Facebook. MySpace. Skype. Google+. Tumblr. Twitter. Flickr. Blogger. Have you guessed the pattern yet? Well for those of you who maybe aren't as internet-savvy as the average teenager, I'll give you a hint. SOCIAL NETWORKING! It's one of the great evils/loves of my life. I've discussed this topic in past entries, however, at the moment, I'd like to focus on the positives of the thing that has taken over the lives of such a great percentage of the population. Regardless of how so many people say that these popular sites are "over-rated" and say that they never use them (even though they really do); places like Facebook and Blogger are some of the most useful websites I can think of.
I can't count the number of times I've needed homework help and turn to Facebook. With access to almost everyone in my school, it's simple and quick to reach someone in any of my given classes in order to get an assignment I forgot to write down, or help with a certain problem that I just can't figure out. Even more important to me than the academic benefit I see to Facebook, is my family. A great deal of my relatives live all the way over in Norway. It's not exactly easy to pick up a phone and call them; that's just expensive, there's the seven time difference to take into account, it's difficult. However, with the help of Facebook, I have access to my extended family's stray thoughts they decide to post, their pictures, what they're up to, I get a taste of what their life is like. My parents will often mention to me that one of their friends they haven't seen since high school, an old college professor, or an ex-colleague friended them on Facebook. These are people that my parents haven't given a thought in the past twenty years, and with a click on their profile, they can see all they've missed in those lost years.
It continues to boggle my mind how fast information can travel through Facebook. In the past few years, my high school has experienced several student or teacher deaths. Each time one of these students, teachers, or even a celebrity dies, I have always found out first from Facebook posts. How do you think I found out about Osama Bin Ladin being caught and killed? A news site? No way, it was Facebook! Social networking sites are a beacon of information, just waiting for you to click the "Join Now" button. We have so much insight into our friends lives now. There are certainly downsides, but I met a second cousin who lives in Norway through Facebook, and now she's one of my best friends. I've been saved from dozens of "catastrophes" in which I forgot to write down the homework in a class through posting a question on my Facebook "wall". There's so much information provided, given, and shared. A friend of mine who has boycott Facebook ever since the phenomenon started just succumbed to the social networking site today. We properly welcomed her to the 21st century.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Overkill...Literally
Modern Marvel movies are a guaranteed thrill with several good laughs and just a hint of a romance story in between a jam packed action film. Think about it..has a Modern Marvel movie ever really disappointed. Spider Man, Fantastic Four, and of course, who could forget Iron Man? Some of my favorite movies come from the idea of taking classic comic books that the boys of our previous generation would buy, read, collect, and in some cases worship into full feature films. In most cases with these comic movies, it centers around a man who some how gains super powers in one way or another. Whether it's through a giant machine that gives you super strength, or maybe through a bite from a genetically altered spider that makes it so "spider man can do everything that a spider can". Then, as Uncle Ben said in Spider Man..."with great power comes great responsibility". When these men gain these special powers, they have the responsibility to use them for the greater good...and of course there always has to be a bad-guy villain to fight off. Then there's the love interest. The girl that the super hero really shouldn't pursue, because if he does, she'll be put in great danger.
Today, I was swayed by the great reviews and the fact that it was a Marvel film to see the movie Captain America. I was all ready for it to be great. There were some highly acclaimed actors in it, from previews, it looked very exciting, and of course, it was Marvel, I wasn't ready to be disappointed. Unfortunately, disappointed is what I was. Not only because the movie wasn't good itself, really, looking back, it was a great storyline. Strong characters that I really cared about. The love story was adorable, I found myself chuckling as more than a few witty lines. There was one glaringly obvious problem that no one could ignore. There were gaping holes in the explanation of what was going on in the scientific aspect of the movie. Yes, we know that this man is genetically altered to make him super strong, and we know that other scientists are trying to steal this serum that was destined to make "super soldiers" in the midst of World War II. But there by the end of the movie, there were way too many unanswered questions to be considered reasonable, even in the world of movie magic.
