Or at least holding my hand.
In no particular order:
1. Mark from Empire Records
2. Josh Holloway
3. Ian Somerhalder
4. Anyone named Andrew
5. Daniel Radcliffe
6. Shia LaBeouf
7. Boys with mohawks
8. Boys with tattoos
9. The hot, androgynous girl from the Hookup
10. Keira Knightley
11. Michael Cera
12. Bike punks
13. Awkward boys
...to be continued.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Vegas Escapades
Now that I've graduated college and no longer have the awful cloud of schoolwork-I-should-be-doing looming over my head every time I do something fun, I've decided that I'm going to try blogging more. However, since I'm temporarily unemployed and living in a city where I know very few people, I may write about past adventures to make up for any lack of current adventures. This is one of those moments.
As a student at Pitzer College in Claremont, California, my sunny SoCal location offered me easy access to many exciting destinations. Like Vegas, which was only 4 hours away.
During the spring break of my junior year, most of my friends - who were seniors - were dedicated to staying at home and working on their theses. We went to Joshua Tree for a night, but other than that, it was home, home, home. That Thursday, though, I mentioned Vegas to Kirsten. And Kevin. And Michael, though in the end, Michael was not as blindly enthusiastic about the proposal as the rest of us.
By 5:00, Kirsten, Kevin, and I were off. That night I learned many valuable Vegas lessons:
Number 1. It is very difficult to get free drinks while playing slots on the strip.
Number 2. If you are staying at the Imperial Palace, be warned that their idea of a "view of the strip" means a view of the warehouses next door.
Number 3. If you are staying at the Imperial Palace, also be warned that while admiring your view of the warehouses next door from your balcony, the door may shut and lock behind you. Leaving you stranded on your 17th floor balcony with a poor view.
Number 4. If you are gambling at the Imperial Palace and find yourself on a winning streak, know that the casino managers will card your baby-faced friends, switch out your dealer for one who will offer you more winnings, and huddle in front of your table whispering - even if you are unfailingly playing the minimum.
Number 5. If you are gambling at the Imperial Palace, you may find yourself in the company of Christina Aguilera - because she will be dealing cards for you. However, she may be forced to leave so that she can perform, leaving you afraid for your life as a creepy Lionel Richie looks to take her place.
The next semester - before my senior year really got underway - another Vegas excursion presented itself to me. Though my plans for the day had been only to get delicious Patty's burritos with Terri and sit around 'til it was time to play some ball with Kevin and Michael, I should have known adventures were on the way once Hamlet 2, bowling, and polyamory got thrown into that mix. After donning our basketball gear in preparation for our last planned activity for the night, Kevin, Terri, and I decided - while Michael used the restroom - that we'd rather go to Vegas. This time, Michael was in, and we were off and ready for fun despite our 8pm departure. Once again, I learned many a secret about Vegas.
Number 6. Vegas Downtown is far more colorful, bright, and fun than the strip.
Number 7. According to testimony, there exists somewhere in Downtown a fancy Wizard-of-Oz slot machine that will induce a drug-like adventure complete with rumbling seats and Glenda the Good Witch.
Number 8. While watching your friends play craps, it is best to stagger the ordering of drinks amongst yourselves. That way, you can finish your drink while the waitress fills other orders and be ready to order another once she is back.
Number 9. While watching your friends play craps, it is also polite to shower everyone at the table with innumerable cheek-kisses.
Number 10. If you are asleep in your shared hotel room, one of your friends will not hesitate to poop in front of your other friends who are hiding out in the bathroom in an attempt to allow you sleep. These other friends may then throw water on said offender, causing you all to be mighty damp the next morning.
Number 11. The scrambled eggs at the Four Queens are not eggs. They may be rubber, they may be glue, but they are most certainly not eggs.
Number 12. Do not attempt to attend a Carrow Family India party immediately after returning from your trip. It will not bode well for your stomach, your head, or your physical well-being in general.
And that, my friends, is what I learned from living a mere 3 hours away from Vegas. Now that I'm on the East Coast, I'll have to find a new destination to offer me such an extensive education. But I hear you learn something new each day, so I think I'll be fine for now.
As a student at Pitzer College in Claremont, California, my sunny SoCal location offered me easy access to many exciting destinations. Like Vegas, which was only 4 hours away.
During the spring break of my junior year, most of my friends - who were seniors - were dedicated to staying at home and working on their theses. We went to Joshua Tree for a night, but other than that, it was home, home, home. That Thursday, though, I mentioned Vegas to Kirsten. And Kevin. And Michael, though in the end, Michael was not as blindly enthusiastic about the proposal as the rest of us.
