by Tamra Artelia Martin
Man of Steel is coming out this week, and I really hope it doesn't suck. Yes, the trailers have been amazing. But I've learned to not fully trust them. Sometimes they give away everything that's good about a movie in the entire 3-5 minutes.
Still, that's not the reason I don't want it to be bad. It's because I'm a Henry Cavill admirer (I'd say fan, but that gives me scary pictures of screaming teenagers with "Will you marry me?" signs. So admirer it is). It'd be kind of bad if the first British actor to play Superman made people cringe at the though of the finished movie.
Most of all I want him to succeed because we finally need a Superman worthy of filling Christopher Reeve's blue and red spandex, who was the best version. Although I loved Dean Cain in Lois and Clark and Tom Welling in Smallville, their versions were created for television, not blockbusters.
I adored Henry Cavill long before he donned the famous red cape. As a historical fiction fan, I first noticed him in The Tudors. I have been trying to figure out exactly what I liked about his acting. I still can't pinpoint it. Maybe because he played cute and mischievous, and we're supposed to be attracted to bad boys, right?
Maybe it was his range as Henry VIII's friend, Charles Brandon. I felt he acted better than Jonathan Rhys Myers, who played Henry VIII. Honestly, the guy is eye candy, and accents are definitely creamy icing on a very rich-and-bad-for-you cake that you eat anyway because its good (I'm 100 percent sure Sherard agrees with me here).
After seeing Immortals, which did disappoint me a little due to the story line since I'm such a mythology fanatic, it solidified that I want to see more Cavill. I mean, he was close to playing Edward in Twilight. I have a feeling that more adult women would have surpassed teenyboppers in sales if he'd been the lead. It kind of makes me cry a little inside for the lost potential.
Oh, well. I hear they're planning a Magic Mike 2. I may have a suggestion for a new lead. Channing Tatum will be busy with fatherhood after all. Even if Henry Cavill can't dance, I'd go see it. A few times.
Bye Chai,
Tamra
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Physics Final Exam
by Sherard Harrington
Whaaaaaat? Awesomeness? Totally. My buildings will stand proud. I’m not a science dunce after all!
Whaaaaaat? Awesomeness? Totally. My buildings will stand proud. I’m not a science dunce after all!
Tweet? Me? What?
by Tamra Artelia Martin
So I remembered that I created a Twitter account in 2010 for class. The last tweet I did? 2010. For class. Went online to update my Twitter account and realize I have nothing to say. I'm on Facebook. Isn't that enough?
Why do we still have Twitter? Celebrities seem to be the only reason. Maybe I'll just connect it to Facebook, but my comments go beyond the limited 140 characters.
I feel like I'll only use it for something profound to say. Yes, I'm laughing on the inside too.
Bye Chai,
Tamra
So I remembered that I created a Twitter account in 2010 for class. The last tweet I did? 2010. For class. Went online to update my Twitter account and realize I have nothing to say. I'm on Facebook. Isn't that enough?
Why do we still have Twitter? Celebrities seem to be the only reason. Maybe I'll just connect it to Facebook, but my comments go beyond the limited 140 characters.
I feel like I'll only use it for something profound to say. Yes, I'm laughing on the inside too.
Bye Chai,
Tamra
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Architecture Documentation
by Sherard Harrington
Because, my life is lived in a series of models and drawings now.
For the last project of the semester, we were asked to design a sort of art park containing three art pieces. For me, I chose The Privet by John Chamberlain, In The Wall by Tory Fair, and Hanging Fire: Suspect Arson by Cornelia Parker. I’m just now getting around to the documentation of the models and the sketches and the drawings and throwing away all of the cardboard scraps.
Being an architecture student is messy. But in a creative, cool way, when you’re not in the thick of it.
Because, my life is lived in a series of models and drawings now.
For the last project of the semester, we were asked to design a sort of art park containing three art pieces. For me, I chose The Privet by John Chamberlain, In The Wall by Tory Fair, and Hanging Fire: Suspect Arson by Cornelia Parker. I’m just now getting around to the documentation of the models and the sketches and the drawings and throwing away all of the cardboard scraps.
Being an architecture student is messy. But in a creative, cool way, when you’re not in the thick of it.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Meet Up!
by Sherard Harrington
In the past three days, I’ve managed to watch Star Trek the movie, go to a CG party*, a birthday party, the vicinity of a comedy show**, and brunch, and I have a lunch meeting planned today. I had no idea I was such a social creature.
But still, somehow, I don’t feel social enough. This is weird, considering a passage I just read yesterday in David Foster Wallace’s Consider The Lobster, in which he points out that people on the coasts are always on the move to go see someone, while people in Bloomington, IL are always on the move to go watch TV with someone.
So, I’m thinking about joining a Meetup or something. I don’t know how I’d find the time. I don’t have the time to do any of the things that I do, but still, somehow it happens, right?
*The Central Gays are what I call them. It’s a group of professional gay men who meet around Central Square in Cambridge, who—if you were to replace “Lawyer” and “Doctor” and “IT Specialist” with “Hitman” and “Thug” and “Mobster,” would probably be the most deadly and effective form of organized crime this side of Five Points. As they stand right now, they’re deadly to red wine stains and effective in comparing Italian social theory with French social theory.
**It was sold out, so a friend of a friend (who is now my friend) and I hung out in the bar next door until the show was finished so we could congratulate the rising comedienne star, Kenice Mobley.
In the past three days, I’ve managed to watch Star Trek the movie, go to a CG party*, a birthday party, the vicinity of a comedy show**, and brunch, and I have a lunch meeting planned today. I had no idea I was such a social creature.
But still, somehow, I don’t feel social enough. This is weird, considering a passage I just read yesterday in David Foster Wallace’s Consider The Lobster, in which he points out that people on the coasts are always on the move to go see someone, while people in Bloomington, IL are always on the move to go watch TV with someone.
So, I’m thinking about joining a Meetup or something. I don’t know how I’d find the time. I don’t have the time to do any of the things that I do, but still, somehow it happens, right?
*The Central Gays are what I call them. It’s a group of professional gay men who meet around Central Square in Cambridge, who—if you were to replace “Lawyer” and “Doctor” and “IT Specialist” with “Hitman” and “Thug” and “Mobster,” would probably be the most deadly and effective form of organized crime this side of Five Points. As they stand right now, they’re deadly to red wine stains and effective in comparing Italian social theory with French social theory.
**It was sold out, so a friend of a friend (who is now my friend) and I hung out in the bar next door until the show was finished so we could congratulate the rising comedienne star, Kenice Mobley.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Itemized!
by Sherard Harrington
Welcome to my life, in note card form.
Okay, so that’s not my entire life—more like a brief (blurry) snippet of the last two weeks. (COFFEE.) Seriously, in order to stay on top of things, every day for the past three weeks or so I've made a little to-do index card and then track my progress. It helps tremendously, but they do start to add up after a while...
Anyways, it’s a finals week (#2 of 3 weeks’ worth—isn’t that something?), so that’s really all I have to say before going back to my mountain of cardboard. And my job applications. And my packing.
Welcome to my life, in note card form.
Okay, so that’s not my entire life—more like a brief (blurry) snippet of the last two weeks. (COFFEE.) Seriously, in order to stay on top of things, every day for the past three weeks or so I've made a little to-do index card and then track my progress. It helps tremendously, but they do start to add up after a while...
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Sunday, April 28, 2013
48 Hour Margarita
by Sherard Harrington
In the past 48 hours, I have:
-Had an awesome Skype session with my co-blog host, Tamra Martin (in which we discussed in part the following topics: men, interning, coffee, the effects of winning the lottery, and harem cruise ships).
-Tasted three different kinds of margaritas.
-Received a call from a friend who resides out of the country (in which we discussed in part the following topics: teaching, architecture, red wine, growing old, and moving in with your girlfriend).
-Sent out four “Thank You” cards to job applications—just to say thank you for even considering me.
-Woken up with my arms around a cute guy.
-Drank coffee from a wine glass. (Clearly, a future architect in the making.)
-On that note, drawn 12 drawings/diagrams, and counting!
-Sang both Heart and Ke$ha songs, equally badly.
-Cleaned my room.
-Fallen flat on my face while on the phone in front of the post office.
-Found out that my dad is seeing someone new. (Good for him.)
-Walked from Copley to South Station because the Green Line was PACKED.
-Realized that people actually use LinkedIn.
-Updated my LinkedIn.
-Argued for the sake of the good in humanity.
-Come to the conclusion that maybe I can really pull this semester off.
-Considered bartending as an alternative option.
In the past 48 hours, I have:
-Had an awesome Skype session with my co-blog host, Tamra Martin (in which we discussed in part the following topics: men, interning, coffee, the effects of winning the lottery, and harem cruise ships).
-Tasted three different kinds of margaritas.
-Received a call from a friend who resides out of the country (in which we discussed in part the following topics: teaching, architecture, red wine, growing old, and moving in with your girlfriend).
-Sent out four “Thank You” cards to job applications—just to say thank you for even considering me.
-Woken up with my arms around a cute guy.
-Drank coffee from a wine glass. (Clearly, a future architect in the making.)
-Sang both Heart and Ke$ha songs, equally badly.
-Cleaned my room.
-Fallen flat on my face while on the phone in front of the post office.
-Found out that my dad is seeing someone new. (Good for him.)
-Walked from Copley to South Station because the Green Line was PACKED.
-Realized that people actually use LinkedIn.
-Updated my LinkedIn.
-Argued for the sake of the good in humanity.
-Come to the conclusion that maybe I can really pull this semester off.
-Considered bartending as an alternative option.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Meanwhile, Reading Update
by Sherard Harrington
Know what I’ve been reading lately? David Foster Wallace’s Consider the Lobster. And you know...it’s not bad so far. Very interesting to read on public transit.
Know what I’ve been reading lately? David Foster Wallace’s Consider the Lobster. And you know...it’s not bad so far. Very interesting to read on public transit.
Monday, April 15, 2013
99 Luftballons
by Sherard Harrington
Listen, you can tell it to my heart, you smooth operator, but we all know that the rhythm is going to get you. Those girls are always looking to have fun in our house, so sure, I’ll take you home tonight; come on Eileen, let’s dance, and when I think we’re alone now, I’ll melt with you. You can take my breath away with your open arms and careless whispers, because—I’m so excited—I just want to dance with somebody. Those Bette Davis eyes are invincible though, you heartbreaker, and that’s what keeps me holding on through those manic mondays when I’m stuck in cars having a total eclipse of the heart. “What does love have to do with it?” you ask, oh sweet child o’ mine, which was hitting me with your best shot. “I love you always and forever,” I say, because it must have been love, it was so automatic and like a prayer that had gone crazy on you when I was alone. What about love, that eternal flame that broke my stride? Well, as the saying in those sweet dreams (that are indeed made of this) goes, “Another one bites the dust.”
