Asplorin' TED Talks I found this:



Ben Zander is the reason I left Phillips Exeter (or, rather, the reason why I left when I did). I've never told anyone this.

Exeter would regularly (at least 1x a week) hold assemblies that were mandatory, where they would bring in some relevant person who could tell their life story, tell us about their company, tell us about their goals, etc. We had this woman who opened a school for Katrina victims, we had the governor of NH, we had lots of interesting (and less interesting) speakers. The piece de resistance, however, was Ben Zander. Once a year they had a BIG FUCKING DEAL speaker and in 2006, it was him.

His assembly lasted 2+hrs, during which I completely was blown away by his passion, enthusiasm, and honesty. I had been feeling such sadness; such loneliness; such confusion; such TORMENT over being in an environment which was crushing my creativity, ripping out my soul every morning I woke up, making me feel like my brain worked too differently to fit in at public school and too differently to be content in what was truly my ideal academic setting. I wanted to disappear. I lived only for my orchestra rehearsals, for concerts in the area, for the every other Saturday contra dances at the Unitarian fellowship.

After Zander gave his talk, I left the room floating. I realized that I would be okay. I could someday be the person I'd always dreamt of being (a runner; a barista; a Manhattanite; a wife to a man who is active, cooks, and owns purple sweatshirts; a mother; a true lover). And I realized that I could do all this while being an Exeter dropout.

So I dropped out.

But only after he conducted our symphony's rehearsal that evening. Immediately after the talk, the head of the music program was giving him a tour of the (ridiculously swanky) music building. I was practicing my cello in one of the smaller practice rooms, and I think there were only 2 or 3 other people practicing with me. He looked in the little glass window at the door of my room and swung the door open, shouted "glorious, beautiful! Beautiful!" and shooed himself out.
At rehearsal that evening he gave us the heart-wrenching story behind Beethoven's Coriolan (the story of Coriolan, not Beethoven) and made us play with more fierce, feverish passion than many of us had ever experienced. It was so cathartic, so euphoric. I was trying to destroy my instrument, I was trying to play the piece as if it were the final judgment of my soul on earth. My cello was just a medium through which all of my energy--positive, negative, sad, pained, angry, hurt, disappointed, optimistic, starving, dying--was flowing out towards others.



I played with him that evening and the next day I went to counseling services and told them to call up my parents, otherwise I'd be taking a train back to NY by myself.

I'm the person I wanted to be, growing more into her with each passing day. I am a runner (on hiatus at the moment?); I was a damn good barista; I am a Columbia Manhattanite to the core; I've loved devotedly two men who are active, cook, and own purple sweatshirts (and I feel like more, and a perfect one, await me in the future); I will be a mother; and, truly truly truly, living by what he preaches, I try to be a true lover in all the things I do.

Benjamin Zander saved my life, but I had forgotten that. The mind blocks out what it wishes not to remember, but I am so glad I've decided to remember this.

Love you.

-Camille

Today I was craving hot chocolate so terribly during class, and I didn't know how to solve this problem without giving money to Starbucks. But then I walked outside, and this was parked next to school


The Wafels and Dinges truck, of Gotham, and Food Network renown (including defeating Bobby Flay at his own game, thank goodness).



So I had a wafelini, and a Belgian hot chocolate. It was beyond my wildest expectations, and absurdly perfect.

-Karen

Some trippy shit is happening on PBS.
I have never had a sexy boss. It's such a shame. The only time that I worked in a place with romantic tension was the library, but it still wasn't the Maggie Gyllenhaal-Secretary dynamic I've always wanted. All the women at my job talk about pregnancy and babies, and when I was tutoring, they all talked about wedding showers and being snubbed when not invited to a colleague's wedding shower. What is the age where we'll go to work just to talk about getting a ring on it?

-Karen

I got into work at 9am, the first person (besides one of my supervisors) to show up. I have two supervisors and one big bad boss-man (who is, in fact, the biggest asshole I've ever met in my whole life). Just me and the supervisor who I've got the serious hots for. :) :)
Then everyone showed up; painting, heavy lifting, vacuuming, and dumpster-runs ensued; and I left there at 1pm, covered in dirt and paint and dust to go to my legit cubicle job where the office ladies were talking about bridal showers and "ughhh, Monday!" What a strange transition.

