good music, good people, GOOD DAY

There are some days that are just so blatantly awesome that you know you'll remember them forever.

You know what I mean.

That one time you won the second grade spelling bee or went on your first date or found your favorite long-lost sweater.

Days that will go down in infamy....obviously.

The best part about this particular genre of days is recognizing its blatant awesomeness before the day actually ends, so you can take full advantage of the time you have left in the 24 hours to put your best efforts towards making it infamously incredible.

Today is one of those days.

Not for anything in particular...just because I physically cannot stop smiling (which, to those of you who haven't yet picked up on my off-handed description, suggests the rather delirious state of happiness in which I existed today).

So much so, in fact, that a random passerby stopped me to inquire just what I was smiling about.

:)

To everyone out there, I hope your day was as wonderful as mine...even if you did nothing at all noteworthy :) Goodnight :)

If you want to get a glimpse into my mood today, here's a little something that might help you out: click here.

"These are a few of my favorite things..."

Instead of writing an intensely long blog post this week, I've decided to take the easy way out and just show you all the creative portion to my UPB application. Enjoy :)

I think...

...I think too much.

Do you believe...

...in the American Dream?

It sounds a little pretentious, right? Three little words, one big idea: the back-bone of a nation founded on the beliefs of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, a major driving force that motivates many immigrants to persevere and gain freedom in a land of opportunity, and the overall belief that one can overcome financial and social obstacles to achieve one’s goals. Three little words you learned in history class, cushioned by lots of other words in your thick, heavy textbook; almost lost on the page next to black and white photographs of skyscrapers, ocean-liners, and smiling old men you didn't recognize. Three little words that contain a mouthful of meaning and substance for people who put their entire lives into these words, believing them, living them, chasing them.

But does it exist? The American Dream? Does it belong among the history books? It could be that your premonition about the American dream is as though it is a little outdated, something to be cast aside with other grand ideas that never came about. Cynics would scoff at the very thought of the American dream--it's an unattainable ideal to them, something you wish for when you blow out the candles on your birthday cake...something they categorize along with leprechauns, unicorns, fairies, flying reindeer. They equate it with imaginary things--intangible things you can't see or feel. It's something to make fun of.

Are they completely right?

I don't pretend to know, of course. I'm not a great philosopher. And I'm not a historian. I only know what I think--and I often don't even know that.

However, I would say that those three little words are associated with the utmost form of happiness that we, as humans, could possibly imagine. There is no real definition for it--it's a shapeless, ever-changing entity. To the woman in front of you in line at the supermarket, happiness is finding the right man, getting married, and having healthy children by the time she is 35. To the family of immigrants at the JFK airport, happiness is embodied in the ticket they're holding--a ticket signifying a new life, a new place, a new home. To the little boy you see every day at the bus stop, happiness beeps, talks, and cost $19.95 at Toys R Us. For you, happiness could be sleeping in late...a good song on a radio...a trip to the beach...a new car...a relationship...winning the lottery.

When people are asked what they want most out of life, the most typical reply is “I want to be happy,” as if happy is some sort of place, either near or far away, like a petting zoo or Disneyworld or even some place in the clouds. Or perhaps it's something you grow into, like shoes or clothes. To a certain extent, happiness can be these things, but it is mainly a process fueled by attitude and the right mindset. But I don't think it's a place, or a person, or even an idea--it's a way of life.

To me, the American Dream is a glimmer of hope in a world full of darkness: something to strive for, live for, wish for. It's something to never let go of--but it doesn't consume you either. It just exists there, in the back of your mind, wishing with all it's might to come true.

If I had one wish--just one--it would be to never wake up from my American Dream :)

Creative Writing Piece #5893058

"Sweet dreams" you said,

Your breath hot as fresh bread

right out the oven. You smiled ear to ear in the dark.

We'd said almost nothing;

Silence interrupted by some song--either Zepplin or Sting--

on your car radio. Sky lit up like the ballpark

on the Fourth of July.

