Vote.

"Throw dirt on me/ and grow a wildflower" ~ Lil Wayne.

I'm crushed this day after election day.  My I Voted sticker is on my bathroom counter, sad and losing its glue.  I won't go too much into politics here issue by issue, but I can say, with unequivocal disgust, what an embarrassment it is that only 25% of people in Arizona voted in this election. 

I walked into my house last night, weary from 3.5 hours of sleep due to writing an American Romanticim paper until 4am, waking up at 7:15am to finish up a fiction piece for my Literary Magazines class, left my house by 8am to drive 45 minutes away to vote in my district, then drove back to work an 8 hour day.  I walked through my house door with my work clothes heavy on my skin but my I Voted sticker grinning from my shirt.  

My roommates were sitting together on the couches peering at me like cheap entertainment as I walked up the stairs into the living room.  "You voted?" one of my roommates asked me incredulous.  "Of course I did," I said sharply.  "Why?" he continued in a sarcastic voice to the amusement of the crowd of my roommates.  "Because it's important," I answered matter-of-factly. "To who?" "To me," I answered simply.

I was getting annoyed.   Another one of my roommates said that voting doesn't matter since so many of the issues win by huge majorities.  "Sure," I said, "sometimes some issues are pretty fixed, but not always.  Sometimes it comes down to the wire and every vote does matters."  There was grumbling among things and more snide remarks, but the cynicism wasn't boding well with my sleep-deprived body.  "I'm glad that I voted.  I'm proud of myself."  I walked up the stairs without bothering with anyone's counter-remarks.

An issue everyone in the house cared about lost by 5,500 votes.  Every vote mattered.  Every vote counted.

Christian Louboutin: our post-grad plan

On a stylish and blistering hot summer night ten fabulous college friends roamed the ritzy streets of Scottsdale, Arizona in beautiful non-designer heels.  

Drunkenly swaying down the sidewalk from one jumping club to the next, plans of post-college came up in conversation once more.  Though unlike most conversations of late it did not revolve around law school, grad school, or Hollywood, but instead a more more appealing form of a diploma: Christian Louboutin shoes.

His shoes are recognizable by mere glances, with his signature shoe being a sleek black stiletto with the bold and naughty red underbelly. In the latest issue of Vogue, Oscar winner Marion Cotillard has a five-page spread featuring classy fashion, stunning locations, all while wearing the same pair of gorgeous black ruffled Christian Louboutin pumps.  One pair is all a girl really needs.  Or can afford for that matter.  They run between $700-900 a pair.  Hell, even knock-offs are $200.

photo credit goes to Vogue Magazine  

As we walked along the streets of Scottsdale my roommate Sarah and I sighed in want of such a pair.  My Friend In The Purple Dress is equally smitten with shoes, though "No one would ever guess that," she said.  Looking at my own closet I know exactly what she means by that.

We're the generation of girls post-Sex and the City, and entrenched in current hipster fashion.  We've grown up these past few years loving the high fashion of Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte, but we can only afford Target and Urban Outfitters.  Furthermore what's hot these days are multiple layers of clothes, vests, hats, muted tones, lots of stripes, and flip-flops with skinny pants.  I love the look, personally, but I do know that someday my flip-flops are going to graduate into heels.

This is where Christian Louboutin fits in.  As Sarah put it, she'll know she has arrived in life when she can wear her very own pair--and not give up eating for 3 months to pay for them.  Will we ever get that point?  Maybe.  But even if we don't, for now, in our final year of college, as we flip through texts books, check books, and Cosmo, it sure is fun to dream.

*all photos in this blog entry are credit of Christian Louboutin and Vouge Magazine

22 songs for Summer

22 songs of summer 2010

Whether it’s road-tripping or skinny-dipping, summer deserves a soundtrack for the fun and the scandals.  Here are my current 22 favorite songs playing on repeat on my iPod.

1. Break Your Heart -- Taio Cruz feat. Ludacris
2. Rock That Body  -- Black Eyed Peas
3. California Gurls – Katy Perry feat. Snoop Dogg
4. Shots – LMAO feat. Lil Wayne
5. Get Buck In Here –DJ Felli feat. Akon
6. The Wolf – Black Carl
7. California Love – Tupac
8. When You Were Young – The Killers
9. Terrible Things – April Smith and the Great Picture Show
10. Winner – Justin Timberlake feat. Jamie Foxx
11. Fantasy Girl – Baby Bash
12. Not Myself Tonight – Christina Aguilera
13. P.I.M..P. – 50 Cent feat. Snoop Dogg
14. Eenie Meenie – Sean Kingston
15. Breakeven – The Script
16. Kids (Pet Shop Boys Synthpop Mix) – MGMT
17. Billionaire – Travie McCoy
18. McFearless – Kings of Leon
19. Gold Digger – Kayne West feat. Jamie Foxx
20. Jamming – Bob Marley
21. What Part Of Forever – Cee Lo Green
22. Chop and Change – The Black Keys

