Big Me to Talk About It

The clock has begun its countdown, and its incessant ticking is starting to make my ears ring.

It’s funny how the end always makes you look back at the beginning.  As graduation looms overhead, I can’t stop thinking about my first days at UT.  Sometimes my mind will drift even farther back to my first days of high school, and then I’ll start to cringe as I inevitably remember those terrible years in junior high.  And before I know it, I’ve hit the rewind button on my life all the way back to the day my mom showed up for her first day of work at NASA and thought to herself, “Who is this really annoying Gene Grush guy?”

I’d like to go back to when I was younger.  Not because I’m unhappy now or because I don’t want to get older, but because I want to remember what I used to be like.  I feel like the me now has done a complete 180 from the me ten years ago.  And that’s not bad.  Just weird.

Something I really want to do is to take my 11 year old self out to lunch.  I think we would have a funny conversation.  I’d imagine it’d go something like this:

Little Loren: Wait, you’re a journalist?  Since when?

Big Loren: Since I started college.

Little Loren: So you write all the time? EW!

Big Loren: It’s not as bad as you might think.  You’re actually kind of good at it.  Also, hate to break it to you, but the acting thing doesn’t really work out…

Little Loren: Oh…

Big Loren: Buttt, you get to interview lots of famous actors!  You even get to interview Will Ferrell!

Little Loren: Who’s Will Ferrell?

Big Loren: Oh…right…

Little Loren: Do you get a boyfriend at least?!

Big Loren: Uhh let’s just skip over that topic.

Little Loren: Wait..wh..?

Big Loren: HEY! You remember how you like making movies??  You basically do that ALLLL the time.

Little Loren: REALLY!  Awww man, that sounds like so much fun.

Big Loren: Yeah, it really is.

AND THEN WE SKIP OFF INTO THE SUNSET HOLDING HANDS ALDKJFOIUWQLKDS.  I know.  Cheese.  Little Loren would probably just make a fart joke and be disappointed that I never found a way to obtain magical powers.

Adorable-ness

At 6:00 this morning, I awoke to a barrage of text message “dings” from my phone, one right after another.  My immediate reaction: something terrible has happened.  Could someone have died?  Maybe someone has fallen ill.  Or perhaps a really drunk ex-boyfriend is letting me know how much he hates me.   Great!

I begrudgingly picked up the phone only to find a series of picture messages from my mother:

Anya says hi!

And hi again!

Wow – even better!

 

Still half asleep, I slowly replied with this:

Loren:  Mom, as precious as this is, let me sleep please.

Mom:  Sorry – was having fun

Loren:  I know, and it’s cute.  But maybe in an hour or two…or seven.

Mom:  :)

I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead. Or…now?

I have a problem.  I call it uncontrollable sleepiness.

Now, I’m not narcoleptic….but I kind of am.  I have this uncanny ability to fall asleep as soon as I become tired, no questions asked.  I’ll try to stay awake, but once I feel that exhaustion coming on, I give in to temptation.  Couple this with my ability to sleep on any surface and in any position, and this creates many an interesting scenario.  Here are some examples:

Scenario 1: Sometimes I’ll be holding conversations with people, and then suddenly, I’m unconscious.  Side effects of this syndrome also include abnormal utterances that I may or may not remember later.  Once my mother held an entire conversation with me while I was asleep about the plight of the modern American feminist.  Apparently I made some insightful points.  Too bad I don’t remember any of it.

Scenario 2: Failing to stay awake through class lectures after I’ve eaten anything.  These instances are more humorous than anything else.  Basically I do my imitation of the dunking bird as I start to nod off, and my poor professors probably spy me and feel bad about their ability to capture students’ attentions.  ”It’s not your fault!” I want to cry to to them.  ”I just ate Chick-fil-A!”   A great example of this can be shown right here on my blog.  I present to you my notes on the Electoral College:

Electoral College:  The institution that actually chooeste prirsedent. It will fool everyone outside of America.  The founders did not foresee the power of political parties would do to the electorat.  Instead of every0ne in the statement matter.  Instead theer’e a stime  in every state pledged to support joh mccan or john mcacain.. Smal states, your votes count more.  Claifornia.  Happened in 2000 when Geor.  A President can win the presidency with only 45% of the vote.

