Google Is For Kittens

Being born in 1994, I always considered myself a kid of the nineties.

Until of course the "you're not a true 90s kid if" posts came out. Trying to jog memories about a television show or a hairstyle that was so hip when you were four is a little hard to do.

Apparently those six years of my life don't really count.

So, according to the internet, not a true nineties kid. Whatever. Not the point.

The point is that I'm enough of a nineties kid to be able to say that I was born into the generation with technology.

I'm down.

I've got the 4-1-1.

I grew up with all of this tech-y shit and, like most of my generation, I fucking love it.

No denial that dictionary.com has turned me off of ever using a real dictionary again, and if I like you enough I may even admit that thesaurus.com is on my chrome homepage as one of my eight most visited sites.

We can all agree, why use paper and time when instead you can just type in what you want and find it in a matter of seconds?

But I have bad news.

I think the people who create all of these super easy, convenient websites and apps are onto us, folks.

They are probably aware that even though I downloaded the quick Google search app onto my iPhone, its primary use has become to look up pictures of cats.

Using Google for facts? What? Fuck that.

I much prefer to lay in bed for two hours in the morning running my phone battery down on the "kittens" tag.

And they totally know it.

I saw a movie today and one of the previews tried to sell smartphones by saying that they are a constant learning tool.

They actually expected parents to believe that if they bought their kids a smartphone, the majority of their time on it would be spent looking up history facts or teaching themselves how to better solve an algebra equation.

How dumb can they be. I mean really.

Of course their kid isn't going to use their smartphone to actually make themselves smarter.

They're going to do what any normal person would do and use the super accurate touchscreen technology to text their friends a lot instead of going outside, and then melt their brain to mush playing candy crush.

But the best part about it was that the people who thought up the ad probably did it because they were fucking bored and appalled by how little people actually care about what they're using the internet for.

Come on, you guys.

We're actually boring the internet.

We're all sitting on our asses in the middle of the day looking at gifs of people hitting their faces on various objects, and the internet is just sitting there like "Guys, come on. I was meant for more than this."

Even the new twitter update is bored by us.

Twitter, the most boring and pointless social media out there, and even it is bored.

Don't get me wrong, I fucking love twitter. And I will not hate on you for using any form of social media because honestly, after spending as many hours looking at my Tumblr dash and mindlessly refreshing my Facebook feed as I have, there is absolutely no room for me to judge.

But seriously, if the new update has to add a highlights tab and change the background color on some "important" tweets to try and get you to stop swinging your thumb like a monkey and actually fucking read for once, something's wrong.

If somebody had told the internet when it was first born and still in its swaddling clothes with a colored bow on its forehead so that everyone would know what gender it was that when it grew up it would be no better than television, it would have cried.

And not just because it's a baby.

(And before you ask, no, I don't know what gender the internet is. I'm going to go with a girl. Because it's always right.)

At least TV has the excuse that it's supposed to be at least a little bit mind-numbing. A few channels excepted, it's meant for entertainment, not education.

With all of the commercials and shit that you have to sit through to make it through a single program anyway, television is the ultimate multitasker. There's almost no way you can watch it without at least periodically doing something else.

The internet wasn't supposed to be like that.

It's a tool.

Not like one of those guys who backs their car into the parking spot. Like a mouse-ka-tool.

You guys. The internet is the mystery mouse-ka-tool.

(If you don't get that reference, you're too old. Go home.)

((Or maybe I should just stop watching kids shows.))

(((Hey. I'm not judging you for your social media, so don't judge me.)))

And right now the internet's crying because it has seen too many pictures of cats and not nearly enough intelligent usage.

It is full of words, and information, and things other than memes that stopped being funny six months ago.

I dare you to get off your ass and scrounge up at least a shred of a fuck to pretend to give about the real importance of the internet.

I double dare you.

I triple dog dare you.

Because when we're so boring that we make the internet think we're too apathetic, we have to start admitting that there's a problem.