One may wonder, how is it that a two hour and five minute movie could have holes in the explanation? Well I'll tell you why...they replace the explanation of what you're seeing with tons of fighting scenes. Plenty of explosions, gunshots, and casualties to go around. While some may find this fighting and exploding to be extremely exciting, I am certainly not one of those people. I can enjoy one fight scene with some impressive special effects, I can tolerate two scenes of the like, but when it gets to be that every other scene is another display of how handy the special effects man was with a computer, I get sick of it. Lately it seems that more and more movies are forgoing the part where they try to make the storyline all fit together in exchange for lots of punching, blood, and exploding. I speak on behalf of....well....myself, when I say that one fight scene is exciting, two is manageable, three can maybe be tolerated, then four and above is overkill...LITERALLY!
Today, I was swayed by the great reviews and the fact that it was a Marvel film to see the movie Captain America. I was all ready for it to be great. There were some highly acclaimed actors in it, from previews, it looked very exciting, and of course, it was Marvel, I wasn't ready to be disappointed. Unfortunately, disappointed is what I was. Not only because the movie wasn't good itself, really, looking back, it was a great storyline. Strong characters that I really cared about. The love story was adorable, I found myself chuckling as more than a few witty lines. There was one glaringly obvious problem that no one could ignore. There were gaping holes in the explanation of what was going on in the scientific aspect of the movie. Yes, we know that this man is genetically altered to make him super strong, and we know that other scientists are trying to steal this serum that was destined to make "super soldiers" in the midst of World War II. But there by the end of the movie, there were way too many unanswered questions to be considered reasonable, even in the world of movie magic.
One may wonder, how is it that a two hour and five minute movie could have holes in the explanation? Well I'll tell you why...they replace the explanation of what you're seeing with tons of fighting scenes. Plenty of explosions, gunshots, and casualties to go around. While some may find this fighting and exploding to be extremely exciting, I am certainly not one of those people. I can enjoy one fight scene with some impressive special effects, I can tolerate two scenes of the like, but when it gets to be that every other scene is another display of how handy the special effects man was with a computer, I get sick of it. Lately it seems that more and more movies are forgoing the part where they try to make the storyline all fit together in exchange for lots of punching, blood, and exploding. I speak on behalf of....well....myself, when I say that one fight scene is exciting, two is manageable, three can maybe be tolerated, then four and above is overkill...LITERALLY!
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Straight From Grandma's Kitchen
On average, three times a day we sit down to eat. Whether it's in a five star restaurant, or a shabby little burger joint. A place where you can't understand a single title on the menu, or an all American diner in which you can get a heaping stack of pancakes at any time of the day and they seem to serve bacon with just about anything. Regardless, it doesn't seem like there is ever anything better than the meal that comes out of Grandma's kitchen. Why is it that Grandma's just seem to have it right when it comes to cooking and baking? Even if I take the exact same recipe that I've made with my Grandma a thousand times, if I ever attempt it alone, it never comes out the same. There's something about a Grandmother's touch. A touch I would compare only to the touch of Midas. A touch no one else seems to be able to replicate, that turns everything to gold.
When a company, mass producing their canned goods, or a restaurant who wants to advertise their homestyle meals, they will use something like: "just like Grandma used to make". When we hear something about a Grandmother's cooking, our ears perk up. We're reminded of the special occasions, gathering around the table, eagerly awaiting the food that has been tantalizing our sense of smell since we walked in the door. What comes out of a Grandmother's kitchen just never seems to be flawed. Is it because they've had years and years of practice to perfect the recipes they guard with their lives? They've worked to change and tweak the ingredients until the end result is just right.
