Thursday, December 22, 2011

who doesn't like airports?

i want to start this blog with something completely unrelated, and that is the fact that yesterday, i had the opportunity to drive an hour and a half by myself.

this is unremarkable. the drive to my college is three hours, and i do that by myself all the time. unfortunately, i don't do it at night, and i particularly enjoy night highway driving with a nice can of dr. pepper ten because i am a woman and can defy commercials.

this drive was remarkable because i had the lion king original broadway soundtrack, and i will be damned if i didn't sing every single song like i was about to win american idol. i sounded exactly like young simba. which means that i sounded like a ten year old girl pretending to be a boy on broadway.

not sure how i feel about that.

but this blog is about traveling. i was supposed to write this last night, seeing as last night was when this marvelous singing of the lion king occurred, and then i could've posted it last night and not be writing this last minute. but my brother was watching avatar and i absolutely had to watch it too, and of course, i tweeted about how much i hated humanity.

then jacob alerted me that he left his phone in my car. but that's a whole different blog post.

so this blog post is about traveling.

i have a fairly comfortable life. my parents are paying for my expensive private school with the help of my gigantic scholarship. we did not feel the pinch of the economy. both of my parents are high school science teachers, but my dad is so awesome with budgeting that we have plenty of money. there are a few reasons for this.

1. i do not have fancy, expensive things. my laptop was a big deal.
2. i do not have tons and tons of clothes. just cardigans.
3. basically, i just don't have a lot of things.

because of this, my parents had lots of money for me to experience things, and that, for my family, is travel.

every single summer, up until i was sixteen, we took at least a week vacation. every christmas we'd visit my grandparents in florida, and every spring break, we'd visit my other set in phoenix.

i am leaving to head to visit the phoenix set in approximately one point five hours. and i cannot contain my excitement. mostly because i want to live in phoenix.

at the tender age of twenty years, six months, and nineteen days, i have been to over forty-one states and five countries.

honestly, i'd rather have that on my resume than an iphone. but i'd still like the iphone.

normally, when my family travels, we drive. we drove to florida every year until that magical day that my father discovered airplanes (when i was about thirteen). when i was fifteen, we took a seventeen day road trip and almost made it to alaska. i liked my brother up until that trip. pretty sure i hated him the rest of the summer.

but since that happy day that my father discovered airplanes, we fly. and i have to say, i absolutely love flying.

but this is the weird thing. i hate flying. so let's make another list so you and i can understand how this works.

1. i absolutely love airports. i would live in them if i could. airports excite me. i feel happy. productive. terrific. i adore airports.
2. airplanes are so neat. i don't care about the engines or the physics, i just think that airplanes look cool.
3. i hate take-off and landing.
4. i'm fine up in the air with my ipod playing obscure hipster music.

numero uno is the most important bullet point in that list. airports are my favorite. so the summer of 2010, when i flew from indiana to denver by myself, that was so exciting! and yes, this is what my blog is actually about. me flying across the country by myself like a big girl.

national youth conference, otherwise known as NYC, is something that happens in my church every four years at colorado state university (CSU. oh the acronyms!). i am proud to be a religious minority. trust me, we're not on the SAT bubble in thing. we're last on the ACT. so NYC is decently important. it's where the three thousand of us brethren high school kids get to congregate, live on a college campus, and worship god in our little brethren minority way for five days.

because of work, i was not able to fly out with my youth group. i would be flying out all by myself with my one bag of checked luggage and my one carry-on item. i would arrive at NYC one day late but still be able to join in the five day festivities of worshipping god.

this was my only chance for this experience. the next time NYC rolled around, i'd be twenty-three.

the sunday before i left, i swam my last summer swim team relay race (for the team that i coach) and upon finishing, i sprained my wrist on the wall. it didn't mean much at the time, not until i broke my hand three hours later. that didn't mean much until three weeks later when i finally found out it was broken after working the rock wall at my church camp.

i packed and packed and was too excited to sleep. i was going to NYC! i was going to colorado! i was going to meet so many great people from across the country!  my wrist really hurt!

