tube rides, british men, and near death

Nov 4/5

I really did almost cry when I landed in London; how weak is that? I was just so happy. Ew. Everyone go throw up. I will now. Ok back.

As per usual, good old Great Britian was a bit skeptical about letting me in. The man at the desk eyed me suspiciously as he asked me many detailed questions such as why was  I there? Vacation. Who am I staying with? My friend. What is her name? jenna . Why is she here? School. What school? Christies. For what? Uh. Grad school. For art history. When are you leaving? Well I am leaving in a few days, traveling, then coming back and flying out of here. Where else are you traveling to? Uh  Germany, Austria, Prague… But you are leaving the UK? Yes. When do you leave go back to amercia? Um in two weeks. What airline? Continental. When? Where is your ticket? What is your flight number? Where does your friend live? What is her number? Uh.. well…I cant find the piece of paper with her address right now, it’s somewhere in my bag. I know I am meeting her at chalk farm and I wrote down her street I just don’t remember the house number. You don’t have her address? No not at the moment. And how are you getting to Chalk Farm? the tube. And what happens if she doesn’t meet you there? Uh…well I think she’s a better friend than that. Fine. Well don’t do that again. Always have an address. Go on.

I omitted many other questions. I do think the fact that I studied abroad confused them. and maybe someone had written some note in code about my plan to use the last of my money to come live there if I need to become a hobo. All I know is they are soooo onto me.

Anyway. Back to the main story.

Unfortunately despite my thinking London was home, I realized I really didn’t live here when a couple in the airport asked me how to get tickets for the tube. I had my two year old oyster card in my pocket and decided to see if that still worked, only to find out that not only was it functioning but it had 7 pounds on it! yay! However, when the couple in the airport tried to get me to help them I could not. They wanted a three day pass or something like that and the machines didn’t seem to offer it. I hope it was the machine’s fault and not mine.

Another man – who happened to be the man sitting in my row on the plane – came down with his daughter and was having an equivalent amount of trouble. I swiped my oyster card and walked through the gates, while my new friend pushed my luggage through to me. There was a train waiting to depart but I refused to leave my comrades behind. They couldn’t get the machine to take their tickets (it was too late at night I think – 11pm due to our flight being delayed), and try as I may I could not assist. Finally a tube worker shows up out of nowhere and tells them that they have to go through this other gate as he just glances at their ticket. They were very pleased that I waited for them for some reason “you’re too kind,” one of them says. (Those kind of phrases always make me a little nervous…too kind? Why not ‘you’re just kind enough’? or ‘your kindness has been wholly sufficient in this situation’. it makes me second guess myself to be called ‘too kind’.

We sit in the nearly empty car, joined only by another couple who sat across from me, and participate in some lovely small talk. It is my airport friends’ first time to London so they ask some things to do, if I like being there, etc etc. All was fine and dandy until they started asking me about their hotel or if I knew the best way to get to Buckingham Palace and I for the life of me could not remember. Nor did I have my awesome laminated London map. Just a guide book. With junk maps. I failed again. Sigh.

We ride for a while before  it starts to fill up in central London. I am sitting awkwardly straddling a huge suitcase with my legs so it doesn’t roll and holding onto my huge backpack that is on the seat next to me. At one stop a guy on the platform looks in at me and waves enthusiastically through the window. I kind of look around in a who else can you possibly be waving at kind of way before I halfheartedly and very confusedly raise my hand a bit to acknowledge this.

My other airport friends from across the way (who are the only ones left from the heathrow troupe) laugh as they watch this kid chat me up for the remainder of his ride. He sat down two seats over and immediately began talking to me about I don’t even know what. He’s sloshed. Which of course explains the rest of his behavior. He asks me what I think of his friend James, who went and stood some 7 feet away at least, and then proceeded to try to get me to admit he was a ‘sexy beast.’ As in ‘isn’t james there a sexy beast?’ “hmm. Well I don’t know james,’ I say ‘ you seem interested though, perhaps you should talk to him? Want me to get him to come over here?’ He of course states ‘oh I know him. I’ve had him many times.’  Don’t you just love drunk british men? Because I do. He gives up on his james mission for a while and then all of the sudden lights up again and asks about the election.. “it’s got to be obama right? it’s got to be” Did I vote, he asks? ‘Yes’ I say, ‘absentee ballot before I came over.’ Then he goes on to say “it will also start a fun game of when will he get assassinated.” Then he apologizes a bit and says he’s sorry, that it’s an awful thing to say but it’s true. This is a common thing I found. I had several Brits say to me that they were both extremely excited about obama and that they think he is going to get assassinated within a matter of time.

