Thinking about Forgiveness

I am pretty embarrassed by my car; it’s old, has a bunch of scratches and missing hubcaps, a lot of things inside, like the dome light, no longer work, and it has something like 140k miles on it. When I bought it several years ago, it wasn’t even great then, but it was cheap and only meant to last me a couple of years until I bought something better. I am buying something better this year, but in the mean time, in my old car, I now only get radio, no CD or MP3 player.
So I change the stations around a lot, and I’ve noticed that for some odd reason, the Florence and the Machine song “Dog Days Are Over” is played on a lot of stations, even ones that you wouldn’t assume.

So I have it stuck in my head tonight, and I find it kind of fitting.

It’s not that I would categorize past days as “the dog days” per se, but a relationship that dragged on far longer than it should have just ended. Part of me is incredibly sad, and I definitely don’t think of time spent with that person negatively. But I do feel optimistic in knowing that the future will be an improvement.

I do know now that for too long I tricked myself into believing someone could make me happy when he couldn’t. And that’s where the “dog days” part comes in; I spent a lot of time kidding myself into think that things were ideal, that the future would be better, that he would make changes.

It seems like the cliche “be true to yourself” would apply here, but I don’t know that anyone ever really knows what that means. In fact, sometimes I think that making mistakes and letting yourself learn lessons the hard way is what it means to be true to yourself. The truth part comes in when you take an honest look at the situation and realize that it didn’t go the way that you wanted, but that is okay. Accept what went wrong and forgive yourself for your mistakes. It’s really hard for people to forgive themselves. I think it is much easier to forgive someone else, but if we can grant that generosity and love to ourselves, then maybe it opens us up give more and to love more.

And it’s that thought that gives me so much peace, and makes me want to dance cheerfully.

Pho Goodness Sake!

I have so many thoughts running through my head lately, that it seems like they are getting jammed in the doorway and none of them are making it to my blog. Whoops. But here’s one that has been on my mind:

I really, really love Pho. It’s got all of the key components: Beef, noodles, thai basil, cilantro, onions, jalapenos, lime (sometimes lemon) and chili paste. The first time I tried it, I was in awe; it was as if someone put my favorite flavors from various cuisines all into one steaming bowl of goodness.

One thing everyone needs to know is that I am an eater. I wish I could be one of those girls with the bird-like appetites, but I am not. When I am hungry and I set out to eat, I am going to really chow down. I eat more than many men that I know. When I used to run regularly, part of my motivation in running was just so that I could work up an appetite to eat even more. I try to reign in my appetite more these days since I am getting older and I am not as active as I used to be, but just know that when I eat, I mean business.

So back to Pho and it being one of my favorite things. Just the other evening I met someone who was visiting Orange County from New York, and he wanted to know what good food he should try. Now, there are a few decent restaurants in Fullerton, but if a New Yorker wants something that he couldn’t get out there, it’s Pho all the way.

One of the great things about it is that Pho is really hard to mess up. To me, as long as the broth is hot and just a little beefy and aromatic, and you give me plenty of the fixin’s, it’s then all on me to mix and balance the ingredients to my liking. Because of this, I often don’t understand why people on Yelp give low scores to Pho places– usually the low scores are about the service or the Spring Rolls, but when I go, I don’t care if the person is rude or doesn’t speak English or what the Spring Rolls are like; I will point to the number with the bowl of rare steak and then happily slurp it up.

So imagine my surprise when I discovered a place with bad Pho. I didn’t think it was possible. I used to love the place; they were unique and added the slightest hint of lemongrass to the broth which made it extra- excellent. But then they changed owners, and converted to a half Pho/ half Korean BBQ place. I love Korean BBQ, but to me that’s a different restaurant altogether. When I got my bowl, the broth was kind of oily and a bit salty. They didn’t have thai basil at all, and tried to make up for it with cilantro. Noo! I like cilantro, but there is a delicate balance. They had no limes either; I’m normally okay with substituting lemons, but this added to the disappointment. And worst of all, they only gave three scrawny slices of steak. I rarely frown at my food, but that night, I was frowning.

Like I said, it’s hard to mess up Pho, but when a person does, it is SO disappointing!

A much better place is Pho 88 on Lemon and Orangethorpe. There’s also a really nice one in Brea on Imperial by the Home Depot. I also hear that a new one on the South East corner of Chapman and State College, next to the 99 cent store, is good, but I have never tried it. I just might swing by there later this week to get my Pho fix.

How I Talk Myself in to Staying In.

