just another part o' my mini-legacy

There's an aspect about the internet that is much more eternal than any other type of record-keeping device. Once you put something out there, it's out of your control. What's done is done; an idea that has always comforted me. This dawned on me while watching a 1993 episode of the X-files about a learning computer taking over its surroundings. That's why i write in this blog, rather than a silly word document. Well, that and the fact that windows vista is evidently more intelligent than i am, and i'm fairly resentful of its accomplishments. I would like to hope that if, or maybe i should say when, one day, technology surpasses us meek humans, my oh-so-important thoughts will be a part of the impending imperialism. What if i never get the chance to do my part to destroy an entire race? I need to get my hostile tendencies out somewhere. Look ma, i'm evil!

Anyways, i'm glad the following wonderment is about to be added into what will eventually lead to the technological apocalypse. And zach, this one's for you champ, if you're out there :). I recognize that clearly i am not totally comfortable with myself in my surroundings all the time. But i don't understand what about attraction makes most people change or overly analyze the way they are. It seems to me that there is no point in going after someone who won't return the same feelings to you, as yourself. In fact, most people harbor qualities that are unique to themselves only, and because of that, people are naturally attracted to you. So where does changing yourself come into play? If anything, one should be overly self-like if they want to have that reciprocated care. The only people who have real game are those who just know how to play their game well enough.

I know too many people who assume that they aren't good enough for someone (including myself) and simply give up on the idea. Lets depict this in a cost-benefit analysis format so that i can get my econ practice in for the day. If you do dare to make a move on someone, you run the risk of getting rejected, and if it's really serious, it can end in full-fledged heartbreaking, tears falling, tub of ice cream, emotional damaging, meg-ryan-movie-watching disaster, but if you get what you want, it's just the opposite. Now, if you see the previously listed costs as too dangerous (that's a lot of meg ryan you'd have to handle), the decision is made to exit the industry and shut down your business in that market. However, you still have invested many fixed inputs, such as emotional commitment, and tons of mental capacity that was wasted on imagining you and that special someone in a wedding gown, or bed covers, or whatever your ideal situation was during the process. And because of this, you end up losing anyways. Now it seems to me that there is no point investing in an idea you know you'll lose by not taking the risk. It's just more practical to go for it. Hey, you might just gain experience from it. Or at least a shitty story you can tell to your friends when you're crying over meg ryan's tribulations about falling in love with a man on the radio, or the same man that happens to run her out of the competitive bookstore business. It's all working towards some greater ends i guess.

Is it hot in here or is it just me?

It's hard to find alone time here, and when i do, i tend to feel like it's being wasted. 976 lost games of mindsweeper doesn't exactly give me the peace of mind that i'd have hoped for, contrary to popular belief. Even if i do choose to exit my riveting game of MS (i'm clearly too comfortable with minesweeper when i start acronyming it), i somehow end up on facebook, which is the internet equivalent of a giant fucking party. I think the issue is that i like playing host a little too much. If we're gonna get analytical then i think it's best that i delve into my childhood, a time when i vehemently was against playing house with the rest of the class, mostly because for some reason i was always voted mom. What in the world qualified me as the most matriarchal of all my fellow jewish female friends is beyond me. I figure that now i'm just compensating. This may also be the source of my anti-children attitude. Thanks PJA, you severely fucked me over as far as conventional housewives go.
I think Thoreau had it right when he wrote Walden, aside from the fact that he's a loony. It should also be noted that when i typed the word loony, an instant picture of Thoreau chasing after Roadrunner and getting hit by an unexplainable amount of TNT popped into my head. Where can one actually find time to reflect when we're surrounded by distractions like making other people E-Z mac and blowing yourself up via old school computer games? All of these factors have also made it pretty hard to be one on one with people, since i can't even stand to be one on one with myself. This also explains my severe hatred for phones, and most things that mimic a phone. Sorry liat. You seem to be on the losing end of this distaste, but i swear i want to talk to you :). I mean, i love spending time with people, but sometimes when it's just me and someone else i get this prodding anxious feeling. It may be because when i'm in a group, there's little to no opportunity for the room to totally clear out so i can get my time for myself, but when i'm just one person away from my mini-finish line, my unconscious goes psycho and does all it can to clear that person out. The truth is i tots miss my old life, despite how much i love it here. I can't find the same comfort, which is to be expected since it took 4 years to find my place at home. I just miss the unconditional acceptance and complete understanding that my friends seemed to be naturally equipped with. Plus to add more to my mental stack of work, i have to choose my clases for next semester, and, let me tell you, i have far too many options. Among these are an american culture class called "beatniks, hippies, and punks", an astronomy class explaining the big bang, an art history class which is perfect for my neglected art background and lack of interest in art altogether, a creative writing course, spanish readings, psychology of language, and to top it off a "frauds and fantastic claims" archeology seminar. You know, strictly the necessary basics for a girls college experience. This weekend need to all sorts of low key for me to organize my distraught state-of-mind. Alls i can say is thank goodness for thanksgiving.

So it's sunday

The chalk vandalists finally hit my soft spot. They have been leaving their awful pasty mark on our facility for weeks. Honestly, i kind of enjoyed the obese unicorn and pair of stunna shades which served as a sort of hipster branding, telling all that they are about to enter the indie section of michigan... east quad. but the silly words that people felt obligated to scribble was what ruined the perfectly clean brick. "never let school ruin your education". even after some head of administration ordered the chalk to be powerwashed off our walls (thank fucking g-d), i decided that maybe school is in fact holding me back. so what was my obvious answer to my educational standstill? thanks to the cosmic preachings of Ice Cube, i went to church. And holy hell, was it educational.

