I am having a very busy day at work and didn't get a chance to write some awkward weird story about myself at lunch, so this is going to have to suffice for the day. I saw this article on cracked.com and I would like to add my majors to it.
First check out the original.
AMERICAN STUDIES:
Why You Choose It: One, you don't know any better. Two, you get to take fun classes like Homosexuality in America, Music as History and Property, and Women's Studies: From Seneca Falls to Sex and the City.
Why You Regret It: Four years. You get four years of bragging to your business and engineering friends about your cool and easy as shit classes until you all graduate and you can't get a job and everyone else is making 60,000 a year. Then your life turns into blog posts and Popsicles for dinner.
HISTORY:
Why You Choose It: Braveheart is a great movie and you probably had a simi decent history teacher in high school. For an incoming freshmen these two things equal "I love history".
Why You Regret It: Little twerps like Miles, actually reading history books (no, this doesn't include The Other Boleyn Girl), and history professors that are more into looking the part with tortoise shell glasses and tweed jackets with elbow patches than helping you with your 15 paper review of "With Our Backs to Berlin". Oh, and then you can't get a job either and your engineering friends feel sorry for you behind your back.
Showing posts with label stupid college degrees. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stupid college degrees. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Crappy Bands, 8th grade A-Hole, and a Batman Mask...
Random Thoughts…
A couple of days ago I was driving two co-workers and myself to lunch at Subway (Eat Fresh). As I pulled into an empty parking spot I noticed that next to the Sandwich store was a small postal shop. I had two or three letters in my car I needed to mail, so this discovery made me happy. I turned to the co-worker who was riding shot gun and told him to open the center console of my little SUV and pull out the envelope. Turns out the letter I was looking to mail was nowhere to be seen but there was a stack of CDs inside, and which CD happened to be on top of the group??? Creed. Oh, yeah straight out of sophomore year My Own Prison. Both co-workers then spent the entire lunch hour singing in raspy Scott Strap voice. (Yeah, I know his name and didn’t have to look it up.)
So who do y'all think is the band that's all cool and whatnot right now, but in 10 years will embarrass me by being on my iPod???
I did a post few weeks ago about my greatest grudges of all time. The story about Karen pushing me into the big bathroom and then how I got blamed was just long enough to write a blog post about. This one isn’t, but this person is just as much a mortal enemy as evil 1st grade witch, Karen.
Tristan Maldonado. Tristan Maldonado told all the cool people in 8th grade he saw me picking my nose in English class. Okay, here is where we all need to be honest. We have all, this includes you Tristan, picked our nose at some point. Sometimes we don’t have a tissue. Maybe what we thought was just going to be a light nose scratch turns into to something more once your hand gets up there. Whatever the reason everyone has done it. I admit it. I have picked my nose. What I would never, ever, ever do… is pick it in a room full of mean, snobby, 14 year old haters. Middle School is harsh and there is no way in Hell I went anywhere near my nose in the middle of English class you mean insensitive jerk!!! Seriously why would anyone say something like that? I wasn’t exactly part of the popular crowd in 8th grade, but I was not a loser either. I was short, had braces, wore my sister’s clothes all the time (because she left the house before me and came home after me), and in honors classes, but not a loser. (Oh, and now that I remember it… It was Honors English, so he was just as much a nerd as I was.) Then, and this is where you’ll be like “oh, no he didn’t”, my senior year of High School he told Best Friend that he thought I was hot. Yeah, “Oh no he didn’t”!!! You don’t get to think I’m pretty you mean, hateful, jack ass!!! You, sir, are now and forever on my shit list.
Oh and at the wedding Chicago Bridesmaid took this classic…
A couple of days ago I was driving two co-workers and myself to lunch at Subway (Eat Fresh). As I pulled into an empty parking spot I noticed that next to the Sandwich store was a small postal shop. I had two or three letters in my car I needed to mail, so this discovery made me happy. I turned to the co-worker who was riding shot gun and told him to open the center console of my little SUV and pull out the envelope. Turns out the letter I was looking to mail was nowhere to be seen but there was a stack of CDs inside, and which CD happened to be on top of the group??? Creed. Oh, yeah straight out of sophomore year My Own Prison. Both co-workers then spent the entire lunch hour singing in raspy Scott Strap voice. (Yeah, I know his name and didn’t have to look it up.)
So who do y'all think is the band that's all cool and whatnot right now, but in 10 years will embarrass me by being on my iPod???
