“This is the first time I’ve ever lived downtown in a large city before.” I said insecurely, fidgeting with my diet coke. Its glass was perspiring and cool to the touch, a welcome distraction from the conversations going on around me.
By this point I had lived in D.C. for about a month; my romantic notions of this political town were already waning.
(Did I ever mention that I don’t like politics?)
“Seriously?” the man across from me scoffed in disbelief, as if I was alien to him. “Oh that’s right, you came from the south… near Atlanta, right? There’s nothing really there.” He went on to describe lack of intelligence and high obesity rates that plagued the southeastern United States. And racism. And ignorance.
Continue reading “On Cities and Towns”
Let me start by saying it’s not the medium, it’s me (…how every bad breakup occurs in the history of humanity. Yeah!).
Social media can be an undeniably useful tool.
But it can be dangerously addictive for an extroverted introvert.
I’ve been on social media for a long time now. If we’re going to include sites like Myspace here, then I’ve been on it since middle school. I can remember the hours I spent on it, trying to make myself look cool for all my friends–hours I didn’t spend getting to know myself because I was too busy trying to become who my friends were. Who I thought they wanted me to be.
Continue reading “Social Media and Cabaret”
I blame my parents for my absurd curiosity and wonderment about the world.
What horrible things to instill upon a child.
Both of them flew for Delta… my dad a pilot and my mom a flight attendant. Their conversations of love and life were like something out of the movies. They met in an airport in Miami and among tales of convertibles catching fire and almost ingesting engagement rings in champagne they embraced each other and their exploration of culture. I remember day dreaming to my dad’s stories—seeing the Northern Lights from the cockpit of a 747, watching the sunrise over the equator, base jumping in South America, meeting amazing individuals who all had their own stories to tell. He described these seemingly esoteric moments in a way that made me feel like I was there, floating in the sky. With his words I could close my eyes and feel like a part of everything.
Continue reading “On the Man with One Arm”