*Sigh* Don’t you just love how rife it is with the craziest of spelling errors.  ”Prirsedent?” Seriously?

Luckily, I already know the history of the electoral college, and since I somewhat know how my sleepy mind functions, I can piece together what I was trying to type.  But still, that’s just sad.

Perhaps this is a talent of mine that will come in handy one day when I least expect.  Like in Signs when it turned out that the reason Rory Culkin had asthma was so he wouldn’t breath in the toxic gas administered by the alien menace!

Or maybe I just need more sleep.  Yeah, that’s probably more likely.

“Look, a diversion!”

So new layout. The picture at the top of the page is also my desktop background. It was free on Digital Blasphemy. I’ve been going through that website as of late. I think I’ll eventually cave and get a subscription. I mean, how can you look at something like this and not feel better about life?

I’m actually supposed to be studying for a test right now, but I figured since I’ll be up all night as it is, I can take a break to blog for you fine people.

When I was in high school, I used to make home movies.  A lot.  Every time I would have friends over for sleep overs, I forced them into making silly soap operas or murder mystery movies.  And my sure-fire way of getting good grades on school projects was to make a kick-ass video.  I even made a really sappy music video with my cousin to a Vanessa Carlton song once.  Sadly, my friends found it on my computer one day and locked me out of my room so they could show it to my boyfriend at the time.  I still remember clawing at the door as I heard their loud guffaws reverberate through my bedroom walls.

Now looking back, it’s so surreal to me that the experience I gained from making fake cooking shows and Blair Witch Project remakes with my friends actually translated into skills that I use every day.  At the time, I thought I was just being silly.  Apparently I was planning for my future.  Go me.

So please enjoy this project I made with three of my beautiful high school classmates for my Humanities class.  I’ve edited it down because some parts of it literally made me gag, but I think you’ll enjoy it nonetheless.

Joyce’s Gems

My mother is a funny gal.  Sometimes she says things that make me giggle like a little school boy.  Here are some examples.  Enjoy.

 
(talking about a potential roommate)
Loren:  Yeah, I think we could live really well together. We have the same cleaning habits.
Joyce:  What, none?

(showing Mom the beads I got from Mardi Gras in New Orleans)
Loren: (jokingly) Seriously Mom, I had to flash a lot of breast to get those beads
Joyce: Wow, I’m surprised they gave you anything.

(discussing religion and Star Trek)
Joyce: Man if I loved Jesus as much as I loved Captain Kirk, I’d be a saint.

(every time I meet someone new)
Loren: Hey Mom, I have something to tell you.
Joyce: Go for it
Loren: I met a guy…
Joyce: Oh Loren, Goddamn it!!

Loren: Yeah my friend has started going to this church under a bridge.
Joyce: What, did he turn into a troll?

Welcome to my mother’s mind. She is amazing.

Mom helping me with my robot Halloween costume

Annnnnd the finished product

Love for Gov

Today in my Government class, our professor started the lecture by saying this:

“A few years ago I made the choice to engage in the act of reproduction.  Well, the result of that choice  kept me up all night last night, so I apologize if I seem a bit groggy.”

And then we studied the complex metaphors and double meanings hidden within Machiavelli’s “The Prince.”

It’s going to be a good year…

 

…well until it ends (see previous post)

The next apocalypse

I think the world is ending.  And here’s why:

I’ve recently moved into my lovely new house in Austin.  After living in it for a while, I made the decision that we needed to add bar stools in the kitchen.  So I searched on Craigslist for some cheap stools to purchase nearby.  I soon contacted a man named Giorgi who was selling them for $15 a piece.  I inquired to my friend Renée if she’d like to come with me, and she acquiesced.

