooey has a lot of soul and sincerity in her voice. I'm a fan.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Clavin!
Claire (former roommate) and Devin got married yesterday!
This is my first time being a bridesmaid, and then I get promoted to Maid of Honor next Wednesday when my sister gets married (say what?!?).
Claire's wedding was beautiful. I got misty (and a little marriage-hungry) when they walked out of the temple because they both looked so joyful and full of light. I'm so happy that things worked out for them. There wedding was so relaxed because they are both laid-back kind of people, which is really refreshing. I wish them all the best!
Thank you Claire for letting me be part of your special day!
This is my first time being a bridesmaid, and then I get promoted to Maid of Honor next Wednesday when my sister gets married (say what?!?).
Claire's wedding was beautiful. I got misty (and a little marriage-hungry) when they walked out of the temple because they both looked so joyful and full of light. I'm so happy that things worked out for them. There wedding was so relaxed because they are both laid-back kind of people, which is really refreshing. I wish them all the best!
Thank you Claire for letting me be part of your special day!
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Birth Control
Bad News Bears.
Disclaimer: I'm not on birth control in case you were wondering.
I feel like everyone is on birth control lately, and it kind of sucks from an outsider's perspective. I'm a bit terrified for when I have to take it. I almost don't want to take it at all.
STOP. This does not mean I am one of those "19 Kids and Counting" people on TLC who don't believe in birth control. I do believe in birth control. It is a very useful thing (and absolutely necessary for some people who shouldn't reproduce). There are just a lot of sucky side effects that you have to sift through until you find the right brand, which may not exist. I don't want to get fat, get a larger chest (not a plus for a runner/dancer), lose my sex drive (which is not in gear of course, but you know, someday...), break out uncontrollably, become overly emotional, etc.--all things I have heard from people. Yikes.
I think the overly emotional side effect is what bothers me the most. It just makes me raise a lot of questions about the concept of the 'self.' If I am a naturally laid-back person, but birth control makes me cry or get upset at things that normally wouldn't upset me, am I just a victim to the chemicals in my body? How can I claim a personality, if it can be manipulated by one swift swallow of a pill? Do I have more control than I think or am I helpless to my hormones? Who or what am I really? A person with a soul and self-control or a beautiful mess of chemical compounds reacting with one another?
This is why neuroscience and endocrinology fascinate me. But it is disheartening at the same time knowing that everything that makes you you is simply (yet, not so simply) a series of electrical impulses and chemicals. And somehow the synergy of all that makes a human being with thoughts and feelings and beliefs and passions and questions and worries and joys.
I don't get it.
But when the day comes, birth control will only control my ovaries damnit!
Disclaimer: I'm not on birth control in case you were wondering.
I feel like everyone is on birth control lately, and it kind of sucks from an outsider's perspective. I'm a bit terrified for when I have to take it. I almost don't want to take it at all.
STOP. This does not mean I am one of those "19 Kids and Counting" people on TLC who don't believe in birth control. I do believe in birth control. It is a very useful thing (and absolutely necessary for some people who shouldn't reproduce). There are just a lot of sucky side effects that you have to sift through until you find the right brand, which may not exist. I don't want to get fat, get a larger chest (not a plus for a runner/dancer), lose my sex drive (which is not in gear of course, but you know, someday...), break out uncontrollably, become overly emotional, etc.--all things I have heard from people. Yikes.
I think the overly emotional side effect is what bothers me the most. It just makes me raise a lot of questions about the concept of the 'self.' If I am a naturally laid-back person, but birth control makes me cry or get upset at things that normally wouldn't upset me, am I just a victim to the chemicals in my body? How can I claim a personality, if it can be manipulated by one swift swallow of a pill? Do I have more control than I think or am I helpless to my hormones? Who or what am I really? A person with a soul and self-control or a beautiful mess of chemical compounds reacting with one another?
This is why neuroscience and endocrinology fascinate me. But it is disheartening at the same time knowing that everything that makes you you is simply (yet, not so simply) a series of electrical impulses and chemicals. And somehow the synergy of all that makes a human being with thoughts and feelings and beliefs and passions and questions and worries and joys.
I don't get it.
But when the day comes, birth control will only control my ovaries damnit!
Monday, August 9, 2010
Blueberries
This is the expanded version of my facebook status.
My roommate left a box of muffins behind when she moved out, so naturally I decided to make and share them. I looked at the box, and it said "made with REAL blueberries!" This irked me. What was the alternative? Synthetic blueberries? I don't want to even know what that would entail. Or worse, imaginary blueberries? That would go over really well with consumers.
What is this world coming to?? They actually have to remind me that, "hey, in case you were skeptical, your food is actually real!" I didn't know that I ever needed to question that. Maybe I'm expecting too much from my beloved, corporate America. Does this mean that my food is not real by default? Are we slowly being transformed into robots? Will food not even be necessary?? Is this some Matrix universe about to collapse?!?! Am I being melodramatic???!!!!!!!!