the not sleeping turned out to be a bad thing. my dad came and woke me up at two o'clock in the morning. i think i fell asleep around midnight.

i was too excited to sleep on the drive down to indianapolis, a two hour drive from my house. i chattered and chattered and my dad popped espresso coffee beans like he was dr. house popping vicodin. i was so excited, i was so ready, i was going to fly all by myself. i had my tickets and my luggage and an extra change of clothes and my cell phone to call my youth pastor when i got to denver, and i even had my shuttle ticket to take me from denver to fort collins. i was so unbelievably ready.

when my dad drove away, leaving me in the lit up overhang of the indianapolis airport and i knew that i had nowhere to go but on, i wanted to bawl my nineteen year old eyes out, go home, and snuggle with a stuffed animal.

i managed to check my own luggage without much of a hassle. at five o'clock in the morning, the security line wasn't too long. i didn't have to go through those weird new puffer doors that shoot painful puffs of air at you. i thought that the young guy behind me in a trench coat might be a serial killer. i went back on that statement when he pulled out a paperback copy of the fellowship of the ring.

while i waited at my gate, too nervous to be tired, i played solitaire anxiously on my ipod and listened to kings of leon (don't judge, it was 2010). an asian lady watched me as i nervously clicked through card after card. finally i got to board my flight. i talked to a blond haired lady with a carry on that was probably too large for airport regulations.

just my luck, i was seated next to an old guy who looked possibly turkish. his scruffy beard seemed sinister to me. i was sure that if my dad had been a row behind me, i wouldn've been fine, but here i was, flying all by myself, terrified of an older looking man sitting next to me because he had gray scruffle and puffy eyes. he looked a bit like tim curry.

he slept the entire flight. i anxiously read harry potter.

the flight was flawless. but there was no dr. pepper.

denver's airport is one of my favorites, but once i got off and collected my luggage, i wasn't quite sure where to go with my shuttle ticket. i called my youth pastor and told her i was safe and sound in colorado, and she said, "hooray! now get on that shuttle and get here!"

so i wandered around aimlessly with my luggage and back pack, becoming increasingly more sleepy. but i had just flown backwards in time three hours. it wasn't even noon yet. good lord, i was hungry. and i had a shuttle ticket.

i found a counter behind a curtain of glass. the lady behind the counter took my receipt and told me where to go.

i went in the wrong direction.

i waited and waited in the wrong spot for my shuttle. finally i got enough courage to ask somebody, and i was on the wrong side of the entire freaking airport.

when i found the correct shuttle waiting place, i sat on a bench and munched on some blueberries. my youth pastor called about why i was late. i got on the shuttle when it came and stared at the rocky mountains and wondered about living in colorado instead of arizona. then i remembered that i don't like to downhill ski (too scary) and i hated snow (too cold).

the shuttle dropped me off at a fancy looking mall. i then had to transfer onto a small personal shuttle that had a few people on it. i listened to music while two young guys with gigantic archery bows loudly discussed bow hunting.

i was not in the midwest. i was in a movie where young guys with gigantic archery bows loudly discussed bow hunting.

by the time i made it to CSU and my youth pastor found me, i was exhausted. but it was only noon, and i had another twelve hours of NYC fun ahead of me. what happened next was this:

1. i put my stuff in a dorm. on the eighth floor.
2. i got lost in a big scary building looking for my NYC group.
3. i went swimming.
4. it rained while it was cloudless.
5. i ate dinner.
6. i went to a workshop.
7. i wandered around the campus.
8. i went to ten o'clock worship with 3,000 other youth.
9. i went to a candlelight vigil to mourn the loss of my aunt to breast cancer the previous spring.
10. i slept for six hours before another full day of NYC began again.

in approximately one hour, i will be packing up my suitcase and heading to indianapolis. then i will board a plane destined for phoenix arizona to spend a week with my twelve crazy relatives.

once again, i have harry potter and my love of airports to keep me company.

if you're traveling somewhere this christmas, i hope you travel safely, and that you have a hell of a good time. sometimes the fun is in the actual traveling, not the destination.

and hopefully, i will not be sitting next to a man that looks like tim curry.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

i'll put the coffee on.

