This post will be one installment of a series of things that I find to be overrated. I don’t consider myself a wholly disillusioned person--in fact, I think I have quite a rosy perspective on life a good 60% of the time. However, there are things in life that have been revered for years that I believe to be too highly valued. The first of these I’d like to discuss…New Years Eve, the Dick Clark holiday we have come to know, love, and loathe.
How many years have you spent the weeks leading up to December 31st mulling over different parties, outfits, and groups of people to spend it with so you can ring the New Year in the proper manner? This holiday has become so pressure-filled to party it up like no other night of the year that we have made it all but impossible to succeed. Each year, the anticipation of a night of popping champagne corks in some glamorous venue falls short, and I end up at a house party 15 miles outside of downtown unscrewing twist-top champagne bottles with a bunch of people I don’t know wondering “Why the hell am I ending one year and beginning another one with you people?” There are always a slew of parties that everyone wants to hit, which results in there A) needing someone to stay sober to drive the group to and fro, or B) sitting in a cab at midnight while gridlocked in New Years Eve traffic.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been to a few great New Year’s parties (ahem 2006-2007), but pretty much every year is a letdown. Furthermore, there’s the mandate that you find someone to kiss at midnight. Granted, if you have a significant other, a date for the night, or have even put the effort into scoping a certain someone out at whatever party you land on for the witching hour, it is still ridiculous that the night needs to culminate in a lip-lock. You either end up kissing your best friend or a stranger who has had a few too many vodka cranberries and decided to take some liberty with the opportunity. Either way, it’s not great.
Think about it…this holiday became so difficult to figure out that our country decided to create a giant ball of lights and confetti and then drop it on the masses Times Square in New York City. Oh, and that’s another thing…why would anyone ever want to stand in Times Square and watch the ball drop? To me, that seems like an incredibly claustrophobic experience. I’d rather watch it from inside a building looking down at everyone with a drink in my hand thinking “Suckers...”
Aside from the actual celebration aspect of New Years Eve and how it never seems to quite live up to the expectations in your head, another overrated aspect of this holiday is the New Year’s Resolutions. These resolutions are created, usually written down, and inevitably broken within four weeks. Nothing makes you feel more like a failure that giving up on the resolutions you were so committed to a few weeks prior. Some of the tried and true resolutions of course are: “I’m going to lose 10 pounds,” “I’m going to quit drinking,” “I’m going to help the needy.” Well folks, you might lose 10 pounds, you probably won’t quit drinking, and it’s possible you could end up volunteering as one of those bell ringers next Christmas for the Salvation Army. But let’s face it…none of that will have much to do with the fact that you resolved yourself to do it last December 31st.
In conclusion, New Years Eve is overrated. Suggested Remedy: This year, go to bed at 8pm and wake up on January 1st with the feeling that you ended your 2010 correctly…in a REM cycle.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
How to Lose Friends in a 24 Hour Fitness
This is a post is about a situation I found myself in today. Please stop reading now if you love old people, because I may throw around some disparaging words at their expense tonight. Don’t get me wrong, I fully support AARP, pay into Social Security, and call my grandma on her birthday. I also know that my elders are supposed to be ripe with wisdom, ready to enlighten the generations that come after them. And most days, I’m all for this. But today is not that day. In fact, today is the day that old people take the Jello-mold Bundt cake for being generally obnoxious in my life. Specifically, the nutty old man at 24 Hour Fitness. He is likely hovering around 75-years-old and clad in royal blue spandex and the thinnest white tank top you ever did see.
Let me set the scene for you: I am upstairs next to the free weights rack stretching outside of one of the rooms that the gym holds classes in (classes like Zumba, Step, Yoga, Pilates, etc.). Let me repeat for clarity’s sake that ALL I AM DOING IS STRETCHING. I’m not lifting weights, I’m not using a machine, I’m not jump roping, and no there is no balance ball in sight. I am simply stretching after my run minding my own business. I’m likely 5 feet from the entrance of the room a Step class is going on in. I am bending over stretching my hamstrings and all of a sudden I see a stranger’s face. Not just a stranger’s face, a creepy/wrinkly old man face!
Then, to make matters even worse I hear a voice that says, “Excuse me, Miss?” I am startled and jump a little bit, but I figure, hey look at this very old grandpa of a man, I’m sure he just has a question about where he can find a defibrillator or a vending machine that dispenses Ensure, so I smile at him and ask how I can be of assistance.
This...was a huge mistake.
“Well, you should never stand so close to a door way,” Grandpa said, “because it’s very dangerous and people could come along and smack you in the head with the door.”
Libby’s Inner Dialogue: Oh…Ok…well, that’s really not very likely, sir.
“I mean, this club could get fined by the Fire Marshall for having something blocking the entrance…” he continues to lecture me.
Libby’s Inner Dialogue: Um…really? I mean I know I’m not the tiniest person in the world, but I really don’t think that I could ever be considered a hazard or an object blocking an entire exit. And furthermore, couldn’t I just TAKE 3 STEPS TO THE LEFT if there was a sudden fire, flood, or some other disaster that would warrant a mass evacuation of 24 Hour Fitness?
But he was incessant…
“You should really know better, you are putting your life in danger, or your child’s life…” he said, so close to me I could smell is old person stench covered in Step Class sweat.
This was where he crossed a line and I nearly lost my shit right there next to the rowing machine.