This Flavor Not Tested On Animals

I was unwrapping a bag of caramels in my pajamas-and-glasses bakery this morning when I noticed a note on the bottom of the bag: artificially flavored.

Vanilla caramels.

Artificially flavored.

Why?

Does it not seem easy enough to just flavor them with actual vanilla? I've made caramel before, and it's not like there are that many ingredients.

I may not be well versed in the chemical market, but it seems like much more work to come up with an artificial flavoring that tastes like vanilla than to just buy a bottle of real vanilla.

There would have to be multiple tries, of course, multiple rounds of tests and alterations, and it probably took weeks (if not months) for the company to come up with just the right artificial semblance of the flavor that they could have had from the beginning if they just used the real stuff.

I mean, this judgment may be a little harsh, because it is coming from a person who won't even be happy using the store brand vanilla; I would much rather buy Penzeys vanilla made from Madagascan beans because, to me, the flavor is worth the cost.

But still.

Harsh or not, you can't deny that the concept of creating a flavor that already exists is more than a little ridiculous.

Beside the fact that it takes much more time to artificially manufacture something instead of just using the real product, I also can't imagine that it really costs that much less.

But you know, these are corporations. They're all about saving the pennies and dimes so they can give their CEOs million dollar bonuses at the end of the year.

And, with the growing amount of things that aren't flavored with anything meant to be edible, they can now feel super special when they actually sell a naturally flavored product!

Just walking through the grocery store, it's hard not to notice how fucking proud they are of that.

Check out this breakfast sandwich, made with REAL CHEESE!!

"Seriously? Real cheese? OH MY GOD, I DIDN'T KNOW THAT EXISTED ANY MORE! THANK YOU, FROZEN FOOD GODS, FOR PROVIDING ME WITH REAL FOOD THAT IS MEANT TO BE INGESTED! YOU'RE LIKE JESUS, ONLY BETTER!"

...is definitely not what I say.

Because if real cheese was such a revelation, I wouldn't be able to walk over to the deli and buy myself a pound of it for five fucking dollars.

Yet people continue buying things that are made with nothing real, and paying more for things that act special and hike up their price because of their "REAL!" ingredients.

And we wonder why America's fat.

Keep Those Expectations Low

The day is young, the hour is not yet 10:00, yet already I have learned an important lesson today:

Don't be nice to people.

Be an asshole instead, and your life will be so much easier.

Because if you go out of your way to be nice to people, those people will end up fucking with your plans (which were basically selfish asshole plans anyway), and then you will have to end up being an asshole just so you can stick to plans that were already going to make you an asshole.

See? It's totally circular.

So I figure, if you just plan on being an asshole to begin with, then nobody will expect you to be nice at any point in the process, meaning that you can just be an asshole all of the time and nobody will really mind!

I'm telling you, it's genius.

Plus, I don't really like being nice to people solely because of that stupid "internal struggle" motif, so I figure that if I'm just always an asshole, then people won't bother to expect me not to be an asshole, which means that I win extra brownie points when I'm nice, but at the same time I have fewer people that actually hang around me and expect me to be nice. It's a win-win-win.

Or maybe just a win... I don't know. I think I'm really the only one coming out on top in this situation.

But that's okay with me.

Because remember? I'm an asshole. So I don't care.

Also, it can't be that bad of a philosophy, because I swear the universe taught it to me. Every time I'm nice because I'm aware that it makes me a good person, I end up having to be a bad person at some point anyway. And my brother agrees with me, so that says something, right?

You bet it does.

It says that now there are TWO assholes to look out for. Told you it was brilliant.

Toe Tag on a Shoe

I want to write a real post soon so that the million and a half people who read my last really depressing one (seriously, what the hell guys) don't just think that I'm a total buzz-kill who sucks a lot.

Because I'm not. Usually.

But, alas, I didn't.