I did a post few weeks ago about my greatest grudges of all time. The story about Karen pushing me into the big bathroom and then how I got blamed was just long enough to write a blog post about. This one isn’t, but this person is just as much a mortal enemy as evil 1st grade witch, Karen.
Tristan Maldonado. Tristan Maldonado told all the cool people in 8th grade he saw me picking my nose in English class. Okay, here is where we all need to be honest. We have all, this includes you Tristan, picked our nose at some point. Sometimes we don’t have a tissue. Maybe what we thought was just going to be a light nose scratch turns into to something more once your hand gets up there. Whatever the reason everyone has done it. I admit it. I have picked my nose. What I would never, ever, ever do… is pick it in a room full of mean, snobby, 14 year old haters. Middle School is harsh and there is no way in Hell I went anywhere near my nose in the middle of English class you mean insensitive jerk!!! Seriously why would anyone say something like that? I wasn’t exactly part of the popular crowd in 8th grade, but I was not a loser either. I was short, had braces, wore my sister’s clothes all the time (because she left the house before me and came home after me), and in honors classes, but not a loser. (Oh, and now that I remember it… It was Honors English, so he was just as much a nerd as I was.) Then, and this is where you’ll be like “oh, no he didn’t”, my senior year of High School he told Best Friend that he thought I was hot. Yeah, “Oh no he didn’t”!!! You don’t get to think I’m pretty you mean, hateful, jack ass!!! You, sir, are now and forever on my shit list.
Oh and at the wedding Chicago Bridesmaid took this classic…
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
What I Learned In College... Jews, Beer, and Midieval Lit
You know what upsets me about my college education??? What upsets me is I can’t for the life of me think of one thing I learned in college that helps me do my job every day. I’ve already talked about how I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up (except for Anthony Bourdain’s stylist and you never see that on Craigslist) and I didn’t know in college either. So instead of learning how to run a business or how to build a skyscraper or how to clone something, I learned… well what’s the complete opposite of those productive things???
Things I learned in college…
A Whole Lot About Jews. You see my minor was history and you have to take a variety of history classes from around the world. Religion and religious people in general fascinate me and for some reason I just always ended up in “Jew class” every semester. I took History of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Ancient Jew Rules Class), Living in the Time of Jesus (Jew Life 101), and How American’s View the Holocaust (How to Deal With Your American Jew Guilt). Now there is a Jewish Studies major at the university that I went to and, as you can probably imagine, there are only so many Jew classes. Therefore I had a lot of the same kids in my Jew classes because the majority of them were Jewish Studies majors. They were like… really Jewish… and kinda rude. I mean these are small classes and you’ve seen the same people in them for the past year and a half, wouldn’t you want to say hi or something??? Not these Jews. My close Jew Friend, who just to confuse you really isn’t Jewish and wasn’t in any of my Jew classes, told me to walk up to them and say Shalom because he thought I could pass for being Israeli. So I walked right up the leader of the group, in his longhorn yamaka, and said Shalom just like Jew Friend (who really isn’t Jewish) told me. I then got the Jew stare… and crickets… But seriously, if you need to know about the ancient Jewish Sects, how to make Jew breed in the desert, or how to compose a symphony or write a comic book about how your family didn’t survive genocide but you did and now you feel guilty… I’m here for you. (I hope the last part of that sentence doesn’t sound like I’m trying to make a joke because A: The Holocaust… not so funny and B: That class was probably the best class I took all five and a half years I was in school. It was extremely interesting and someday I’ll tell you all about it and let you borrow some good books if you too are interested.)
How to Appreciate Beer for Breakfast: I was not exactly a novice of beer drinking when I entered college. I defiantly wasn’t an alcoholic in high school, but I had my share of hung over Sunday breakfasts with the family. I spend two years of high school in Germany where I learned how to drink... legally! But it wasn’t until freshmen year of college until I learned the how Beer for Breakfast might be as awesome as ponies are when you’re eight. Ex Roommate/Ex Best Friend/Now I’m Married to a Complete Raging Lunatic with Teeth Like a Shark used to come into my room in the morning, wake me up by shaking me violently, and hand me a beer. He would have one as well and we would shotgun them together on top of my bed. Loser had to drive to school. I’ll be honest I was never very good and lost the majority of the time, but I swear it was so much easier getting out of bed for Spanish class with a warm Miller Light in my stomach.
Leading Class Discussions in Classes I Know Nothing About: During my second to last semester I took a history class called Medieval Literature. It was on Wednesdays from 3-6. For three hours I sat in a small room in the history building (you remember the one that housed the American Studies department in the attic) and tried to be interested in the book we had to read that week. Yeah, that week… We had to read a new book every week… A new “medieval” book, every week. It kinda crushed my soul. Every Wednesday we came into class and someone in the class would lead the discussion of that week’s book. I was extremely nervous to do this for a few reasons.
