Things that have gone into the Facebook Graveyard. RIP:
Super Pokes. Remember those? Facebookers used to use them to flirt with other facebookers. A hug was a good thing, a kiss was even better, and a wink had a meaning all of its own...
Bumper Stickers. You could display them all the way down on your profile, making your profile about two miles long, and very colorful. It was the perfect means of expression. The only downside was that you felt compelled to accept all bumper sticker gifts...even the lousy ones that had nothing to do with you.
Flair. Another version of Bumper Stickers...only rounder and placed on a virtual corkboard. These were quite fun and expressive if you could weed through the Twilight and Jonas Brothers ones...
The Wall-to-Wall button. Every now and again it resurects itself and one can use it, but in the past, it was always there so that you could directly post on someone's wall. Now we mostly just have lousy comment buttons.
Notifications for useless applications. The good part was you would get on facebook and see over 100 notifications, and for 1.5 seconds feel special and good about yourself. The bad part was that 98 of the notifications said, "Bob said something about you on Friend Game! See what he said HERE!" Once you clicked on it, you would have to play the game for 62 hours straight, answering 2,567 questions before it let you see that Bob thought that you have a nice sense of humor. This is one of the lost Facebook items that is missed very little...
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Classic Novels and the Great Loss of the American Attention Span (in under 300 words)!
Well! It’s been several days since I’ve written anything. I have a slight sense of guilt over that. Today I have only had one student so far, so I’ve had a lot of time on my hands. I’ve spent that time mostly reading The Picture of Dorian Gray, and googling Oscar Wilde’s biography out of pure curiosity. After reading his bio, it is clear that he led an… interesting life. However, his writing is impeccable and maintains my interest. Like many classic, Victorian novels, the beginning drags on and nearly lulls one to sleep, but is worth continuing because the middle and the ending reveal great surprises and plot twists that modern novels lack entirely. There is something so fascinating about classic literature. Although such novels never give the reader the instant gratification that we all crave nowadays due to television shows, movies on demand, high-speed internet, and such, the classical authors knew how to produce suspense, emotion, and dramatic plot twists without being pathetic or soap opera- like. I wish I could write like that. I used to be able to sit down for hours and focus on a piece of work, letting my creative juices flow. After college, when I had to learn how to condense my words into a single, 3 page essays, I lost much of my attention span and my ability to write for long periods of time. I wish I could get that back, yet here I sit writing a blot, interrupted by frequent visits to Facebook. Who knows, maybe if I just keep writing, perhaps someday I’ll still be able to write that “Great American Novel.”
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Visits with Friends, and a Quiet Day at Work
Today has had a good start to it! I left for work a bit early, in hopes of seeing a couple of friends who recently returned from a trip to Ireland. I was so pleased to see them both! I’ve missed them, and it was fun to live vicariously though their traveling tales. I was also extremely pleased when I saw that they bought me a present! It’s quite lovely, and very Celtic!
After that I still had some time to burn before work, so I called my friend Tess, and talked to her for a few minutes. We had a nice girl chat, and it was just good to hear her voice. It’s just little things like that that make my day! She’s a very lucky girl and is going to a Katy Perry concert tonight, with tickets that she won yesterday on a radio show. I told her to take lots of pictures!
Other than that, I have had a pretty quiet day. Once again, I have been visited by no students, and have edited no papers. However, I did have lunch with my coworker and his girlfriend. After lunch, my coworker’s girlfriend and I had a nice long chat about all sorts of fun subjects, so that was pleasant.
Now a frightening storm has rolled in, and the sky is raining buckets of water. I’m hoping it will be like most summer storms and will only be ominous for a short time and then will pass by, leaving us with clear skies and greener grass. However, the sky has yet to lighten up. Nothing left for me to do today but read a little more of “The Picture of Dorian Gray” and wait to see if any students will eventually pass through our doors. But, from the looks of things outside, it is unlikely that anyone will.
After that I still had some time to burn before work, so I called my friend Tess, and talked to her for a few minutes. We had a nice girl chat, and it was just good to hear her voice. It’s just little things like that that make my day! She’s a very lucky girl and is going to a Katy Perry concert tonight, with tickets that she won yesterday on a radio show. I told her to take lots of pictures!
Other than that, I have had a pretty quiet day. Once again, I have been visited by no students, and have edited no papers. However, I did have lunch with my coworker and his girlfriend. After lunch, my coworker’s girlfriend and I had a nice long chat about all sorts of fun subjects, so that was pleasant.