The idea of faith was still very distant for me being a person who rationalizes everything until it completely deteriorates. But what was even harder for me to grasp was the belief that there are those who have belief. Total blind faith. Today's sermon was about hope, and where to find hope in a broken world. The preacher refrenced a day, much like this one, and quite frankly like every one to come living in Michigan, where the sky's are grey and they air is cold, and it makes you feel a disconnect from this G-d that they so heavily depend on. But it is there, they say. That feeling that they KNOW is, and will forever continue to be there. So they prayed, hands outstretched, eyes closed, with their faces beeming. While i stood, surrounded by this overpowering feeling of faith, i realized that i have never felt more grounded. My eyes filled with tears, that were both out of sadness and fear. And when i looked up, unable to even lift my feet, i saw all of the congregation, floating timeless in this space. Were all these members truly filled with spiritual light? And if so, why was i missing the feeling of elevation? Their words of praise turned colder as they reached me, and broke against my shell, instead of absorbing into my being like they were intended to.

Then it hit me. I'm not empty, but just the opposite. These people around me have this simple source to guide their life that they can always refer back to, and though i'm glad they have their answer, it doesn't mean that faith is mine. So where was i supposed to turn? All of my life's choices are a burden that only i can carry, but along with that come all of my joy and accomplishments. I don't live my life only for one idea, but for thousands of thoughts and feelings and people that i still have yet to encounter. Every struggle that i bear through will change me, and most importantly, it will be inspired by only me. So with every step i take, i have so much more to lift. This heaviness is not anything to be ashamed of or to get rid of. It's me and my surroundings. It's who i am, and i left feeling empowered.

Borderline ADD

i dabbled around the idea of drinking only tea for a solid three days. Only tea so as to cleanse my soul, or mind, or perspective, or some meaningful shit like that. After a couple hours of consecutive hunger, i changed my mission from tea drinking to daily excercising. I had my first jog at college (if you can call it that), and during the run i saw that though running was a grand idea, and definately a plan that i, being the bionic woman that i am, could uphold, it isn't what i was looking for. I tried showering for lengthy periods, i thought about not smoking, yet here i am, full, out of shape, dirty and puffing, desperatly attempting to focus on my spanish homework. Bad dog. What was this classical conditioning that psychology discussed? Where's pavlov when you need him?

never let me give a eulogy

it's officially the death of individual style, and this tragedy was one that caught me off guard. it's a shame, because i finally thought i was about to experience some sort of deeper, more powerful sense. the issue is that classic schooling teaches us to stand a safe distance away from the edge. never toe the line, because one fault can turn a masterpiece into a disaster. but because of this, the majority of people never have, or never will, come close to making something incredible. I discovered this sudden death in the following presumptuous obituary, written in today's issue of the mind of, well, myself.

Creative expression, child of two loving parents (father, time and mother, nature) has tragically passed away, early this tuesday afternoon at around 12:38 pm. Her effect will long be remembered, for she shared a presence that was ubiquitous and ancient. Though the general population is grieving through the classic form of denial, those who have recognized her absence are still only partially in the know. The bitter truth is that this famous individual was murdered. (queue dimming lights and jaws theme song). Yes my friends. This was no "accidental" loss, but the result of a cold-blooded killer. Now, before we point fingers towards the big G.W. bush, Russia, osama, the fundamentalist christians, or the ever-so-popular gays, tranny's, and vegitarians, let's take a step back and examine all the evidence. It seems that the individuality in writing was being suffocated long before the classic people to place the blame on were even around (however i tend to blame russia for the majority of my issues). If we take a look back on how we have been taught to write and express ourselves over the past 100 years, one can observe the steady decline of distinctiveness in how the majority of the population (and by majority of the population i mean kids in the public school system) convey their thoughts and beliefs academically. In noticing this, we cannot blame one person, but our own desire to fall inside of the rigid guidelines set fourth for us learned students by our educators. Creative Expression will forever be in the hearts of those who truly appreciated her beauty, and her assassination will be remembered as a date which will live in infamy... wait, has that been said already?

As i sat in my social criticism class mentally sketching out the perfectly objective piece shown above, i was shocked by how apathetic my professor was to the points we were making. Over and over again, my classmates maintained that they have no idea what their style of writing would be, because the majority of what they write is directed towards a teacher of some kind or another. Instead of trying to arrange an argument in a new and innovative way, we have all been trained to write only to display our knowledge. It caters strictly to whoever is assessing the piece, so trying to spend the extra time imputing your own identity and voice is completely forgone. I find this disgusting, and worst of all, extremely hypocritical. I am this student, just another statistic like those TRUTH commercials beg me not to be. No, i don't actually think that individuality is lost, but the drive to discover it seemed so deeply buried that very few are willing to delve into themselves to find their own expressive tone. even when people begin to hone their own words into a penetrating voice, they easily get sucked back into the classic 3 part essay mentality and continue to color inside of the lines. I'm not satisfied. I want a challenge in writing. something that will sharpen my writing in my own respect (because g-d knows it needs sharpening), and inspire me, most likely through a series of horribly frustrating and disheartening attempts at perfection. until then, RIP identity

g-d save the queen

A british accent is much like marijuana in the sense that it just amplifies the current state of the situation. In this specific case, the subject of my thesis is brittney murphy. What i'm avoiding admitting is that i just wasted and hour and 46 minutes of my life watching possibly one of the worst romantic comedies of all time. I'm not sure how terrible the movie was originally, but the kicker was when the director gave brittney murphy a pseudo american/british accent. The movie did in fact note that Murphy was half american, half british, thus explaining her awkward accent, which is most likely due to the fact that she can't form a proper british accent on her own. What a sly cover for such a horrible sound. What is it about a british accent that makes life so appealing? Everything seems to be that much more attractive when there's a healthy layer of british sounding words slathered on top. Harry potter, the osbournes, prince william, david beckham, VICTORIA beckham, the word colour, poorly dressed pop groups, psychology, spice world, orbit gum, the spanish armada. All of these things seem to lose their glamour as soon as you remove the adorably soothing voice of the UK from the picture. If only my attempt at a british accent didn't morph into the voice of mr. quikimart clerk meets western meets oliver twist. Maybe i'd be a whole lot cuter.
Speaking of adorable, i recently ate my body weight in cheesy fries. Or maybe they were cheez-e fries. The class of cheese is fairly questionable. But no matter where this cheese originated from, there was a ton of it. The basket of fries themselves wasn't actually that large. I think it was just the density of the meal all together that sealed the deal. This was some massive side dish. I'm pretty sure i couldn't bench this basket, even with proper spotting. But i'd like to think that the fries were a positive contribution to my soul as opposed to my belt buckle. I'm fairly confident that weight control is all mental. Take that jenny craig. The clickety sound of me typing is making my cheesy-self a little nauseated. I'm gonna go throw up my major internal organs.