Reason #1: Miles. Miles was this nerdy, short history major who on the first day of class before the professor even entered the room stood up and asked everyone what their major was because, “This is a 400 level class and only for history majors because other majors won’t be able to keep up.” Um Bullshit little nerdy dude. The class was also an upper level English class and many majors, including American Studies, requires you to take upper level history classes. He scared one of the only other girls away! Seriously, how bright could she have been, but she got up and left before the professor had even entered the room. Then, that first day our professor passed a paper around with all the books we were going to read and we had to sign our name next to the one we wanted to lead the class discussion for. I picked the only book written by a woman, The Book of Margery Kempe by Margery Kempe. After class I was sitting on a bench in front of the building looking for something in my backpack when Miles sat down next to me and decided to let me know why the book I picked sucked and how hard it will be for me to lead a group of male history majors in an intelligent conversation about a stupid woman for three hours. I knew then he was a little twerp, but he still got to me and made me nervous because as good of a bullshitter that I am… three hours is a long time.
Reason #2: I knew (well still know) nothing about medieval history besides things I’ve learned from Robin Hood, and I don’t think a “how Margery Kempe and Robin Hood were alike” lecture would fly. Seriously I didn’t take a single European history class the entire time I was in school except for Early Christianity (When Jews Rebel) and only then did we sometimes talk about Rome.
Reason #3: I don’t like to look stupid and I was 99.9% sure I was going to make an ass out of myself by talking about the wrong Pope or King or something.
I lucked out one way, though. The book I picked was one of the very last books we were going to discuse meaning I got to see how other people lead the class first. I saw what worked and want didn’t. (Oh, and Mile’s discussion was horrible. Hehe…) When It came my week to bravely step to the front of the room I was totally prepared. I had almost finished skimming the book, but I had read every review and critique I could find online. I had a nice list of open ended questions to talk about and quotations I knew I understood (thanks to Sparknotes) to discuss. What made my lecture the best of the class, seriously at the end of the semester I was called out by our professor for being the best guest lecturer, was that the semester before I had taken an Early Feminist Literature class. Sure, all those boys could talk medieval royalty and monks for days, but none of them knew women writers from the 40’s and 50’s. None of them could answer how Margery Kempe was like Phyllis Wheatley. It was awesome to ask questions that Miles didn’t know the answer to, or questions he couldn’t BS his way out of, and then get recognized by a “400 level history class” professor for doing better than the little history geek in the corner. I’m awesome.
Things I learned in college…
A Whole Lot About Jews. You see my minor was history and you have to take a variety of history classes from around the world. Religion and religious people in general fascinate me and for some reason I just always ended up in “Jew class” every semester. I took History of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Ancient Jew Rules Class), Living in the Time of Jesus (Jew Life 101), and How American’s View the Holocaust (How to Deal With Your American Jew Guilt). Now there is a Jewish Studies major at the university that I went to and, as you can probably imagine, there are only so many Jew classes. Therefore I had a lot of the same kids in my Jew classes because the majority of them were Jewish Studies majors. They were like… really Jewish… and kinda rude. I mean these are small classes and you’ve seen the same people in them for the past year and a half, wouldn’t you want to say hi or something??? Not these Jews. My close Jew Friend, who just to confuse you really isn’t Jewish and wasn’t in any of my Jew classes, told me to walk up to them and say Shalom because he thought I could pass for being Israeli. So I walked right up the leader of the group, in his longhorn yamaka, and said Shalom just like Jew Friend (who really isn’t Jewish) told me. I then got the Jew stare… and crickets… But seriously, if you need to know about the ancient Jewish Sects, how to make Jew breed in the desert, or how to compose a symphony or write a comic book about how your family didn’t survive genocide but you did and now you feel guilty… I’m here for you. (I hope the last part of that sentence doesn’t sound like I’m trying to make a joke because A: The Holocaust… not so funny and B: That class was probably the best class I took all five and a half years I was in school. It was extremely interesting and someday I’ll tell you all about it and let you borrow some good books if you too are interested.)
