Gossip
Chelsi: I watched my first episode of Gossip Girl last night
Arwen: oh my god why
C: This is what happens when I stay at Lacy’s house
: Arwen, it’s so terrible.
A: uh, yes
: Yes it is
C: It was about how this chick was marrying the prince of Morocco
A: nope
: Not
C: and her old lover came back
A: newp
C: and was like, NO YOU CANNOT MARRY HIM
: And she goes
: BUT I MADE A PROMISE TO GOD THAT I WOULDN'T BE WITH YOU, CHUCK!
: AND THAT PROMISE SAVED YOUR LIFE
: DON’T YOU SEE?? I’M MARRYING THE PRINCE OF MOROCCO BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!
A: I am upset
: You don't have to go on
C: Oh, but I will!
: It’s about all these privileged kids from Manhattan
: And Gossip Girl is a BLOGGER
: Who outs all their shit… on her blog
: AND SOMEHOW THEY STILL DON’T KNOW HER IDENTITY
: EVEN THOUGH IT’S BEEN SIX YEARS SINCE THE SHOW STARTED
A: I've seen one episode, I think like four or five years ago
: The laugh track alone was enough to make me leave the room
C: what
: There's no laugh track… this is a DRAMA
: I think we’re talking about different shows
A: oh I apologize, we are
: I was thinking of Gilmore Girls
C: whoa dude… that show is awesome
: And the guy in it is so hot!
A: you are wrong and I don’t care.
A dedication
I've been thinking about my last post of 2011 for some time now.
Should I break it down by month, covering every minute detail of every season? No, that takes too long. Maybe I could just theme it with the event that affected me the most, like my move to San Francisco! Except, well, I moved back out in November so that's not really fun. Next in line: the brief but treacherous return of my favorite ex-boyfriend and our steamy, misguided make-out session! Yes! Lots to discuss there! Except no, oh no, because that topic is seven years old and letting it outlive the Harry Potter saga is unacceptable. (See also: Pathetic; Dumb; Lame)
I could talk firsts-- lots of people do that. I got a tattoo, spent the holidays without my brother (he moved to Colorado), went home with a stranger I met at a bar, finally paid off my emergency room bill. Or perhaps leading in with something happier would be better, like turning 27, and how my beautiful friends came out on two separate occasions to celebrate. Or how I'm starting a new job next month because the marketing sector of my future employer contacted me and more or less said they think I rock and want me on their team.
I could also write an entire novel about friendships. How they never cease to surprise, confuse, and elevate me. How they are sometimes the causers of heartache. I could tell you about how I bonded with an awesome trio of people, and that it was like finally finding the table in a high school cafeteria that accepts you because they're your same brand of crazy, not because they're particularly accepting. Or I could Just sum up that spiel with a popular Irish toast: There are good ships, and there are wood ships, the ships that sail the sea. But the best ships are friendships, and may they always be.
I'm currently in my childhood room in the East Bay. It's 15 minutes until midnight in New York City, my mother ship, and I'm watching a live broadcast of Times Square. I think instead of making a final decision on this post, I'm going to switch my brain over to Eastern time, watch the ball drop, and then fall asleep thankful for my health, my amazing friends and family, and every little thing that happened in 2011. There was loss and tragedy and tears, but no regret. And absolutely no dwelling.
In fact, I just realized that 2011 was the first raging bitch of a year that I can honestly say I straight manhandled. What a feeling, you guys!
February 24, 1955 – October 5, 2011
Excerpts from Steve Jobs' commencement address, Stanford, 2005
When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: “If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you’ll most certainly be right.” It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: “If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?” And whenever the answer has been “No” for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.
Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.
...
Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.
...
When I was young, there was an amazing publication called The Whole Earth Catalog, which was one of the bibles of my generation. It was created by a fellow named Stewart Brand not far from here in Menlo Park, and he brought it to life with his poetic touch. This was in the late 1960′s, before personal computers and desktop publishing, so it was all made with typewriters, scissors, and polaroid cameras. It was sort of like Google in paperback form, 35 years before Google came along: it was idealistic, and overflowing with neat tools and great notions.