Listen, you can tell it to my heart, you smooth operator, but we all know that the rhythm is going to get you. Those girls are always looking to have fun in our house, so sure, I’ll take you home tonight; come on Eileen, let’s dance, and when I think we’re alone now, I’ll melt with you. You can take my breath away with your open arms and careless whispers, because—I’m so excited—I just want to dance with somebody. Those Bette Davis eyes are invincible though, you heartbreaker, and that’s what keeps me holding on through those manic mondays when I’m stuck in cars having a total eclipse of the heart. “What does love have to do with it?” you ask, oh sweet child o’ mine, which was hitting me with your best shot. “I love you always and forever,” I say, because it must have been love, it was so automatic and like a prayer that had gone crazy on you when I was alone. What about love, that eternal flame that broke my stride? Well, as the saying in those sweet dreams (that are indeed made of this) goes, “Another one bites the dust.”
Monday, April 8, 2013
Bullchaos
by Sherard Harrington
I’m coining a new term that describes the academic model of architectural programs. Let’s call it bullchaos.
Bullchaos is a course load that inhumanely does not expect you to sleep, cook meals, or enjoy any part of society while demanding you to design a space to be inhabited by humanity.
Bullchaos is what happens when you can spend 8 hours on 3 different detailed drawings (each equipped with its own detailed layover diagram, equalling 6 drawings in total) and have your teacher dislike all of them, without offering any constructive criticism.
Bullchaos is when you’ve been going to a school for 9 months and the tech guy you see every other week decides that now, as you sit down on a Sunday (because you’re at school on a Sunday) at the computer lab, which computers have scanners and which ones have rendering software.
Bullchaos is the expectation of proficiency in 4 different softwares, wholesale costing more than your already exorbitant rent—each—in order to work an entry-level position at a firm.
Bullchaos is not having time to apply to said firms.
Bullchaos is hauling a plastic bin with you everywhere you go because your school won’t offer you your own workspace.
Bullchaos is all art stores closing at 6pm on the weekends.
Bullchaos is that stuff that has been metaphorically (because, as another form of bullchaos, architects despise language as communication and rue the concept of hyperbole) heaped onto my front lawn, has been splattered all over the walls—I’ve got some on my shoe—this bullchaos is EVERYWHERE. Bullchaos! This shit is bullchaos!
I’m coining a new term that describes the academic model of architectural programs. Let’s call it bullchaos.
Bullchaos is a course load that inhumanely does not expect you to sleep, cook meals, or enjoy any part of society while demanding you to design a space to be inhabited by humanity.
Bullchaos is what happens when you can spend 8 hours on 3 different detailed drawings (each equipped with its own detailed layover diagram, equalling 6 drawings in total) and have your teacher dislike all of them, without offering any constructive criticism.
Bullchaos is when you’ve been going to a school for 9 months and the tech guy you see every other week decides that now, as you sit down on a Sunday (because you’re at school on a Sunday) at the computer lab, which computers have scanners and which ones have rendering software.
Bullchaos is the expectation of proficiency in 4 different softwares, wholesale costing more than your already exorbitant rent—each—in order to work an entry-level position at a firm.
Bullchaos is not having time to apply to said firms.
Bullchaos is hauling a plastic bin with you everywhere you go because your school won’t offer you your own workspace.
Bullchaos is all art stores closing at 6pm on the weekends.
Bullchaos is that stuff that has been metaphorically (because, as another form of bullchaos, architects despise language as communication and rue the concept of hyperbole) heaped onto my front lawn, has been splattered all over the walls—I’ve got some on my shoe—this bullchaos is EVERYWHERE. Bullchaos! This shit is bullchaos!
Sunday, April 7, 2013
The Voices
by Sherard Harrington
Voice: Oh my God, Sherard, you took an architectural history exam this morning, did your taxes in the afternoon and went into the city to try to do your Rhino software homework on the school computers? You are accomplished. Good for you.
Other Voice: Seriously. And you cleaned and did your laundry too? Ugh, amazing.
Voice: Outstanding. And on a Sunday! And look, he’s still working.
Other Other Voice: I’m so proud of that guy. Really he deserves a break.
Other Voice: A vacation, all expenses paid. Something with hot stone massages.
Voice: And Mai Tais! Can there be Mai Tais?
Other Other Voice: Totally. He should Mai Tai it out.
Other Voice: Boy. He’s about to pull another all-nighter, isn’t he?
Voice: He’s so hardcore.
Other Other Voice: And he looks so cute in that new baseball tee he got at Urban Outfitters.
Voice: The one he got on sale?
Other Voice: Yeah—he’s so savvy.
Voice: Yeah. He loves a good sale.
Other Other Voice: Good for him. I love it.
Voice: Oh my God, Sherard, you took an architectural history exam this morning, did your taxes in the afternoon and went into the city to try to do your Rhino software homework on the school computers? You are accomplished. Good for you.
Other Voice: Seriously. And you cleaned and did your laundry too? Ugh, amazing.
Voice: Outstanding. And on a Sunday! And look, he’s still working.
Other Other Voice: I’m so proud of that guy. Really he deserves a break.
Other Voice: A vacation, all expenses paid. Something with hot stone massages.
Voice: And Mai Tais! Can there be Mai Tais?
Other Other Voice: Totally. He should Mai Tai it out.
Other Voice: Boy. He’s about to pull another all-nighter, isn’t he?
Voice: He’s so hardcore.
Other Other Voice: And he looks so cute in that new baseball tee he got at Urban Outfitters.
Voice: The one he got on sale?
Other Voice: Yeah—he’s so savvy.
Voice: Yeah. He loves a good sale.
Other Other Voice: Good for him. I love it.
Cardboard Monster
by Sherard Harrington
Cardboard Monster! There’s a Cardboard Monster in my room!
Wait....no. Just building another model. Nevermind.
Cardboard Monster! There’s a Cardboard Monster in my room!
Wait....no. Just building another model. Nevermind.
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Checklist
by Sherard Harrington
You know, those moments when I’m feeling stressed out, or overwhelmed, I hear Tamra’s voice in the back of my head asking me three questions:
1) When was the last time you ate some good food?
2) When was the last time you had a drink?
3) When was the last time you saw a naked man?
Remedying one of these always seems to fix the problem.
You know, those moments when I’m feeling stressed out, or overwhelmed, I hear Tamra’s voice in the back of my head asking me three questions:
1) When was the last time you ate some good food?
2) When was the last time you had a drink?
3) When was the last time you saw a naked man?
Remedying one of these always seems to fix the problem.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Anyone Have the Time?
by Sherard Harrington
Bought this cup at Urban Outfitters on Newbury Street/Mass Ave.
Appropriate, am I right? It’s my new water cup. One glass of water for every cup of coffee I force down my gullet to keep up with my schedule.
Bought this cup at Urban Outfitters on Newbury Street/Mass Ave.
Appropriate, am I right? It’s my new water cup. One glass of water for every cup of coffee I force down my gullet to keep up with my schedule.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Entranced by Stone Carving Classes
by Sherard Harrington
So, this past Easter, I ran around desperately trying to find an art store that was open. And there was nothing. I mean, at least stay open for the egg hunters and arts n’ crafters, if not for us architecture students who need random art supplies on demand 24/7 due to bizarre requests from our professors and our chaotic schedules. I deeply considered building a site model out of spaghetti.
Anyway, this atrocity to my schedule (and the disparity of my teachers’ expectations vs. business hours of art stores/what a person can carry home each trip) led me to start hunting for alternative art stores besides my usual haunt, Dick Blick’s in Cambridge off of Central Square. And across the street from them, in a basement, is indeed an indie art store. Squeezing through the homeless people who were waiting around for the 1 bus into town (who I so eloquently refer to as my “homies” given their gregarious nature), I went down into the store and discovered awesomeness.
They sell cardboard and foamboard in different—more manageable to carry—sizes, and they have so much more stuff. In fact, I saw this poster in their stone section (stone section), and I thought, “You know, that seems really awesome.” I think I’m going to try it. Why the hell not, right?
So, this past Easter, I ran around desperately trying to find an art store that was open. And there was nothing. I mean, at least stay open for the egg hunters and arts n’ crafters, if not for us architecture students who need random art supplies on demand 24/7 due to bizarre requests from our professors and our chaotic schedules. I deeply considered building a site model out of spaghetti.
Anyway, this atrocity to my schedule (and the disparity of my teachers’ expectations vs. business hours of art stores/what a person can carry home each trip) led me to start hunting for alternative art stores besides my usual haunt, Dick Blick’s in Cambridge off of Central Square. And across the street from them, in a basement, is indeed an indie art store. Squeezing through the homeless people who were waiting around for the 1 bus into town (who I so eloquently refer to as my “homies” given their gregarious nature), I went down into the store and discovered awesomeness.
They sell cardboard and foamboard in different—more manageable to carry—sizes, and they have so much more stuff. In fact, I saw this poster in their stone section (stone section), and I thought, “You know, that seems really awesome.” I think I’m going to try it. Why the hell not, right?
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Meanwhile, Random Hot Guy with Kitten!
by Sherard Harrington
Just cause =)
Although, I have to admit, I think his cuteness is greatly magnified by the adorably freaked out kitty.
Just cause =)
Although, I have to admit, I think his cuteness is greatly magnified by the adorably freaked out kitty.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Not Too Hot, Not Too Cold
by Tamra Artelia Martin
Is that too much to ask? For weather that doesn't freeze the blackness off of me or heat that puts it back on? It's spring, but cold is everywhere from Boston to Orlando. Spring, I tell you. Spring.
I've always found it odd that intelligent humans depend on groundhogs for weather predictions. These animals are facing the wrath of disappointed followers everywhere. If I was near that inaccurate animal, I'd eat it as punishment.
You know what my dream weather conditions are? A nice 75 to 85 degree range with warm sun and cool breezes. Shorts weather, although I don't wear them. If I found a place like this year-round, you'd have trouble keeping me from moving to it. Add cute guys, beautiful scenery, and some fruity drinks, and I'll advertise it for free. Okay, money's tight, so I'll do it for cheap.