Ouch charley

I sunburned my lips. Scratch that. I fucking sunburned my lips. There, that has the right amount of umph to it. Because of this issue i have encountered, i have recently taken notice at just how important lips are. Now, originally i saw lips as simply a sexual tool, which is one of their many great purposes. However it seems that lips are also important for the following: eating (fuck), drinking (damnit), breathing (meh), talking (uh oh). And for the not so lip-savvy like myself, let me give you ample warning of things sunburned lips do not respond well to: pineapple, alcohol, listerine, balsamic vinaigrette, rachel.
Aside from my excessive pain, today has been yet another day. I went to a fencing club meeting, and stuck out like a sore... [insert fencing term here]. On the up side, i did learn a lot about fencing. On the down side, i did learn a lot about fencing. This can just be another tally added to my obnoxiously pretentious club meetings that i have, and will be going to. So far i have sailing and fencing under my belt, both of which were inspired by other people, but neither of which was i hesitant to attend.
I still don't like the phone. I'm convinced it's the government's way to keep tabs on me. I'm also ridiculously self involved. Also, i think i've developed a physical reaction to speaking on the phone, or skype for that matter. Extreme discomfort is a medical condition, right? Now i have the heart-wrenching decision to make between finishing my spanish homework, or watching Dexter on netflix and living vicariously through a serial killer. The latter it is then.

yes, but my friends call me ACHIE

It's 2:20 in the morning and, surprise surprise, i can't fall asleep. Instead i'm trying to convince myself that the essay i just wrote, which is probably the third worst piece of writing i've ever pumped out, won't make me look like a complete asshole. I say third worst as an educated guess, leaving room for anything written in a foreign language, and/or a particularly horrible first draft of an uninspiring college essay. Somehow, this assignment was so demoralizing, that i needed to go back into my saved documents, and read things that i've written before to remind me that at one point in time, i knew what i was saying. I think i may have chosen the wrong classes. It's that, or the hazy mess of my exhausted mind has left me feeling uninspired. Either way, at this point in time, i feel like i'm going no where. Maybe i need to drink more water. I spent a riveting 4 hours yesterday standing in the sun with another 100,000 people, pretending like i really care about football and like the color yellow. That, followed by a lack of sleep, and a night of vodka and dancing probably didn't help with the dehydration. Plus my lululemon bag told me that apparently water's good for you. You never know when advertising will give you those precious nuggets of golden wisdom. Thanks lulu. I tried to take the RACHIE off my wall, because i thought that removing it might help me sleep. Sometimes, when i'm lying in my perfectly comfortable bed, about to drift into slumber, i can hear the supple whisper of "raaaachhhiieeee" echo through my brain. Yes, it is as unsettling as it sounds. Anyways, i started with R, since that seemed a grammatically perfect place to start, but it seems my super durable double-sided tape as just as durable as it claims to be. Instead of a clean strip, there was still the pathetic remains of the letter left lingering on my wall, like mayan ruins after thousands of years of weathering. That simply wouldn't do. Now here i was holding a partially decorated R in my hands and staring at an equally disturbing ACHIE. I gave up, and decided that instead of rearranging my interior decoration, i should just rearrange my identity. That might be easier.

Goodnight mug, goodnight rug

They say a dog is a man's best friend, which has recently become more and more evident as i spend increasing amounts of time away from my canine. One good thing that's making it easier to be away is that blintzes isn't a dog. she's more of a bathmat. Thus, as a way to be weaned off my pathetic excuse for a mutt, i bought myself (and the roommate) a surprisingly high maintenance rug. In fact, blintz and this rug have more in common than one would presume. Both have little affect on my life aside from aesthetic purposes, both shed an obnoxious amount, neither of them are the most social of creatures, and most importantly, both scare the shit out of unsuspecting strangers. The best part about my rug (which will remain nameless until the perfect one comes to me) is that without much effort, it seems to welcome me home at any hour of the day. I don't know if it is the bright color or the furry nature, but something about the rug, similar to my dog, makes me feel appreciated.
Tonight was a good night. Fat lip aside. Expand upon this fat-lip story you ask? No, i couldn't. Ok, only because you persisted. We were tossing around a paper towel, because thumb-twiddling seemed far too cliche, and the ball lay in caitlins court. For some enigma of a reason, caitlin thought that the playfulness of the crumpled paper towel toss wasn't quite her style, and needed something more dangerous. A close cousin to the paper towel, caitlin picked up a jumbo combination highlighter that she found next to her. Now here is where the blame game gets all muddled up. Clearly displaying the highlighter to me, caitlin assumed that it was safe to toss. This assumption was not only incorrect, but also a little irrelevant, because why would i ever expect a highlighter to come flying at my face. Instead of moving like a sober and/or rational human being would, i opened my mouth. I think you can finish the rest of the story on your own. Now, in my slightly inebriated state, i'm going to watch Daria until her emotionless negativity lulls me into a drunken slumber. This is definitely a good night.

