Passenger Seat

You drive the car, and I'll read the maps.
Wherever we're going, let's never come back.















And of course:

Lost in Translation

     As a teacher-in-training, I like to think that I know what my students think is cool. After all, I’m only a handful-and-a-half years older than them at most, so I try to tell myself that I haven’t changed so much since I was their age that I can no longer put myself back in their shoes. However, my experiences as a summer camp counselor have shined the harsh light of reality in my eyes: I apparently no longer speak (or understand, for that matter) the Klingon-like language of “pre-teen.”

     Last summer, while working as a summer day-camp counselor, one of the pre-teen campers was starting trouble, so naturally, I wanted to step up and sort it out.
     “Can JIMBOB* and me go behind the stage? I lost my bracelet.”
     The girl** (I don’t really know what to call her, but all I can think of is Britney Spears’ lyric “I’m not a girl, not yet a woman…”) Her dark bangs fell into her eyes, and I knew then as I struggled to make eye contact with her why my own mother always yelled at me to get my hair out of my face when I was a kid. I considered the girl’s question for a second. It was a likely story. And by likely, I mean completely and utterly false. I know what pre-teens like to do behind large structures where no one can see them. I told her my thoughts.
     “No, you may not go behind the stage. We’ll be going outside shortly, so I’m going to tell everyone to line up. You might be able to check after drink break, but only if another counselor goes with you.”
The girl-creature’s eyes narrowed at me; darkening with demon-like intensity.
     “But what if someone takes it!” Her voice was insistent, screeching.
     “No one will take it. Here, I can check for it while you’re outside.” I offered. I looked at her wrist to see a multitude of colorful rubber bracelets. How could she possibly know if she was missing one?   
     Having had to deal with this girl before, I acknowledged that she probably just wanted to hide behind the stage so she wouldn’t have to participate at camp. She was the type of girl that her parents probably forced to attend the program so she wouldn’t be in the house with her raging hormones and her bad attitude. I began to feel sorry for her.
     “Only I know where it is though!” She tried again, not even trying to suck up to me like I would’ve done when I was her age.
     “Then you can tell me where it is.” I attempted to reason. I could not believe I was arguing with a 12 year-old about a bracelet, when there are more serious issues out there, like world hunger, poverty, or finding the cure for cancer.
     She opened her mouth again to complain, but I was quickly losing my patience despite the few extra minutes I had spent that morning in front of the bathroom mirror taking deep, calming breaths.

I closed my eyes to keep from raising my voice, and opening them again, I exhaled.
“Dude, just go outside, I’ll look for the bracelet. Don’t worry about it.”

     The little beast drew back in rage with an intensity only the violently coursing hormones of a twelve-year-old girl could muster.
     “DID YOU JUST CALL ME ‘DUDE’?!”
My eyes widened as I quickly tried to think of ways to clarify what I meant, but not apologize. I wasn’t going to back down to her. I had no idea if the severity of the offense I had just committed warranted her outraged response. “Dude” was a term of endearment to me. It was reassuring. It was a word I grew up with. Everyone, regardless of gender, was “dude.” I’ve come to notice that a habit of mine when I start to lose my temper is that my use of the word “dude” increases to Big Lebowski-ish proportions to prevent me from saying other, less friendly words that could cause me to lose my job. Watching the girl huff before me, I began to wonder: had the meaning of “dude” changed since I was her age?

     The irrationally angry girl stormed off towards the playground doors, letting them slam behind her. She would talk about me to her friends, and tell them I called her “dude.” They would all in turn talk about how lame I was, and how I didn’t know any Justin Bieber songs, or watch TeenNick on the weekends. It wouldn’t matter to them that I put up with their horrendous and unpredictable behavior five days a week to make minimum wage. Nor would it impress them that I’d been to roughly five concerts that summer, or that I was planning to go on a road trip with the money I made from working at camp. It mattered not that I had my own car, that I went to college, or that I wanted to be a teacher because I did, in fact, enjoy working with kids. To them, I just wasn’t cool, and I never would be.




*Not his actual name.
**I'm not sure if I consider pre-teens to be of the human variety at this juncture.


Here's a funny mash-up of scenes from the Big Lebowski set to Creedence Clearwater Revival's "Looking Out My Back Door." Gotta love the 90's.

Music and Pterodactyls: An Almost Love Story

Oh hey, thanks for coming over. I thought I was going to have to spend this dumb holiday by myself watching some lame rom-com on network television and eating my feelings. So, legit, thanks for stopping by and saving me from that. You can throw your coat over the back of that chair if you want. We can sit out in the living room, then? Cool, okay, yeah, hang on a sec, I’ll put some coffee on for us. This conversation could be a little while.

Secretly, Reader, I am an emotional creature. If you were to see me, you’d say “no, not that girl! She’s a stoic badass. Stoic badasses don’t have emotions!” Please indulge me, dear Reader, as I tell you some tales of love on this fine “holiday” (but definitely not saturated in emotion; I still have my “stoic badass” image to uphold).

For instance, one summer I sculpted two pterodactyls out of homemade rice crispy treats to use as a gesture of apology for someone I once loved. I parked my car in front of their house, waiting for said individual to return from work. No sooner did they exit their car, did I leap out of mine, and all of the words I’d rehearsed in my head ran together at once when I said:       

“I'MSORRYFORBEINGSTUPIDWILLYOUPLEASETAKEMEBACKIMADEYOUPTERODACTYLS!”

The rice-crispy pterodactyls before their ill-fated journey.

