A Glimpse of Post-Graduate Life

#DailyWings: "I live for coincidences. They briefly give to me the illusion or the hope that there's a pattern to my life, and if there's a pattern, then maybe I'm moving toward some kind of destiny where it's all explained." -Jonathan Ames

It has been a long time since I've sat and written and reflected about my life. The last time I blogged here was in January. January! Even though in some ways it feels like 2014 just began, that month seems so far away. I'm a somewhat different person from who I was at the beginning of the school year - of course, writing is still my one true love and everything that makes me who I am still do, but the way I approach certain situations, my attitude toward various circumstances and my overall outlook on life are no longer the same. 

During the last few weeks leading up to graduation weekend, my friends kept asking one another, "So, let's talk about how I'm not feeling anything about leaving UNC. Is it just me? Has it hit any of you yet?" They shook their heads and said, "I feel nothing." 

It wasn't until the end of April that the tears started to come. NC Fellows, that phenomenal and indescribable leadership program I've talked about in previous posts, hosted a final banquet for all the senior Fellows - my class. Each senior was expected to give a farewell speech, a word of motivation and advice for the younger Fellows and a blurb about what Fellows meant to him or her. 

Only half of the nerds - I mean Fellows - in my class are present here. The other half of them are...pursuing Quality, I hope. (Original photo by Ananda Day)

Being the wordy, rambling writer that I am, I wrote out a love-letter-slash-poem about my Fellows experience. My speech was far (FAR, far far) from being even remotely close to, say, a J.K. Rowling masterpiece, but somehow it hit all the right (or wrong) heartstrings. One of my close friends came to me afterward and said I'd ruined her streak of "feeling nothing" all semester, that the reality of things was finally dawning on her. Another friend told me he'd avoided my eyes the whole time I was reading my speech because he thought he would break down the moment he looked at me. 

I won't share the whole thing with you because it's two pages long, but here is a passage from my speech that can not only be said about Fellows, but college in general: 

"There are no words for the barriers that will threaten your comfort zone, the safe bubbles that will eventually begin to break, and the incremental moments when you're sitting in the dark and you confront the same question over and over: Who am I?" 

They say college is about finding yourself - creating your identity. I still remember how panicked, lost and utterly confused I felt back in January. I didn't know if the internship I have now at china.org.cn was going to work out. My plans for graduate school were undefined - nonexistent, even. And the little regrets of not doing this or not doing that during my earlier years in college began to pile up in the back of my mind like crumpled to-do lists.

But then it stopped. The fear and anxiety just went away (at least for the time being, and it wasn't always like that). It wasn't because I had everything figured out (lolz). I just stopped caring so much about the future and started focusing on the present situation, because I realized that in a few months, my friends and I would no longer be at UNC. 

I started spending as much time as I could with these people who had helped define my college experience. I tried to look forward to the summer without freaking out over the details too much, even though the prospect of living in Beijing secretly terrified me. Other aspects of my personality changed, too. I stopped doing things for the purpose of conforming to societal expectations or because certain activities were seemingly necessary for a meaningful college experience (like climbing the UNC bell tower). I did things for my own happiness and personal satisfaction. I went out for drinks only if I wanted to. I studied really hard for exams and finally reached my ultimate GPA goal - not for my parents' sake, but for my own. 

As a writer, I've also changed. In the past, I would shield my opinions from others in the name of objective journalism. But now, I am less afraid of offending whichever party is against my stance and more terrified of not being a part of movements I care about. I've spoken up about issues of skinny-shaming and using gender neutral language in relationships. I've written about the intimacy of teen romance and sex in YA literature and curated a "Digital Detox" series to promote discussion about how technology helps - and hinders - our everyday relationships. 

Journalism isn't just about truth for me anymore. It's about the communication of ideas and viewpoints, even the ones we don't want to acknowledge. I want to be a writer because writing - good writing - sparks a connection between different people and helps create a sense of unity and compassion in a world that sometimes feels too large. 

For some people, the end of college hits them - as Florence Welch would say - "like a train on a track." For others, it comes in waves, alternating between numbness and overwhelming emotion. For me, it just sunk in slowly over time, so subtle that it was barely noticeable until graduation weekend when I sat with the people from my NC Fellows class at commencement, listening to Dr. Atul Gawande give his speech and singing "Hark the Sound." It was like any other weekend, except that it was also our last one together. I miss them.

I'm a big kid now - I mean, adult. 

And so here I am now, living and working in Beijing until the end of July. I'm calmer and more focused on my career than I've been in months. That's not to say I don't have any worries, fears or doubts about the future. Even now, there is still so much uncertainty surrounding my career choice and where I'll end up in the next five years or even next fall. But I know enough about myself now to be able to stand up for my strengths and my values, to embrace the goals I set for myself and to be able to move forward.