How to Appreciate Beer for Breakfast: I was not exactly a novice of beer drinking when I entered college. I defiantly wasn’t an alcoholic in high school, but I had my share of hung over Sunday breakfasts with the family. I spend two years of high school in Germany where I learned how to drink... legally! But it wasn’t until freshmen year of college until I learned the how Beer for Breakfast might be as awesome as ponies are when you’re eight. Ex Roommate/Ex Best Friend/Now I’m Married to a Complete Raging Lunatic with Teeth Like a Shark used to come into my room in the morning, wake me up by shaking me violently, and hand me a beer. He would have one as well and we would shotgun them together on top of my bed. Loser had to drive to school. I’ll be honest I was never very good and lost the majority of the time, but I swear it was so much easier getting out of bed for Spanish class with a warm Miller Light in my stomach.
Leading Class Discussions in Classes I Know Nothing About: During my second to last semester I took a history class called Medieval Literature. It was on Wednesdays from 3-6. For three hours I sat in a small room in the history building (you remember the one that housed the American Studies department in the attic) and tried to be interested in the book we had to read that week. Yeah, that week… We had to read a new book every week… A new “medieval” book, every week. It kinda crushed my soul. Every Wednesday we came into class and someone in the class would lead the discussion of that week’s book. I was extremely nervous to do this for a few reasons.
Reason #1: Miles. Miles was this nerdy, short history major who on the first day of class before the professor even entered the room stood up and asked everyone what their major was because, “This is a 400 level class and only for history majors because other majors won’t be able to keep up.” Um Bullshit little nerdy dude. The class was also an upper level English class and many majors, including American Studies, requires you to take upper level history classes. He scared one of the only other girls away! Seriously, how bright could she have been, but she got up and left before the professor had even entered the room. Then, that first day our professor passed a paper around with all the books we were going to read and we had to sign our name next to the one we wanted to lead the class discussion for. I picked the only book written by a woman, The Book of Margery Kempe by Margery Kempe. After class I was sitting on a bench in front of the building looking for something in my backpack when Miles sat down next to me and decided to let me know why the book I picked sucked and how hard it will be for me to lead a group of male history majors in an intelligent conversation about a stupid woman for three hours. I knew then he was a little twerp, but he still got to me and made me nervous because as good of a bullshitter that I am… three hours is a long time.
Reason #2: I knew (well still know) nothing about medieval history besides things I’ve learned from Robin Hood, and I don’t think a “how Margery Kempe and Robin Hood were alike” lecture would fly. Seriously I didn’t take a single European history class the entire time I was in school except for Early Christianity (When Jews Rebel) and only then did we sometimes talk about Rome.
Reason #3: I don’t like to look stupid and I was 99.9% sure I was going to make an ass out of myself by talking about the wrong Pope or King or something.
I lucked out one way, though. The book I picked was one of the very last books we were going to discuse meaning I got to see how other people lead the class first. I saw what worked and want didn’t. (Oh, and Mile’s discussion was horrible. Hehe…) When It came my week to bravely step to the front of the room I was totally prepared. I had almost finished skimming the book, but I had read every review and critique I could find online. I had a nice list of open ended questions to talk about and quotations I knew I understood (thanks to Sparknotes) to discuss. What made my lecture the best of the class, seriously at the end of the semester I was called out by our professor for being the best guest lecturer, was that the semester before I had taken an Early Feminist Literature class. Sure, all those boys could talk medieval royalty and monks for days, but none of them knew women writers from the 40’s and 50’s. None of them could answer how Margery Kempe was like Phyllis Wheatley. It was awesome to ask questions that Miles didn’t know the answer to, or questions he couldn’t BS his way out of, and then get recognized by a “400 level history class” professor for doing better than the little history geek in the corner. I’m awesome.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Dream Jobs... Please Tell Me How to Get These...
Before I get to enchanting you with my regular post today, I wanted to say thank you for all the wonderful support of my little blog. Also, 10 followers in 10 posts!!! Yeah, pretty good start I’d say. Let’s keep this growth rate going!!! Seriously though, thank ya’ll so much for all the comments and nice words. They make me very happy, and make me think that this “showing people what you write” thing isn’t all that bad.
On to today’s post…
Dream Jobs…
I have already blogged that my degree major is the redheaded, stepchild of the history department, so it should come to no surprise that I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.
When I was a wee little Lemon I had monumental hopes and dreams about my future as an Illustrator/Astronomer. Evidently my art skills peaked about when my handwriting skills peaked, 4th grade. Up until 4th grade I was the go to gal for Art Awards at the end of the school year and cute “elementary school” looking frogs and Picasso knockoffs. Then I hit middle school and stopped taking art, and my sister quickly became the artistically gifted member of the family. Whatever she paints me lemons, so I don’t really hold a grudge. Astronomer died as a future career in middle school when I realized that although they can make up to 100 dollars and hour (yes, I looked that up when I was 10) they also have to go to school for like… ever!!!