Now a frightening storm has rolled in, and the sky is raining buckets of water. I’m hoping it will be like most summer storms and will only be ominous for a short time and then will pass by, leaving us with clear skies and greener grass. However, the sky has yet to lighten up. Nothing left for me to do today but read a little more of “The Picture of Dorian Gray” and wait to see if any students will eventually pass through our doors. But, from the looks of things outside, it is unlikely that anyone will.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
A Blog About Ballet...(because it's a dull day here...)
My mother paid for me to take ballet lessons when I was ten years old. I was going to be a ballerina. Of that, I was sure. I was enrolled at the best ballet school around, and they took dancing very seriously. The teachers trained each and every student to be primas. The girls mostly came from ten-cent millionaire families, and all went to private schools. Some were more stuck up than others, but we managed to coexist.
I wasn’t a very good dancer. I could hardly remember the steps, or in what sequence the steps should be performed. I am dyslexic and struggled with telling my left from my right, and knowing which foot to start on, or what arm corresponded with what leg. My only asset was that I was flexible and at ten years old, had the legs of a twenty-year-old woman. This particular asset earned me the nick name of “Legs” among the teachers. But even these assets couldn’t help me keep up with all of the girls who took 5 or more ballet classes a week and just had a natural knack for dancing.
When I was thirteen, I was allowed to start taking my ballet lessons on Pointe. My parents took me to a dance store and bought me the most expensive, not to mention painful, pair of shoes I have ever owned. They were beautiful, creamy-pink, satin toe shoes. I liked the look of my legs when I stood up in them. My teacher reminded me that they were not just shoes; they were an extension of the body.
That year, things changed. My teacher became ill, and ceased to teach classes while she was receiving treatment for her cancer. Other teachers came in to take her place, but they were not the same. One instructor was unaware that as beginners on Pointe, that we were not supposed to be on our toes for more than thirty minutes. She worked us in our Pointe shoes for an hour and a half. No one said anything, because we all wanted to be brave ballerinas, like the “big girls,” as we referred to any one of the classes ahead of us. One thing I was always taught during my ballet years was, “Smile! Don’t ever let anyone know you are in pain.”
I dropped out after that year. My teacher was still ill, and would not be returning anytime soon, and I wasn’t a very good dancer. The childhood allure of being a great ballerina no longer had the same appeal to me, nor was it a future possibility. I knew I’d never be a prima ballerina. I accepted it, and left ballet behind, along with the painful toe shoes, the tiny black leotards, and the worn-out pink slippers.
I didn’t touch ballet again until this year, over eight years later, when I was asked to be in a local production of Brigadoon. When I accepted, I had no idea that I would be re-immersed in ballet. Suddenly, I found myself thrown into both group dances and solos where I had to arabesque, plie, and rond de jambe. At first, I struggled, just as I had when I was a child. I couldn’t remember what step to perform next, or which foot to land on when I jumped. It was a dyslexic’s nightmare. Even so, I had missed ballet after all those years, and a small part of me wanted to do this, and do it right. I wanted to prove to my inner child that I still could be the ballerina that I always dreamed of being.
Then I began to practice. I practiced over and over and over. I took my digital camera to rehearsal and I filmed the choreographer, I filmed my fellow dancers. I filmed anyone who was willing to dance in front of my camera. I practiced backstage with my dance partner, and the other girls. I rehearsed at home in my kitchen. When I realized that I needed more space, I took my laptop out to the garage, opened up all the doors, swept the floor, and put on my worn-out slippers. Daily, I went through my dances until I knew them by heart. Every day before the show started, I rehearsed on stage when no one was around. I had so much help from my friends in the cast who never said no to my question, “Do you want to rehearse this dance with me?”
Finally, it paid off. For the first time in my life, I felt confident in my dancing. I’ve never felt that way before, even when I was taking lessons. This time around, something just clicked. Certain steps that I could never do before, such as a grand jetes, pirouettes, and shanay turns, I could do now effortlessly. I’ll never forget the way it feels to twirl across the stage, or completed a full leaping grand jete. So many times in the past, I had dreamed of leaping across the stage with perfect ease. In the dreams, it had felt like flying. Now, I was living that dream, and nothing could equal that feeling.
I wasn’t a very good dancer. I could hardly remember the steps, or in what sequence the steps should be performed. I am dyslexic and struggled with telling my left from my right, and knowing which foot to start on, or what arm corresponded with what leg. My only asset was that I was flexible and at ten years old, had the legs of a twenty-year-old woman. This particular asset earned me the nick name of “Legs” among the teachers. But even these assets couldn’t help me keep up with all of the girls who took 5 or more ballet classes a week and just had a natural knack for dancing.
