Goo goo goo goo!

One thing about Hawaii is that everywhere you go there is soft, indistinguishable Hawaiian elevator music playing. Our hotel played this one song on repeat in our hotel outdoor lobby, where we spent a good amount of time planning our day trips. At first the music is kind of nice, but when you fall asleep with it relentlessly burning in your ears, it gets to you.

Here is our take on one considerably terrible tune that would not escape our brains.

Hawaii!

I went to Hawaii last week! I really did. Here's every single detail about my entire trip, complete with pictures.

Excerpt from my journal, written in airport on the layover to Hawaii: "Mohalo! And by this time next week I hope to be able to tell you what that actually means. My Guess? Welcome, or something, because 'Aloha' clearly means hi."

(As it turns out, Mohalo means thank you.)

Here is a preview for you.



Ok so before I tell you anything, I need you to know that my hotel was only $62 per night. That's right. $31 for each person a night. SHAZOOM! But it was definitely not that nice. Here is a picture of it. Just know that we didn't spend a lot of time there, minus staying in and watching the Oscars on Sunday night.

Getting to Hawaii wasn't exactly the way I had imagined it. First of all, we definitely did not get lei-ed in the airport. We actually walked around the entire outside of the airport before we found the cab station. We were offered a limo but I opted for a gigantic van instead, which was a bit of a mistake because we got stuck in rush hour traffic thus resulting in a $40 cab ride in which at one point our practically mute driver, while driving, opened the cab door, leaned out the door, and hocked a gigantic loogie right on the road.

We drove by this park along Waikiki Beach, but this shot was taken the next day when it was much more beautiful and wondrous outside. Our cabbie took us through seemingly the worst part of town where everyone who saw us scowled in our general direction and to make matters perfect, it was raining and cold.

Yes, those are old folks doing forward bends.

Let's move on. After finally getting to our hotel, we took a soak in the hot tub (which was to be my only dip in the hot tub for the rest of the trip......foreshadowing!) which made us feel infinitely better and after a dinner of burgers and drinks at Kelly O'Briens we crashed hard, jet lagged and a bit deflated from our horrible cab ride in.

Excerpt from my journal on day one: "Aloha! Ok first thing's first - I'm burned. We spent six hours in the sun today and I covered myself in sunscreen as much as I could but for some reason my right shin is just shot. It's a deep, stinging red. Don't worry I've been globbing on the aloe. I'm just afraid burn will attract more burn though, you know?"

And it did. My stinging body was a reoccurring theme throughout the vacation. Sitting down, standing up, walking, breathing, it all hurt. I'm just a burner. No matter how much 45, zinc, or shade I cover myself in. And I could definitely say goodbye to the hot tub for the rest of the trip. It was like dipping an already-singed limb in the fires of burning hell. But it was worth it because Waikiki Beach is...the...bomb. Observe.





We then hung out at the International Market for a few hours. We walked around the jewelry stands and aggressive women continually pointed out every piece of jewelry to us in their stands saying "This is a bracelet. Yes? Very beautiful. Very nice. You buy." We did buy a little, but the more aggressive they were the quicker I was sure to dodge them, those sly ladies. We then had sushi and macademia nut ice cream (notice the cone says Hawaii) while we watched a four-person Hawaiian band play.



On the way back to the hotel, we picked me up a most essential pair of hiking shoes, as we were going on an adventure the next day.


Before I go on, two quick stories to share with you.

1. I was in the public bathroom at Waikiki Beach taking care of business when all of the sudden a lil' old woman body slams the door to my stall open, thus exposing me on the toilet. She was so shocked to see me in there that she stood there, frozen, terror-stricken and staring at me right in the face. She didn't close the door as she could not move. So I did the only thing I could think of - smile at her. She finally left and I reached forward and held the door closed while I finished.

2. A Japanese teen tried to communicate with my friend Anna and I the beach. (Yes we have the same name, it's adorable.) After about five minutes of miming frantic motions and speaking hurried Japanese to us, we finally realized that he was trying to ask us to go swim with him and his other teens buddies. I declined. But I kicked myself after he left for not saying "arigato". He would have been pleased as punch, I assure you.