Libby’s Inner Dialogue: Uh…excuse me, ya geezer, but did you just tell me that I am endangering the life of my unborn child?! Two reasons I am offended:
1) He just insinuated that I am an unfit parent. Though this assertion might be true I find it ludicrous that he thinks I would actually put my baby, IF I EVEN HAD ONE, on the floor so it he could whapped by people, doors, or anything else.
2) I consider Mr. Rogers an asshole for saying I look like I could have a kid AT ALL.
After these comments I just stare at him….
“Ok, thanks for the heads up,” I said.
He stared back at me, looking completely unsatisfied by my lackluster response. He shook his head, pivoted on his left heel and walked back into his Step class, which had been going on without him for the last 5 minutes while he has this conversation with me. What the hell did he expect me response to be, anyway? Did he want me to create a PSA about the dangers of stretching too close to a doorway? Give me a break (and not of a Kit Kat bar).
Normally I don’t talk back to people in situations such as this, but I was so enraged that he even had the gall to come out and lecture me in the first place. It was the most ridiculous, senile thing that has ever happened to me in 24 Hour Fitness. After he went back inside to his step class on his high horse, I took 2 steps forward, closer to the doors, and did a few more stretches. The whole time looking right in his royal-blue-spandex-covered-saggy-old-man-ass direction.
Revenge. Is. Sweet.
Let me set the scene for you: I am upstairs next to the free weights rack stretching outside of one of the rooms that the gym holds classes in (classes like Zumba, Step, Yoga, Pilates, etc.). Let me repeat for clarity’s sake that ALL I AM DOING IS STRETCHING. I’m not lifting weights, I’m not using a machine, I’m not jump roping, and no there is no balance ball in sight. I am simply stretching after my run minding my own business. I’m likely 5 feet from the entrance of the room a Step class is going on in. I am bending over stretching my hamstrings and all of a sudden I see a stranger’s face. Not just a stranger’s face, a creepy/wrinkly old man face!
Then, to make matters even worse I hear a voice that says, “Excuse me, Miss?” I am startled and jump a little bit, but I figure, hey look at this very old grandpa of a man, I’m sure he just has a question about where he can find a defibrillator or a vending machine that dispenses Ensure, so I smile at him and ask how I can be of assistance.
This...was a huge mistake.
“Well, you should never stand so close to a door way,” Grandpa said, “because it’s very dangerous and people could come along and smack you in the head with the door.”
Libby’s Inner Dialogue: Oh…Ok…well, that’s really not very likely, sir.
“I mean, this club could get fined by the Fire Marshall for having something blocking the entrance…” he continues to lecture me.
Libby’s Inner Dialogue: Um…really? I mean I know I’m not the tiniest person in the world, but I really don’t think that I could ever be considered a hazard or an object blocking an entire exit. And furthermore, couldn’t I just TAKE 3 STEPS TO THE LEFT if there was a sudden fire, flood, or some other disaster that would warrant a mass evacuation of 24 Hour Fitness?
But he was incessant…
“You should really know better, you are putting your life in danger, or your child’s life…” he said, so close to me I could smell is old person stench covered in Step Class sweat.
This was where he crossed a line and I nearly lost my shit right there next to the rowing machine.
Libby’s Inner Dialogue: Uh…excuse me, ya geezer, but did you just tell me that I am endangering the life of my unborn child?! Two reasons I am offended:
1) He just insinuated that I am an unfit parent. Though this assertion might be true I find it ludicrous that he thinks I would actually put my baby, IF I EVEN HAD ONE, on the floor so it he could whapped by people, doors, or anything else.
2) I consider Mr. Rogers an asshole for saying I look like I could have a kid AT ALL.
After these comments I just stare at him….
“Ok, thanks for the heads up,” I said.
He stared back at me, looking completely unsatisfied by my lackluster response. He shook his head, pivoted on his left heel and walked back into his Step class, which had been going on without him for the last 5 minutes while he has this conversation with me. What the hell did he expect me response to be, anyway? Did he want me to create a PSA about the dangers of stretching too close to a doorway? Give me a break (and not of a Kit Kat bar).
Normally I don’t talk back to people in situations such as this, but I was so enraged that he even had the gall to come out and lecture me in the first place. It was the most ridiculous, senile thing that has ever happened to me in 24 Hour Fitness. After he went back inside to his step class on his high horse, I took 2 steps forward, closer to the doors, and did a few more stretches. The whole time looking right in his royal-blue-spandex-covered-saggy-old-man-ass direction.
Revenge. Is. Sweet.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Paper or Plastic?
There are a lot of ways to earn a buck in this world. Some do it honestly, logging man-hours behind a desk, behind the wheel of a tractor, or behind a cash register. Others do it dishonestly, deciding to ditch the timesheet and opt for selling drugs, hawking loot on the black market, or kickin’ it old school and just stealing from others. Whichever way one decides to come by their livelihood really is none of my business (unless, of course, they are stealing from me). What is my business, however, is deciding what I wanted to make MY career out of. As a kiddo, there were just two professions I desperately wanted my turn at: a grocer, and a taxi driver.
Normally, when a kid ponders the jobs they might like to have in the future, their dreams are fraught with extravagance, money, and fame…an astronaut, a professional athlete, a famous actress, or the President of the United States to name a few of the most popular. But what fun is this blog entry if my dream job as a child were any of those boring things?
Uh, let me answer that question for you—it wouldn’t be any fun.
In the interest of your attention span I’m just going to discuss my dream to be a grocer in this post and a taxi driver in a separate one. Oh, and let me make a quick disclaimer for any grocers or taxi drivers that may be reading this: Even though I don’t want to be your colleague anymore, I beg of you to please not take a offense to my change of heart and start putting my eggs on the bottom of my grocery bag or taking me the longest route home possible from a night out at the bars. DON’T be a douche.