The trip was nothing special.  We met Giorgi, who asked us if we smelled anything odd in his apartment.  We said we did and that he probably should move cause it looked like he had mold.  Money was then exchanged and all was well.

Later that day, Renée put up an add on Craigslist looking for a new roommate.  She’s been searching for one for quite some time now, so she’s been getting desperate.  Eventually she gets an e-mail on her phone as we are driving to campus together.

“Hmmm, some guy named Giorgi answered my Craigslist add,” said Renée.

“Wait, Giorgi ——?” I exclaimed (I don’t want to post his last name just in case you fools feel like stalking him).

“Yeah…” she said.

“Dude, that’s the guy I bought my bar stools from!” I cried.

We both agreed that this was quite a serendipitous event and that perhaps this was some sort of sign that Giorgi must live with Renée.  She called and Giorgi came to look at house.

Well things stopped being cute.  I went to my Government class a day later, and what do you know, Giorgi sits right in front of me.  Good Lord, what is happening!? I think to myself.  And then, he gets up and passes out the syllabus.  Oh that’s right, he’s my TA! 

So I’ve come to the logical conclusion that the world is ending.  See, you might think to yourself that this is the man I’m going to marry.  But you would be wrong.  This is sinister in nature.  Why would this person that I’ve never seen before all of sudden show up in three completely random scenarios of my life.  All is coming to an end.  It was nice knowing y’all…

I’ll Tell You When You’re Older

For one of my father’s birthdays, about 12 to 13 years ago, I gave him the best present a daughter could give her father: a Farside calendar.  I was in awe of the humor of Gary Larson, so I figured my father would greatly benefit from the sardonic cartoonage.  It was one of those 365-day rip off calendars, so Dad could enjoy Larson’s brilliance every day of the year.  

Well, about halfway through the year, my mother and I came across a cartoon that involved a man and a woman sitting at a bar.  The man was making a comment on the woman’s beautiful eyes and how it must be a result of her being from France.  And then there was another box with strange shapes making a joke I didn’t get.  So I inquired about the punchline to my mother.

“Uhhh, I’ll tell you when you’re older, Honey,” she said quickly, ripping the calendar out of my hand.

This was beyond frustrating.  Being a mature woman of 8, I was quite certain I could handle whatever adult meanings were hidden in this cartoon.  What made it worse was that my mom told me this ALL THE TIME when I was little, and if you know anything about my personality, this was the equivalent of me being forced to watch “National Treasure” on repeat.

I had become fed up with being promised explanations when I was older, because I KNEW she would so forget to tell them to me.  So because of this particular instance, I made sure to remember the promise my mother had made, and then one day, when I was significantly older, I would ask her to tell me what the cartoon had meant.  Afterwards, I started making a list of every time I was told this phrase, so that someday I would finally understand what was obviously too painful to tell an 8 year old. 

So what happened?  I forgot about it for a long time.  But then I came across that old Farside Calendar a couple of years ago, and I was filled with glee because the cartoon was still there.  Then I realized why my mom didn’t want to tell me the joke.  Turns out those funny shapes were the man’s…uh…little friends making a comment about their upcoming vacation to France. 

“Well that was just gross and unfulfilling,” I thought to myself.  But it got me thinking about the list, and I scrounged it up in one of my old desk drawers a while back and typed it up on my computer because it was so hilarious.  So here was what was on it.  See if you can explain it to me now that I’m older

1.  We learned about the weather cycle today at school.  I wanted to see if Dad knew the parts of the cycle, so I tested him when I got home.  We played a rhyming game to see if he could guess the word I was thinking of.  I was trying to get him to guess the word “evaporate” so I made up a word that sounded like it.  I said it sounded like “masterbate.” Apparently I made up a real word on accident.  Dad got freaked out.  He said he would tell me what it means when I was older.