22 books to read before I'm 23

Here's a little secret: English Literature majors hate reading.  Let me re-phrase that a sentence a bit better.  English Literature majors, between the hours of 1am and 5am when caffeine is winning over their sleep cycles and, in trepidation for the essay to come, are struggling to finish yet another chapter of Moby Dick, or re-reading Paradise Lost and A Midsummer's Night Dream for the upteenth time, or trying to figure out what the hell Faulkner is yapping about, is when they hate the required reading canon the most because it burns them out of their desire to read and more or less dissipates the pleasure right out of reading.  There is a cure for this: summer vacation.

We English Lit students absolutely love vacation because it allots the time to finally read books we want to read, versus are graded to read.  Over the past few months I've once again acquired stacks of unread books sitting on my desk like mountain peaks, and I've been itching to read them all at last.  So here's my latest 22 List:

22 Books to Read Before I'm 23

1. Into Thin Air  -- Jon Krakauer  (7/2/2010)
2. Eating The Dinosaur-- Chuck Klosterman (7/19/2010)
3. Are You There, Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea -- Chelsea Handler 
4. Food Rules --Michael Pollen 
5. Their Eyes Were Watching God -- Zora Neale Hurston
6. Oil --Upton Sinclair
7. A Walk In The Woods -- Bill Bryson 
8. Monkeyluv: And Other Essays About Our Lives as Animals -- Dr. Robert M. Sapolsky
9. The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake --Aimee Bender  
10. This Is Your Brain On Music -- Daniel Levitin
11. The Great Gatsby -- F. Scott Fitzgerald [technically I've read this before, but it's been awhile]
12. War --Sebastian Junger
13. Saturday Night --Susan Orlean 
14. Cannery Row-- John Steinbeck
15. Publish This Book -- Stephen Markley
16. some sort of J.K. Rowling/Stephanie Myer book.  Fun and breezy but wholly addicting
17. Fargo Rock City -- Chuck Klosterman
18. Rip Van Winkle -- Washington Irving
19. a book of poetry by a poet I haven't read before.  Preferable born in the last 100 years
20. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies -- Seth Grahame-Smith
21. a history book of some kind.
22. Zen and Motorcycle Maintenance -- Neenah Ellis

Wish me luck!  And check back periodically, for I'll be crossing off the books as I finish them.

*this list is a part of the on-going serial: The 22 Series

22 Party Tips

Time to party, eh?  Love it.  As I’ve attended a party school for college I’ve been lucky enough to enjoy my share of parties as well as host several myself.  Yes, all parties are different with various vibes and tribes but I do think that there are some essential party tips for any occasion, whether that’s a huge blow-out or a sporadic kick-back.  So here are my 22 Party Tips!

1.) stocked toilet paper.  When I mentioned this one to my girls they exclaimed “Yes!  Oh my god, it’s so damn annoying when there isn’t tp.”  When I mentioned this to my guys they said “I’ve never noticed”.  Fellas, if you’re hosting a party, us girls WILL notice.  Thank you.

2.) set your alarm for 11:50pm.  Cops and noise violations come knocking at midnight.

3.) music.  I know I know, this one seems pretty obvious but the main focus should not be that music is playing but that the music accurately reflects the mood of the event.  Hip-hop may be perfect for a dance party but not exactly the tone for a tea and scones party.  This should be obvious, but hey, it’s a biggie.  I’d also advice to start a playlist with current music, then a fan favorite every 10 songs or so such as popular songs from back in the day like “Hot In Herre” by Nelly, and don’t forget to add some of your off-beats favorites in the mix every 15ish songs or so like Black Carl’s “The Wolf”.

4.) ping pong balls.  While you’re buying the booze don’t forget the trademark plastic red cups and a few ping pong balls.

5.) the triangle method.  Almost everyone comes to parties in groups. Now, in a perfect world everyone would want to come to every party but occasional if there’s a group of say, 3, there could be that 1 person who doesn’t want to go and can then influence the other 2 to not attend.  Thus instead of getting 3 extra people at your party you have 0.  That’s where the triangle method comes in.  The triangle method if you’re a party-goer: if you want to go say you want to go, convince at least one other friend to confirm going with you, then have the two of you convince the skeptic third, creating a triangle of influence.  If you’re a host: If you have two friends you want to come but they’re on the fence about it tell person #1 that person #2 is going and tell person #2 that person #1 is going and thus you act as one end of the triangle to get those other two to attend.