My dream of being the check stand lady at Fred Meyer began at the tender age of 6 years old. And boy, did that dream it hit me hard and did it hit me fast. I have always had a thing about keyboards—I’m not sure if it’s the clicking noise the keys make, or if I just like pushing buttons, but it satisfies an inexplicable urge in me. For example, whenever I go to an establishment like Best Buy or Office Depot, I immediately scoot myself on over to the computer section upon entering and type mindlessly on all the keyboards to figure out which one has the best clicking noises. It’s fantastic, even if no one else can understand it. Another symptom of this OCD tendency is that I type unnecessarily hard on keyboards. On more than one occasion the following conversation has ensued:
“Libby, are you mad at the keyboard or something?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re just slamming on those keys…”
“You’re just slamming on those keys…”
“I just like the way it sounds slash feels, alright?! You’ll never understand me. Friendship over.”
End Scene.
As a result, I have totally glorified the machine known as the cash register. I so badly wanted to be able to glide the items through the scanner, clicking those buttons, and flipping up those little levers that hold the cash down.
Furthermore, I think that cashiers at grocery stores are given a unique glimpse into the lives of the American public. The food that people buy probably reveals a lot about them. Because folks, let’s be real…when the woman in line ahead of me at Freddy’s is buying (I kid you not) 20-25 frozen meals and 7 boxes of Ding Dongs with a side of cheesy bread and a 2-liter of Mountain Dew to wash it all down, you can infer a hell of a lot more about her lifestyle than simply that she prefers not to ingest artificial sweeteners. I’m not going to make those inferences for you because I don’t want to be completely rude, and I’m also going to assume my audience is intelligent enough to figure this one out. But that’s neither here nor there.
Let’s fast forward to the day that my dream died. The happy façade of being a grocer came to a crashing halt upon my first experience in the checkout line at Winco. I had never been to a supermarket establishment where you bagged your own groceries (though I had always dreamed such a day would come). So when I saw that we got to bag our purchases ourselves, I was overwhelmed with both anticipation and excitement….
Cut to 5 minutes later and I realized that bagging groceries TOTALLY SUCKS. After that, my love affair with a any sort of profession in the food service industry died a quiet (but permanent) death. So thank you, Winco. Thank you for not only your cheap groceries and delicious bulk candy that I sometimes steal a piece or two of, but thank you for turning me off to being a grocer forever, because I don’t think I would have liked it.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
This post is about backpacks.
Big in the 90s? Found on almost every adolescent in the country? Ring a bell? If you thought “backpacks” (or if you looked at the title of this post…come on people) then ding, ding, ding! You’d be correct. If you think backpacks are a mundane subject, then you sir or madam, are mistaken. Full of nostalgia and old school charm, backpacks are making a comeback...or so claimed by InStyle.com.
My Mom, sister, and I ALL wearing backpacks on a trip to Europe.
Please note I'm ding the One-Shoulder Sling!!!
But, uh…did they ever really go away? As far as I’m concerned the backpack never lost its value because it provides an unmatched purpose and practicality. I donned this awesomely functional style throughout my formidable elementary and middle school years, throughout my days at South Salem High School, and even during most of my college career at Linfield (a backpack was a must when I ventured the few miles out the Nicholson library for a cram sesh). But these soft shells you carry on your back didn’t come in handy just when you wanted to carry a few books around. Oh no, backpacks were a fashion statement. And that’s what I’m going to tell you about. Hold on tight.
Like lots of kids in my generation, I was branded a Jansport backpack consumer at a young age. Jansport is like the Apple, Inc. of the backpack world. Circa the early 1990s Jansport was the shit—unparalleled by its competitors. However, as the years went on it became outdated and other companies outpaced it (enter North Face and the Microsoft). Although Jansport will never be the phenomenon that Apple is today or have the “cool” factor that Apple so mastered so well, Jansport will always be the original backpack creator in my mind.
Jansport packs were the basic and classic. They originals came in a few colors and only had two pouches. Everyone who was anyone had a Jansport backpack in my 4th grade class, and if you were the luckiest of kids, Mom would buy you the matching Jansport pencil organizer.
Elementary and middle school came and went, and as I entered high school I quickly realized that Jansport was out, and the North Face was in. I didn’t attend the local middle school that most of the other kids did, and therefore I knew that if I had any chance of climbing the social ladder and surviving the next four years of hormones and cliques, I would need to get me a North Face backpacks in a big, big way. North Face backpacks had multiple pouches with tons of zippers and cool hidden pockets. Some of them even had water bottle holders on the side of them and had buckles that went around your waist and across your chest….just in case those 3 books you needed were TOO heavy for all those pre-pubescent shoulders. Rest assured folks, my parents did not smite me and I did end up getting a NorthFace backpack. I don’t EVEN want to think about what would have transpired if I hadn’t have gotten my hot little hands on that thing. But I digress.
Sidebar: One backpack trend I never understood was the roller backpack. Rolling bags should be kept strictly to airport travel. Just sayin.
Not only was it the kind of backpack that one owned, but it was also the way that you wore your backpack that decided your coolness factor. There was the one-shoulder sling (this one-shoulder look was also popular at the time with overalls). Another “cool” way to wear a backpack is what I like to call the “Pack Sag.” I never really understood this (but God forbid I didn’t buy into it). The Pack Sag is when you loosen the backpack straps as far as they will go, and then let it swing in the air behind you. Why, I think to myself, would we do this? I have no idea. We looked like a bunch of assholes with our backpacks hanging below our butts. Then again—guys used to wear their pants below their butts, which is also completely idiotic. Not sure what it was about the early 2000s but apparently sagging was the word. Let me just say this: The older I get, the less I want things to sag. So boys, pull up those trousers, and ladies, buy some SPANX.
