If you haven't noticed (doubtful) I'm ending all of my blog titles in ellipsis, even when it doesn't make a whole lot of sense. Today's is an example of that. But I decided it makes me look mysterious, so you better just get used to it, or stop reading my blog. (Please don't stop reading my blog.)
Today's adventure focuses on a similar theme of a recent posts: the awesomeness of s'mores. Barrett's mom kindly bought us a giant bag of marshmallows, full box of graham crackers and a pack of several Hershey bars for our camping trip. But, being that there are only two of us, we ate approximately four, maybe five, of those marshmallows; used up one-eighhs of the graham crackers; and consumed at most two full Hershey bars.
Not wanting to let perfectly good s'more supplies go to waste, Barrett and I, plus two friends from work, gathered at my apartment last night to once again enjoy s'mores. I didn't take any pictures, which I see now was a mistake, so I'll just have to paint you a beautiful word picture.
Imagine, then:
A late spring evening at the end of an unbearably hot day. Temperatures have cooled some, but are still well above the threshold for shorts, t-shirts and other summer paraphernalia. Children play in the parking lot while one strange man runs laps around it.
All the while, four intrepid newspaper reporters build a fire in a grill raised about three feet off the ground (make that three intrepid reporters; one showed up late). Using wood foraged from a neighboring forested area, the reporters light old newspapers as kindling in a weird, symbolic kind of way. Now it is time for the roasting of the marshmallows, and everything is happiness.
Pretty epic word picture, right? Maybe I should move into free form poetry.
After chowing down on more s'mores than should probably be consumed, the four of us washed down our marshmallow treats with beers provided by the late-arriving reporter (making her late arrival acceptable) and returned to my apartment to enjoy Monsters, Inc.
All in all, an excellent evening filled with adventure.
EDIT: I forgot the most important part of the evening and the most epic adventure in my original. But, as an honest and straightforward reporter, rather than just inserting it as if it was always there, I'm marking this as an edit and an addition. Really, I'm just doing it this way because I liked the way the above paragraphs flowed and adding it in would be tough.
SO, while finishing up our s'mores and beers, the four of us embarked on another awesome mini-adventure: Playground Olympics. Alicia, the late-arriving reporter and supplier of beer, challenged Barrett to run up the stairs and down the slide of the mini-playground next to the grill within five minutes. He declined, because apparently he hates happiness, but the rest of us were all about it.
We carefully devised an obstacle course across the tiny playground and set out to prove who was the best at conquering it. I went first, and despite initially turning the wrong way (embarrassing, as I suggested the route for the course) I finished in a respectable 46 seconds. Next came Alicia, who seemed to be cruising along quite well, until she wiped out epically on the balance beam section. It was rough stuff, but, unlike Barrett, she believes in happiness and stuck it out until she finished.
Katrina, my other reporter friend, was very close to defeating my time, but was slightly hampered by her wee little legs and I eked out a win by approximately a second.
Barrett was lame and did not participate, proof that he is inferior in physical fitness to all of us.
It was actually super fun, and I suggest we all look for fun ways to attack playgrounds in creative ways in our daily lives.
BACK TO ORIGINAL POST: On the topic of Monsters, Inc., certain people involved were Grumpy Gusses (or, as I called him in the moment, Captain Jerk McJerkface, not to be confused Private Mustard) and pretended they did not want to watch Monsters, Inc., despite the fact that their life had clearly been decreased in quality by never having seen this awesome film. These people, or rather person, who's name I will not share (it rhymes with carrot) are surely eating their words now after enjoying what was, for a time, my favorite Pixar film.
That honor now probably belongs soundly to Toy Story 2, just because I'm a lit bit of a hipster and picking Up or the original Toy Story is too main stream. Readers, let's get a discussion going on in the comments - what's your favorite Pixar movie?
p.s. If you don't get the title of this blog, you're out of the family. You need to go watch The Sandlot immediately and report back.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Thursday, May 30, 2013
And that's why you don't let you kids drink pop...
Today's adventure is deeply personal, in that it involves one of my biggest insecurities and attempts to correct it. It's this kind of soul-baring blog post that is going to really make readers connect with my emotional journey (or just laugh at me - honestly, either is acceptable, if they are reading my blog).
Being the youngest, by a considerable margin, of three children, there were a lot of rules that applied to the older kids that sort of got pushed away or modified when I was a youth. Not to say that I was spoiled or allowed to do whatever I wanted, but I was never really the subject a strict restrictions you might expect for a child.