Now is the time when I've had to begin thinking...what will happen when my wonderful Grandmothers are gone? It's an inevitability that is impossible to ignore. There are SO many things that I look forward to on their Thanksgiving tables that no one else in the family, much less in the world, knows how to replicate just right. It's time that someone learned the tricks of the trade, and I have been the one to step up. My Dad's mother must teach me how to make it so the blueberry pancakes brown just perfectly. My Mom's mother must teach me how to make the raisin bread rise just enough so it's fluffy and light. The recipes that I refuse to let become lost as a distant memory of my childhood. The recipes I will continue to work at until their perfect for Thanksgiving tables to come. My challenge to you, is to do the same. I don't care who your Grandmother is. She has at least one recipe up her sleeve that is worth preserving. Find it. Make it. Thank her.
When a company, mass producing their canned goods, or a restaurant who wants to advertise their homestyle meals, they will use something like: "just like Grandma used to make". When we hear something about a Grandmother's cooking, our ears perk up. We're reminded of the special occasions, gathering around the table, eagerly awaiting the food that has been tantalizing our sense of smell since we walked in the door. What comes out of a Grandmother's kitchen just never seems to be flawed. Is it because they've had years and years of practice to perfect the recipes they guard with their lives? They've worked to change and tweak the ingredients until the end result is just right.
Now is the time when I've had to begin thinking...what will happen when my wonderful Grandmothers are gone? It's an inevitability that is impossible to ignore. There are SO many things that I look forward to on their Thanksgiving tables that no one else in the family, much less in the world, knows how to replicate just right. It's time that someone learned the tricks of the trade, and I have been the one to step up. My Dad's mother must teach me how to make it so the blueberry pancakes brown just perfectly. My Mom's mother must teach me how to make the raisin bread rise just enough so it's fluffy and light. The recipes that I refuse to let become lost as a distant memory of my childhood. The recipes I will continue to work at until their perfect for Thanksgiving tables to come. My challenge to you, is to do the same. I don't care who your Grandmother is. She has at least one recipe up her sleeve that is worth preserving. Find it. Make it. Thank her.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Snail Mail
An incredibly average day, nothing significant has occurred. School was a cornucopia of normalcy and monotony. I drive up my same road. Passing the same six houses I pass every single day on my way to and from my house. The same old perfectly trimmed front yards. It's a Tuesday, so of course, everyone's garbage and recycling cans are out to be collected. The sun induces a sweltering heat that makes me dread the forty seconds it will take me to leave the comfort of my air conditioned car, retrieve the mail from our green mailbox. I enter my same garage and unlock the same old lock. I yell "Hello!" to anyone in the house who may be around to hear me, met with a resounding silence. I throw my bag on the desk, shed my sunglasses, and begin to sift through the mail. The same bills, junk mail pamphlets from no-name colleges, coupons for stores I've never heard of or never intend to visit. Then all of a sudden, there's my name. Displayed in the hand of not a computer, but an actual hand. Perhaps the hand of a friend.
Snail mail. How out of fashion this has become in our age of technology. A world where e-mail, texting, skyping, it's all just taken over our lives. A world where "LOL" can supplement as a response. A world where "TTYL" has replaced a proper farewell. A world where a pixelation on a screen can make up for the emotion that could be displayed through a hand written note. A hand written letter, crafted with an old-fashioned pen and paper. A hand written letter that takes time, effort, and emotion to create.
When I receive an e-mail that I feel has some sort of importance that I want to save, to be able to bring out in a moment of sadness, look back on and feel the happiness encased by the note, I will drag and drop it to my "saved mail" folder on my computer. When I receive a letter or a card that I want to save for a later date, I will take the time to fasten it into my scrap book. A scrap book that one day, when my children are going through some of my old things from high school, they will stumble upon. They can look back at what my friends and I would talk about when we were there age.
One Christmas Eve at my Grandma's house, my sisters and I were snooping around our Mom's old bedroom. The closet is something of a treasure trove. Old sketch books. Board games. Records. Then, a faded old scrapbook. Jackpot. Inside, we unlock the secrets of our Mother's teenage years. She took the time to save notes (handwritten, of course), that she passed between her and her best friend in the midst of a boring high school lecture. Post cards sent from my Dad while they were dating. In reading these notes and postcards, I could look back on my parents relationship. How my Dad tried to impress my Mom with the fact that he was a budding young pilot. That one of their first dates was on a riverboat. And I didn't have to read these things off of a computer screen, in a "saved mail" dropbox.