this is one of those magical moments where i am holed up in the library, but i do not have any homework that is sitting in my bag screaming, "EMILY I SWEAR TO GOD IF I DON'T GET DONE, YOU ARE GOING TO FLUNK OUT OF COLLEGE AND GO HOME TO LIVE WITH YOUR PARENTS AND NEVER BE A TEACHER."

i just reread that and realized how dramatic it was.

but seriously, i really don't have that much homework to do.

and that's what's scaring me and prompting me to blog.

things prompting me to blog:

1. it's the sunday before finals week and i am sitting here with no homework to accomplish. i do, however, have a box of teddy grahams and a vitamin water.
2. with no homework to accomplish, i am absolutely bored out of my mind. there's a criminal minds marathon on A&E, but i don't want to leave my boyfriend alone in the library with his fascism essay.
3. i just watched the latest episode of chuck and am not entirely sure what my emotions are doing.
4. now i'm making a list about why i'm blogging in my blog.

i feel that if i make this blog entirely about homework, it'll be short and weird. but what the hell, let's do it.

and i really hope that you don't stop reading this because it's about homework. i swear, i'll try to make this entertaining. because my life is generally entertaining, and i feel like you're on here because you find me writing about my life at least a little bit entertaining too.

so. finals week at alma college looks something like this.

1. grab all of the books and notes you own.
2. spend an hour trying to find a place to camp out in the library, buy something with caffeine from highland java, and praise the extended hours.
3. spend a ridiculous amount of time on facebook, tumblr, youtube, or whatever you're into.
4. actually do your homework when you realize it's midnight and the library closes at two.

all day. errrrayday.

this also applies to the week before finals, which was last week. there are punctuated classes between hours and hours of endless studying.

as you probably know, my goal is to become a teacher. i want to teach spanish and literature. my schedule doesn't truly live up to this goal. my schedule for the (now finished!) fall semester.

1. philosophy. (oh. my. lord. comprehensive final. there is homework screaming in my bag.)
2. zumba. (no. i cannot dance. i just pretend that i can.)
3. creative writing. (my pen might vomit soon.)
4. education 200. (the weeder class that's nothing but cases and portfolios and dr. seals being legitimate.)
5. advanced spanish composition. (this is where true evil exists and i question learning spanish at all.)

my finals stand something like this.

1. comprehensive philosophy final on wednesday. no studying in sight.
2. educational portfolio due on friday. finished.
3. creative writing portfolio due on monday. finished.
4. four page spanish research paper in spanish. almost finished, just need to talk to my professor about my somewhat strange these that involves the word "erradicar."

i'm feeling pretty good about how this is going. but while everybody is freaking out this week, i saved all of my freak out for last week.

so last sunday was this super epically productive day where i decided that i was going to write my spanish paper on illiteracy in colombia. illiteracy in spanish is analfabetismo, which makes me think of "without alphabet" in greek or latin or something, and i have gotten so good at typing that word it is not even funny. but once i decided on that, i had this brilliant idea that went something like this.

"hey! all of your education portfolio stuff, with the autobiography and the student interview... you could do that in two hours and then not worry about it at all and turn it in a week early and then just be like... existing on campus."

i enjoy existing on campus.

so that sunday i did all of my education portfolio stuff, turned it into dr. seals, went and said hi to my boss, and painted a happy birthday sign and felt pretty happy. i might've eaten some licorice.

then thursday happened.

to help with my productivity, i wore a teachery outfit. i was going to print off my entire 112 page english portfolio and make it pretty. then i was going to write my entire four page paper about illiteracy in colombia in spanish and hopefully learn lots of vocabulary along the way.

i holed up in my friend sarah's carrel. she's told me that i can use it, but it was covered in her scary shakespeare books for dr. aspinall's class, and no matter how much i covered it with my stuff, it didn't feel like mine. i felt guilty and texted her to let her know what i was doing. she laughed at me. i had from ten thirty until one to do a lot of work, and i spread my study wings and went to work on that portfolio.

