Morning Glory

Open your

eyes,

I see

the sunrise.

These beauties greet me every morning and are often the friendliest faces I see all day.

(photos by Emily Elizabeth)

Colour me Kubrick

Well, I know you are all dying to hear about the weekend of your favorite no-life blogger- yeah, Dad, you know I'm your favorite...blogger that is. In fact, I am eager to share my weekend with you all in the hopes that you will take a very valuable, albeit slightly impractical, lesson from it. Drum-roll please, the lesson of the day is, if anyone ever asks you to go to the midnight showing of 2001 A Space Odyssey, don't go.
In my case, the lesson should be, if you are considering asking people to go with you to the midnight showing of 2001 A Space Odyssey, don't! Friends are valuable, and this is a good way to lose a few. This experience made me thankful to be a girl, if only for the fact that, were I a guy, two of my three male companions to said midnight movie extravaganza would doubtless have kicked my ass.
I realize that you don't read my blog for my movie or book recommendations, but, if you do read this, you probobly don't read it for any particular reason at all besides perhaps intense boredom, so I'm sure you won't mind me placing my two cents in on Kubrick's masterpiece. I am a huge fan of old movies. I am a huge fan of intellectual movies. I am even a fan of trippy movies. But, allowing for a certain skew of opinion based on the intelligence of sitting down to a 2 and 1/2 hour, intellectual, trippy movie at midnight and also my particularly deep hatred of space, I can and will dare to say that I will die happily never seeing this movie again. I am willing to admit that I am nowhere near qualified to weigh in on the actual content of the film- whatever said content is exactly- but I merely offer you this small token of advice.
On the other hand, biking across Philly at 3:30 in the morning is a worthwhile activity, and if it takes a midnight movie to inspire said persuit, so be it.

Things always look better in the morning

I wish I could write what it looks like. If I could only capture the deep contrast between day and night, then maybe you would know. If I could I would pen the image of the sunlight on this page as it filters down through the tree above; how it shifts and flows as the leaves blow slightly, the shadows mirroring the movement.
When it's daytime, and you sit alone, back against a tree writing-always writing- and youlook up, you realize you're not alone. To everyone walking by, you're a part of the scenery. Students pass by, laughing as they recount the glorious tales of their Friday night, memories aged only a few hours, the humor not fully fermented, but enough to cause bubbles of laughter among those who appreciate that sort of thing. To them, you're one of them. Sure you may be one of the weird ones, but you're here, so you're alright. You're just the typical; the token, coffee drinking, notebook writing, bare feet, leaning on a tree college kid-you're alright.
But at night, oh, God help you at night. As you walk, alone, quickly, against the current of the sticky alcohol stream, the babbling passers-by all know. Maybe if you tried you could hide it. Even if you lit a cigarrette and met their eyes, then you'd be alright.
I'd write it for you now, but it's day so it is- I am- alright.

Subway..now that's some weak-ass shit

Since I know you all like me to regale you with tales from the soul-sucking sandwich shop known as Subgay Eat Balls...I mean...you know what I mean, and also since I am wired on an extra large cup o' joe- thank you 7-11 for your "any size coffee for 99 cents after noon" deal, here are some thoughts on Subway deux, Philly style bay-bay.
In a quick aside, thank you to whoever keeps repeatedly listening to "Love the Way You Lie" in the apartment above me. Luckily, and I'm not too ashamed to admit this, I've been hype on this song all week. Peace and love.

Allow me to explain, first and foremost, that Subway Bangor Plaza and Subway North Philadelphia are very different places. The main difference, of course, is the clientele. While we certainly get some crazies up North in B-town, they truly have nothing on some of the characters we are expected to serve with a smile here in los ghetto. For example, there is the lovable man who comes in every two weeks or so and stands at the counter ranting in a mixture of English syllables and jibberish. Now, he fully expects us to translate whatever it is that he's conveying into a sandwich order. While this may at times be disturbing or a nuisance, depending on how the night is going, it is also a wonderful opportunity to express one's Sandwich Artist creativity. Whatever you make, you can generally convince him was exactly what he asked for. And, since, when he reaces the register he will considerately dump the contents of his pockets and wallet onto the counter, it is a pleasure to ring him up and make sure he pays the correct amount. Beware though if you make him wait to long, because in his mind, he was always there first and always has already ordered. There are no lines for this veteran- which, I might add, is the only fact I've ever gathered from his ramblings- no, sir.
Then there are the students- this is Temple after all. These customers fall across the board. We have our grunting football players- double meat all the way for these hungry athletes, hey, it's on the school's dollar anyway. There are the hipsters- don't even think about asking them to remove their Bose headphones so they can hear you ask "American, Swiss or provolone?" There are the nightly Indians- veggie sub, duh! don't forget to change your gloves and extra of all souces. The students who come in with their parents, usually freshman, who are obviously not from around here and tend to be disturbed by their fellow customers and my Sandwich Artist team. Often these will appeal to me with fearful, pleading eyes as they struggle to determine what, "You want some of this jawn, or this here?" even means. Get with the program folks, you're not in Kansas anymore, and yes, your precious baby will get shot. All of these student-customers have some things in common such as they do not know if we take Diamond dollars (look at the door, people) and they do not intend to throw their garbage in the trash can, unless the trash is already overflowing- monkey see monkey do? or, an affinity for excess?
Wow, writing that was almost as much of a chore as enduring a 9 pm rush at the Sub hub. Stop by and see me any night at this beloved place of employment. And, go ahead and do the five dollar footlong song/hand gesture, I dare you.

I don't really like John Mayer

"I believe that my life's gonna see,

the love I give return to me."

Changes (No looking back)

Warning: this post is a break from the normal "newsiness" of this blog...okay, I jest. There is no norm and there is not a whole lot of news going on here. But, in any case, here is an excerpt from my life at this point in time. Talking to yourself is cathartic.

People say to look at each day as the beginning of the rest of your life. This has never been one of my personal creeds, of which there are more than a few, however it is the approach I am taking, starting now (pun intended).
I am seeking to live every day for that day; accomplishing those things that will make individual day a success unto itself. I want to throw myself into every day and attack it like it's all there is.
I want to look ahead. No more looking back. No more wasting time crying and moping about anything. Yes I have experienced incredible sadness, and also incredible joy. And, you know what, there's a whole lot more of both to come! "Life may be sad, but it's always beautiful."
I am choosing to be happy. Although I lose sight of it often, I have always held the basic belief that happiness is the sole responsibility of each individual person. It's a choice. Every day, every minute of my life is a choice. I can decide to be happy or sad. I can choose to be afraid, or I can be brave. No one can make me feel inferior without my consent.
Of course, happiness is not always an easy choice to make. Sadness is easy. It's easy to get bogged down in the selfish pain that we all experience. You have to do what makes you happy. You have to think what makes you happy. If you don't feel it, fake it until you do.
I am the author of my own destiny. "I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul."

Congratulations if you read that and still choose to associate with the Rat Queen. So perish all babblers.

Truman Capote ate here

This isn't writing, it's just typing.