To be able to feel the letter. To see the handwriting. It shows so much more than just the words, but what the writer was feeling when they wrote the words. Suddenly the words have taken on a new meaning. I can now save the words in a real box forever. My children will look back on how much of a loser I was when I was a teenager and we'll laugh at my expense. I have no idea where technology will be in the future. But I will promise this. I will buy my children a stationary kit of their own, put a pen in their hands, and hope they'll feel the same. Write the old fashioned way. Feel the words on the page, not through a screen. Use their words, not their acronyms. Make a proper greeting, and a thoughtful farewell. Snail mail is not dead. And I hope it never will be.
Snail mail. How out of fashion this has become in our age of technology. A world where e-mail, texting, skyping, it's all just taken over our lives. A world where "LOL" can supplement as a response. A world where "TTYL" has replaced a proper farewell. A world where a pixelation on a screen can make up for the emotion that could be displayed through a hand written note. A hand written letter, crafted with an old-fashioned pen and paper. A hand written letter that takes time, effort, and emotion to create.
When I receive an e-mail that I feel has some sort of importance that I want to save, to be able to bring out in a moment of sadness, look back on and feel the happiness encased by the note, I will drag and drop it to my "saved mail" folder on my computer. When I receive a letter or a card that I want to save for a later date, I will take the time to fasten it into my scrap book. A scrap book that one day, when my children are going through some of my old things from high school, they will stumble upon. They can look back at what my friends and I would talk about when we were there age.
One Christmas Eve at my Grandma's house, my sisters and I were snooping around our Mom's old bedroom. The closet is something of a treasure trove. Old sketch books. Board games. Records. Then, a faded old scrapbook. Jackpot. Inside, we unlock the secrets of our Mother's teenage years. She took the time to save notes (handwritten, of course), that she passed between her and her best friend in the midst of a boring high school lecture. Post cards sent from my Dad while they were dating. In reading these notes and postcards, I could look back on my parents relationship. How my Dad tried to impress my Mom with the fact that he was a budding young pilot. That one of their first dates was on a riverboat. And I didn't have to read these things off of a computer screen, in a "saved mail" dropbox.
To be able to feel the letter. To see the handwriting. It shows so much more than just the words, but what the writer was feeling when they wrote the words. Suddenly the words have taken on a new meaning. I can now save the words in a real box forever. My children will look back on how much of a loser I was when I was a teenager and we'll laugh at my expense. I have no idea where technology will be in the future. But I will promise this. I will buy my children a stationary kit of their own, put a pen in their hands, and hope they'll feel the same. Write the old fashioned way. Feel the words on the page, not through a screen. Use their words, not their acronyms. Make a proper greeting, and a thoughtful farewell. Snail mail is not dead. And I hope it never will be.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Why Should That Mean It's Not Real?
It all started with a boy. A boy with a scar. A boy with a gift. A gift he didn't understand until the phenomenon all started on his eleventh birthday. The day a giant beat down his door to take him to the life he has belonged to since birth. The day the boy's life began to make sense, and a piece of my childhood began. I often devote blog entries to my love for all things Disney. I describe it as a piece of my childhood that will follow me through adulthood. In a way, the phenomenon I'm speaking of is similar. The phenomenon of a boy wizard. An entire world was created at the hands of a woman. A quaint housewife in England began and ultimately shaped millions of childhoods all over the world. I am writing of the one and only Harry Potter.