Stewart and his team put out several issues of The Whole Earth Catalog, and then when it had run its course, they put out a final issue. It was the mid-1970s, and I was your age. On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath it were the words: “Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.” It was their farewell message as they signed off. Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. And I have always wished that for myself. And now, as you graduate to begin anew, I wish that for you.
Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.
CAN’T YOU SEE?!
Today's vague blog is brought to you by Memoirs of a Geisha:
"Can't you see? Every step I have taken, since I was that child on the bridge, has been to bring myself closer to you."
Well that sucked/GPOYF
This site has been down for the last couple of weeks because my bandwidth was exceeded. I want to say it's because everyone suddenly likes (or "pluses") the things have to I say, and GAS has become so popular it can't handle the traffic, but the culprit is probably Jojo's response to Marvin's room. I've re-linked it as a YouTube video instead of a download.
The rest of July went just as shittily as the first half anyway, ending with two more funerals, the death of three pets and a minor car accident. Everything seemed so out of whack and ridiculous that a couple of my friends and I played the lottery just to see what would happen.
Before checking our numbers my roommate and I went to brunch at a little spot in the city called Serpentine. "Hey, when we get home there's like a .0000000001% chance we're going to be millionaires," I said. She looked at me, burst into laughterso loud that the people at the table next to us turned to see what was going on, and before I knew it we were both in unexpected hysterics, tears welling up in the corners of our eyes, hands clutching at our stomachs.
We didn't win, but that moment sure was worth the three dollars.
Little voice
I didn't speak at the funeral, so I wanted to put what I would have said out into the virtual ether:
Thank you for making sure I was always full. Painfully full.
Thank you for being so welcoming. And not in the hospitable way, but in the way where the first time I came over the dynamic was already so familiar I thought you might ask me to do the dishes or take out the trash. I wish more people were as accepting without question. (And now that you're gone, I can admit I totally would have done the dishes and taken out the trash.)
Thank you for giving me endless grief about how much I spoiled your son.
Thank you for thinking it was funny that your vicious dog had it out for me. The stories of teeth holes in the legs of my jeans and bladder infections from being too terrified to leave the safety of the bedroom have provided my friends with laughs for almost 7 years now.
Thank you for the time I visited you at the hospital. For making light of the situation by complaining about your stupid bed pan, your stupid nurse, and for making fun of the flowers I brought for being smaller than everyone else's. For the hug at the end that was surprisingly warm and kind, and the hand squeeze that said everything you didn't want to say out loud.
Thank you for the last time I saw you. We ran into each other at a Japanese restaurant, both alone, and you made me sit down and have dinner with you. Thank you for grilling me on what I was doing with my life and where I was going as if I was your own kid (and you better believe I broke a sweat). Thank you for smiling and being satisfied with my answers.
And finally, thank you for your sons. Rest easy and proud knowing they've turned into good people, and that they will undoubtedly go on affecting the lives of others in the same stubborn, frustrating, and absolutely endearing way. Especially your eldest, who has changed my life -- as much as I hate to admit it -- tremendously for the better.
GPOYW
Try as much as possible to be wholly alive, with all your might, and when you laugh, laugh like hell and when you get angry, get good and angry. Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough. - William Saroyan
A couple of things:
1. I took this photo after a certain someone said, "Have faith, Chelsi."
2. Next I went to a funeral for the first time in over a decade, head held high. I cried. I laughed. I prayed. And then a hard truth hit me in the heart and I went home feeling empty, worthless and alone.
I can't say how much faith I have at this point but I know one thing's for certain: I'm alive. I'm definitely alive. I'm so painfully, painfully alive.
A good reminder on days like today
Originally referenced in this post. Please oh please Mary Schmich, help me get through this shit.
Ladies and gentlemen of the class of '99:
Wear sunscreen.
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.
Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.
Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blind sides you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.
Do one thing every day that scares you.
Sing.
Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.
Floss.
Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.
Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.
Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.
Stretch.
Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.
Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.
Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.
Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.
Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.
Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.
Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.
Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.
Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.
Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.
Travel.
Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.
Respect your elders.
Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.
Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.
Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.
The video is pretty good too.