The look I received was a mix of pity, amusement, and raw bewilderment. This was clearly not one of my more “put together” moments.

However, it was just not meant to be. My pterodactyls had begun to melt in the hot summer sun like my composure; their chocolate chip eyes streaming like my own. I drove back across town, pulled into the back lot of an abandoned grocery store, and cried into the steering wheel. It was like I was filming a Lifetime movie.

My life is never this dramatic.

Oh, coffee’s ready. Cream & sugar?

I mean, you’ve been there, haven’t you, Reader? You’ve found yourself doing something so out-of-your-mind crazy for someone you’ve loved? It’s just me? Oh, c’mon. Seriously. You’ve been there, right? You try to do something that is as extraordinary as that person makes you feel, and that much emotion packed into a gesture, well it’s a risk, and I venture to say you’ve made many a pterodactyl-crispy-sculpture in your day that’s been left crying in the sun. But you’ve been loved too, I bet; no—cherished. You’ve been loved beyond recognition—it’s left it’s indelible mark on you, I can see it in the way you’ve stopped reading and started thinking about where love’s taken you, and what it’s left you with.

It’s a transformation; a metamorphosis. Even when you think love’s gone, it’s given you so much more than you realize. All of the intangibles language tries to describe, but it’s a feeling more than anything. I could go on, but you already know what I mean. That’s why you’re still reading.

*Cough*, Sorry, I said I wouldn’t let this get saturated in emotion. Whoo. Whoo, hoo, hoo. Okay. Bring it back. Brrring it back. Anyway.

Yet, along the spectrum of emotions I do manage to recognize, there’s some I don’t know what to do with. There’s still a box in the corner of my room at home containing the detritus of a love once shared. I suppose we’ve all got boxes somewhere, if not in our rooms, then in our heads. Don’t tell anyone I ever experience feelings about anything ever. I’d lose my hipster credibility.

Perhaps I would donate the items in the (literal) box to the Museum of Broken Relationships. Hmm, I would probably donate the Bop-It XT. 

Hours of fun...or frustration?

It was all fun and games until I was frustrated out of my mind, and I couldn’t get it to stop shouting imperatives at me.

For anyone who has ever slow danced in an empty street to the music inside your head, or felt like there could be a soundtrack to all of the moments that took your breath away (or made you feel like dry heaving, or punching someone), here are some songs for this holiday I have a love/hate relationship with.

 Ughh, okay guys, this is my absolute favorite cover by New Found Glory. HOWEVER, I do apologize that this is the only video I could find, and I am sorry for all the people making out. Guess I should've saw that coming. #logic #planbetter

This video is beautiful, artsy, and so creative. Not the official vid for this song, but still wonderful.

"This is a song for the one that I love. I haven't met them yet. But, I'm quietly confident." An Horse Forever.

I weep when I hear this song because of how beautiful it is. Honest. #notafraid.

 "You'll be loved you'll be loved
Like you never have known
The memories of me
Will seem more like bad dreams
Just a series of blurs
Like I never occurred
Someday you will be loved..." 

And a more cheerful one...

I used to put this song on and walk around campus, just to think things over. 

Drew Tabor is precious and talented. A friend showed me this gem. I can actually sing along to this one! 

 Classic.

 "In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die. Where you invest your love, you invest your life."

 Seriously, read the lyrics to this song. All the awards. Forever.

 One of my favorites: 

If you have a valentine: you’re lucky to have met them and have them in your life to share this day with. If you’re flying solo, just remember that right now, someone you haven’t met is out there wondering what it would be like to meet someone like you. Take heart in that. 

Cheers! 

--L.V.

Live From Philadelphia...Radio 104.5 Winter Jam 2012

Hey there!

Sorry posting has been so crazy; I'm back at school for the semester, so I barely have time to do necessary-life things, like showering, eating, sleeping, and breathing. However, last weekend, I did manage to get away to Philly with a couple friends to attend the totally awesome (and totally free!) Winter Jam 2012, hosted by Radio 104.5 at the Piazza. Suhweet!

Lineup included Rivers Monroe, fun., and New Found Glory (however, you won't find any pictures of NFG because I was too busy being tossed around in a roiling sea of drunk Philly concert-goers! Wee!) 

Stage at Winter Jam 2012 in the Piazza.

First up was local indie rock band, Rivers Monroe.

Rivers Monroe

Rivers Monroe.

Next up was who I came to see: fun. (Above: lead singer Nate Ruess.)

Nate Ruess of fun.

                                            

 I love going to Philly. I love the sights, the sounds. The bustle of a city that still manages to feel like home. 

A bike rack is ready for winter despite the warm temperatures in Philly that day. 50 degrees!

I am all about old/vintage cars, and I could not resist this one parked outside Lorenzo's. Totally reminded me of some sort of "Philly Mob Boss" vehicle.

I love coffee shops. So. Much. 

South Street is colorful.

I feel as though this record store has every record ever made since the start of recorded time. (Pun intended).

Random faux-animal tail on the sidewalk. Just finding treasure on the sidewalk in Philly.

Obligatory Starbucks photo.

B-E-A-U-tiful day in the city!

Nash Ambassador. Mmm vintage.

This is Doug. Doug belongs to my friend's cousin, who graciously allowed us to stay in her apartment over the weekend while she was away on business.

Doug was probably as big a highlight for me that weekend as going to the show. What a neat cat.

Here's part of fun. & NFG's lineup:








^ This one takes me back, haha.


^As does this one.


Thanks for reading, & stay tuned for more posts!
--L.N.V.