Previously on Heroes

I think i'm starting to despise my key card. In fact, this may be the truest emotion i have felt here yet, and i don't mean to downplay the rest of my feelings thus far. I have in fact felt famished, stuffed, pissed off, happy, and lonely since i've arived, but this animosity blows the rest out of the water. Every time my card happens to be forgotten in my room or elsewhere, i notice that it isn't MY absent mindedness that left my card somewhere, but some hurtful alterior motive of the electrical strip. Now that i have finally trained myself to carry it with me, i am overcome with a surge of energy, and feel that the card is physically being repelled from my body, but bound in the protective container that is my pocket. I see very little use for the device. One might suggest it could serve as a way to get into the building, but i have noticed that if you look pathetic enough, which isn't a challenge for me as a freshman, someone will open the door. And then there's the "but what about bathrooms" argument, which can be easily shot down with the use of the unisex facilities that can be found in every hall on every floor.
I've noticed that anytime i need to go back to my dorm room, i am consistently overcome with the need to use the restroom. It may have to do with gravity as i walk up my one flight of steps, or maybe a psychological unconcious hope that i'll run into someone i know in the hall, but either way, nature is nature and a girl's gotta go. Today the urge presented itself once again, and as i waddled in the direction of the toilet, that pesky little card made it's bold i-hate-you statement once again. Enough was enough, and i worked my way towards the handle of the unisex enterance. But wait. What's the etiquette for dropping a deuce? Should i spare the other 50% of the population my possible smell and just inflict the women of Prescott 2nd? Or could i sneek in and out unnoticed, and blame it one an evil male? Before my decision could be made by key card had somehow lifted my hand and i had turned the nob without knowing. I was in, and there was no turning back. Luckily, i had not been the first to encounter this problem, which i realized as soon as the door swung open and i was thrown back by a waft of a stench from before. This is not a unisex bathroom, as the sign would lead you to believe, but a place made for a poo.
Today, something inside of me flipped. Yesterday i didn't yet feel that i was at home. Last night i slept horribly, and this morning i had anticipated a wave of cynicism and excessive eating. In fact, that's what may have made me more settled. I spent a solid portion of today in my bed watching Heroes and glaring at the people outside from my second story window. Eventually i forced myself to get out, and saw what it was like to be those fancy-pantsed i-go-outside types. After some free food and company, i came back to the courtyard and read what could have easily been my diary published by a 32 year old gay man. He, and i, unwaveringly decided that living is highlighted by the unwanted moments in time. The best thing to do is to take them in, and write about them.

Fit damnit

Oh hey readers. Welcome to the mind of Rachel 2.0 - Collegiate edition. So far i've been pretty behind on logging my many thoughts into the semi-permanent capsul that is the internet since i've gotten here, but i'm hoping with time the 2.0 version will be like Sims Superstar or something equally epic. Maybe i'm overestimating the my popularity. Either way, when i look back on these postings on some rainy, or most likely blizzardy; seeing as i'm now a michigander; day, i'll be able to see the difference in what i write. Recapping the college experience so far may go a little something like this. Marni, move-in, Marni and company, dining, Marni, shopping, Marni, greenwood... i think you can see a pattern. What's the word i'm looking for? ohh, co-dependent. Actually things here are great, but i'm still lacking that vital comfort that camp and/or portland brought. I miss those hours i can spend alone, and knowing that i can always call certain people for something to do, no matter what it is, or when it would be happening. I miss bitching and moaning, because no one likes a complainer right off the bat (though if this whole "be yourself" motto is actually all its cracked up to be, maybe i should show the people i meet the real me, rough cynical edges and all). I miss being sick of knowing where i'm going and having to explore the untapped areas of the city, i miss needing a smoke because some people are just too much to handle, i miss superbad-esk searches for alcohol becuase it's just too easy to get drunk here, i miss every little crappy, frustrating, mediocre, sedated, difficult, dirty part of my life back home that i hadn't quite parted with because i didn't realize that they'd be missed. I'm not miserable at all, i just want to be able to be. The other night i lay in my bed trying to control the ridiculous amount of information filtering through my limbic system and couldn't find comfort. That session of constant tossing and turning felt like a description of my feelings at that moment to the T. I wasn't unhappy that i couldn't sleep, but that just wasn't what i expected to be doing for so long. I became so desperate that (i'm shocked that i'm about to admit to this horribly trite and dull action) i actually tried to count sheep. Sheep for fucks sake. I got to about 24 when i realized what a giant moron i was, and gave up trying to force it. After another 3 hours my body's better sense took over and i finally passed out. I just don't want to force it.

come on snake eyes

Summer has been like a cheap, ongoing board-game. Process of elimination helped me put my finger on the exact fun-filled game that i'm thinking of, but just for shits and giggles, lets recap the decision-making process. First i thought that maybe, despite the cliche, my life could be LIFE. But right off the bat with the whole "get a real job, house, husband, and children" i realized that LIFE was not so liveable. At that point, in my morning cynacism, i moved onto Sorry, thinking that maybe its apologetic nature would suit summers mistakes. Turns out not apologizing is more fitting for me than admitting i am wrong. It's one of my best qualities you know. Clue seemed too riveting, Candyland seemed too delicious, and i'm far too passive aggressive to dominate anything, so RISK was out of the question. Desperately scrambling, i went through any and all other rainy-day games that i could: Rummikub - more fitting for my grandma. Trivial Pursuit - i'm not well-rounded enough. Dominos - too communist. Backgamman - what the fuck? Eventually after some deliberation, it hit me. My summer was Monopoly. It was perfect. Monopoly, as far as i'm concerned, is the definitive, be-all and end-all of board-games. It has everything you need, both luck and strategy. It's competetive nature brings out the true colors of its participants, always leaving the strongest link on top, and only ends with frustration and/or a whole lot of tears. Plus, as Dane Cook so eloquently describes, this is anyone 4 hours into a game of monopoly. "fuck this game! it's 4 in the morning grandma, YOU WIN! plus where'd you get those pink 50s you cheating whore". Welcome to summer 08. Unfortunately i think i've hit the "go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars" moment in my estivation. Throughout the game so far i have been fairly strategic, choosing my moves as precisely as possible. So far my game has been played with very little slip-ups. The occasional bad card from the treasure chest has cost me temporary set backs, but it's always been compensated for through my rail-road profits or boardwalk turn-ins. It all happened so suddenly. One bad roll of the dice, completely in the hands of fate, and i'm in the dog-house. I don't have the cash for enough bail, and while the justice system gives me one low-probability attempt at scoring freedom, my competitors are racking up all the primo property. Ok, my hyperbole has been spread as thin as it can be by now, and i'm just grasping for straws. What i'm really talking about is that i usually know exactly what to do, but here i feel like it's out of my hands. I know you read this, and may not appreciate my poorly constucted analogy, because it's not fitting at all, but i want you know know that i don't know what i'm supposed to do from here. When you care about someone, you take what they give you, even if it's complete shit. I'm sorry if that's what i've been dishing. Honestly, i'll miss you like crazy.