For a Friday night, I am feeling pretty lazy and anti-social. The Downtown Fullerton Art Walk is going on now, and seeing as I live downtown and love supporting local artists, I feel like I should go around and check it out. None of my close friends are interested though, and while I’d normally just go check it out on my own, I don’t have the energy to walk around and chat up acquaintances.

Plus, sometimes, I get a little tired of the scene. One thing that I have noticed about events like art walks is that since it seems like such a cool thing to do (and it really is, at least the idea of it– cities displaying local artists is a great thing!) people feel pressured to be “cool.” And I get the sense that a lot of people feel insecure about their “coolness” in these settings, so they try extra hard to make their presence and attitude seem effortless. And so they dress in their best hipster outfit. They try walking with indifference but you can tell by the way that they don’t know what to do with their hands that they really are extremely self-conscious. They scope out the room for who is the coolest person that they kind of know, so that they can demonstrate their affiliation with other cool people to the rest of their self-conscious friends. They try to be witty in their small talk. They actually say very little about the art, for fear of revealing some lack of knowledge or some inferior opinion about art. They look at other people in the room, size them up, determine their coolness factor.

It all makes me feel like I am in high school again, in the worst of ways. Not all of the venues bring in this sort of crowd, but I have experienced the scene that I described, and it makes me uncomfortable. There is this one girl in particular that really rubs me the wrong way; she is good friends with some of the people I know who own galleries, and there have been times when we’ve all hung out together. Quite a few times; in fact, we’ve even been to mutual friends’ small parties, though I don’t know her all that well. By this point, we’ve obviously been introduced to each other several times, but every time I see her and I am talking to a mutual friend, she will introduce herself to me as if we have never met. Not in the way that she wants to make small talk and is asking my name; she looks at me and says, “Hi, I’m (so-and-so).” And that is all. That annoys the hell out of me, and I don’t think it is my ego talking. I would understand perfectly if she just could not remember my name, but that there was at least a glimmer of recognition there. Or if it was an introduction to small talk, but nope. She usually ignores me after reminding me of her name.

If she really doesn’t recognize people that she’s recently met several times, that suggests to me that she must be too wrapped up with herself to pay attention to the people that she meets. It suggests to me that it is all phony, when she meets a person and shakes his or her hand. I know that I am not that big of a deal. And I also don’t think that she is that big of a deal. So either it is all an act to make herself seem too important to recognize her friends’ friends, or, she really does imagine herself so important that she doesn’t bother to recognize faces.

Either way, it makes me really dislike her. And that behavior seems pretty normal for that scene.
To be sure, art walks also bring out some very down-to-earth, kind, welcoming people, the kind of people that make up the town I love. But when I am trying to motivate myself to go walk around and check out the art when really I am feeling anti-social inside, I think of her, and the overall sense of people trying really hard to prove their coolness, and I decide that home with a good movie and a glass of wine sounds better.

These Are A Few of My Favorite Things, And I Don’t Care!

A friend of mine has a birthday coming up, and our plan for her celebration began as somewhat of a joke: a snuggie pub crawl. Now, I’ve heard of such things before, and the thought of having a beer in a snuggie is just too funny to pass up.

So yesterday I bought a snuggie, a leopard print one because it seemed to be the most over the top design; I typically avoid anything animal print, just because it doesn’t seem very “me.” Anyway, I bought said snuggie with a bit of a giggle, and when I got home, I took it out of the box and tried it out, and guess what– I really love it. You can’t deny that it’s a brilliant idea. So why did I feel so ridiculous buying it? Is it the cheesy commercials? The fact that it is a Sky Mall thing? That it seems like a product that is mostly for old people? Really: why are snuggies such a joke?

Which just makes me wonder, how often do we pretend to not like things that we actually like? Or are afraid to admit to certain people that we like something?

I think it comes from fear of being judged by others for what we like. For instance, when hanging out with people who like to boast about their taste in music, I used to hide the fact that I sometimes enjoy cheesy pop music. But one day, I guess I got over that fear. I admitted to this hipster friend of mine that I enjoy all kinds of music, even pop music. The Britney Spears concert I once went to was one of the best shows I’d ever seen. I listen to Lady Gaga on my ipod regularly. It isn’t the only music that I like, but I do like it among other genres. Anyway, that hipster tried to be nice, but could not hide the disgust and disappointment on his face.