2.  I was watching Rocko’s Modern Life today, and my mom walked in during a part when Rocko and his friends were all sitting around a monkey, hitting it with wooden paddles.  She gasped and turned off the TV.  I didn’t get why she got so upset.  She said she’d tell me when I was older.  Also I’m not allowed to watch that show anymore.

3. During an episode of “That 70s Show,” Eric came out of the basement to get some food.  When his dad showed up, Eric couldn’t understand what he was saying because the walls of the house were moving crazy.  I asked my parents why Eric was seeing everything so weird.  They laughed and said they’d tell me when I was older.

 

Needless to say, I was a sheltered child…

The Little New Yorker That Could…

So I like how I barely update this thing anymore.  Sorry guys, but my writing abilities have been concentrated elsewhere…

Which brings me to today’s topic: writing!  I know.  It’s quite exciting.

I find it a bit ironic at times that I’ve chosen a profession with a major writing component.  In high school, I was always the girl that was good at math and physics, and for my major english project, I was able to opt out of writing a research paper by making a short film instead (a badass interpretation of a Robert Frost poem starring my high school boyfriend with Galadrial-like narration by yours truly). 

But here I am in New York, plugging away at blogs, articles, VOs, scripts, and more.  Soooo…when did I become a writer?

Don’t get me wrong, I had always considered myself a decent writer but had often felt like my work never stood out to anyone.  I distinctly remember listening on with great envy as my english teachers would read stories and essays from the class’s most skilled writers, none of which being me.

Well I shouldn’t say that.  There was one time when my work was read aloud…in 3rd grade.  I remember it so well because I considered it one of the most defining moments of my life.  The class had recently taken a field trip to a state park to witness a lunar eclipse.  We were all very excited to go on a school activity during the night (quite the social taboo).  The next day, we all had to write an essay describing our personal experience.

Sadly, my creative writing masterpiece was not achieved through clever inspiration, but rather through a desire to beat that pesky Laura Burgess whose papers were ADORED by Mrs. Magnuson.  I knew I had to come up with a catchy first line.  Something that would really draw in the reader and make them thirst for more.  So I brainstormed.  Please bear with me as I try to recreate the thought process of my third grade self:

Okay, I have to come up with something good.  Laura can’t be the class favorite.  I need attention!

Alright, well I should probably use a vocab word.  Okay, so I don’t really know any. 

That’s alright, I’ll turn the moon into a person!  Personifimation? No, that’s not it.  Personi-formation? Whatever….

So the moon, it went away.  So the moon…left? No, that’s lame.  It dashed?  Gahh, I’m so bad at this!  I dunno, the moon just went on a vacation for a little while…

Wait a minute, that could work…

So after all of that nonsense, I came up with this beauty of a first sentence:

“Wow, this weekend I saw the moon pack its bags and get out of town!”

My teacher LOVED it.  She was so proud of my creativity and read the paper aloud TWICE.  The whole class congratulate me on a fine paper and asked me for advice on how to write quality essays.  It was basically the equivalent of heaven for 8 year old Loren.**

While this story is a bit silly, it is sadly the only time my work has ever been verbally recognized  throughout grade school.  Which brings me back to my original surprise of going into journalism.  Suddenly I’m writing all the time now?  And it’s actually good?  Weird.

Of course, we can’t forget the fact that I went into BROADCAST journalism, which is quite a different beast from print.  This makes my career choice much more logical given my love for really crappy home movies.  Hmmm, do I smell another blog post?  I think I do….

 

*Looking back on what I just wrote, I should give little Loren some more credit.  I wasn’t really that stupid, but it’s always nice to poke fun of yourself during your younger years (except for junior high where I just try to block out those memories all together).*

Curse you, Martin Scorsese!

