I was never temped by the food in the freshman cafeteria. All the freshman at my high school ate in their own secluded mini-caf to...I don't know, bond as a class? Not be intimidated by the upper classmen? The food choices were chicken sandwiches, chicken tenders, some dumb snacks, pizza, fries. My first semester I packed my lunch. I think I ate a lot of pb & j and bags of potato chips. Off-brand Oreos. My second semester I had an early lunch right after swimming. I remember swallowing a lot of chlorinated water and always feeling winded from having to get ready in five minutes after laps. My look that spring: wet slimy hair, a bloated tummy, and hastily applied lip gloss. The only thing I could even imagine eating for some unknown reason were pretzels and Kit Kats. So that's what I ate. For five months. Very occasionally (like, three times) I bought a donut from the lunch line, and I would be given a free fruit cup. Everyone always got a free fruit cup. It had something to do with the school being able to get government funding for balanced meals. I spent around 100 hours total in that dumb room, and I remember very little.
A rando from the town everyone made fun of shared my lunch seat with me for two weeks. He asked me to write him notes but only drew pictures in response. A boy in my history class asked to see my homework "just to check his answers" and I let him have it. I watched it circle his entire table, everyone copying. I tried to drink Brisk Iced Tea like a club of two new friends did, but I thought it was very gross. My friend Smidge and I would quietly sing Les Mis to each other when we were bored. One girl gave up junk food for lent and ate it every day, making tally marks in a notebook. She said, "I'll make it up later."
My iced coffee got warm yesterday. I was at the Writing Center, so I asked around if there was a soda fountain somewhere in the building. There was one in the cafeteria, I learned, so I walked in for the first time and was immediately struck with a flood of nostalgia. It smelled EXACTLY like that freshman lunch room, and as far as I can tell, nothing in my life has ever smelled the same. I wanted to eat all the food even though I hadn't eaten it when I was fourteen. If I ingested that tray of fries, would I be fourteen again? As if being fourteen is so great in the first place.
Showing posts with label freshman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label freshman. Show all posts
Friday, May 5, 2017
Wednesday, November 25, 2015
Time Traveling Moon: Pt One
My freshman year of high school there was a lot of to-do around the phrase "Get it." It's hard to know if that particular slang was a widespread phenomenon or if it was akin to other phrases particular to my southside Chicago experience. IE "Salt yourself" means you were acting stupid. Usually the phrase would be accompanied by a faux-brush of salt off one's shoulders. "Treated" I still say, which means kind of, "OH SHE TOLD YOU!"
Anyway, people on the Speech team were always telling each other to get it. Broke to finals? "Get it, Erin!" Made cookies for everyone? "Get it, Mary!" You get it (ha, no pun intended). One night Henne was driving me home from something and it was one of those special "we're young and happy" nights. Perhaps spring was just springing. The moon was big and glowing out the car window. He said, "Get it, moon."
Last night I was taking the brown line from downtown to Old Town. I love when I get to do that because I cross over the Chicago River and generally enjoy watching the city whir by. Henne happened to be texting me about our writing processes, the future, etc. when I noticed the moon. Giant, vibrant. I thought to myself, as I often do, "Get it, moon." Then I told him about this that I have kept in my brain for a decade. I took a picture of the white orb over the skyline and sent it to him. You know what he said? He said, "Get it, moon." And sometimes time has barely passed.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Those You've Known
My doorbell rang at 10 PM on Saturday. No one rings my doorbell. They text "Here" or they clomp in through the garage. I took a deep breath, prepared to see this person, but when I opened the door I was not prepared to see this person. These are the times I understand embraces. I could not stand on my own in a moment of such affection. It was this person who was the person who nearly gave my first roommate a heart attack by busting into our freshman dorm room with a bullhorn. This person who once sat quietly with me in a second story pension in Kyoto and spoke calmly about death and fear. Scents of blossoms and fish rode the fall breeze in through the window. This person is the same person who has held me when I have cried and once made me laugh so hard I threw up. That person was this person, and this person was here in this whole new world part of my life. "You can't take it with you," they say, but I have my doubts.