Then as I got older and wiser I decided, after my near date with death during Hurricane Fran, I would like to be a meteorologist. This stuck for a long time. I even took GMO (Geology, Meteorology, and Oceanography) my senior year of high school. Yes it was rocks for jocks, but whatev… I memorized 75 different minerals and rocks, and made a weather diary I still have today. I applied to two colleges because of my meteorology dream. Then right before it was time to pick a school, I got completely freaked out and was all, “Wooh… that’s a lot of math. Maybe this isn’t the right thing for me considering I barely passed Algebra II and PreCal was all Greek to me”.
Fashion!!! I love clothes!!! Why not become a fashion design major??? (forehead smack) It took me a semester of memorizing 120 different fabrics to remember I hate stupid, shallow bitches, so maybe this isn’t the right place for me either… (Plus in my first lab where we got to burn and rip holes in different fabrics to learn more about them, the kinda good looking guy who sat across from me went to the same Church Camp as I did, and I’m pretty sure he is gay and a cheerleader… yeah… he was totally awkward because he thought I would be totally awkward.. which I was, but not because he’s gay, but just because I’m a totally awkward person…) Enter American Studies and the beginning of the end to it ever being easy to get a job doing something that might mildly interest me.
I hate when you tell people you don’t know what you want to do and they immediately ask, “Well what do you like to do?” Really Ass Hole… you think I’ve haven’t tried that already? You think I haven’t searched Craigslist, CareerBuilder, and HotJobs for “sit on your ass, drink beer, and be paid 50,000 dollars a year” job. Because trust me they don’t exists. And FU for making me think about a career in lazy and thus making me sad about my life.
Dream Jobs…
Anthony Bourdain Stylist: First of all I think we could be friends. Why??? I saw that episode where they were filming in Beirut when the bombs started falling and I think I would have lost my shit. Which all of them did until they held up in that hotel on the hill and the bombs weren’t quite so close. And then they all when into “reflection” mode. I could do this. I can be completely freaked out and then write amazingly emo journal entries. (Trust me I have them on a shelf in my bedroom.) Anthony doesn’t do cocaine anymore. Cocaine freaks the Hell out of me. I could help him stay clean. Lastly they went to the restaurant where nachos were invented in Mexico!!! I mean I should be a part of any TV show that goes there. (Oh, and why they were experiencing the awesome history del nacho, a camera man hit his head and passed out and had to be taken to the ER. WFT Camera Man!!??!!?? A: I’m not that clumsy. B: I would have at least rallied together a little bit better than that looser.)
Why become his stylist…? Did I mention I have a semester of Fashion Design under my belt? Plus the man only wears black and grey. How hard could it be?
Hotel/Spa/3 Star Michelin Restaurant Critic: How awesome would it be to travel the world (on someone else’s dime) and only sleep, relax, and eat in the best of the best??? Now, don’t start the judging. I get that you should emerge yourself in local culture. Eat where the locals eat, sleep in homely hostels and B&Bs, blah, blah, blah. I get it. Been there. Done that. I’ve stayed in “hole in the wall” hostels, survived on bread and tomatoes (there are much more important things to buy in Amsterdam), and slept on trains. I’m ready for the good life. Four Seasons? Yes Please! Exotic mud wraps? Bring ‘em on! Sweetbreads from Manresa? OMG shove them down my throat!!! Then I write a nice little review, and bingo! CondeNast, feel free to ask me for an interview in the comment section below.
Personal Shopper (but only for LSU Friend and Davis Girl): 50 different cotton dresses from Target. Check. Red lipstick. Check. Done. Pay me please.
Dog Walker: I know a real job I could go to craigslist and get. But… (oh yeah there is a but) there are some stipulations.
1.Must pay at least 45,000$ (I’m a really good dog walker, honest)
2.Only cute dog owners may apply. ( I mean people with cute dogs, not cute people.)
3.Additional 10,000$ for picking up poo (plus additional 5,000 for Extra Large dog’s poo)
Blogger: …dream big… …dream big…
On to today’s post…
Dream Jobs…
I have already blogged that my degree major is the redheaded, stepchild of the history department, so it should come to no surprise that I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.