Finally remember the “Tiny Pack Trend?” Those tiny packs made fashionable and popular by cult teen hits a la like 10 Things I Hate About You:
“See there’s a difference between ‘like’ and ‘love,’ because like my Sketchers, but I love my Prada backpack.”
“But I love my Sketchers…”
“That’s because you don’t have a Prada backpack!”
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Going Postal (Service)
Let's talk about snail mail. In modern society we have this thing called email, you may be familiar with it. If you aren't familiar with it I suggest you stop reading this blog immediately. It's that communication mechanism that we check incessantly and use for everything from getting work done, to keeping in touch with old friends, to breaking up with a significant other. Most of us actually have multiple email accounts. I have two email accounts, both of which I receive on my phone. So let me clarify...on my handy-dandy iPhone I can: Text, call people, send and receive emails, get on the the internet, update my Facebook status, view all the daily tweets on the people I follow on Twitter, play games, snap a few photos, check the weather in Hong Kong, listen to the radio (not to mention all the music I have on my iTunes), watch the latest YouTube video that has gone viral, figure out the nearest coffee shop to my current location and the directions to get there, not to mention about 10 million other things because there is an app for EVERYTHING PEOPLE. Phew! I am tired. But wait, there's more! If I ever get bored of my phone I can always just whip out my computer, which does all of that and more.
Yesterday I was at work and I had my cell phone, the land line cordless phone at my office, a laptop, and a desktop computer all in front of me. I came to the realization that I may be slightly over-stimulated by technology. I blame Bill Gates and Steve Jobs for this.
I grew up with technology. I remember what life was like without a computer in my home, but barely. I certainly remember the days before a GPS in the car--but now that we have them, I have absolutely no idea what I would do without it. I would likely be late to every meeting I have in the Portland-metro area because my sense of direction is lacking.
Either way, I think I am going to start letter-writing more. It is so exciting and rare to receive a letter in the mail! Usually when I check the mail all that is there are ads or bills. Not exciting, nor rare--and even most bills get paid online now. Getting birthday or holiday cards are nice, too, but there is nothing like getting a letter from someone just writing to say hi or update you on their life. The last time I even remember this happening is when I would go to overnight summer camp growing up. I was only there for only five days or so, but my Mom would send me a card telling me all about the things that the family was doing while I was gone. It was so memorable because it actually made me feel like I was far away and brave for being gone sooo long. I'm sure that my Mom and Dad had to put that letter in the mail about 3 hours after she dropped me off at camp. I was a lucky kid!
Yesterday I was at work and I had my cell phone, the land line cordless phone at my office, a laptop, and a desktop computer all in front of me. I came to the realization that I may be slightly over-stimulated by technology. I blame Bill Gates and Steve Jobs for this.
I grew up with technology. I remember what life was like without a computer in my home, but barely. I certainly remember the days before a GPS in the car--but now that we have them, I have absolutely no idea what I would do without it. I would likely be late to every meeting I have in the Portland-metro area because my sense of direction is lacking.
Either way, I think I am going to start letter-writing more. It is so exciting and rare to receive a letter in the mail! Usually when I check the mail all that is there are ads or bills. Not exciting, nor rare--and even most bills get paid online now. Getting birthday or holiday cards are nice, too, but there is nothing like getting a letter from someone just writing to say hi or update you on their life. The last time I even remember this happening is when I would go to overnight summer camp growing up. I was only there for only five days or so, but my Mom would send me a card telling me all about the things that the family was doing while I was gone. It was so memorable because it actually made me feel like I was far away and brave for being gone sooo long. I'm sure that my Mom and Dad had to put that letter in the mail about 3 hours after she dropped me off at camp. I was a lucky kid!
It is amazing to look at how far we have come. A postal system used to be a indication of a civilized society. Now, its an antiquated way to communicate. So here is to writing more letters...send me your mailing addresses people! Emails not allowed, because even though snail mail is slower than email, it is the fastest way to my heart!
Oiled Up.
Exxon Valdez ain't got nothin' on this oil spill. So sad and depressing. BP released a statement today stating that they "were not prepared for this oil spill." OH...REALLY!?!? I think we may have figured that after 45 freaking days of failed attempts to cap it. What a bunch of arseholes.
Sum Sum Summatime
Sometimes I am too serious--and God help me if I stay too serious. The fleeting glimpses of summer weather have made me reminiscent of and yearn for the days of being a kid and spending my months out of school playing capture the flag in my neighborhood, going to summer camp at Silver Creek Falls, playing in the sprinklers with my best friends (because come on, its Oregon--we don't have pools in our backyards), and jumping on the trampoline ALL. DAY. LONG. Those were the days, man. I am definitely a person who is affected by the weather. If it is sunny and warm out, I swear my mood is immediately enhanced. I'm a summer baby, born smack-dab in the middle of July. No two ways around it.