This song is apropos and incidentally so beautiful I am almost moved to tears listening to it lately:
and I won't let them stray from my heart.
Through the wind, through the dark, through the winter light--
I will read all their dreams to the stars.
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Lasting Advice Comes From Funny Places
No clue why, but today I had this flashback of anxiety. Maybe because I took a mid-day nap and dreamt I was driving a van with this girl I knew when I was 15, a totally random I-was-more-friends-with-her-brother girl, and the brakes went out as we whizzed down a hill. I woke up one second from death.
Anyway, this anxiety memory: when I was a high school freshman, I was in the band room rehearsing for an Edgar Allen Poe performance piece. (Ugh. My life.) Anyway, I was in it with this guy--let's call him TR. TR was a senior and the best friend of my first boyfriend. When we started dating, TR said, "If you hurt him, I'll hurt you," which is a funny thing to say to a braces-bearing pipsqueak, but whatevs! I thought TR was soOoOoO wise. A. He wore these all-black outfits. B. He played a lead in the school musical (Thenardier in Les Mis, WORD). C. He had been dating the same girl for, like, a full year. This was foreign to me just getting off the middle school boat. Dude was the height of maturity to me.
Anyway, this day in rehearsal, we were on a break, and I walked over to a chair and saw an open notebook. I stood over it reading. I honestly didn't read a full sentence when TR came over to me, scooped it up, and said, "Don't read other people's stuff." And I said, "I didn't know whose it was...or if you minded...or..." This is the anxiety I was talking about. And he said, "It doesn't matter. It's how you get in trouble."
Looking back on TR...some things: A. He and that long-term gf broke up because he randomly got a crush on some other girl. He moped around for a good several months spitting lines like, "I don't look put together? Maybe I'M NOT." B. He wore pajamas to graduation and this t-shirt with wolves on it. Before irony was cool. C. The last night of the spring play, he ad-libbed a homophobic slur. Good. So, he wasn't actually a sage or anything. But, that advice is really good right? It's true. Reading other people's stuff, whether you know whose it is, or if it's personal...it never creates a GOOD situation, right?
And literally any time I am considering opening someone's medicine cabinet or something, I think of TR. It is amazing what we tote around and from whom we're toting, and what we've tossed into the world to be toted.
Anyway, this anxiety memory: when I was a high school freshman, I was in the band room rehearsing for an Edgar Allen Poe performance piece. (Ugh. My life.) Anyway, I was in it with this guy--let's call him TR. TR was a senior and the best friend of my first boyfriend. When we started dating, TR said, "If you hurt him, I'll hurt you," which is a funny thing to say to a braces-bearing pipsqueak, but whatevs! I thought TR was soOoOoO wise. A. He wore these all-black outfits. B. He played a lead in the school musical (Thenardier in Les Mis, WORD). C. He had been dating the same girl for, like, a full year. This was foreign to me just getting off the middle school boat. Dude was the height of maturity to me.
Anyway, this day in rehearsal, we were on a break, and I walked over to a chair and saw an open notebook. I stood over it reading. I honestly didn't read a full sentence when TR came over to me, scooped it up, and said, "Don't read other people's stuff." And I said, "I didn't know whose it was...or if you minded...or..." This is the anxiety I was talking about. And he said, "It doesn't matter. It's how you get in trouble."
Looking back on TR...some things: A. He and that long-term gf broke up because he randomly got a crush on some other girl. He moped around for a good several months spitting lines like, "I don't look put together? Maybe I'M NOT." B. He wore pajamas to graduation and this t-shirt with wolves on it. Before irony was cool. C. The last night of the spring play, he ad-libbed a homophobic slur. Good. So, he wasn't actually a sage or anything. But, that advice is really good right? It's true. Reading other people's stuff, whether you know whose it is, or if it's personal...it never creates a GOOD situation, right?
