Remember good times.
In loving memory of Layla Yousefi-Smith
1986-2008
Friday, November 27, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Time Travel: Late June 2009
WARNING: mushy, mushy, mushy.
I hate driving. I don't do it at all if I can help it, but a mission in late June made my foot touch the pedal without any apprehension.
Birmingham International Airport is a relatively small facility, but there's still no stopping in the lane to pick up arriving passengers. Even when it's almost midnight and the last flight is coming in, one can't patiently wait at a standstill. It's probably a good thing, though--the few circles around the building kept my mind from jumping out of my body in anticipation of a flight arrival.
A call came, and I answered with a nervous greeting. It was Justin. He was in the baggage claim area, miles and miles away from his home in Poughkeepsie. A few minutes later, the same blonde figure I remembered from the hot fields of Manchester came out of automatic glass doors. He was still trailed by purple and green fireworks that only I could see. The boom boom boom explosion happened again when my feet were literally off the ground wrapped into a bear hug around Justin's waist.
The next two weeks were spent in Tuscaloosa. Tandem runs, peace sign pancakes, and daily doses of NPR were glorious highlights of the most recent summer of love.
(TBC)
I hate driving. I don't do it at all if I can help it, but a mission in late June made my foot touch the pedal without any apprehension.
Birmingham International Airport is a relatively small facility, but there's still no stopping in the lane to pick up arriving passengers. Even when it's almost midnight and the last flight is coming in, one can't patiently wait at a standstill. It's probably a good thing, though--the few circles around the building kept my mind from jumping out of my body in anticipation of a flight arrival.
A call came, and I answered with a nervous greeting. It was Justin. He was in the baggage claim area, miles and miles away from his home in Poughkeepsie. A few minutes later, the same blonde figure I remembered from the hot fields of Manchester came out of automatic glass doors. He was still trailed by purple and green fireworks that only I could see. The boom boom boom explosion happened again when my feet were literally off the ground wrapped into a bear hug around Justin's waist.
The next two weeks were spent in Tuscaloosa. Tandem runs, peace sign pancakes, and daily doses of NPR were glorious highlights of the most recent summer of love.
(TBC)
inspiration
Write. Write every day."
-- quote heard on NPR, speaker unknown
Sunday, November 15, 2009
peace tip #19
Avoid being inconsistent.
I remember a frank discussion about how meat is an energy intensive product, and how reducing the consumption of it would alleviate pollutants and promote health among humans and ecosystems. Frank it was and frank it became; I found myself standing beside a few from the crowd lined up to trade money for hot dogs. I felt a little bird of hypocrisy squawking inside of my body while taking note of the scene, yet I did not implode. Silly to me it was to see people who swallowed their own words and processed meats so easily.
There was mentioning of a buffet and the satisfaction of all-you-can-eat choice. Lappé would not approve, but being argumentative won't get you anywhere, according to the contradictory honcho with the creepy laugh.
"'Tis better to be uncouth than aloof to the big picture!" is what the bird was saying.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
peace tip #18
Try new things.
Be wary of enchiladas, but relish the taste of foreign cuisine.
Justin and I hung out with Sanjay and another IBMer who are staying in Danbury, CT, for work purposes. Both gents are from India, so they're a long way from home and from good masala. We went to dinner at a Mexican restaurant last night and gorged on spicy goodness. I don't think either Sanjay or his friend enjoyed the taste too much, but they grinned and swallowed.
Adaptability, I hear, is a necessity for the working folk. Any world traveler would have a rough time if he or she spit out something on which a chance was taken.
I remember taking the best chance of my life in July:
"Andrea, should I go with Justin to Germany?"
"Um, YES."
I'm still smiling because of the decision.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
"People who get up early in the morning cause war, death and famine."
A man, whom I deem wise like Ben Franklin wise, sat in front of me and posed a question: "So why do you want to join New College?"
"I just don't think I'll be able to keep my sanity in the advertising industry," was my word-for-word response.