I have compiled a short and sweet list of the things I love most about summer time:
- The smell of freshly cut grass
- Filthy feet because I never wear shoes
- Getting burned by the metal seat belt when you get into a hot car
- BBQs
- Firecrakers/Fourth of July in general
- Sundresses
- Going to the lake and camping
- Having it be light outside and warm until at least 9pm
- Outdoor concerts
- The Art Fair
- Getting tannnnnnn
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Exiting Gracefully
Last Sunday marked exactly one year since I graduated from Linfield College. Because this blog is dedicated to my life post-grad, I thought it only fitting to say a few words about this anniversary. Please indulge me. I went to graduation this year to watch a friend leave the "fake" world behind and enter the "real" one (whatever that means). I was sitting in the bleachers I thought about my life 365 days prior. There I was, full of ambition and hope, and ready to leave the over-watered lawns of Linfield and face the next phase of life. All that was left for me to do was A) Figure out what the hell I wanted to do, B) Find a job that allowed me to do that, or the option I am still figuring out the logistics of on my downtime C)Do neither of those two things and live on a beach in Morocco selling friendship bracelets. (I'll note for the record that I would need to learn how to make friendship bracelets before I pursued this business venture). One year out--and I think I've done pretty well with options A & B.
Graduation speeches from students really bum me out. It's hard to say what it is about them exactly, but I think they are a total let down because they never seem to elicit any desire in me to thereafter to go forth and conquer. In theory, it seems like these speeches should wrench your gut because these are your peers! They navigated the road with you for the past four years, took the same tests you did, and are now celebrating the same success you are. Unfortunately, however, it is more likely than not that they fall prey to the manufactured and shallow outlines that have plagued student speech-writiers for years. Usually there is a reference to skipping class (hello Muchas Gracias), parties (hello red keg cups), some top 40 song (hello Vitamin C's "Graduation" circa 2000), or the tried-and-true "Well, we FINALLY made it!" Though I can understand the temptation to use one of these graduation speech cliches, I just can't condone going there. Apologies to the 3 student graduation speakers I have witnessed at my commencements who shall remain nameless in the blogosphere--I'm sure you tried.
Bad/boring speeches aside, graduations are very exciting occasions. It's a day in your life where your family and friends gather to celebrate and give you gifts because you really did accomplish something great. You worked hard, you had success and failure (hopefully more of the former), and you finished. In life it seems that the times when you get gifts or people gather to celebrate, it's based in nothing. On your birthday you get gifts for your ability to continue to breathe, eat, and sleep on a consistent basis. On Christmas you get gifts for...? I'm actually not really sure why people give gifts on Christmas. I think America has something to do with this tradition based in consumerism--but I'm not complaining! Go America.
To all the 2010 graduates out there--congratulations on a job well done! It was and still is difficult to understand that I'm not a student anymore and my "job" isn't to study and fulfill a curriculum. But I think there is a trick to a graceful exit. Whether it be from a social event, a relationship, or a life phase. The ability to let things go with acceptance and appreciation is crucial to happiness. Try to believe that you are always movin' on up and what's to come will be worth the struggle. When you leave school it always important to remember why you went in the first place. For me, it was to learn. I know that if I set goals and challenge myself, my education will never stop (but my 8am classes will). I really do think that education is one of the key factors to success, and I hope that I never stop being a student, as I can learn from everyone and everything around me.
Side Note: Whatever happened to the throwing the caps in the air upon completion of the graduation ceremony?! That was, hands down, the best part of graduation from high school. I have a framed picture of all the caps in the air and I'll never get rid of it.
In summation: Don't use cliches in graduation speeches, keep the throwing-the-caps-in-the-air tradition alive and kickin', and whenever possible try to never be the first to arrive or the last to leave a party (unless of course you are throwing it--then you're just being rude!).
Graduation speeches from students really bum me out. It's hard to say what it is about them exactly, but I think they are a total let down because they never seem to elicit any desire in me to thereafter to go forth and conquer. In theory, it seems like these speeches should wrench your gut because these are your peers! They navigated the road with you for the past four years, took the same tests you did, and are now celebrating the same success you are. Unfortunately, however, it is more likely than not that they fall prey to the manufactured and shallow outlines that have plagued student speech-writiers for years. Usually there is a reference to skipping class (hello Muchas Gracias), parties (hello red keg cups), some top 40 song (hello Vitamin C's "Graduation" circa 2000), or the tried-and-true "Well, we FINALLY made it!" Though I can understand the temptation to use one of these graduation speech cliches, I just can't condone going there. Apologies to the 3 student graduation speakers I have witnessed at my commencements who shall remain nameless in the blogosphere--I'm sure you tried.
Bad/boring speeches aside, graduations are very exciting occasions. It's a day in your life where your family and friends gather to celebrate and give you gifts because you really did accomplish something great. You worked hard, you had success and failure (hopefully more of the former), and you finished. In life it seems that the times when you get gifts or people gather to celebrate, it's based in nothing. On your birthday you get gifts for your ability to continue to breathe, eat, and sleep on a consistent basis. On Christmas you get gifts for...? I'm actually not really sure why people give gifts on Christmas. I think America has something to do with this tradition based in consumerism--but I'm not complaining! Go America.
To all the 2010 graduates out there--congratulations on a job well done! It was and still is difficult to understand that I'm not a student anymore and my "job" isn't to study and fulfill a curriculum. But I think there is a trick to a graceful exit. Whether it be from a social event, a relationship, or a life phase. The ability to let things go with acceptance and appreciation is crucial to happiness. Try to believe that you are always movin' on up and what's to come will be worth the struggle. When you leave school it always important to remember why you went in the first place. For me, it was to learn. I know that if I set goals and challenge myself, my education will never stop (but my 8am classes will). I really do think that education is one of the key factors to success, and I hope that I never stop being a student, as I can learn from everyone and everything around me.