Saturday was a fantastic day. We woke up at 6:30 am and got picked up by Tommy's Tours and they took us to Hanauma Bay where we snorkeled the morning away. It blew my mind. Huge fish, some as long as my arm and every color under the sun, swam all around us. The coral was so shallow that we had to suck our stomachs in as we floated over it. I took pictures like a crazy person that has never seen the outdoors before.





After we got our fill at Hanauma Bay, we went to Diamondhead Mountain to go hiking. Everyone said it would take an hour and a half to hike up to the top, but guess how long it took svelte, young Anna and me? You guessed it. 20 minutes. Now will you just look at these views?




That night we grabbed some din din, picked up some gelato, and watched the sunset on Waikiki. Just as we were ambling around the beach we stumbled upon this performance. You probably can't see it, but take my word for it, nary a woman's eyes were straying far from that fella on the left.


Ok if there's one thing I truly will never forget, it was the surfing. We surfed three times there on Waikiki and it was unbelievable. I've surfed in Northern California before but it was freezing and I wore a full body wet suit and it was raining and the waves here humongous. It was still an amazing experience, but super difficult. But in Hawaii, the surf stands guarantee that anyone taking a lesson will catch a wave and they're right. The waves in that part of Hawaii are made for surfing. They gently propel your board forward, you casually raise your body to your knees, then you slowly lift one leg up followed by the other, and you gently glide in towards the sand. It couldn't be easier. And even if someone smashes their board right into your face, there's still a total feeling of calm and irie.

Here is the surf stand that we rented from and the cool surf girl rash guards we bought to try to curb some mad board rash.



Ok I need to take you a moment to tell you a story. So the Tommy's Tour guide that drove us to Diamondhead was a hoot and a half, to say the least. She talked our ears off about everything that has to do with Hawaii and Hanauma Bay and right after telling us something logistical like where the bathrooms will be when we get there, she would interrupt by saying "Ok I am going to tell you a story now. Ok so two warriors were in love with the same woman. So she turned herself into a moutain ok so they would not fight and they would always think she is beautiful. Ok then her dad turned into a gecko mountain so he could always watch over here. And there is that mountain" (and she would point).

Monday was rainforest day! If you think I was a picture taking freak at the snorkeling bay, think again, especially since certain scenes of Lost were filmed in this very rainforest. I'm just going to let the pictures do the talking for this one.








And then last but not least, one of our last sweet things we did...whale watching. I wanted to take pictures of the whales but it was too magical to catch on film; I just had to focus on the present moment. But here are some pretty pictures I took along the way. (Notice the name of the boat.)




And that pretty much concludes your picture tour of the vacation! I will just say that it was one of the best vacations I've been on and I would do it again in a heartbeat. It was pretty cheap too, especially with my kick-a hotel deal. Thank you for being a passenger on my tour and to reward you I will leave you with this:

Sweaty nervous pits.

I had three very important meetings at work today - meetings I have been preparing for for weeks. As a result, I did something I rarely do: sweat profusely, specifically in the armpits. But I couldn't control it! The minute I walked into each meeting I was done for. It got so bad at one point that I had to switch shirts to let it air dry for a while.

Darn these blasted glands and their susceptibility to nervousness! Aren't women supposed to be dainty? You are not helping me be dainty, pits! And you turning my shirt into a dampfest is not cutting down on the nervousness!

Wearing my shorts tan proudly.

As you may know, I am headed to Hawaii next week for vacation.

Were one of my friends not up for a role in the next Twilight movie, there would be three of us going. Alas, she made the final rounds of auditions, and thus I fear we will not have her in our company. Either way though, it is sure to be a good time…

Except for one thing. My shorts tan, still lingering majestically from last summer. Minus the old lady moles, it is not unlike this.

The contrast between the lasting once-burn-now-tan found on my lower legs and the bright white on my upper legs is stark, to say the least. The line between the two is shockingly accurate, as if I were wearing white boxer briefs. I would like to say my shorts tan and I will be showing up to the beaches of Hawaii unabashed, but I have to admit…I’m slightly concerned about it.

The way the sun will reflect off my legs is sure to blind unsuspecting beach tourists and make children scream in terror as they attempt to cover their eyes. The wind might even stop blowing. The waves might stop waving. The palm trees might stop softly rustling and the coconuts might stop, um, producing milk.