By 5:00, Kirsten, Kevin, and I were off. That night I learned many valuable Vegas lessons:
Number 1. It is very difficult to get free drinks while playing slots on the strip.
Number 2. If you are staying at the Imperial Palace, be warned that their idea of a "view of the strip" means a view of the warehouses next door.
Number 3. If you are staying at the Imperial Palace, also be warned that while admiring your view of the warehouses next door from your balcony, the door may shut and lock behind you. Leaving you stranded on your 17th floor balcony with a poor view.
Number 4. If you are gambling at the Imperial Palace and find yourself on a winning streak, know that the casino managers will card your baby-faced friends, switch out your dealer for one who will offer you more winnings, and huddle in front of your table whispering - even if you are unfailingly playing the minimum.
Number 5. If you are gambling at the Imperial Palace, you may find yourself in the company of Christina Aguilera - because she will be dealing cards for you. However, she may be forced to leave so that she can perform, leaving you afraid for your life as a creepy Lionel Richie looks to take her place.
The next semester - before my senior year really got underway - another Vegas excursion presented itself to me. Though my plans for the day had been only to get delicious Patty's burritos with Terri and sit around 'til it was time to play some ball with Kevin and Michael, I should have known adventures were on the way once Hamlet 2, bowling, and polyamory got thrown into that mix. After donning our basketball gear in preparation for our last planned activity for the night, Kevin, Terri, and I decided - while Michael used the restroom - that we'd rather go to Vegas. This time, Michael was in, and we were off and ready for fun despite our 8pm departure. Once again, I learned many a secret about Vegas.
Number 6. Vegas Downtown is far more colorful, bright, and fun than the strip.
Number 7. According to testimony, there exists somewhere in Downtown a fancy Wizard-of-Oz slot machine that will induce a drug-like adventure complete with rumbling seats and Glenda the Good Witch.
Number 8. While watching your friends play craps, it is best to stagger the ordering of drinks amongst yourselves. That way, you can finish your drink while the waitress fills other orders and be ready to order another once she is back.
Number 9. While watching your friends play craps, it is also polite to shower everyone at the table with innumerable cheek-kisses.
Number 10. If you are asleep in your shared hotel room, one of your friends will not hesitate to poop in front of your other friends who are hiding out in the bathroom in an attempt to allow you sleep. These other friends may then throw water on said offender, causing you all to be mighty damp the next morning.
Number 11. The scrambled eggs at the Four Queens are not eggs. They may be rubber, they may be glue, but they are most certainly not eggs.
Number 12. Do not attempt to attend a Carrow Family India party immediately after returning from your trip. It will not bode well for your stomach, your head, or your physical well-being in general.
And that, my friends, is what I learned from living a mere 3 hours away from Vegas. Now that I'm on the East Coast, I'll have to find a new destination to offer me such an extensive education. But I hear you learn something new each day, so I think I'll be fine for now.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Lost, Hatch, Shirtless, Bleeding, Dead People
This weekend I moved to Brooklyn. That statement may be slightly misleading because, so far, that only means that I sleep on Cara's couch in Brooklyn and watch Lost all day long while working on a puzzle that I swear is missing a number of pieces. Though I would certainly be content to sit around always and oogle at the beautiful people that ABC somehow convinced to all join one spectacularly attractive cast, I have been searching for ways to get off this couch. That being said, if anyone knows of anyone who is looking for an apartment-mate or - more importantly - of anyone who is looking to hire me, I will bake you cookies if you hook me up.
Anyway, back to Lost. Anyone who knows me well knows that I really don't like movies or television shows or even books where things go wrong. I like my entertainment with as little plot as possible. That's why Empire Records is my favorite movie.
One might wonder then, why I would ever agree to watching all four seasons of Lost in preparation for the 5th season. A lot goes wrong in that show. And I mean a lot.
Cara and I have worked out a system, however. Some may think it ruins all the fun, but really, it just saves me immeasurable amounts of strife. You see, when a particularly beautiful cast member was killed off in the first season, it really upset me, so I went online and looked up when all my other favorite characters die. When I told Cara what I had done, she didn't scold me. Instead, she just apologized for neglecting to warn me about the beautiful boy's death. Now we have a lovely setup where she warns me anytime a situation begins to get intense. That way, it doesn't feel like my heart is going to explode with anxiety over whether someone is going to die or not. Sometimes Jon tries to trip me up by telling me that someone is going to die when they aren't, but I don't fall for his shenanigans.