I ask him why Bush hasn’t been assassinated then, clearly enough people hate him. He then explains ( I keep saying he because I don’t actually remember my new friend’s name. he may not have told me. Though we did shake hands all formal like)… he then explains that it’s because rednecks love bush. And that’s who will do it. the rednecks. The US is not gonna let crazy fundamentalist terrorists get to your pres, he says, but the rednecks will do it. He’s got a point, unfortunately.

Towards the end of this subject his friend james the sexy beast comes over and apologizes profusely for his drunk friend. To which my new friend says ‘ nah she loves it. you’re alright, aren’t you? I’m sorry’ then apologizes more. And I just laughed and said ‘no no it’s fine’, and the people across the way can hardly contain themselves.

I should point out that NO ONE else on the tube was talking. Granted it is fairly loud as the old trains squeak and creak as they rush along the tracks, but still, there was no other conversation. Most people do not talk on the tube. And you particularly do not speak to strangers. Unless that stranger is me. Lots of London rules seem to be broken for me. But anyway, that adds a little to the visual of this true spectacle that was occurring.

Then my new friend continues with the politics saying things like “obama. Yeah, so abortions, they’re cool? Making love to everyone ? ‘ and as I said um and began to formulate how to respond to this and the word ‘cool’ being used with ‘abortion’ , not something I had heard before. But before I could respond in any way he switched over to asking if I could do him a favor.

I did not say yes. Because by now I knew my new friend well. And I think he has pretty lofty ideas for favors. So I say,’ well, it depends on what you need because I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep.’ He made a sad face. And then said ‘call me friend james over here and tell him you want to make love to him’ . ha! I knew it kid. No way. So I tell him no, and after much discussing and puppy dog face making, he still did not win. Too bad. Maybe if everyone on the tube wasn’t watching us like their favorite episode of Footballers Wives… but no.

His stop comes, he wished me luck with finding my friend and her place ( I explained the no address no phone situation to which he replied ‘ ooh that is scary’ nice. Thanks.) and said nice meeting me and then walked off.  I had not even truly arrived in London and I already let a possible british husband slip away. Sigh. He’s probably an alcoholic. But he was a charming alcoholic. If only I had propositioned his friend…

Well anyway, Chalk Farm comes up, I get off the train and go to the stairs where a concerned woman asks if I need help carrying my suitcase up. No thanks I say, and I continue to insist that I am fine (of course I was not really fine, but for some reason I cant accept help in these situations). She looks skeptical but in order to prove myself I just happily trudge up the stairs trying to look like I do this every day. I reach the top of these stairs only to see a sign leading to ‘emergency stairs’ , where everyone seems to walking. I look around quickly. Surely there is another way. And there it is. An elevator! But what’s this. Two really sketchy guys are loitering right outside it..and I just saw one girl almost do an about face in order to avoid these guys and take the stairs. Now normally I am ok with sketchy, but I had so much luggage that I really wouldn’t be able to fight anyone off. Ugh. Stairs it is. So I haul up I don’t even know how many spiral stairs, and pause at the landing thinking my heart is going to explode and wondering if I will ever make it to jenna’s alive, when I look up and see a very nervous looking jenna butler Esposito who looks down and then gets very excited.’ I THOUGHT YOU DIED ‘, she yells. Yeah. I am the worst friend ever. I am an hour late and had no way to contact her. But there she was. What a friend. Despite the fact that the immigration man yelled at me for not having the full address of where I was staying and asked what I was going to do if she didn’t meet me at the station, she was there. That shows you, mean immigration man. maybe he needs better friends. Maybe I should have offered to be his friend.

We get to her apartment down the street at about 1215 am. We check online to see if we have a new president (nope), as we proceed to drink a considerable amount of strongbow. I understand Jenna’s complaints about that drink now. It is too sugary. It will be a while before I choose strongbow again. But anyway. We go to bed in a good state of mind, good enough for me to ignore the fact that there was ivy growing from her skylight (think of the bug possibilities) and that she told me there were loads of spiders in her room.

 But hey. I am in London. and nothing can ever beat the happiness that comes with that. Not even spiders and hang overs and gas leaks.