But in all seriousness (or sarcasm), I'm only a tad concerned with the fact that the reality of my food has been called into question.
I can't wait until I just have my own garden. Until then, trust no one.
My roommate left a box of muffins behind when she moved out, so naturally I decided to make and share them. I looked at the box, and it said "made with REAL blueberries!" This irked me. What was the alternative? Synthetic blueberries? I don't want to even know what that would entail. Or worse, imaginary blueberries? That would go over really well with consumers.
What is this world coming to?? They actually have to remind me that, "hey, in case you were skeptical, your food is actually real!" I didn't know that I ever needed to question that. Maybe I'm expecting too much from my beloved, corporate America. Does this mean that my food is not real by default? Are we slowly being transformed into robots? Will food not even be necessary?? Is this some Matrix universe about to collapse?!?! Am I being melodramatic???!!!!!!!!
But in all seriousness (or sarcasm), I'm only a tad concerned with the fact that the reality of my food has been called into question.
I can't wait until I just have my own garden. Until then, trust no one.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Adult Tanya
Again, Katie told me I need to write down all the things I say I'll never do, so here it goes:
If and when I'm engaged, we will only have ONE photo in our announcement, and we will be looking straight on at the camera. No awkward engagement poses; no weird photoshop or retouching; no snogging; no excessive photo collages, and no overly match-iness.
If and when I have a child, it will not take over my facebook. I will not have more photos of my baby than myself. I will not post multiple photos of the same exact thing. I will not have every status be about me and my pregnancy or every detailed action of my newborn.
That's all.
If and when I'm engaged, we will only have ONE photo in our announcement, and we will be looking straight on at the camera. No awkward engagement poses; no weird photoshop or retouching; no snogging; no excessive photo collages, and no overly match-iness.
If and when I have a child, it will not take over my facebook. I will not have more photos of my baby than myself. I will not post multiple photos of the same exact thing. I will not have every status be about me and my pregnancy or every detailed action of my newborn.
That's all.
Cursed
I am an imdb/movie buff.
I've slowly come to realize this.
I love referencing and discussing movies and pop culture. BUT, the curse of the movie buff is that you have to sift through a lot of lame movies to find a good one. You start to see every plot hole and every narrative ploy to keep the story rolling. Everything becomes cliche and insincere. You've seen everything before. Nothing amazes or even entertains you anymore.
It's annoying.
I've slowly come to realize this.
I love referencing and discussing movies and pop culture. BUT, the curse of the movie buff is that you have to sift through a lot of lame movies to find a good one. You start to see every plot hole and every narrative ploy to keep the story rolling. Everything becomes cliche and insincere. You've seen everything before. Nothing amazes or even entertains you anymore.
It's annoying.
Summer Dancesport
This will hopefully be short since I still have my ridiculously long nails on, which makes typing very difficult.
Dancesport was pretty fun. I always get there and wish I had practiced more. I'm not super competitive with others, but I am with myself. I don't really care about winning, but when I get there I always wish that I could win--not that I deserve to in the least, but I wish that I was talented enough to win if that makes sense. My partner works a lot, so we don't get a lot of practice time together, which means I need to do a lot of mirror work by myself. Even this doesn't save me when we get on the floor sometimes.
I just hate feeling stupid. I hate when a dance is an utter disaster, and you look completely inept next to everyone, and you're hoping for a stroke of grace to give you another chance to bring you back to the next round, which you know will never happen because ballroom judges cannot afford to be merciful, which I guess helps you in the long run.
I did get second in the tango for a class competition though. Not as intense, I know, but it is kind of exhilarating actually being in a final. That's never happened to me before.
Anyway, despite the non-success, I looked hot yesterday (in dance terms), and I still love ballroom. That's really all that matters. (Okay not really...but it's part of the big picture.)
Dancesport was pretty fun. I always get there and wish I had practiced more. I'm not super competitive with others, but I am with myself. I don't really care about winning, but when I get there I always wish that I could win--not that I deserve to in the least, but I wish that I was talented enough to win if that makes sense. My partner works a lot, so we don't get a lot of practice time together, which means I need to do a lot of mirror work by myself. Even this doesn't save me when we get on the floor sometimes.
I just hate feeling stupid. I hate when a dance is an utter disaster, and you look completely inept next to everyone, and you're hoping for a stroke of grace to give you another chance to bring you back to the next round, which you know will never happen because ballroom judges cannot afford to be merciful, which I guess helps you in the long run.
I did get second in the tango for a class competition though. Not as intense, I know, but it is kind of exhilarating actually being in a final. That's never happened to me before.
Anyway, despite the non-success, I looked hot yesterday (in dance terms), and I still love ballroom. That's really all that matters. (Okay not really...but it's part of the big picture.)
Friday, August 6, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Rainy Day People
Why is it that people resort to talking about the weather whenever there is nothing to talk about?
There really isn't that much to say about it. "Oh wow, it's really hot. I love this weather." "Yeah, me too." Or, "It's so cold; I hate this weather." "Yeah, me too." You may as well ask a person what color his or her toothbrush is. It will get you an equally long response.