But you know what? On further reflection, between the two of us, who is the loser: the one who enjoys pop music, or the one who judges a person for what she likes? I mean, really, as long as it doesn’t harm anyone or anything, who cares what another person likes? It’s pretty douchey to judge another person for having different taste in music. If you really think about it, it’s saying, “your tastes are inferior to mine, and they are inferior only because they are different from mine.”

There was a time, mostly when I was a grad student, when I judged people by what they read. But then I realized that like the hipster, I was being kind of a douche myself. People like things for different reasons, and if a book that I think is cheesy makes another person feel good, then who cares? I only judged them because they didn’t live up to a criteria that I had established in my own mind– and who am I to decide what is “good” literature and what is “bad?” A lot of “good” or “classic” literature was once seen as low-brow or pop culture. I think that the important thing is that a person connects to the thing that they like.

So if “Poker Face” puts a little bounce in my step, or The Real Housewives has me on the edge of my seat, or Del Taco makes my taste buds sing, then…that’s great. There’s more to me than that, and at the same time, the things I like make me who I am.

So don’t ever be afraid to own up to the things that you like, even if it is a leopard print snuggie!

There’s No Place Like Home

Today was an absolutely gorgeous day: 80 degrees and sunny. Now, normally I would whine about 80 degree weather in the middle of January, but since I spent the first part of the week visiting a friend in Boston, this late-Spring weather was a very welcome change.

When I got to Boston, I commented on how I had never actually seen snowfall. Then, a few days later, Boston got a “Nor’Easter;” otherwise known as a blizzard. Yeah, I have witchy powers like that.

Here are some pictures I took of the blizzard from my phone:

Yes, it was beautiful, and even more beautiful in person. But I am so thankful that I don’t live in such a climate.
In the beginning it was fun, and such a novelty to bundle up and put on gloves, a hat, a scarf, thick socks, boots, and a coat. Until I got on a train, where the temperature would be 90 degrees, and less than a minute later I’d be sweating and feeling nauseated. So I’d take off all of the extra accessories, only to have to put them back on a few moments later when we came up to my stop.

Also, as I watched the peaceful snowfall from the window, I noticed the neighbors rushing out to shovel out there cars, as the snow still drifted down. “Why don’t they just wait until it stops?” I asked my friend. Remember, I was born and raised in Southern California. “Because if they wait too long, it will all ice over, and then you just have to wait for it to thaw. And it happens pretty quickly.”

What the ?! Holy crap, that sucks. The same goes for the driveway, sidewalk and steps. My friend is fortunate enough to live in an apartment and doesn’t own a car, and I cannot fathom why anyone in the city would choose to live otherwise.

But Boston is a beautiful city. There’s so much history, the buildings are lovely, the people are charming, and the food is amazing. I also really dig a good Boston accent. As we walked out of the airport and boarded the blue line, one of the security guys greeted us and declared that it was “a wicked cold night” and other things that I could not understand since his accent was so thick! Love it!

But now that I am back and the weather is so much kinder, I decided that a nice hike would be a great way to work off all of the fish and chips and boston cream pie I pigged out on earlier in the week. So imagine my disappointment when I drove all the way down to Crystal Cove state park, only to find that the trails were washed away in the recent storms and are closed to the public. Normally I’d scoff at the signs and hike anyway, but some other people told me that they were ticketing for trespassing. Yeah, no bueno.

So I came back to Fullerton and decided to exploring some of the trails that make up the Fullerton Loop. The Fullerton Loop really is a great trail, and I spent a couple of hours trying to navigate my way through a city I thought I knew pretty well.
And that is one of the things I love about Fullerton: just when you think that you know the city, you stumble upon something unexpected and wonderful. The Fullerton Trail is one such place, and Craig park is one of my all time favorite places to escape to. But also places like Max Bloom’s Cafe Noir, Veronese Gallery Cafe, The Commonwealth Post Office (yes, the post office. I love that one!), Les Amis Lebanese cafe (om nom nom!) the Villa Del Sol plaza… they all help make Fullerton unique.
Fullerton might not have as many famous landmarks as a city like Boston, but it’s home and it always brings a smile to my face. Especially on a day like today.

Random Thoughts For A Sunday Night

Random thoughts for a Sunday night:

Does anyone find The Cleavland Show funny? I’ve never met someone who really likes it. I wish Seth MacFarlane would stick to Family Guy only.

I love my ancient apartment, but it is extremely drafty in this weather. Not only that, but the hot water in the shower runs out really quickly. Which is all leading to me dreading my upcoming shower.

I heard the funniest thing today: I never get jealous when I see my ex with someone new, because my parents always taught me to give my used toys to the less fortunate. I wish I came up with that one myself. Let’s all just pretend that I did.