I have my alma mater and everyone who spent the last four years there with me to thank for that. So thanks, UNC.

Wendy Lu

A Glimpse of Post-Graduate Life

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Looking Back, Moving Forward: A Year In Review + Fourth Annual No-Kiss Blogfest

#DailyWings: "May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you're wonderful, and don't forget to make some art--write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself." 
-Neil Gaiman

One of my main new year's resolutions from 2012 was to meditate every day for a certain amount of time either somewhere on campus or at home, and I'm excited to say that, for the most part, I succeeded. There's nothing better than lying on the grass in the campus arboretum, your vision cloaked by an entire blanket of blue sky, and letting your mind wander. 

There are two ways for me to engage in meditation -- one in which I try to rid my mind of all thoughts and cognition, and only allow sensations and feelings to take over the present moment. The other way is to simply not fight any of the thoughts that come to mind, but rather let them come as they "flow." Both are helpful for me when I want to re-organize my mind (as if it were a sock drawer!), and both are good for long hours of travel. 

I've been able to do a good bit of thinking during my road trip to and from New Orleans. Music on full blast. Changing time zones. Writing poetry. Stealing away in my books for hours at a time. Pondering over this question: What do I want 2013 to be about? 

Looking back on last year's resolutions while completing my annual review of personal achievements, I've realized these two lists don't quite parallel. Many of my accomplishments have nothing to do with my original goals, which goes to show how things can change over time. As always, here's a look at what helped define 2012 for me: 

Year in Review:

• Got into UNC-Chapel Hill's School of Journalism and Mass Communication
• Learned to cook -- mainly potatoes, vegetables and multiple variations of pasta; I still haven't gotten past the squeamishness of raw meat
• Reached 200 followers, 200 blog posts and 40,000 page views (thanks to you!)
• Hosted my second major blogfest and first chapter critique giveaway
• Published short stories in Carolina Creates Writers and The Collegiate Scholar
• Found something beautiful to be happy and appreciative about every single day
• Joined Everyday Ambassador as the curriculum developer
• Interned at Shanghai Children's Medical Center and led the China Perspectives on Mental Health (CPMH) project
• Hosted two writing workshops for North Carolina Fellows
• Became best friends with my Nikon D5100

Most of these accomplishments were as a result of hard work over time and taking chances at unexpected opportunities. For instance, I only learned to cook after stumbling upon an outstanding smartphone application, Epicurious in the Apple App Store. For those of you who are still crafting your goals for the new year, feel free to refer to my guide: 5 Steps to a Resolution You'll Stick With. As for mine? Here they are: 

Do you make new year's resolutions? What are you most looking forward to in 2013?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

And now it's time for Frankie Mallis's Fourth Annual No-Kiss Blogfest! Forty-two awesome bloggers have signed up to participate in this new year's tradition; it's not too late for you to join us! Also, be sure to check out the other blogfest entries. As a refresher, here's what it's all about: 

"Write a scene or post one from of your favorite books, movies, TV shows, pictures or WIP that show the almost kiss -- the rising, crushing, excruciating, longing, tension that comes  when two characters get oh-so-close to kissing that you can just feel it, want it, NEED it....and then...they don't!" 

This is my third time participating in Frankie's No-Kiss blogfest. You can find my 2011 and 2012 entries here and here, respectively. And I can think of no better way to ring in 2013 than with some heat! For today's blogfest, I took a bit more creative liberty with this piece than I usually do with most of my other blogfest entries. My fictional scene is based on two youthful characters from another short story I wrote two semesters ago. Enjoy! 

Cotton Candy and Other Distractions

The first time my family went to the state fair, I was seven and barely tall enough to ride the Jump Star kiddie carousel. My mom had always accompanied me to these kinds of things. She would hold my hand as I mounted the painted horse, one foot hanging over either side of the animal figure. 

Now I'm fifteen and I'm at the state fair with a boy I hardly know. His name's Benjamin Watkins, but everyone at school calls him Benny. Before, I never even talked to him -- only saw him running the track during gym. We found out we were into each other two weeks ago when he winked at me and slipped me a note in my locker, middle-school style. It's not official or anything, but now the whole school knows. 

My older sister Myra has told me about boys before, just like she tells me about everything else. She calls them greasy slime balls and says I better take care of my fragile heart, but what does she know? 

Benny's not the same, I think. So far, I've learned he's really into rock music, and in my book passion is always something to appreciate. He's nice, not like the assholes at school who make fun of my red hair and freckles. And there's something about the way he flips his hair and smiles all wide like he's happy to see me.

