My blog is so disorganized. I need a system.
Complaining about having too many friends to pick from is pretty snobby. I'm a snob!
But a reformed snob. I am now grateful for my friends.
Exercise, wonderful roommates, and going out to a really good smelling coffee shop can make you wake up a different woman. Thank you Lord.
I had my last journalism class today and things are falling into place. I'm being guided by the light within and my trusty mission statement.
I drove by my wedding venue at 5pm today and it looked so beautiful in the setting sky. I'm excited!
I love video gchat. It's especially awkward and funny when you im a friend who you've never done it with. like steph in the morning with my british friends in tow. it's a little crazy to answer a video chat ring to see three faces staring at you, two of which you don't know huh?
life is good.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Letterpress
I love letterpress. sigh. When it comes to paper, ink, text, and design, I am forever the little girl who could spend hours touching, looking, and making cards and stationary.
Yesterday, I signed up for a letterpress class. It starts January and its at the same place as my first class last summer.
Project brainstorm:
- Bookmark favors for wedding
- personalized stationary for friends and family
- thank you cards
- change of address postcards
- more personalized stationary for myself :)
- business cards (if the instructor lets me--apparently the small size makes it difficult for beginners)
Any other ideas out there? Ooh, I just thought of a couple more that I need to keep secret.
This time I'm going to try and carve out some linoleum blocks before class starts.
Yesterday, I signed up for a letterpress class. It starts January and its at the same place as my first class last summer.
Project brainstorm:
- Bookmark favors for wedding
- personalized stationary for friends and family
- thank you cards
- change of address postcards
- more personalized stationary for myself :)
- business cards (if the instructor lets me--apparently the small size makes it difficult for beginners)
Any other ideas out there? Ooh, I just thought of a couple more that I need to keep secret.
This time I'm going to try and carve out some linoleum blocks before class starts.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Mission Statements
A month ago, I was getting that ole feeling of hyperventilation/anxiety about feeling like my life was worthless because a) I was unemployed b) I didn't know what I wanted to do c) I wasn't making any money.
It's truly a miracle that someone like me has continued to quit her jobs before she has gotten another one. Each time, I cry, I freak out, but in the end, feel like that is what I need to do, regardless of how uncertain the time will be before I find a new job. I'm glad too for the courage to quit because I've always ended up doing things I never thought I would that helped me get to the next thing in life.
I decided to pray and remember what I had learned in Asia and this past summer. Nothing good comes out of worrying. And I do know what I want to do and the next step I need to take. I just need to listen to my self.
Somehow in the midst of my praying, I came up with a brilliant plan that seemed like it was straight from God herself. I wanted to do freelance writing and write novels. How could I support myself? By becoming a community college teacher of course! That way, I wouldn't have to be pressured to publish but could teach (which I love) and have flexibility as an adjunct professor.
I started looking at M.A. in English programs in earnest.
Well, this week, I finally had a chat with a wonderful woman at a local community college that my friend Lyds had connected me to. She has her Ph.D. in English as well as a Masters in TESL and is a fabulous human being. Down to earth, laid back, generous, funny, sincere, intelligent, sharp. She helped me figure out what I needed to talk to her about and I walked away feeling so encouraged. I got a very good idea of what it is like to be a community college teacher and how to get there. The next day, she even contacted me and helped me connect with the chair of the English Department for a more in depth conversation on hiring practices and advice for applying to grad school programs.
The more time lapsed from that meeting, the more I realized that something was off. The conversation had been great and informative. But it had also made me see the realistic side to that career. The fact was that she was a busy person. She felt like she finally had time to enjoy life other than work. And she warned me that although there is no pressure to publish academic papers, I will have tons of grading to do. Grading of bad writing no less.
My perfect plan started to disintegrate FAST. I realized that perhaps this wasn't the best way to tend to what I really wanted to do--freelance journalism and writing.
Which brings me to the main point of this post. I am such a planner. My family really drilled that into me. That I need a predictable career plan that I keep going on and then reach with wild success and acclaim. But planning NEVER works. Project planning is good. Life planning? It makes you inflexible, closed off to opportunities and spontaneity, shut off from the depths of your mysterious soul.
To keep me from always going into default planning mode, I decided to create a mission statement so that whatever I do, it comes from a deep unshakable conviction of what I feel called to in life. Instead of planning to get to that mission statement, I'm going live out the mission statement and be open to where it takes me. I think I'm going to have a lot more fun and do things I never thought I would.
As simple as it could be, my mission statement:
I am called to tell stories.
It's truly a miracle that someone like me has continued to quit her jobs before she has gotten another one. Each time, I cry, I freak out, but in the end, feel like that is what I need to do, regardless of how uncertain the time will be before I find a new job. I'm glad too for the courage to quit because I've always ended up doing things I never thought I would that helped me get to the next thing in life.
I decided to pray and remember what I had learned in Asia and this past summer. Nothing good comes out of worrying. And I do know what I want to do and the next step I need to take. I just need to listen to my self.
Somehow in the midst of my praying, I came up with a brilliant plan that seemed like it was straight from God herself. I wanted to do freelance writing and write novels. How could I support myself? By becoming a community college teacher of course! That way, I wouldn't have to be pressured to publish but could teach (which I love) and have flexibility as an adjunct professor.
I started looking at M.A. in English programs in earnest.