Please don't get me wrong, I am NOT one of those absolutely insanely obsessed people like some. I liked the books and the movies, but it's never been a HUGE thing for me. However, the world of Harry Potter has always just been around since some of my earlier memories in life. The first book came out when I was just three years old. My Mom and older sister reading them, I not even able to read Good Night, Moon yet. We all have our first Harry Potter memories. Mine was when the first movie was released. I didn't know anything about it when I entered the theater. Only that everyone seemed particularly excited for it. But, from the moment Hermione fixed Harry's glasses with a swish of her wand and the simple spell: "reparo" I knew I was hooked. The world of wizarding: flying on broomsticks, goblins, "TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!", "he who must not be named", the boy who lived, the chosen one. These are things I continued to hear well after the first movie came out, and ultimately for the rest of my elementary, middle, and high school years.
If you've seen the movies and/or read the books, tell me you didn't experience a tightening of your throat when Harry said "I'm not going home...not really..." Tell me it didn't bring a smile to your face when Harry freed Dobby the house elf with the gift of a sock. And then wanted to cry when that same House Elf was buried in the sand...marked with the headstone: "Here Lies Dobby: A Free Elf". Laugh at Ron's fear of spiders, and die inside when the fifth in the series was so disappointing. Cover your mouth in awe when Dumbledore is murdered, and love when Harry and Ginny finally kiss, regardless of their scary height difference. Cheer when Mrs. Weasley called Bellatrix a...witch....give or take a letter, and then again when Neville slayed Nagini.
Dumbledore tells Harry: "of course it's happening inside your head, Harry, but why on Earth should that mean it's not real?" Yes, Harry Potter is fiction. Yes, the closest thing to a real world of wizarding is the replica theme park built in Universal Studios. Polyjuice potion will not turn you into anyone you want to be and no matter how hard you search, you won't find any of the three deathly hallows. But why should that mean it's not real? Harry, Ron, Hermione, Snape, Dumbledore, Neville, Draco, Luna, Ginny, Fred, George, Cedric, all the way to Moaning Myrtle...these are the imaginary friends that we've grown up with for the past dozen years of our lives. Who cares if it is all make believe? The magic that J.K. Rowling created needed no spell. Adults wonder what the big deal is with Harry Potter. They're actors. Characters that are just made up out of some woman's head. But it's become so much more than that. Now that the final movie has been released, Harry has defeated Voldemort, Hermione and Ron are married, Harry's children are Hogwarts bound, it feels like a piece of my childhood has ended.
No, even though I'm sure this blog has convinced you otherwise, I am not obsessed with Harry Potter. I do feel that it is a part of who I am though. It's a part of my generation, and it always will be. When my children are old enough to appreciate it, I will give them Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, telling them that it's a bit dated...they may not like it, and that's okay. But it was a part of my childhood, and I want it to be something you know about. Something that I hope they can find just a bit of magic out of, awaken the magic that everyone in that theater felt last night when the credits rolled.
"Of course it's happening inside your head, Harry, but why on Earth should that mean it's not real?"
-J.K. Rowling Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Albus Dumbledore.
Thank you J.K. Rowling, you have truly changed my generation forever.
Please don't get me wrong, I am NOT one of those absolutely insanely obsessed people like some. I liked the books and the movies, but it's never been a HUGE thing for me. However, the world of Harry Potter has always just been around since some of my earlier memories in life. The first book came out when I was just three years old. My Mom and older sister reading them, I not even able to read Good Night, Moon yet. We all have our first Harry Potter memories. Mine was when the first movie was released. I didn't know anything about it when I entered the theater. Only that everyone seemed particularly excited for it. But, from the moment Hermione fixed Harry's glasses with a swish of her wand and the simple spell: "reparo" I knew I was hooked. The world of wizarding: flying on broomsticks, goblins, "TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!", "he who must not be named", the boy who lived, the chosen one. These are things I continued to hear well after the first movie came out, and ultimately for the rest of my elementary, middle, and high school years.