Merman pop, merMAN!

As i embark on this new journey to independence and discovery and all that sugar-coated goodness that a protected, simulated-reality, college environment provides, i find more and more that i need something as individual as i am becoming to be solely mine. No one elses, but just Rachels, to have and to hold. What a simple task, one might say. Anti-conformity; it can't be that hard. Well, let me tell you friends, there's a reason the phrase is against the grain. Here i am, nearing the end of my summer as a highschooler, and i am spawning up stream. Not only is the current kicking my ass, but my gills are all muddled up by the goo and filth of useless commercial ideas that society has generated. I've been racking my brain for things to add to better my life and self so that i am the most Rachel Sherman that i can be right now, but i can't seem to find salvation in anything. Maybe i need something new, i thought. Self-mutilation? Paint the holy temple that is my body with an inky, impromptu tattoo? Poke another 5 unnecessary holes somewhere in my skin? Raincheck for when i'm not so impulsive. How about through music? Discover a new band or singer, some diamond in the rough, and follow them cross country on all their tours? Fuck that, maybe i'll start a band and tour on my own. Now an important sidenote for all those who aren't in my head is that i actually thought about that last idea. I'm honestly impressed at how long the proposal floated around in my brain before my 4-fold reason of why not to start a band put me back on track. 1) i'm not musically gifted. i don't write songs, sing, and i can dabble poorly on the piano, which no longer is an individual feeling to me, because everyone who is anyone can do a little dabble. 2) i don't know which hard-core drug would suit me best 3) i know nothing about music theory and 4) i haven't left the fucking bathroom in the passing 30 minutes, you think i can tour? After music, i moved on to the following genres. Jewlery? too pricey. Food? too lazy. Clothing? too naked. All my options are dwindling rapidly. Then i approached it from the flipside. Instead of adding something new, maybe i'll take out something old. After purging half of my closet into an overflowing trashbag, i ended up with half the wardrobe, but no real nirvana. It took some serious thinking, and a couple games of tetris to realize that i think i have to find some redemption through literature. Say what? That's right. Literature. I have spent 18 years of my short-lived, unlearned life avoiding my a-e-i-o-u's, and now karma has come to bite me in the ass. I'm not sure if it's a change of wind or heart, but i have found that reading... can be fun. And not only that, wait till you hear this one, it is informative and enlightens you. Who knew? Throughout the summer i've gone through my fair share of David Sedaris novels, and am moving on to equally quirky, satirical writers. No matter how bizzare the stories seem to be, and how far off course they are from anything in my life, i can consistently relate to what is being said, or mostly, how the writing is presented. The more i read, the more i feel like i could write. Oh, it's a definate change in the wind says i. Untill i think further about my tentative career pathway, i'll leave you with the immortal words of Zoolander: who am i?

aaaaand scene.

If i were to express the last couple of days in accordance to my generation, i think i would have to utilize the age old adage, and by adage i mean acronym, WTF? I don't want to delve into anything too thick for me to flounder in, partly because i don't want to slander the holy name of Bnai Brith camp across the internet like i was so eloquently reminded at staff training, and partly because i don't know how to feel. The only thing i can decide on is that i am completely displaced at this point. With one of my best friends gone (and my only male ventilation system may i remind you), my co counselor out, and a recent but lovely good camp friend along with them, i can't seem to get my feet back on the ground. My poor campers (who i have officially fallen in love with in the most appropriate way possible) now are mommy-less (yes, i thought of myself as the father and cam as the mama bird) and have to deal with all the weird shit that i am spitting at them as a defense mechanism. They are eating it up, but a bystander, and any breathing, thinking, post-pubescent being would see that i'm acting like a freak. All the hype from yesterday has calmed down, but i can't stop myself from looking both back and forward when all i should be doing is focusing on the now. I can't stop replaying the countless hours off, the tears, the car cramming outside of KOA, the irrationality, the attempts to clear things up and the unfinished goodbyes in my head. I know that in the end i will always love this place, but right now this is the last place i want to be. It's just so surreal. I mean, the majority of my childhood that i can remember was written or founded here. All my best friendships were initiated or have blossomed in these cabins, at this dining hall, through the poor sewage system, during frigid showers, and on the rough grass of the infamous hill that kicks my ass year after year every time i have to scale it. In summary, this place and these people are my home, so these feelings of contempt make it feel foreign. Maybe i should join the dishwashing staff. Ouch, that was an unnecessary rude BB camp comment. Disregard it please. I'm in desperate need for a sesh of Clueless in my bed and a box of honey bunches of oats. And to stop myself from growing another vagina due to that ridiculously girlish routine i just admitted. In the play of my BB camp summertime life, this is where the music would escalate, i would drop to my knees and scream out the last definitive words that would echo throughout the theater... CAAAAAAMEEERRYYYYNNNN! Curtain drops.
On a brighter note my roomate facebooked me, and so i am officially starting the real college process: stalking the girl i'm about to scare shitless. I wonder if she has a toaster, because i sure do.