The only problem now is what we will do when Season 5 finally gets here. Cara won't be able to warn me then. I'm going to try and struggle through it, but we have a backup plan in case I can't handle it.
As long as that show continues to showcase some of the most beautiful people on the planet, however, I think I will be able to survive the suspense. Plus, now that I'm working on becoming a grown-up, I guess I better start appreciating adult things. Like plot twists. And the Unknown.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
I Don't Like Commitment
Amy: On a scale of 1 to 10, how often do you actually use a one or a ten to describe something?
Julian: ...Two.
Julian: ...Two.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Return to Africa
Well, not exactly...but my lifestyle here at my "luxury" apartment in Claremont (or Upland, to be exact) has mirrored my life in Botswana in so many ways, it's a little weird. And so I give to you...
Ways in which my apartment makes me feel like I'm abroad again:
1. The hot water is unreliable.
This is not exactly true for Botswana. I was pretty much guaranteed hot water for my morning bath every day; however, since only my feet could be submerged in the warmth of this bath, leaving the rest of my body to shiver in the chilly air of the African morning, I feel justified in including my baths in this category.
At my apartment, I have the luxury of feeling water cover my entire body during my showers, but there is still no guarantee that my bathing experience will be a warm one. The hot water has been a bit flaky, so my rushed showers in California probably provide just as much (or little) cleaning as my bucket baths in Botswana.
2. My commute to school involves an inordinate amount of dust in my face.
In Botswana, as you'd expect from a country that is half desert, the land was incredibly dry and barren. Thus, on my trek to and from school every day, I had to hike through piles of dust and endured many gusts of wind that gave me a faceful of the stuff.
Here, the stretch of road leading from my complex to Claremont Blvd. is essentially a wasteland of quarrys and nothingness. In the dry heat of Southern California, this also means dust. To make matters work, numerous construction projects are underway on this empty expanse, causing the dirt to be disturbed and facilitating its journey into my face.
3. I cook things on a gas stove.
I know many houses in the U.S. have gas stoves, but having grown up on an electric stove, the smaller high to low temperature spectrum and constant fear of extinguishing the flame are (almost) new experiences for me. The only other real experience that I've had being in Africa. Granted, in Botswana, I had to turn the dial on the actual gasoline tank and then light the stove with a match by hand in order to get the burner going, but it was a gas stove nonetheless. Similarity.
4. I live behind a gate.
I had a fence the yard of every home I lived in in Botswana, but when I lived with my third host family in Gaborone, the capital of Botswana, I had a legitimate gate that often required a key to get through. And on the occasions that it was unlocked, it took some serious pulling to secure an opening wide enough to squeeze through.
At my luxury apartment complex, we too have gates that require either a key to open or an oversized remote control. Though some would see this as an appreciated form of security, I see it only as a hassle - an extra obstacle in my journey to and from school.
5. I open cans with a knife.
That's right. Who would have thought I would come away from Africa not just with a new cultural understanding, but with practical how-to knowledge. It may not surprise you that I had no can openers in Botswana, so my opening tin cans with a knife would be a plausible, resourceful practice. However, you may feel differently upon learning that I use the same technique here in my luxury apartment. But what do you expect from a college kid in a new, unfurnished home?
So maybe I didn't really have to get all those shots and take long plane rides to experience a different way of living. Of course, I won't make that claim just yet...at least not until I have to dodge cows and donkeys on the road and my neighbors start speaking Setswana.
Ways in which my apartment makes me feel like I'm abroad again:
1. The hot water is unreliable.
This is not exactly true for Botswana. I was pretty much guaranteed hot water for my morning bath every day; however, since only my feet could be submerged in the warmth of this bath, leaving the rest of my body to shiver in the chilly air of the African morning, I feel justified in including my baths in this category.
At my apartment, I have the luxury of feeling water cover my entire body during my showers, but there is still no guarantee that my bathing experience will be a warm one. The hot water has been a bit flaky, so my rushed showers in California probably provide just as much (or little) cleaning as my bucket baths in Botswana.
2. My commute to school involves an inordinate amount of dust in my face.In Botswana, as you'd expect from a country that is half desert, the land was incredibly dry and barren. Thus, on my trek to and from school every day, I had to hike through piles of dust and endured many gusts of wind that gave me a faceful of the stuff.
Here, the stretch of road leading from my complex to Claremont Blvd. is essentially a wasteland of quarrys and nothingness. In the dry heat of Southern California, this also means dust. To make matters work, numerous construction projects are underway on this empty expanse, causing the dirt to be disturbed and facilitating its journey into my face.