So instead, here's a poem that I wrote a bit ago but haven't shared yet.


Toe Tag on a Shoe

One of these days

I’m going to write a calling card

And tattoo it on the bottom

of my foot:

If found please return

To another time

(Maybe another place

if you can find one

better)

So when I’m found

With my head in my arms

Warm blood turning thick

in my sluggish veins

Some kind soul

can revive me

with my own instructions.

Only the Nice Stuff

So, thought I would give you a little clarification about yesterday's post.

Because it was a little formal for me.

And coherent.

And not swear-y.

I'm in a newswriting and reporting class, and we write articles every week, and one of the people who let me interview them wanted to read that one. So I put it on here.

I thought it was pretty good, but I'm glad none of you guys said anything about it.

Because I think that all of the articles I've turned in were pretty good.

But them sometimes I get them back and I want to curl up under a little blanket and stay there for the rest of forever.

And the one that I liked the least was the one that got the best grade. What the hell.

They're not bad grades... I've never gotten lower than a B+, but I mean come on, you're talking to a girl who's disappointed by a 3.98 GPA.

I know that writing is all about editing, and feedback is great, and the only way to learn to be a better writer is to critique and correct yourself constantly.

And if a professor corrects things but still writes "nice job" at the top of your paper, it means you didn't fail.

And as long as your writing doesn't sound like a four year-old wrote it and then sent it through a wood chopper, you're doing just fine.

But I am now officially depressed over a B+, because yes, that is how pathetic I am.

Somebody bring me a blanket and some hot chocolate. Please.

Thinking about it, no wonder so many authors become alcoholics or are chronically depressed or stick their heads in the oven. In writing, you either think that you're brilliant or a fucking idiot. There is no in between.

And it's possible to think both about the same piece of writing. Best case scenario, you write something thinking it's abominable and it receives surprisingly good feedback, at which point you re-read it and realize it's quite good.

More common case?

You write something you think is awesome, and it comes back to you with so much red pen that the paper is basically bleeding out any semblance of life it once held, and you have to try and edit this limp piece of nothing into something you're proud of again which, let me tell you, will never happen. It's impossible. 

You hate it now, and you will hate it forever, and you are doomed to hate hate hate because you now think that this is an idiotic piece of writing done by an idiotic writer and that idiotic writer is you. Congratulations.

So to get to the point of this incredibly self-deprecating post, thank you all for just reading my writing and not saying anything about it, because sometimes I just need to stay in my happy little bubble of thinking that I'm talented and if you fucking burst it I will kill you.

...did I mention I'm a little depressed?

Anyone who wants to pat me on the head and tell me I'm a pretty little princess is welcome. I'll be under my blanket.

Boston: One Giant Unknown

               The 19 year-old college student who seemed like a gentleman clearly was not, a fact that became terrifyingly apparent after he and his 26 year-old brother set off two bombs at the finish line of the Boston Marathon last Monday, killing at least 3 and wounding over 150 others. The men acted alone, attacking civilians at a non-partisan event, and leaving many to ask the simple but as yet unanswerable question: Why?

                From two men who lived in the United States for the past five years and raised no red flags during their time, the city of Boston has suffered a tremendous amount of terror this week. And the fear didn’t stay confined within the city’s walls, either; people all across the country with ties to Boston spent the week anxiously waiting to hear that their friends and loved ones were finally safe. “The one thing I wanted all week was just to be home, to be with my parents and to be able to see my friends if I wanted to,” said PJ Fallon, a student at the University of Denver who spent most of his childhood in Boston, and still has many friends that live and attend school in the area. “[I wanted to] not have to watch from 2,000 miles away, watching them going through the most traumatic experience probably of their life right now,” he said.