What?

my old european journal

OK. SO,


i went to europe in november of 2008. thats right. more than a year ago. now for half of this trip i did my best to keep a journal. i transcribed some of this on here last year. maybe two posts. my project now is to transcribe the rest of it, and then try to use my photos and memory to make up for the places that i did not write about. which sadly were some of the greatest times. i have decided its best to do this continuously so i will be starting with the first page of my journal and continuing from there, essentially just writing exactly what is on the page, in whatever disjointed fashion it is in. here is the first:


Nov 4, 2008

My plan was to begin by saying that i am sitting here in the aisle seat of my continental jet listening to music by john coltrane. however, since my music player doesnt seem to be working, i am instead sitting here listening to the movie Henry Poole is Here, making sure to keep my seatbelt on in case things get nuts. But lets start at the beginning.

I woke at 5am from one of those sleeps where it seems like you just closed your eyes and suddenly your alarm is going off. My dad kindly drove me to the Newark airport. Airports are interesing i decided. I found myself walking past random groups of people wondering, what business do you and your son have in aruba, sir? or I didnt know St maartens was spelled that way, why are there only two people sitting by that gate do they know each other? will they go the whole journey without talking? Airports are prime people watching locations.

My luck can't seem to decide if it wants to comply with London rules or general real life rules. I got in, checked my bag, no trouble with the backpack as a carry on (thanks again jess)! The lady at check-in eyes me suspiciously and asks how old i am. 22, i reply. And then she just said something about me being “such a pretty girl”. several questions arose here. why is this relevant to my age? why did you give me that look?`what are you thinking? i slept 4 hours? The odd occurrences begin...

I can never seem to get through without some sort of trouble which eventually makes a scene. First I asked the man checking the passports if I needed to put all my liquids in a plastic bag, to which he replied “eh. .. well.. yeah. I mean you’re supposed to ..” and kind of shrugged along with some shifty eyes.  Huh, I think. So I do that, because he was oh so forceful and convincing. Well, mainly because I didn’t want someone else to stop me.  I put my shoes and jacket in the gray box so they can check if I am packing heat in my huge coat. I go to walk through the metal detector and the man on the other side tells me to take off my vest. Then my belt…  a bit forward I thought. But my pants WILL fall down. This could get awkward.  But I make it through, only to have a man whisk me and my bag away to a special kiosk where he pulls out a water bottle I had ( How could I have been so careless??!) . Luckily he just throws it away and lets me on my way.

Walking towards my gate, I stop for some yoghurt (I shall spell things british-ly from now on just to annoy you) at au bon pain (exactly what I wanted to eat and where I wanted it to be from: one point to my London luck). Then once I found my gate, I decide to go to the bathroom so as to avoid the creepy claustrophobic plane bathrooms as much as possible. I walk out and they call my row to board, so I just walk up to the desk and walk on with no waiting ( +1 pt to London).

I sit in my aisle seat on the plane,  next to a British woman whose husband is sitting two rows up. She mentions to me and the man in the window seat about how they are separated and it is unfortunate how airlines do this and blah blah blah. Then an American lady a few rows up just asked some guy to move so that she could sit in the same row as her kids. “That’s how you do it,” says British lady, “English people aren’t brave.” Window man and I just kind of chuckle awkwardly, probably both thinking, God I hope she doesn’t ask us to switch. I felt so torn. I will happily switch seats with someone, but this would be going from an aisle seat to a middle seat. Who knew who would fill the surrounding seats? Smelly people? Small, whiny, kick your seat children? I just didn’t know. Not to mention the lack of leg room. And the fact that if I needed to go to the bathroom I would probably have to wake someone up. No. No, I refused. I try to be a nice person, but I just will not give up my aisle seat. I felt guilty and defeated and selfish. (1 pt for American luck)

But what’s this! It seems the doors are closed and no one has sat next to this person’s husband!  So my neighbor got to relocate, and I was guilt free and left with an empty seat next to me ( +1 to London). I also found out the entertainment was much better than I thought.  I looked online and it said I would get my choice of Space Chimps or Get Smart and that is all. Well luckily I got my own little tv with many tv, movie and music options. (1 to london)  Thus far, continental is ok (though I smell a curry meal (-1) coming my way) but I feel like I am cheating on Richard Branson. I miss Virgin Atlantic. So I watch the movie Bullit while I eat my curry – I got the veggie meal even though I entered this preference online waaaay too late ( +1 to lon). Bullit was my first Steve McQueen movie. He’s quite good. And Daniel Craig reminds me a lot of a poor man’s Steve McQueen.