If you've seen the movies and/or read the books, tell me you didn't experience a tightening of your throat when Harry said "I'm not going home...not really..." Tell me it didn't bring a smile to your face when Harry freed Dobby the house elf with the gift of a sock. And then wanted to cry when that same House Elf was buried in the sand...marked with the headstone: "Here Lies Dobby: A Free Elf". Laugh at Ron's fear of spiders, and die inside when the fifth in the series was so disappointing. Cover your mouth in awe when Dumbledore is murdered, and love when Harry and Ginny finally kiss, regardless of their scary height difference. Cheer when Mrs. Weasley called Bellatrix a...witch....give or take a letter, and then again when Neville slayed Nagini.
Dumbledore tells Harry: "of course it's happening inside your head, Harry, but why on Earth should that mean it's not real?" Yes, Harry Potter is fiction. Yes, the closest thing to a real world of wizarding is the replica theme park built in Universal Studios. Polyjuice potion will not turn you into anyone you want to be and no matter how hard you search, you won't find any of the three deathly hallows. But why should that mean it's not real? Harry, Ron, Hermione, Snape, Dumbledore, Neville, Draco, Luna, Ginny, Fred, George, Cedric, all the way to Moaning Myrtle...these are the imaginary friends that we've grown up with for the past dozen years of our lives. Who cares if it is all make believe? The magic that J.K. Rowling created needed no spell. Adults wonder what the big deal is with Harry Potter. They're actors. Characters that are just made up out of some woman's head. But it's become so much more than that. Now that the final movie has been released, Harry has defeated Voldemort, Hermione and Ron are married, Harry's children are Hogwarts bound, it feels like a piece of my childhood has ended.
No, even though I'm sure this blog has convinced you otherwise, I am not obsessed with Harry Potter. I do feel that it is a part of who I am though. It's a part of my generation, and it always will be. When my children are old enough to appreciate it, I will give them Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, telling them that it's a bit dated...they may not like it, and that's okay. But it was a part of my childhood, and I want it to be something you know about. Something that I hope they can find just a bit of magic out of, awaken the magic that everyone in that theater felt last night when the credits rolled.
"Of course it's happening inside your head, Harry, but why on Earth should that mean it's not real?"
-J.K. Rowling Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Albus Dumbledore.
Thank you J.K. Rowling, you have truly changed my generation forever.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
By The Candlelight
Just working on my computer, a normal Monday afternoon. Editing pictures from my latest photography project. Listening to my favorite iTunes playlist. When all of a sudden, with no warning, the screen goes black. The sounds of my cheery Disney Classics that can fix any mood turn to the irritating beeping of the backup power supply getting ready to kick in if it's needed. We knew a power outage was extremely likely, but for some reason, I wasn't expecting it at all. For the past several years, I could count the number of outages we've had in my house on one hand's fingers. And each time our electricity was suddenly cut off, usually due to extreme weather, it always came back within an hour or two at most.
This morning in the midst of a physics quiz, when the lights flicker, a peer yells "look out the window!", and I've got to say, I did not expect to see what I did. Out our one small classroom window, which just less than an hour ago was giving off bright light of the morning sun, was black. Just black, nothing could be seen but an empty void of darkness. My hand flies to my mouth, to cover a gasp, scream, I'm not sure myself. Extreme weather has always terrified me if I'm not with my family. I could barely finish my quiz, my hands were shaking so badly, wondering why we weren't getting in to tornado-warning formation.
Needless to say, that storm (that my Dad has been calling a "micro burst") which lasted no more than ten to fifteen minutes, caused the power outage that we have been experiencing as of around 3:30 this afternoon. Of course, there are obvious drawbacks to having the lights go out. All of the things that I could be getting done in my afternoon, now impossible to even start working on. During one of the hottest days of the summer, the leftover air conditioning that has been keeping my house cool won't last much longer. Milk is spoiling in the fridge and ice cream melting in the freezer. However, then the night comes. Possibly the scariest part of a power outage, but somehow, the part I like the most.
