How Chelsea Handler Handles It

Chelsea Handler's new collection of essays has become my most recent obsession.

It's hilarious of course (as to be expected) but I agree with most everything she says.

She touches on everything from ill-spirited jokes played on her highly-gullible boyfriend to her friend Lydia's redneck wedding to her take on Gingers (shout out to Cara). However, my favorite excerpt thus far is her take on the new lingo of the technological era, in which people insist upon using frequent abbreviations that I, in turn, must translate. The use of hieroglyphics, morse code, and other forms of secret languages in a text message or any other form of computerized communication irks me to no end. I agree whole-heartedly with Chelsea's rant:

"You wouldn't say LOL if you were out to lunch with someone, so why would you write it in an instant message or an e-mail? Just laugh alone in your office or house. I don't need to be notified that you're laughing. If someone is busy laughing, then how do they have the time to be typing the letters LOL?"

Now, I am a huge fan of emoticons, not because they are entirely cute (they aren't, in fact) but because I have found that one's tone does not translate in a text message. Therefore, a smiley face will let the recipient know that I was attempting to be sarcastic, genuine, or entirely mean. It really saves me from a lot of misunderstandings in the long run.

I also use a tremendous amount of "haha"s, so this post could be read as somewhat hypocritical by some. However, let me differentiate between the two: a "haha" is chuckling mildly to oneself, which yes, I do indeed do. On the other hand, I would bet good money that no one is laughing out loud at any text message they receive unless it is from Chelsea Handler herself. Otherwise, you are just chuckling.

I'm terribly happy to get that off my chest. TTFN, LYL, TTYL, BBL, etc. etc. etc. to those of you who LOL.

xoxo e

It's There Just The Same

There’s a tree in our “front yard” and it’s blooming. Blooming, so everyone can see. It looms over us, touching the clear, blue firmament of clouds and atmosphere, with outstretched, mangled brown arms that hold dozens of bright white petals. You can smell it outside—a thick, floral smell that permeates the air and chokes you…in a good way. It fills you up, the smell. It enters your lungs until you breathe in so deeply that it resides in the pit of your stomach, so close you feel as though you could taste it. Every day it changes; there will be a few more blooms as the scent becomes richer and richer until it’s a flower in the sky. A big, white cotton ball kissing the blue.

But it’s trapped in a cage of brick in the center of our courtyard, all alone in the wilderness created by man for man’s enjoyment. It doesn't get its fair share of sunshine, shaded by the bricks. But it still looms above the roof of our dorm, peeking it’s majesty out, seeing the world. The world teases it, as it sits in its cage, wishing. Wishing for clean air, room to flourish and grow, to feel the wind pass through it as it travels through the grass. But for now, it’s sitting in our “front yard”, wishing all alone.

It’s there, even when you don’t notice it. A lot of people don’t. But it’s there just the same. Wishing, all alone.

xoxo e

Pause, Rewind

It occurred to me that the most negative aspect of college is that you do not have time to think. Now, isn't that ironic?

xoxo e

"No one ever told me I was pretty when I was a little girl. All little girls should be told they're pretty, even if they aren't" -Marilyn Monroe

Forgetting

I love storms. And tonight’s is especially wonderful. The whistling, howling thrust of the winds, the fervent rain as it beats upon the glass windows, the crash of thunder and the clap of lightning. In those few seconds of blinding light, you can see the rolling landscape for miles—hills, trees, grass, and pure white sky. I feel so small compared to such an eternity of vastness…insignificant, even. It’s humbling to take in the glory of nature in its splendor, whether it is flexing its muscles during a storm or offering peaceful tranquility in the breeze. What often goes unnoticed is what is often the most magnificent.

I think that my favorite part about thunderstorms--I also have a soft spot for hurricanes as well--stems from the fact that they are utterly, completely chaotic. They're like a physical example of emotions gone wild: they impose upon structure and order a chaos so dauntingly threatening and dangerous that everything else couldn't possibly be worse in comparison. It's as if everything stops for a storm...your worries, your cares...and it consumes you whole-heartedly until at last it is peaceful. Hence, "the calm after the storm". It's really quite beautiful if you think about it. Storms take precedence over everything else and make you forget. To forget is sometimes, the greatest of all gifts.

Of course, I love trees and grass and the smell of the woods in summer as well. The rustle of wild animals in the leaves of the brush by my house, or the gentle movement of the water in the nearby pond as the wind kisses it. I sound like such a tree-hugger. But really, to any one of my privileged friends who lives a highly industrialized, urban life, I do hope you take the time to bask in the splendor of the natural world. Nothing manmade can compare to its majesty.

Don't wait for the perfect moment...seize the moment, and make it perfect.

