so I finally get a chance to go to the movies..

How many letters is "boring pretentious movie?"


At least the directing was cool.


rarrr.


This short angry post brought to you by The Number 23.

"I'm a hopeless romantic; you're just hopeless."

Hello hello hello. It's been a very busy week, and next week isn't looking much easier, so here I am on Saturday morning... blogging my hangover away.

Nah, I don't think I'm hungover at all. I really think I'm getting sick though, which sucks, obviously. I woke up this morning feeling way too warm but refusing to take my temperature. And my throat hurt (half of that might be from the screaming-karaoke-match that we did to songs that make us want to cry). And I'm just kind of sore overall (oh yeah, I uh... "battledanced" last night: true story). But those are all topics for another blog post (especially the battledance one). My mind is stuck on my new obsession, this guy:

Ernest Hemingway. Novelist, journalist, short-story writer. Soldier. Womanizer. Alcoholic. Pulitzer Prize winner. Goes crazy and takes the cake by killing himself. I read The Old Man and the Sea when I was a junior in high school (not by choice), and I hated it. He spent a whole 180 pages or whatever trying to catch a fish, and then when he succeeds, sharks eat it. Oh, is that what they call a spoiler? Sorry. But really, I was young and stupid then. Now that I am so much older and so much wiser (debatable), I have found an appreciation for his style, prose, blah blah blah.

Anyway, so what really brought me to this realization came about while doing research this week. On Tuesday I have to give a presentation in one of my classes, and it happens to be about the genre of memoir. Killing some time at work, I did a Google search just for "memoir" to see what would come up. I eventually came across this website, which is very relevant to this class, and the thing that would make me become obsessed with Hemingway. See, legend has it that Hemingway (and I think a bunch of other authors at the time) was given the challenge to write a story using only six words. He wrote,

"For sale: baby shoes, never used."

Some say he considered it to be the greatest thing he ever wrote, and I agree. The more I thought about it, the more I wrapped myself around it. Now I've taken it in as some sort of mantra-- as a writer and as a writer who has to write her first memoir by the end of the semester. The simplicity of six words is what kills me. It's about trusting your audience to get your point without having to over-write anything. I could probably go on a lot more about this.

But anyway, this online mag decided to have a contest in which they challenged their readers and contemporary authors to tell their story in six words: The Six-Word Memoir. Winners were to be published in a book.

The winner ended up being Abigail Moorhouse who wrote, “Barrister, barista, what’s the diff, Mom?” Once again, something that reminds me of Sicily and/or the Sicily class, and I guess it's strength lies in its simplicity as well: she's just telling it like it is.

Some of my favorites were:

"Never really finished anything, except cake." —C. Perkins

"Savior complex makes for many disappointments." —A. Schubach

"Bad brakes discovered at high speed." —J. Baumeister

"After Harvard, had baby with crackhead." —R. Templeton

"I still make coffee for two." —Z. Nelson

The last one especially has that Hemingway-esque quality. Just my cup of tea... or coffee... another note to writers, especially memoir writers: get rid of the cliches.

Anyone want to give it a shot? It's kind of an interesting experience, whether you're writing a story, memoir, title, article... six words. Go.

Here's mine: "Losing faith, I found my voice."

Food for Thought... yum

So my roommate made some new friends in her EMT class last semester. One kid-- this nice, 20 year old boy-- had never had a friend that was a girl... just "girlfriends." So they become best friends, no big deal. Naturally, she says that she wants to meet his other friends. He's a local kid from South Hadley. But he pretty much tells her straight up that he doesn't think she'll like his friends, and he doesn't want her to think less of him. Well, why? Turns out his friends are racists. Actually, her friend is "a little racist," too. He hopes this doesn't change anything.

Whether it changed anything or not isn't a big deal. But what rubbed me the wrong way was the idea of being "a little racist." What does that even mean? Do you pick and choose who you discriminate against? I could go on, but I don't know: what do you think?

* * *

On a lighter note, I think JesseCat is starting to finally get the concept of "we don't eat from the trash bags at this apartment." He's kind of in his "terrible twos." Poor guy. I think he was sick yesterday, but he has to learn somehow.