Decaffinated Candy Cane Green Tea is a wonderful treat at night.

Holy Smokes! I just realized that The Wizard of Oz is on TV right now. Love it!

My Thanksgiving was wonderful; in fact, for the last week I have gotten to spend a lot of time with family and friends, and I couldn’t be happier.

Unless Larry Fitzgerald has a stunning night tomorrow, I will continue to be in last place in my fantasy football league. I have been a sucky owner this season. C’est la vie.

I wish I had ruby slippers. I did recently get these shoes, so I will think of them as my emerald slippers.

Biographies of Blondes

First: The French onion soup fr om Trader Joe’s is the business. You don’t want to be near enough to smell my breath when I say that though.

Also: A stormy Saturday makes for a perfect day to catch up on reading. Now that all of my students’ papers are graded and returned, and I’ve got over a week until I get new ones in, I’m not too drained to pick up a book/Kindle. So I am picking up where I left off in a biography of Marie Antoinette, called Marie Antoinette: The Journey. It’s the biography that Sofia Coppola based her Marie Antoinette film on. Now, as some may know, especially from reading my “About” page, I was Marie Antoinette in a past life. True Story. Okay, perhaps only true in my imagination. See, I once had an incredibly vivid dream that I was decapitated in a guillotine, and coupled with my love of cake, it seems like a no-brainer.

Marie Antoinette never said “Let Them Eat Cake.” No one really knows who said it first, but the first known instance of some aristocrat ignorantly saying this was recorded 100 years before the storming of the Bastille. Also, to say something of the sort would be completely out of character for Maria Antonia (her Austrian name), as I am learning. It really is a fascinating read, especially if you want to geek-out on all of the complexities of the French royal court pre- revolution. It was truly a bizarre culture.

Then again, any culture that could come up with so many strange things to do to an egg must be a little bizarre . Really. I’ve often wondered the trial and error that went down when it came to French cuisine. And did they test the dishes on some  peasant to determine just how much butter is needed to make snails palatable?  How many people got sick before they determined how old eggs must be to make the perfect pastry?

But I digress. The point was that I am reading a  biography that I like. I don’t read biographies all that often, but I’ve noticed that I have a fascination in reading about legendary women who are far different than the icon that they represent. For example, I love that Marie Antoinette was actually kind,generous, and often frightened– not the frivolous bitch we always imagine. The French court itself was frivolous, and she being the most recognizable face of the court made her the scapegoat of the revolution.

My all time favorite person to read about is Marilyn Monroe. I have an obsession with her that I should probably talk to a trained professional about. But one of my favorite things about her was that she was not the dumb blonde everyone imagined. The is one of my favorite photographs of her, especially because she is reading Ulysses, which I wrote my Master’s thesis on! And I can attest to the complexity of that novel.

I’ve heard a lot of buzz about a biography that just came out about Cleopatra, and so I think that one is up next.

And here’s to hoping that some day, someone will find the biography of Rachel Murphree riveting. HAHA!

Don’t over think it

I love parties (who doesn’t?), and I especially love surprise parties and themed parties. So when my friend’s wife organized a surprise, Jersey-shore themed party for his 30th birthday, I was super excited. I caked on the bronzer and eye makeup, poofed up my hair, and rocked some fuzzy slippers all night. Epic win! It was especially fitting since Joe moved here from New Jersey when we were in high school, and we were affectionately calling him a guido since back then. To be sure, he out grew the guido-ness before we got to senior year, but the throwback to his roots was great.

 

While we were there, we watched the Pacquiao- Margarito fight. I don’t go out of my way to watch boxing, but when there are big fights and a friend or bar has it on pay-per-view, I’ll watch it.

 

I feel like boxing is one of those things that you can’t think too much about if you want to enjoy a fight. It’s really barbaric when you think about it. Two men fighting for the sake of fighting? Trying to knock the other one out? The objective is to do as much damage to the other guy as possible? And people pay ridiculous amounts of money to watch this. How is it any different than the days of gladiators, when the crowds would pack into the coliseum and watch one contender die? Obviously, death is not the objective in boxing, but it is pretty violent. Anyone who saw the fight Saturday night saw how badly beat up Margarito was. It kind of disturbed me the way that Manny even kept glancing at the refs to see if they were going to stop the fight. By the way, I like that he backed off a little during the 11th and 12th rounds; that was a classy move. But isn’t it kind of disturbing, the way audiences are riveted and cheer along, and the cameras show the blows from different angles, in slow motion. Why do we condone this kind of violence?
Now, to be fair, I recognize the athleticism and skill involved in it. It’s impressive what they do, and there is something eloquent about it. It isn’t just two men trying to beat one another up; there’s strategy and skill in it. It’s definitely more impressive than UFC. I am probably putting my foot in my mouth by saying this, but I’ve noticed that while not all people who like UFC are douchebags, every douchebag I meet seems to really like it. I’m just saying. Again, liking it does not make one douchey! It’s just an overwhelming trend amongst douches.

