I was at work last night (surprise, surprise) and it was annoyingly slow so I was lazily loitering near the bartender to pick up on bits and pieces of conversation. The musician that was appearing that night was taking a break and sitting on one of the barstools with beer and cell phone in hand. Suddenly, the musician started mentioning his brand new facebook account, and, taking me for a technologically-apt individual he pointed his questions at me. As I ran him through the process of friend requests and fan pages, he asked me what the point of friending someone was. I started using facebook on July 4th, 2007 (thanks to my ability to know useless facts, I actually know that exact date). I realized that I don't really talk to half of the people I'm "friends" with on facebook. In reality, if I passed some of these people, I probably wouldn't even wave. What the fuck. I'm very aware of awkwardness (because I live with it daily), and I just think the whole situation is awkward to the nth degree.
My town's police department has installed "narks" by making fake facebook accounts and friending all of the high schoolers so they can look through all of their pictures and spot illegal activity. I think high schoolers should learn a few crucial points to prevent any policeman from seeing incriminating evidence.
Here are a few lessons to be learned:
1. Do not take pictures of you and your friends holding Solo cups because you think it's something you can show your kids someday. It's not and it's also not as awesome as you think it looks.
2. Look for signs of a nark. Oh hey, his profile picture is a person skateboarding at a distance (hello google images) and his interests include "sk8ing wit mah homies XD". Yeah, no thanks.
3. If someone is friending you, don't be afraid of the ignore button. Think to yourself, have I ever shaken Eric Nico's hand? I know, I know, who shakes hands anymore? But think about it holistically, if you've seen their face and don't mind their personality, GO FOR IT otherwise, think twice.
That's all from me,
Aislinn
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
I think I know what I'm doing
Alright, to prevent further confusion, I'm going to provide nostalgic snippets entitled "Epiphany - [Age]" about MY life and then all my other posts will be like I usually do, weird rants and things that make me laugh. I have a whole folder entitled "favorites" on my desktop, chock full of wonderful pictures. Let's stop by www.awkwardfamilyphotos.com first.
Here are 5 of my favorites:
Here are 5 of my favorites:
Epiphany contd. - Three Years Old
Location: Long Island, NY Age: Four
It was one of our last nights in the red roof house. My dad had finally gotten a break from work and took my mom out to dinner. We were left with one of our neighbor's eldest daughters. She was a witch. Her face held a cold, cruel stare and her eyes were as close to neon green as imaginable. Her hair was a raggedy black color and her nose was long and pointed. She sauntered with unrivaled confidence and intimidation, sporting black jeans and a harsh purple turtleneck. There was no comfort in her glare and we tried our best to ignore her. When we got overly loud, she looked our way and, suddenly, we couldn't find the courage to make a sound. When our parents got home, we looked to them with sheer relief. Then reality hit. The boxes lining our rooms were going to be packed into moving vans the next morning. I couldn't help but feel overwhelming sadness to leave our red roof home behind. I couldn't think of anywhere else to rest my head. We had to leave behind items that didn't fit in the boxes, like two giant teddy bears that used to occupy my room. I always wondered where they went after I placed them gingerly on my bare floor. My closest friend was a dark haired girl with striking grey eyes. On my final day of school, she gave me a Pocahontas book as a token of our friendship. I clutched onto it during the entire three hour drive to our new home.
Here I am as a three year old. I'm holding onto a Power Ranger action figure (the pink ranger is laid to rest beside me).
It was one of our last nights in the red roof house. My dad had finally gotten a break from work and took my mom out to dinner. We were left with one of our neighbor's eldest daughters. She was a witch. Her face held a cold, cruel stare and her eyes were as close to neon green as imaginable. Her hair was a raggedy black color and her nose was long and pointed. She sauntered with unrivaled confidence and intimidation, sporting black jeans and a harsh purple turtleneck. There was no comfort in her glare and we tried our best to ignore her. When we got overly loud, she looked our way and, suddenly, we couldn't find the courage to make a sound. When our parents got home, we looked to them with sheer relief. Then reality hit. The boxes lining our rooms were going to be packed into moving vans the next morning. I couldn't help but feel overwhelming sadness to leave our red roof home behind. I couldn't think of anywhere else to rest my head. We had to leave behind items that didn't fit in the boxes, like two giant teddy bears that used to occupy my room. I always wondered where they went after I placed them gingerly on my bare floor. My closest friend was a dark haired girl with striking grey eyes. On my final day of school, she gave me a Pocahontas book as a token of our friendship. I clutched onto it during the entire three hour drive to our new home.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Epiphany - Two Years Old
If you got too anxious and went right to reading this, I've had an epiphany. I revamped the blog. It's now "memoirs of a teenager". I feel that I have to give you what you deserve, snippets of my life. Like any good biographer, it's only fair to start at the beginning, I'll begin with my most vivid memories.