                When the bombs went off on Monday, the general reaction was one of shock and an immediate need to reconnect with friends and loved ones in or around the race. Spectators and runners scrambled to find each other in the confusion, and loved ones from outside the city were frantically trying to get in touch with those inside of it. “I basically contacted everyone I knew in Boston just being like ‘Are you alive? Really, are you alive, are you safe, what’s going on?’” said Fallon. He was lucky enough to be able to answer ‘yes’ to all of those questions for his friends, but many were not so fortunate. “All I can say is that I love you, and that I’m sorry that everything is going on,” he told a friend in the area who was having difficulty locating the people he knew at the race.

Another Boston native living outside of the city, Melissa Wesenberg also felt the terrors of Monday from her home in North Carolina. “Monday was a very scary day,” Wesenberg said. “I had a lot of friends and family that were running in the marathon. I had one friend whose family was waiting at the finish line for him. Ten minutes prior to the bombs going off, his youngest son had to go to the bathroom. His mom was very mad at him, but now looking back his son might have saved all their lives by having to go to the bathroom.”

                As the events picked back up again with gun exchanges between the suspects and police on both the MIT campus and in Watertown Thursday night, Boston residents reached out for one another once more. Fallon recalled being out with friends when the dramatic events began, and “[going] from total happiness to scared, again, scared out of my mind” in an instant as he heard from friends that were on lockdown five minutes away from the shooting area.

                One thing can be said for Boston residents, though: no matter how little they knew or how scared they were, they never failed to pull together. “I have always been proud of being from Boston, and this past week just made that feeling stronger,” Wesenberg said. “Watching the way the people of Boston responded to this was amazing.” A notoriously strong city, Boston showed the world this week what love in the face of a crisis truly is. “I’m not a religious man,” said Fallon. “But I prayed more this week than I think I have in a year.”

                Memorials for the victims have been held all week, with mourners placing flowers and tokens at the site and churches in the area holding special services. The London Marathon held on Sunday hosted a record number of spectators, many with signs and banners showing their support for the victims Boston. A heartwarming national anthem was sung by players and fans at a Bruins hockey game, and fans of Boston’s opposing teams have brought signs showing their support for their rival city. And Boston residents themselves have shown that despite this attack, they will remain their new slogan – Boston Strong. “I have fond memories of going to the marathon with my family,” Wesenberg said. “I have no doubt that Boston will recover from this and come back stronger.”

Writing Makes Me Pretentious

The other day I read a paper about an interesting topic: Can creative writing really be taught?

I read it for my creative writing class, so of course the answer was yes, yes it can.

And I agree, in part.

But when it comes to poetry... I beg to differ.

It can be logistically taught. You can be taught to read it, and to critique it, and if you're like some of the people in my class you can simply be taught to understand it (seriously, my professor fields some of the dumbest questions in that class. Please read the poem at a higher than elementary school level).

I have found, though, that there are very few people who I actually am okay with them teaching me how to write poetry.

And as of yet, I've only found one person who I will trust to edit my poetry.

My current professor is not that one person.

One of our assignments last week was to write a poem in the shape of a poem that we had read, and (not to brag or anything) mine was pretty great. I prefer writing poetry that hasn't been assigned to me so that the idea is all my own, but I still was pleased with the result.

And while she liked it as well, her comments were some of the stupidest things I've ever read.

Yes, I am aware that poets choose each word specifically. Which is why if you switch a couple of my words around, you don't make it better, you actually make it worse, because I picked those words, and they mean something, and you just totally fucked that meaning up. Congratulations.

Anyway, to avoid sounding like too much of an asshole (oops, too late) I will simply stop here and say that I wrote another poem for her class and since I'm not really planning on making any edits due to her comments anyway, I may as well share it here because I like to pretend that there are people out there who actually like reading my poetry (lol, good one Emma).

Oh, and I haven't thought of a title for it. So, um, if you think of one... you should probably just keep it to yourself.

Jokes you can tell me.

Hell, I might even use it.

If I like you.

And it's not dumb.

Okay seriously though here's my poem.