When I was thirteen, I was allowed to start taking my ballet lessons on Pointe. My parents took me to a dance store and bought me the most expensive, not to mention painful, pair of shoes I have ever owned. They were beautiful, creamy-pink, satin toe shoes. I liked the look of my legs when I stood up in them. My teacher reminded me that they were not just shoes; they were an extension of the body.
That year, things changed. My teacher became ill, and ceased to teach classes while she was receiving treatment for her cancer. Other teachers came in to take her place, but they were not the same. One instructor was unaware that as beginners on Pointe, that we were not supposed to be on our toes for more than thirty minutes. She worked us in our Pointe shoes for an hour and a half. No one said anything, because we all wanted to be brave ballerinas, like the “big girls,” as we referred to any one of the classes ahead of us. One thing I was always taught during my ballet years was, “Smile! Don’t ever let anyone know you are in pain.”
I dropped out after that year. My teacher was still ill, and would not be returning anytime soon, and I wasn’t a very good dancer. The childhood allure of being a great ballerina no longer had the same appeal to me, nor was it a future possibility. I knew I’d never be a prima ballerina. I accepted it, and left ballet behind, along with the painful toe shoes, the tiny black leotards, and the worn-out pink slippers.
I didn’t touch ballet again until this year, over eight years later, when I was asked to be in a local production of Brigadoon. When I accepted, I had no idea that I would be re-immersed in ballet. Suddenly, I found myself thrown into both group dances and solos where I had to arabesque, plie, and rond de jambe. At first, I struggled, just as I had when I was a child. I couldn’t remember what step to perform next, or which foot to land on when I jumped. It was a dyslexic’s nightmare. Even so, I had missed ballet after all those years, and a small part of me wanted to do this, and do it right. I wanted to prove to my inner child that I still could be the ballerina that I always dreamed of being.
Then I began to practice. I practiced over and over and over. I took my digital camera to rehearsal and I filmed the choreographer, I filmed my fellow dancers. I filmed anyone who was willing to dance in front of my camera. I practiced backstage with my dance partner, and the other girls. I rehearsed at home in my kitchen. When I realized that I needed more space, I took my laptop out to the garage, opened up all the doors, swept the floor, and put on my worn-out slippers. Daily, I went through my dances until I knew them by heart. Every day before the show started, I rehearsed on stage when no one was around. I had so much help from my friends in the cast who never said no to my question, “Do you want to rehearse this dance with me?”
Finally, it paid off. For the first time in my life, I felt confident in my dancing. I’ve never felt that way before, even when I was taking lessons. This time around, something just clicked. Certain steps that I could never do before, such as a grand jetes, pirouettes, and shanay turns, I could do now effortlessly. I’ll never forget the way it feels to twirl across the stage, or completed a full leaping grand jete. So many times in the past, I had dreamed of leaping across the stage with perfect ease. In the dreams, it had felt like flying. Now, I was living that dream, and nothing could equal that feeling.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Weekend Fun and Writer's Block
Well, it’s back to work after a very nice weekend! I worked a little, and even got to hang out with some awesome people. On Friday, my friend from my former school made a the trip from Virgina to see some of us. We hung out at the mall for a little while and pretty much goofed off. We tested out (jumped on) all of the beds in Boscovs, watched a little of Apollo 13 in the Entertainment section (all of the Boscovs fun ended when the employees continued to follow us within a few feet radius), and made fun of all the flamboyant jackets and suits in one of the mall’s menswear stores. He even went into Victoria’s Secret with us girls as we tested out the perfumes and looked at the make up.
After that, I went home and watched movies with my family and my boyfriend. We finally got to see the final installment of the glorious Shrek saga, and watched the romantic comedy, “Hitch.” I enjoyed both of them, but didn’t think that Shrek was as good as some of the earlier ones. As for “Hitch,” I always enjoy Will Smith…even if the movie was made several years ago. So, I was really glad to see the boyfriend, and all in all, it was a very good day…and night.
On Saturday, I touched base with my favorite Canadian, Tess. Even though we didn’t get to talk much, it was just very nice to hear her voice. It’s hard to believe that one of my dearest friends is so far away that I can’t just hop in the car and go visit her whenever I want to, like I used to do. But it’s alright. We keep in very good communication.
Other than those bright moments in my weekend, and work, I attempted to work on a short story. It’s a sequel to one I’ve already written. I’m struggling with a mild case of writers block and don’t really have much of an idea where to go to next. Perhaps I will start putting up parts of my stories sometime…what do you think? Yea? Nay?
