Sorry Lads, my mind is mush

            Today’s plan was to write a really funny and awesome blog post about Job hunting. It was going to be totally cool and all of you would think I’m really witty and invite me to all your summer parties for entertainment value. Sadly internet audience, it’s just not in me today. It’s just too miserably hot.
            I know, for the past few months we've all been whinging about the cold. We refused to leave our houses because “there’s too much snow” or “I’ll get frostbit!” So we hunkered down in our homes, wrapped ourselves up in mounds of blankets, ate our own body weight in food, and hibernated like bears. Anytime we had to go out for school, work, or obligated social interaction we grumbled and cried out “I can’t wait for summer!” We all would then reminisce about beach days, tanning in the warm sun, cookouts, parties, and margaritas.
            Spring came and we all burst forth from our homes in clad in miniskirts and flip flops praising Mother Nature for the end of winter. Ironically the temperature at the time in all reality was only about 45°F. After a month of playing spring in autumn temperature we were unprepared for the real face of Spring.
            Today was a mere 80°F, Saturday is supposed to be upper 90s. Dear God help me. The inside of my house felt like there was a wood-stove going in every room. The upstairs made collecting all the warm air it’s job. So after three hours or so on my laptop job hunting everything started to feel fuzzy. When the poor machine began to overheat and protest by making loud noises and slowing the internet down to a crawl I decided to give up.
            At this point in the day I still felt like hiding inside was a waste. I did just spend all winter longing for summer. I dragged myself outside and out for a bike ride. The first five minutes were alright. I stayed mostly in the shade and I rode downhill so the breeze felt nice. After that though I rode into the cul-de-sac where there were no trees. Needless to say after six miles through the sun while exercising I was done with summer. Pack it up, ready for fall. Fall is nice right? I remember lovely cool fall days.  I gimped back into the house and hid in the cold bathroom with my 80lb Golden Retriever for the rest of the day.
            We can all even say goodbye to cool spring evenings and chilly nights. Nearly 10:00 at night and I’m still sticky and sweaty, just from sitting in my makeshift sauna bedroom. I had to force myself to write this post because I’d much rather sit in a haze doing absolutely nothing. Just you wait though, Fall is going to roll around and I’ll be blogging about how goddamn cold it is and how it’s raining all the time.  

The Art of Art

            Back when I was a kid in school I fancied myself fairly artistic. Use to think one day I’d grow up and get to draw pretty pictures for Disney and be super rich and super famous. This idea came from The Lion King. Our VHS version came with this long introduction with how they made the movie. Elton John sang at the piano and blah blah blahed about the music. The directors would go on forever about I don’t even know what. Then the artists would be shown, and they weren’t just sitting around quietly drawing pictures. They got to play with lions. Lions! I wanted to have a job where I got to hang out with lions. So when I got to High School I went into Studio Art.
            We didn’t get to play with lions. Or warthogs. Or toucans. We mainly sat around and drew boxes. We would spend a solid month, everyday going to class and drawing boxes. And not different and creative boxes, the same box. The same brown, perfectly square box, from the same angle. I still have nightmares about sitting in a room and staring at a box. It never moves, it doesn’t come to life. It just sits there and I have to stare at it, and draw it. Eventually after a year we graduated to other objects like, a pen, a book, a bottle, and the most exciting thing, a dead bee. A dead bee.  Let that sink in. 20 high school students sat in a room and drew a dead bee every day for a month. Where were my lions?
            I ended up giving up hope and dropped out of the art program for my junior year. Which turned out to be like when you step into another line at the grocery store and the line you were originally in suddenly disappears. I would walk by the art wing everyday on my way to class and see these stunning art work pieces. There were beautiful landscapes, realistic drawings of the school hallways, and even really cool art sculptures. So I snuck back in line for my senior year.
            By now the craze for abstract art had hit the high school. I’m talking about pieces that look like a five year old had been handed a crayon and told to go crazy, but are deeply meaningful because the hectic lines and dramatic contrasting colors represent the inner suffering of the artist and his raging war against society. Me, being a 17 year old high school student had no inner conflict. The worst thing that had ever happened to me was algebra. Hard to create deep and meaningful abstract art about hating 2x-4ab÷5cx + 95 = bananas. So I was the five year old who had been handed a crayon and told to go crazy.
            I would usually sit in class and plop paint on canvas. Dark reds, blues, purples, and black to make it seem like I was working out deep angsty feelings of rage. Course I sat with all my friends who did the same thing and we would create a ruckus making fun of each other’s blobs of paint and hectic lines of despair. Eventually we caught the art teacher’s eye and she floated over to examine our art work. She examined my friend Mia’s work.
            “How beautiful, I love the blending of orange, red, and black, it’s like the soul’s inner fire.”
            “I can see a face!” I pointed out. “Looks like an Indian man!”
            “Oh yeah” Mia caught on “I’m painting about the suffering of the Native American people against the pale face strangers.”
            Knowing Mia had been splotching on paint like the rest of us, we all dissolved into sniggers. The teacher crinkled her nose distastefully.
            “You’re not supposed to see anything. It’s just supposed to be colors and lines. You’ll have to rework it so you can’t see any images.”
            She then glanced over at mine irritated and said “You need more yellow.”
            She stormed off to the other side of the room to be with the truly artist people who could tap into their hatred of math and create authentic abstract art. We went back to plopping paint, Mia made sure to make her Indian man go away and I added blots of yellow. 20 minutes later the teacher circled back to us. She looked down at my painting and gasped.
            “Who told you to put yellow in there?”
            “You did?”
            “No I didn’t. You need to fix this.” She glanced over at Mia’s. “I liked it better earlier.”
            Once she had gone Mia and I desperately tried to reverse our efforts, but it’s hard to reverse paint splotches. By the end of class we managed it. They both were looking soggy and runny by this point but sort of back to normal. The teacher looked them over.
            “You’re going to have to rework them next class. Mia, I still see the Indian man, and Christina you need more yellow.”
            There was no “winning” in this class. We spent the rest of the month working on our paintings before we moved on to abstract self-portraits.  After months of that we created abstract sculptures representing whatever beef we had with society. By the end of the year I gave up dreaming about drawing lions with Elton John. I went to college for English. There I ended up having to take a fine arts class to full a core requirement. I took Drawing 1, where I drew boxes. Lots and lots of boxes. 