When I was a wee little Lemon I had monumental hopes and dreams about my future as an Illustrator/Astronomer. Evidently my art skills peaked about when my handwriting skills peaked, 4th grade. Up until 4th grade I was the go to gal for Art Awards at the end of the school year and cute “elementary school” looking frogs and Picasso knockoffs. Then I hit middle school and stopped taking art, and my sister quickly became the artistically gifted member of the family. Whatever she paints me lemons, so I don’t really hold a grudge. Astronomer died as a future career in middle school when I realized that although they can make up to 100 dollars and hour (yes, I looked that up when I was 10) they also have to go to school for like… ever!!!
Then as I got older and wiser I decided, after my near date with death during Hurricane Fran, I would like to be a meteorologist. This stuck for a long time. I even took GMO (Geology, Meteorology, and Oceanography) my senior year of high school. Yes it was rocks for jocks, but whatev… I memorized 75 different minerals and rocks, and made a weather diary I still have today. I applied to two colleges because of my meteorology dream. Then right before it was time to pick a school, I got completely freaked out and was all, “Wooh… that’s a lot of math. Maybe this isn’t the right thing for me considering I barely passed Algebra II and PreCal was all Greek to me”.
Fashion!!! I love clothes!!! Why not become a fashion design major??? (forehead smack) It took me a semester of memorizing 120 different fabrics to remember I hate stupid, shallow bitches, so maybe this isn’t the right place for me either… (Plus in my first lab where we got to burn and rip holes in different fabrics to learn more about them, the kinda good looking guy who sat across from me went to the same Church Camp as I did, and I’m pretty sure he is gay and a cheerleader… yeah… he was totally awkward because he thought I would be totally awkward.. which I was, but not because he’s gay, but just because I’m a totally awkward person…) Enter American Studies and the beginning of the end to it ever being easy to get a job doing something that might mildly interest me.
I hate when you tell people you don’t know what you want to do and they immediately ask, “Well what do you like to do?” Really Ass Hole… you think I’ve haven’t tried that already? You think I haven’t searched Craigslist, CareerBuilder, and HotJobs for “sit on your ass, drink beer, and be paid 50,000 dollars a year” job. Because trust me they don’t exists. And FU for making me think about a career in lazy and thus making me sad about my life.
Dream Jobs…
Anthony Bourdain Stylist: First of all I think we could be friends. Why??? I saw that episode where they were filming in Beirut when the bombs started falling and I think I would have lost my shit. Which all of them did until they held up in that hotel on the hill and the bombs weren’t quite so close. And then they all when into “reflection” mode. I could do this. I can be completely freaked out and then write amazingly emo journal entries. (Trust me I have them on a shelf in my bedroom.) Anthony doesn’t do cocaine anymore. Cocaine freaks the Hell out of me. I could help him stay clean. Lastly they went to the restaurant where nachos were invented in Mexico!!! I mean I should be a part of any TV show that goes there. (Oh, and why they were experiencing the awesome history del nacho, a camera man hit his head and passed out and had to be taken to the ER. WFT Camera Man!!??!!?? A: I’m not that clumsy. B: I would have at least rallied together a little bit better than that looser.)
Why become his stylist…? Did I mention I have a semester of Fashion Design under my belt? Plus the man only wears black and grey. How hard could it be?
Hotel/Spa/3 Star Michelin Restaurant Critic: How awesome would it be to travel the world (on someone else’s dime) and only sleep, relax, and eat in the best of the best??? Now, don’t start the judging. I get that you should emerge yourself in local culture. Eat where the locals eat, sleep in homely hostels and B&Bs, blah, blah, blah. I get it. Been there. Done that. I’ve stayed in “hole in the wall” hostels, survived on bread and tomatoes (there are much more important things to buy in Amsterdam), and slept on trains. I’m ready for the good life. Four Seasons? Yes Please! Exotic mud wraps? Bring ‘em on! Sweetbreads from Manresa? OMG shove them down my throat!!! Then I write a nice little review, and bingo! CondeNast, feel free to ask me for an interview in the comment section below.
Personal Shopper (but only for LSU Friend and Davis Girl): 50 different cotton dresses from Target. Check. Red lipstick. Check. Done. Pay me please.
Dog Walker: I know a real job I could go to craigslist and get. But… (oh yeah there is a but) there are some stipulations.
1.Must pay at least 45,000$ (I’m a really good dog walker, honest)
2.Only cute dog owners may apply. ( I mean people with cute dogs, not cute people.)
3.Additional 10,000$ for picking up poo (plus additional 5,000 for Extra Large dog’s poo)
Blogger: …dream big… …dream big…
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Why this blog. American Studies... What???
Why.