I want to do terrible, naughty things to my supervisor. His name is Anthony, he's big and strong but just a little bit soft around the middle (HE'S A MAN AND DRINKS BEER, DEAL WITH IT), and his ipod plays the type of rock n' roll-y blues you can dance to (and he sings to) and insane dubstep. He calls me "sweetie" and "honey" and "beautiful" and "darlin'" and, even though I am sure he would do it to all the girls, if there were more girls, it makes the 1950s virgin preteen in me swoon like nothing else. His smile makes me melt, his manly body (and manly occupation- this bro needs to wear a tool belt because it is REQUIRED- mMMmm!) drives me nuts, and I can't wait until the end of the year so that I can tell him "hey, you, I've wanted you for months." and then scamper off to Nepal, either after a nice romp on the shop floor, or after some kind smiles and pity with an "oh, you're a sweet girl, but no way" type of response from him.

I found him on facebook and his profile picture is of him in a mechanic's jumpsuit; beer, red wine, and a bag of barbecue chips on the picnic table in front of him; and my legs wrapped around his neck.
And my panties on his head. And my hands ripping off said jumpsuit. And his strong body forcing me down on the picnic table, his big arms sweeping off all of its contents, and his glorious cock emerging to show me just how a real man can make a girl feel like a woman.
His profile picture is more like an animated GIF, really.




I made the last parts up.

-Camille

I soak my oats overnight (as in, as soon as I'm done eating my oatmeal in the morning, I fill up the bowl with water, oats, and a little splash of apple cider vinegar) because it's supposedly good to remove "free radicals" and make the nutrients of the oats more easily digestible/integratable/etc.
And so I've soaked them for up to three days before, because sometimes I don't want oats and then I just think "oh, extra soaking = extra healthy = rad."
And so Friday morning I set up my oats, left for the great wilderness, and then came back to a pile of oats which smelled more distinctly like vomit than lots of vomit does. I sniffed it last night and thought "Oooooo-eee! that's fermenting. Great!" And this morning while rinsing them I was gagging because the smell was so overpowering (just with the old water going in the sink- I was so self-conscious someone would walk in and think that it was me/my cooking that smelled like that). But I heated them up (still smelled bad), added so much cinnamon (still smelled bad), added soymilk (smelled less bad), and somehow they ended up tasting like they always do (= good). I still can't get over the smell, though.

Also, I think I am going to start running again, if only because of how much I love smoothies after runs. Also, because I want to be able to eat Clif bars again without that "you are not so active that you need concentrated nutrition, Camille" guilt. I ran really regularly before college, I ran semi-regularly during my first 3 semesters of college, but since my break-up in December, I have only run thrice. I remember it really used to clear my head.
And I had redick leg muscles.

-Camille

That's not how I feel--no no--but it's been stuck in my head all weekend and I was even singing it on the mountain.

I wonder what my future will hold. I rarely ever think about my future, as it's very consuming and much better for my personal sanity/happiness, I've found, when I absolutely do NOT think of the future, but I just wish I could see a little glimpse. How many more dance parties? Will there be children? Will there be many lovers or one special one? Country roads or city pavement? Will I be healthy? Will I grow very old? Will I become better at piano? Will I be a mother? Poet? Gardener? Photographer? Botanist? Mycologist? Yogi? Something wonderful and wholly unexpected? Who will I stay friends with? What will I remember? Who will I remember? It's exciting, as it's happening now. We're moving there now, what will be is all here now, maybe a sapling, maybe a seedling, maybe still in it's mama, but all that will ever unfurl is here already.
I want to cry just thinking about it.
There are so, so many beautiful people in the world and I have only yet met the teensy, tiniest percentage of them. I love this. I love talking to people. KAREN, HEY, YOU. I LOVE PEOPLE. Some more than others but, truly, I love every one a little bit.

For Lew Welch In A Snowfall, Gary Snyder

Snowfall in March:
I sit in the white glow reading a thesis
About you. Your poems, your life.

The author's my student,
He even quotes me.

Forty years since we joked in a kitchen in Portland
Twenty since you disappeared.

All those years and their moments—
Crackling bacon, slamming car doors,
Poems tried out on friends,
Will be one more archive,
One more shaky text.

But life continues in the kitchen
Where we still laugh and cook,
Watching snow.

That's it.


I promise I will talk about my boss next time, just not now. Because I know you're dying with anticipation for that.