Star Trek: Into Darkness

             Hello my name is Christina and I am a science fiction nerd. There I said it. I like my futuristic stories, time travel, utopia, dystopia, you name it, I’ll probably have at least heard of it. So when the first new Star Trek came out, I had my doubts. Who could possibly take the place of William Shatner as the infallible Captain Kirk? I’ll tell you. Chris Pine, a man who can drown you in the world’s most beautiful blue eyes. Ladies, let me tell you the newest Star Trek does not disappoint all you fan girls out there. Chris Pine, even though to my utter disappointment did not pull a Shatner and rip of his shirt, was drool worthy. Anton Yelchin’s, Chekov, adorable accent had me swooning. To all of you BBC Sherlock fans out there, Benedict Cumberbatch did indeed deliver all that was expected of him and more by playing the world’s best Khan. While I stared dreamy eyed at these wonderful men, especially Pine’s gorgeous blue eyes, my brother leaned over and whispered in my ear “Scotty (Simon Pegg) reminds me of your boyfriend.”
            Which is perfectly fine with me because as per usual Simon Pegg entertained me to no end. I particularly enjoyed watching him struggle to run the length of the room while the other characters could leap through the air and land without even twisting their ankle and then proceed to run around and fight for a half an hour. Thanks Simon Pegg for keeping it real.
            On a less frivolous fangirl note, I have to say I truly was blown away by the movie as a whole. The opening scene on an alien planet was breathtaking. I did not feel like they were on a set with a bunch of fake rocks and green screening, I felt like they really were on an alien planet. The scenery’s detail was incredible, and even more impressive, original. Someone had a lot of creativity to think up an entirely different world. What really took my breath away was the hiding of the Enterprise in the planet’s ocean. Who thinks of stuff like that? The effects and the scenery in general were all thoughtfully put together and executed brilliantly.
            The film also maintained a balance between new and old. There were lots of wonderful moments of nostalgia and quiet jokes poking at the original. Being one of those dorky kids watching all the original Star Treks with my Dad this really made the movie. Leonard Nimoy of course made a brief reappearance which always makes me chuckle. The costuming was cleverly balancing old school brightly colored uniforms with newer models that didn’t look quite so camp. Maybe Bones reusing the standard “Damn it Jim I’m a Doctor” line was a bit much, but hey what’s Star Trek without a bit of goofiness? 
            However, what I truly enjoyed about the movie was the interaction between the characters. All of the dialogue flowed so naturally and there were bits that seemed to have nothing to do with the plot and their main goal was to show the relationships between all the characters. It proved itself to be more than an action film with scene after scene of running around, explosions, and fighting. There was a true sense of story, with plot, relatable characters, and complex relationships. At one point Captain Kirk, Uhura, and Spock fly out to Kronos a Klingon planet. While in the pod Uhura and Spock break out into a relationship fight and drag Kirk into it. The moment seemed so human and realistic to me that it made me really start to care about these characters beyond their roles as Captain Kirk, Spock the Vulcan, and that chick who’s name I can’t pronounce.
            J.J. Abrams, I tip my hat to you on another job well done, I look forward to the next installment.