A soft light paled

by its own shadow

lying across an unknown eye

(as if whispering

a secret

straight into her soul)

While the flickering flame

yellow, then orange,

then golden again,

dances a pattern into her

hair, infinite and fictional,

(a message struck mute

by the passing of time)

as the whispers and words

get lost in the strands

and shuffle toward the split,

fraying ends

until they slip into the shadow

and become infinite once

again.

Poem (For You)

Flames on a candle

speak without words

their reflections dancing

in my irises

Unsatisfied by sounds

By vowels and

consonants and

feelings

So instead

I write you a poem

with a candle stuck in the paper

burning the same flame

wide irises hoping

that you're drawn to the

luminous

light inside the fire

Because don't you know

that watching souls

through holes in their boxes

never got anybody

as far as

reaching out

and taking off

the lid.

A Guide To Not Getting Tan

Last week went way too fucking fast.

Always nice how break does that. It knows that you want it to last, so it pulls a fast one and doesn't. I'm onto you, break. Next time I'm gonna make you last for three months. So take that.

And even though I didn't do anything but sit at home, it was an absolutely glorious week.

Glorious, yet I still feel lazy.

And I also spent the whole time in my basement, hence the whole "not getting tan" thing. Because if pop culture has taught me anything, the way to keep oneself pale is to stay in the basement all day.

So I'm going to rectify the fact that I feel unaccomplished and list the things that I did that make me feel as if my time was not wasted, but enjoyed instead.

I watched some fabulous movies and I will tell you how they were so that you can maybe watch them too, and I did some other stuff that's only neat in my little worldview but I think it's cool so if you don't you can just sod off.

Here are the movies and shows that I watched:

• My Blueberry Nights

What a wonderful movie. It's the kind of movie that I would even venture to call a film. It was short, and sweet, and real. The narrative was so honest and beautiful, I highly recommend it. It wasn't cheesy, though. You know me. I don't watch none of that cheesy shit.

• Midnight in Paris

I had been looking forward to watching this one for a really long time, but unfortunately I think it is one that I will never watch again (and if you know me, you know that not only do I avoid the cheesy shit, but I also watch movies that I like over and over and over), and for one reason alone: Owen Wilson.

I can't stand that dude. He inflects every single line the same way, with an upward trail and an unsure tone, so that even though the character he played was so sincere and genuine I still felt like he was a sleaze. And because 90% of the movie was Owen Wilson talking, I was not a fan.

Marion Cotillard, though, was phenomenal, as was Tom Hiddleston as F. Scott Fitzgerald and Allison Pill as his wife, and the array of actors that played all of the other historical characters and literary geniuses were all amazing. I wanted to punch Rachel McAdams in the face the whole time, but that was her character's fault, not hers.

Overall, I guess I would still recommend it. Woody Allen creates some beautiful things, and this is still one of them, despite what I consider a drastic casting mistake. So watch it once, at least.

• Winter's Bone

If you ever feel like your life sucks, just go ahead and watch this so then you can slap yourself for even thinking it. Jennifer Lawrence's performance is absolutely great (um, duh) and the whole storyline is so tragic that it makes the tiny elements of beauty that do exist just shine that much brighter. It's not a light movie, and it made both my brother and my dad uncomfortable to watch (ninnies), but it's still just so good.

• Freaks and Geeks

This is an old (and by old I mean 90s old) television show, starring James Franco and Jason Segel and that chick that played the murdering stepdaughter in Legally Blonde and kind of looks like Ellen Page. There are only 18 episodes (I say only because that makes me feel better about watching the whole series in three days) and it's on Netflix, and since we all know that nobody gets anything done anymore because Netflix is too addicting you may as well just watch it.

They do a lot of drugs.

• Howl

Welcome back, James Franco! This one was on Netflix too, and is about Allen Ginsberg's life and his most famous poem, Howl, as well as the controversy that surrounded it and its alleged obscenity. 