Side Note: Whatever happened to the throwing the caps in the air upon completion of the graduation ceremony?! That was, hands down, the best part of graduation from high school. I have a framed picture of all the caps in the air and I'll never get rid of it.
In summation: Don't use cliches in graduation speeches, keep the throwing-the-caps-in-the-air tradition alive and kickin', and whenever possible try to never be the first to arrive or the last to leave a party (unless of course you are throwing it--then you're just being rude!).
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Am I Going to be a Badass? Or Am I Going to be a Wimp?
There is a lot to be said for physical training. In order to achieve something like running a marathon—or in my case, running at ALL for that matter—the physical obviously ability is key factor. But it’s not everything. In my estimation, it’s probably half. I realize that I am not breaking new ground here. “Mind over matter” is an old adage, some might say it’s a cliché! Nevertheless, at week seven of running, I’m coming to the swift realization as I see the mileage go up that this is soon going to become as much of a mental game as it is a physical one (unless my body gives out completely, because I swear I feel 10 years older than I did seven weeks ago).
Let me explain a little further. It’s the days when I get home from work at 8:30pm, haven’t eaten dinner, and I still have a 40 minute run to finish—that’s the real training. It’s the days when it’s raining outside and I have no clean socks that are the real training. It’s getting out there and convincing myself that I actually want to go on a run. No program can train you to be tough mentally. Programs can put you in the right running shoes, tell you to only wear dry-fit clothing, and show you the most effective stretches. But they can’t be the voice in your head at like 22 of the race that says don’t quit!
So this is the question I have to ask myself everyday that I have to run: Are you going to be a strong, kick ass woman today? Or are you going to be a wimp today?
FYI – Phase Four is ALL about being a badass, hard-working, money-making, joke-cracking, difference-making, life-celebrating, grown woman. So let’s get on with it, shall we?
Let me explain a little further. It’s the days when I get home from work at 8:30pm, haven’t eaten dinner, and I still have a 40 minute run to finish—that’s the real training. It’s the days when it’s raining outside and I have no clean socks that are the real training. It’s getting out there and convincing myself that I actually want to go on a run. No program can train you to be tough mentally. Programs can put you in the right running shoes, tell you to only wear dry-fit clothing, and show you the most effective stretches. But they can’t be the voice in your head at like 22 of the race that says don’t quit!
So this is the question I have to ask myself everyday that I have to run: Are you going to be a strong, kick ass woman today? Or are you going to be a wimp today?
FYI – Phase Four is ALL about being a badass, hard-working, money-making, joke-cracking, difference-making, life-celebrating, grown woman. So let’s get on with it, shall we?
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Getting Portland Fit...Slowly.
Four weeks ago, I started training for a marathon through a training program called Portland Fit. Let me be clear: I thought I was training for a half-marathon. However, upon arrival and receiving our schedule for the next 27 weeks of our lives, the final run was indeed the Portland Marathon. I had a brief moment of hesitation where I seriously considered backing out of this crazy venture, but ultimately decided to ignore my weak/lazy side, and channel my inner-runner.
I was not born to run. No. It's not that I ever disliked running, but it was never an athletic activity I elected to do on a regular basis. I much prefer to get my exercise in other ways. As a result, I have some shall we say, confidence issues when it comes to running.
I have been at this now for 4 weeks. Every Saturday at 8am, hundreds of people gather on NW 21st and NW Raleigh to run together. Then we have individual runs 3 times a week. The first weekend we ran 3 miles as a "timed trial" to place us into running groups with people of our similar ability and speed. Going into this, I told one of the staff members that they could just put me in the slowest group and we could just forget the timed trial and go to brunch. (The staff person was not having my "sense of humor"). Over the weeks, I have found that my endurance is already improving and I am actually NOT has horrific of a runner as I thought! Slow. Yes. Horrible? No.
Every time I finish a run I'm slightly amazed I did it. Today we finished our 6 mile run and I am still giving myself a pat on the back.
I will keep the updates coming on my running adventure as they come!
I was not born to run. No. It's not that I ever disliked running, but it was never an athletic activity I elected to do on a regular basis. I much prefer to get my exercise in other ways. As a result, I have some shall we say, confidence issues when it comes to running.
I have been at this now for 4 weeks. Every Saturday at 8am, hundreds of people gather on NW 21st and NW Raleigh to run together. Then we have individual runs 3 times a week. The first weekend we ran 3 miles as a "timed trial" to place us into running groups with people of our similar ability and speed. Going into this, I told one of the staff members that they could just put me in the slowest group and we could just forget the timed trial and go to brunch. (The staff person was not having my "sense of humor"). Over the weeks, I have found that my endurance is already improving and I am actually NOT has horrific of a runner as I thought! Slow. Yes. Horrible? No.
Every time I finish a run I'm slightly amazed I did it. Today we finished our 6 mile run and I am still giving myself a pat on the back.
I will keep the updates coming on my running adventure as they come!
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Food Wars
Today I watched a show called "Food Wars" on the Travel Channel. This episode is hashing out with pizza war been Chicago's own deep dish pizza and New York's thin crust pizza. I have had both in both cities and I have to say that I am a fan of Chicago's deep dish. I love carbs, whether they are simple or complex--they are just good. Therefore deep dish this really feeds in to what I love. However, the gigantic slices of NYC's pizza is also to die for. Any one want to weigh in one the thin-crust vs. deep dish debate?