Specifically, when I was about 7 years old and my brothers were both teenagers, my parents, wisely, sought to limit my level of pop consumption (Midwest for life, bitches!). To that end, I was only allowed two pops a day, and had to ask permission.
You probably read right past that without much thought, in which case I'll ask you to go back and read it again. More likely, though, you read that sentence, imagined the hell my parents likely went through dealing with a highly caffeinated, two soda a day drinking child and cracked up.
Yes, two pops a day is too much for a 7-year-old. (I might argue any pops a day are too much for a 7-year-old.) My over-consumption of pop throughout my life is not my parents' fault, however; being the independent spirit that I am, by probably age 10 or 11 I'd given up on these silly "rules," stopped asking and just enjoyed a pop whenever I felt like it.
All these factors combined to give me a pretty powerful coke addiction (that ought to get me some readers), and, as I'm only realizing the full consequences of now, wreak havoc on my teeth. Although I've managed to avoid cavities for more than a decade (last one was probably around age 9 or 10), thanks to all that coke and the addition of coffee to my diet about two years ago, my pearly whites and not exactly...pearly. They're not like hillbilly teeth, but they aren't the bright shiny white I wish they were, and they have their share of minor problems (though I did get complemented on my flossing on my last dental visit).
To improve this situation, I recently purchased some Crest Whitestrips. IT WAS THE WORST IDEA EVER. I do think my teeth whitened some, but I did not realize until after the first day of white strip application that - especially if your enamel has been significantly weakened from years of bathing your teeth in flavored, carbonated acid - putting a strip of a combo of some wacky minerals powerful enough to literally BLEACH your teeth is a terrible idea.
Although it only hurt in the moment the first day I used them, most days, about three hours after application, I experienced a consistent, throbbing pain and hyper-sensitivity, especially in my front teeth. The Internet (which is filled with entries about the pain from white strips that I maybe should have checked out before I used them) recommended taking some painkillers but sticking it out, because the results "were so worth it!"
So I stuck it out for nine days, expecting the pain to decrease. It did not. My teeth may have gotten a bit whiter, but I would almost immediately undo that work with the next morning's cup of coffee or a coke after a long day at work. On day ten, after losing most of a night of sleep from the tooth pain, I threw the box out.
This has been boring, I'm pretty sure, but I'm coming to a self-affirming conclusion that should lift us all up. I still hate my teeth. They cause me embarrassment and occasional discomfort, not to mention I also buy into the notion that how you look can matter in professional circumstances. Once I'm rich and famous, I'd like to do something more permanent to make them look a bit better. (Although the one time the dentist discussed these options with me, in my head I just heard her saying "your teeth are ugly" over and over again in my head. It was not great.)
But for now I'm accepting my teeth how they are, because no physical feature is worth the discomfort (and possible further damage, there's some online indication that the strips can wear away more of your enamel) that I was putting myself through. I like myself the way I am, for the most part, and will continue on this adventure of learning to like all of myself.
Really though, don't let you kids drink pop. At all. Even if you have to tell them to do as you say, not as you do (that's my plan).
And don't use Crest Whitestrips. THEY ARE THE WORST. (Just forfeited so much potential advertising income when this blog becomes a hit. Damn.)
Being the youngest, by a considerable margin, of three children, there were a lot of rules that applied to the older kids that sort of got pushed away or modified when I was a youth. Not to say that I was spoiled or allowed to do whatever I wanted, but I was never really the subject a strict restrictions you might expect for a child.
Specifically, when I was about 7 years old and my brothers were both teenagers, my parents, wisely, sought to limit my level of pop consumption (Midwest for life, bitches!). To that end, I was only allowed two pops a day, and had to ask permission.
You probably read right past that without much thought, in which case I'll ask you to go back and read it again. More likely, though, you read that sentence, imagined the hell my parents likely went through dealing with a highly caffeinated, two soda a day drinking child and cracked up.
Yes, two pops a day is too much for a 7-year-old. (I might argue any pops a day are too much for a 7-year-old.) My over-consumption of pop throughout my life is not my parents' fault, however; being the independent spirit that I am, by probably age 10 or 11 I'd given up on these silly "rules," stopped asking and just enjoyed a pop whenever I felt like it.