But I just can’t bring myself to go tanning in a tanning bed first. Never have, probably never will.

Zinc oxide, here I come!

Walking tacos and alligators.

First, let me just say the taco party was a rousing success. And it wasn't a regular taco party - no, sir. We served walking tacos, as described lovingly by local actor/comedian Bobby Gardner, who got his first taste of the stuff at our party:

Apparently I'm the only person on the planet who didn't know what these delectable gems were. Basically you open up a small bag of your favorite tortilla chips, crush up the chips, then add your meat, cheese, lettuce, salsa, etc., grab a fork and enjoy! How have I not heard of this? It combines my two passions: food and laziness. Kudos to the fat, lazy bastard that came up with the walking taco. I salute you!

And here is a visual if you are having trouble wrapping your head around this delicacy.


Second, I have to tell you about my dream last night. My two friends and I were in a lagoon. Except it wasn't a pretty one - it was all swampy and dangerous and the water was dark and opaque. My friend Conrad was disabled, so I was holding his head above water. The lagoon was shallow enough so that we could all wade through the water but Conrad's legs didn't work so I was holding him up from underneath his armpits and facing him forward so he could see. My friend Alan was wading next to us.

Then, all of a sudden, alligators started coming toward us, one by one. Alan loudly taunted them. Whenever I saw one coming toward us, I would wheel Conrad around to face the alligator, then he would slap the alligator's face with a fly swatter. Alan's taunting grew and he started beckoning the gators to come toward us: "C'MON ALLIGATORS!!! IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?!!?" I continued to wheel Conrad around and he continued to lightly and repeatedly slap each one with the fly swatter until it ambled away.

Then I woke up.

Happy Thursday!

Best birthday EVER.

Ok so I haven't even had my walking taco party yet (you can bet your bippy I'll blog about that later) and it's already the best birthday ever. Will you just take a look at these presents?

From Roommate #1: Chocolate Eiffel Tower


From Roommate #2: Camelback Hydration System

Friend Jess: The world's largest chocolate kiss (someone's gotta give me a smooch on my birthday)


I also got a call during a meeting today from the front desk person that there was a bouquet of flowers waiting for me downstairs. As I excitedly brought them back up to my desk, a small crowd gathered wanting to know who my secret admirer was. Names and faces flashed through my head as I fantasized about who it could be. Then reality of the single life came crashing down as a giant "Love, Mom and Dad" card revealed itself.

Thanks parents!

Cutting the cord is tough.

It's my work BFF's last day tomorrow. This saddens me.

Yes, he was an intern in the same position for 15 months. Yes, he is a 33-year-old man with a master's degree. Yes, he is way too good for this job. No, he didn't even like his job anyway.

But who's going to have lunch with me now?

Nothing I could have done would have commemorated him with the respect and effort he really deserves, but I tried hard. I made him an 11 minute audio documentary, forcing everyone who has ever talked to him sing his praises. And sing they did. They sang like golden angels fluttering up to intern heaven.

If you would like to share this special moment with us, and laugh your patooty off in the process, please do enjoy.

Srinitastic.wav

I daresay this is the finest bit of work I have done, or really anyone has ever done, since, well, ever. To download, click "download now", wait exactly 40 seconds, then click "download" again and you will see why he will be missed! I can't believe he's leaving, and you won't be able to either. It's a sad, sad day.

**Note: special guest appearances from Barack Obama and Ira Glass.

That one time I was at a podium.

This year, San Diego State University released a study about our generation finding narcissism and entitlement to be two of the features that describe us best. People born after 1982 are said to be part of the most self-absorbed generation in recent history. I didn’t believe it at first, and you may not either. But I recently realized…it might not be all bad.

I first heard about this phenomenon straight from the mouths of my teachers. Hardly a semester went by in college where one of my professors didn’t express worry that our generation is turning out to be too self-involved, or how that is going to reflect on our country. They would say, “You kids are smart, but you know you’re smart. That’s the problem.” I didn’t really buy it.

But then…I took a look at my blog.

I started my blog in March of 2005. I named it “Astral Weeks” after a Van Morrison song I felt defined my existence. My first entry is 762 words of descriptive prose about what it feels like to return home after spring break. The next entry includes about 10 paragraphs on how devastatingly boring it is to do taxes. The entries go on, and on, and on about the minute details and intricate elements of anything in my life.