Pink strands of candy floss twist around my tongue. It's been ages since I've had cotton candy, and I don't remember it tasting this sweet. I'm thinking about how Myra had mentioned that it's important not to bare my teeth when Benny suddenly says, "Like it?" 

We're on a small hill, overlooking the fairgrounds. A thousand bright bulbs light up the entire exhibition, with colorful balloons bobbing up and down every few yards. It's peaceful where we rest, side by side, clutching our cotton candy and stuffed prizes. 

Benny's sitting in the grass next to me and wearing a dark blue Guns N' Roses T-shirt that Mom wouldn't approve of, but oh, he's gorgeous. Brown hair brown eyes brown everything -- like chocolate. I wonder how I'd been so lucky. 

"Oh yes. Strawberry's my favorite flavor," I say, grinning, and then quickly close my mouth. In my head, Myra's clucking her tongue and talking about how there's nothing less attractive than pink teeth. First date problems. "Thanks for getting the cotton candy for me." 

"'Course," Benny says. He shifts his position so that he's facing me. "I'm glad we got to do this." 

All of a sudden, he sounds a little nervous. This puzzles me. Benny's the confident and cool one. He's the class clown who thinks up of new ways to harass Ms. Teeter, the math teacher everyone hates. He's the guy whom everyone wants on their dodgeball team. He's the first guy I've ever really liked, but right now he's nervous and I'm thinking maybe he can tell that I'm new to this. 

Benny Watkins flips his hair like he's from One Direction and then, before I know it, his hand is on mine. I'm frozen and useless, not unlike the ice cream cone a small boy about ten yards away just dropped on the floor. Did he just take my hand? Yes he did, I think, and oh my gosh I don't know what to do -- 

"I really like you," he says. 

I turn my head, and realize his face is inches from mine. His eyes are getting smaller and smaller; he's closing them. A little voice inside me screams, The kiss! He wants to kiss you! But I'm new to this, so it's hard to know which way to turn my head -- left or right? My stomach is filled with squirming sensations that won't go away. I'm scared my nose is too big, but Benny's lips are coming and there's no time for fear. My other hand grips the paper cone, sticky from sweat and cotton candy. 

Just as Benny's lips part and pucker, I breathe and suck in as much as air as possible, not sure how long kisses are supposed to last. Suddenly, something gets caught in my nose. It tickles, and I can feel another sensation developing quickly, the kind you're not supposed to get when you're about to be kissed. My nose gives way. 

"A-CHOO!" 

Leftover cotton candy sugar stings the back of my throat. It takes me a moment to recover, and when I open my eyes there's Benny Watkins, looking startled and one hand in front of him like a shield. 

I mumble a meek "sorry," my cheeks burning, as he passes me a napkin. He assures me that "it's fine," but any prospects of intimacy are gone now and I'm left wondering how could a sneeze have ruined the perfect moment for me.

Wendy Lu

Looking Back, Moving Forward: A Year In Review + Fourth Annual No-Kiss Blogfest

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"Flying High": The Roarin' Twenties Begins! (Blogfest + Giveaway)

#DailyWings: “Treat singlehood and your twenties as the time when you get to fall in love with yourself. If you look with loving eyes, you will find that your most loyal companion lies within you.” -TSM

When I stepped onto the airplane for my flight to Ohio yesterday, I thought this was going to be an uneventful quickie. I've been traveling for years, ever since I was a little girl, and the longest on-air trip (including a connecting flight) I have ever been on lasted for nearly 18 hours. I love it. I love flying. When I'm in the air, it feels like time has stopped and there's nothing but me in the clouds. It feels like a dream. Yesterday, I found yet another reason to love airplane flights, but it was nothing I could have expected or prepared myself for.

On most flights, I take a window seat or aisle seat and bury myself in a good book or my journal. I'll enjoy my plastic cup of cranapple juice and bag of salted peanuts, then perhaps take a few pictures of the clouds. This time on the connecting flight (to Atlanta first), I sat in the middle. Before I could whip out Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, a middle-aged man wearing a dark-blue suit and carrying a business knapsack approached the seat to my left. Five minutes later, a short woman with curly brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses claimed the seat to my right.

I soon came to discover that the woman was going back home after a business meeting, and the man was a surgeon who was on a way to one. The woman told me she was eager to get home to her three beloved dogs and two cats, and I nodded knowingly. My friend is taking care of my turtles, I told her. Somehow we started talking about our love for animals, and the woman mentioned she had had to give up her own turtles a few years ago while undergoing chemotherapy.