inkblot test

Finally, at the pinnacle of the summer, i have happened upon that moment when the culmination of all my schooling has come into action. PSYCH. Instead though i have decided that the majority of the bullshit i was spoonfed had little to no applicability to my life. So, as i try to better myself, i will force everything i know to fit into my cloudy mind. Round peg, square hole syndrome. In trying to think about the least helpful tidbits of knowledge that i have crammed for, only one specific man of the hour came to mind. Sigmund Freud was a crack addict living in an anal time period where women were repressed, men froliked around care-free like ponies, and everyone needed to get laid. One concept that he coined was the idea of catharsis. And so in this meddled mind of mine, i find that catharsis (which i have never used and feel that i probably never will) shall be my sole release. Hey, don't blame a woman for trying something new.
Thai food, cigarettes, paper, pens, keys, life, keyhole, locks, wallet, missing my wallet, where the fuck are my keys, dirty room, marraige, becca pasik, ignored, shabbat, shabbat shafuckinglom, roomate, college, packing, RC, learning, loving, growing, bed, growing pains, threes company, old tv, movies, balnkets, comfort, lacking comfort, despondent, air freshener, i could use some pop tarts. Analyze that oh great psychological father. Analyze that.

Can i get a cherry on top of that?

It was another seemingly unimportant night with the 5 of us that started off just like any other would. Lora got in trouble and we had to delay our departure, Liat wouldn't leave the cabin on time, Alana was wearing goofy-ass pants and displaying her new button bracelet, and Becca just wanted to get fucked up. Classic. Despite some internal struggle to get the fuck off camp, we eventually found ourselves at the Otis cafe. After some serious convincing and deliberation, the group convinced my fat ass that we can share a plate of potatoes that could have fed a small village in africa instead of me handling it on my lonesome (family style isn't my forte, i get territorial). In the end we ate everything on our plates, and everything on the plates of the table next to us (we knew them, but that probably wouldn't have stopped anyone). Slightly incapacitated and inebriated from all the deliciousness, we meandered on over to the cove, my absolute favorite spot in the LC. My rationale is the cove is quiet, secluded, has a significant lack of obnoxious drunk teens and tends to leave your clothing, hair and body smelling like it should instead of the overwhelming scent of old bonfire. We all settled in right away with all our goods and set up camp. After some pre-gaming we ended up in a heated discussion where we all were arguing the same point against nobody but the metaphorical man and sociaety as a whole. You see, we're told plenty as kids; don't drink, don't do drugs, don't hit your brother, etc. But until now we didn't realize that the reasoning behind these messages were mostly invalid and untrue (except for the brother one. He does get pissed when i hit). Why is altering your state of mind such a pathetic thing to do? Isn't bringing yourself onto another plane of thought overall beneficial? I mean it seems ridiculous to tell us that we should stay where we are forever. Sobriety is much more cloudy than people think it is. Inhibitions that come naturally, or that have been bred in our society stop us from seeing things from another point of view, accepting things as they are, and allowing ourselves to think against our normal pattern of thought. Only when these mental blocks are lifted can we start to understand things from the other side. I'm not saying we need to smoke to understand or drink to figure things out. I'm just saying that experiencing what it is like to release our inhibitions is vital to being able to do it on your own. It's just another way of looking at things. Thanks natasha beddingfield. That, among many other topics, was one of our genuis discoveries we made. I want to take a moment to remind myself that these are the best people in the world. There are few times that i can say i would not rather be anywhere else doing any other thing with any other individuals. P.s. i'm ridiculously lucky to have friends like this, so stop being a little bitch about your lack of pudding.

What's a sister got to do to get some pudding around here?

There's this give it get it philosophy that i've just recently picked up. I had my epiphany yesterday during the hustle and bustle of maccabiah, where campers over-exert themselves and staff do just the opposite . People depend on each others' energy to keep things circulating. It's weird how drastically and rapidly mood swings take place, especially at camp. The 24/7 contact with people makes every day so much busier, hence we have these unpredictable emotional changes that should be occurring throughout a week, but all have to fit in between flag and curfew. Throughout this past week of concentrated camp fun, i would unfailingly encounter a feeling that i can only describe as removed every day. No matter how good of a mood i was in, or how little contact i would have with certain people or even people all together, something would always trigger this removed persona. It's like one moment i would be in a situation, and the next i would we watching it, thinking "do i even need to be here?". The more i connected this feeling with certain activities, times of the day, and people, the more those things would push me away. I set out on an i hate so and so rampage thinking they were the ones ostracizing me, but not until much later did i realize that i was doing it to myself. If i take a second to really seperate myself from a situation and see it as an outsider, the way i would respond to people when i felt uninportant was to withdraw or simply leave when they came around. But by leaving i left no lasting impression on them, i didn't show them that i was physically there, and they would have no reason to think that i was a vital part of that situation. It's like if i feel like people think i'm useless, my self-pitying attitude will make people treat me like i can't do anything on my own, which just verifies the previous belief. Even if that's not how they would originally felt, my energy affects theirs. It's all one vicious cycle of worthlessness. Upon discovering that i'm an idiot (that was my rational conclusion), i have hereby decided to follow the golden rules of power of positive thinking. So far so good. Now i wonder if this practice will work for getting pudding for dessert...

car 54, where are you, where are you?!