She's got a lot of pretty, pretty boys, that she calls friends

Blog. The word is just funny. I tend to now make the joke "Oh you can read about it in my blog" more often now. But the real funny thing is the other night I realized that random things I blog about come up in everyday "normal" conversations. So I am left wondering: am I blogging about things that are naturally interesting to me to talk about, or is my blog overtaking my life? Maybe I'll be one of those people that can't get enough of the blogosphere. And you'll legit have to "read about it in my blog" to even know I am still alive.

Or maybe I really am just as lame as the random topics I've covered in here... c'est la vie, right?

One of the things that came up the other night, after a long day of binge-Valentining, was the collaborative blog's question about the first kiss. Somehow I just had to talk about the "romantic gesture" thing because 1) I hadn't thought about it in a while, and 2) has anyone else ever done this?

I found myself sitting on my couch with my roommate's boyfriend-type-person's older brother... pulling out some of our "tricks"-- oh have you ever done this?? ohmygod, one time this person did this... so hot.

Somehow this lead into more discussions about "spittin' game" and such (ha ha ha). And somehow "the wink" came up! Now, this guy also pulls off a great wink. But he was well aware that if it wasn't natural, it was a mess; and if it was successful, it was a big win. We laughed at how we both totalllly got it.

Then he said something to the idea that I could pull off the wink.

Um, no. I don't think I'd even try-- definitely not my style.

But he said something like, "Okay, maybe not an official wink... but you do this thing with your eyebrows when you're talking... the way you raise them up and down is like... it's like you're putting the period at the end of a sentence."

I was really impressed with this imagery and kind of excited that he could call me out on it. Like the wink, it's just something natural, and what better thing for me than something that has to do with sentences? I'm pretty much committing my life to academia, the written word, papers, books, syntax, grammar... and my body language pulls off something as simple and as major as that of a period at the end of a sentence. I found it really beautiful and something I wanted to remember.

Hmm...

18 forever

So last night I took the exam to get TIPS certified. You don't actually need this certification to bartend in Massachusetts (in fact, you don't really need any formal training at all to get behind a bar here). So I'm pretty positive I passed it: knowing when and how to cut off drunks isn't exactly brain surgery.

And I might have my first bartending jobby-job at my old local hang out:

The Palladium

Yeah I know it doesn't look like much, but I spent many a day and many a dollar at this venue back in my days of being so "scene" and so cool, and not having anything else to do or spend money on. I guess the least they can do is give me a job right?

Well, I think that just might happen. Nothing's set in stone yet, but I was taking a look at some of the upcoming shows that I could be working at. Personally I want to attend Jack's Mannequin and Head Automatica (2/21) or the Killswitch Engage Show (2/23). Jack's Mannequin is the sideproject of Something Corporate singer Andrew MacMahon, who was suffering from some awful disease.

Head Automatica is Daryl Palumbo's side project (lead singer for Glassjaw-- still one of the bands I rock out to when I am an angrypants). Funny thing, he was also suffering from an awful disease. Chrohn's disease is serious. Last December (okay, I remember it was exactly Thursday the 27th), I saw Glassjaw for the first time in a very long time. It brought back a lot of nostalgia. We got to stand up on the balcony over the stage, which was sick because I could pretty much spit on Palumbo's head.

Killswitch is sweet because they're local guys and this will definitely be a welcomed homecoming show. I wouldn't mind working this one at all though.

And then the random Public Enemy (3/10) show. I wonder if it is a 10th aniversary thing... or just another type of spin-off thanks to Flavor-Flav. Either way, I guess.