Our conversation turned, and it occured to me how much this woman had been through. Yet, here she was as alive and energetic as ever, living her life with as much love and fervor as anybody. The surgeon, in turn, told me how he had come to develop a passion for medicine and healthcare. I listened, fascinated, to these two strangers who had become my friends in a matter of two hours. By the end of the flight, I hadn't even unzipped my backpack for Zen. I bid my newfound airplane buddies farewell, and the woman even patted me on the shoulder.

On the final plane to Ohio, I got the aisle seat on the Exit row. Finally - some peace and quiet! Not that I hadn't enjoyed my conversations with fellow surgeon and cat lady, but the night would be a busy one for me and I needed some rest.

But even as I sat down, I couldn't help but notice my left-side neighbor. An older man well into his 60s sat, tapping one giant sneaker against the rugged floor, with his head resting on one hand. I greeted him with a "Hi, how are you," and he shook his head.

"Not good," the man said. "Been up since 1 o'clock this morning."

"Oh no," I said. "Why were you up so late?"

The man told me his brother was in the hospital. He'd had a stroke. My neighbor had gotten the news while on vacation with his wife and grandkids.

"Oh no." I felt stupid for saying the same thing, but I was taken aback. Out of all the things I could have expected, this was last on the list. "Is he okay?"

The man shook his head.

I didn't know what to say. 'Sorry' seemed infinitesimally too small of a word, and a hug would be inappropriate in this situation. We sat together in what seemed like an uncomfortable silence for half an hour, and I debated whether to say anything else at all. Maybe I should just mind my own business, like usual. But the man just looked so sad.

He was the one to speak first.

"You from Ohio?"

"No, I'm visiting family for my birthday," I said. "How about you?"

"Yeah. You ever been to Rock and Roll House of Fame?" he asked.

The question surprised me. I said no I hadn't, but it was on my to-do list. The man said the term rock and roll had originated from Ohio from the very beginning. Alan Freed was the man who did it, he told me with a grin.

This seemed to take his mind off of current troubles, so I decided to keep on with the conversation.

"What's the best concert you've ever been to?" I asked, hoping that wasn't too random or weird.

"Oh, Elton John and Billy Joel's tour, hands down," he said. He began to list all the concerts he had ever been to and the biggest stars of the '60s - the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, ZZ Top, Elvis Presley. When he talked about music and 'the old days,' his eyes seemed to light up as if he were back in the Blossom Music Center. We chatted about famous landmarks in Ohio, rock and roll, and The Osbournes for the remaining of the flight. Twenty minutes turned into a couple of hours, and suddenly I was waving goodbye again at yet another new friend. I wished him and his family good luck, and told him I hoped his brother was all right.

As I walked into the Ohio airport, I spotted a female soldier clad in her camouflage military uniform. She crossed the hallway and approached a very old man--must have been in his nineties--with thinned blonde-white hair and large ear lobes. The soldier hugged the old man and whispered in his ear, thank you for your service. She squeezed his hand, and was gone.

I left the airport smiling.

Turning 20 has gotten me thinking deeply about what I want this upcoming decade to be about. Even though we are thrown unexpected surprises and crazy events every single day such that we feel powerless over our own lives, I think in the end we have a lot more control over our fate than we realize.

If there is anything that I learned from my day "in the air" (a day in the air out of many), it's that there is opportunity. Everywhere. The chance to make anything happen is right there in front of us, and it's our job to make sure we don't miss out. I think that's what I want my Roarin' Twenties to be about: taking chances and noticing opportunities. Being aware of my surroundings and the people around me. I never know who I will end up meeting on a chance encounter. Maybe next time I'm on an airplane, it'll be a cute guy with an Italian accent or something. Who knows? All I know is, never again will I bury myself in a book without first greeting my neighbor on an airplane flight.

Without further ado, here are my poems for the Roarin' Twenties Poetry Blogfest! Check out the rules here. The blogfest lasts until Sunday, so you can still sign up below!

A Set of Roarin' Limericks

Try #1:

There once was a girl named Wendy Lu,

Her popular nickname was Cindy Who.

Everyone thought she was thirteen, 

Which called for a post-teen scream,

All she wanted was some ice cream.

Ick......that was terrible! Let me try again.

Try #2:

There once was a girl named Wendy Lu,

Everyone called her Cindy Who.

Her friends said she looked young,

But really she was just full of fun,

Like them, she just turned twenty too!

Okay...that's better. One more try?

Try #3:

There once was a girl named Wendy Lu,

who ate her cake with a spoon.

She hung out at the speakeasy,

Even though alcohol made her queasy,

Never mind! This whole poem is full of poo!

Ack! I give up!

This blogfest is dedicated to all those writers who say they aren't 'good' at writing poetry. My 'literary forte' is with prose, but hey - ultimately there's a poet in all of us! I'm proof of that! :P

Thank you to all of the participants who signed up to celebrate my birthday with me! Much love to you all. Don't forget to check out the other entries!