All these factors combined to give me a pretty powerful coke addiction (that ought to get me some readers), and, as I'm only realizing the full consequences of now, wreak havoc on my teeth. Although I've managed to avoid cavities for more than a decade (last one was probably around age 9 or 10), thanks to all that coke and the addition of coffee to my diet about two years ago, my pearly whites and not exactly...pearly. They're not like hillbilly teeth, but they aren't the bright shiny white I wish they were, and they have their share of minor problems (though I did get complemented on my flossing on my last dental visit).
To improve this situation, I recently purchased some Crest Whitestrips. IT WAS THE WORST IDEA EVER. I do think my teeth whitened some, but I did not realize until after the first day of white strip application that - especially if your enamel has been significantly weakened from years of bathing your teeth in flavored, carbonated acid - putting a strip of a combo of some wacky minerals powerful enough to literally BLEACH your teeth is a terrible idea.
Although it only hurt in the moment the first day I used them, most days, about three hours after application, I experienced a consistent, throbbing pain and hyper-sensitivity, especially in my front teeth. The Internet (which is filled with entries about the pain from white strips that I maybe should have checked out before I used them) recommended taking some painkillers but sticking it out, because the results "were so worth it!"
So I stuck it out for nine days, expecting the pain to decrease. It did not. My teeth may have gotten a bit whiter, but I would almost immediately undo that work with the next morning's cup of coffee or a coke after a long day at work. On day ten, after losing most of a night of sleep from the tooth pain, I threw the box out.
This has been boring, I'm pretty sure, but I'm coming to a self-affirming conclusion that should lift us all up. I still hate my teeth. They cause me embarrassment and occasional discomfort, not to mention I also buy into the notion that how you look can matter in professional circumstances. Once I'm rich and famous, I'd like to do something more permanent to make them look a bit better. (Although the one time the dentist discussed these options with me, in my head I just heard her saying "your teeth are ugly" over and over again in my head. It was not great.)
But for now I'm accepting my teeth how they are, because no physical feature is worth the discomfort (and possible further damage, there's some online indication that the strips can wear away more of your enamel) that I was putting myself through. I like myself the way I am, for the most part, and will continue on this adventure of learning to like all of myself.
Really though, don't let you kids drink pop. At all. Even if you have to tell them to do as you say, not as you do (that's my plan).
And don't use Crest Whitestrips. THEY ARE THE WORST. (Just forfeited so much potential advertising income when this blog becomes a hit. Damn.)
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Modern man is a wimp...
Hello again, loyal readers (all three of you - or so). Apologies for being the absolute worst at following through on daily updates. This time, though, my excuse that I was too busy having a non adventure (the previously discussed television watching) but instead having an actual adventure, exploring the outdoors and building fires and sleeping on the ground and all that good stuff. (Admittedly, some television watching was involved; Arrested Development came out Sunday, plus I had to watch the season finale of Smash.)
So here it goes, the first of Ellie's actual daily adventures. Buckle your seat belts for some awesomeness - we all know how good I am at telling stories. (Explanation for the random people of the Internet who will discover this blog: I am often mocked for my poor story telling ability. Maybe one of my adventures will involve buffalo wings and you'll get to hear my greatest story ever to judge for yourself.)
After a Saturday that consisted largely of napping, with moderate car maintenance and occasional partying, my wonderful boyfriend and I set out for a hard core camping trip. That's a bit of a misnomer, as our trip did not really fall into the category of "hard core" as defined by said boyfriend, who originally suggested we carry all our belongings, camp on top of a mountain, and not even get to make s'mores. CAMPING IS NOT CAMPING WITHOUT S'MORES.
Luckily, he relented and reserved us a real camp site at the base of Sharp Top, one of the mountains in the Peaks of Otter. I've mentioned before that I live in a really beautiful areasee for yourself:
So after arriving and pitching our tent (I helped a lot, I swear), we headed up Sharp Top. Determined not to give up on a full-on hard core adventure, Barrett (the aforementioned boyfriend), carried a 40 pound pack and went up the mountain looking like this:
Sharp Top is a difficult hike, but one I've done many a time in the nine or so months I've lived in Lynchburg. Yes, there were times I felt like I was going to die, but we made it without too much trouble or embarrassment (and after encountering a white German Shepherd, which may or may not have secretly been a wolf. It was awesome, despite my general intense fear of dogs).
Here's some pretty sweet views from the top. In a few you can see the crazy teenagers making bad decisions that paralyzed me with fear, even though I wasn't even the one perched on top of rocks:
Upon returning to the campsite, we split duties up along gender lines: I peeled potatoes and prepared some sweet tinfoil dinners (this involved some terrifying knife interactions, but I overcame) while Barrett used his Eagle Scout skillzzz (check out that gangsta spelling) to build us a fire. Serenaded by the sounds of dozens and dozens of motorcycles, we enjoyed some kick-ass tinfoil dinners, made s'mores (a key component of camping, as mentioned above) and pondered the point of camping.