And literally any time I am considering opening someone's medicine cabinet or something, I think of TR. It is amazing what we tote around and from whom we're toting, and what we've tossed into the world to be toted.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
E.L.A.I.C.
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close began with a blue New York sky. I felt as though I were wearing a necklace, maybe a golden timepiece, and the screen had scooped it up and was tugging it slowly--comforting on the edge of a choke.
I felt moved up and out from the first moments because I experienced the whole book again and then the experiences with the experiences and the experience of today with the experiences.
A boy from Alabama played Oskar Schell in his Dramatic Interpretation piece in my speech national final round in 2006. I met him while I was looking for my skirt which had fallen out of my bag.
Two months later my friend Claw told me to visit her at work the day before I left for college. I drove to the pizza place and found her extremely high. She left her post, went to her car, and emerged with her copy--incredibly marked up. She said I'd need it and told me I looked like I was going to a tea party. I looked to my right today. Henne was next to me, high school.
I kept the book on my dresser throughout my entire first term of college and read it over winter break. I read pieces of it to Vince in my St. Louis bedroom after Thanksgiving, I kept it in the back room at the ice cream store, and I sat on a tub of strawberries reading it.
A year later I bought a second copy for Kay, and we both read it in our first December together. The weeks leading up to my visit to his home when he was still back in Illinois at swim camp and I was nannying my baby cousin in San Diego. Kay and I brought our copies to the dunes of Monterey and could not speak. We stayed silent for hours watching the waves and climbing the sand. Now, I haven't spoken to him in a year. I can't remember what kind of hair he had. This bothers me. How did he look? We read what he called "the red hand book" together and now I don't remember if he hair was long enough to be curly last we spoke. I know he smelled faintly like burnt muffins from working at the bakery.
I'm sitting in the theatre though. Oh, I love this story. And while the movie encapsulates about 8% of the novel's goodness, I cry several times.
Henne sits across from me at the sweets shop. He takes his stubs out of his pockets and rips them in halves. I ask why. He says I probably keep everything, which is slightly true--at least until I decide if its worth scrapbooking. He asks if this night is worth remembering. And maybe that's it--I think everything is worth remembering.
I will always remember seeing my favorite book as a film with my high school friend and Hill and Hill's boyfriend and his roommate because we were a microscopic community and everything pieced together for me to feel this way and be this way and live this way. And it doesn't make any sense but that's why it does.
I felt moved up and out from the first moments because I experienced the whole book again and then the experiences with the experiences and the experience of today with the experiences.
A boy from Alabama played Oskar Schell in his Dramatic Interpretation piece in my speech national final round in 2006. I met him while I was looking for my skirt which had fallen out of my bag.
Two months later my friend Claw told me to visit her at work the day before I left for college. I drove to the pizza place and found her extremely high. She left her post, went to her car, and emerged with her copy--incredibly marked up. She said I'd need it and told me I looked like I was going to a tea party. I looked to my right today. Henne was next to me, high school.
I kept the book on my dresser throughout my entire first term of college and read it over winter break. I read pieces of it to Vince in my St. Louis bedroom after Thanksgiving, I kept it in the back room at the ice cream store, and I sat on a tub of strawberries reading it.
A year later I bought a second copy for Kay, and we both read it in our first December together. The weeks leading up to my visit to his home when he was still back in Illinois at swim camp and I was nannying my baby cousin in San Diego. Kay and I brought our copies to the dunes of Monterey and could not speak. We stayed silent for hours watching the waves and climbing the sand. Now, I haven't spoken to him in a year. I can't remember what kind of hair he had. This bothers me. How did he look? We read what he called "the red hand book" together and now I don't remember if he hair was long enough to be curly last we spoke. I know he smelled faintly like burnt muffins from working at the bakery.