Bye Chai,
Tamra
Is that too much to ask? For weather that doesn't freeze the blackness off of me or heat that puts it back on? It's spring, but cold is everywhere from Boston to Orlando. Spring, I tell you. Spring.
I've always found it odd that intelligent humans depend on groundhogs for weather predictions. These animals are facing the wrath of disappointed followers everywhere. If I was near that inaccurate animal, I'd eat it as punishment.
You know what my dream weather conditions are? A nice 75 to 85 degree range with warm sun and cool breezes. Shorts weather, although I don't wear them. If I found a place like this year-round, you'd have trouble keeping me from moving to it. Add cute guys, beautiful scenery, and some fruity drinks, and I'll advertise it for free. Okay, money's tight, so I'll do it for cheap.
Bye Chai,
Tamra
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Gay Club Memories
by Tamra Artelia Martin
Have you ever compared gay clubs to straight clubs? Fun goes to die in straight bars. There's only dancing, music, and drinks. If one of those three things are messed up, you end up hating the entire experience. Gay clubs are just more exciting.
In gay bars, you get all three plus shows, hot dancers, and fun interactions. Less chance of being bored out of your mind. I should say Florida gay bars are fun because, try as we might, Sherard and I have searched multiple states and haven't found the ones like our usual haunts in the Sunshine State (Mister Sisters RIP).
Sherard and I visited Savoy for his less-than-24-hour visit this week. We enjoyed the nostalgia, familiar (an unfamiliar sights), and our drink of choice: a Dirty Shirley. We ended the night with more drinks, Taco Bell, and a great movie (FYI: For A Good Time, Call... is movie genius, and you should see it). Sometimes all it takes is a decent gay bar, good food, and a great friend. Simple pleasures make life worth it.
Bye Chai,
Tamra
P.S.: If you know of some great clubs (gay or straight), let us know. Our standards are high but flexible.
Have you ever compared gay clubs to straight clubs? Fun goes to die in straight bars. There's only dancing, music, and drinks. If one of those three things are messed up, you end up hating the entire experience. Gay clubs are just more exciting.
In gay bars, you get all three plus shows, hot dancers, and fun interactions. Less chance of being bored out of your mind. I should say Florida gay bars are fun because, try as we might, Sherard and I have searched multiple states and haven't found the ones like our usual haunts in the Sunshine State (Mister Sisters RIP).
Sherard and I visited Savoy for his less-than-24-hour visit this week. We enjoyed the nostalgia, familiar (an unfamiliar sights), and our drink of choice: a Dirty Shirley. We ended the night with more drinks, Taco Bell, and a great movie (FYI: For A Good Time, Call... is movie genius, and you should see it). Sometimes all it takes is a decent gay bar, good food, and a great friend. Simple pleasures make life worth it.
Bye Chai,
Tamra
P.S.: If you know of some great clubs (gay or straight), let us know. Our standards are high but flexible.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Perfect Blog
by Sherard Harrington
I want a blog dedicated to cute guys, Mini Coopers, and puppies. (All in one photo.) LET’S MAKE THIS HAPPEN, PEOPLE. GET THE LEAD OUT.
I want a blog dedicated to cute guys, Mini Coopers, and puppies. (All in one photo.) LET’S MAKE THIS HAPPEN, PEOPLE. GET THE LEAD OUT.
Monday, March 25, 2013
A Recent Textual Conversation
by Sherard Harrington
Sherard Harrington: Do you ever feel like even if there were 7 of you, you still wouldn’t get the work done requested of you? Like Chris Hansen is waiting behind a door somewhere, ready to pop out and say, “What did you expect when you signed on for all these projects? Have a seat. Have a seat right here.”
Genevieve Tyrrell: This is Chris Hansen for Dateline. We’ve been investigating stressed graduate students. Do you have anything to say for yourself wiped out this Sunday, when you really ought to be by yourself getting a hot stone massage?
Sherard Harrington: “I was just being foolish I guess.” Two articles behind for the internship and omg who I would KILL for a hot stone massage. We’re talking dictatorship numbers here.
Sherard Harrington: Do you ever feel like even if there were 7 of you, you still wouldn’t get the work done requested of you? Like Chris Hansen is waiting behind a door somewhere, ready to pop out and say, “What did you expect when you signed on for all these projects? Have a seat. Have a seat right here.”
Genevieve Tyrrell: This is Chris Hansen for Dateline. We’ve been investigating stressed graduate students. Do you have anything to say for yourself wiped out this Sunday, when you really ought to be by yourself getting a hot stone massage?
Sherard Harrington: “I was just being foolish I guess.” Two articles behind for the internship and omg who I would KILL for a hot stone massage. We’re talking dictatorship numbers here.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
God Don’t Like Ugly
by Sherard Harrington
So. Spring Break. Spring Break? Spring Break.
Here’s what was supposed to happen over Spring Break: I was supposed to do my History B paper, and clean, and look for an apartment, and look for a job, and take things easy (somehow...perhaps by going to New York and having a whirlwind adventure where I have drinks with a friend from back home, and I see the city in a different light).
Here’s what really happened over Spring Break: I caught a cold. It snowed (and the snow hung around for the entire week). I had an emotional fling with a guy who lives 4 states away. (Like, what?) I interviewed three artists for my internship but still somehow did not produce a single article. I re-wrote about half of the Campus Climate Action Plan. Did not touch the history paper, nor go anywhere near the broom. Applied to two jobs, with the severe hope that one will hire me. (Given the ratio of jobs applied to/job offers extended in the last 12 months, neither of them will hire me.) Glanced at apartments for rent and turned disgustingly away. Went to the gym once, cause my earphones broke the Friday starting Spring Break, and I was waiting on a new pair. And I went to New York! For one day. Where I spoke to no one. I read my friends’ theses in a tea house in Brooklyn, walked the Brooklyn Bridge, lost complete cell reception in Prospect Park (seriously, AT&T, if ever there was a place in Brooklyn to get raped/shivved/mugged, it’s Prospect Park, and the very second I step foot onto the green, all the bars went flat. Handing you a very pretty WTF card on that one), and went to a museum in Chelsea, just outside of which I saw the following piece of graffiti:
And that was my Spring Break. God Don’t Like Ugly, people. Stay Fat. If only it were that simple.
So. Spring Break. Spring Break? Spring Break.
Here’s what was supposed to happen over Spring Break: I was supposed to do my History B paper, and clean, and look for an apartment, and look for a job, and take things easy (somehow...perhaps by going to New York and having a whirlwind adventure where I have drinks with a friend from back home, and I see the city in a different light).
Here’s what really happened over Spring Break: I caught a cold. It snowed (and the snow hung around for the entire week). I had an emotional fling with a guy who lives 4 states away. (Like, what?) I interviewed three artists for my internship but still somehow did not produce a single article. I re-wrote about half of the Campus Climate Action Plan. Did not touch the history paper, nor go anywhere near the broom. Applied to two jobs, with the severe hope that one will hire me. (Given the ratio of jobs applied to/job offers extended in the last 12 months, neither of them will hire me.) Glanced at apartments for rent and turned disgustingly away. Went to the gym once, cause my earphones broke the Friday starting Spring Break, and I was waiting on a new pair. And I went to New York! For one day. Where I spoke to no one. I read my friends’ theses in a tea house in Brooklyn, walked the Brooklyn Bridge, lost complete cell reception in Prospect Park (seriously, AT&T, if ever there was a place in Brooklyn to get raped/shivved/mugged, it’s Prospect Park, and the very second I step foot onto the green, all the bars went flat. Handing you a very pretty WTF card on that one), and went to a museum in Chelsea, just outside of which I saw the following piece of graffiti:
And that was my Spring Break. God Don’t Like Ugly, people. Stay Fat. If only it were that simple.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Too Busy for Coffee
by Sherard Harrington
You know those days when you’re too busy to even pour yourself a cup of coffee?
*sigh.*
You know those days when you’re too busy to even pour yourself a cup of coffee?
*sigh.*
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Delusions of Minutiae
by Sherard Harrington
You are on the beach. You are on the beach. The water is fair and clear. The sand is gentle and inviting. The air is lightly salty and the breeze is nearly nonexistent.
People run by with their dogs, all smiles. The drink in your hand is fruity. Cool, not cold to the touch. You are in a beach chair. There is an umbrella. The waitstaff are attractive. You like it here. You could live forever here. You’re going to return to your afternoon nap now. The book in your lap—as good as it is—can wait.
One minute passes.
Now go back to work. Back to your all nighter.
You are on the beach. You are on the beach. The water is fair and clear. The sand is gentle and inviting. The air is lightly salty and the breeze is nearly nonexistent.
People run by with their dogs, all smiles. The drink in your hand is fruity. Cool, not cold to the touch. You are in a beach chair. There is an umbrella. The waitstaff are attractive. You like it here. You could live forever here. You’re going to return to your afternoon nap now. The book in your lap—as good as it is—can wait.
One minute passes.
Now go back to work. Back to your all nighter.
Monday, March 4, 2013
Validation!
by Sherard Harrington
You know what made my day today? A rejection letter! I sent them some of my fiction, and they wrote back and said that even though they couldn’t fit it in at that time, I should definitely send them more of my work in the future! I’ve been urged—by an editor—to submit work to a literary magazine. Posh!
They also sent me one of their reviewer’s comments along with the rejection letter. This is what actually made my day. Lily Tomlin? Awesome.
Just when you think that no one likes your writing, you know?
—
P.S. Spring Break is actually next next week. In my face. But I don’t care cause I just got awesomely rejected.
You know what made my day today? A rejection letter! I sent them some of my fiction, and they wrote back and said that even though they couldn’t fit it in at that time, I should definitely send them more of my work in the future! I’ve been urged—by an editor—to submit work to a literary magazine. Posh!
They also sent me one of their reviewer’s comments along with the rejection letter. This is what actually made my day. Lily Tomlin? Awesome.
Just when you think that no one likes your writing, you know?
—
P.S. Spring Break is actually next next week. In my face. But I don’t care cause I just got awesomely rejected.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Another Day, Another Lunch
by Sherard Harrington
I take pictures of lunch because it would otherwise be pictures of me gluing pieces of cardboard together, wiping off glue, measuring millimeters and half millimeters, or running out to the art store for more basswood. Today it’s coffee, grilled cheese, and tomato soup.