Anyway.

My father’s dream was to be a professional boxer, but his shoulder was badly injured in college football and then died young. So perhaps the slight attraction to it comes from that. Whatever the case, it is fascinating to watch. I just can’t over think it, or I’ll begin to question what it means to be civilized.

A Memorable Weekend

Staying home on Halloween almost feels wrong; I normally love the holiday and dressing up, but this year I am in my pajamas, about to watch a few episodes of The Simpsons’ Tree house of Horror. I find it is the best way to unwind and work off my jet lag, since I just got back from D.C. this morning. First of all, if you’re ever given the option to fly from the East to West at 6 a.m., just say no. That part was not my idea. What was my idea was a quick turn around to D.C. to participate in Jon Stewart and Colbert’s “Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear.”

I knew it was going to be a big crowd, but I have honestly never been a part of a crowd of over 200,000 people. It was kind of overwhelming. 
Yeah, I am somewhere in there in the middle. Can you spot me? Yeah. I was actually kind of over to the right, near the trees. For much of the rally, I was stuck behind a tree and couldn’t see a whole lot, but eventually I got a good view of a jumbotron.
The best part of it was just being there and being a part of that crowd. I’ve read a few responses to the rally today online, and I’m disappointed with the way a lot of writers have misinterpreted or looked for the negativity in it.

No, it was not a political rally. Say what you want about the audience of The Daily Show and Colbert Report being mostly liberal, but I was there, and the message was pretty apolitical. One of the friends that I went with is a Conservative. While the rally did in many ways mock Glenn Beck’s recent rally(mostly just in name and location), it was a lot more about musicians playing, and Stewart and Colbert doing their usual satire on mainstream news media.
But I’ve read a lot of complaints (mostly in blogs) about how it demonstrates the lack of purpose and direction of moderate to liberal generation x/y-ers, how depressing it is that 200k people would gather to mock something rather than to do something, and that no one really knew why they were all there.

Now I know everyone had his/her own understanding of what it meant to be there and why. But from being there, interacting with people,and listening to the performances, I can say that I think that the fact that it was a mock-rally-turned-rally is exactly the point. The people who have complained that instead of attending a mock rally, young people should be rallying for specific causes miss the actual point. If there was a point, part of it, I’d say, is that at some point, we’ve all got to look around at the culture of extremist politics and say “Enough is enough!”

Sure, there are causes that I support, but no, I don’t want to carry around signs, shout, and call people names. I don’t want to listen to people who are doing just that, no matter what the message is. Nor do most people, I assume. Because shouting, taking on extreme ideologies, creating artificial dichotomies of “us” versus “them” is just counter productive and a waste of time. There aren’t “good guys” and “bad guys.” There are people who might have opinions that I strongly disagree with, but I don’t think that they are necessarily awful people (ok, some are, but not most). I am obviously not alone in that sentiment. So if anything, the rally’s point was to shed light in a humorous fashion on how absurd political culture has become, and that we need to stop yelling and start listening more. We all want to see some kind of change, and we might all slightly disagree on what kind of change, but unless we make small compromises, NOTHING will change.

Jon Stewart’s speech at the end (which was followed by Tony Bennett singing; I’m not gonna lie, that was pretty dope), was inspiring, in my opinion. I liked his example of freeway traffic that has to merge lanes to make it through a tunnel– each driver of each car has a different perspective; we might even disagree with the sticker on his/her car, or the type of cars the others drive. But then we get over it, and we let one person go, then I go, then you can go, then I’ll go– until everyone squeezes into those lanes. That is indeed what happens every minute in America, and we need to remind ourselves of what we can accomplish when we work together.
But more than that, I am still annoyed and maybe offended by one popular OC blogger that calls people like me at the rally cowards or weak for not truly fighting for important causes– his example was the DREAM act; a cause that I also feel strongly about, and so I felt even more offended by his assertion that I give in to mainstream culture and don’t stand up for a cause.