You said, "Doesn't time fly?"

Tryin' to make conversation

but not expecting an answer.

Silence spreading like cancer,

save the radio station.

And now it's September;

But don't you remember

Those endless summer nights of ours?

Moonless skies, a blanket of stars,

A picnic dinner and old binoculars

stolen quick from my Ivory Tower.

You were so very proud of your prize:

"Pulled the wool right over his eyes!"

Out way after curfew, parents both asleep.

Mom didn't care, but Dad didn't approve

Because of something you would say, think, or do.

He'd sworn up and down you were a creep.

You wearing your smirk

So pleased with your work;

Filling your head with hot air.

You'd regale me with your stories,

Your pitfalls, dreams, and well-deserved glories,

An "I love you" mixed in there somewhere.

You were cute in your own way, you know?

I knew you cared even when you didn't say so...

I could tell 'cause you got sort of jealous when the other boys stared.

It was young love, wasn't it?

It was, of course. But we wouldn't admit it.

So we just laughed it off.

I loved that you didn't force me to connect

with you--you made me so nervous! You were perfect;

You laughed with your eyes, knew how to dance, sang "Hey Jude" in the shower and made beef stroganoff...

And you were always right--right as rain.

I was inspired by Delillo and Twain

and Hemingway and Faulkner and the dead

Who were impacting the living.

But your look was so unforgiving.

I was just saying whatever popped into my head.

I loved you. You loved me.

We were just too different to simply be.

I just wanted to be remembered, that's all.

I didn't mean to bring it up.

We sat awhile, then packed your truck

And took one last drive past Mr. Jae's house, the middle school, and city hall.

One final kiss under our paper mache sky

Listening to the crickets' lullaby

And basking in the sweet by and by of it all.

DISCLAIMER: None of the aforementioned events ever occurred; nor are they based on real-life persons, places, or occurrences :)

I Believe in the Beauty of Dreaming

tick tick tick tick tock

I feel like it's been ages since I've updated my blog...I've been caught up with Orientation (which, by the way, I miss terribly) and the start of the new school year so hopefully my tardiness is forgiven :)

Anyway, here's a little bit of prose to get the ball rolling for September; I started writing it awhile ago and just stumbled upon it again the other day...enjoy :)

Have you ever noticed how much time is wasted in a day? The time you spend doing absolutely nothing at all, but staring off into space without a thought in your head or a word in your mouth or a purpose in your heart? The time you spend in transit from one place to the next—from the grocery store to a restaurant to a concert to your job…what about those? All those mundane tasks you do rather mechanically--robotic, even--muscle memory going about it's business, folding laundry, cooking dinner, getting dressed. It's noon, it's 3:00, it's 8;37, it's time for bed. Day in, day out, shuffling to and fro, tick tock, tick tock. Where do all the empty seconds go?

We're "wasting time", "killing time", and occasionally "using our time wisely". We "take the time" to do the things we most want to, but we can't be bothered to use our "precious time" to do others. Time "flies", "goes by". "Time is what we want most, but what we use worst".

Tick, tock, we're on the clock, saving daylight and setting alarms, waking up late and rushing around, errand after errand, meeting after meeting, time after time.

Last night I met with some of my friends to sit around, watch a movie, and simply enjoy each other's company. How many times have you done that? How much time have you spent that you've forgotten because it wasn't headline news, but it made you smile at the time--made you who you are? I don't know how long we stayed there--to you, we could have been wasting our time away--talking one moment and being silent the next, doing nothing with our time except enjoying it.

I don't think silence means wasting time.

I don't think doing something "meaningful" with your time necessitates using it properly.

But I've been taught--through experience and through simple human inference--that time is fleeting and, if you let it do so, it can push you headfirst into the thrashing whir of life and you'll begin to lose seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years of memories if you don't make every possible second count...

...sometimes...

...all the time...

...anytime...

...if life were an equation, here's how it would go: time doesn't count. People count, laughs count, tears count, places count, memories count, you count.