So, we’re a little self-involved? Maybe. Ok, probably. But that’s not all we are.

In four years at the University, I have seen examples that take the notion of our allegedly selfish generation and throw it out the window, every day. I had the privilege of seeing students in classes and at our student newspaper that blow my mind with their dedication and the quality of work they produce. The amount of activities and opportunities students at this school pack into their schedules oftentimes comes at the expense of their own sleep and health.

We’re hard on ourselves. And we want to do well. A lot of that stems from the positive encouragement we were given growing up. While we may be described as more self-involved than our parents were, there’s one thing that we can be sure of. - we can use this to our advantage, and especially to the advantage of the world around us. Someone recently reminded me “to those who much is given, much is expected.”

At this age, it sometimes feels like it’s difficult to create real, positive change because no matter how much we want to deny it, we are still so very naïve. No matter how much we’ve been taught, how much we’ve absorbed or how much we’ve experienced in our lives, we’ve still got so far to go. To be naïve is to be generally thought of as showing a lack of experience, wisdom or judgment. But instead of cowering behind that or hoping it goes away soon, I think we should celebrate it. Why? Because we can be hopeful. We can hope for anything we want. We can hope to be the green generation who cleans up the environmental mistakes of those that came before us. We can hope to solve issues of violence, poverty and injustice. We can hope to create, foster, promote, and live peace. We not only get to believe that our generation is going to fix the world, but we have to try, and if we’re lucky, we’ll never stop trying.

So be idealistic. Be hopeful. Continue to try new things and invent new solutions to the problems all around us. Continue to learn and crave more and more education, whatever form that comes in. Your mind is ready for more. Feed it.

And that’s the key word – more. Now is the time to go crazy – take chances. But I don’t mean crazy in the sense that we’ve probably experienced the word so far, specifically on Thursday nights. I’m talking about everything from moving to a big city and working your way up a national nonprofit to braving a small Minnesota suburb to work at a community newspaper. You know what taking a chance means for you, so do it. How are we going to know what’s right for us, what we’re supposed to be doing, and how we can contribute the most to the world around us, if we never take chances?

As CLA students, you should realize by now that we’re bred for just that – for change, and for taking chances. If I can say one thing that my classes have given to me, whether they were classes about journalism, math or Walt Disney, it’s the ability to be this: versatile. I currently live with three people that switched out of very particular majors in the Institute of Technology during college. Before the switch, they knew exactly what they were going to be – civil engineer, mechanical engineer, and physicist. Now, they could be anything: speech coach, environmental researcher, NBC executive, and they know that. Their futures could hold whatever they want.

So I guess what I’m wondering is, what are you feeling today? Are you scared? I am. I’m scared of stepping outside the University umbrella. I’m scared of what it’s going to be like to have a “real live job.” But we can’t stay in college forever. It’s too late to go back. We’re in the matching outfits. We’re brushing the tassels from our faces. And you know what? Somewhere, deep inside the folds of our gowns, we know we’re ready.

But we can’t forget, for one minute, that we are the privileged ones. We are college graduates. A majority of us grew up with parents that not only believed in us, but took pains to make sure we knew how special we are. For those of you that didn’t have parents like that, there was hopefully someone along the way who believed in you, whether that was a teacher, an older sibling, a neighbor, anyone. And while it’s easy to bask in the glory that is us right now, on this day …those are the people that we should really be thinking about. This isn’t just our graduation. This is a victory and a monumental event for anyone who has cared about us.

There are so many people around this world that would kill for the education that we’ve received. Remember this as you’re selling back your books, starting your first day at your new jobs, or reflecting on the end to your college career. Remember to be thankful for the protected environment that we live in, and the safe, successful semesters that we have been able to complete, unlike some of our peers around the country and around the world.

Parents, grandparents, siblings, professors, administrators and friends – thank you, to say the least. Thank you for believing in us. This is your day too.

If there is one resounding message I could leave with you today, it would be to not forget who helped you get where you are. A college education is the best present anyone could give to you, and the best present you could give to yourselves. Take the positive reinforcement you received, take the knowledge you’ve gained over the years, and take your college degree and use it to give back. Don’t ever forget the breaks you’ve been given and the heights you’ve achieved because of the understanding, supportive and inspiring people in your lives. And above all else, be that kind of a person to others.