Before areas around my house got rewired a few years ago, our power went out every few days, it just became commonplace. I don't resent those hot summer nights when the lights went out, believe it or not, I treasured them. For some reason, being without electricity was always had a way of bringing us all together. No television humming in the background for us to stare aimlessly at. Computers are useless, so no one can make the excuse that they have work to do. There's something about power outages that's always been a little magical to me. Not during the day, but at night. With the soft glow of candlelight and flashlights, everyone seems compelled to whisper, as if with the lights, their voices have been turned down as well. If I'm at a friend's house, we'll have the urge to tell scary stories.
I've mentioned several times how I always believe the darkness to be exhilarating. I'm always more inspired at night, in darkness. Not as a classic "emo" statement, it's just always been a fact for me. I'm a night owl. I know that night is night, regardless of if the lights are on or not. But with a power outage, we're forced to turn out the lights. Forced to play that board game your family has been meaning to try ever since it was unwrapped three Christmases ago. To huddle everyone around one laptop to watch a family movie together. Maybe to even just sit and talk as a family. These are my memories of power outages of the past. When the light is forced out of our household, a new light of exhilaration is lit. The excitement of the darkness. No pressure of deadlines or projects. The feeling like you can just do nothing at all. This is a foreign feeling to me.
Power outages of my past will always be looked upon fondly by me. Inconvenient? Of course. But as much as I may moan, groan, and complain about this prolonged power outage, I'll always think upon them with a glint in my eye. Memories of togetherness, rare silence, and candlelight.
This morning in the midst of a physics quiz, when the lights flicker, a peer yells "look out the window!", and I've got to say, I did not expect to see what I did. Out our one small classroom window, which just less than an hour ago was giving off bright light of the morning sun, was black. Just black, nothing could be seen but an empty void of darkness. My hand flies to my mouth, to cover a gasp, scream, I'm not sure myself. Extreme weather has always terrified me if I'm not with my family. I could barely finish my quiz, my hands were shaking so badly, wondering why we weren't getting in to tornado-warning formation.
Needless to say, that storm (that my Dad has been calling a "micro burst") which lasted no more than ten to fifteen minutes, caused the power outage that we have been experiencing as of around 3:30 this afternoon. Of course, there are obvious drawbacks to having the lights go out. All of the things that I could be getting done in my afternoon, now impossible to even start working on. During one of the hottest days of the summer, the leftover air conditioning that has been keeping my house cool won't last much longer. Milk is spoiling in the fridge and ice cream melting in the freezer. However, then the night comes. Possibly the scariest part of a power outage, but somehow, the part I like the most.
Before areas around my house got rewired a few years ago, our power went out every few days, it just became commonplace. I don't resent those hot summer nights when the lights went out, believe it or not, I treasured them. For some reason, being without electricity was always had a way of bringing us all together. No television humming in the background for us to stare aimlessly at. Computers are useless, so no one can make the excuse that they have work to do. There's something about power outages that's always been a little magical to me. Not during the day, but at night. With the soft glow of candlelight and flashlights, everyone seems compelled to whisper, as if with the lights, their voices have been turned down as well. If I'm at a friend's house, we'll have the urge to tell scary stories.
I've mentioned several times how I always believe the darkness to be exhilarating. I'm always more inspired at night, in darkness. Not as a classic "emo" statement, it's just always been a fact for me. I'm a night owl. I know that night is night, regardless of if the lights are on or not. But with a power outage, we're forced to turn out the lights. Forced to play that board game your family has been meaning to try ever since it was unwrapped three Christmases ago. To huddle everyone around one laptop to watch a family movie together. Maybe to even just sit and talk as a family. These are my memories of power outages of the past. When the light is forced out of our household, a new light of exhilaration is lit. The excitement of the darkness. No pressure of deadlines or projects. The feeling like you can just do nothing at all. This is a foreign feeling to me.