Apparently there was a Food Wars marathon on today because after the pizza episode was a barbecue episode. Little known fact--barbecue is the ONLY real American food. It originated in the South and the four "homes of barbecue," which are North Carolina, Texas, Memphis, TN., and Kansas City, Missouri. Who knew? I for one am not a HUGE fan of barbecue, but I do understand the appeal. Some ribs smothered in sauce with a side o' baked beans and a greasy roll? Mmmmm delish.
One last note: I think Inglorious Basterds will win Best Picture. I'm just going to put that out there now. It was a kick ass movie.
Apparently there was a Food Wars marathon on today because after the pizza episode was a barbecue episode. Little known fact--barbecue is the ONLY real American food. It originated in the South and the four "homes of barbecue," which are North Carolina, Texas, Memphis, TN., and Kansas City, Missouri. Who knew? I for one am not a HUGE fan of barbecue, but I do understand the appeal. Some ribs smothered in sauce with a side o' baked beans and a greasy roll? Mmmmm delish.
One last note: I think Inglorious Basterds will win Best Picture. I'm just going to put that out there now. It was a kick ass movie.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
One is NOT the Loneliest Number--So Happy B-Day Oregon!
I realize that I have been a complete and total slacker in the blog-posting area of my life. I would first like to apologize to my sister, Celia, who apparently checks this blog quite often and has been let down numerous times in the last month as a result of my lack of posts. Celia, I'm sorry and will try to post more!!
Valentine's Day is tomorrow. Historically, I have had rather mediocre Valentine's Days. One or two romantic ones, but for the most part February 14th has stood for Oregon's birthday more than the day celebrating Saint Valentine AKA the Patron Saint of Love. In fact, the best Valentine's Day I ever remember was in 3rd grade. During my elementary years we would all get to make Valentine's Day mail boxes and every student would give valentine's to everyone else. What an ego boost it was to have 20-25 valentines day cards--my mail box filled to the brim, almost overflowing with good tidings from my fellow classmates. I couldn't wait to get home and read all the valentines that my classmates dropped in my box. I would walk around my house with my chest all puffed up, toting my plethora of valentines. These were the BEST of days. I think that this is an activity that should be brought to the working world. Though I'm not sure if my office would be on board. As a got older, my teachers stopped setting aside class time to make valentines mailboxes, which came as a real blow to my fragile pre-pubescent ego.
No matter my relationship status or age over the years, however, there is a man that has always come through for me. And no, his name is not Ben nor is it Jerry. That man is my father, Mike Batlan (he just got a Facebook so please add him as a friend). In college he would send flowers each year. I would get called to the Administrative Services office in Melrose Hall and be presented with a display of flowers. It was a true thrill for a girl as I would carry them across campus back to my dorm room. Girls would ask: "Libby, who sent you flowers?!" and I would say cryptically "Oh ya know, my Dad!" I would see their faces fall as they realized there was no magic love story happening here. Nevertheless, I very much appreciated the flowers. Clearly, Mike has set an major precedent for himself. This year, if flowers are not delivered to my apartment, I will understand, but will be disappointed of course. Please check back to find out how this situation ends. Dad, if you read this, no pressure or anything! (But seriously, Pops, send some flowers my way).
This year, I am as single as a girl could be. And I am not bitter nor upset about it. I don't believe in throwing an "I Hate Valentine's Day" party or bemoaning my lack of roses and or chocolates. Instead, I look forward to watching some Olympic figure skating and possibly doing a much needed load of laundry. Super stoked about it. So suck it Hallmark and your greeting card holiday. Wait--I'm not bitter so I take that comment back.
A fact that many people forget is that February 14th is Oregon's birthday. This year, our good old state will be turning 151 years old and still going strong. Oregon looks good for her age, though this year may be the year for some Botox. A girl needs some help after a sesquicentennial.
Also, I'd like to note that Winter Olympics 2010 began last night!!! I freak yeah love the Olympics and I am watching some downhill skiing as we speak. Can't wait to watch everything over the next two weeks. GO USA!
Valentine's Day is tomorrow. Historically, I have had rather mediocre Valentine's Days. One or two romantic ones, but for the most part February 14th has stood for Oregon's birthday more than the day celebrating Saint Valentine AKA the Patron Saint of Love. In fact, the best Valentine's Day I ever remember was in 3rd grade. During my elementary years we would all get to make Valentine's Day mail boxes and every student would give valentine's to everyone else. What an ego boost it was to have 20-25 valentines day cards--my mail box filled to the brim, almost overflowing with good tidings from my fellow classmates. I couldn't wait to get home and read all the valentines that my classmates dropped in my box. I would walk around my house with my chest all puffed up, toting my plethora of valentines. These were the BEST of days. I think that this is an activity that should be brought to the working world. Though I'm not sure if my office would be on board. As a got older, my teachers stopped setting aside class time to make valentines mailboxes, which came as a real blow to my fragile pre-pubescent ego.
No matter my relationship status or age over the years, however, there is a man that has always come through for me. And no, his name is not Ben nor is it Jerry. That man is my father, Mike Batlan (he just got a Facebook so please add him as a friend). In college he would send flowers each year. I would get called to the Administrative Services office in Melrose Hall and be presented with a display of flowers. It was a true thrill for a girl as I would carry them across campus back to my dorm room. Girls would ask: "Libby, who sent you flowers?!" and I would say cryptically "Oh ya know, my Dad!" I would see their faces fall as they realized there was no magic love story happening here. Nevertheless, I very much appreciated the flowers. Clearly, Mike has set an major precedent for himself. This year, if flowers are not delivered to my apartment, I will understand, but will be disappointed of course. Please check back to find out how this situation ends. Dad, if you read this, no pressure or anything! (But seriously, Pops, send some flowers my way).