The winner of the Chapter Critique Giveaway will be announced tomorrow after the blogfest and after I have entered everyone's points into the random generator! As they say in the movies, STAY TUNED.


Wendy Lu

P.S. I went from 184 followers to 194 followers in eight days! Y'all ROCK! Thank you so much!



"Flying High": The Roarin' Twenties Begins! (Blogfest + Giveaway)

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What's Your Take on Creative Writing Classes?

QOTD: If you have ever taken a creative writing class (or any sort of writing class) before, what was your experience? If you have not taken a writing class, would you want to?

College students have an average of 12 different "What am I gonna do with my life?!" spasms per semester.* So far I've only had about two or three, which isn't that many, comparatively. As class registration begins for next semester, however, I think there's a fourth spasm that is beginning to boil just underneath the surface at the moment. 

Technically, I'm a Journalism and Psychology double major with a minor in Creative Writing - at the moment. (Fun fact: Most college kids change their majors around three to four timess**). I say "at the moment" because...wait, for it.........I think I may be dropping my Creative Writing minor. 

*gasp* I know, I know...I have been wanting to take Creative Writing courses for the longest time. It hasn't helped that I have tried twice to enroll into our Intro to Fiction class...and then failed both times. Now, all of a sudden I'm second-guessing this long-term desire of mine. (Talk about drastic life-changing decisions, right?)

The thing is, I'm starting to question my previous motives for wanting to take a Creative Writing course. Is it critique? Is it praise? Is it the desire for my writing to be shredded into pieces? Is it a community of literary students in which we can all mutually give advice on our work? Is it a professor who will teach me how to write creatively? 

My answer to all of these questions is: maybe. But I'm starting to wonder, will these things really make me a better writer? And the truth is, I'm starting to think no, no they won't. 

What it all comes down to is that I don't want my motivation for writing "well" (whatever that means) to be attached to my GPA grade. Writing is supposed to be for the writer, and I can't help but feel like accommodating my work to satisfy the preferences of others--peers or teacher--actually belittles what I am writing. Also, I tend to be really competitive as well as self-conscious about my writing. In a Creative Writing class, I feel like I would get too caught up in trying to write something that's "better" or "more unique" or "more descriptive" than anyone else's...and then in the process, I would lose myself. I wouldn't be writing for myself anymore. 

And, for me at least, it's when I write solely for myself and nobody else that I actually grind out something relatively decent. 

Another issue I have with creative writing classes deals with the fact that there is somebody else grading your work. I REALLY, really don't like the idea of teachers (or people in generally, really) thinking they have the power to declare whether or not a particular piece of art (visual, literary, or other) is "good" or "bad" or "has value," much less label it with a letter or number grade, like "This story gets an A-" or "This poem seems like a 91 to me." As far as I'm concerned, as long as that art matters to somebody, then it has immeasurable value and worth. 

Of course, I'm definitely not saying that critique is bad or you should only focus on what you think is important in your writing. Having people you trust look over your work and tell you their honest opinions is one of the most essential parts of the revision process. You get to find out if the meaning you are trying to convey in your writing actually gets through to your audience. You are able to realize what sticks out to others and what doesn't, what needs more emphasis and clarification and what just doesn't work at all. 

The thing is, I am all for critique and feedback and even peer editing and workshops...just not in a class setting. I prefer to consult my sister or my closest friends about my work, because I know that they will tell me like it is, they will still love me even if my writing doesn't click at all with them and they won't try to compete with me for a good grade. There's less pressure, and you can be yourself without having to feel like you need to write a certain way to please somebody else.

So maybe Dr. Fate purposely made me fail at registration--though I did get every other class I wanted except for Creative Writing. Besides, I think Journalism and Psychology is enough to deal right now. At least until my next life-decisions spasm. :)

What do you think? I have never taken a Creative Writing class before, so my thoughts and assumptions could be totally off. Regardless, I would love to hear about your experiences and opinions with Creative Writing classes. 

*This statistic is purely based on my observations and has not been scientifically proven. 

**This statistic has been mentioned in various studies dealing with college life. 

What's Your Take on Creative Writing Classes?

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"How Old Are You?" "Why Does It Matter?"

QOTD: How old are you? Do you personally think that age really matters? 

Sometimes I wish I could forget my age. Why are our lives measured so heavily upon how old we are, and not instead by the experiences we have been through and the amount of knowledge we have absorbed? I have conflicting feelings about my age.....I am 19 years old, but have always looked at least five years younger, which I tend to feel defensive about. (Bring on the kids' menus!)

