Steppenwolf by Herman Hesse
Slaughterhouse 5 by Kurt Vonnegut
East of Eden by John Steinbeck
The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemmingway
The Stranger by Albert Camus
Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut
Lord of the Flies by William Golding

These are the books I read this summer.

These are the books I read because you told me I should read them.

You told me I should read them on that one Tuesday when I skipped my class and we were in your car driving up to go hiking and go to that fancy new mall.

I read them.

I miss you. Dang. I miss you a lot. I feel like you could have been my best friend. You almost were. My best friend here, at least. Now....if only you were still around. If I could call you, text you even....but I'm here and you're there, doing what you're supposed to be doing and all I can do is stick a letter in the mailbox every couple weeks and wait another couple weeks to get one back.

Please write back soon.

Just...life.

I guess I haven't posted in awhile. I just haven't been motivated. To be honest, I haven't been motivated to do anything these last few weeks since starting school. All I want to do is watch movies and spend time with my friends. I haven't had too many assignments, so I've been doing alright so far. But I feel like my lazy habits are catching up with me. I've been sick this weekend, making me even lazier--not great considering I have a midterm next week and two projects due tomorrow. Also, in my fuzzy-headed-feverish state I forgot to take an online quiz yesterday. So that's a zero. Great way to start out the semester. I feel like that professor doesn't like me much already, so missing that quiz probably didn't help.

I've also been stressing about where to live next school year. I had to have this awkward talk with my roommate today, telling her I'm planning on living with one of her good friends from home next year instead of with her. She was really cool about it, actually. I still feel a little tension, but maybe that's just my imagination. I went apartment hunting yesterday though. We found a really great place--close enough to campus, big kitchen, decent living room, washer and dryer, covered parking. And it isn't old and gross (that was my biggest concern. Some of the buildings nearby were around when my parents went to school here. I've seen some pretty dark, nasty old apartments.)  We're hopefully signing a contract later this week.

Now that I'm past the awkward roommate situation, I can focus on how excited I am for next year! It will be great. New place, new people, no drama. At least that's my hope.

I went to this great concert on Thursday. With a cute boy. Not sure if it's going anywhere, I think I kind of missed my chance with that one...but we'll see.

I should try to get some sleep. I have class tomorrow from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. I'm not sure why I decided to make Mondays so much more difficult than they already are, but at least the rest of my week is fairly easy.

Goodnight!

Of Missed Opportunities

I had my suspicions. The way you looked at me sometimes. The things you said and did...like you just wanted to sweep me off my feet. I thought I was just imagining things. There was no way!

 I always felt this tension when I told her I was going to hang out with you...but I thought that was in my mind as well.

I think I could have easily fallen, but I didn't let myself. We like the same things...you make me laugh...you're smart...you're sensitive...I can be my awkward self around you. I didn't want to make things weird though. I thought I would just be disappointed, and I definitely didn't need more heartbreak in my life. I would tell myself to stop dreaming every time I caught myself hoping.

When I read what you wrote, for a small moment I had this fleeting hope that you were talking to me. But then I thought, "No. No, someone else of course. Don't be ridiculous." But now I wonder if I was right all along. If maybe you were afraid of making things weird too...and well, it is true it would have been slightly pointless at the time.

It might be too late now. I might have gotten this all wrong...I'm just going off of what others have told me...but if sometime in the future we ever get a chance...past Melissa is telling you to just go for it. 

Decisions, Decisions

I'm posting this because I think I will forget it otherwise, and I feel like telling someone but am afraid of boring my friends by rambling about my important life decisions.

I was thinking about my major today. Last semester I declared Pre-Photography. I had always thought I wasn't good enough to get into the program but then I thought...you know? How will I know if I don't try?

So here I am, three days into the new semester and my 2-Dimensional Design and Photography classes, feeling way in over my head. I mean, they're okay I guess. But in my 2-D Design class everyone has been drawing and doing artsy things for years and I'm just sitting there like "Uh...I take pretty pictures." And my Photography professor is a professional from L.A. and he was telling us about the business aspect of photography and what a hard field it is and how hard you have to work at it. I just felt like...it wasn't for me. I'm not an entrepreneur. I don't know what I want to do with photography, I just know that I love it and I'm sort of good at it and I want to major in something I love. Overall, I just feel out of place in both classes.