So thanks for spending your time with me :)

Happy New Year!

Or, school year, that is.

The week I thought would never come has come at last (flashbacks to Mary Dupuis as Mae Peterson in Bye Bye Birdie: "It's come at last! At last it's come! The day I knew would come at least has finally come at last!"). I wouldn't say I was particularly looking forward to it, but I wasn't dreading it either--packing up all of my stuff, running last-minute errands, and final good-bye dinners with everyone has consumed my life the past few weeks.

So since I've been bogged down with dreams of 50% off Staples coupons, 2-for-1 binder deals, cheap apartment buys, and packing all of my possessions in portable containers, I've decided to devote my last blog post for the month (since I'll most definitely not have time to write one during FrOG week) to s-c-h-o-o-l because my graduation year is getting closer and closer, and--let's face it--I'm a little scared.

Dear Calendar Year, 2012:

It would be really wonderful if you could slow down just a tad.

I know you're just itching to ring yourself in Jan. 1st 2012, but me not so much.

I'm not sure if you noticed, but I've already turned the big 2-0, had my emotional breakdown for doing so, and moved on. I don't know if I can handle another major milestone just yet, so just cool it. I'm already too old to read Seventeen Magazine and I've come to accept the fact that soon my mailbox will be littered with AARP newsletters and my subscription to Better Homes and Gardens. Let's not get any grey hairs soon out of spite, okay?

And also, it would be wonderful if you could just hold off on making your grand appearance anytime soon. I'm a junior now, in case you hadn't heard.

I'm not too thrilled about being pummeled into the Real World, having to "make it on my own" and grow up.

So maybe you could take a vacation for awhile.

I hear Venezuela is nice this time of year.

Or Barbados.

Or a galaxy far, far away. That'd be my preference, but hey--your call.

Anyway, just kick back, take a few sedatives, maybe sleep it off a couple of years...whatever floats your boat.

Heck--there are already rumors that you're ending the world. You just don't have to rub it in all the time. Give the other years a chance.

They've even made movies out of you.

Horror movies.

Plus, to make matters worse, some pretty scary things have been happening to us the past couple of years (i.e. sinkholes, oil spills, locusts, and fashion disasters).

I don't even want to know what you have in store for us.

So maybe you shouldn't be showing your face around here just yet.

All I'm asking is that you just take your time getting here and let me enjoy my last few years of adolescence.

Okay, post-adolescence. Whatever.

Thanks.

Love, Erin

Check Out:

operationbeautiful.com.

You're welcome :)

"It's your life, what you gonna do?

The world is watching you.

Everyday, the choices you make

say what you are

and who your heart beats for."

Hey Joe

I was going to devote my blog post today to inventions (specifically the VHS/DVD Player...I mean, how strange is that? How do you even come up with that?), but then I realized that if you're a new blog follower of mine, and you happened to stumble upon my blog and my lame blog post on inventions is the first thing you read, you'd be greatly disappointed.

And probably never follow me. And you'd laugh.

So I've decided to spare you all with what would have definitely been a rousing interpretation of inventions, and will instead attempt to tickle your fancy with an insightful blog post on the untouchables in the job industry of America.

A-hem.

This morning, as I trudged into work at 7:00, half-asleep and stumbling through the door of the office in a semi-drunken sleep-stupor, I saw a deeply-tanned man with a hedge-clipper just choppin’ happily away at a rhododendron bush in the parking lot. He was just doing his thing—a little snip here, a little watering there, until the hedges were pristinely manicured.

I’d never actually noticed that we even had a rhododendron bush in the parking lot.

Anyway, when I went to get the mail at lunch, he was still out in the 100 degree heat, watering the plants and picking up trash left by the drunken Pour House regulars last night. He gave me a little wave as I walked to the mailbox, so I decided to say hello.

Apparently his name was Joe. And he had been working in this area for close to 15 years, and was trying to raise enough money to bring his family over to America from Mexico.