But then again, I wish I could I could forget that I am 19, because I don't want to grow up. What does it mean to be grown up? Have a job, a family and independence? That certainly seems to be the norm definition. Yet, I have met quite a few young people and also children who were much more mature, more mentally independent and more self-aware than many grownups I have encountered. 

I'm not bashing adulthood, of course. I am merely approaching the question as to why age is such an influential factor in how we are perceived by others and how we see them. If someone knows your age, they automatically begin to judge you--either consciously or unconsciously--based on that. Oh, you're 19? You must be in college because that's where a lot of 19-year-olds are at your age. You're 14? You don't know understand what it means to be in love....you're not "at that stage" yet. 

I am a naturally easygoing and positive person. I act very lighthearted and silly all the time, but that makes people further believe I am very young. I get told that I act very childish. Why? Is it because I am always cheerful and jocular, and don't act like I have a care or worry in the world? Do they think I live a life through rose-colored glasses? No, I act those ways because I learned that even if things are going terribly for me, I won't nearly feel half as bad if I keep a smile on my face. I have worries just like any other human being, but why is it that just because I don't actively show or share my burdens with the people I interact with, I am perceived as a child? 

Today, I saw a man in his late 40's in my history class. He is a college student. 


Thoughts? 

"How Old Are You?" "Why Does It Matter?"

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Dear, you.

QOTD: What salutation do you prefer to use and receive? 

Perhaps in my mind I am living in the Middle Ages when Old English was still the norm, but when I receive a letter or a message that begins with "Dear," I can't help but feel as though I'd just swallowed a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup or received a big bear hug from an old friend. 

Nowadays, the salutation "Dear" seems to be most often used between co-workers, in student emails to instructors, and other more professional and formal written exchanges of communication. What I love about "Dear" is not only the respect embedded within the word, but also the fact that it carries such an affectionate sense of caring, fondness and amiability. We have gotten so caught up in today's convenient "American language" and colloquialism that acknowledgments such as "Hey," "Hi," and "'Sup" have replaced more traditional ways of greeting people. 


Of course, I would be a fool as to say that I myself don't use those expressions, because I do. All the time. That being said, I will always have a soft spot for the word "dear," and try to use it when I can and when it's appropriate--even when I am just writing friends. I like to give them the sense of warm, glowing fuzziness that I tend to get when someone calls me "dear." It's just nice to hear, you know? 


Just for fun, here is one of my favorite clips that show the cast of Harry Potter speaking "American." Hilarious. 

What do you think about the progression of the American language over the years? Should the degree of respect and formality in salutations really matter? Is it really that important to use greetings at the beginning of an email or a chat session on Facebook? 

Dear, you.

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Happy Father's Day!!!

Question of the Day: Tell us what makes your father the best dad in the world! :)

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!!!

Here's to all the dads, uncles, grandfathers, stepfathers, and every other father figure out there!!! Thanks for saving us every single day, just by being there for us. :) YOU'RE THE GREATEST SUPER-DADS EVER.

Happy Father's Day!!!

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30-Day Challenge 21: "Easy A" Movie Review

QOTD: Have you ever seen a movie that was loved by most but hated by you?

Day 21: A picture of something that makes you happy.

Why, do you ask, does this picture make me happy? Well for one, it's FOOD. More specifically, it's p-a-s-t-a, probably my favorite foods of all time (besides chocolate, of course hehe). But this particular dish makes me smile because this was the result of my very first independent cooking lesson. Using a simple recipe from my SparkRecipes BlackBerry phone app, I concocted this delicious lunch for myself last week. Reaction? Quite truthfully, it was one of the best pasta I've ever eaten--and that's saying A LOT! Two hours of squinting at the labels on ingredients and praying that I wouldn't burn anything was totally worth it.

So a couple nights ago I decided to have a break from Smallville re-runs (the series finale aired last week!!), and have a movie night! I decided on Easy A because I'm always in the mood for a good laugh and it's been a while since I've seen a chick flick.

I was really not planning on saying this about the movie because I'd had pretty high hopes for it, but the truth is, I have to give Easy A a D- for being one of the worst movies I have ever seen. It wasn't the acting or even the crazy sex jokes....it was the unrealistic, raunchy script that had me burying my face with my hands and groaning with embarrassment for the writers.

It could've been an okay film if it didn't have so much exaggeration in EVERYTHING. Plus, I couldn't help but think of it as a mix between Mean Girls and A Cinderella Story during the whole thing--except those two movies are way better than Easy A.

Note: I try not to include any big spoilers or give away really important information--I don't see myself as a party pooper! :) So read away.

Short Summary: This comedy takes place in high school and follows Olive, a usually sharp "good girl" with a clean record who starts to believe that perhaps having a bad reputation is better than having no reputation at all--and thus begins to lie about her relationship status and virginity. It's a modern tale of the classic novel, The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne (which I read in high school and have to say is very good).