Unfortunately the kid in front of me reclined his seat all the way for a good chunk of the flight, though he asked me, first so we will say that breaks even. However, whoever was behind me decided it would be fun to kick or punch my seat on and off for several hours (-2).  BUT a lovely British man moved his smaller bag from the overhead compartment so I could fit my big backpack on it (+1).  Then when I was hoping for a snack, I got not only a snack but a second full meal! With another lovely vegan cookie.

Now let’s just hope I can get to Jenna’s. Seeing as I can’t find the piece of paper with her address and phone number written on it. And the phone I have with me needs to be topped up so it won’t work.  All I know is I have to get to Chalk Farm tube station and hope that she will be there waiting.  Boy isn’t life exciting?

the reason i like cameraphones

the salesman at best buy hated me the minute i opened my mouth. 

i have never really been one to, let's say.. overindulge... in technology. i am just now beginning to get into it. i have developed a crush on adobe. i want to be google's friend. and i am starting to itch for an iphone even though i know it would be an abusive relationship.

but let's go back a year and half...

so when it was time for me finally get rid of the wonderful loyal phone i had for 4 yrs and upgrade my cell phone in the summer of 08, i decided to peruse best buy's selection before going to the verizon store.

i do believe all best buy employees are equipped with heat-seeking technology when they are handed their blue shirt and name tag. the minute i walk into that store the sentry they post by the door says hello to me. i can hardly get into an aisle before an energetic best seller pounces on what he hopes will soon become a best buyer if he can just be helpful enough.

so of course by the time i touch a cell phone in best buy, a man pops up behinds me and asks if i need help. i am fairly certain he rappelled from the rafters when i was distracted by something shiny. clearly my cries of pain and my damsel in distress ponytail set off his alarm and he came to my rescue.

i like being helped. but i always feel a little weird when i have no intention of buying something that day and someone wants to help me. plus i really didnt think he was going to want to hear what i had to say. but i humored him. because he was just trying to be a nice guy.

so he asks me what i  want in a phone. and i , being me, say very seriously: "i would like my phone to be able to call people."

that is all. and then there was a big awkward silence.

so i added. "oh and a cameraphone. i guess i like having that."

i think that alone is what stopped him from committing a murder-suicide right there. sadly, he took this as encouragement and proceeded to ask me if i wanted a phone with fancy texting? a keyboard? music player? a phone with gps? internet? a phone with A BRAIN? with religious and political affiliations??

ok the last two arent true. BUT THEY WERE IMPLIED.  should have stopped while he was ahead.

anyway. here are a few photographic examples of why i like camera phones. i often come across strange things, though rarely i have the mindset to remember to document them. here is what happens when i do:

this shirt was found at a thrift shop in point pleasant. alicia and i sifted through the rack of random old shirts. there were so many gems. including one from an actual family reunion. it was amazing, but huge. i came very very close to buying this shirt. i am impressed with the fact that the olympics let them use the logo.i am very intrigued in what might take place in the reading olympics. perhaps who can read the tiniest font? who can properly pronounce the most monosyllabic words in a row without faltering? or simply who can read the heaviest books? i dont know where belmont is or if it has hills. but if they can teach that dog to read, then my god, man  what can't they do?!?

OH MY GOD. YES. YES. YES. there is possibly nothing better in the world than this dog toy, also found in point pleasant nj. these two finds were even better than the Polish deli we went searching for in the first place. look at that dapper dog! LOOK AT IT!   i would have gotten this for my dog if it were cheaper and if it werent the size of her face. hell i would have gotten this for myself if it were cheaper. BECAUSE IT'S AWESOME. that is all.

if you can't  read it: RU18YET

yes thats right. this gem of a human being either attends, or worse, works at the community college i work at. i just can't say enough about this stellar man. or woman. but boy i hope its a man. because i find his black bmw with full tinted windows, and his inquisitive and thoughtful license plate so irrestiably attractive. asking the questions first! how mature and responsible! life will be so excited for this car owner when they actually turn 18. or have an interaction with a human.

fairfield university recently purchased this for its campus. it was about 80,000 dollars. 'no sorry, we can't provide you with financial aid, we really needed this almost inappropriately anatomically correct stag. maybe next year kids!'

you're going to have to enlarge this to read all of the glory. this was found in my bathroom stall in the medical building my dentist is in.  i really really want to know who the 'we' in this is. is it my dentist? is it the janitor? is it a small child who LOVES CAPS LOCK AND EXCLAMATION POINTS SO MUCH THEY NEEDED A VENUE FOR SELF EXPRESSION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OMG

whoever it is. they struck a nerve with the cursive fancy pants responder.