But I don’t want this post to get all profound and sappy, so I’ll spare you the details of his reality-show-worthy-life-challenges.

Instead, I’ve decided to take the opportunity to (hopefully) enlighten you all in an effort to give the under-acknowledged a little well-deserved acknowledgement :)

Ever heard of a Septic Engineer? That’s a lovely little title for a repulsive, underpaid job. Day in, day out, being called into houses to take a look at the piping, unclog the drains, determine the problem. Then, after that job is done, the Engineer will comprise a new blueprint for whatever septic system would work best in the house, and install it himself. Doesn't sound gross to you yet? Well, just think: experiments.

An obvious second would be your neighborhood garbage collector. Think it’s annoying having the garbage truck BANG and CLANG outside of your house at 3AM? Try being the person who has to wake up earlier than 3AM to drive a disgustingly unsanitary truck from suburb to suburb and manhandle your kid’s dirty diapers, soiled napkins, and 3-week-old leftovers.

Do you know someone who’s a lumberjack? If you don’t count Paul Bunyan, you most likely don’t. That’s probably because they spend all their time outdoors in isolated areas, work in terrible weather, and get paid minimum wage for hours of back-breaking, hot, and highly fatal work. I did a little quick research, and it ranks among the top 15 most dangerous and underpaid jobs in America.

I don’t want to get up on my soapbox and preach to you, because I’m so very far from perfect that I don’t have cause to do so. But I think if we just take the time to recognize those who deserve a little recognition—whether it’s a janitor, or a waitress, or even someone who lent you a smile—we’ll spread a little love to the world.

Because, no matter what, everyone could use a little love :)

Jumping Through Hoops

"Hold your horses world. I've been hearing all kinds of rumours about someone being cast to play me in a film about Richard and myself. No one is going to play Elizabeth Taylor, but Elizabeth Taylor herself. Not at least until I'm dead, and at the moment I'm having too much fun being alive...and I plan on staying that way. Happiness to all.

I would like to add something to my earlier tweet. Always keep love and humility in your heart. Never let yourself think beyond your means...mental, emotional or any otherwise. You are who you are. All you can do in this world is help others to be who they are and better themselves and those around them. Give. Remember always to give. That is the thing that will make you grow. That is the thing that will give back to you all the rewards that there are. Don't do it for yourself, because then it becomes selfish. Because then it becomes about yourself...which is wrong. Giving is to give to God. Helping is to help others. Every breath you take today should be with someone else in mind. I love you."

Elizabeth Taylor wrote this on her twitter page not too long ago.

I love it.

I feel like, in just a handful of phrases, she summed up our entire existence as human beings--trying, desperately, to carve out a meaningful existence for ourselves in a world that will often prevent us from doing so. In our own attempt, we may prohibit or even thwart others from getting answers, getting recognition, getting mere acknowledgement.

Don't be quick to judge, or react; you never know what burdens someone else may be dealing with. The struggle to live a meaningful life is hard enough by itself, let alone with any unnecessary baggage. Physically, emotionally, or otherwise.

Be stronger and remember that trials can only strengthen your willpower to survive. I'm not a religious person, but I do believe in that. You can persevere, you will, and you'll benefit from it.

I promise.

And I implore you all; never, ever think you know someone enough to judge them according to your perception of them. Because you don't.

My favorite English professor once told me this analogy concerning literary works, but I think that it applies to people as well. We are all onions...we have a thousand, a million layers. You may peel one away, maybe two, exposing new things and learning new quirks. You can educate yourself on their habits, their dreams, their emotions. But it takes a lifetime to get to the center. The heart. The very essence of a person.

So never, ever assume. You just don't know.

I Just Realized

that I have a lot of pet peeves.

But I still tend to like a lot of people despite them.

How to Protect Your Computer From The Blue Screen of Death

Disclaimer: I am not a computer genius. Nor am I even equipped to handle your laptop at all. Having taken the aforementioned disclaimer into consideration, please read on. Be my guest.