I just really really hope that in the end, it’s all worth it. I worked quite hard for my first masters, and that has led me nowhere so far. (Unless you think that interning at two different magazines is an economically stable way to make a living.) Career wise, I haven’t quite gotten my foot into any door. I’ve stepped up on a few patios. I’ve strolled down a few sidewalks, but no doors yet.
Maybe I’m the one who needs a lit candle. My wick’s getting pretty low. I’m so ready for Spring Break. One more week!
I take pictures of lunch because it would otherwise be pictures of me gluing pieces of cardboard together, wiping off glue, measuring millimeters and half millimeters, or running out to the art store for more basswood. Today it’s coffee, grilled cheese, and tomato soup.
I just really really hope that in the end, it’s all worth it. I worked quite hard for my first masters, and that has led me nowhere so far. (Unless you think that interning at two different magazines is an economically stable way to make a living.) Career wise, I haven’t quite gotten my foot into any door. I’ve stepped up on a few patios. I’ve strolled down a few sidewalks, but no doors yet.
Maybe I’m the one who needs a lit candle. My wick’s getting pretty low. I’m so ready for Spring Break. One more week!
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Stalwart, Young Soldiers
by Sherard Harrington
Within the course of this week, a friend had a baby, another had a medical emergency (I’m not doubling up here—these were two separate people), another produced a Masters thesis, another deflected an argument with a man prone to domestic violence, and another kissed me on my doorstep in the snow.
This probably just means I have too many friends, right?
Genevieve Tyrrell, author extraordinaire, shot me a message and asked me to say a prayer. For all of my amigos, I’m lighting a candle. May you make it through this week with the grace and tenacity innate in you—that kernel of awesomeness that first attracted me to you. You are wonderful, and you never hear that enough.
Within the course of this week, a friend had a baby, another had a medical emergency (I’m not doubling up here—these were two separate people), another produced a Masters thesis, another deflected an argument with a man prone to domestic violence, and another kissed me on my doorstep in the snow.
This probably just means I have too many friends, right?
Genevieve Tyrrell, author extraordinaire, shot me a message and asked me to say a prayer. For all of my amigos, I’m lighting a candle. May you make it through this week with the grace and tenacity innate in you—that kernel of awesomeness that first attracted me to you. You are wonderful, and you never hear that enough.
Monday, February 25, 2013
AWP Next Week(?!)
by Sherard Harrington
How is AWP (The Association of Writers & Writing Programs) next week? Do you know how ready for that I am?
Not. <~That’s the level of preparation I’m in.
March, you’re a sneaky one.
How is AWP (The Association of Writers & Writing Programs) next week? Do you know how ready for that I am?
Not. <~That’s the level of preparation I’m in.
March, you’re a sneaky one.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Ugh, Feelings. And Having Them. (Am I Right?)
by Sherard Harrington
I’m a Letters in the Mail subscriber, and today I spent a good hour or two responding to Elissa Bassist, who wrote an incredibly charming (and vaguely seething) letter about her ex-boyfriend.
And then mine called me today.
I didn’t pick up.
And her letter got me thinking about all of my ex-boyfriends, and what they have in common, and what they don’t, and all of...what could have been, which is the most evil mind trap of them all. Which is a shame, because she seems like such a witty writer; why incite so much pain into the hearts of your readers Elissa Bassist?!
Which of course, only enforces the knowledge that she’s a witty writer. She made me feel different from how I felt when I started her letter. That’s the whole point of good writing, really.
I curse you all to think about your exboyfriends for the rest of the day. My misery brought dessert.
I’m a Letters in the Mail subscriber, and today I spent a good hour or two responding to Elissa Bassist, who wrote an incredibly charming (and vaguely seething) letter about her ex-boyfriend.
And then mine called me today.
I didn’t pick up.
And her letter got me thinking about all of my ex-boyfriends, and what they have in common, and what they don’t, and all of...what could have been, which is the most evil mind trap of them all. Which is a shame, because she seems like such a witty writer; why incite so much pain into the hearts of your readers Elissa Bassist?!
Which of course, only enforces the knowledge that she’s a witty writer. She made me feel different from how I felt when I started her letter. That’s the whole point of good writing, really.
I curse you all to think about your exboyfriends for the rest of the day. My misery brought dessert.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Eh Eh Eh! (Physics)
by Sherard Harrington
My days are starting to look like unfolded cut sections. (In other words, are starting to flow into each other.)
Today I’ve got an art gallery opening in the boonies that opens at 4, and then be back for Physics class at 7pm, and then show my face at the CBC at 11, and then do my studio homework that’s due at 9am tomorrow, and when studio’s finished, I’ve got to study for my Architectural History exam. So...it’s kind of non-stop through the night into another day of work. Unfolded cut section.
Right now I’m doing the Physics homework and then I’m going to study for the Physics test tonight before heading out to the gallery in the early afternoon.
This is how Physics makes me feel:
My days are starting to look like unfolded cut sections. (In other words, are starting to flow into each other.)
Today I’ve got an art gallery opening in the boonies that opens at 4, and then be back for Physics class at 7pm, and then show my face at the CBC at 11, and then do my studio homework that’s due at 9am tomorrow, and when studio’s finished, I’ve got to study for my Architectural History exam. So...it’s kind of non-stop through the night into another day of work. Unfolded cut section.
Right now I’m doing the Physics homework and then I’m going to study for the Physics test tonight before heading out to the gallery in the early afternoon.
This is how Physics makes me feel:
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Facebook Disappoints
by Sherard Harrington
So, went in and changed my relationship status to “single” on Facebook today. And I thought I had managed to hide the switch, but apparently not.
Why doesn’t Facebook have some sort of delayed posting option, or like a cloaked posting option? My boyfriend and I broke up. It sucked. I wallowed. Time to move on. I don’t need the friends I didn’t tell trying to comfort me now. Just because I switched my relationship status and I don’t want anyone to know I switched it doesn’t mean I should have to hide my status to accomplish this. There’s the difference between the figure and how the figure is handled. Get with the times Facebook.
(Actually, I mentioned Xanga last week to a group of 20-somethings, and they all gave me that deer in headlights look. So, maybe I’m the one who needs to get with the times. Just have a public breakup. Go Jerry on this. ...is that show still on, by the way?)
So, went in and changed my relationship status to “single” on Facebook today. And I thought I had managed to hide the switch, but apparently not.
Why doesn’t Facebook have some sort of delayed posting option, or like a cloaked posting option? My boyfriend and I broke up. It sucked. I wallowed. Time to move on. I don’t need the friends I didn’t tell trying to comfort me now. Just because I switched my relationship status and I don’t want anyone to know I switched it doesn’t mean I should have to hide my status to accomplish this. There’s the difference between the figure and how the figure is handled. Get with the times Facebook.
(Actually, I mentioned Xanga last week to a group of 20-somethings, and they all gave me that deer in headlights look. So, maybe I’m the one who needs to get with the times. Just have a public breakup. Go Jerry on this. ...is that show still on, by the way?)
Monday, February 18, 2013
All Dressed Up
By Sherard Harrington
All dressed up and no where to go today. (Screw you presidents! If it wasn’t for the awesome contributions you’ve made to society, I’d spit on your graves.)
So instead, I stayed in and basically just worked on studio work. Check out the little people hanging out in my marble model section! I’ve decided that the people on the right have just gotten their business proposal accepted, and the dude on the far left is running to go tell their other business partner (offscreen).
...maybe later I’ll go to the grocery store and see if any of the Bavarian Tarts are on discount. And then stuff my face with one.
All dressed up and no where to go today. (Screw you presidents! If it wasn’t for the awesome contributions you’ve made to society, I’d spit on your graves.)
So instead, I stayed in and basically just worked on studio work. Check out the little people hanging out in my marble model section! I’ve decided that the people on the right have just gotten their business proposal accepted, and the dude on the far left is running to go tell their other business partner (offscreen).
...maybe later I’ll go to the grocery store and see if any of the Bavarian Tarts are on discount. And then stuff my face with one.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Letter to the Weather
by Sherard Harrington
Dear Snow,
Wait your damn turn. Let the last snow who came in here melt away before you start touching things with your grubby, insensitive fingers.
Dear Snow,
Wait your damn turn. Let the last snow who came in here melt away before you start touching things with your grubby, insensitive fingers.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
What You Need to Get Over a Break-Up
by Sherard Harrington
My boyfriend and I broke up. Here’s what’s been helping out:
-Bavarian tarts
-Reruns of Daria
-Lots of schoolwork
-Tiramisu
-Friends who tell me to stop wallowing
-Friends who take me out to movies
-Gum
-A sense of humor
-Reading Lorrie Moore
-New hairdo (if you can call growing it out a new hairdo)
-Reruns of South Park
-Avoiding the radio
-Snow
-White wine sangria
-Memorizing poetry
-Sea salt brownies
-Coffee
-An entire day lying in bed
-Friends who brought me chocolate for Valentine’s Day (goes well with the coffee—just let it melt in your mouth while you’re sipping the black stuff)
-Cleaning
-Chocolate chip cookies.
My boyfriend and I broke up. Here’s what’s been helping out:
-Bavarian tarts
-Reruns of Daria
-Lots of schoolwork
-Tiramisu
-Friends who tell me to stop wallowing
-Friends who take me out to movies
-Gum
-A sense of humor
-Reading Lorrie Moore
-New hairdo (if you can call growing it out a new hairdo)
-Reruns of South Park
-Avoiding the radio
-Snow
-White wine sangria
-Memorizing poetry
-Sea salt brownies
-Coffee
-An entire day lying in bed
-Friends who brought me chocolate for Valentine’s Day (goes well with the coffee—just let it melt in your mouth while you’re sipping the black stuff)
-Cleaning
-Chocolate chip cookies.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Happy Valentine’s Day! (Part 2!)
by Sherard Harrington
*ahem* Okay, a little bit more appropriate.
I’m day dreaming, and I’m thinking of you. And I want that guy’s hair. GIVE ME YOUR AWESOME HAIR. Day dreaming and I’m thinking of you.
(Or maybe that back up singer’s dreads. I’m not picky.)
*ahem* Okay, a little bit more appropriate.
I’m day dreaming, and I’m thinking of you. And I want that guy’s hair. GIVE ME YOUR AWESOME HAIR. Day dreaming and I’m thinking of you.
(Or maybe that back up singer’s dreads. I’m not picky.)