It had a really interesting style, and felt sort of like a documentary even though everyone in it was an actor and it was all written and scripted. It went between an interview with Ginsberg, played by Franco, and the courthouse proceedings about Howl, with occasional excerpts of the poem read by Franco and accompanied by these funky illustrations.

I learned a lot about Ginsberg, came to respect him even more (was that even possible?) and would definitely recommend it to other literary nerds out there (I know there are some of you reading this, I mean, you're friends with me after all).

And hey, I read a book too! I read the Lord of the Flies, mostly because I had five other books that I hadn't read yet and then I left them all in my dorm room. I was so angry. But Lord of the Flies was good. It made me depressed at the state of human nature. I wanted Jack to fall off a cliff and die, or get left behind when they got rescued. Or he could have gotten crushed by a rock. I would have been okay with that.

I also spent the majority of two days sewing a shirt, and if you say that's lame then I will repeat my previous instruction: sod off. I think it's neat and you're probably just jealous that you can't do it too.

Unless you're a guy. If you're a guy and you say that you should sew a shirt too, I will tell you a very firm no way and try to send you on home with your manhood still intact.

It turned out pretty well, though, for the first time. Wanna see? Of course you do.

This is my snarky camera face because I have a hard

time smiling when I take pictures of myself

wearing clothes. I know, leave me alone.

Yep, looks awesome, I know, and please don't tell me any differently because it made my hands cramp and I need to feel like it was worth it that's all.

Other, than that, I slept a lot, because you never know how much you love your nice bed at home until you sleep on a rock in the dorms and then being at home is like a 24/7 sleep fest.

I drank a bit of wine water (thanks Mom (or Jesus)) and ate Chinese food and went to my favorite chocolate shop in Boulder and didn't get on Tumblr for the whole week and caught up with some old friends and played a lot of xbox.

Now I'm nice and rejuvenated so that spring quarter can hit me in the face with homework. Yay! Thanks, DU!

On a side note to that, my suitemate and I have decided that we go to a school of special little snowflakes, because every time I meet a new person they're always nice and at the same time very odd.

I enjoy it.

Happy spring, everybody.

Step Back For A Week

Spring break is coming up in a week and a half.

A week and a half.

And I'm actually excited to go home. Tie up the strings of this quarter at school and just leave for a week.

Because though my dorm room is already pretty clean, I think it may be time for some emotional spring cleaning, too.

I'm in one of those places right now where things are necessarily going right, and I don't really have anything to be super happy about, but I'm content. I don't mind when the things go wrong because I can shrug them all off, and sometimes it's the little things like a chocolate chip muffin and caramel latte at noon that can make a day.

A snack... or my lunch? WHO KNOWS.

Sure, my emotional state will appreciate being at home and by myself... playing with my dog, spending time with my xbox parents (hi mom and dad), and maybe teaching myself how to sew, but I guess I don't really need it. 

Yet I am watching so many people around me in my life who do need it, and I hope for their sake that they take the chances to hang out at home, the chances to isolate themselves and be selfish for once, the chances to figure out what in their lives is and isn't making them happy and get rid of the things that are keeping them from being content.

So often, social media does nothing but indulge unhappiness. Something frustrating you? Blog passively about it. Tweet your rants. Look for other people with the same unhappiness, and commiserate with them. You will feel better.

That feeling doesn't last; it's like a drug. Hitting the send button feels so good, but once it's sent the feelings behind it are still there, and actually stronger than before. 

If you learn to let things go, you won't have anything to tweet about or any topic on which to blog. You will be content, and happy with the way things that are going, and you won't feel the need to constantly poison yourself with the knowledge that both you and the internet are aware of your acute unhappiness.

Does that really seem so bad?

If you prefer to love too much rather than not at all, go for it. Love. But actually love. And if something doesn't qualify as love, let it go.

Too many knuckles are turning white from holding on to dust bunnies.

It's spring cleaning; let them go.