6.) lie about start time.  For a large party tell people it starts at 9pm if you want your first guests to arrive at

On being 22

 

Today I walked away from the sea.  Today I walked up my street past houses I’ve never seen, running my fingertips along fences I’ve never touched.  I’ll be living in San Diego for the next couple of weeks in a part of town that smells of ocean salt and smoke.  My boyfriend of 3 ½ years lives here and every month I drive the 350+ miles to the edge of the coast to see him for a weekend and once a month he drives to the middle of the desert to see me.  I made the rash decision to live here again this summer and leave behind work and possible internships to enjoy time at the sand and my boyfriend’s skin.  But today I am in a contemplative mood. As I walked down the street today past those houses I’ve never seen, running my fingertips along those fences I’ve never touched I thought of what it meant to be 22 and living a life I could have never expected.
 

I suppose that what’s most striking about this age thus far is how nonchalant it crept up and has lingered into a state of being.  For every birthday since I was…forever I’ve either been tremendously excited (13, 16, 17, 18, 20, 21) or annoyed (14, 15, 19), but this is the first year I’ve been oddly neutral.  

What 22 means to me as a concept

I think of 20, 21, and 22 as the “baby twenties”, as in, old enough to cool and trendy but young enough to still get away with shit.  At 23, I don’t know, I just see it as a number where one should have at least some idea of what they want to do or, at the bare minimum, have the balls to be who are even if they don’t have a clue yet.  A 23 year-old is someone is a little life on their bones and

The sacred art of eating a pop-tart

So it's a little past 3:16am and I'm enjoying a cherry pop-tart with some milk while listening to DJ Diplo techno, and it has me thinking: does everyone have a "method" while eating a pop-tart?

I always start at the bottom, nibbling on the toasted flat edge.  From there I try to scrape the bottom jelly part with my teeth to leave the frosted top part untouched.  Usually I can only do this sections, but I think crunching into the top sans the jelly is a lot sweeter of a treat then the bottom.  Next I bite into the edges of the rectangle, which is a nice break from the frosting and center.   Last is the top edge with the cherry frosting coasting it, which is the absolute best part of a pop-tart.

I've eaten pop-tarts this way for as long as I remember though it wasn't until 3:22am a little bit ago that I realized that this is probably coo-coo.  Goodnight, folks.

FINALS. Yes. Those pesky things.

My pen scratches my paper in a flurry as I try to remember at least one more example of Gary Soto's moral evolution in his semi-autobiography Living Up The Street.  I pick out a few quotes from the chapter "Being Stupid" as Professor Sanchez types on the projector 11:00am, 40 minutes to go.


This is my first final of the morning, with a 8-page paper analyzing the approach to the environment in Jane Austen's Persuasion behind me, and 2 finals, 1 paper, and a 16-page research paper ahead of me.  Yeah.  I'm freaking the fuck out.

Finals time.  Actually, to honest, I rather love this time of year.  It's the only time, aside from midterms, where the whole university is a collective unit in what we're about to endeavor (well, aside from Undie Run season).  No matter what major they are, it's the only time of year where everyone is talking about the same subject, and one second you can pass by student sitting on a bench with her laptop looking resigned and terrified then a second later see someone else hop out of their classroom with elated joy.  It's also a collectively acceptable time to be bitchy (or a dick) to just about everyone because hey, you have finals. So fuck you, latte that took too long to make!  fuck you, printer for breaking exactly when I need you!  fuck you, AT&T for dropping my calls in the parking garage!  and there!  I have finals, I'm allowed.  So go out there and be mean in the spirit of stress!  

(laughs)  Anyway in case you're curious, I finished that Chicano Lit final at 11:03 and raced out of class to the computer lab to print out my 8-page critical analysis of the restaurant review as a form.  Then it was off to my Environment and Literature class which I more or less have despised since the inspection of the semester.  I didn't do half the reading for the final, but trust me, I bullshitting my way to an A.  All of the passage selections I had read in class and I can pump out two hand-written essays in less an than hour is need be.  That 16-page paper about Frankenstein and the Marxian theory of "the alienation of labor"?  Not so much.   

But alas, it is done.  I have written papers, I have taken finals, I have been mean.  And now, I am free.  Well, until summer classes...


Good luck with finals to those still facing them!