I'm sitting in the theatre though. Oh, I love this story. And while the movie encapsulates about 8% of the novel's goodness, I cry several times.
Henne sits across from me at the sweets shop. He takes his stubs out of his pockets and rips them in halves. I ask why. He says I probably keep everything, which is slightly true--at least until I decide if its worth scrapbooking. He asks if this night is worth remembering. And maybe that's it--I think everything is worth remembering.
I will always remember seeing my favorite book as a film with my high school friend and Hill and Hill's boyfriend and his roommate because we were a microscopic community and everything pieced together for me to feel this way and be this way and live this way. And it doesn't make any sense but that's why it does.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Sophomore at Life (Warning: Reflective Navel-Gazing Ahead)
On Friday May 15, 2009, I had a little pub date with a college friend just finishing his first year out of school. I wrote about it on my old blog:
"I got to thinking a lot about my future. Promises about post-graduation to myself:
1. Continue education
2. Continue art
3. Make new local friends
4. Self-evaluate
5. Do things before responsibilities kick in"
Today is my first official day of unemployment. My contracts just ended Friday, and the summer will be a whirlwind of travel, planning, projects, and rebooting before I start graduate school. Overall, I am very pleased with how I handled my first year out of school. I have made lists (in my diary) of all the ways I grew, lessons I learned, opportunities I had because of what I chose to do with myself since I got my diploma.
When Facebook added that little empty box ("Write something about yourself.") my sister wrote "Write something about myself?! This whole dang page is about myself!" I thought that was very funny. Anyway, I realize this whole blog is about me, but for a moment I am going to celebrate my accomplishments. Without intention, I did a darn good job staying in line with the goals I set myself as a junior in college.
1. I audited two college classes, read three books on comedy and acting, and got on track for graduate school.
2. One musical, one big improv show, and a lot of little improv jams all year. Creative writing club, the St. Louis One-Act Festival, and ACTF with Huntie.
3. Being an improv teacher and getting involved with that community led to a bunch of new friendships--way deeper than I would have guessed when I started up with these comedy shenanigans. I am also sure if I were staying in the area I'd be keeping up with many more people I've met in the past few months. Interesting folk are everywhere.
4. My bosses didn't offer me a ton of feedback about my work, and I not only learned to self-evaluate, but enjoyed doing so.
5. Although I was highly-motivated and busy all year, I still acted like a 22-year old. I stayed up all night watching movies sometimes. I went on a Spring Break trip to the beach. I ate lots of cookies. I was poor and dressed like a hobo usually, but I occasionally splurged on stuff I didn't need (froyo, theatre, random Groupons). I spent a lot of time training for a marathon--no idea how working stiffs handle that schedule. I had house guests every other week.
Plus, lots of amazing things happened this year totally unrelated to my goals. Muff's marriage, getting to be with my sister, some enjoyable Chicago trips, learning so much about teaching, making an unexpected close friend (LC)...I guess what I mean to say is there's nothing inherently scary about leaving school.
Improv Cast, December 2010
LC & Me, May 2011
Basically: Just put your mind to it. It's not enough to be Good. You have GOT to refine and shine.
"I got to thinking a lot about my future. Promises about post-graduation to myself:
1. Continue education
2. Continue art
3. Make new local friends
4. Self-evaluate
5. Do things before responsibilities kick in"
Today is my first official day of unemployment. My contracts just ended Friday, and the summer will be a whirlwind of travel, planning, projects, and rebooting before I start graduate school. Overall, I am very pleased with how I handled my first year out of school. I have made lists (in my diary) of all the ways I grew, lessons I learned, opportunities I had because of what I chose to do with myself since I got my diploma.
When Facebook added that little empty box ("Write something about yourself.") my sister wrote "Write something about myself?! This whole dang page is about myself!" I thought that was very funny. Anyway, I realize this whole blog is about me, but for a moment I am going to celebrate my accomplishments. Without intention, I did a darn good job staying in line with the goals I set myself as a junior in college.