It's weird, isn't it? Choosing to eschew all modern conveniences and force ourselves to work annoyingly hard for warmth, light, food, all that good stuff. Modern man has evolved and invented to move past camping, and yet, we turn to it as a fun, "relaxing" activity.
Barrett's response was something along the lines of the title of this entry, highlighting the wimpiness of modern man. A fair point, but I think the real answer is far simpler: s'mores are the best.
Anywho, we awoke with the sun (or rather, several hours after the sun) Monday morning, and set out to make some bacon for breakfast.
It did not go well. In the effort of educating my readership, here's a tip: if you're attempting to make bacon over a fire using tinfoil, be sure to wrap the bacon in enough layers of tinfoil that you avoid the fire finding its way into the tinfoil packet, setting the bacon grease on fire, and resulting in bacon so char-grilled it is literally nonexistent. It was a tough blow - I really like bacon.
But we powered through, and with delicious protein bars and apples to satiate us, packed up camp (once again, I helped SO MUCH) and headed over to Flat Top for a second hike.
Now, Sharp Top is not an easy hike. It takes about an hour and a half to two hours, involves a lot of very steep climbing and finding your way up some lengthy rock patches with unsure footing while simultaneously avoiding the hoards of people and dogs who had the exact same idea as you.
We did not face that last problem on Flat Top, which seems to be the much less popular of the two hikes. Perhaps that it is because it is THE WORST THING EVER. The trail is 2.6 miles to the top, gradually uphill seemingly forever. It is beautiful, a more undisturbed trail with gorgeous flora and fauna and all that good stuff. But, seriously, it goes on FOREVER.
When we finally made it to the top, I was a bit disappointed to find the summit populated largely by trees without anything close to the breathtaking 360 views of Sharp Top. (Also it started raining literally the moment we reached the summit. God was not a fan of our efforts to hike that mountain.) It seems as though if we'd explored we'd have found some more good viewing spots, but the only photo I took once I reached the top was this one:
After a slightly less grueling but still exhausting return trip down the mountain, we finally made it back to the car and returned to civilization. To celebrate our toughness, we went for a very late lunch at Buffalo Wild Wings.
I have to say, there's only one time where I've enjoyed buffalo wings more. But that's a story for another day.
p.s. Also, we saw this sweet deer at the top of Sharp Top. Just chilling. No fear of man. It was pretty awesome, and I totally kept my cool and was not at all terrified (the same cannot be said for the bee we encountered at the summit).
So here it goes, the first of Ellie's actual daily adventures. Buckle your seat belts for some awesomeness - we all know how good I am at telling stories. (Explanation for the random people of the Internet who will discover this blog: I am often mocked for my poor story telling ability. Maybe one of my adventures will involve buffalo wings and you'll get to hear my greatest story ever to judge for yourself.)
After a Saturday that consisted largely of napping, with moderate car maintenance and occasional partying, my wonderful boyfriend and I set out for a hard core camping trip. That's a bit of a misnomer, as our trip did not really fall into the category of "hard core" as defined by said boyfriend, who originally suggested we carry all our belongings, camp on top of a mountain, and not even get to make s'mores. CAMPING IS NOT CAMPING WITHOUT S'MORES.
Luckily, he relented and reserved us a real camp site at the base of Sharp Top, one of the mountains in the Peaks of Otter. I've mentioned before that I live in a really beautiful areasee for yourself:
Note how much he loves America; he really got into the Memorial Day spirit.
Sharp Top is a difficult hike, but one I've done many a time in the nine or so months I've lived in Lynchburg. Yes, there were times I felt like I was going to die, but we made it without too much trouble or embarrassment (and after encountering a white German Shepherd, which may or may not have secretly been a wolf. It was awesome, despite my general intense fear of dogs).
Here's some pretty sweet views from the top. In a few you can see the crazy teenagers making bad decisions that paralyzed me with fear, even though I wasn't even the one perched on top of rocks:
This would be fodder for some pithy thoughts or thoughtful reflections, but this blog post is already super long and you've all probably lost interest by now. My life is really not that exciting - but it's important you know I'm very uncomfortable with people doing crazy dangerous things in my vicinity. I am also very uncomfortable with bees, and dogs, and knives, and...I should probably just get back to our adventure.