I laid down the law today. In the most passive aggressive kind of way possible, but it was laid down nonetheless. Let's rewind to my childhood, where maybe you as an outsider can objectively determine what event in my short-lived, uneventful life made me so damn maleable :). I'm not sure if i was super domineering in a previous life, maybe hardcore S&M got me down, but either way i'm a pushover. Now that i've set the scene, lets fastforward to today, when i opened my car for the first time in 4 days and found it completely trashed, and the tank half empty (yes, half-empty. this is my pessimistic quota for the day). Well, i wasn't gonna take this laying down, no siree! lets just say i made my message very clear to all future car-borrowers. **note, the message i'm refering to is written on pastel pink paper and taped to my steering wheel. if that's not intimidating than i don't know what is.** sarah says hi. emily looks like a hooker. love ya. xoxo gossip girl

more-ientation

I feel like it's an inborn sentiment to despise the process of orientation. I can't begin to enter the depths of how many exasperated sighs i've heard since i've come here. In fact, sometimes i sigh just because conformity sounds like a nice change of pace, but really i'm kind of enjoying myself. Did i mention my college is the shizznit? (today this guy charles asked a girl to say "alfredo is the shizznit" in german. You know... one of those basic need-to-know phrases). The RC mentality has already swept me up with it's origin starting from brooding students ready for a change who establish their alternative learning so that they actually LEARN the material to better themselves and abandon the traditional format of classroom teaching as well as condecending i'm-better-than-you student-teacher relationships, moving into a more fluid "the student is the teacher" and vice versa ideals has made me want to stand up, kick a table over and yell "yeah! fuck the man!". Instead i think i threw my pencil down angrily and muttered under my breath, which to me was in essence the same, but to a bystander looked more like a weird tick or something similar. Not only has this whole experienced pumped me up for learning (yeah, thats right, i went there), but it reassured me that i can be a stud. if you don't know what i'm talking about, i'll leave you with i came, i saw, i conquered :)

dis-oriented

Well readers, i've broken out of the metaphorical egg shell that is B'nai B'rith camp out into the real world. A world without meals-by-uzi or bed-making-by-liat. There's also a bit of a draft which i have yet to grow accustomed to. i'm not quite sure that i was ready to crack through yet. I still have to wipe the camp mindset of nothing-matters and fuck-bras off of myself. I thought i might shower to cleanse myself of my languid attitude but when i finally got close, my camp fuck-showers persona kicked in, and i ended up sticking my head under the faucet of a bathtub i found. Some things never change. After my arrival to UofM and my caught up sleep, i left the empty dorm room i was assigned to and wandered out into the coloquial streets. Turns out during the summer the streets a a lot less coloquial and a lot more tween-infested. I am officially lost now, and have been since about 6:45, but tried to cover up my obvious outsider identity by stopping somewhere new in intervals of about 35 minutes and settling in with a book, hoping that it may look like this was MY reading tree that i was perched by, or MY section of concrete step that i was sprawled over. Hours of "me talk pretty one day" and people watching later i stumbled upon one of the many UofM libraries and thought, maybe this could be MY library. And so it is. I remember the receptionist saying something about an orientation shananagan going on around 9. It's 9:16 and i've made myself fairly comfortable here. Looks like i'll have to wait until later to be oriented. This whole process has been fairly oriental to me (pardon my improper PC terminology). I've spent the majority of the waking day alone, and another significant portion of it with thai food and a cig. I hope when i'm done here i stumble upon my usual bathroom so that i can take my usual pee. Tomorrow orientation officially starts. Maybe i should shower...

Day 2

It's been an hour since my last written tangent, and it seems that the recent 60 minutes full of MJCC sponsored educational film clips have done little to nothing on my attention span. I'd like to take this ADD sponsored off-roading moment to discuss a sticky situation that has more than once presented itself: being caught with gum. Now originally i made up a greek mythological story about the origin of gum and how it still presents itself today, but now as i read, in a slightly more rational state, i realize that some shit i say should never be repeated. Instead i'll tell you about how i feel about the topic. Gum to me brings more good to the world than bad. It leaves the population fresher, more confident, and most importantly gives the marketing world plenty of opportunities to overdramatically advertise the little sticks of mintiness. However in the camp setting, gum is a terrorist. We can hardly MENTION the word, let alone indulge in its delicious burst of flavor. Every year the erradic gum-ban at camp has proven to be a tragedy to me, yet year after year, without fail, i find myself to be a card-carrying gum chewer. What is it about the nature of gum that makes it so adaptable to its surroundings. Not only can it cling to tables, sidewalks, peoples hair, but it also seems to pick up my underlying emotions. My prime example is that while i continue to chew gum at camp, i subsequently continue to get caught. Upon each discovery i am filled with shame. It would be so easy to walk away, stick the maleable snack to the top of my mouth, and chew away at a later time, but every chew is filled with guilt. Every spack tastes like failed rebellioon. Eventually it gets to be so overpowering that my pathetic mouth can't take anymore emotional turbulence, and i have to spit it out in a fit of rage. Damn your eagle eyes and your manupulative, convincing words michelle! you keep this camp so clean, and my mouth so lonely.

True Life: I've Joined the Amish

Dear readers,
i've come to the realization that though technology is at my fingertips, a mere saunter down to the slightylu moldy staff lounge and a click away, i am not particularly partial to sauntering nor to clicking, which poses as a difficulty. Also, i don't really want to spend my free time in the dungenous and addiction world of the computers in the staff lounger so i find it would be more productive to handwrite my blogs as we, the Bnai Brith staff of 2008 sit and fill our beings with words of the wise via michelle koplan, and tranfer my thoughts later. **note that this original message was scribbled illegibly and then formated to fit your screen** Don't you fret though. Despite the fact it may SEEM unlikely that i am letting my spongey soul fully soak up all this knowledge, i assure tou that it is quite the opposite. Statuatory rape, crisis management, don't bully, do help out... thank g-d i'm so damn attentive. This shit is golden. So far camp has been excellent. Camp time,however, has thrown off both my mental and biological clock. Now not only am i incapable of gaging time, but i think i'm prone to an early onset of menopause. This is yet another reason why i have found it difficute to get on the internet and do what i need to. Blogging may take 10 or 20 minutes of my precious time, which at camp equivacates to, i don't know, a millenia? and if you expect me to just drop a thousand years at the drop of a hat so that your beedy eyes can stay updates on my mundane, detallic stories of my life, you my friend are seriously mistaken.