If I can, I will apply to the Visual Arts major in  March, emphasis in Photography. If I get in, great. I will take classes and apply for the Photography BFA program and I will be all set. But I realized today, I don't have a backup plan...what if I don't get in to the VA program? 

I panickedly started looking at available majors. These are my thoughts....the ideas I don't want to forget.

I could major in American Studies. I would have to take an Econ class--not my forte, but I could manage. 

Another option is Humanities, with an emphasis in History or maybe Media Arts. 

I could major in History maybe. 

Possibly Linguistics.

 Political Science would be cool. 

Maybe Sociology, even thought I swore I would never take another Statistics class.

Well, there you have it. My major. My list of possible alternatives for when it falls through. Just...don't ask me what I would do with any of those degrees.

The Head And The Heart

Josh McBride. One of the most heart-breakingly beautiful things I've ever heard...

My Five All-Time-Favorite Albums

You know those albums that are just...perfect? Every song is exceptional, each in a different way. You can't just listen to one or two of the more catchy tracks and be done. Those albums are meant to be listened to in their entirety. They are a work of art. They are...perfection.You love those albums and you know you'll never stop loving them.

Well. For me, these are "those albums."

1. For Emma, Forever Ago - Bon Iver

My goodness, Justin Vernon. It's like he captured every emotion of the human experience and put them into nine tracks of musical ecstasy.

2. The Head And The Heart - The Head And The Heart

I just...love them. I have no words to describe how much I love them.

3. Begin To Hope - Regina Spektor

I'll admit it took me awhile to warm up to this album. Some of the songs are definitely not something you'd hear every day, but I've grown to love them and hear the beauty.

4. Megalithic Symphony - AWOLNATION

What I love about AWOLNATION is that they're like nothing I've ever heard before...and also like everything I've ever heard before. You know?

5. In Between Dreams- Jack Johnson

Relaxing, charming, and just all around lovely.

It will be okay, love.

I want to call you "sweetie." I want to hug you and tell you everything will be okay. I want to tell you that none of them matter because hey, I love you. I want to ask you what's wrong and kiss you and make all the bad go away. I want to say what I would have said if it were four months ago and you hadn't broken my heart.

I hope that's just a shadow of past feelings. I thought I was done, I really did. I thought I knew better than to ever go down that road again.

Bucket List

1. Go in a recording studio.
2. Visit Abbey Road.
3. Take a picture that reflects the world.
4. Make a movie.
5. Learn sign language.
6. Make a difference in someone's life.
7. Buy an old, used record.
8. Write a book.
9. Learn how to whistle.
10. Go to a show on Broadway.
11. Learn how to play poker.
12. Go crowd surfing.
14. Protest something.
15. Sing a solo for an audience.
16. See the Mona Lisa.
17. Visit New York City at Christmas time.
18. Go wake-boarding.
24. Order in a restaurant in a foreign language.
29. Have a creative couple Halloween costume.
35. Kiss someone at midnight on New Year's Eve.
36. Have someone win me a stuffed animal
37. Try to break a world record.
38. Donate blood.
40. Try vegetarianism.
42. Visit all fifty states.
43. Go to a drive-in movie theater.
61. Put a piece of gum on the gum wall in Seattle.
62. See the Alice in Wonderland statue in Central Park.
69. Go to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade.
71. See the Northern Lights.

What if?

I would speculate a lot. Sometimes it was serious, sometimes it wasn't. I would get the funniest thoughts, random scenarios. "What if people didn't have any lips?"  And I would want to share them. Or I would worry."What if you get in a car accident?" I worried that everything that could possibly go wrong, would go wrong.

Your response whenever I voiced these thoughts--whether a ridiculous hypothetical situation or a legitimate concern--was always the same. "What if..?" You would throw it right back at me. As if there were so many infinite possibilities that could happen, why speculate? You didn't get it. Maybe I did worry too much about what might happen. Maybe I should have relaxed a little more. In your mind, why worry? What was the point of all these "what if's"? 

Well, buddy, if you don't worry about "what if's" at least some of the time then you're asking for disaster. I admit I sometimes worry more than I should, but at least I'm always prepared. At least I'm cautious and careful.