Upon returning to the campsite, we split duties up along gender lines: I peeled potatoes and prepared some sweet tinfoil dinners (this involved some terrifying knife interactions, but I overcame) while Barrett used his Eagle Scout skillzzz (check out that gangsta spelling) to build us a fire. Serenaded by the sounds of dozens and dozens of motorcycles, we enjoyed some kick-ass tinfoil dinners, made s'mores (a key component of camping, as mentioned above) and pondered the point of camping.
It's weird, isn't it? Choosing to eschew all modern conveniences and force ourselves to work annoyingly hard for warmth, light, food, all that good stuff. Modern man has evolved and invented to move past camping, and yet, we turn to it as a fun, "relaxing" activity.
Barrett's response was something along the lines of the title of this entry, highlighting the wimpiness of modern man. A fair point, but I think the real answer is far simpler: s'mores are the best.
Anywho, we awoke with the sun (or rather, several hours after the sun) Monday morning, and set out to make some bacon for breakfast.
It did not go well. In the effort of educating my readership, here's a tip: if you're attempting to make bacon over a fire using tinfoil, be sure to wrap the bacon in enough layers of tinfoil that you avoid the fire finding its way into the tinfoil packet, setting the bacon grease on fire, and resulting in bacon so char-grilled it is literally nonexistent. It was a tough blow - I really like bacon.
But we powered through, and with delicious protein bars and apples to satiate us, packed up camp (once again, I helped SO MUCH) and headed over to Flat Top for a second hike.
Now, Sharp Top is not an easy hike. It takes about an hour and a half to two hours, involves a lot of very steep climbing and finding your way up some lengthy rock patches with unsure footing while simultaneously avoiding the hoards of people and dogs who had the exact same idea as you.
We did not face that last problem on Flat Top, which seems to be the much less popular of the two hikes. Perhaps that it is because it is THE WORST THING EVER. The trail is 2.6 miles to the top, gradually uphill seemingly forever. It is beautiful, a more undisturbed trail with gorgeous flora and fauna and all that good stuff. But, seriously, it goes on FOREVER.
When we finally made it to the top, I was a bit disappointed to find the summit populated largely by trees without anything close to the breathtaking 360 views of Sharp Top. (Also it started raining literally the moment we reached the summit. God was not a fan of our efforts to hike that mountain.) It seems as though if we'd explored we'd have found some more good viewing spots, but the only photo I took once I reached the top was this one:
In case anyone dare doubt us.
After a slightly less grueling but still exhausting return trip down the mountain, we finally made it back to the car and returned to civilization. To celebrate our toughness, we went for a very late lunch at Buffalo Wild Wings.
I have to say, there's only one time where I've enjoyed buffalo wings more. But that's a story for another day.
p.s. Also, we saw this sweet deer at the top of Sharp Top. Just chilling. No fear of man. It was pretty awesome, and I totally kept my cool and was not at all terrified (the same cannot be said for the bee we encountered at the summit).
Friday, May 24, 2013
I just found out there's no such thing...
Okay, so there were not two entries yesterday, but I think I'm now on pace for one a day. I've got a schedule of when I post that works for me, so I may be able to keep this up. Weekends will be tougher, and at least this weekend I'll be gone most of Sunday, but the weekends will usually result in actual adventures so I'll do my best to keep my loyal following as up-to-date as possible.
Today's adventure is also real, but much more long-term than the traditional sense of the world. Today's adventure: the real world.
One year ago today I graduated from college. It's crazy to think about; without the regular pace of the school year to mark time, the days, weeks and months just fly by. But here I am now, one year into my adventure of being a real person with a real job and real responsibilities and all kinds of overall realness.
It's gone about as I expected, in some ways, and also deviated wildly from my expectations in others. Perhaps it's easiest to reflect on these changes in list form.
Things that are as I expected:
1) I am poor.
2) I am still able to live, without getting into debt (additional debt, I suppose, I am paying back some loans) despite being poor.
3) I have a few friends, though most of them are connected to work. Making non-work friends in the real world seems super difficult and unrealistic, honestly.
4) I enjoy my job, and I think I'm pretty good at it.
5) I have not magically expanded my cooking repertoire, and I still eat a probably unhealthy amount of frozen meals, fast food, pasta and, more specifically and most importantly, ramen.