-Camille

Wonderful weekend.

Friday morning I set off at 9am to the Catskills with my Forest Ecology class to climb Hunter Mountain and survey a few of the forests up there. It was not as easy a hike up the mountain (the Catskills' second highest point), but it had splendid views, wonderful smells, and beautiful beautiful beautiful forests to tromp around in. Growing up with my hyper tick-conscious grandmother, I was always strongly discouraged from exploring woody/grassy areas. I did it anyway, as a kid, but I was always very careful and made sure that I'd have the opportunity to shower/check myself over for ticks within hours of my exploring.
Well this weekend, that didn't happen. I ran around and crawled and climbed in wooded areas, I went off the worn path and really observed (and measured- this was a lab, after all) the beautiful life that the forests had to offer: the beautiful life that people often miss out on because it's not so accessible or perfectly laid out for them.


I made new friends, I became close to everyone, I got to sleep under the stars, and I got closer to people that I really wanted to (and people who I hadn't even imagined getting closer to!).

That senor studly I have a crush on was on the trip, too. Good conversations, my apprehension and nervousness over "oh no is this mutual?!" easing because, no matter what happens, boy oh boy what a guy to be friends with! I love it when people can light you up inside, when they are living your dreams, when you can be silent or over-explain to the point where you'd normally be mortified with yourself yet still remain comfortable.

We arrived on campus today, Saturday, at 6:30pm. We were going to go contra dancing tonight but he called the second I got out of the shower to say he'd unexpectedly had something pop up. I didn't go dancing but I so, so wish I had. It's the first Saturday in weeks where I haven't gone contra dancing and even though my legs are sore and I'm thirsty and maybe a little feverish, I feel so much regret that I didn't go. I saved myself $15 but missed out on my weekly outlet to let loose and do what I love most.
Oh well, now I know.

I think things are going well. I am excited for the future. I am excited for the present. I am passionate about people: I love them all, even the shitty ones.

Atop Hunter Mountain Fire Tower.

Dinner dinner dinner

Good morning, campsite!

For dinner I had chickpeas + mustard + soy sauce. MMMmmmmm! I had originally just wanted a big spoonful of mustard but I am an adult now, didn't you hear? Adults don't do that.

Next up: who wants to fuck their boss? This girl, that's who.

-Camille

*

It occurs to me that if the story of Turnip had taken place when I was a child, of maybe seven or eight years old, I might have become one of those people that really believes that whatever you wish for will come to you. I'm not saying this in a woeful way, because I appreciate my life right now-- but imagine what your world would be if you were a child, and you wished the perfect creature would show up on your doorstep to fill a void in your life, and it did. You would think, if you build it, they will come; if you can dream it, you can be it, etc. As I'm typing, Turnip is lightly patting my one finger with her tiny little paw. I was going to end this by saying that it's kind of a shame that I didn't get this kind of lesson in optimistic "believe in the world" experience during my more formative years, but actually, maybe it's better that this happened after years of protective cynicism, and in the same summer that something else pretty important showed up at my doorstep.

-Karen

NOT HOMEWORK. we are not doing homework. we are watching The Simpsons. We are bad cats.

-Karen

Dr. R.E. Watson

thank you for everything.
I am really glad that our last conversation was about growing kiwis, and that you kissed me so strongly back when I was saying goodbye.

-Camille

It is absolutely ridiculous the number of times I have listened to "If You Ever Did Believe" since we watched Practical Magic together. A lot of times. It helps me get into the mood for fall, and Halloween, and apples, and cute romance, and watching Practical Magic.
I'm so happy that you have a crush that makes you feel the way you do-- I know exactly what you're describing. It feels like the older we get, the more elusive this incredibly uplifting, satisfying crush-feeling gets. It feels very wonderfully and nostalgically 90s, if it's even ok for me to place it in an era. For me, it's the crush that Sabrina had on Harvey.

