One Friend Request

I logged into my facebook over the break to find out I had one very interesting friend request, my aunt Nancy.  Now don't me wrong, my aunt is fairly cool, but the idea of letting someone who talks to my mother regularly look through my facebook is another story.  Its not that I have anything to hide, I'm in college, what I have on facebook is nothing I am particularly ashamed of, but for some reason, deciding whether or not to accept the request was more difficult than usual.  From my perspective, I see my facebook as something that all my friends can relate to, pictures from the nights before, out on halloween and what not, but generally speaking, my facebook isn't loaded with pictures of me doing homework or studying in the library.  I understand that all adults were in college at some point in their lives too, but regardless, it is still hard to accept the fact that my aunt is seeing me in a different light, and instead of blowing out candles at my 10th birthday, I am now at parties surrounded by drunk kids and girls in tight dresses.  I love my aunt, and I would love to be her friend, but I also feared that she would judge me on my pictures, and not on how she has known me my whole life.  

This seems to be a growing trend amongst the "older" generation.  My friends parents are now adding me on facebook along with my co-workers as well as my family.  I think there are two parts to my hesitation, trust, and image.  I first need to trust that my aunt and friend's parents will understand that at college, things are different.  I would hope that they understand I am not a bad person for drinking underage, but rather participating in what some would call "the college life".  Also, I need to trust that my aunt won't snoop through my facebook page trying to dig up some dirt to gossip with my mom about (trust me, this is my mom's second job).  On top of trust, I need to accept that facebook, however amazing and magical it may be, sadly, has flaws.  Like I mentioned, my page lacks pictures of me studying, watching movies, eating in the dining hall or drinking coffee with a professor, but it does show that I am enjoying college. I'm not going to lie that I drink, but I also need to prove (with my grades) that I am capable of balancing a strong academic course load with a fun and stress relieving social life.  Whatever it may be, facebook and I clearly have some problems that we need to work out.  

Just to let you know, I did add my aunt Nancy, as well as my friends mom, my neighbor and even my little sister.  I guess writing about image and reality has become a way of answering my own inner-struggles.  Luckily, adding an aunt on facebook isn't life changing, but I have realized that the little things in life, just like the big ones, are important in sculpting who I have become and who I will be in the future.  Thank you.

Tweens Gone Wild

Look at this picture and analyze it. 

What do you see?

I was looking through the infamous Facebook and "creeping" on my little sister's page when I came across this picture of her and some friends playing Beer Pong in my garage.  I first saw this image and thought, "Hmm, I wonder how they got the beer.....?", and then I realized what I just asked myself- What the hell is my fourteen year old sister doing playing root in my garage with her other freshman friends.  I know high school is a time when kids begin to experiment, I had my first drink freshman year too, but something about this public display on Facebook made me so angry.  It made me sad to see my angelic little sister doing something that I know would jeopardize her standing at the private school she attends. I also was ashamed that my little sister was doing things I never did when I was her age, but upon reflection, I began to blame myself.  I always played drinking games with my friends around her, I let her hang out with us, join in the fun, but I never thought that what I was doing would set a bad example for her. I called my mom; not to tell on her, but to explain my frustration.  I asked her if she was home that night, and she said yes- which shocked me. (Was my mom letting kids drink in our house? Were they doing it while she was home?)  I then asked what Becca and her friends were doing, and she explained they were playing games and dancing and making s'mores and that she came up with the cutest idea...... ROOT-beer pong.  

Pictures lie.  A photo may reveal some truth, but out of context, becomes a lie.  The picture looks like students playing beer pong.  Some who have a good eye for age would know these students are freshman in high school and clearly should not be playing a drinking game.  But what I didn't realize, because the photo doesn't allow it, is that the cups were filled with root-beer.  My mom, although potentially training younger students in the art of college "athletics", was being responsible, and judging that a group of kids together would be tempted to drink, decided to play into their desire by making a clever twist.  I end with another famous quote from my mom "I invented Thumper, you would pass out playing against me."

Time Machines, Unicorns and the Bizarre Minds of Scarlet and I

We took the Unicorn bus from Newport to Coventry all the way to 62 Woodbury Street.  On the way we concocted a list of ingredients we need for the Time Machine; Ogre toe nail, Baby tears, Jewish Potato Latkes, Team Pup-n-Suds T-shirt, Kool-Aid.... We are determined to win the race to build a time machine against the class valedictorian Yi Cao and her friend with a rolly-backpack Dymond Bush.  We've almost collected all the ingredients, luckily the Unicorn bus can bring us anywhere in the world, so we have the advantage, but the competition stills goes on.

Scarlet and I sit in Glinglish Glash drawing pictures of Ruben Blades, not to be confused with the spanish singer, but his crime fighting, sword bearing, twin brother.  We sing out the answers to the teacher and after every question make an interpretive dance move in celebration.  We sing "You raise me up" to our spanish teacher Zach for the 12th time that day, and then we run off screaming anarchy to the student commons where we clip funny pictures from the times and add our own captions to the people's face.  