As if that weren't annoying enough, you were totally hypocritical about it. "What if we have a miscarriage?" (Ignore how naive I was to think we would actually get married and have kids someday). You worried about things all the time. You had your share of "what if's". Hypocrite. Like I said. 

And now, on Twitter you're all like "What if it changed everything? Blah blah blah." Well, honey, according to you I can't live my entire life by "what if's." I don't have enough time or energy or emotional stability to spend worrying about what you might have to say. Excuse me if I don't jump at the chance to talk to you. Excuse me for having a life, for being busy, for trying to forget about you so I can actually feel better. 

If you have something serious to tell me, just spit it out. Don't leave me guessing whether or not it's worth my time. 

Tell me, please. Tell me what it is, if it is something that will change my world. I have to know, now. 

I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care.

I wish I didn't care.

Part of me says, "Good Riddance." It's like you don't exist anymore. Not to me.

The other part of me is screaming.

Home

I think I want to go home. The problem? I'm not sure I know where home is anymore.

Is it my hometown? The place I lived for 18 years? I've been missing it lately. My beautiful mountains, my sky, my sunsets out by the volcanos. I miss my city lights, and the view from my kitchen window. I miss what I used to have there, but I think that's gone forever. I miss my friend(s). My parents are there I guess, in the house I grew up in. Quietly doing what they've always done. But in a house where we keep to ourselves and I have to go out to get any normal human interaction, am I home?

Is this my home? This tiny college dorm room in this college town where everyone is the same? Don't get me wrong, I like it here. It's just that sometimes I think about the people here...how they're all so perfect and happy and I'm not, and then I feel trapped and want to leave. I hate the tiny room and the tension and the shallow relationships and not being able to cook or watch a movie. And sometimes I feel so lonely here, I want to scream.

I feel pretty lost, I'm not going to lie. I guess I'll go work on the getting found part.

Love

I think love is when all the happiness someone brings you is worth all the pain that they cause you.

And hey, guess what. I don't love you anymore.

Because

Sometimes, it's nice to be reminded that this world is filled with billions of other people. And sometimes some of those people need your help

Take My Hand

One of my photography assignments was to create an album cover. I wasn't sure what to do, until I thought of my friend Blake who was pursuing music and working on recording an album. Perfect.

We went to the tunnels (well, maybe not THE tunnels...but a place with tunnels when you go down La Orilla). It was kind of awkward. I don't like taking photos of people...too much pressure to make them look good. I can't make someone else feel comfortable in front of a camera when I, myself, wouldn't feel comfortable and when I barely feel adequate behind the camera.

This was one of the first photos I took. Blake offered me his hand to help me from one concrete block to the next as we made our way over to the tunnel. I told him to freeze, and took this.

I took a few other pictures. I used a different one for the assignment. But this photo...this one.

I'm not going to go into some explanation of what it means, symbolism, blah blah blah. You can decide that for yourself. I just...I like it. I like looking at it and thinking "I took this. I captured this moment, and pretty dang well if I say so myself." I don't even like this edit very much. I've never been able to get it to look right on a computer screen. The colors in the print are brighter, and better (I promise).

I like thinking that this photo hangs somewhere in the office of my high school, like I left something behind. Proof I existed, a few years from now when no one remembers me.

I've been thinking about the time I took this photo a lot today. Those months, that life I was living when I took this...wondering if anyone would offer me their hand now.

Monologues, etc.

The post below is my favorite monologue I ever performed during my time in theater. I just love how strong Portia is...how she stands up to Brutus and says "HEY. I'm here. Talk to me. I deserve to know what's going on."

I was thinking today, and wishing I could act again. I've never wanted to pursue theater and really I still don't. I got tired of it and quit and I don't regret that.

I wish I had another chance to act because I want to shout at someone. I want to lace my voice with spite and hatred and tighten my jaw and narrow my eyes. I want to get angry. Well, I already am angry actually. And I want to let that anger out.

That was always the cool thing about acting. I don't remember ever being openly hostile to someone in person. I try to act sweet, quiet, and gentle for the most part. Sweet, quiet, gentle Melissa doesn't shout or spit angry words in someone's face, no matter how much she wants to. When I was acting though, I got to be someone different. I got to be the kind of person who shouts when she's mad. I got to be the kind of person who's voice shakes with anger, who's cold eyes stare the offender down, who's jaw clenches with hatred before she explodes. Even if it was only for a short scene on a small stage a couple times a week during rehearsal.