After that, I went home and watched movies with my family and my boyfriend. We finally got to see the final installment of the glorious Shrek saga, and watched the romantic comedy, “Hitch.” I enjoyed both of them, but didn’t think that Shrek was as good as some of the earlier ones. As for “Hitch,” I always enjoy Will Smith…even if the movie was made several years ago. So, I was really glad to see the boyfriend, and all in all, it was a very good day…and night.
On Saturday, I touched base with my favorite Canadian, Tess. Even though we didn’t get to talk much, it was just very nice to hear her voice. It’s hard to believe that one of my dearest friends is so far away that I can’t just hop in the car and go visit her whenever I want to, like I used to do. But it’s alright. We keep in very good communication.
Other than those bright moments in my weekend, and work, I attempted to work on a short story. It’s a sequel to one I’ve already written. I’m struggling with a mild case of writers block and don’t really have much of an idea where to go to next. Perhaps I will start putting up parts of my stories sometime…what do you think? Yea? Nay?
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
A Run-In with Mr.God-of-the-IT-Department-Who-Has-Nothing-to-Do-With-My-Job
Well, today has been…interesting, so far. I had a rush of students this morning, but after they left, I haven’t had any papers to check. Every day I go to the dean of the library and ask her for the key to my former boss’ office so that I can use her computer to check for emailed essays that I will need to review. I was told by my boss before she left that I could only use her computer, and the front desk computer for the emailed papers, because they were the only ones set up for that purpose. I haven’t had any problems with this, until today. When I went to ask for the key, one of the librarians informed me that the dean was out with bronchitis. She told me that I could talk to the man who is the head of the IT department, because he carries the master keys to everything in the library. Since I have never met him before, she took me over to introduce me. This was where it got…strange. Ginny introduced me as a tutor, who needed to get into the office. This man, Mr. God-of-the-IT-Department, a tall, slender, balding man, who appeared to be nearing his sixties, looked down his nose at me. He didn’t believe a word that the librarian was saying. He just thought that I was some punk student, who wanted to get into the office for some reason. The librarian and I repeated over and over who I was, what I was doing there, and that I had been doing this job for three years now.
When he finally seemed somewhat convinced that I had some sort of business in the Support Center, he came downstairs with the librarian and me. As we were walking, he turned to the librarian and said, “Isn’t that office all cleaned out now?” When she assured him that it was, he said, “Okay, good, so she can’t walk out with anything.” I was appalled. Did this man, this God-of-the-IT-Department-Who-Has-Nothing-to-Do-With-My-Job-or-the-Support-Center just accuse me of an intention to steal? I couldn’t believe it. Even so, I tried to brush it off and laugh at the whole situation, but I was incredibly disturbed. I tried to personally and officially introduce myself to him and tell him again what I was doing there, but he only just looked at me and turned away.
When he finally opened up the office for me, he instructed me on how to turn on the computer. I calmly put my things down on the desk and told him that I have used this office everyday now this summer and I knew how everything worked and how to use the computer. I saw a light bulb come on in his eyes as he seemed to finally realize that I actually do know what I’m doing. Before he left, one of my coworkers over heard some of the problem and came to back me up. She told him, “Eileen is in charge here.” But that still didn’t seem to matter to him. He told her to, “keep an eye on her.” I have never been so insulted.
When he finally seemed somewhat convinced that I had some sort of business in the Support Center, he came downstairs with the librarian and me. As we were walking, he turned to the librarian and said, “Isn’t that office all cleaned out now?” When she assured him that it was, he said, “Okay, good, so she can’t walk out with anything.” I was appalled. Did this man, this God-of-the-IT-Department-Who-Has-Nothing-to-Do-With-My-Job-or-the-Support-Center just accuse me of an intention to steal? I couldn’t believe it. Even so, I tried to brush it off and laugh at the whole situation, but I was incredibly disturbed. I tried to personally and officially introduce myself to him and tell him again what I was doing there, but he only just looked at me and turned away.
When he finally opened up the office for me, he instructed me on how to turn on the computer. I calmly put my things down on the desk and told him that I have used this office everyday now this summer and I knew how everything worked and how to use the computer. I saw a light bulb come on in his eyes as he seemed to finally realize that I actually do know what I’m doing. Before he left, one of my coworkers over heard some of the problem and came to back me up. She told him, “Eileen is in charge here.” But that still didn’t seem to matter to him. He told her to, “keep an eye on her.” I have never been so insulted.
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