Fame vs. Achievement.

In some intrinsic way, everyone has a desire to be known and recognized. I think people don't openly admit their desire to be famous, but in some way or another, society has condemned those who do not achieve recognition as purposeless.
I can safely say that my family has dealt with fame. If you didn't know, my dad was a famous chef back in the 80's or whatever, before I was born (and when I was young). His significance is more than just a few paragraphs on Wikipedia. He is my inspiration in a lot of ways.
My dad was running six different restaurants when I was 3, as well as appearing on various television programs. I hardly ever saw him. We had a Jamaican nanny for a while (until she took my brother to the park on a rainy day without telling my mom and disappeared for 4 hours), otherwise, my mom was at home with 3 children alone. She had dreams of becoming an artist, but, I'm afraid, motherhood clogged those dreams. Anyway, as my father was in the height of his fame, he saw his home life and decided he wanted none of it. He didn't want people knowing about his children or what he was doing, so he openly told the press to back off. They still pursued him for a while, even after we moved out of New York and into suburbia, but the press moved on eventually.
I think that shows how fame is. It's like that two-faced friend from middle school, it pretends it loves you, when, in fact, it was just looking for something to fill a hole for a brief moment. In life, I think achievement is worth fighting for, not fame. Thanks for listening.

More "Favorites".

This is more content from my favorites folder. I thought I would share. This is from http://www.sexypeople-blog.com/ :

Craigslist.

If you didn't know yet, I made a website a while back called craigslistresponses.weebly.com. In it, I play Sam Johnson, a unisex individual that responds/creates advertisements on Craigslist. (there's some kind of animal lurking outside my window right now, I apologize, but I thought it was necessary to mention) Anyway, while that may be odd behavior for a 17 year old female to exhibit, I am indifferent to your opinion about what defines odd. (Bringing out the sass)

Why am I mentioning my craigslist journey? Well, my mother happened to go on my computer to log onto her yahoo account. There, she discovered that I was signed in as Sam Johnson. After horrifyingly discovering that I'm emailing people from craiglist, she called me upstairs, furious. Of course, I explained that it wasn't my email account and it was just a person who "thought they were funny" and that I would "educate them immediately about how stupid they were being".

Alas, my problems were quickly avoided. Sam Johnson prevails.

Someone said that if I had to be one of the Seven Dwarfs, I would be Dopey. I'm going to look up Dopey now and see how I feel about that.

Thank you kindly.

Narks 'n' Facebook.

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

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:

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).

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.