Argumentative Criticism

I saw this picture, and for some reason this is what I thought of. Have you ever thought it funny that you often have to displace yourself in order to make sense of a situation? It's like we need a bird's eye view to totally grapple with a problem. We need to "look at it from every angle", "clear our heads a little", "take a break".

I don't think this assertion is too much of a stretch--after all, couples take "breaks" in a relationship, those who dislike confrontation may chose to literally displace themselves from a threatening situation, et cetera. But is it strange that we feel compelled to leave such arguments in order to address them properly? Shouldn't we be able to voice our opinions and make the right decision without the cautionary displacement? After all, a "break" is more than halfway to a "break-UP".

Actually, if we need to leave a situation under the pretense that it is too threatening to us at one point, do we really want to come back to that tension later, having armed ourselves with the necessary comebacks, argumentative points, what have you? In my opinion, there is no need to prolong a situation that is undesirable unless extraordinary circumstances prevent us from continuing towards a progressive and constructive end. It is not in our nature--and therefore harmful--to dwell upon such circumstances for longer than need be.

xoxo e

It's Kind of Fun to do the Impossible

In Wonderland, everyone, it seems, is just a little bit mad. It’s a dream world of fantasy relatively similar to the world we know, where white rabbits wear topcoats and hats, soldiers are cards and chess pieces, animals talk, potions can make you grow and cake can make you shrink, and where good triumphs over evil. “If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is because everything would be what it isn’t. And contrary-wise; what it is it wouldn’t be, and what it wouldn’t be, it would. You see?” This topsy turvy world of Alice’s imagination isn’t the result of madness, but rather intuitive genius. Her character has spawned an entire realm of being contrary to our own, existing in a way outside of reality but also starkly similar to it at the same time. How many of us can say the same? Of course the original media adaptation of Alice in Wonderland was the result of the ingenuity of one man: Walt Disney. He was an innovator who knew no boundaries—he merely scratched the surface of the child in each of us, coaxing those innocent dreams that only we can conquer out of our subconscious, and assuring us that we can achieve them. His enterprise serves as a testament to this idea, the revolutionary dream of one man who continues to touch the lives of generations of dreamers. Every dream that you dream will come true, “if you only have the power to pursue them”. He was stung by the splendor of dreaming, and made his come true.

xoxo e

Never a Dull Moment

Robin Williams is a genius. I don't understand how one man can have so many personalities and yet not be completely mad. Either he's the greatest actor alive, or he's off his rocker.

xoxo e

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

I found a dozen vintage postcards in my bag today—I forgot that I bought them a few weeks ago from a hole-in-the-wall bookstore downtown. They’re mostly black and white photographs of men and women at various stages of life, thoroughly enjoying it. Life, I mean. They’re adoringly simple. Images frozen in time: quaint smiles caught on film between lovers as they stroll under sunlit trees and shrubbery in one card to children mid-jump, legs and arms askew as they dance by a lake in another. It’s eternally 1:10 in the afternoon on 44^th Street in yet another postcard—this one hails from 1938. None of the men and women in the picture seem particularly enthusiastic to get to wherever they are headed, keeping their heads down and concentrating entirely on each step. Here’s another 1930’s photo, of Billy and Beverly Bemis frozen in a perfectly choreographed Charleston step, him gazing into her eyes as she beams for the camera. Her face is flawless—it’s painted up like a China doll—and if you look closely you can see his taut muscles flex through the backswing of the eight count. Finally, it’s Audrey Hepburn poised on the back of a wooden chair like an elegant gazelle, hair perfectly coiffed out of her face as she leans contentedly on the dark mahogany wood, hand strategically placed to show off the dazzling ring on her finger. Eyes big, eyebrows up, lips thinly drawn into a half-smile.

xoxo e

"The answer is in the back of the book but the page is gone."

"There is always another country and always another place.

There is always another name and another face.

And the name and the face are you, and you

The name and the face, and the stream you gaze into

Will show the adoring face, show the lips that lift to you

As you lean with the implacable thirst of self,

As you lean to the image which is yourself,

To set the lip to lip, fix eye to bulging eye,

To drink not of the stream but of your deep identity,

But water is water and it flows,

Under the image on the water the water coils and goes

And its own beginning and its end only the water knows."

-Robert Penn Warren, Fugitive Poet

Mindless Wanderings, Wonderings, etc.

I was sitting in my Southern Literature class last night as my professor went over Flannery O'Connor's "A Good Man is Hard to Find" and "The Life You Save May Be Your Own" (all about people who are blindly trying to carve out a meaningful existence in the world), doodling. Stars, flowers, hearts, circles, and squiggles of course. I read somewhere that what you doodle may potentially be linked to your innermost subconscious, the feelings embedded so deep within you that you never knew were there. Your mind tends to wonder off, thinking of absolutely nothing, but drawing shapes and figures on scraps of paper, turning boring notes into works of art with a simple BIC pen. There must be something terribly wrong with someone who never doodles. It's a creative outlet for the imagination, the way I see it.