A Special Wednesday Post: Bike to the Past

            After yesterday’s adventures in biking I did not look forward to today. I knew that dragging myself back out there would be a very unpleasant internal debate that would probably end with me parked out on the couch eating a pint of ice cream. I was in the process of starting this debate when my neighbor, CC, wandered over to my yard. CC and I have always gotten along and usually end up standing around outside talking about how much we’d both love a glass of Sangria. We chatted for a while and I sighed about how I’d have to go out for a bike ride soon, maybe if I said it aloud to someone I would be held accountable. She stopped me and said.
            “Going now?”
            “In a bit.”
            “Stop by my house first”
            I was feeling intrigued at this point so I agreed to meet up with her and went up to change. By the time I came back down she had already returned and was beckoning me outside. I followed her out and stopped dead in my tracks. There, leaning against the fence was my old bike completely restored. I had given it to CC’s boyfriend to fix up just so it would run again, and after a year I had nearly forgotten about it. It was more than fixed up though. The old 1973 street bike looked like it had just come out of the factory. The fenders shone in the sun, not a spot of rust, the paint job looked fresh, and the wheels were brand new. Still, the best part was the little black basket on the handle bars; CC had even put adorable fake yellow flowers in it. I could almost picture Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz riding it with little Toto in the basket.
            “It’s your graduation present!” CC said. I stood there grinning like an idiot, then proceeded to fan girl all over the bike.
            “Look at the basket! So cute! It’s so shiny! Ohmygawd ohmygawd.” I Squiggled around and hopped from one foot from the next. “I can ride it? It’s better? Can I go can I go?!”
            Like a five year old at Christmas I had to use my new/old toy right away. I hopped on and took off down the road. It was so smooth on the road, and when it coasted it picked up speed. I felt like I was flying. The only thing that was off was the bike was just a smidgeon too tall. But who cares about a smidgeon right? I could still pedal and steer.
            Then came the hill. I had already gone up one hill already so the second hill didn’t seem like it was going to be an issue. Until the High School bus came around the corner. I had to slow down to make sure I wasn’t in the way, but then I found myself with no more momentum to finish the hill. I tumbled off my suddenly was too tall bike and walked it up the rest of the hill. At this point all the high schools had been dumped at their bus stop and were walking my way. Feeling slightly humiliated that I was walking my beautiful new/old bike I desperately tried to clamber back on, in the middle of the road, in short shorts. Needless to say, it must have been quite the sight to see a 21 year old girl trying desperately to get back on this 1973 bike with fake flowers, and short shorts. I made the mistake of looking behind me and seeing one boy doubled over in laughter. To be fair, were the places turned, I’d probably be laughing too. The rest of the ride went smoothly, no further injury other than my damaged pride. I returned the bike to CC for some final adjustments and vowed to return tomorrow to ride my new/old bike.




            I would like to give a special shout out to CC and her boyfriend. Thank you so much for everything you’ve both done for me. I could not be happier with my wonderful bike fully restored with my special basket. Thank you for all your support and kindness. I love you both dearly. Don’t worry CC, I’ll get us a bottle of Sangria and we’ll drink it by the pool this summer. X 

I like to ride my bicycle, I like to ride my Biiiiiiiike!