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Dead Bond Girls and STDs
by Tamra Artelia Martin
So I saw the Bond film Skyfall at the dollar theater a couple of days ago. (Yes, I know it came out on DVD, but I'd rather pay $2 to see it at the cheap theater on a big screen.) Spoiler Alert or Not, Beware. One of the Bond Girls dies.
Then I realized that Bond has sex with a Bond Girl at least once or twice in each movie varying anywhere between 1-2 girls. Later, one of those Bond Girls always dies tragically or disappears forever. Now, this could be a scriptwriter's joke (or the author's, since the series started with books I have no time to read) saying any girl who gets frisky with Bond dies.
Bond had sex twice (almost three times, but the black Bond Girl had sense enough to say no. Kudos for her.) in Skyfall. The odds for these girls are not good, but it made me think of a Saturday Night Live skit I saw years ago when they made fun of Bond and the STDs he'd have from all the sex he loves promoting. I can't find the video, but if you do, watch it. Instead, I found the script. So worth reading!
SNL Bond STD Skit
http://snltranscripts.jt.org/99/99ebond.phtml
After this came to memory, I realized the fate of Bond Girls is not really a good thing. You either (1) die a tragic and memorable death after having sex with the most popular spy ever, (2) earn an STD that's memorable each day after you've had sex with the most popular spy ever, or (3) get off lucky and disappear from the Bond franchise forever with your legs closed and life in tact when you refuse the most popular spy ever.
Let's see. What would I choose? It's so hard (Take that as you will)! Guess it's good to think about precautions and aftermath as we approach Valentine's Day.
Bye Chai,
Tamra
So I saw the Bond film Skyfall at the dollar theater a couple of days ago. (Yes, I know it came out on DVD, but I'd rather pay $2 to see it at the cheap theater on a big screen.) Spoiler Alert or Not, Beware. One of the Bond Girls dies.
Then I realized that Bond has sex with a Bond Girl at least once or twice in each movie varying anywhere between 1-2 girls. Later, one of those Bond Girls always dies tragically or disappears forever. Now, this could be a scriptwriter's joke (or the author's, since the series started with books I have no time to read) saying any girl who gets frisky with Bond dies.
Bond had sex twice (almost three times, but the black Bond Girl had sense enough to say no. Kudos for her.) in Skyfall. The odds for these girls are not good, but it made me think of a Saturday Night Live skit I saw years ago when they made fun of Bond and the STDs he'd have from all the sex he loves promoting. I can't find the video, but if you do, watch it. Instead, I found the script. So worth reading!
SNL Bond STD Skit
http://snltranscripts.jt.org/99/99ebond.phtml
After this came to memory, I realized the fate of Bond Girls is not really a good thing. You either (1) die a tragic and memorable death after having sex with the most popular spy ever, (2) earn an STD that's memorable each day after you've had sex with the most popular spy ever, or (3) get off lucky and disappear from the Bond franchise forever with your legs closed and life in tact when you refuse the most popular spy ever.
Let's see. What would I choose? It's so hard (Take that as you will)! Guess it's good to think about precautions and aftermath as we approach Valentine's Day.
Bye Chai,
Tamra
Friday, February 8, 2013
Good Friends...
by Sherard Harrington
Good friends text you to see how you’re doing. Great friends call you from Australia, just to say “hey.”
Good friends share music with you they really like. Great friends read erotic poetry to you on your voicemail.
Good friends get you a thank you card. Great friends get you the only card in the store with a half-naked man on the cover.
These aren’t just generic quips to base your friend levels on. These are facts. My facts, anyway. And I have some pretty great friends.
Good friends text you to see how you’re doing. Great friends call you from Australia, just to say “hey.”
Good friends share music with you they really like. Great friends read erotic poetry to you on your voicemail.
Good friends get you a thank you card. Great friends get you the only card in the store with a half-naked man on the cover.
These aren’t just generic quips to base your friend levels on. These are facts. My facts, anyway. And I have some pretty great friends.
Thursday, February 7, 2013
The ABC of Architects
by Sherard Harrington
IS THIS NOT AWESOME?!?!!??!
(Architecture students with positive attitudes say yes.)
I feel especially excited because I’ve heard of about half of them already, and I’m only in my first year.
IS THIS NOT AWESOME?!?!!??!
(Architecture students with positive attitudes say yes.)
I feel especially excited because I’ve heard of about half of them already, and I’m only in my first year.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
“Oops,” and “Oh,” Says Sherard
by Sherard Harrington
Oops. Missed a day. Well, you saw my aforementioned admission of exhaustion.
Here’s what I’ve been up to—I have been chosen to participate in a Gateway Project! (What’s a Gateway Project?) Omg, funny of you to ask. So, a Gateway Project is kind of like that mid-step between working in a classroom and working in the field as an architect understudy of sorts. A Gateway Project is a semester long project where chosen students help out a firm, or a school, or a committee, doing things anywhere from redesigning a cafeteria for a school with students who have Autism to studying traffic flow in a square to see if an extra road is either necessary or even possible to incorporate.
Basically, a Gateway Project is the chance to intern. And I’m doing that. (Be proud—I’m getting practice experience.)
So, I am on a team of people who have drafted and are starting the process to implement a Climate Action Plan, which is this thing that a bunch of universities have signed in an attempt to lower their net carbon emissions over the next few decades. And I have been editing that.
And I’ve also been building more models for school. I’m really proud of this one. I don’t know why.
I think it’s the regal cardboard strip that prevents the marble from escaping down a design hole. Oops on that too!
Oh, and by the way, I don’t know why I chose today of all the days, but I’m drinking “LVP” tea from The Hooker Tea Company, which stands for Lavender-Vanilla Rooibos-Peppermint, which I absolutely love. Best tea blend I have ever tasted. It’s just one of those days I guess. And it’s made more special by the fact that you have to go in-store to get it. (And the store is 1,300+ miles away, back home in St. Petersburg, Florida.)
Hehe, Hooker.
Oops. Missed a day. Well, you saw my aforementioned admission of exhaustion.
Here’s what I’ve been up to—I have been chosen to participate in a Gateway Project! (What’s a Gateway Project?) Omg, funny of you to ask. So, a Gateway Project is kind of like that mid-step between working in a classroom and working in the field as an architect understudy of sorts. A Gateway Project is a semester long project where chosen students help out a firm, or a school, or a committee, doing things anywhere from redesigning a cafeteria for a school with students who have Autism to studying traffic flow in a square to see if an extra road is either necessary or even possible to incorporate.
Basically, a Gateway Project is the chance to intern. And I’m doing that. (Be proud—I’m getting practice experience.)
So, I am on a team of people who have drafted and are starting the process to implement a Climate Action Plan, which is this thing that a bunch of universities have signed in an attempt to lower their net carbon emissions over the next few decades. And I have been editing that.
And I’ve also been building more models for school. I’m really proud of this one. I don’t know why.
I think it’s the regal cardboard strip that prevents the marble from escaping down a design hole. Oops on that too!
Oh, and by the way, I don’t know why I chose today of all the days, but I’m drinking “LVP” tea from The Hooker Tea Company, which stands for Lavender-Vanilla Rooibos-Peppermint, which I absolutely love. Best tea blend I have ever tasted. It’s just one of those days I guess. And it’s made more special by the fact that you have to go in-store to get it. (And the store is 1,300+ miles away, back home in St. Petersburg, Florida.)
Hehe, Hooker.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Exhausted
by Sherard Harrington
Tonight I came home after being on campus for over 12 hours, turned on the heat, put on my robe, and crawled into bed. Why does exhaustion sleep feel so good? My anti-drug drug.
Tonight I came home after being on campus for over 12 hours, turned on the heat, put on my robe, and crawled into bed. Why does exhaustion sleep feel so good? My anti-drug drug.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Shortest Month Comes as Surprise
by Sherard Harrington
Omg, How is it February already?!
I ordered the 2013 calendar for my personal planner. Hasn’t arrived yet. I’m actually, sorta, vaguely legitimately shocked it’s February already.
Well. No turning back the clock now. Look for one or both of the magazines I work for to go public this month. And for some red balloons. I’ll probably have nothing to do with them, but it’s nice to have something to look for.
Omg, How is it February already?!
I ordered the 2013 calendar for my personal planner. Hasn’t arrived yet. I’m actually, sorta, vaguely legitimately shocked it’s February already.
Well. No turning back the clock now. Look for one or both of the magazines I work for to go public this month. And for some red balloons. I’ll probably have nothing to do with them, but it’s nice to have something to look for.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Desk at Lunchtime
by Sherard Harrington
This is basically what my desk looks like these days.
Building models. Eating grilled cheese sandwiches. Drinking tea. Staring out the window.
This is basically what my desk looks like these days.
Building models. Eating grilled cheese sandwiches. Drinking tea. Staring out the window.
Friday, February 1, 2013
Student Caught Knocking Over Art Supplies
by Sherard Harrington
I don’t know what it is, but ever since I’ve started up school again (M.Arch. program at the Boston Architectural College, first year), I’ve been really klutzy. I’ve been knocking over drawing tubes, leaving my water bottle everywhere, losing hats—just yesterday I dropped my camera in the ICA (Institute of Contemporary Art). Thank God the darn thing’s indestructible, because that was not the first time. But nevertheless, it was batteries and the cap and the charger just everywhere in the main lobby. Not doing so hot if my aim was the sophisticated, classy look.
I don’t know what it is, but ever since I’ve started up school again (M.Arch. program at the Boston Architectural College, first year), I’ve been really klutzy. I’ve been knocking over drawing tubes, leaving my water bottle everywhere, losing hats—just yesterday I dropped my camera in the ICA (Institute of Contemporary Art). Thank God the darn thing’s indestructible, because that was not the first time. But nevertheless, it was batteries and the cap and the charger just everywhere in the main lobby. Not doing so hot if my aim was the sophisticated, classy look.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Airplane Game Found Amusing
by Sherard Harrington
Okay. I don’t know what it is about them, but I love airplane games. Not pilot games, but airplane games.
I think it all started with this online computer game called “Now Boarding,” which I actually bought after playing the free version. (Talk about commitment, right?) You essentially own an airline company, and you fly your planes around and try to pick up all the passengers before they freak out from waiting too long. (They get progressively angrier until their heads blow up. Sounds accurate.) I remember just loving the jazzy background music.
Then it was “Airport Madness,” the Air Traffic Control Game, where the goal was more so to make the flights take off and land without crashing into each other while the flights get more intermittent. I couldn’t have been the only one playing this one, since they went from version one to version four, most of which I’m pretty sure are still free to play online.