People may say we’re narcissistic, and that might have been true in the past, but we don’t have to be that way now. Let’s continue to learn, continue to grow, and continue to let our purpose be helping those around us. We’ve been able to practice this in our college setting, but now our arena has expanded, and we are capable of real change and real good. Don’t ever forget that.

Congratulations parents, a job well done students, and good luck.

Thank you.

Movie musings

Remember when I said I could tell you about seeing the most disturbing two movies I have ever seen in my life? Well, I'm going to talk about it on the radio tonight (here: 16 minutes in) so I thought I'd share some of my thoughts with you.

Basically, the big movies this year are unforgivably depressing. Movies that win big in the Oscars are usually kind of downers – last year we had No Country for Old Men, There Will Be Blood, La Vie en Rose, Michael Clayton, etc., but this year, the movies I’ve seen have just left me unable to even express thought, I mean the topics and plots were so dejecting and gruesome that I think we are seriously reaching new highs, or lows, rather, in our Oscar nominees.

Let’s start off with Revolutionary Road. It depicts 1950s American life based on a newly married couple who move to the suburbs to start their family. The movie is based on a novel written by Richard Yates, who described the central theme as “most human beings are inescapably alone, and therein lies their tragedy”. The movie is good, don’t get me wrong, but it’s fight after fight after fight and they escalate all the way up to a husband-on-wife screaming death chase through the woods. I won’t tell you how it ends, but let’s just say there is blood involved.

Alright and then we’ve got The Wrestler. The previews led me to believe I was in for a feel-good movie where Mickey Rourke’s character finally gives up wrestling to salvage his relationship with his long lost daughter. After seeing Revolutionary Road the day before, I felt like I deserved a softy. But a softy it…was…not. I should have seen the gory-factor coming since the film is directed by the guy who did Requiem for a Dream. But I have to say the famous “biting the pavement” scene from Requiem hardly was a match for the literal savage beatings the audience witnesses the aging wrestler go to through keep supporting himself. The physical trauma he goes through, however, is barely a match for the way the movie makes you feel about your own life. As we were leaving the theater after seeing it, one of my friends said he felt like there were bugs crawling all over him.

And it doesn’t get much happier. Milk left me enraged for weeks, not only about the injustice of our own history but also the fact that I had never even heard about the events that happened in the movie. Rachel Getting Married, which was one of my favorite movies of the year, stars Anne Hathaway as a recovering crack addict who essentially murdered her little brother and has to awkwardly face her family on the day of her sister’s wedding as she tries not to ruin the entire thing with her loud-mouthed and offensive existence. And of course Charlie Kaufman’s Synecdoche, New York features a theater director with depression and a failing, dying body trying to make something of himself. You can guess whether he does or not.

Even superhero movies aren’t escaping this trend of shockingly bleak films. We all saw The Dark Knight and it seemed much more psychological thriller than uplifting heroism. Even Batman can’t escape the tragedy of his own ideals and comes off more like a depressed cancer patient than a lovable hero. It seems like this movie, although totally awesome, is a far cry from the downright comedic 1960s television series Batman used to be.

So why? Does sadness sell? Are happy endings trite? I guess if nothing else, we know depression wins awards. So as you’re catching up on the award nominees that you’ve missed over the past year, get ready to strap on your sad face, pop a Prozac, and remember that there is life after movies.

The snowy death I almost died.

Today, on this -5 degree winter Wednesday, I could tell you about a lot of things.

I could tell you about my third tire that I have popped within the past month (I allegedly live next-door to a nail factory).

I could tell you about seeing the most disturbing two movies I have ever seen in my life this week (Revolutionary Road and The Wrestler).

I could tell you about how I recently learned to purl, and thus my knitting possibilities have wildly opened up to the great knitting world of wonder (hats and ribbed scarves here I come!).

But what I really want to tell you about is how I almost died 21 days ago.

My roommate has a friend. This friend has a bunch of college buddies. These buddies were all going on a ski trip to the Lutsen Mountains, located on Lake Superior’s North Shore. They thought it would be nice to have a couple girls along on the trip. I told them I’m not much of a skier, but when they promised me all the equipment needed and they made the arrangements for driving and lodging, I couldn’t resist. As a perpetual trip planner, the prospect of being able to simply tag along with someone else’s perfectly-planned trip sounded to me like a breath of fresh, frosty air.

