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**