And then I forked over 99 cents to try out “FlightControl” for the iPhone, which...let’s be honest, wasn’t worth the price. It’s only landing flights, and you have to drag the planes across the screen to create the flight path. It’s...simple. And...I don’t know. Not cute enough.
But then I found “PocketPlanes,” which was much more my speed (a.k.a., free). Another iPhone game, but with this one you get to peak inside each of the airports you purchase access to, and they all have adorably bizarre info screens. Like, Saskatoon in Canada reads, “Saskatoon boasts the only burlesque group in the prairies, the Rosebud Burlesque,” or Chicago’s is “Chicago has many nicknames, including ‘Chi-town,’ ‘Windy City,’ ’Second City,’ and the ‘City of Big Shoulders.’” The game’s a great little stress reliever that’s non-demanding and not incredibly time consuming. Something simple, like...running an airline.
I was once told I had a dictatorship complex.
And the passengers (unlike all the other games I’ve played, “PocketPlanes” gives names to the passengers. And, you can also move cargo, which is another aspect previously unavailable to me) have a little section where they comment on the flights, usually a conjecture with whatever cargo you’re carrying on that flight. And the little section is called, “BitBook,” which is a blatant rip off of Facebook. Usually I ignore it because it has nothing to do with gameplay, but this one caught my eye.
Ugh. Lillie Freeman, so TRUE! I’m using that one day.
Okay. I don’t know what it is about them, but I love airplane games. Not pilot games, but airplane games.
I think it all started with this online computer game called “Now Boarding,” which I actually bought after playing the free version. (Talk about commitment, right?) You essentially own an airline company, and you fly your planes around and try to pick up all the passengers before they freak out from waiting too long. (They get progressively angrier until their heads blow up. Sounds accurate.) I remember just loving the jazzy background music.
Then it was “Airport Madness,” the Air Traffic Control Game, where the goal was more so to make the flights take off and land without crashing into each other while the flights get more intermittent. I couldn’t have been the only one playing this one, since they went from version one to version four, most of which I’m pretty sure are still free to play online.
And then I forked over 99 cents to try out “FlightControl” for the iPhone, which...let’s be honest, wasn’t worth the price. It’s only landing flights, and you have to drag the planes across the screen to create the flight path. It’s...simple. And...I don’t know. Not cute enough.
But then I found “PocketPlanes,” which was much more my speed (a.k.a., free). Another iPhone game, but with this one you get to peak inside each of the airports you purchase access to, and they all have adorably bizarre info screens. Like, Saskatoon in Canada reads, “Saskatoon boasts the only burlesque group in the prairies, the Rosebud Burlesque,” or Chicago’s is “Chicago has many nicknames, including ‘Chi-town,’ ‘Windy City,’ ’Second City,’ and the ‘City of Big Shoulders.’” The game’s a great little stress reliever that’s non-demanding and not incredibly time consuming. Something simple, like...running an airline.
I was once told I had a dictatorship complex.
And the passengers (unlike all the other games I’ve played, “PocketPlanes” gives names to the passengers. And, you can also move cargo, which is another aspect previously unavailable to me) have a little section where they comment on the flights, usually a conjecture with whatever cargo you’re carrying on that flight. And the little section is called, “BitBook,” which is a blatant rip off of Facebook. Usually I ignore it because it has nothing to do with gameplay, but this one caught my eye.
Ugh. Lillie Freeman, so TRUE! I’m using that one day.
Neither business nor pleasure.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Writer Experiences Hair Envy
by Sherard Harrington
Every four months or so—right around the time I need to get a haircut—I have a serious serious internal debate about doing something with my hair.
Growing up as a military brat it was always no question, nolo contendere, that my hair was to be kept short and neat and plain. So the few chances I had to do fun things with it growing up (like straightening it in 4th grade, or twists in undergrad, or dreads at the beginning of grad school), I went for it. But every time, I’d look at a picture of myself and think, “really? That’s what my hair looks like? I look messy. I look messy all the time. I need a haircut,” and that would be the end of it.
But every so often I come across a guy with long dreadlocks, or a notably large afro, and all polite stranger interaction goes out the door. All of a sudden, curiosity overtakes me and I’m saying things like, “What products do you use?” “Did you do that yourself?” “How do you maintain that?” “WHAT IS YOUR SECRET?!”
Truth be told, I feel as though I’m too short to successfully pull off long hair. But damn do I want it. I want good hair so bad.
Every four months or so—right around the time I need to get a haircut—I have a serious serious internal debate about doing something with my hair.
Growing up as a military brat it was always no question, nolo contendere, that my hair was to be kept short and neat and plain. So the few chances I had to do fun things with it growing up (like straightening it in 4th grade, or twists in undergrad, or dreads at the beginning of grad school), I went for it. But every time, I’d look at a picture of myself and think, “really? That’s what my hair looks like? I look messy. I look messy all the time. I need a haircut,” and that would be the end of it.
But every so often I come across a guy with long dreadlocks, or a notably large afro, and all polite stranger interaction goes out the door. All of a sudden, curiosity overtakes me and I’m saying things like, “What products do you use?” “Did you do that yourself?” “How do you maintain that?” “WHAT IS YOUR SECRET?!”
Truth be told, I feel as though I’m too short to successfully pull off long hair. But damn do I want it. I want good hair so bad.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
“Sit on my Face” a Success
by Sherard Harrington
This week I went to the Brattle Theater in Harvard Square and saw a double feature—The Life of Brian, and A Liar’s Autobiography, both by the same men responsible for the infamous Monty Python skits, movies, shows, etc.
The Brattle Theater is amazing, because it’s an actual “theatre.” As in, main floor and balcony seating, an actual stage, and only one screen to talk about. And then the Creative Director of the theater came on stage and introduced the film on microphone, doing the usual “no talking, phones on silent please, popcorn in the lobby downstairs” spiel that’s almost always left to pre-movie slideshows. And they’re airing things like....Monty Python, for crying out loud. For Valentine’s Day, they’re doing Casablanca. I actually think it’d be a good date option, for my two cents.
(Speaking of money, it’s actually a cheap theater, and with a student ID discount, which is rare to find in Boston since “everyone” here’s a student.)
I hadn’t seen either film. I was a fan of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and that was my the limit to my knowledge of the genre. But Nora and Bill, who invited me, were aficionados and explained to me that diehard Python fans were fairly split in “Holy Grail” or “Life of Brian” camps. And just before the film began, they had a quick conversation about how controversial The Life of Brian was. They quickly agreed that if the film was a script today, it wouldn’t get made; it was that simple.
And now I understand why.
The Life of Brian is so tongue and cheek with the Christian religion that it would undoubtedly become an uproar of a film if placed in theaters nationwide. I imagine it was the very same back when it had been produced. And it occurred to me in the middle of it that Nora, seated to my left, was Jewish. And Bill, seated to my right, was also Jewish. My only two Jewish friends in the Boston area were hanging out with me, watching the three Wise Men screw up their expensive deliveries. And I wondered what role that played in their interest in the film; in contemporary Judaism doctrine—I am told—pupils are actively encouraged to be skeptical of all religions, including their own. And with this experience of religious scrutiny under their belts, I wondered if they were better equipped to see the playfulness in the jests and jabs of the movie than your average devout Christian.
And then I remembered that they’re both incredibly knowledgeable in musicals and broadway shows, and perhaps just really appreciated the pivotal musical number when Brian was being crucified.
But what really caught my attention was A Liar’s Autobiography, which is a film made last year in dedication to Graham Chapman, using the audiotapes he created before his death in 1989. The film was a compilation of several different animation companies, creating a hodgepodge of different animation styles, which is a very unique thing to watch. In true Python style (for me), there were moments that were absolutely entertaining, and moments that really stood out there on the limb. But if The Life of Brian would have been controversial, I feel as though A Liar’s Autobiography would have be burned and buried in a mound in someone’s backyard. The sex scenes! The musical, musical sex scenes! When I sat down in the theater, this card was attached to the seat:
And the flip side contains the lyrics of the singalong. (Yes, we were encouraged to sing along. No, I don’t think anyone actually did. But yes, I had a hard time not singing aloud to the catchy tune while going home on the subway. Awkward.) The sing along lyrics go a little something like this:
Oh, here’s a video of them singing it, so you can have the tune stuck in your head too. (It’s not the piece from the film, but it’s still vaguely NSFW, depending on your stringency of butt protocol.)
There’s just so much about Monty Python and their late 80s British comedy style that’s worth analyzation. I’m sure someone somewhere has written a thesis about it. But when we get past the sex (easy) and even the religion (done), and the artwork of the animation (not so easy, but bear with me temporarily), what we have with A Liar’s Autobiography is a narration that is mostly true, but brazenly untrue. That sort of toying with the lines of fact and fiction is daring. I left the film with a strong sense of what was true, but unsure about which moments were untrue. And I left the film with the understanding that not knowing which was which didn’t mess with my conception of the takeaway value. For a guy like me—who loves to do a little research—that’s a pretty powerful achievement.
....So sit on my face, and let my lips embrace you~......
This week I went to the Brattle Theater in Harvard Square and saw a double feature—The Life of Brian, and A Liar’s Autobiography, both by the same men responsible for the infamous Monty Python skits, movies, shows, etc.
The Brattle Theater is amazing, because it’s an actual “theatre.” As in, main floor and balcony seating, an actual stage, and only one screen to talk about. And then the Creative Director of the theater came on stage and introduced the film on microphone, doing the usual “no talking, phones on silent please, popcorn in the lobby downstairs” spiel that’s almost always left to pre-movie slideshows. And they’re airing things like....Monty Python, for crying out loud. For Valentine’s Day, they’re doing Casablanca. I actually think it’d be a good date option, for my two cents.
(Speaking of money, it’s actually a cheap theater, and with a student ID discount, which is rare to find in Boston since “everyone” here’s a student.)
I hadn’t seen either film. I was a fan of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and that was my the limit to my knowledge of the genre. But Nora and Bill, who invited me, were aficionados and explained to me that diehard Python fans were fairly split in “Holy Grail” or “Life of Brian” camps. And just before the film began, they had a quick conversation about how controversial The Life of Brian was. They quickly agreed that if the film was a script today, it wouldn’t get made; it was that simple.
And now I understand why.