Location: Long Island, NY Age: Two
My big brother and I are called inside by my mom. Conor, like usual, grabs onto my hand and makes sure I make it up the long steps leading up to our house. I can feel a hint of sand gracing the steps, probably tracing back to Conor dragging our boogie board inside from a day at the beach. Our youngest brother has just awoken from his nap and we can't wait to play. I find myself in his bedroom, peeking over his crib, with the giraffe mural gracing his head. I never understood that mural or the cow sheets in his crib. Neither fit as a proper jungle scene. Conor is big enough to reach and places his strong, gentle hands underneath Corbin's shoulders. Corbin rises from his sheets, happy to be relieved of boredom. As we make our way outside, I put on my purple star sunglasses. I place one Ked on the pedal of my bike and pull my other leg to the other side. The three of us pretend we're motorcyclists. Our babysitters giggle at the cuteness of the scene, but I don't like their laughter. I take myself very seriously. The roof is bright red and I like it that way, especially against the white of the walls. We're different from our neighbors. They're grey, grey, grey, black, black, black.
Location: Long Island, NY Age: Two
My big brother and I are called inside by my mom. Conor, like usual, grabs onto my hand and makes sure I make it up the long steps leading up to our house. I can feel a hint of sand gracing the steps, probably tracing back to Conor dragging our boogie board inside from a day at the beach. Our youngest brother has just awoken from his nap and we can't wait to play. I find myself in his bedroom, peeking over his crib, with the giraffe mural gracing his head. I never understood that mural or the cow sheets in his crib. Neither fit as a proper jungle scene. Conor is big enough to reach and places his strong, gentle hands underneath Corbin's shoulders. Corbin rises from his sheets, happy to be relieved of boredom. As we make our way outside, I put on my purple star sunglasses. I place one Ked on the pedal of my bike and pull my other leg to the other side. The three of us pretend we're motorcyclists. Our babysitters giggle at the cuteness of the scene, but I don't like their laughter. I take myself very seriously. The roof is bright red and I like it that way, especially against the white of the walls. We're different from our neighbors. They're grey, grey, grey, black, black, black.
WTF Japan, Seriously
Sorry for the profanity in the last post, i have no morals. Anyway, I've abbreviated what the f#$% in the title for you, you're welcome. Actually, I'm not a big fan of abbreviations, I think they're annoying. Let's be honest, are you really THAT lazy that you can't type out TWO MORE LETTERS for "you" instead of using "u". Is it that much more effort? No. Anyway, speaking of the title, it's this excellent website all about the weirdness of Japan advertisements, etc. called www.wtfjapanseriously.com check it out. I'm bemused by it. Yes, bemused. Here's a little glimpse: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=40hrOZl6Qis
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Bon Iver.
I'll be upfront, I failed french. I hated it, didn't try, and came home with a wonderful F on my report card. But, the sweet sweet sounds of Bon Iver don't remind me of learning "bon hiver" in french class, instead, I am completely and utterly thrilled with every song Justin Vernon sings. As in my last post, for three days straight I have been listening to For Emma, Forever Ago and the Blood Bank EP on repeat. There's something about isolation that is so attractive. If you didn't know the story, Vernon spent weeks in seclusion in a cottage and out of it came the record For Emma, Forever Ago. Fuck yes. Henry Thoreau once wrote "I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude". When Vernon was making his music, I believe he made this connection. For Emma, Forever Ago is a grand example of the greatness solitude brings. Whoever Emma is, thank you. You've provided me with some great music thats made me peaceful. I suggest you give it a listen.
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