snail mail

I stole a handicap sign. Now before you hack into my personal information, find my address and set my house on fire to emulate the burning flames of hell you think i should be immersed in, let me explain my rational. This sign had no purpose. It wasn't even up. We found it behind the 76 gas station among cardboard boxes and cigarette posters (why we were behind there, i don't know). The poor hunk of metal looked so forgotten and pathetic, i think we almost did it a favor, stealing it. The only part we didn't think through all the way was that the sign was still attached to the pole. It made taking said sign all the more difficult, seeing as the pole had to hang out the window of my jalopy. In the end, hanna got the sign, i got the pole. Well shit. Anyone need scrap metal?

Yesterday i watched this awkward independent (and maybe french) movie called goldfish memory which i came across while browsing the netflix watch-instantly section. They say that goldfish have a 3 second memory (how they test the memory of a goldfish, i have yet to find out). That means that if this amnesia-ridden creature were to swim around it's uneventful bowl in those 3 seconds, every time around would be like the first time around. The movie related this ignorance to a human in love. Each time a human gets another chance to fall in love, the memory of the last heartbreak and pain disappears. Every time we put ourselves out to be loved, it is like the first time we have every been in love. I guess everything we do is like this as well. What we say, eat, think, is all a compilation of things that have already happened. Why is it that every summer brings out the strongest need for us to embark on something new when everything new to do has already been done? We're creatures of habit, yet we have an uncontrollable desire for change. I have less than 24 hours to assemble my life for the next 8 weeks, like i have been doing for the past 10 summers. You'd think i'd eventually learn to start my laundry earlier huh?

And now, a short note from our sponsors: Send me mail at camp! last year i got the occasional letter from my parents and guilt-infused friends. You could be one of those friends:

Rachel Sherman/Staff

B.B. Camp

P.O. Box 110

Neotsu, OR 97364

Do it, i dare you

to-do: get on your ish

Well, it's day two of my online journal adventure, and within 24 hours i've learned that having a blog can either make you an instantaneous literary guru, or an asshole. It's a fine line, but its there. Upon this discovery, i've come to wonder what makes or breaks that deal. A simple how-to book would prove itself useful here. Maybe an "Emily Post's guide to polite publishing". It would make the transition that much easier.

Yesterday, between ventures to the Saturday market and excessive dinner plans out in McMinville (a calming 50 minutes of thank-g-d-i-dont-live-here away) i mentally assembled my miny to-do list before i go off to the magical land of Neotsu. I'd like to take a minute to clarify that i am not one of those to-do-listers like so many people i know. For some reason, having a catalogue of all the shit that i have yet to accomplish doesn't get my juices pumping like the rest of my friends. But to-do lists are like an airborne disease. If you hang around an afflicted friend long enough, chances are you too will fall prey to its anal nature. It's strange how checking an item off a list feels much more rewarding if it was listed in the first place. Clearly the act of buying milk, (or something of equal unimportance) has very little merit to it, but that tick mark on your paper? Now that deserves a medal. Do we need to constantly see the outcomes of what we accomplish to feel satisfied with them? Do we only get things done in order to recieve the appropriate credit for our actions, showing the world how many more tick marks i have then the next man? Is the to-do list the prime example of the reasoning behind why all humans do what they do? No. But i wonder how many people i could mold into a band of loyal followers agreeing that the to-do list is the spawn of all evil plaguing this planet. Add an -ology onto it and i've got myself a cult. Yet another thing i can check off my list. Now all i need is oil for my car, bras, and chewy bars.

Now that i've filled my faux-existential tangent quota for the day, i'm off to have lunch. Until next time comrades. (still no vast improvement from my previous concluding words. it'll come to me eventually).

choo choo

Welcome passengers to my metaphorical train ride into the world of the internet. Yes, we're departing late, seeing as all those i look up to are already avid professional bloggers, but i thought to myself better late than never. This upcoming 3 month long ramble will be filled with wholesome summer time fun, along with the occasional minute fleeting thought. It may be a day's journal, or simply some ingenious idea that i feel should be told to the public. I can't tell if this blog is more for me than it is for anyone else. In fact, if you've spoken to me before, i'm sure you think that i have nothing more to say, but in reality i sensor the shit out of daily chit-chat, so beware about what you have stumbled upon today.

I have several reasons for starting this blog on this very saturday morning, some of which are:

• first and foremost i'm simply following my life motto of doing, not watching (if you have a blog, chances are i've already read it)
• inspiration from the unknowing emily zurrow
• countless failed attempts at journaling (most likely because there is no way i can write as fast as i think. However typing, thanks to the cyber lifestyle of the average 21st century teen, is another story)
• the realization that i have yet to feel that i have left a lasting mark on the world, and where better to start than the cluttered mess of lost souls and occasional naked picture of vanessa hudgens that we call the internet?

I thought about many a thing before entering the world of blogging; what will i say, who will give a damn, how is noob properly spelled, the basic worries. In the end i decided that this written adventure can in reality do very little harm, aside from making readers go temporarily blind, dazed, and/or confused. Becca left for camp today, which gives me a significant amount of extra time on my hands. Weeks ago we both admitted that we're the perfect platonic soul mates. I should buy her flowers. Since i don't have enough room or patience to go over the happenings of summer pre-blog, i'll have to describe it in the best way Becca and i deemed possible: Deja drinking, dancing, driving, destination, and douchebags, though not necessarily in that order. This is rachel sherman, your captain, wishing you a safe journey until my next entry. over and out.

**daily goal: come up with a better departing catch phrase**