Five months and a granting of a scholarship later, the lack of cents talked and I dropped out. It wasn't necessarily the promise of a decent income, but it was the quickest, least expensive path to a piece of paper known as a degree. Now I'm filling out job applications and missing the flighty, happy NC gang and reminiscing about NeverNeverLand and its merriment. My thoughts are fond, but I can't long for too much; I'm punch drunk on love.
Life is good; there's a hammock in the kitchen and Cake's lyrics resonate.
My opinion about advertising stands, and I'm a thousand times more nauseated at the site of billboards and fashion rags because I know more than I care to know. The application process has me ailing a bit; I've got an outlook on life ("I just like making people happy") that is often exploited, and I just want to help people, man, I just wanna make the world a better place...
But I don't wanna be too self-righteous, ya dig? Point noted: affirmed beliefs just ram a person into a brick wall. Yet, the world keeps spinning despite the collision, and everyone's stuck picking sides.
Justin knows. He's been on jury duty all week. When he comes home, I get the lowdown on sleazy lawyers and their transparent tactics. Someone's upset over a knee surgery, and he thinks money is going to be what heals him. "Nosirrreee!" would be our verdict.
Please step on my toes should I become an over-opinionated jerkwad. Please push me should I ever become complacent.
"I just don't think I'll be able to keep my sanity in the advertising industry," was my word-for-word response.
Five months and a granting of a scholarship later, the lack of cents talked and I dropped out. It wasn't necessarily the promise of a decent income, but it was the quickest, least expensive path to a piece of paper known as a degree. Now I'm filling out job applications and missing the flighty, happy NC gang and reminiscing about NeverNeverLand and its merriment. My thoughts are fond, but I can't long for too much; I'm punch drunk on love.
Life is good; there's a hammock in the kitchen and Cake's lyrics resonate.
My opinion about advertising stands, and I'm a thousand times more nauseated at the site of billboards and fashion rags because I know more than I care to know. The application process has me ailing a bit; I've got an outlook on life ("I just like making people happy") that is often exploited, and I just want to help people, man, I just wanna make the world a better place...
But I don't wanna be too self-righteous, ya dig? Point noted: affirmed beliefs just ram a person into a brick wall. Yet, the world keeps spinning despite the collision, and everyone's stuck picking sides.
Justin knows. He's been on jury duty all week. When he comes home, I get the lowdown on sleazy lawyers and their transparent tactics. Someone's upset over a knee surgery, and he thinks money is going to be what heals him. "Nosirrreee!" would be our verdict.
Please step on my toes should I become an over-opinionated jerkwad. Please push me should I ever become complacent.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
inspired by a hammock in the kitchen
I have commandeered the main station! Accidentally, of course--sitting on the love seat curled up with a laptop is pretty much the epitome of this phase of lull, lull, laziness.
In my head, two scenarios I care to write of take place:
An Icelandic princess looks at me with wide-eyed surprise as a suited bloke kisses her neck. Her eyes, in retrospect, remind me of another's cool blue irises.
In another time, a teenage girl listens to The Smashing Pumpkins' song titled "Perfect." Over a thousand miles away, a young man with fair hair sits in front of a computer that displays numbers she would not understand. In his body, though, is a soul she will.
Lessons learned over the past six months:
Buddy systems work for buddies.
Tuscaloosa had its perks.
The "real world" is a fantasy.
In my head, two scenarios I care to write of take place:
An Icelandic princess looks at me with wide-eyed surprise as a suited bloke kisses her neck. Her eyes, in retrospect, remind me of another's cool blue irises.
In another time, a teenage girl listens to The Smashing Pumpkins' song titled "Perfect." Over a thousand miles away, a young man with fair hair sits in front of a computer that displays numbers she would not understand. In his body, though, is a soul she will.
Lessons learned over the past six months:
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Thai style curry..alwight!
"You made me a gourd face!"
"I know, Justin! I've been talking about gourds all week!"
"We ate one for dinner!"
"Pumpkin pie!"
"Is that Cartman?"
"No."
"Sure sounded like Cartman."
"It wasn't a cheesy poof, dude, but you had cheesy poofs the other night. Remember?"
"Jealous?"
"No--I was there. I ate cheesy poofs, too."
"Mmmm....styrofoam and cheese."
"Okay, Homer."
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