This weekend my mom came to Brooklyn, along with my sister and grandmother. That means I was able to introduce my boyfriend to my favorite person in the whole world. My mom cooked a big dinner and she even made conversation with my boyfriend in her cute little broken English, and dinner was comfortable and easy. That's a little bit of a feat for me, since in the past I've tried to distance my family from my relationships as much as possible. After dinner, he and I went in search of ice cream, and the owner of our newly discovered Italian restaurant made us pistachio sundaes, even though they weren't accepting any more customers. We also drank apple juice, ate pomegranates,

and sour watermelon gummies, which are not pictured here.
Lastly, this gem ends (but really began) our weekend of an accidental red theme. On Thursday we had dinner in Union Square, and stargazed (ha) for a little bit in the park. He took a seat easily on a ledge that came up to my armpit, while I had to hoist myself up with some help from an old-fashioned fire hydrant. In the process, I dislodged this red cap from the hydrant. We decided to keep it.

-Karen

I feel so alive right now.

I have a crush on someone, and it's not intense, it's not fiery, but it's dazzling and mysterious and sunshine and easy and it's the perfect type of crush to suit my impatient, honest, and highly oblivious style of romance. Here's what it makes me think of.
When I was a girl, I had romance right on. Every time I made a new male friend at the playground, I would be his wife for the day. It was loving; we talked of the future; we acted as if we'd known each other all along, as if we'd be together for an endless time more, and as if this level of sweetness we'd attained had in fact been running there, deep and warm, for ages. And of course I was 5 or 6 or 7 so no numbers were exchanged (did you know I didn't even know what my address was until 3rd grade, when we had to learn it for a quiz? I've never been one for remembering numbers in the order they're supposed to go) and when we parted, it was usually for good. I also experienced this being-a-wife thing with every single one of my best friends' brothers at one point during our friendships.

It never lasted more than one day and, when that day was up, it was up. I was fully satisfied, I felt happy about what had taken place, and it never crossed my mind that I would see them again or that these feelings should extend (contractually) for longer than they were directly, vividly, and guiltlessly experienced. I never once felt sad or angry that these baby crushes ended, because it was just part of life.
You love a lot, you experience strange and wonderful happiness with the opposite sex, and you move on and get to do it again (with new, exciting husbands!).

This was me when I was three. This is still me at my finest. It's amazing and wonderful how we never really change.

I still behave this way sometimes, but those times are certainly more rare. I want to practice it more. This summer, with a man whose soul I find just mind-blowingly interesting, unique, brilliant, and attractive, I saved myself from getting hurt, getting jealous, getting insecure, and getting defensive (again) by repeating
"Don't think about the future.
Don't think about the past.
Just be here now."
and had a couple of real brilliant, life-affirming experiences as a result. I was the girl of my past, the girl of my dreams, and my one true self all at once, and it was perfect.
That's how this crush (my feelings, not necessarily the object of those feelings) makes me feel. And while I hope that the charming warmth that flowed between us wasn't one of these one-day affairs, I had a good enough time that, if it was, well, that's okay too.


-Camille

Oh my goodness.
Brown sugar + peanut butter + spoon = dangerous dangerous amazing combination.

Also, hooray for meeting new people, boo for thesis proposals, boo for problem sets, boo for weekly readings, hooray for scintillating discussions, hooray for living in a social world. I love how many surprising individuals it holds. I love how, even when the perfect friend/lover/etc can't be mine mine all mine, instead of dying alone, one's always able to find (sooner or later) someone COMPLETELY DIFFERENT but with whom they connect at the same/greater intensity.

Brown sugar and peanut butter. Oh nooooo.

-Camille

Moved into my new abode. It's lovely and quaint and just the right size for me. Too small to allow me to get messy, yet still small enough for it to feel like a cozy little hibernation nest. And the windows give beautiful natural light, lots of cross-ventilation, and the opportunity to see on top of everyone's roofs (which I love!).
This is what I see when I wake up- my bed is right in front of this window.
It's almost scary, actually. The window sill is very deep--one foot, probably--so I put my alarm clock and phone on it. My bed is the EXACT same height as the window sill, so it feels like a natural extension of my mattress. I woke up twice last night, a little flustered, because I thought I had knocked my phone out of the window. Also, if I tossed and turned more throughout the night, I'd be terrified of catapulting myself out of the window and promptly dying.
But that fear is not so heavy right now.

Classes begin tomorrow. I am ascared.

-Camille

I cannot fold fitted sheets, I cannot fold fitted sheets, I cannot fold fitted sheets. Half an hour later, can I fold fitted sheets? No. I still cannot fold fitted sheets.
I am making a fool of myself over here.

This will never be me. Bu-huh-huh-huuuh-mm-mm-mmmm-er.

-Camille

first day of school, and my buppy.

-Karen