Things that are not:
1) I live in Lynchburg, Va. Places I thought I might be living at this point include Richmond, Va.; anywhere in Indiana, Illinois, Michigan or Wisconsin; Washington, D.C.; New York City; literally any random city in America that is not Lynchburg. Lynchburg was not even on the list. Ever. In my entire life.
2) I do not hate living in Lynchburg.
3) I have kept in touch with my college friends super-duper well. This is not surprising, so much, as impressive and going better than I would've thought. This morning I tried to think of people who the last time I saw them was graduation day and the list was short, if not nonexistent. Granted, many of these visits have resulted in number 1 on the expected list, but I'd rather be poor with good friends than rich with television and ramen noodles as my only companions.
4) I have a boyfriend, a genuine shocker for those who know my life history. He is the best.
5) I am once again sleeping in a twin bed.
I tried to bring some wit into those lists, because I don't think today's entry is particularly funny. I'm also not sure anything I've written thus far is great fodder for a television show, movie or novel. And I don't have any thought-provoking observations to throw out there, but it's been interesting to reflect on how I thought things would be and how they are.
Things never turn out quite the way I plan them, and being reminded of that in an exercise like this helps me to remember that my current plans probably won't either. (Two years here, followed by a few years "somewhere fabulous," followed by a triumphant return to the Midwest, having earned the ability to decide what my paycheck will be and force people to pay it.)
But I suppose that's the next adventure. Since I plan to keep this blog forever (even post rich and famousness), I'll do my best to post an entry like this every May 24. I know you're sitting on the edge of your seat.
Today's adventure is also real, but much more long-term than the traditional sense of the world. Today's adventure: the real world.
One year ago today I graduated from college. It's crazy to think about; without the regular pace of the school year to mark time, the days, weeks and months just fly by. But here I am now, one year into my adventure of being a real person with a real job and real responsibilities and all kinds of overall realness.
It's gone about as I expected, in some ways, and also deviated wildly from my expectations in others. Perhaps it's easiest to reflect on these changes in list form.
Things that are as I expected:
1) I am poor.
2) I am still able to live, without getting into debt (additional debt, I suppose, I am paying back some loans) despite being poor.
3) I have a few friends, though most of them are connected to work. Making non-work friends in the real world seems super difficult and unrealistic, honestly.
4) I enjoy my job, and I think I'm pretty good at it.
5) I have not magically expanded my cooking repertoire, and I still eat a probably unhealthy amount of frozen meals, fast food, pasta and, more specifically and most importantly, ramen.
Things that are not:
1) I live in Lynchburg, Va. Places I thought I might be living at this point include Richmond, Va.; anywhere in Indiana, Illinois, Michigan or Wisconsin; Washington, D.C.; New York City; literally any random city in America that is not Lynchburg. Lynchburg was not even on the list. Ever. In my entire life.
2) I do not hate living in Lynchburg.
3) I have kept in touch with my college friends super-duper well. This is not surprising, so much, as impressive and going better than I would've thought. This morning I tried to think of people who the last time I saw them was graduation day and the list was short, if not nonexistent. Granted, many of these visits have resulted in number 1 on the expected list, but I'd rather be poor with good friends than rich with television and ramen noodles as my only companions.
4) I have a boyfriend, a genuine shocker for those who know my life history. He is the best.
5) I am once again sleeping in a twin bed.
I tried to bring some wit into those lists, because I don't think today's entry is particularly funny. I'm also not sure anything I've written thus far is great fodder for a television show, movie or novel. And I don't have any thought-provoking observations to throw out there, but it's been interesting to reflect on how I thought things would be and how they are.
Things never turn out quite the way I plan them, and being reminded of that in an exercise like this helps me to remember that my current plans probably won't either. (Two years here, followed by a few years "somewhere fabulous," followed by a triumphant return to the Midwest, having earned the ability to decide what my paycheck will be and force people to pay it.)
But I suppose that's the next adventure. Since I plan to keep this blog forever (even post rich and famousness), I'll do my best to post an entry like this every May 24. I know you're sitting on the edge of your seat.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
The adventure is in your mind...
Three days in, and I'm already considering this blog a minor failure. Not only did I fail to post an adventure on day two (note the "daily" in the title - this is a major lapse), but the adventure I'm going to share with you now requires a lot of metaphor and mental gymnastics to really qualify as one.
That being said, I will do my best to rectify both of these mistakes by posting a second adventure later in the day and making this the most thought-provoking, laughter-inducing post ever. So prepare yourself.