i spent a decent amount of time three hole punching my 112 page portfolio. when i finished grunting and sweating in my cute teachery outfit, i found the electronic three hole punch machine. i accidentally sent half of my portfolio down to the basement printer when i was on the third floor. after putting it together, i found i put some chunks in the wrong area. my table of contents was out of order and i had to reprint it. i did this all in my socks.

then it was just sitting there in this big fat blank binder and the hipster in me thought, "naming this 'portfolio' is so incredibly mainstream and dr. vivian will be expecting it."

so, i spent an indecent amount of time avoiding my spanish paper by naming my portofolio and honest to god decorating the binder. on friday dr. vivian asked if anybody wanted to turn their portfolios in, and i selfishly kept mine because it is beautiful and i am proud of my 112 pages of original work. and the hot air balloon on the front of it looks like the up house. it's called "ribbons and bows". mostly because i like to wear bows in my hair.

i then had from two o'clock until five o'clock back at sarah's carrel to write my spanish paper. i actually sat down and went through my 28 pages of research and highlighted what looked useful. i think that taking advanced spanish composition has made me a worse spanish reader and a worse spanish speaker. eventually i think i was just highlighting anything that said "educacion."

then i spent the remaining time on tumblr and thinking about blogging about all of this. i did fill out my RA evaluations, that made me feel a bit better.

after dinner i had a complete freak out where i sat on my bed and cried and fed my fish too much food so i didn't eat my own feelings. i needed to write my paper before ten o'clock (my mandatory hall meeting about christmas check-out) and it was now seven in the evening. how on earth was i supposed to write a four page argumentative research paper in another language in three hours?

desperation. that's how.

my best friend google translate and i busted through that four page paper in less than two hours. i left the library practically in tears and i am happy to say, i did not go back to the library until this afternoon. and after that paper was over, elf was on TV.

ELF.

so everybody is at least a little upset that i'm not really doing much at the moment. but i will tell you, i did far too much work (and procrastination) on thursday to make this week so much happier and healthier.

i think i might actually work out this week.

so now all that's left is this awful comprehensive final in philosophy. i really knew i should've paid attention to those terrible plato presentations that we did. at least my presentation involved a disney movie.

i believe i'm going to go study some philosophy now and hope that tomorrow doesn't come, because i really don't want to turn in my creative writing portfolio. i am selfish. but i really like that binder.

oh yes, the front of my portfolio.
not mainstream.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

well aren't you pretentious.

once again, i am holed up in a study room and lo and behold, not doing my homework.

yes. i am wearing a cardigan. i am also wearing some random person's shirt from 2003 greek week and there is a walrus on my left sock.

the homework that i have to get done is not truly as terrible as it sounds, it's just rather tedious and time consuming. the main problem is that none of it is in english.

1. read this little paragraph about research paper criteria. pick out the criteria and make a list.
2. read these two introductory paragraphs and see if they fit the criteria.
3. after deciding that they DON'T fit the criteria, rewrite a list with different criteria to make it fit.
4. then go research a large amount about illiteracy in colombia.

none of this is in english. the directions or the paragraphs or the research.

i've done one and two. i just really don't see myself doing the other two for a long time. so... like, after dinner.

i did that thing where i got on tumblr. then to get myself away from tumblr, i decided that i was going to write my novel.

this was a novel  idea (haaaa i made a pun), seeing as i haven't written a word of my book in at least a month and a half. this is killing me, because i have been working on this damn book for something like eight months, and it's only 311 pages. it's also gotten a lot of leukemia twitter sites to follow me.

i really shouldn't complain about this novel. i've been writing my other one for nearly two years and that hasn't moved in at least nine months. poor eli is stuck in the moscow airport not quite sure what he's doing there until i figure out what he's there for. when i do, i'm pretty sure i will dance and sing and not surface from that book for at least three hours.

this other novel, this 311 page one, i have it open at the bottom of my screen. it's a little microsoft word tab between my sticky notes tab and my spotify tab. i'm not sure why i have spotify open because i'm listening to iron & wine on my ipod.

so the other day i had to write a creative writing reflection about my habit of art (which i never formed) and my writing process. i already blogged about my poem process; my pen just kind of vomits strange words everywhere. while i was writing my four page reflection that turned out to be like, eight pages at least, i began to feel guilty about not making my habit of art. i feel like it might make writing novels easier.