The Life of Brian is so tongue and cheek with the Christian religion that it would undoubtedly become an uproar of a film if placed in theaters nationwide. I imagine it was the very same back when it had been produced. And it occurred to me in the middle of it that Nora, seated to my left, was Jewish. And Bill, seated to my right, was also Jewish. My only two Jewish friends in the Boston area were hanging out with me, watching the three Wise Men screw up their expensive deliveries. And I wondered what role that played in their interest in the film; in contemporary Judaism doctrine—I am told—pupils are actively encouraged to be skeptical of all religions, including their own. And with this experience of religious scrutiny under their belts, I wondered if they were better equipped to see the playfulness in the jests and jabs of the movie than your average devout Christian.
And then I remembered that they’re both incredibly knowledgeable in musicals and broadway shows, and perhaps just really appreciated the pivotal musical number when Brian was being crucified.
But what really caught my attention was A Liar’s Autobiography, which is a film made last year in dedication to Graham Chapman, using the audiotapes he created before his death in 1989. The film was a compilation of several different animation companies, creating a hodgepodge of different animation styles, which is a very unique thing to watch. In true Python style (for me), there were moments that were absolutely entertaining, and moments that really stood out there on the limb. But if The Life of Brian would have been controversial, I feel as though A Liar’s Autobiography would have be burned and buried in a mound in someone’s backyard. The sex scenes! The musical, musical sex scenes! When I sat down in the theater, this card was attached to the seat:
It reads, “‘I had no idea until recently that Graham Chapman is in fact dead—I thought he was just being lazy,’ MONTY PYTHON’S TERRY JONES”
And the flip side contains the lyrics of the singalong. (Yes, we were encouraged to sing along. No, I don’t think anyone actually did. But yes, I had a hard time not singing aloud to the catchy tune while going home on the subway. Awkward.) The sing along lyrics go a little something like this:
Sit on my face
I’ll sit on your face
And tell you I love you, too.
I love to hear you o-ra-lize,
When I’m between your thighs,
You blow me awaaay.
Sit on my face
And let my lips embrace you,
I’ll sit on your face
And then I’ll love you tru-ly.
Life can be fine, if we both 69,
If we sit on our faces
In all sorts of places
And play...’till we’re blown awaaaay.
Oh, here’s a video of them singing it, so you can have the tune stuck in your head too. (It’s not the piece from the film, but it’s still vaguely NSFW, depending on your stringency of butt protocol.)
There’s just so much about Monty Python and their late 80s British comedy style that’s worth analyzation. I’m sure someone somewhere has written a thesis about it. But when we get past the sex (easy) and even the religion (done), and the artwork of the animation (not so easy, but bear with me temporarily), what we have with A Liar’s Autobiography is a narration that is mostly true, but brazenly untrue. That sort of toying with the lines of fact and fiction is daring. I left the film with a strong sense of what was true, but unsure about which moments were untrue. And I left the film with the understanding that not knowing which was which didn’t mess with my conception of the takeaway value. For a guy like me—who loves to do a little research—that’s a pretty powerful achievement.
....So sit on my face, and let my lips embrace you~......
Monday, January 28, 2013
A Boston Love Story
by Sherard Harrington
Setting: The subway, approx. 15 min ago.
Girl meets boy. Boy pulls out e-reader. Girl looks forlorn.
-scene-
Setting: The subway, approx. 15 min ago.
Girl meets boy. Boy pulls out e-reader. Girl looks forlorn.
-scene-
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Model Behavior
by Sherard Harrington
On the bookshelf I built (it leans dramatically to the left, and threatens to collapse under the collective weight of Flynn, Karr, Handler, Wolff, Foster Wallace, and a few other likable kooks), there is a picture my mother took of my cousin and I at the Guggenheim. I’m standing there, smiling, next to my cousin, who at 6’2 was a track star in high school, who then graduated into modeling, followed by acting, to include several actual acting gigs, notably for me as an extra in Law & Order. He’s the New York to my Boston (literally). The three piece suit to my flip flops and ripped jeans. Quite frankly, compared to him, I am the black sheep.
And nothing was more liberating than that realization in my conservative family. I had a free pass to mess up because even doing my best I would still be standing in his shadow (also literally, the tall bastard). With all eyes on him, I was free to develop my own thing.
And of course my own thing got me nowhere, as these stories go, but I’ve had fun carving out my own path and discovering what works for me and what doesn’t. For example, I’m absolutely loving my studio professor and her take on teaching. This week’s project is to take an 11x17 bristol board and turn it into a veritable marble maze—we have to get a marble to start at one end of the paper and stop on the other, while moving at two different speeds, and explore encasement/exposure. It’s all about considering volume and form and space in a different light. I’ve got to come up with two more models for Monday, but here’s my first one so far.
Eh, eh? What do you think? I think I might get lampooned for it being too symmetrical, but...who cares? I made it, and I think it’s awesome.
Ok, I care, and will work against that for the next model. Twist my arm why don’t you.
But later on today, I’m going to go to my first cold read, for—get this—a Law & Order spoof. They’re looking for someone to play Ice-T. Should be fun! I always pictured myself as a late in life actor, because I essentially want to be Betty White (who doesn’t? It’s a thing), but wouldn’t it be cool if I became an on again off again actor like Kristen Schaal before Bob’s Burgers, or Clea DuVall before Argo? (We can argue semantics, but my point here is that I loved them both in low budget items before they became starlight capturers.)
But mostly I think it’d be fun just to have the experience of trying out for something art related that I know isn’t going to become mainstream. I guess I’m just black sheeping it.
On the bookshelf I built (it leans dramatically to the left, and threatens to collapse under the collective weight of Flynn, Karr, Handler, Wolff, Foster Wallace, and a few other likable kooks), there is a picture my mother took of my cousin and I at the Guggenheim. I’m standing there, smiling, next to my cousin, who at 6’2 was a track star in high school, who then graduated into modeling, followed by acting, to include several actual acting gigs, notably for me as an extra in Law & Order. He’s the New York to my Boston (literally). The three piece suit to my flip flops and ripped jeans. Quite frankly, compared to him, I am the black sheep.
And nothing was more liberating than that realization in my conservative family. I had a free pass to mess up because even doing my best I would still be standing in his shadow (also literally, the tall bastard). With all eyes on him, I was free to develop my own thing.
And of course my own thing got me nowhere, as these stories go, but I’ve had fun carving out my own path and discovering what works for me and what doesn’t. For example, I’m absolutely loving my studio professor and her take on teaching. This week’s project is to take an 11x17 bristol board and turn it into a veritable marble maze—we have to get a marble to start at one end of the paper and stop on the other, while moving at two different speeds, and explore encasement/exposure. It’s all about considering volume and form and space in a different light. I’ve got to come up with two more models for Monday, but here’s my first one so far.
Eh, eh? What do you think? I think I might get lampooned for it being too symmetrical, but...who cares? I made it, and I think it’s awesome.
Ok, I care, and will work against that for the next model. Twist my arm why don’t you.
But later on today, I’m going to go to my first cold read, for—get this—a Law & Order spoof. They’re looking for someone to play Ice-T. Should be fun! I always pictured myself as a late in life actor, because I essentially want to be Betty White (who doesn’t? It’s a thing), but wouldn’t it be cool if I became an on again off again actor like Kristen Schaal before Bob’s Burgers, or Clea DuVall before Argo? (We can argue semantics, but my point here is that I loved them both in low budget items before they became starlight capturers.)
But mostly I think it’d be fun just to have the experience of trying out for something art related that I know isn’t going to become mainstream. I guess I’m just black sheeping it.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Orlando Ice
by Tamra Artelia Martin
I used to hate the clichéd phrase "sometimes it's the little things that count." Maybe hate is too strong of an emotion. Let's just say I never fully appreciated it. I'm a BBW standing at 6'2. This makes me not so little. Still, it hit me that I do little things all the time as I go through my day.
Ice in Florida is definitely not a little thing. Even now, in January's heart of winter (Florida winter is nowhere as bad as Boston winter, but it does get cold and hot on days you least expect), you can find people getting large bags of ice. With no ice maker, I'm one of those people now.
At two in the morning, there's no way I felt like going in Walmart for just a bag of ice. Ice and alcohol? Definitely. Just ice? No.
So my magic idea (it is magic thinking this time of morning after downing a pitcher of Sangria and a mint chocolate alcoholic milkshake, thus proving my point of alcohol needed being involved) was to drive through Del Taco, order something and offer to pay for two large cups of ice. I said offered. Doesn't mean I wanted to pay for it. College student is synonymous with cheap.
I didn't ask for it when I ordered. I waited until I saw a person at the window. I was super nice. I apologized for it being busy, even though it wasn't my fault. I smiled my head off even though I was dead tired. And you know what? She gave me two FREE large cups of ice. Not the small water courtesy cups. The super large Mucho cups so large, you wonder if people actually finish the liquid inside.
This may seem small, but that's my point. It's the small things that add up. I wasn't kissing up or bribing her. I was genuinely friendly and interested in the interaction. Because of that, she was kind enough to give me free ice. It's the small things I'm starting to appreciate.
Bye Chai,
Tamra
I used to hate the clichéd phrase "sometimes it's the little things that count." Maybe hate is too strong of an emotion. Let's just say I never fully appreciated it. I'm a BBW standing at 6'2. This makes me not so little. Still, it hit me that I do little things all the time as I go through my day.
Ice in Florida is definitely not a little thing. Even now, in January's heart of winter (Florida winter is nowhere as bad as Boston winter, but it does get cold and hot on days you least expect), you can find people getting large bags of ice. With no ice maker, I'm one of those people now.
At two in the morning, there's no way I felt like going in Walmart for just a bag of ice. Ice and alcohol? Definitely. Just ice? No.
So my magic idea (it is magic thinking this time of morning after downing a pitcher of Sangria and a mint chocolate alcoholic milkshake, thus proving my point of alcohol needed being involved) was to drive through Del Taco, order something and offer to pay for two large cups of ice. I said offered. Doesn't mean I wanted to pay for it. College student is synonymous with cheap.
I didn't ask for it when I ordered. I waited until I saw a person at the window. I was super nice. I apologized for it being busy, even though it wasn't my fault. I smiled my head off even though I was dead tired. And you know what? She gave me two FREE large cups of ice. Not the small water courtesy cups. The super large Mucho cups so large, you wonder if people actually finish the liquid inside.
This may seem small, but that's my point. It's the small things that add up. I wasn't kissing up or bribing her. I was genuinely friendly and interested in the interaction. Because of that, she was kind enough to give me free ice. It's the small things I'm starting to appreciate.