This blog post is my one and only attempt to salvage my e-mail from spam. I currently have a whopping 1994 e-mails on my AOL account, and I just checked it last month. This is my plea to the masses to stop the insanity. STOP.

1. Dear Funnypicture67, I DO NOT KNOW WHO YOU ARE. I’m also quite positive that no one—no matter how great of friends you may be—wants to get an average of 9 e-mails from you a day. No matter how hard you try, I don’t think it’s good conduct to bombard their inbox with e-mails from you. At least give the impression that you have a job. Also, I don’t know who you are trying to contact, but I don’t think it’s me. I’m pretty sure we probably aren’t friends, because if you knew me at all, you would know that I do not want to see nude pictures of anyone over the internet. Especially of Rod Stewart. EW.

2. When you misspell a word, it shows up in red. With a squiggly line underneath. That helpful little squiggle can save you from misspelling the word “penguin” in a professional e-mail to your boss, while also saving you from endless embarrassment when you accidentally add an extra “s” to the end of “as” in a “Happy Birthday” e-card to your 6-year-old niece. I’m not the Spelling Queen, but hey: It’s free, it works, let’s use it :)

3. A funny picture will never, ever magically materialize into a unique desktop screensaver no matter how many aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, or colleagues you forward that e-mail to. Nor will you win an iPad, Dell Laptop, or $1000.

4. Along the same lines, you will never, ever, ever have 87 years of bad luck if you do not forward that e-mail to 4893025732 friends in the next five minutes. If I receive another e-mail telling me that I will die tomorrow or lose my leg to Necrotizing fasciitis, I will re-send you that e-mail 15 times until you get Necrotizing fasciitis too. Plus I’ll break all of your mirrors. And put a curse on you.

5. No matter how important you may be, Bill Gates would never send you a personal e-mail. If it looks as though he has, you are most likely being spammed by someone who wants you to send them money or your first-born child. Bill Gates is an important man, and he cannot be bothered to send you a personal e-mail about investing in the next version of Windows Vista. Unless maybe you’re Donald Trump.

6. I really, really, really (times infinity) don't want to be forever flooded with those pictures of kittens that think that they’re human. It may have been moderately funny the first time that kitten used a “z” instead of an “s”, but I honestly can’t handle their gangster slang anymore. I’m sorry. I just can’t. If you send me one, you take the blame when I attach a Hitler mustache to your precious kitten and send it back to you. You’re just asking for it.

The internet can get a great tool for those who know how to use it; otherwise, it’s just another vista for the crazies of the world to continue their rampage to destroy the world with viruses, spam, and those godforsaken chain letters (which, in my opinion, are the source of computer viruses, and therefore should be avoided altogether). Please do not participate in the mayhem, and by all means avoid the blue screen of death.

Listen Up, America

“Cause when you’re a celebrity, it’s adios reality…you can act just like a fool, and people think you’re cool, just ‘cause you’re on TV” –Brad Paisley

Every time I hear Mel Gibson’s latest slanderous tirade or Alec Baldwin’s latest drunken rant or Lindsey Lohan’s latest arrest or Paris Hilton’s latest sex tape on TV, that song pops into my head.

Shows on MTV or NBC are quick to judge the actions of American celebrities with little to no actual incriminating evidence to convict them of whatever horrendous accusation they’ve come up with. Magazines fuel the rumors, whether true or false, with condemning pictures taken by paparazzi that camp outside their favorite restaurants, their children’s schools, their studios, their homes.

Could you imagine how difficult it would be to hide your minor family squabbles, health issues, or even daily emotions all day, every day, 365 days a year?

It’s unfeasible, really.

You wouldn’t be able to control your temper on a bad day, much less your most clandestine and personal opinions.

So, America, the next time you jump to conclusions and denounce the actions of the celebrity you love to hate, think about this:

To put it simply, human beings are not built to sustain extreme adoration. Fame is such an unnatural occurrence, it’s nearly impossible to achieve some level of normalcy when you’re crippled with celebrity status.

Just a little something to think about :)