Story: To me, the story of a movie is the world that it was set up in (for example: "Harry Potter" set in the Wizarding World, "Pearl Harbor" set in WWII era, etc.). There's not really much to say about this category since the movie's reality is, well, pretty realistic--it's set up in the dramatic, over-the-top world of high school in today's age. In terms of the cliques, teaching staff, and student body portrayed in the story, everything was pretty accurate. Rating: 5/5

Plot: The plot equals the problem and is the whole reason why there's a movie in the first place. I think it was really interesting and clever how the film creators were able to produce a modern-day Scarlet Letter tale...it was based along the same lines but included its own twists along the way that made it unique. However, like everything else, it was a bit exaggerated and I don't know if anything like that would happen in real life. I can't actually imagine something like that occurring at my own high school. *rolls eyes* Rating: 4/5

Characterization: Eh, this was half and half I suppose. I did enjoy Olive's character, she was easy to like and easy to identify with. Without giving too much away, even though she made some bad choices, we as the audience know her intentions were good. I also enjoyed getting to know the other high school students who were represented in the movie--they were funny, realistic, unique in their own way, and all-around interesting to watch as they interacted with Olive. The main problem I have is how the adults who play active roles in teens' lives are made out to be irresponsible and immature, act practically like kids themselves, and lack morals that educators/parents such as themselves ought to have. Perhaps their characterizations were meant to be humorous, but I personally disliked those characters who should have served as role models in the end, not older versions of "juvenile delinquents." Rating: 3/5

Costumes: Well the characters mainly wore normal "high school" outfits, with the exception of Olive's infamous "Scarlet Letter" costumes (yes, she had more than one!). I thought that they were beyond cute, well-made, and did a great job singling her out amongst her peers as the "scandalous" one. Rating: 5/5

Acting: It's really sad...some of Hollywood's most well-known actors (including Amanda Bynes, Thomas Haden Church, Lisa Kudrow, Alyson Michalka and Stanley Tucci) were brought together to create a hilarious teen comedy that could've been really great had it not been blown out of proportion. The acting was terrible--it was ish. It was what the filmmakers wanted the actors to say and do that was bad and made them come across as, well, outrageous. I do have to say that Olive was a charm. She was a very likable main character and was played by a great actress. Rating: 3/5

Script: I cannot fully express my disappointment over how awful the script was. It was overly excessive most of the time and constant repetition of the same humorous jokes just totally sucked the funny out of everything. Several times I wanted to look away, cover my ears and yell, "Stop! STOP! That's enough!" I feel so bad that such a wonderful cast had to work with such a catastrophic script. One major downfall that completely turned me off was that it tantalizes and makes fun of Christianity in ways that are extremely not cool. And this wasn't just lighthearted, appropriate jesting, but rather mocking and condescending banter. Bad, bad. Rating: 2/5

Action/Drama: There was a ton of drama in the movie--how could there not be when the setting takes place in high school? A lot of it was pretty funny, but only when the situations weren't highly exaggerated or unnecessarily complicated by unrealistic turning points (see how I'm trying to be vague so as not to give anything too much away?). I know a comedy is a comedy, but still. Way too much is more than enough. Rating: 3/5

Digital Design: Not much was used here (unlike in movies such as Avatar and Inception) I did like how zooms and slow motion were used to show passage of time and communication between students when the rumors were being spread around the school. Free pass. Rating: 5/5

Direction/Production: The direction itself wasn't too bad...I thought that the webcast that Olive publicized online and used to tell her story was pretty clever, and I liked how things were angled so that it was constantly in Olive's perspective. The scenes flowed together well--I didn't think anything was missing or too choppy. But it could've been better. Rating: 3/5

Overall Quality: While this movie had some aspects of ingenuity, to me its cons outweigh the pros. Above anything, this movie is a satire of the craziness that is high school culture--hmm, perhaps I didn't find it amusing enough because it was only a few months ago when I myself was a part of that jungle? Anyhow, the filmmakers (especially the writers) tried way too hard to make it seem funny and witty, when the result was just very strained, weak, and rather embarrassing humor. I feel sorry for the Hollywood stars who played in this movie and had to use their remarkable acting skills to pull off stupid, over-the-top lines and outlandish, unrealistic behavior. I also didn't feel like the ending was well-handled....a lot of issues brought up in this movie are pretty significant and prominent when it comes to adolescence, and the overall message was there, but it just didn't seem like there was a strong enough closure.