Why this blog…
Four years ago I had a professor who sat me down and told me she was going to give me a D on a paper I wrote for her class. I almost started crying. Not because I was getting a D, because I had received at least one failing grade before (okay maybe more than one but chemistry is hard.), but because I actually worked hard writing this paper. Now I know you’re about to start judging because I can’t actually remember the famous, African American woman I wrote this paper about.. but seriously it was an amazing piece of charisma and pizazz. She was this eccentric, alcoholic who would paint her face white to ride on trains, and only write in the nude. The paper was supposed to be 10 pages, give biographical information about the person, and discuses their work.
Now I think you, the reader, need to understand that I was an American Studies major. Yeah, run that thought through your head. American Studies. It is pretty much the most ridiculous major known only to the gays. American studies was a major some idiot made up apparently after he pissed off the women, the Blacks, the Asians, the Hispanics, and sociology department. It’s the History department’s slightly retarded little brother. The best way to describe what American Studies is, is to ask you to think about to high school history. After you spent two weeks learning about WWII, at the end of the chapter in your textbook there would be a little box. That box would go something like this…
“Did you know that women were alive during WWII as well? Did you know that because all the men were fighting for our freedom in many glamorous locations all over the world, women had to work? Crazy I know!!! All over the country these petite little dewdrops of femininity put down the wash and picked up screw drivers. And guess what happened??? They liked to work!!! Again, crazy I know. These Rosie the Riveters’ did everything their husbands, fathers, and brother used to do. (But don’t worry it was for less pay.) And did you know that African Americans fought for your freedom, even while at home their wives weren’t allowed to work with all those white women at the airplane factory? And guess what we did to our Asian friends? Mandatory Vaca!!!!”
Those boxes turned into American Studies. Now you might ask, “But wise Lemon Lady, why did this major called American Studies need to exist if universities already had an African American Studies program? A Gender Studies program? An Asian Studies Program? A Religious Studies Major? A History Department? And a Sociology Department.” My only answer is because of the gays. Sometime in the 1980s someone, I’m assuming gay but maybe not, decided the gays needed a major, too. Apart from one class offered to Gender Studies majors. There were no queer classes. Thus, American Studies was born! Part women, part minorities, part sociology, part Jesus loving, part gay. Bam!!! New major. Now where can we put the offices of these poor shmucks? A new nice building on Dean Keaton? No. A classic structure on the six pack? No. Then where? Then someone had a momentary flash of brilliance…
“You know that amazing, original to the university, gorgeous brick building where we house the History Department.”
“Yes, I am aware of the awesomeness of that architectural delight.”
“Let us put part women, part minorities, part sociology, part Jesus loving, part gay Department in… THE ATTIC!”
“That is a fantastic idea. This way none of the advisers or professors will be able to stand up in their offices because of the slant of the roof. Oh and that’s a horrible name, we’ll have to change it.”
The point I’m trying to make is not that my degree is dumb. Any education is good education. And any degree from the school I attended is a good degree, but if you put my degree next to a BS in Engineering it’s no surprise which one gets more job calls and prestige. With an engineering degree you actually learned how to do something. Make something. Solve something. Me, not so much. I learned how homosexuals in the 1960’s fought back at Stonewall. I learned how racial lines were blurred in the 1940s in rural Tennessee because of water disputes. I learned how Americans think through problems like how to build National Parks and the Holocaust. I learned about doing things instead of actually doing them. One sentence to sum it up… My classes were weird.
Anyway… Back to this horrible paper I wrote. I thought it was amazing. I mixed all the biographical information about this crazy poet into a beautiful mixture of quotes from her poetry, and fiction I created to put myself in her shoes to fully understand her work and bring it into the modern day. She was a rebel in so few words, so I thought I would go rebel and not write the boring research paper I knew everyone would be drafting the night before. I thought my professor, who I had had previously for How Americans View and Understands Property, would applaud my creativity and my out of the box thinking to a research paper. This professor had given me an A for my final paper in the property class that was about airplane seat hierarchy narrated from the view of four different airplane seats on the same international flight. She praised personifying damn airplane seats for crying out loud!!!
I got a D. She told me although I’m funny and kinda witty, and she enjoyed reading my paper I didn’t follow the syllabus therefore I got a D. Then this was said,
“Lemon Lady, do you like to write?”
“Yeah…”
“Did you let anyone read this paper before you handed it to me?”
“Um, the proof reader from the English department.”
“And what did he say?”
“He says I spell at a third grade level, have poor sentence structure, and form paragraphs like I’m talking to my best friend.”
“You should start a blog.”
Four years later.
You’re welcome Ms. Thompson.