There's a few other concerts I plan on attending this semester. I have no idea what my exact spring break plans are as of yet, but if I'm around I'll probably hit up the Taste of Chaos tour (Tsongas Arena, 3/22). It's pretty much the harder acts of the Warped Tour on a smaller winter tour. The first time I saw The Used, I was backstage at a Finch concert (at The Palladium, nonetheless). I was actually really impressed with their sound, but all I could think of was "Ew, you do kelly Osbourne..." I wrote an article for my school newspaper about that night, but I left out The Used and their lead singer's shananigans-- like when he spit Jack Daniels all over the blatantly straight-edge-fashionably-punk girls. I have some sort of soft spot for 30 Seconds to Mars: I really didn't want to because of the whole Jared Leto thing, but then again,, it is Jared Leto-- dude's talented. The singles out now are so amn catchy, too. I wonder who writes them... Then there's Senses Fail, who I've seen multiple time (I guess every band on this bill is a multi-timer for me). But anyway, they never really disappoint me. I liked when they got harder instead of emo-ing out.

Taking Back Sunday and Underoath are playing at the Mullins Center (4/5), so that's convinient. Again, both bands I have seen a lot of times, but they never really disappoint, so it could be worth it. But then THIRD EYE BLIND is playing 2 weeks later, and I expect that to be awesome. I've never seen them live, and I have a feeling that will be a show where I won't feel too old to be there (Lupo's Heartbreak Hotel 4/19).

Lastly, theres definitely Brand New at the Webster Theater (5/24)-- a graduation present to myself. I won't even get into that one.

It's funny how I'm listening to the same music I did when I was 18... hell, when I was 16. Some of it from even before that. What will my kids think?? yikes.

"I'm gonna stay 18 forever, so we can stay like this forever, and we'll never miss a party, 'cause we keep them going constantly, and we'll never have to listen to anyone about anything, 'cause it's all been done and it's all been said: we're the coolest kids and we take what we can get..."-bn

Past Your Optimus Prime

"Have you ever felt past your prime?" I pose this question to a couple different people, prefacing it with assurance that this is not a matter of age; it's a matter how you deal with life.

The answers are different than I had expected. Texting the question over to an older male friend who had also recently been through an extended breakup, he answered socially and sexually: something to the affect of having his own home, great job, and an extraordinary libido or something. . . whatever, guy. Posing it to a girlfriend of mine as we gossiped in her car on our way to "buy things because we are acting out," I get the response that most reassures me: (without hesitation) "Oh my God, I felt like that earlier today!" Although we might interpret the question differently (I mean, hello vague-ness), she still takes it personally. So have you ever felt "past your prime?"

For me it's about not doing the things that used to make me happy. Minor things like not singing or reallly dancing anymore. Major things like having crushes, not being jaded, not feeling old, unattractive, not interesting, wasting away... etc. But I guess these could just be chalked up as girl things. Whatever that means.

But that kind of changed this weekend. We were having a big party on Saturday night, so my friends were mostly taking it easy Friday night. Trying to take my general ickiness into my own hands, I decided to head home for the night. Home is only an hour away from apartment, so it made sense to head there. My roommate, who is going through a terribley prolonged breakup, didn't want to be left here alone, so when we woke up Friday morning, and I said I was thinking about going home, she threw out the "I'm coming with you," and that was that.

My home is incredible, by the way. And my bed is one step above incredible. We get there, there's Chinese food waiting for us, I get to hug my mom, and I get to sit in my bed and eat and drink and chill out in front of the tv. Talk about getting away.

At the apartment, getting ready is a major task because we can't dress too much alike or too differently (I've only recently started to notice this because I have never been girly in the fashion sense... not even close). We also have to dress accordingly to the venue of the night-- no hoodies at the club, no dresses at the dirt bar (I say "we" but I don't really mean it: when you have no real fashion sense, you just wear whatever you want... so I guess I get to call the shots a lot when it comes to what "we" wear).

At home though, we took our time, we slowly got around to showering, dressing, and such. We only had a few clothes with us (okay, "going out" clothes), so picking an outfit was easy. We pre-gamed while watching Aladdin, most definitely in the top 5 of all time greatest Disney movies. We laughed, we sang, we quoted, we criticized, fantasized, and visualized (she wants an Aladdin, I want a Raja... is that weird?).