Overall Rating: 3.7/5

All that being said, I do think that there is a movie out there for someone. What I may think is absolutely ridiculous may just be your perfect Blockbuster. :)

30-Day Challenge 21: "Easy A" Movie Review

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Let's See That "Inanimation"!

QOTD: If you could be any inanimate object, what would you choose to be and why?

YAYY!!! I have been dreaming of this moment every single night for exactly thirty-seven days (total exaggeration is required to emphasize the excitement boiling inside of me right now).

It's finally time for "Inanimation"!!! Let's create our own Toy Stories, breathe life into those lost and forgotten dusty pieces of old furniture in our attics, and make kitchen utensils dance and sing as they make your favorite chicken pot pie!

As a short recap, here is the blogfest task:

The idea is to write an entry of NO MORE THAN 1000 words that somehow incorporates the personification of inanimate objects. It can be a poem, a short short, a letter (perhaps to your favorite childhood toy?), a fairytale, a scene from a dream, or even a song--anything you want! It can be something you've written in the past or it could be totally brand new...it's all up to you!

AAaaaand here are the lovely participants!!! Once you have posted your own Inanimation entry, be sure to go around and visit everyone else's. Get ready for the liveliest ride ever!!!

1) .:The Red Angel:.

2) Tessa Conte

3) Begin anywhere!

4) Stephen Smith

5) Trisha @ WORD+STUFF

6) Colorless Landscape

7) Mia Hayson

8) Francine Howarth

9) Loralie Hall

10) World of Wendy Lu

11) The Golden Eagle

12) WRITING IN THE CROSSHAIRS

13) CatchyTips for Writers

14) Donna Hole

15) Kelsey Leigh

16) roh morgon

17) Writing on Writing: Amlokiblogs

"The Keeper of the Keys"

The day she came back was the day I woke from the dead. It had been eight long, miserable months--or had it been even longer than that?--since I'd even seen her at all. Back in January, the father had begun to redecorate the house, or rather, throw out old pieces of furniture and buy new ones. He'd already trashed two dressers, an entire bed, and even the mini side table that had lived right across from me in the same room for over six years and had dutifully held the vase of flowers that was replenished every week. The vase was also discarded. I remember being so afraid that, at any moment, he was surely going to wheel me from the living room and throw me out too.

But the furniture spree began and ended, and still here I was. And yet, she--my owner, the keeper-- still didn't come back. It wasn't until May that she returned to the house, looking a little bit taller and older and, well, more serious. Every day following her return, I waited eagerly for the moment when she'd waltz into the living room, open me up, and touch my keys. Each day that passed by, I was ignored--just like I had been for the past eight months. She was no longer the little ballerina who would waltz around her home like she was on Broadway. I gave up hope of ever coming to life again.

My keeper spent most of her hours cooped up in her bedroom on that ridiculous plaything that I heard was called a laptop. I spent hours listening to her punching those keys as fast as she could, the keys that could never play as beautifully as mine did. Why, then, did she so obviously prefer those keys over mine? It got to the point where I began to wish that the father had simply just trashed me with all of their other old stuff. What was the point of me taking up space when nobody wanted to dance, play, sing with me? I was aging, and fast--cobwebs began to intertwine around my legs and dust gathered between my keys. It was pretty itchy, but I eventually got used to it. After a while, I began to forget that I even existed.

Then, my life changed during one cold, rainy afternoon. I'd slipped into hibernation--what else was there for me to do but sleep nowadays? No sound was heard except for my owner click-clacking away at her laptop, the father watching television upstairs and the constant pit-pat-pit-pat of cloud tears outside. An occasional crack of thunder interrupted the rain's poetry.

Someone cracked opened my lid and I was suddenly exposed. I shivered, not used to the air and wide open space, and couldn't help but sneeze a little as dust flew from between keys. It felt good to get a breath of fresh air, but what was going on? It had been years since I was last tuned, and if I was about to be thrown out there'd be no need to open my fallboard.

After a moment, three fingertips touched me and pressed down each key, do re mi, one by one. Vibrations quivered around the hammers in my body and, for the first time in months, I laughed. I was flying through Fur Elise now, singing as loud as I could. The air was thick with music, and I knew it was my owner. Her movements were all too familiar, and nobody else knew how to play Fur Elise like she did. As her fingers flew across the board, she seemed to be saying to me, oh--there you are, I missed you, and I felt happier and more awake than I'd been in a long while.

It was like we'd never parted in the first place. It didn't matter to me anymore that she'd abandoned me for so long...her coming back made me realize that she hadn't forgotten me at all. She was the keeper of the keys, and always would be. And in that very moment, all I wanted was for her to play my music.

~~~

This is based on the relationship between me and my piano, but the excerpt above is embellished with fiction. I hope you enjoyed!

Let's See That "Inanimation"!

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