I walked into Au Bon Pain with one simple motive: to eat a bagel and read my new book.  After checking out at the counter, I grabbed a quaint little table in the corner where I planned to accomplish this task.  I cracked open my book, read about two lines, and just as I was taking a bite from my bagel, I hear a voice to my right.

“I couldn’t help but see that you’re reading Dennis Lehane.”

I look up, intrigued, to find a middle aged man wearing plastic glasses and sporting a man satchel.  He seems well-intentioned so I decide to reply back.

“Yes I am,” I say, hoping there couldn’t be much more to say after that.

“Yeah, he’s really interesting.  So, are you in criminal justice?”

For a moment, I just blink at him, trying to figure out if he’s kidding.  I then give him a moment to see that I’m wearing a grey sundress and notice my curly haired bob, or you know, the complete lack of muscles in my arms. But nope, he’s serious.

“Uhhh…no.”

“Oh really.  Well I’ve had to deal with the FBI,” he says.

My eyes get wide.  Oh dear, I think to myself. 

“I actually had a couple of run-ins with Whitey Bulger,” he continues.  ” You know, the guy that Jack Nicholson’s character from ‘The Departed’ is based on.  And let me tell you, the FBI isn’t doing anything to get this man behind bars.”

He goes on to describe how he ran into Bulger at the Public Library this one time, and that Bulger could very well have had a knife behind his back.  So he called the FBI, but they didn’t do anything about it.  And THEN he said he saw Bulger running in his neighborhood once, coming to the conclusion that the mobster must be living nearby.  So he took it upon himself to spy on Bulger, you know, for the good of America.

His story goes on and on for a good fifteen minutes with the details of his plan to capture Bulger.  I reply intermittently with “oh really”s and “yeah”s, as if I’m interested, but the inner monologue is fast at work.

Gahh, what the hell!  I just wanted to read my book.  Damn you, Dennis Lehane! Ok Loren, there’s got to be a way out of this.  Stop with the nodding, he thinks you’re enjoying the story! Damn you, and your listening skills. Ohhh try your phone!  You have that application, “Fake a Call.”  It’s perfect!

But my heart sinks to my stomach as I realize my purse is in the other chair on the opposite side of the table.  Blast!

Meanwhile, his story picks up.  He goes into intricate detail about the time he saw Bulger’s girlfriend walking her dogs, carefully noting the heart-shaped sunglasses she was wearing, her paisley jacket, and the odd hat on her head that was out of fashion for women at the time.

“And each time I call the FBI about this, they keep telling my I’m crazy,” he says.

“They call you crazy? Really?” I reply.  

What if you just ran?  What that be weird.  Like, start slowly gathering your things, and then just book it. People might look at you funny, but that wouldn’t be so bad.  You never have to see these people again.  Ughh, this is all Billy’s fault.  He had to introduce me to this book.  This story doesn’t really have much to do with criminal justice anyway!  I mean, the main guy’s a federal marshall, but he’s investigating a missing person, not the Boston mafia…

“…you hear me?” he asks.

I am jerked back into consciousness.  ”Huh?” I reply.

“I said, take this advice from me.  If you’re ever in a situation and you get a feeling of danger deep down in your gut, you get out of there.”

LIKE NOW!?

Another fifteen minutes of story goes by.  At this point, I’m pleading with God to let it stop.

I’m sorry for everything bad I’ve ever done.  EVER.  Is this punishment for liking the Departed?  I thought it was a good movie!

And then I hear what salvation sounds like.  The delightful tune of “Sing, Sing, Sing” fills the air, and I realize my cousin is calling me.  With lightening speed, I reach for the phone.

“I’m so sorry, but this is a really important phone call,” I say.  ”I have to take this.”

I don’t give him a chance to answer as I go straight into conversation with Joya.  He smiles, makes a small wave, and then leaves.  I let out the largest sigh of my life and  finish my talk with Joya.

And then I go back to my story about a mental institution.  Oh, the irony.