Why this blog…
Four years ago I had a professor who sat me down and told me she was going to give me a D on a paper I wrote for her class. I almost started crying. Not because I was getting a D, because I had received at least one failing grade before (okay maybe more than one but chemistry is hard.), but because I actually worked hard writing this paper. Now I know you’re about to start judging because I can’t actually remember the famous, African American woman I wrote this paper about.. but seriously it was an amazing piece of charisma and pizazz. She was this eccentric, alcoholic who would paint her face white to ride on trains, and only write in the nude. The paper was supposed to be 10 pages, give biographical information about the person, and discuses their work.
Now I think you, the reader, need to understand that I was an American Studies major. Yeah, run that thought through your head. American Studies. It is pretty much the most ridiculous major known only to the gays. American studies was a major some idiot made up apparently after he pissed off the women, the Blacks, the Asians, the Hispanics, and sociology department. It’s the History department’s slightly retarded little brother. The best way to describe what American Studies is, is to ask you to think about to high school history. After you spent two weeks learning about WWII, at the end of the chapter in your textbook there would be a little box. That box would go something like this…
“Did you know that women were alive during WWII as well? Did you know that because all the men were fighting for our freedom in many glamorous locations all over the world, women had to work? Crazy I know!!! All over the country these petite little dewdrops of femininity put down the wash and picked up screw drivers. And guess what happened??? They liked to work!!! Again, crazy I know. These Rosie the Riveters’ did everything their husbands, fathers, and brother used to do. (But don’t worry it was for less pay.) And did you know that African Americans fought for your freedom, even while at home their wives weren’t allowed to work with all those white women at the airplane factory? And guess what we did to our Asian friends? Mandatory Vaca!!!!”
Those boxes turned into American Studies. Now you might ask, “But wise Lemon Lady, why did this major called American Studies need to exist if universities already had an African American Studies program? A Gender Studies program? An Asian Studies Program? A Religious Studies Major? A History Department? And a Sociology Department.” My only answer is because of the gays. Sometime in the 1980s someone, I’m assuming gay but maybe not, decided the gays needed a major, too. Apart from one class offered to Gender Studies majors. There were no queer classes. Thus, American Studies was born! Part women, part minorities, part sociology, part Jesus loving, part gay. Bam!!! New major. Now where can we put the offices of these poor shmucks? A new nice building on Dean Keaton? No. A classic structure on the six pack? No. Then where? Then someone had a momentary flash of brilliance…
“You know that amazing, original to the university, gorgeous brick building where we house the History Department.”
“Yes, I am aware of the awesomeness of that architectural delight.”
“Let us put part women, part minorities, part sociology, part Jesus loving, part gay Department in… THE ATTIC!”
“That is a fantastic idea. This way none of the advisers or professors will be able to stand up in their offices because of the slant of the roof. Oh and that’s a horrible name, we’ll have to change it.”
The point I’m trying to make is not that my degree is dumb. Any education is good education. And any degree from the school I attended is a good degree, but if you put my degree next to a BS in Engineering it’s no surprise which one gets more job calls and prestige. With an engineering degree you actually learned how to do something. Make something. Solve something. Me, not so much. I learned how homosexuals in the 1960’s fought back at Stonewall. I learned how racial lines were blurred in the 1940s in rural Tennessee because of water disputes. I learned how Americans think through problems like how to build National Parks and the Holocaust. I learned about doing things instead of actually doing them. One sentence to sum it up… My classes were weird.
Anyway… Back to this horrible paper I wrote. I thought it was amazing. I mixed all the biographical information about this crazy poet into a beautiful mixture of quotes from her poetry, and fiction I created to put myself in her shoes to fully understand her work and bring it into the modern day. She was a rebel in so few words, so I thought I would go rebel and not write the boring research paper I knew everyone would be drafting the night before. I thought my professor, who I had had previously for How Americans View and Understands Property, would applaud my creativity and my out of the box thinking to a research paper. This professor had given me an A for my final paper in the property class that was about airplane seat hierarchy narrated from the view of four different airplane seats on the same international flight. She praised personifying damn airplane seats for crying out loud!!!
I got a D. She told me although I’m funny and kinda witty, and she enjoyed reading my paper I didn’t follow the syllabus therefore I got a D. Then this was said,
“Lemon Lady, do you like to write?”
“Yeah…”
“Did you let anyone read this paper before you handed it to me?”
“Um, the proof reader from the English department.”
“And what did he say?”
“He says I spell at a third grade level, have poor sentence structure, and form paragraphs like I’m talking to my best friend.”
“You should start a blog.”
Four years later.
You’re welcome Ms. Thompson.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)