1. I audited two college classes, read three books on comedy and acting, and got on track for graduate school.
2. One musical, one big improv show, and a lot of little improv jams all year. Creative writing club, the St. Louis One-Act Festival, and ACTF with Huntie.
3. Being an improv teacher and getting involved with that community led to a bunch of new friendships--way deeper than I would have guessed when I started up with these comedy shenanigans. I am also sure if I were staying in the area I'd be keeping up with many more people I've met in the past few months. Interesting folk are everywhere.
4. My bosses didn't offer me a ton of feedback about my work, and I not only learned to self-evaluate, but enjoyed doing so.
5. Although I was highly-motivated and busy all year, I still acted like a 22-year old. I stayed up all night watching movies sometimes. I went on a Spring Break trip to the beach. I ate lots of cookies. I was poor and dressed like a hobo usually, but I occasionally splurged on stuff I didn't need (froyo, theatre, random Groupons). I spent a lot of time training for a marathon--no idea how working stiffs handle that schedule. I had house guests every other week.
Plus, lots of amazing things happened this year totally unrelated to my goals. Muff's marriage, getting to be with my sister, some enjoyable Chicago trips, learning so much about teaching, making an unexpected close friend (LC)...I guess what I mean to say is there's nothing inherently scary about leaving school.
Improv Cast, December 2010
LC & Me, May 2011
Basically: Just put your mind to it. It's not enough to be Good. You have GOT to refine and shine.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Something Is Not the Same
When I was 18 I performed in the Edinburgh Fringe Festival.
Before the festival, my cast did some Shakespeare classes at the Globe.
One day after class we went shopping.
I was being a cheapskate in preparation for college.
I only looked at sale racks.
Everything was still too expensive.
Then, in one boutique, I found one solitary pair of jeans for just five pounds!
By a stoke of magic luck, they fit!
I loved the heck out of my London jeans.
Until I gained the freshman thirty.
Boop.
I got rid of my little girl clothes as my hips rolled out and my shoulders pulled up.
I put the jeans in storage.
Training for the marathon transformed my body like college did.
I don't look like I'm 18, but somehow the jeans fit again.
A little snugger, a little shapelier.
I also have a pair of green tennies from 2004.
My sister wants me to throw them away. Holes.
I wore them yesterday because it was one of those holes-in-your-shoes days.
I looked down at my ankles at the end of my acting seminar class.
The professor was my professor in Acting I.
The first class I took in college.
The green toes, the London hem.
From the knees down, I was a freshman again.
We're freshmen at life, my friends joke
and my clothes agree.
London jeans! In Scotland! When they were new!
It's time to trust my instincts, close my eyes, and leap.
Before the festival, my cast did some Shakespeare classes at the Globe.
One day after class we went shopping.
I was being a cheapskate in preparation for college.
I only looked at sale racks.
Everything was still too expensive.
Then, in one boutique, I found one solitary pair of jeans for just five pounds!
By a stoke of magic luck, they fit!
I loved the heck out of my London jeans.
Until I gained the freshman thirty.
Boop.
I got rid of my little girl clothes as my hips rolled out and my shoulders pulled up.
I put the jeans in storage.
Training for the marathon transformed my body like college did.
I don't look like I'm 18, but somehow the jeans fit again.
A little snugger, a little shapelier.
I also have a pair of green tennies from 2004.
My sister wants me to throw them away. Holes.
I wore them yesterday because it was one of those holes-in-your-shoes days.
I looked down at my ankles at the end of my acting seminar class.
The professor was my professor in Acting I.
The first class I took in college.
The green toes, the London hem.
From the knees down, I was a freshman again.
We're freshmen at life, my friends joke
and my clothes agree.
London jeans! In Scotland! When they were new!
It's time to trust my instincts, close my eyes, and leap.
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