Sally picks us up from school at 3:11, because even numbers lead to sheer death, and we scream "Hey Amy Harris!" and Sally questions what is wrong with us. We tell her that her name isn't Sally, because her initials from the license plate are AH, so her name is Amy Harris. We put on Jock Jams and sing until we have to hold our breaths, as we pass a car with only numbers on its plate ( a clear sign that the driver can infect you with syphilis). We drive across the Red Bridge, turn onto Hope, go past the JCC as we scream "Happy New Year" and once again, we pull into 62 Woodbury Street where we hop out of the car and plop ourselves onto the big white couch where our fantasies become realities.

Scarlet is my best friend, and the story I just told is something we just talked about on the phone.  Our lives, day after day, were filled with bizarre rules, quirky dances, silly songs and crazy games, all ways to make our "real" lives into fantasy. People may think I'm crazy after reading this, but I love hanging out with Scarlet.  Together, hours pass without comprehensible conversations or relevant stories, simply because they don't have to. Sometimes our lives are so real, that they become too normal, "taken for granted" in every which way.  Taking our fantasies and making them apart of our lives changes the imagination into reality, something that is undeniably real, to us, or to anyone who wants to believe they are real.  I argue that lies just as much as truth can be equally part of our own realities. In the book Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf  Martha and George live a life that is filled with many lies, the biggest one being an imaginary son.  Is it wrong to treat the make-believe equal to something real? People dream, and wish and hope, but what good is it to dream unless you can act that someday those dreams can happen?  Scarlet and I don't hope to invent a Time Machine, Yi and Dymond have no clue that they are competing against us, but our entertainment, our friendship, relies on our belief in the make-believe.  Just like George and Martha's marriage was held together by something not actually there, Scarlet and I live off the idea that anything we come up with can become part of our everyday lives.  There is no denying that Scarlet and I are crazy, and quite possibly have spent WAY too much time together, but hey, is it wrong to still use your imagination?  Until my next entry, I will leave you with the piece of advice Scarlet gave me "Don't die!"

Kennedy Plaza Expeditions

I stood in front of the office waiting in the line to buy a bus pass when the movie started.  She stepped into frame, pushing the business women in front of me to interrupt my view of the back of her head.  Her big eyes caught my attention, her round and unpleasant face glistened under the skylight, she licked her lips, leaned in close, and whispered "You buyin' a bus pass?" "No" "Are you sure, 'cuz we sellin' them outside suga" "I'm sure, I just need some RipTix" "Well if you change your mind..." Now her large breasts were being revealed, fighting to bust out of her blue bra and the stretched velour jumpsuit that revealed her figure "We could hook you up cutie, save you some money..." And just like that, she slipped away, back into the movie, and reality rushed back through my nostrils and awakened my senses. I laughed. The lady in front turned around and said "The things people do for money these days." "Its sad." "What's sad is she tried that on me two days ago" I understood now that what just happened was not a dream, but rather that sad reality of life.  

It is a funny story to tell; being seduced by a 20 something year old hustler, exposed breasts, over a bus pass that I would rather pay for in the first place.  Sometimes I swear that what happens to me in real life couldn't even be created by the crazed writers in Hollywood.  Kennedy Plaza is a dose of reality and fiction that influences my imagination every year.  People watching is the name of the game, sometimes you have to look for the fiction, other times, the characters come right to you.  I have other stories of caring immigrants, bizarre business men, arguing strangers and married couples.  All the stories happened in my life, but they are so unreal, I find it hard to even recreate them in my dreams.  Maybe I am just not used to public transportation just yet, but without a doubt, crazy stuff happens to me everyday I ride the #60 to Newport from downtown Providence.  

Fiction and reality are possibly the same thing.  Yes fiction is made up, and reality is something that is real, but is it weird to think that some real things seem fake, and sometimes fake things become just a real?  I always think of my life at the Truman Show, somehow, somewhere, people are watching my crazy life going along just as if everything I do is scripted.  The show would probably have terrible ratings because me sitting here writing this blog is not too exciting, or going to the bathroom isn't very Emmy-worthy, but if someone followed me with a video camera in Kennedy Plaza, sure enough, I would be adorned with comedy of the year.  

-Until my next story, from the Words of the Truman Show "We've become bored with watching actors give us phony emotions. We are tired of pyrotechnics and special effects. While the world he inhabits is, in some respects, counterfeit, there's nothing fake about Truman himself. No scripts, no cue cards. It isn't always Shakespeare, but it's genuine. It's a life."

             

Who's Afraid of Sherry Mason?

Blogs themselves, however expressive, are almost scary in a sense. Blogs to me are a way of hiding behind a computer screen, or creepily showing the world your thoughts, via words. I feel like Thomas Schell, Oskar's grandfather, writing down my feelings and thoughts rather than expressing them through words. At the same time, this blog is not my real feelings, I have to avoid offending people still, watch my vulgarity, and keep in mind the graded aspect of the project that started my blog in the first place.

The video reminds me of our class. The strange reality of Professor Mason "singing" this song to Smudge. Sometimes things that happen in reality seem to be fiction, or maybe I just wished they were fiction. After 9 children, being raised in the strange utopia know as the Midwest and getting her car stolen in Providence (which I still cannot believe) she has taught me a lot about fiction and reality. Fiction is something that can mirror reality, but can reality mirror fiction? Based on a true story? But sometimes, doesn't our lives feel like they're based on fiction?