But what I wish that people with that kind of attitude would remember is that real social change, real change when you see ideologies shift and stretch to bring about good to more people, comes not from any extreme position, but from subtle change in the middle. Civil rights, womens’ suffrage,and workers’ rights started with extreme points of view, but were effective when people in the middle of the political spectrum started talking, listened to new perspectives, and made minor concessions. The drafters of the United States Constitution were not the homogeneous patriots that people today imagine; it was also created concession by concession, with Adams and Jefferson strongly disagreeing on the role of federal government throughout. But rational discourse and compromise made it happen.

So what did this rally accomplish? Maybe nothing. But if it encouraged some people to stop bickering and start listening to one another, if it encouraged people to talk rationally instead of shouting over one another, then I think it was worth it.

Remember when I said I was standing in the part of the mall where the trees are? Well after a while, people started climbing those trees to get a better view. One young guy tried climbing, but got kind of stuck on the way up. People started shouting advice and encouragement to him, and as he seemed to get a strong grasp, people clapped for him. Then his foot slipped, and a collective sigh/groan came out of the surrounding crowd. “Yes you can! Yes you can!” the hundreds in our section began chanting. He pulled himself up a little more to where someone else in the tree could give him a hand and help him up the rest of the way. As he waved back down to his audience, the crowd burst into applause and cheers. If my little corner of the rally was in any way emblematic of the rest of the crowd, then I am optimistic about the potential of American people.

On Posing.

I’ll throw it out there: It really amuses me when people that I do not like reveal stupid things about themselves on Facebook and make it public for everyone to see. They satisfy my desire to dig up dirt on them without me actually having to get my hands dirty. I realize that that sentence could start to lean towards creepy stalker territory– in journalism that’s praised as “investigative reporting;” in blogging it just borders on creepy, so I am going to nonchalantly walk away from that one and get to the point I wanted to make about it.

I find it hilarious when girls post hundreds of pictures of themselves and their friends. I find it even more hilarious when they are several dozen pictures from a weekend trip to Vegas for a Bachelorette party. I find it even more hilarious when they insist on the caption, “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.” Because, for one, obviously that is not true if you are posting hundreds of pictures of what happened in Vegas online for the world to see. Doesn’t that sort of defeat the purpose?

But what’s worse is that a quick glance at the photos showed me that they are nothing like the closing sequence in the Hangover.

Instead these pictures show a group of girls posing from the backseat of a car en route to Vegas. Posing as they apply more make up in a hotel room. Then posing together after they’ve finished. Then posing in front of the hotel. Then posing outside a restaurant. Then posing as they toast drinks. Then posing throughout the meal with the same, barely touched drinks. Then posing outside a club. You get the idea.

Something tells me that absolutely nothing exciting happened during this trip. At least nothing that I’d consider exciting.
And I know that it isn’t just these girls. Recently I was walking through downtown on a Friday night and I passed by one bar where a group of girls were posing for pictures by the entrance, arms awkwardly around one another, knees bent in toward one another, as several lights flashed because each girl wanted the exact pose on her camera.

Now maybe it is just weird to me because this was all occurring on my street, and since I live here I don’t think of downtown Fullerton as a destination that I want everyone to know, by proof of a picture, that I go to. But also, maybe it is weird to me because if it were me and a group of my girlfriends, the last thought to cross our minds would be to pose for a picture outside of a bar. I’d rather go inside the bar and order a drink. Maybe that’s just me. I’m not opposed to pictures taken with friends, but I am opposed to the staged, look, we’re having fun! purpose of it. I’d rather actually be having fun. I’d rather be having too much fun that I forget to take a picture, but find that a friend took some candid shots throughout the night– some funny, some embarrassing, but all representative of the time we had. Sure, I have a collection of semi-staged pictures of a table full of friends that are reuniting, or goofy self-portrait style pics of a friend and I at an Angels game when we should have been watching the game instead of trying to figure out the best angle for a shot of us.

And yeah, this could just be me being defensive about my pathetic lack of current photographs since I always forget to capture those “kodak moments.” Maybe I need to work harder at preserving memories with the people I care about. But when I see that a person literally has over 1000 photos on her Facebook, I’ve got to wonder. It seems to me like the intended message there is look at all the exciting things that I do with my life! But unless you have a private photographer following you around, or you’re stalked by TMZ or something, I’ve got to wonder if you’re truly living an exciting life. Because when it comes to the most exciting times in my life, I know I wasn’t experiencing them from an LCD screen on my camera. I was living them.

And letting other people capture them on camera. Ha!