3. I cook things on a gas stove.
I know many houses in the U.S. have gas stoves, but having grown up on an electric stove, the smaller high to low temperature spectrum and constant fear of extinguishing the flame are (almost) new experiences for me. The only other real experience that I've had being in Africa. Granted, in Botswana, I had to turn the dial on the actual gasoline tank and then light the stove with a match by hand in order to get the burner going, but it was a gas stove nonetheless. Similarity.
4. I live behind a gate.I had a fence the yard of every home I lived in in Botswana, but when I lived with my third host family in Gaborone, the capital of Botswana, I had a legitimate gate that often required a key to get through. And on the occasions that it was unlocked, it took some serious pulling to secure an opening wide enough to squeeze through.
At my luxury apartment complex, we too have gates that require either a key to open or an oversized remote control. Though some would see this as an appreciated form of security, I see it only as a hassle - an extra obstacle in my journey to and from school.
5. I open cans with a knife.
That's right. Who would have thought I would come away from Africa not just with a new cultural understanding, but with practical how-to knowledge. It may not surprise you that I had no can openers in Botswana, so my opening tin cans with a knife would be a plausible, resourceful practice. However, you may feel differently upon learning that I use the same technique here in my luxury apartment. But what do you expect from a college kid in a new, unfurnished home?
So maybe I didn't really have to get all those shots and take long plane rides to experience a different way of living. Of course, I won't make that claim just yet...at least not until I have to dodge cows and donkeys on the road and my neighbors start speaking Setswana.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Homelessness and Harmony
Last Saturday, I went down the Inner Harbor for a day of leprechauns, Johnny Rockets, and people in crazy Otakon outfits.
For those of you who aren't from Baltimore and don't know of it's amazingness, there's an amphitheater right in the center of the Inner Harbor called Harborplace and every Saturday and Sunday evenings they have live, outdoor performances for free.
After having a delicious grilled cheese and wandering around the waterfront for a while, the leprechaun and I settled down to watch a barbershop quartet-kind of deal perform. They sang many favorites, like "My Girl" and "Stand by Me." However, there was a performer of a different kind out to steal the show. A tall, skinny, very dirty man wearing a zip-up vest that was a little too short, a white bandanna around his head to hold back his short, greasy blond hair, and no shoes, staggered into the center of the amphitheater to dance. He clearly did not have what most people would consider a respectable home (aka - he probably slept on stoops and under bridges) and he was definitely either under the influence of a controlled substance or had frequented such substances to such a degree that he could no longer function in a "normal" way, but he was having the time of his life.
Not too long after he started dancing, a shorter, rotund fella in raggedy camo shorts also staggered into the amphitheater and began dancing. He had long, gray hair pulled back in a ponytail and he was wearing dress shoes that didn't quite match his outfit. He danced for a while and then went and sat with the other man (who was sitting with a dirty woman who was nothing remarkable) on one of the steps. As they sat, the skinny guy began to brush round-guy's hair. I'll be damned if it wasn't one of the cuter things I've ever seen. Sure, they were dirty, drug-addict hobos, but come on - a man brushing his friend's nasty hair? That's cute.
Now, I'll admit that the first time the skinny man came out and started dancing, I was uncomfortable and wished he would stop. I told myself it was second-hand embarassment, but really it was a mixture of that and a kind of disgust that he would showcase himself like that in front of all these nice people. But then, after the hairbrushing event, as they continued to get up at random intervals and dance, I realized that they had just as much of a right to be there as anyone else. They weren't panhandling; they weren't trying to steal from anyone; hell, the only time they even touched anyone else was when the skinny man tried to shake an old woman's hand to wish her a happy birthday.
During one of the breaks, the dirty hobo woman walked over to a woman who was sitting in front of us with her infant and tried to talk to the woman about her child. She wagged her finger in the baby's face and cooed just like any friendly person. While watching this, the woman sitting next to me leaned over and whispered, "No way in hell I'd ever let her touch my child." I smiled awkwardly, but the comment made me sad. These were people who were just trying to have fun; after all, they probably don't have the opportunity to hear music frequently at all, let alone live music. Just because they are less fortunate than the rest of us doesn't deny them the right to gather peacefully, watch a free show, and dance and sing along when they feel fit.
After the barbershop quartet, it seemed time for the two men to leave. As they walked off, it was like something out of a cartoon - a tall, skinny, short-haired man in barefeet tottering next to a short, round man with long hair and dress shoes. It couldn't have been better if it were fiction. I'm glad they were there and that they had a good time. They certainly enhanced my Inner Harbor experience.
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