Today's adventure stems from the main reason no post happened yesterday: I was busy watching television. A short-lived series that I enjoyed, largely for its inclusion of James Van Der Beek playing himself, is airing its remaining, unaired episodes on Hulu for the next week or two. I want to finish them all as quickly as possible, in case some cruel internet god strikes down my internet or freedom or ability to watch them.
So I spent every free minute of my Wednesday evening propped up against pillows on my too small bed, eyes fixed on the tiny screen that brings so much joy to my life. Previous thoughts of the gym were quickly banished, relocated to a night when there's not precious internet t.v. to consume.
That's a night that's unlikely to come, given the imminent return of one of my all-time favorites (along with most of the web community's): Arrested Development. To get in my daily dose of pretentiousness, I am an original run AD fan, not one of you Netflix hop-ons (no offense). I did not watch the first season in real time, but starting with the second, I was on board for every episode.
But even though I have always dreamed of a follow-up movie or more episodes, I'm not quite sure how to feel as we approach D-Day for new episodes. I've devoted a lot of my life to enjoying this show, spreading its humor to others and incorporating as much of its dialogue into my lexicon as possible. Now, though, I wonder, do I have the emotional wherewithal to devote myself to another string of episodes? Do I have the time? What if it's not funny? What if I'm disappointed? What if I can't watch it as quickly as everyone else, and I can't resist reading recaps, and things get spoiled, and I don't laugh, and...
I don't know what I'm saying. (AD joke, for those of you who aren't on board)
By now you're probably wondering what this adventure is, and are angry at me for failing to make you laugh or provoke thought. I guess the adventure I'm reflecting on today is one of the most internal possible: the choice to emotionally devote yourself to fictional characters, plot lines and conflicts.
Why do we do it? From novels to movies to books, we allow ourselves to commit to and connect with people who really only exist in the minds of their creators. When I complain about Ron Weasley or identify with George Michael's feelings about the eye doctor, I'm really responding to a figment of someone's imagination. But it's vitally important for me to follow that person's adventure, to understand their decision-making, to get satisfying answers to the question "what happened," even though the real, literal answer is that nothing happened.
If you don't like the end of a book or a movie or a television show, you can just choose a different ending yourself, theoretically. I can pretend these remaining Arrested Development episodes don't exist and "choose my own adventure," as it were, for all the remaining characters.
But I don't do that with these shows I commit to. I'm not sure why. This is going to be an unsatisfying blog post, because it's an adventure on which I'm still reflecting. I'd appreciate some thoughts from my readers (all two of you) in the comments, although I'm quite certain you've given up reading now after my complete inability to craft a satisfying, hilarious, thought-provoking blog post.
Or maybe you're committed now and you'll stick around, just to find out what happens in the end.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
And so it begins...
“The purpose of
life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and
without fear for newer and richer experience.” -Eleanor Roosevelt
“Adventure is not outside man; it is within.” -George Eliot
“I have discovered that even the mediocre can have adventures and even the fearful can achieve.”
-Edmund Hillary
It would seem logical to start a blog about daily adventures with the tale of an adventure. I considered waiting until I had one to report on, but that opened me up to the unconquerable well of potential procrastination. If I waited until I had an adventure worth writing about, I might never write anything.
Further, the point of this blog will be to find the adventure in the every day. Some days I'll have real adventures to recount. Living in the (unimaginably gorgeous) foothills of the Blue Ridge mountains, I find myself with countless opportunities to hike, camp, kayak, swim and otherwise explore nature in a way not possible in my flat homeland of Northwest Indiana. Even my daily (I wish - more like occasional) runs are filled with continual visual assaults by overwhelming beauty that makes it very hard to contemplate ever leaving "God's country," as my father once described my adopted environment.
But those are not the only adventures I'll have to tell you about. I finally motivated myself to get going on writing by googling "quotes about adventure," the highlights of which are posted above. I chose the first one for its speaker; although I'm not actually named after Eleanor Roosevelt (my staunch Republican parents would rather die, I'm sure) there's something to be said for having a namesake who's one of the most respected women of the twentieth century.
The third, from Edmund Hilary, seemed applicable to my life, and really to anyone - you don't know you'll be a famous adventurer until you give it a try, right? One of the (unspoken) goals of this blog is to harbor fame and fortune for myself. (I suppose it's no longer unspoken. Drat.) Plenty of people have been plucked from obscurity and turned into authors or producers thanks to sharing their stories or pithy observations with the "blogosphere," as it were - surely plenty of them were just as mediocre and fearful as I am.