i love being passive agressive and do they!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

a christmas shop in New Hope, PA. and by christmas shop i mean creepy-buff-blank-stare-weak wristed-bearded-old-plush-possessed-merman shop. for all your creepy-buff-blank-stare-weak wristed-bearded-old-plush-possessed-merman shop needs!

oh . forgot to mention. also for all your sketchy-rodeo-santa needs  as well..

ahem. and your.. anthropomorphic-ten-gallon-hat-wearing-gunslinging-belt-wearing-despite-its-lack-of-a-waist-and-pants- cactus...needs...

at an antique shop in new hope. if you ever need a purse. don't fret. just take your child's favorite stuffed animal, callously rip it open with the tine of a fork, rip out its insides, attach a belt, and voila! about two inches of space inside a pug that you can sling over your shoulder to compliment nearly any outfit that consists of feet-y pajamas.

god i miss feet-y pajamas.

this just about made my life. found at a staples in chatham, near jess' house. we wandered about aimlessly in the store while waiting for our chinese food and i came across these boxes. 'my, what tiny boxes,' i thought to myself, 'how they can possibly be of any storage use to anyone?'  BUT WAIT! what's this? "clear 0.2L REALLY USEFUL BOX"?!  you don't say! well i didn't want one before but i can no longer picture my life without this box in it! just think of how REALLY USEFUL this BOX could be!!

this is genius . i almost bought one just in hopes that the marketer got a penny from it. so . so. awesome

and i shall leave you with that.

this is the reason i like camera phones.

let's get serious for a moment

Let’s just get some things straight from the start.

 I’m cynical. I’m sarcastic. I’m self-deprecating. I can’t find a full time job. I live with my parents. I just got kicked off my health insurance. I listen to Morrissey. I listen to Morrissey in the dark. Alone. I have no idea what I want to do in life. I have always had more than a bit of a death wish. I’ve only had one real, actual, L-word boyfriend in my entire life.  I dislike a large population of the world.  I have no real marketable skills. My brother calls me 'girl' and 'fatty' (granted he is joking). My mom tells me to wear make-up, take my glasses off, and do something with my hair (she is not joking). My dad has let a stranger into my room while I was still in bed so that he could ‘clean the vents’( i don't think he understands that is unacceptable). My grandma tells me to use those weird fake hair things you put over a bun, and when I say no, she asks me ‘why don’t you ever want to do anything that will make you beautiful?’

And I am sort of ok with all of this. Yeah, some of it sucks. But all of it is a part of me. So I am ok with it.

That all might upset some people. At some point it may have upset me. but now I just think it’s funny. So when my grandma (who also used to call me a ‘skin-head’ every time I put my hair in a ponytail...not sure if she understands the neo-nazi connotations..) said this. I just laughed and jokingly said ‘but grandma, aren’t I always beautiful? Isn’t that what you should be saying?’

Let’s just say I think grandma learned a lesson that day, and got more than a little sheepish.

Now I am strange young lady. I think it’s fair to say that whether you like me or not. But I am lucky enough to call some of the best people in the world my friends. I truly think these people are going to be the ones to change the world. If it can even change (threw some cynicism in there so you don’t get too worried about me).

 Ever since I was young, I have always been pretty ok with myself for some inexplicable reason. I know, this kind of boggles my mind, too. I  don't recall ever really getting picked on, despite my lanky, disproportionate, monkey limbs. (Luckily, I took dance lessons from when I was 2-10 or I am sure my motions would be even more akin to a baby giraffe learning how to walk.) I got along with everyone. I was good friends with the nerds, the jocks, the theatre geeks, the popular kids, the weird kids. I was all of that.  Oh. And I was nice to people.

The only time I was ever in my life honestly concerned about what other people thought of me was when it came down to whether or not I was “pretty.” But my issue with that is absolutely nothing compared to what girls go through today.

As stated before, I am lucky enough to have an absolutely unfair amount of phenomenal people in my life. These great friends have no qualms telling me how great they think I am (i still don’t get it, but whatever). And they tell me I am beautiful, which was always, and still kind of is, hard for me to accept, but I think that the aforementioned sole l-word ex-boyfriend finally tipped the scale of my stubborn disbelief. So I sort of accept this to be true. Sort of. It's the best we're going to do.

Now the reason I am telling you all of this is not just to further my egotistical wishes in thinking that you want to know things about me that make you uncomfortable.

No. It is because something happened the other day that just flipped a switch in me.

I was talking to a coworker who mentioned that her ten year old daughter, who is absolutely going to be a supermodel, continually asks if she is fat. This same girl has friends who already have eating disorders. The conversations these girls have focus around who is skinny and who is not. Best friends will tell their best friend explicitly and hurtfully that they are not skinny.