I'm more angry now than I've been in a long time. And I know even if I were given the opportunity, I would probably just break down and start crying furious tears instead of yelling. I am dying to get on stage again. Give me one monologue...just one...something spiteful, and mean, so I can get it out of my system and start feeling normal again.

Portia

Nor for yours neither. You've ungently, Brutus,
Stole from my bed: and yesternight, at supper,
You suddenly arose, and walk'd about,
Musing and sighing, with your arms across,
And when I ask'd you what the matter was,
You stared upon me with ungentle looks;
I urged you further; then you scratch'd your head,
And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot;
Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not,
But, with an angry wafture of your hand,
Gave sign for me to leave you: so I did;
Fearing to strengthen that impatience
Which seem'd too much enkindled, and withal
Hoping it was but an effect of humour,
Which sometime hath his hour with every man.
It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep,
And could it work so much upon your shape
As it hath much prevail'd on your condition,
I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord,
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.

-Portia
William Shakespeare's Julius Caesar

Portraits

Photo by Stephen Dupont - Portrait of a gang member in Papua New Guinea. Dupont took portrait shots of members of the 'Raskols.'

What struck me about these photographs was how Dupont focused on the humanity. For instance, look at this shot. As a photographer, my first inclination would have been to focus on the barrel of the gun. But Dupont chose to focus, in this and other portraits, on the person behind the gun. When we (I'm guilty as well) think of a group such as a violent gang, we tend to think of them collectively rather than the individuals that make up the group. A gang like the Raskols could be percieved by many as a group of faceless, dangerous thugs.

Dupont, however, chose to give a face to someone normally faceless. A worthy goal, it seems to me.


I highly recommend checking out the other photos.
http://lightbox.time.com/2012/10/22/raskols-stephen-duponts-portraits-of-papua-new-guinea-gangsters/#1

Public Thinkers

Today in my writing class, the term "public thinkers" came up.

We read an article from some Washington magazine, criticizing the New York Times magazine, it's "ideology," and the stereotypical culture of New York City in general.

Something about hearing "Manhattan" and "New York Times" made my mind jump to Time magazine and my dream job as a photojournalist, travelling the world and taking meaningful photographs, relevant to current issues. I basically spent the rest of the class daydreaming about that life. I would travel, all over. Be constantly in transit, moving, capturing, working. I would have a fancy studio somewhere in NYC to come home to in between trips.

Anyway, partway through class I realized I should focus more on the present, and I happened to catch the discussion about public thinkers.

The article we read was saying how people like the editor of the New York Times magazine had the "intellectual responsibility" to form and share opinions based on meticulous research, facts, and analysis. The argument was that many "public thinkers," as my professor called them, did none of these things. They simply spewed out whatever they felt like and fed it to the ravenous public.

That got me thinking. Why do we have these "public thinkers?"  Whether they, these political analysts, journalists, newspaper editors, commentators, are well-informed or not...has society really gotten to the point where we need people to think for us?

All of the (sometimes) well-supported opinions we are fed through the media...why are they necessary? Why can't the public be given the facts, and form opinions for ourselves? It wouldn't kill us to synthesize some information, you know.

I just found it interesting that we, as a public, are fed opinions. Maybe someday we will learn to form our own.

From the Colosseum

Sometimes, it feels like my entire life is an out-of-body experience. There are moments...a few minutes, a couple times a year maybe...when I come back into my body and realize that yes, I am me. I am Melissa. I'm living this life, not just watching from somewhere far away. I realize I am not a separate person, I am myself. 

I'm not an observer, following a young lady through the ups and downs of her life. That joy and euphoria that She felt, I felt. The absolute and perfect bliss She used to feel, I felt. That mistake She made? Yeah, that was all me. The guilt was mine, too. The boy who doesn't love Her anymore doesn't love me either.

I have to make the decisions. I can't just sit back and wait for Her to choose a major, or decide to go out and do something with her life.The false sense of apathy I sometimes feel as a supposed observer isn't going to cut it.

I realize I am not a spectator, cheering on the Gladiator sparring with the lion. I am the Gladiator, and I am a few bad calls away from getting eaten.