            My last job was physically demanding. I spent hours lifting 50 plus pounds of product and carrying it around. While most would consider working like that just plain awful, it did benefit me in one major way. I never had to worry about my weight. For the most part, I stayed the same comfortable weight. My arms and legs became beautifully toned and I could sit in an ice cream parlor and consume a triple banana boat sundae with ten gallons of chocolate poured all over it and not feel guilty. Not one bit. I use to hang out at work and eat an entire bag of M&Ms and then go work it off by the end of the day.
            The sad reality is without this job I will puff up like Violet in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory; I’ll probably even turn blue from eating ridiculous amounts of blue slushies. Why must they be filled with such glorious amounts of sugar? Or how about the crazy amount of iced coffee I consume? Nutella? Chocolate? Fried everything? So I had to make a choice. Give up eating junk food and eat only nice healthy things. Or start exercising.
            So I got off my lazy bum and dug out my Dad’s mountain bike out of the garage. After cautiously poking at it with a stick, then hitting it with said stick to check for demonic spiders, I took it out for a ride.
            The first day was lovely. The sun shone on my pasty white skin. The neighbors waved cheerily at me. I felt so healthy on my bicycle and made a three mile loop. I felt so proud myself. Look at me, I thought, I may not have a job but I am going to be so pretty and thin! After my bike ride I did some job hunting, Skyped with boyfriend, and read my book. Still feeling super healthy I went back out and walked/jogged the 3 mile loop.
            This was a mistake. The first mile went swimmingly; sun, neighbors, healthy, yada yada yada. The second mile, I began to feel it, but pressed on like a trooper, still all motivated. The three mile, that’s where things all went wrong. By now, it’s 5:30 in the afternoon, and I’m on the main street of my neighborhood. Cars are whizzing past me, barely avoiding me. There is no sidewalk, not even a place beside the road for me to go. I’m sweaty, tired, and the bugs are out. Still I make it home in one peace, and hey, look at that I’m feeling healthy and skinny. I go to bed all proud of myself.
            Now those of you who have ever attempted to exercise before know what’s coming next. My health teacher in high school once tried to explain this phenomenon of lactic acid and blah blah, but I was more interested in watching Johnny Football in the next row. Now I’m wishing I had paid attention, maybe I would know how to make this pain stop. I woke up aching everywhere, and laid pathetically in bed until Boyfriend messaged me and motivated me into moving. I crawled pathetically downstairs, through the house, and out to the garage. I pulled out the bike and pulled myself up… and then I felt it.
            I mentioned before how I borrowed my DAD’S bike. Well, the bike is made for males which means the bike seat is fitted for males. I am not a male. Let me tell you uncomfortable a male’s bike seat is on a female. I have never been in such pain. Still. I had to go on. At this point, it didn’t hurt too badly, and what, it’s only three miles. I did it no problem yesterday.
            Except today… today the sun didn’t feel so nice on my skin, and it was muggy. I couldn’t really breathe. Was that hill there yesterday? Dear god, this road is never going to end.
            Course the real test came when the spider crawled up my arm. I had neglected to beat my bike with a stick, now there was a Spawn of Satan on my arm. Before I knew it I was swerving all over the road, batting at my arm with my other hand and screaming, right in front of my pastor’s house. Hopefully he’ll never guess it was me because me riding a bike is as likely as Augustus Gloop taking a walk.
            I did indeed manage to make it home in one piece. I threw the bike into the garage and stormed into my house and took comfort in the internet. I did not go out for a walk/jog, I felt that the world of exercise had betrayed me. I did not even job hunt, I felt like the world was against me in that moment. I felt all the angst in the world and proceed to play level after level of Candy Crush. I resigned myself to eating only healthy foods and turning into some sort of calorie counter to avoid the horrors that exercise brings.
            Then mom came home with monkey bread.
            I guess tomorrow I have to go on a bike ride.   

            I recently graduated college with a BA in English. For the longest time that has been my goal, and I worked my ass off to do it with in three years. Then after a brief three hour ceremony, we tossed our caps into the air and congratulated ourselves on being so smart and so clever. My friend jokingly posted on my status, “So when does your new job as a barista start?” We all had a good laugh and I went off to celebrate.
            Then, suddenly, my cloud nine came crashing down. The next day I discovered myself unemployed and still living at home. My job had discovered that I was job hunting and cut ties. I find myself drowning in fear, doubt, and endless hours of imguring. All those speeches at graduation about how the world is now my personal oyster, and my whole life is before me, never mentioned that an English degree is worth squat. That the job hunt is more exhausting then actually working. That you need experience to get a job, but to get experience you need a job. The life of a college graduate is not all sunshine, bubbles, and hope for the future. It’s hours spent pouring over a computer, combing through Linkedin, Indeed.com, monster, and god help me Google looking for work. It’s endless cover letters and resume editing.
            Only now am I hearing the stories of people being unemployed between three months to a year after graduating from college. Only now are people telling me that I’m about to go through the roughest part of life. That transition from being a student to being a member of society. I thought I was poor as a college student, now I realize how rich and comfortable I was. So secure in my schedule, in my weekly paycheck, and in my classes giving me hope for a future.
            Among all the dark and depressing thoughts clouding my mind however, there still is hope. I can do anything I want, I may have to fight for it every step of the way, but I can do anything. I may actually end up as a barista in a local coffee shop… okay let’s be honest, a cashier at Dunkin Donuts, but it won’t be for long. This is the beauty of the transitional stage in life. It’s time to explore. I can write, I can go back to school, I can continue to hunt for professional work.
            I have indeed been disillusioned about life. You can’t just fly off to New York and get a job working for a magazine and earn oodles of money with the span of week. My guess is a total of ten people will even see this blog. But that’s okay. That’s life. It’s the struggle to survive in a world where even getting a job at Dunkin Donuts can be rough competition. The competition is probably people just like me; we’re all in it together. College graduates, unemployed losers living with their parents.  Welcome to my blog; Livin’ On A Penny.