the first day of class, dr. vivian (while still clutching that sacred rose) begged us to try for just one semester to write every day. that didn't sound bad to me, i did it all the time during the summer. but i underestimated how busy i would be this semester, what with being an RA, going to chapel, being a placement teacher, being in other various organizations, and having five classes. soon it was things like "go write this spanish paper and when you're done, make sure you read these five education cases and do write ups for them" instead of "go work on your novel."

i sat there dreamily the first day of class and said, "oh yes dr. vivian, i can make a habit of art."

look how that ended up.

the other week i was thinking to myself, when i make my 100 page portfolio (which is done!) i can make it ALL poetry. i can write one hundred poems. that'll be so cool.

since that time, i have written maybe three poems. don't get me wrong, i still have a good thirty poems in my portfolio, but nowhere near one hundred. and their eccentric strangeness has me worried for my sanity.

but getting back to my creative writing reflection and discussing how i just didn't get to the habit of art, i was supposed to make a connection between my work. before i comment on that, i should describe exactly what i did to order my portfolio.

i took my six main characters that i had book chunks from.

1. clementine. an eighteen year old aspiring baker/astronaut with a boyfriend that has leukemia.
2. eli. a twenty-four year old bank investor who is abnormally tall, abnormally rich, abnormally nice, has an elderly friend named charlie who rather resembles my grandfather, and is recovering from the sudden death of his fiancee.
3. alice. an eighteen year old compulsive arsonist who gets involved with a bipolar explosives dealer. (don't ask.)
4. cameron. a seventeen year old australian kid who is still piecing his life together after his older sister died when he was ten.
5. frank. a fifty-two year genius with a secret, an estranged wife, and a missing daughter who randomly shows up to come live with him.
6. kip. well, you probably know kip, the blind kid. if not, see previous blogs.

i wrote all of these names on a chalkboard, and then i wrote major themes from their lives and their stories underneath them. i generally had about six traits and themes under each one, and there was something that fit for every single one of them.

terrible or nonexistent father.

where on EARTH did that come from?


and then i think i figured it out.

if you know anything about me, it should be that i love my family, and i love my father. i believe that my father is superman. he is nerdy and funny with a unique sense of humor. he is incredibly smart. he calls me sweetheart. he cooks me pancakes every single saturday and he can solve any problem. he does sudokus in pen and doesn't blink. he has a great taste in movies and he is the best teacher that i have ever had. i am a daddy's girl through and through.

so what i figured out was this: every single person in my novels has terrible or nonexistent dads because not having a dad or having one that's absolutely terrible is something that i find to be terrifying. i think it's one of the biggest letdowns and conflicts and terrible things i could possibly write about, and so i do.

i state this so much better in my reflection.


Perhaps all of these broken families stem from my terror of not having my father be the father that he is. Not having a father, or having one who not suited to fit the role of father, is one of the worst plights that I can possibly imagine, and my terror comes out through these people that live in my head. Perhaps they are me without a father and they live up there to remind me of everything that I have. It is their job to come out through my writing to remind me of how impossibly lucky I am to be the daughter of William Hollenberg.

yes. i think i state that much better in essay form. 


you know, this isn't really where i intended my blog to go. but my blogs never truly go where i intend them to go, and that's kind of how i write books. when i started wrting about kip's sister, i had no idea what was going to happen. the next thing i knew, i was killing people and there was an iranian cab driver.

a lot of the time i wish that i had been given some other weird talent other than writing novels. writing novels is annoying. it's a pain in the butt. it sounds pretentious, so i really don't like to talk about it. i don't like how people tell me that a terrifically painful process is "cool". i'm forced to read good works of literature for my major and realize that i'll never write that well. but i write novels anyway because i think that if i didn't, i would go absolutely insane.

more insane than i already am.

i am now going to end this blog, do some laundry, and hopefully eat pasta. and maybe, just maybe, i will continue to write about clementine. and perhaps eli.

he really needs to leave that russian airport. nine months is a long time to be in an airport.