Well, this week, I finally had a chat with a wonderful woman at a local community college that my friend Lyds had connected me to. She has her Ph.D. in English as well as a Masters in TESL and is a fabulous human being. Down to earth, laid back, generous, funny, sincere, intelligent, sharp. She helped me figure out what I needed to talk to her about and I walked away feeling so encouraged. I got a very good idea of what it is like to be a community college teacher and how to get there. The next day, she even contacted me and helped me connect with the chair of the English Department for a more in depth conversation on hiring practices and advice for applying to grad school programs.
The more time lapsed from that meeting, the more I realized that something was off. The conversation had been great and informative. But it had also made me see the realistic side to that career. The fact was that she was a busy person. She felt like she finally had time to enjoy life other than work. And she warned me that although there is no pressure to publish academic papers, I will have tons of grading to do. Grading of bad writing no less.
My perfect plan started to disintegrate FAST. I realized that perhaps this wasn't the best way to tend to what I really wanted to do--freelance journalism and writing.
Which brings me to the main point of this post. I am such a planner. My family really drilled that into me. That I need a predictable career plan that I keep going on and then reach with wild success and acclaim. But planning NEVER works. Project planning is good. Life planning? It makes you inflexible, closed off to opportunities and spontaneity, shut off from the depths of your mysterious soul.
To keep me from always going into default planning mode, I decided to create a mission statement so that whatever I do, it comes from a deep unshakable conviction of what I feel called to in life. Instead of planning to get to that mission statement, I'm going live out the mission statement and be open to where it takes me. I think I'm going to have a lot more fun and do things I never thought I would.
As simple as it could be, my mission statement:
I am called to tell stories.
Jones Coffee Roasters
I think this is my new favorite coffee spot in Pasadena. The coffee is some of the best I have had. They roast coffee beans throughout the day so it smells delicious and dark and rich in the shop. The shop is a half open warehouse so it has a cool artsy loft feel. They play good jazz music at the perfect volume. There's a big hanging red and gold lantern that I like to stare at. The people behind the counter are nice and give you free refills sometimes. It makes you feel like you're living.
Monday, December 1, 2008
An unusual week
turkey
roast beef
dog attacks
cesar milan therapy
four christmases
steel paddles
the oc
a bishop in purple
the shack
long beach apartments
viento y agua
chicago friend
surprise kisses cookies
soontofu
wedding planning
roast beef
dog attacks
cesar milan therapy
four christmases
steel paddles
the oc
a bishop in purple
the shack
long beach apartments
viento y agua
chicago friend
surprise kisses cookies
soontofu
wedding planning
Friday, November 7, 2008
Writing Prompt #1
My friend Masaki said "You're good at writing Asian" after he heard this. That made me laugh. Who says that except your good Asian friend? We meet every Monday to give each other writing prompts and go through the excruciating so worth it process of reading our shitty spontaneous drafts out loud.
Writing Prompt #1--we had to write after looking at a picture of a painting in Art Forum Magazine. This is what came out.
Death was knocking at our door and we had to run. There was a cave inside the mountain by our house. My mother told me to roll up the old rice from the pot into fist sized balls and sprinkle them with salt. She said, “Faster, hurry.”
I was trying to work so hard my fingers were shaking. Every time I heard a machine gun go off, I shuddered and it was all I could do to tell my muscles to keep moving, to not freeze up and fail me now. I was at eight rice balls, not ten like my mother had requested, when we heard a bomb so close the windows on the far side of the house shattered. I whimpered.
My mother only ducked momentarily and then looked at me fiercely and said, “Pack those up, we have to go now. Get your younger brother.”
I grabbed my brother from the corner where he was huddling. My mom carried a bucket of water on her head and my youngest brother, only 3 months old, on her back. We went out the back door, through the fields and brush, and hurried to the river.
We walked up by the river and saw a neighbor who had dragged himself there and died. My mother ordered us to keep walking, to not slow down. My legs were numb.
Writing Prompt #1--we had to write after looking at a picture of a painting in Art Forum Magazine. This is what came out.
Death was knocking at our door and we had to run. There was a cave inside the mountain by our house. My mother told me to roll up the old rice from the pot into fist sized balls and sprinkle them with salt. She said, “Faster, hurry.”
I was trying to work so hard my fingers were shaking. Every time I heard a machine gun go off, I shuddered and it was all I could do to tell my muscles to keep moving, to not freeze up and fail me now. I was at eight rice balls, not ten like my mother had requested, when we heard a bomb so close the windows on the far side of the house shattered. I whimpered.
My mother only ducked momentarily and then looked at me fiercely and said, “Pack those up, we have to go now. Get your younger brother.”
I grabbed my brother from the corner where he was huddling. My mom carried a bucket of water on her head and my youngest brother, only 3 months old, on her back. We went out the back door, through the fields and brush, and hurried to the river.
We walked up by the river and saw a neighbor who had dragged himself there and died. My mother ordered us to keep walking, to not slow down. My legs were numb.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Barack is President!
Barack Obama became the 44th president of the United States last night. I watched in a room full of Obama supporters and one Republican who thinks he's the antichrist. I teared and I was so moved. I woke up today to a new day. Things feel so different now. Reading the comments on nytimes.com from all over the world moved me too. So many people around the world have more hope than they had before, more of a sense of a future that is good. I'm so glad to be part of this history.
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