In a van and a car we drove five of the happiest hours of my life north to our destination. We sang, we ate, we mused, we knitted, we told stories. Was I slightly carsick? Yes, of course I was – I’m me. But a slight tum ache was hardly a match for the giddiness I felt about our trip. It just felt so good to…get out there. Anticipation grew all around me since we had only one night’s sleep standing in our way of hitting the slopes first thing in the morning, and I was only slightly concerned that I was the only one who technically didn’t know how to make my way down a mountain on skis.

Morning arrived. The boys leapt from their beds, raced to the window, and wiggled and jumped around, elated that the night had dropped 15 inches of snow on us, on top of the many inches of snow that had already piled up the previous day. We dressed, loaded on our gear, ensured that rarely a speck of skin was exposed to the -40 below wind chill, and crowded into the cars to head toward the hills.

Two of my friends strapped on my boots and fitted my skis while I stood like a toddler, dutifully placing my feet in the positions in which they instructed me. I breathed a sigh of relief when one of the boys suggested we hit up “Big Bunny”, one of the beginner hills right by the lodge. I clumsily ambled over to the chairlift, and boarded my chair successfully. As the lift neared its exit, I scooted toward the edge of my chair, arranged my poles to the side, and then proceeded to fall flat off the ski lift on my face.

But don’t worry – I got the hang of it. I wiggled out of the way, stood up, and briefly figured out how to ski, with the help of the expert skiers I gone on the trip with. Not to brag, but I pretty much kicked Big Bunny’s ass. If nothing else, I definitely made her my B. Here’s the thing though. We only did Big Bunny once before the boys were ready to move on to bigger and better hills.

A couple green circles, some blue squares, and I was still doing ok. I learned how to turn, and I would fall back on the reliable pizza stance if I ever needed to slow down. Yes, I still have weird knee issues from putting such awkward strain on my knees that weekend, but c’mon. A girl has got to slow down if she needs to. But sometimes, even pizza is no match for the velocity one can find herself in whilst going down certain hills…

Big Bunny was part of a stretch of mountains that is very beginner-friendly. That, of course, is the kind of mountain that I should definitely stay on, but my friends found it very important for us all to stick together. That meant that when they were ready to take a special ski trail over to a stretch of much more difficult mountains, I was coming with. I had heard rumors that there wasn’t really a hill over there that didn’t eventually turn into a black diamond, but they insisted that I would be fine.

The first unforgivably steep hill I approached made me fall instantly. I fell straight down like a little kid when you pick it up but it doesn’t want you to pick it up so it wiggles down to the floor, leaving you dumbfounded as to how a 50-pound thing could outsmart you. I then slid down the rest of the hill slowly, and in perfect control, on my butt, which was totally not a big deal. No pain, I didn’t make a scene, and only one teenage snowboarder yelled at me for being in her way.

But the thing with these hills that get steeper and steeper as you go down them, is that you gain momentum. And when someone who is as bad a skier as I am gains momentum, they start to lose their ability to turn. And if the person is going so fast that they can’t really turn, you can sure as frick bet that “pizza” is a literal impossibility.

What I’m trying to tell you is that one of the black diamond mountains I went on was so steep that I erratically flew straight down it, gaining and gaining speed over what felt like five minutes until I reached the most steep part at the bottom and found myself barreling toward a group of 40 people waiting in line to get on the chair lift. Right before I reached the group, and thus killed everyone in sight by my unpredictable and uncontrollable speed, I gallantly hurled myself into the nearest snow bank, rolled at the speed of light about 20 feet, skidded another 10, and then landed, poles and skiis scattered, body in spread-eagle position, on the bank of the snow at the feet of those 40 skiers, their mouths agape, staring at the spectacle that was me.

I stayed there for a while, maybe two minutes, not moving. I noticed people trying not to notice me. A snowboarder picked up my poles and reverently laid them at my side, not uttering a word.

Ironically, but mostly unbelievably, my only wound from the weekend was a tiny scratch I got from the hotel room table while playing cards.