We stroll out to the bar. I decide to give her the taste of Worcester-- meaning I take her to Irish Times and Leitrim's. Irish Times is all right because you have the dark but clean rock club on the first floor, a loungey bar on the second floor, and then the overly loud club scene on the third. This guy, Chad Lamarsh, was playing on the first floor. I knew him because my favorite old manager at Strawberries was kind of obsessed with him. Pretty sure this guy's from Boston. He plays covers with his guitar this night, but I've heard him with his whole band many times. My roommate thinks it'd be funny to hit on him. I encourage this wholeheartedly. I used to date "rockstars," but they are not my scene anymore, so this is extra funny to me.

I hang out with a couple kids from high school that I haven't seen in ages. One of them was the love of my crush-life from like 4th-9th grade. He has a baby now, and he says it's the best thing that's ever happened to him. I want to believe him with everything I've got.

When we're done with Irish Times (I really only like the bottom floor, although I love to dance), we head over to Leitrim's-- the dank, dark bar with much cheaper drinks. I know the bartender, and I love when he smiles and winks at me (it takes a certain person to pull off the wink successfully... because if you can't do it successfully... then it's just a mess). But anyway, when we walk into this bar, it could be the "CH3CH2OH coat", but we seriously feel like we own the place. We do the walk-through, oops guess my friends aren't here, let's go back to the other side because I know that bartender. There's an exceptional amount of dudes in this bar, and they're lining up to buy us drinks... luckily I'm driving.

Here is where we dance. And forget about everyone else. And I think that's what attracts them. We're so into each other, and it is fun. Whenever my eyes leave her, I catch glimpses of those looking at us. For the first time in a very long time I realize: I am back in the game.

This gorgeous kid talks to my roommate, asking her if I was "taken or single." She basically cock blocks me (I'm being vulgar for the funny, don't worry, I'm not like that.. haha) by telling him she's my girlfriend (the excuse given to guys you aren't interested in). After she tells me this, I tell her, "But I really think he's hot" (another phrase I would never use... "hot" refers to a piece of meat... okay, definitely relevant in this situation). She tries to fix her mistakes, but who wants to talk to a guy who won't approach you in the first place? How old are we? Although he was kind of gorgeous, so we can chalk it up as kind of cute.

And then a song from Jock Jams came on. And I almost die right there. It's the Jock Jams like, super mega mix... middle school dance nostalgia (I have a thing for Jock Jams and Coolio) ((in fact, I am going to spread a rumor that Coolio is playing UMass's Southwest Concert.. I figure if I say it enough, it has to come true)). We've befriended a group of frat boys from WPI, and I think we're they only ones doing the YMCA during this mix. And Sharon and me are the only ones who sing the "extra words" to the Hey! Song.

We are super fired up at this point (oh goodness... Jock Jams? Fired up?). We dance-dance like crazy. Like I haven't really danced in a while. The lights come on, and we are still rocking. It has been a good night. A random Brazilian boy pats the light sweat off of my forehead, I'm embarassed... but then he says,"One more..." and he blows down my (low-cut) shirt. I mean, his breath is cool, but... Hi, I'm Kristi, I don't know you, and you have a long, pretty ponytail, and you're mouth is awkwardly close to my breasts... Hiii. I am so taken aback by the whole situation, and I honestly didn't remember it until this very moment. Awkward.

The same Brazilian boy gives me a note written on a cocktail napkin: "I loved you... [some compliment and something about getting my number and lots of elipses]... just to talk..." In fact, he kept saying "just to talk"... sketch. Anyway, we headed out. I saw the bartender I know one last time (yeah, he winked... so solid). And I realized for real, I am back in the game, and next time Mr. Gorgeous gives me the eye, I have every right to walk up to him... or his friend to see if he's taken or single.

*girlish sigh*

The WHY of the Tiger

Dear Loyal Readers and Fans,

I know the 10 of you probably clicked on my blog link because you heard rumors that there was a picture of a cat doing karaoke. Uncle Jesse did get slightly intoxicated and gave his vocal chords quite the workout. In fact, he didn't even speak for a week after that night-- I think he might have lost his voice. But never fear, this morning he was in my face making awful cat noises that indicate "let me drink from the sink before 8am."

Don't worry. This blog won't be about my cat.