Bye Chai,
Tamra
Mugs Con Fotos!
by Sherard Harrington
Or, としゃしん, depending on where you are.
Anyway, wanted to take a picture so that my last blog post made a bit more sense.
Or, としゃしん, depending on where you are.
Anyway, wanted to take a picture so that my last blog post made a bit more sense.
Friday, January 25, 2013
Mugs, Mugs, Mugs, Mugs, Mugs!
by Sherard Harrington
I’ve grown obsessed with handless mugs. I just really like how I have to wait for the tea I drink (which I drink constantly—it borders on obscene) to cool before I try to drink it. It’s like a great lesson in waiting, slowing down, and considering my actions before giving in to my desires.
I have two handless mugs I bought from an oriental market in Cambridge that I use all the time for that sort of beverage contemplation. Knowing what I know about Junichiro Tanizaki, I appreciate these mugs even more. Tanizaki is the author of In Praise of Shadows, which, as you can imagine, is a book...about...praising...shadows. But seriously, in it he makes some really good points (e.g. miso soup should be consumed from a dark bowl, because when you drink miso soup in a white bowl, you’re too focused on the fact that the soup’s broth is all chunky and heterogenous instead of actually just enjoying the soup), and while my mug is dark all around, there’s a ring of dim light that you can see near the bottom if you finish your tea.
Every time I finish my tea, I feel rewarded.
And that is how I spend my Friday nights.
I’ve grown obsessed with handless mugs. I just really like how I have to wait for the tea I drink (which I drink constantly—it borders on obscene) to cool before I try to drink it. It’s like a great lesson in waiting, slowing down, and considering my actions before giving in to my desires.
I have two handless mugs I bought from an oriental market in Cambridge that I use all the time for that sort of beverage contemplation. Knowing what I know about Junichiro Tanizaki, I appreciate these mugs even more. Tanizaki is the author of In Praise of Shadows, which, as you can imagine, is a book...about...praising...shadows. But seriously, in it he makes some really good points (e.g. miso soup should be consumed from a dark bowl, because when you drink miso soup in a white bowl, you’re too focused on the fact that the soup’s broth is all chunky and heterogenous instead of actually just enjoying the soup), and while my mug is dark all around, there’s a ring of dim light that you can see near the bottom if you finish your tea.
Every time I finish my tea, I feel rewarded.
And that is how I spend my Friday nights.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Hidden Alarm Found Useful
by Sherard Harrington
*Yawn.*
So, there’s this alarm that goes off at 6:30, and it just vibrates. I’m not sure whether it’s in my room or not because every time I think it’s coming from one corner, it then appears to be coming from another. (A very funny, but mean trick so early in the morning.) But I think maybe that helps.
*Yawn.*
So, there’s this alarm that goes off at 6:30, and it just vibrates. I’m not sure whether it’s in my room or not because every time I think it’s coming from one corner, it then appears to be coming from another. (A very funny, but mean trick so early in the morning.) But I think maybe that helps.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Coffee Escapes Financial Rationing
by Sherard Harrington
Classes begin today. And I am nervous.
Not because of typical classroom jitters—that feeling of meeting all of these new people who could make the next several months awesome or awkward, depending—but because of how late Massachusetts is on delivering financial aid. Like, a month and half into the semester. And I’ve budgeted for this after experiencing the fall semester, but I’m going to be cutting it close, and I don’t like close cuts.
So last night I did some snow removal at a local school & church, which really helped patch some financial gaps. And then I went and deposited the check this morning, and on my way home this old man had paused to put on his gloves near the subway. And what hair he had left was white, and he had rested his cane against one of those newspaper dispensers, and seeing me coming, he says, “Good morning, sir.”
He sirred me. He SIRRED me! The man’s practically 80, and I haven’t even hit 25 yet (although the thought of reaching that milestone this year sent me reeling last night), so I responded with, “No, YOU good morning sir!”
Because I guess that’s the kind of thing I say when I cut coffee out of the budget.
Classes begin today. And I am nervous.
Not because of typical classroom jitters—that feeling of meeting all of these new people who could make the next several months awesome or awkward, depending—but because of how late Massachusetts is on delivering financial aid. Like, a month and half into the semester. And I’ve budgeted for this after experiencing the fall semester, but I’m going to be cutting it close, and I don’t like close cuts.
So last night I did some snow removal at a local school & church, which really helped patch some financial gaps. And then I went and deposited the check this morning, and on my way home this old man had paused to put on his gloves near the subway. And what hair he had left was white, and he had rested his cane against one of those newspaper dispensers, and seeing me coming, he says, “Good morning, sir.”
He sirred me. He SIRRED me! The man’s practically 80, and I haven’t even hit 25 yet (although the thought of reaching that milestone this year sent me reeling last night), so I responded with, “No, YOU good morning sir!”
Because I guess that’s the kind of thing I say when I cut coffee out of the budget.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Where’d You Come From, Where Ya Going?
by Sherard Harrington
Ok, those were Red Hot Chili Peppers lyrics, but seriously, I’ve started working out to this new song, and I’m not sure if it represents where I’ve been, or where I’m heading, and what scares me most is not knowing which.
This is Nervo’s “We’re All No One.”
Ok, those were Red Hot Chili Peppers lyrics, but seriously, I’ve started working out to this new song, and I’m not sure if it represents where I’ve been, or where I’m heading, and what scares me most is not knowing which.
This is Nervo’s “We’re All No One.”
Sunday, January 20, 2013
69 from the 80s
by Sherard Harrington
There are 69 songs on my 80s playlist on Spotify. And yet, none of them are fronted by an Asian singer.
What gives?
There are 69 songs on my 80s playlist on Spotify. And yet, none of them are fronted by an Asian singer.
What gives?
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Toilet Paper. Papers please.
by Sherard Harrington
Ok, so I live with three girls, an extra guy, and we all only have one bathroom to share. (Welcome to Boston.) We go through toilet paper like mosquito spray out in the Everglades. I get that. But really, what excuse do we have for buying cheap toilet paper?
Quote me on this, but be aware that I’ve adopted this concept from somewhere else—the two things in life you should always splurge on are toilet paper and underwear. If it’s going near your privates, it better have passed some quality inspections.
I freely admit to not having lady parts, and so I can probably use some schooling here, but why should it take more than two or three squares of high quality toilet paper to get the job done? Maybe four-six if you wipe twice. But when you’ve got toilet paper you can see through, how could you not use 8, 10, 12+ squares, and still somehow continue to feel unclean? But of course, the role is so thin, they’ve wrapped more around the cardboard, so it seems to take even longer to finish it? Like, whose idea was that?
People who hate their private parts. That’s who.
You know what? Treat your poonanner. (I don’t know whether that refers to the front, the back, the middle...frankly, I find a map of Africa less complicated.) Treat your butt, guys. (Simple, am I right?) Go for the good stuff. You’ll thank me.
And, you’re welcome.
Ok, so I live with three girls, an extra guy, and we all only have one bathroom to share. (Welcome to Boston.) We go through toilet paper like mosquito spray out in the Everglades. I get that. But really, what excuse do we have for buying cheap toilet paper?
Quote me on this, but be aware that I’ve adopted this concept from somewhere else—the two things in life you should always splurge on are toilet paper and underwear. If it’s going near your privates, it better have passed some quality inspections.
I freely admit to not having lady parts, and so I can probably use some schooling here, but why should it take more than two or three squares of high quality toilet paper to get the job done? Maybe four-six if you wipe twice. But when you’ve got toilet paper you can see through, how could you not use 8, 10, 12+ squares, and still somehow continue to feel unclean? But of course, the role is so thin, they’ve wrapped more around the cardboard, so it seems to take even longer to finish it? Like, whose idea was that?
People who hate their private parts. That’s who.
You know what? Treat your poonanner. (I don’t know whether that refers to the front, the back, the middle...frankly, I find a map of Africa less complicated.) Treat your butt, guys. (Simple, am I right?) Go for the good stuff. You’ll thank me.
And, you’re welcome.
Friday, January 18, 2013
Meanwhile, RJ Mitte!
By Sherard Harrington
Zomg, what is this hotness that is RJ Mitte?
Whaaaaaat? (Also, I feel the need to state that I didn’t take this picture. Don’t know why.)
Ok, in all seriousness, this is why I go ga-ga for Walt Jr. in Breaking Bad, and I think Tamra will agree—the reason RJ Mitte is so hot is because he’s so real. Nothing about him says plastic surgery, personal trainers, or high-and-mighty. His look is asymmetrical, and therefore surprisingly real and yet striking.
It’s sort of like this long standing conversation I’ve had with friends about orthodontia. With a perfect row of pearly whites, a person can start to look a little stepford-y. But with a nearly perfect smile...(I now feel like I’m trying to justify not wearing my retainer.)
Whether or not Mitte uses trainers, has had work done, or throws his water bottles at his assistants, I don’t want to know. Sometimes the beauty is in the not knowing. I, behind on pop culture, am just starting the show and just discovering Mitte. But, I’m curious where this path will take him.
To quote Patti Smith:
I hope to see more people of disabilities in the public eye. People who have actual disabilities. I hope that graphic narrative artists like Genevieve Tyrrell will bring them to the forefront in print, and that shows like Breaking Bad will keep them in the media.
Zomg, what is this hotness that is RJ Mitte?
Ok, in all seriousness, this is why I go ga-ga for Walt Jr. in Breaking Bad, and I think Tamra will agree—the reason RJ Mitte is so hot is because he’s so real. Nothing about him says plastic surgery, personal trainers, or high-and-mighty. His look is asymmetrical, and therefore surprisingly real and yet striking.
It’s sort of like this long standing conversation I’ve had with friends about orthodontia. With a perfect row of pearly whites, a person can start to look a little stepford-y. But with a nearly perfect smile...(I now feel like I’m trying to justify not wearing my retainer.)
Whether or not Mitte uses trainers, has had work done, or throws his water bottles at his assistants, I don’t want to know. Sometimes the beauty is in the not knowing. I, behind on pop culture, am just starting the show and just discovering Mitte. But, I’m curious where this path will take him.
To quote Patti Smith:
“Where does it all lead? What will become of us? These were our young questions, and young answers were revealed.
It leads to each other. We become ourselves.” —Just Kids, by Patti Smith
I hope to see more people of disabilities in the public eye. People who have actual disabilities. I hope that graphic narrative artists like Genevieve Tyrrell will bring them to the forefront in print, and that shows like Breaking Bad will keep them in the media.
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