Anyway, I was doodling clouds and suns and moons and tulips and bumble bees, stars and zig zags and sunflowers and daisies, and waves. My mind went with the waves--picturing a vast abyss of ocean, clear blue-green waters crashing into white foam, sun glistening off the top of the silky smooth surface with glittering light, and the faint, crooning sound of crash, crash, crash, crash. That's inspiration, the waves. Next my mind wandered towards inspirational quotes (a weakness of mine), wracking my memory for a good quote to place next to my elementary sketch of the ocean. "Make waves" came to mind, which may have a negative connotation for many people, but I wrote it anyway. I suppose you could view the phrase as a sort of anthem against the inactivity of character...those who "make waves" don't "go with the flow"; rather, they strive to make an impact through their actions, ambitions, what have you whether the world views them positively or not.

I don't entirely know where this post is going...perhaps it's a perfect parallel to my doodling. Doodling is a visual stream of consciousness. I suppose my subconscious is telling me not to go with the flow, but to make waves. If you want to be remembered, you have to stand out. If you want to promote change, you have to voice yourself. You have to make waves.

xoxo e

Revelations 1.0

One of my many goals in life is to change someone significantly. Utterly, completely, significantly.

xoxo e

"I would go most anywhere to find where I belong."

Tale as Old as Time

I had to send my laptop off to be repaired...again...so I've confined myself strictly to Carrier library for a few days. Not that I mind. It's beautiful. In opposition to the clean, clear newness of ECL, Carrier is much more rustic and intelligent and dilapidatedly charming all at once. ECL is an innovation in both technology and appearance, but it doesn't have a history yet. There's this one spot near the back of the library with a gigantic wooden table and vintage green banker lights, secluded from the general traffic. Glass cases containing vintage silk-and-lace women's dresses align the wall and a white statue of Joan of Arc sits magestically in the corner, a testament to the room's historical significance. The lighting is rather dim, but it's a genteel, welcoming feel. It screams of intelligence. To put it simply, it's not particularly aesthetically pleasing, but it's in the understated that one finds beauty. It's my absolute favorite spot on campus. Actually, now that I think about it, it was the spot where I first realized, "Wow. I'm in college." It was sort of a startling revelation, if I remember correctly: wondering how many other people had sat in the same spot I had, with ambitions yet unfulfilled and dreams that had yet to come true. I wonder if they've achieved them now.
But I digress. Now there are people milling about, disrupting it's normal tranquility, so I've moved upstairs to yet another desk surrounded rows of novels in a kaleidoscope of colors and an assortment of authors known and lost to the mind. It's the perfect balance of musty and old-book smell. Oh, and Starbucks of course. Everyone around me is slurping their caffinated coffees and frappachinos, et cetera. Modern amenities and past necessities.
It's snowing outside, and through the condensation on the window I have a perfect view of the English building--Keezell, for those who aren't familiar with campus--and the sun behind the clouds. It's getting gradually darker as the day wears on, and my essay on Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury and Porter's Old Mortality gets further and further from being finished.
I just realized I'm a book-nerd. A bilbiophile--that's the word for it. Or perhaps a lover of nostalgia. Hmm. At any rate, I've come to the conclusion that every task you undertake is just a little bit more bearable with a positive outlook...a philosophy I've recently adopted which I highly recommend. I suppose I'm priviledged to have such a beautiful place at my disposal in which to work. No wonder Belle hung out in libraries. Just sharing my thoughts.

xoxo e

Bygones, Gone by

The world as I know it is an exchange. Civilization is, in my opinion, the culmination of events whether insignificant or momentous in occasion, a constant gnawing and thrashing of ideas exchanged between persons on an everyday basis. Are we nothing but a series of learned events and memories? Each of us is the product of a delightful concoction of experiences that determine who we are: a Ferris wheel ride as a child whose rickety finish and creaking, croaking emissions instilled a fear of heights in us at such a susceptible age + saying hello to a familiar face in the very first class of the year and now having the best friend a girl could ask for + laughing so hard with your siblings over absolutely nothing at all, and having fits of giggles for years afterwards whenever that fleeting memory bubbles to the surface = life, a mixture of good and bad lessons learned from the mundane of everyday experience to the most memorable and significant of occasions. Every person we meet leaves an imprint—whether heavily influencing our existence or only lightly treading on our map of life, we are affected by our surroundings in a way we often do not recognize. You’d be awfully surprised how just a smile can make someone’s day. Let bygones by bygones, kiss them goodbye.

xoxo e