This year, I am as single as a girl could be. And I am not bitter nor upset about it. I don't believe in throwing an "I Hate Valentine's Day" party or bemoaning my lack of roses and or chocolates. Instead, I look forward to watching some Olympic figure skating and possibly doing a much needed load of laundry. Super stoked about it. So suck it Hallmark and your greeting card holiday. Wait--I'm not bitter so I take that comment back.
A fact that many people forget is that February 14th is Oregon's birthday. This year, our good old state will be turning 151 years old and still going strong. Oregon looks good for her age, though this year may be the year for some Botox. A girl needs some help after a sesquicentennial.
Also, I'd like to note that Winter Olympics 2010 began last night!!! I freak yeah love the Olympics and I am watching some downhill skiing as we speak. Can't wait to watch everything over the next two weeks. GO USA!
Thursday, January 14, 2010
News Ain't So Bright Today
Two things I need to discuss today.
1) My heart, well-wishes, and support goes to everyone both in Haiti, in this country, and everyone elsewhere in the world who have been affected by this tragic earthquake. Reports are now saying that more than half a million people have been lost or died in this awful quake. Events like this one make me want to quit my job and go help with the relief effort. I know that going to New Orleans and Honduras to help build and re-build homes for those who have been touched with tradegy were two of the best things I have ever done in my life. I have no doubt that going somewhere that needs immediate help would be life-changing, and I applaud everyone who is helping out by phsically going there, or giving financially to the efforts. It always seems that these natural disasters happen in the most impovershed places where the people and infrastructure are inequipped to handle it. It is so unfair. I encourage everyone to help in any way you can. Non-profits (as well as our federal government) around the world are rushing to support and encourage the relief efforts in Haiti.
How You Can Make a Difference:
American Red Cross, Oregon Pacific Chapter
Go to: http://oregonpacific.redcross.org/ or call 1-800-RED-CROSS. To donate via mobile texting text “HAITI” to “90999” and a donation of $10 will be given to the Red Cross to help with relief efforts. The Red Cross is not accepting donations of clothing or food due to transportation limitations.
Archdiocese of Portland
Go to www.archdpdx.org for Haiti Earthquake Relief or mail a check to Catholic Relief Services, 228 W. Lexington St., Baltimore Md. and specify “Haiti Relief.”
Mercy Corps
Mercy Corps Haiti Earthquake Fund, Dept NR, PO Box 2669, Portland OR 97208, 1-888-256-1900.
Holt International
Medical Teams International
Medical Teams International. P.O. Box 10, Portland, OR 97207. Or call 800-959-4325.
2) You may or may not know of my love of New York City. I find it magical and wonderful, I love the subway and the energy. I've visited a few times, but obviously have never lived here. However, I aspire to call it my home, even if for a little while, if I ever have the opportunity in my life. Tavern on the Green is a landmark there--and it is CLOSING. So sad, this historic NYC restaurant next to Central Park will be no more. I don't remember what the food tasted like or how the service was, but whenever I see white twinkle lights in trees it always reminds me of Tavern on the Green and my wonderful memories of exploring New York. Wonder what will go in it's place...probably a California Pizza Kitchen.
Signing off.
1) My heart, well-wishes, and support goes to everyone both in Haiti, in this country, and everyone elsewhere in the world who have been affected by this tragic earthquake. Reports are now saying that more than half a million people have been lost or died in this awful quake. Events like this one make me want to quit my job and go help with the relief effort. I know that going to New Orleans and Honduras to help build and re-build homes for those who have been touched with tradegy were two of the best things I have ever done in my life. I have no doubt that going somewhere that needs immediate help would be life-changing, and I applaud everyone who is helping out by phsically going there, or giving financially to the efforts. It always seems that these natural disasters happen in the most impovershed places where the people and infrastructure are inequipped to handle it. It is so unfair. I encourage everyone to help in any way you can. Non-profits (as well as our federal government) around the world are rushing to support and encourage the relief efforts in Haiti.
How You Can Make a Difference:
American Red Cross, Oregon Pacific Chapter
Go to: http://oregonpacific.redcross.org/ or call 1-800-RED-CROSS. To donate via mobile texting text “HAITI” to “90999” and a donation of $10 will be given to the Red Cross to help with relief efforts. The Red Cross is not accepting donations of clothing or food due to transportation limitations.
Archdiocese of Portland
Go to www.archdpdx.org for Haiti Earthquake Relief or mail a check to Catholic Relief Services, 228 W. Lexington St., Baltimore Md. and specify “Haiti Relief.”
Mercy Corps
Mercy Corps Haiti Earthquake Fund, Dept NR, PO Box 2669, Portland OR 97208, 1-888-256-1900.
Holt International
Medical Teams International
Medical Teams International. P.O. Box 10, Portland, OR 97207. Or call 800-959-4325.
2) You may or may not know of my love of New York City. I find it magical and wonderful, I love the subway and the energy. I've visited a few times, but obviously have never lived here. However, I aspire to call it my home, even if for a little while, if I ever have the opportunity in my life. Tavern on the Green is a landmark there--and it is CLOSING. So sad, this historic NYC restaurant next to Central Park will be no more. I don't remember what the food tasted like or how the service was, but whenever I see white twinkle lights in trees it always reminds me of Tavern on the Green and my wonderful memories of exploring New York. Wonder what will go in it's place...probably a California Pizza Kitchen.
Signing off.
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