But the middle quote, from the author of one of my favorite books, truly gets to the heart of the point of this blog. I could spend quite a while analyzing how it reflects Eliot's overall perception of drama, conflict, growth, etc. and the ability of the particular to represent the universal, as seen in the mammoth, impressive, carefully woven novel Middlemarch.
To spare my few readers, though, I'll avoid extensive literary analysis and nerdiness for now. (Be warned, I'm certain that will be an adventure I'll go on at some point.) What I want to takeway from Eliot's quote today is what I hope to accomplish in my blogging efforts. True adventure is not what we do, where we go or who we meet - it's how we change, what our experiences do to transform us, what we internalize about the external.
And, of course, it's our willingness to take those adventures, to consider those changes, to challenge ourselves. Therefore, for the first of what will hopefully be countless daily adventures from Ellie, I am starting a blog.
I've likely gone on to long already and turned away anyone who might be interested in hearing my thoughts. I worry I'm trying t0o hard for my prose to be impressive, crafting each sentence too carefully and sounding a bit too pretentious. (I promise I really do love Middlemarch, I'm not just trying to sound smart by citing one of the longest books ever.) But I want to try my hand at this, to start writing, reflecting and transforming in front of an audience, present to hold me accountable.
Thanks for coming along on my adventure.
p.s. The format will get more exciting, I promise. Maybe that will be my next daily adventure: making my blog physically attractive.
“Adventure is not outside man; it is within.” -George Eliot
“I have discovered that even the mediocre can have adventures and even the fearful can achieve.”
-Edmund Hillary
It would seem logical to start a blog about daily adventures with the tale of an adventure. I considered waiting until I had one to report on, but that opened me up to the unconquerable well of potential procrastination. If I waited until I had an adventure worth writing about, I might never write anything.
Further, the point of this blog will be to find the adventure in the every day. Some days I'll have real adventures to recount. Living in the (unimaginably gorgeous) foothills of the Blue Ridge mountains, I find myself with countless opportunities to hike, camp, kayak, swim and otherwise explore nature in a way not possible in my flat homeland of Northwest Indiana. Even my daily (I wish - more like occasional) runs are filled with continual visual assaults by overwhelming beauty that makes it very hard to contemplate ever leaving "God's country," as my father once described my adopted environment.
But those are not the only adventures I'll have to tell you about. I finally motivated myself to get going on writing by googling "quotes about adventure," the highlights of which are posted above. I chose the first one for its speaker; although I'm not actually named after Eleanor Roosevelt (my staunch Republican parents would rather die, I'm sure) there's something to be said for having a namesake who's one of the most respected women of the twentieth century.
The third, from Edmund Hilary, seemed applicable to my life, and really to anyone - you don't know you'll be a famous adventurer until you give it a try, right? One of the (unspoken) goals of this blog is to harbor fame and fortune for myself. (I suppose it's no longer unspoken. Drat.) Plenty of people have been plucked from obscurity and turned into authors or producers thanks to sharing their stories or pithy observations with the "blogosphere," as it were - surely plenty of them were just as mediocre and fearful as I am.
But the middle quote, from the author of one of my favorite books, truly gets to the heart of the point of this blog. I could spend quite a while analyzing how it reflects Eliot's overall perception of drama, conflict, growth, etc. and the ability of the particular to represent the universal, as seen in the mammoth, impressive, carefully woven novel Middlemarch.
To spare my few readers, though, I'll avoid extensive literary analysis and nerdiness for now. (Be warned, I'm certain that will be an adventure I'll go on at some point.) What I want to takeway from Eliot's quote today is what I hope to accomplish in my blogging efforts. True adventure is not what we do, where we go or who we meet - it's how we change, what our experiences do to transform us, what we internalize about the external.
And, of course, it's our willingness to take those adventures, to consider those changes, to challenge ourselves. Therefore, for the first of what will hopefully be countless daily adventures from Ellie, I am starting a blog.
I've likely gone on to long already and turned away anyone who might be interested in hearing my thoughts. I worry I'm trying t0o hard for my prose to be impressive, crafting each sentence too carefully and sounding a bit too pretentious. (I promise I really do love Middlemarch, I'm not just trying to sound smart by citing one of the longest books ever.) But I want to try my hand at this, to start writing, reflecting and transforming in front of an audience, present to hold me accountable.
Thanks for coming along on my adventure.
p.s. The format will get more exciting, I promise. Maybe that will be my next daily adventure: making my blog physically attractive.
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