Oh my god, holy hell, wtf and all things of nature.

That certainly doesn’t sound like my best friends.

My friends are people who create, participate, and strengthen groups that start discussions about body image, self-esteem, and love . My friends are people who raise awareness about domestic abuse and women's health issues  My friends are people who create installations to promote awareness of climate change . My friends are nice to people.

Like I said. If anyone can save the world (and I sure hope someone can, cause it won’t be me), it’s these people.

My coworker asked if I could perhaps come speak to their girl scout troupe or help them develop an activity for these girls to help their self-esteem, help them love themselves and each other. Now normally I am not a soap-boxy, feministy, save the worldy, activisty type of person, but I think it’s probably about time I stop whining about things and try to do something. Well, I mean, let’s be honest, I’ll keeping whining, it’s what I do best. You should hear my whiny voice if you haven’t already. But I do want to do something. And not just for girls. One thing that bothers me is that people seem to focus only on girls. Boys - and men - have these exact same problems and I bet it is even harder for them to deal with since they should be ‘strong’ and ‘tough’ and all those other stupid words that mean ‘don’t talk about your feelings.’ That’s dumb. Real men talk about their feelings. Those are the only ones I am interested in. Men should get the same attention women do when it comes to self-image and self-esteem. 

Like I said, I want to do something. So I will.  Even if it’s tiny and only affects ten girls. It’s something. If anyone wants to help me, please do. All I know is that when I was ten I was worried about how I could draw better cartoons, how not to gloat when I continually dominated as Yoshi in Mario kart, how to increase the velocity of a sled down my front yard, and where my next donut was coming from. These girls should be not worried about being ugly or fat (as long as they are healthy). The paranoia created by today’s society just makes me want to throw up and truly makes me scared for the future. These girls should not be worried about whether or not they are beautiful. No one should. You shouldn’t. They are beautiful and so are you.

Please see the following links for further reading:

dove's campaign for real beauty 

dove's eye-opening 'evolution' ad

operationbeautiful.com people who go around sticking post-its with inspirational messages in places where it is needed most : bathroom mirrors, inside self-help books, etc. I am going to start doing this and I encourage you to do the same. It may actually save someone’s life.

www.givesmehope.com like fml but for nice things. I was really hating the world these past few days. had fights with family about gay rights, read about h&m destroying clothes while homeless people went without coats, and then heard about these girls. I was pissed. I hated the world and everyone in it. but this made me feel a little better

 www.postsecret.com a forum where anyone can unburden themselves.

http://www.twloha.com/vision - a non-profit dedicated to raise awareness of depression, addiction, and suicide.

photographer zed nelson's somewhat graphic photos and commentary concerning body image entitled, ‘love me’

And if all of this was too serious for you, I do apologize, but I sincerely thank you for reading. Please stay tuned for more of everyone’s favorite crazy light hearted stories about my life and the crazy things I see and experience. And of course, my crazy little white dog and little white haired parents.

new year, new posts

i have decided that i really would like to post in here more. and possibly try to write some actual pieces that i will encourage strangers to check out, instead of just rambling to my friends who might hear these stories in person anyway. SELF INDULGENCE IS AWESOME. i have high hopes for developing a nice egotistical website where i can display posts from this blog, my travel blogs (most travel will be put in a different section than this blog; including my transcribed journal from last year's trip. work begins on that soon), my paintings, drawings, sculpture, t-shirt designs, random graphic design, and if i ever learn how.. then web design will also be displayed through the creation of the site itself. once i put some more time into web design i want to try to figure out how to make my own template for this blog, but until then i just changed some colors.

with this decision means that i need to be WAY more disciplined about writing and designing when i say i will. hopefully i can do that. i will have less classes, only one this time :typography. and i am going to be spending much of my free time on my new goal of SERIOUSLY finding a job and moving to nyc.

you may have noticed, i decided to begin with a name change.

i love morrissey. and his words. but it's time for me to use my own. i think he would prefer it that way. i would quote a line here about using your own words from a wonderful smiths song called frankly mr shankly, but i do believe the irony would be painful.

so youtube that song. or go to grooveshark.com. i have been pushing that site to everyone i know. its fantastic.

anyway. back to business. own words.

thus, the new title, a phrase i think only i have used:

nobody likes a dullard

hopefully i can at least maintain a level where i will not be considered dull. if you do find me dull, i encourage you all to not like me.