Power outages of my past will always be looked upon fondly by me. Inconvenient? Of course. But as much as I may moan, groan, and complain about this prolonged power outage, I'll always think upon them with a glint in my eye. Memories of togetherness, rare silence, and candlelight.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Just To Pay The Bills
A job, profession, workplace, whatever you want to call it, it's the reason most people in the world wake up in the morning. It's what people live for, strive for, work towards, dread, detest, or maybe are passionate about. Some love their work, some hate it. Today I got to see first hand someone who loves what they do, even though it may not be the steadiest or easiest job in the world, and he's passionate about it. Today I volunteered to be a photographer at a local charity event. At first, I thought they were just looking for random high school students who knew their way around a camera to snap a few portraits, and that'd be it. But it turned out that they really needed someone with experience that they could depend on. Someone who could take the reins and get the job done, because if I didn't do it, no one would. I wasn't sure how I felt about this. I do know I was so nervous this morning that I was near passing out. To be depended on in such a way. Thrown into a foreign environment, not sure where to go, what boundaries I can overstep, it's an interesting feeling.
Before I left, the man I was working for asked me if I would be going into photography as a profession in the future. I replied with a very firm "no". I adore photography, and it's a wonderful hobby, but it's not something I could trust as a steady income. I told him that I would keep it as a lifelong hobby, but that's all it would ever be for me. He replied enthusiastically, saying that's the right thing to do, that I'm very smart not to want to go into photography as my profession. This surprised me, seeing as that's exactly what he did with his life. But he went on to explain how he could go a few months with lots of jobs, paying him a great deal of money to do what he loves. He felt on top of the world in these months. Then of course, he would go several more months with no income at all. Passing out business cards to people who just discarded them immediately.
My Dad has told me my entire life that I need to find the one thing that I'm truly passionate about, and if I can make a career out of it, I will succeed. Passion drives one to reach their full potential. My Dad was one of the lucky few who found his passion for airplanes as a child, and followed that passion all the way, until he became an airline pilot, being able to do what he loves for a living. That's when I must ask myself...is photography really my passion? And if it is...maybe I should consider it as a career possibility.
The answer to that question is no. Photography is not my passion. I love it, I think I always will love it. When I'm shooting something really great, and I know it will turn out wonderfully even before I press the shutter release, I do feel that passion. But that's just not enough. There aren't enough of those moments to make up for the instability and hardships of being a professional photographer. One day I'll find my passion. My true passion, not the fleeting moment I feel sometimes with a camera in my hand. When I do find this passion, I know that it will drive me to succeed. Until then, photography will be a wonderful hobby.
Before I left, the man I was working for asked me if I would be going into photography as a profession in the future. I replied with a very firm "no". I adore photography, and it's a wonderful hobby, but it's not something I could trust as a steady income. I told him that I would keep it as a lifelong hobby, but that's all it would ever be for me. He replied enthusiastically, saying that's the right thing to do, that I'm very smart not to want to go into photography as my profession. This surprised me, seeing as that's exactly what he did with his life. But he went on to explain how he could go a few months with lots of jobs, paying him a great deal of money to do what he loves. He felt on top of the world in these months. Then of course, he would go several more months with no income at all. Passing out business cards to people who just discarded them immediately.
My Dad has told me my entire life that I need to find the one thing that I'm truly passionate about, and if I can make a career out of it, I will succeed. Passion drives one to reach their full potential. My Dad was one of the lucky few who found his passion for airplanes as a child, and followed that passion all the way, until he became an airline pilot, being able to do what he loves for a living. That's when I must ask myself...is photography really my passion? And if it is...maybe I should consider it as a career possibility.
The answer to that question is no. Photography is not my passion. I love it, I think I always will love it. When I'm shooting something really great, and I know it will turn out wonderfully even before I press the shutter release, I do feel that passion. But that's just not enough. There aren't enough of those moments to make up for the instability and hardships of being a professional photographer. One day I'll find my passion. My true passion, not the fleeting moment I feel sometimes with a camera in my hand. When I do find this passion, I know that it will drive me to succeed. Until then, photography will be a wonderful hobby.
From The Show Today
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