Instead when there's a lull in the conversation, why don't people ask, "So, how about that repeal on Proposition 8?" Or "How do you feel about violence in the media?" "Where do you stand on environmental protection and/or animal rights?" "What do you think John Steinbeck was trying to say about human nature in Of Mice and Men?" "Do you think Lady Gaga is a man or a woman?" "What do you think about censorship in literature?" "How do you feel about Woody Allen films?" And the list goes on...
There are options. Many options. Use them next time.
There really isn't that much to say about it. "Oh wow, it's really hot. I love this weather." "Yeah, me too." Or, "It's so cold; I hate this weather." "Yeah, me too." You may as well ask a person what color his or her toothbrush is. It will get you an equally long response.
Instead when there's a lull in the conversation, why don't people ask, "So, how about that repeal on Proposition 8?" Or "How do you feel about violence in the media?" "Where do you stand on environmental protection and/or animal rights?" "What do you think John Steinbeck was trying to say about human nature in Of Mice and Men?" "Do you think Lady Gaga is a man or a woman?" "What do you think about censorship in literature?" "How do you feel about Woody Allen films?" And the list goes on...
There are options. Many options. Use them next time.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Maybe I think you're cute and funny
Pet peeve: People who laugh at their own jokes.
I've thought about what really makes people funny to me. The secret to a well-told joke or funny comment is the fact that you don't laugh too much about it yourself or at least delay your laughter until everyone else laughs.
General example: Sometimes people will be talking in a group, and someone makes (or attempts to make) a comment that has the potential to be funny. Three mistakes are possible to be made here. These mistakes can be made separately or in conjunction with one another. Mistake 1: They laugh too soon--meaning before anyone else. Mistake 2: They are the only one to actually laugh. Mistake 3: They keep laughing when others have moved on from the joke.
This isn't to say that you should be stone-faced when you try to say something funny because that could be equally disastrous. Basically, it's all about these little things called social cues.
Basic Formula: Say something you think is funny+wait for your crowd's response+respond to your crowd's response+calm down before everyone else= successful funny person.
Remember, sometimes you may say something that no one will find funny. Chalk it up to a tough crowd and move on with the conversation; don't make it worse by laughing at it. Real humor may not be this methodical or cut and dry, but this is a baby step to honing those skills.
I hope this helps someone, so that I will have one less pet peeve to deal with.
Cheerio!
I've thought about what really makes people funny to me. The secret to a well-told joke or funny comment is the fact that you don't laugh too much about it yourself or at least delay your laughter until everyone else laughs.
General example: Sometimes people will be talking in a group, and someone makes (or attempts to make) a comment that has the potential to be funny. Three mistakes are possible to be made here. These mistakes can be made separately or in conjunction with one another. Mistake 1: They laugh too soon--meaning before anyone else. Mistake 2: They are the only one to actually laugh. Mistake 3: They keep laughing when others have moved on from the joke.
This isn't to say that you should be stone-faced when you try to say something funny because that could be equally disastrous. Basically, it's all about these little things called social cues.
Basic Formula: Say something you think is funny+wait for your crowd's response+respond to your crowd's response+calm down before everyone else= successful funny person.
Remember, sometimes you may say something that no one will find funny. Chalk it up to a tough crowd and move on with the conversation; don't make it worse by laughing at it. Real humor may not be this methodical or cut and dry, but this is a baby step to honing those skills.
I hope this helps someone, so that I will have one less pet peeve to deal with.
Cheerio!
Follow Through
Yesterday I was just angry for no apparent reason, and I hated that. Actually there probably was a reason, I just couldn't figure it out. Normally, I'm really happy and laid-back. I don't really get mad. I guess angry is the wrong word. Yesterday I was just worn-out and in denial.
And I felt like the lowest person ever because of my faults and shortcomings. It was like the situation made them all come together to stick out like an ugly ink blot on paper. It made me realize that I'm not changing as fast as I want to and that everyone seems to be moving on with their lives except me.
"I want something else to get me through this semi-charmed kind of life."
That's all.
And I felt like the lowest person ever because of my faults and shortcomings. It was like the situation made them all come together to stick out like an ugly ink blot on paper. It made me realize that I'm not changing as fast as I want to and that everyone seems to be moving on with their lives except me.
"I want something else to get me through this semi-charmed kind of life."
That's all.
Wise Men Say
I really don't know what's wrong with me.
To be continued...
But before you roll your eyes, it's not one of those "why don't boys like me??" posts. I just seem to be going through a flood of emotions that I haven't really experienced due to a whirlwind of changes going on in my life.
And it's not PMS.
Not that I really get that anyway...
To be continued...
But before you roll your eyes, it's not one of those "why don't boys like me??" posts. I just seem to be going through a flood of emotions that I haven't really experienced due to a whirlwind of changes going on in my life.
And it's not PMS.
Not that I really get that anyway...
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