I'm still kind of trying to figure out what I am doing with this blog. I'm currently in a year-long course about memoirs, so maybe this can act as a self-indulgent memoir in the making... you know, so I can think I'm cool now, and then reflect on it in 10 years while I laugh about how lame I was... or cry about how awesome karaoke with Jesse was.

Whatever the case may turn out to be, I like to write about things I know. I'm terrible with fiction. Travelwriting and memoirs are more my speed because then I don't ever feel like I'm lying (this could be some pyschological thing that someone should analyze: for example, if I know I woke up at 9:58, I will not tell someone I woke up at 10... because I would have known exactly what time it was... so I would be kind of lying... you can judge me for this).

So I think this blog will be kind of a storage space for my personal writing, my personal rambling, current stories I want to remember, and maybe things like concert reviews and the random adventures I go on. Because I kind of go to concerts a lot. And I kind of have random adventures a lot. But just remember that I can't write fiction.

So WHY, Kristi? Why must you blog about your life? Meh... I don't know. College is a funny time. I should try to remember as much as I can from it.

So here's the Cliff's Notes on everything that has happened since I have been at UMass:

Freshman year: I get stuck living in my last choice of residence area. I am sad to leave my longterm boyfriend. I decide to suck it up and meet as many cool people as possible. I make a good amount of friends. I party too much; I don't go to class enough; I work really hard at the end of the fall semester to pull of a 2.6GPA. Whoops. The spring comes and I move to the wrong residence area. I party moderately/too much; I manage the 3.0 this semester. I run away to New Jersey for my first Skate'n'Surf Fest in Asbury Park. I eat White Castle for the first time, and I am not impressed. As the weather gets warmer, college becomes incredible. I get myself into some sticky situations. I eat ice-cream instead of dealing with the truth (South Park, anyone?).

Sophomore year: I end up living in the best residence area, in the best hall, with my best friends. I take a yoga class for 2 credits. I start doing well in my classes. The Red Sox win the World Series, and I drunk dial my whole family ("Mom, you probably don't care, but the Sox just won the World Serrriiiiesssahhhhhblah blaha!!!"). My friend Mike approaches me in the Dining Commons. He wants to move off-campus with Jason and Dan... do I want in? I say "yeah" and that's that. People think I am going to hate living with boys, but we have an incredible time. It is probably the most insane time of my life. We move into an apartment building of all students. This apartment complex will never house a building of all students ever again. I run away to New Jersey again, and this time the White Castle tastes amazing. We throw the party of the century. Once again, I get myself into some more sticky situations and choose the ice-cream.

Junior year: I get into a bad car accident with my best friends and probably should have been hurt really badly. I'm not. So we get tattoos. I move in with girls. I am scared of the girls. I become friends with them. They become friends with my friends and all is good. My grades climb higher and higher. I party too much, but even it out by working hard in classes I actually like. I become a tutor in the Writing Center and find a passion in it. Sticky situations keep coming back even when I run away to New Jersey and don't even bother with the White Castle this time. We wish there was a Sonic more closeby. I turn down a summer internship with the Warped Tour because of my mom and am somewhat devastated. But I go to Sicily and am in love with travel and writing. I intern with a travel website. Corporate writing is not my style at all. I run away from sticky situations by living in Amherst for the summer. A boy lives on our couch. I deliver chicken for Wings Over Amherst. I find new sticky situations and don't eat ice-cream.

Senior year: Now. Now. Now. I make a ridiculous amount of money delivering chicken, but I have to quit because I have too many hours in the Writing Center and too much work in my classes. I turn 21 and run away to Vegas. I drink excessively, party too much, but still manage to pull off a 3.97 (who does that? you couldn't have gotten that +.03?). I make some changes in my life to stay out of sticky situations, but life remains just as interesting. I feel kind of old. I stay in Amherst for the winter and take a couple classes. I take a bartending course and ace the exam. I set up the karaoke machine my mom got me for Christmas. Our neighbors must hate us. Everyone else has an easy last semester; I take a full, difficult courseload and a blogging class. It is freezing cold, but we're still ready for fun. I await the stickiest of situations that might involve ice-cream.

And don't forget this guy:

GET INTO IT.