I was poked, prodded and forced to drink a thick substance known as Barium. It was my junior year of high school and I underwent a series of medical tests. Doctors could not diagnose the unpleasant feeling and pain I was experiencing. I lost 22 pounds.
One nutritionist purposed a strict new diet that involved foods that I had otherwise never consumed. I learned that the majority of foods I had been eating were highly acidic and thus problematic.
Acid reflux changed my life. It is also the reason I am a cooking extraordinaire.
I learned to prepare my own meals combining all of my new favorite foods. My secret: I follow a guideline that illustrates which foods I can and cannot consume. I then combine at least three protein oriented items with several taste satisfying condiments. This allows for a tremendous amount of creativity and diversity.
Now, a junior at USC, I cook for a handful of my friends within my fraternity. I get satisfaction out of people's reactions. I also encourage constructive criticism so that the next time I make a similar dish, I can encorporate new ideas.
The Food Network is also the source of my inspiration. Giada De Laurentiis, a network star, has inspired several of my favorite Italian dishes to date. Don't get me wrong, I have no intention on being on Bravo's Top Chef. But I would like to continue to further my culinary skills.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
When I grow up....
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
I have no idea. Not anymore.
I used to have an interest in print journalism. I think that's changed by now though.
In high school I began my "journalism career" by writing for my student newspaper--freshman year as a freelance writer, sophomore and junior year as a staff writer, and senior year as the editor-in-chief.
It was an experience at a summer program that truly steered me in the direction of journalism. Through a past editor-in-chief of my student newspaper, I heard about the Northwestern University National High School Institute of Journalism. I applied, got accepted and spent six very fun, but very stressful weeks in Evanston, Illinois. Through NHSI, I honed my writing skills and reporting skills. Therefore when it came time to pick colleges, Northwestern was at the top of the list.
But several months later, after getting rejected early decision to Northwestern and being completely distraught, I considered other journalism schools, and only journalism schools (I was very particular at the time). I saw USC's journalism school as the strongest of the ones I'd been accepted to. I applied and was accepted at USC as a print journalism major and started my way as a journalism major in the Annenberg School.
I spent my freshman year working for the student newspaper at SC as a graphic designer, and was lucky enough to find an internship the summer after my freshman year at a Jewish magazine in San Francisco.
To me, landing an internship right out of the gate (after the first year of college) was a feat in itself. I spent eight weeks working for the magazine and was given the freedom to write really cool local, perspective pieces about the Jewish community in the Bay Area.
I finished the internship with a slew of clips, and much more experience under my belt.
My next two years, I bounced around from section to section of the newspaper--from news and design, to lifestyle and design, and at one point, all three sections (stupid idea). At the same time I was dealing with the difficult curriculum of the Annenberg School, learning broadcast writing and reporting, a concept completely foreign to me, and working a job that gave me backdoor experience to the technology of broadcast journalism.
I also developed an interest in political science. I first considered a minor in law and society in sophomore year, and by the end of my sophomore year had declared a double major in political science.I knew my parents were antsy about me declaring a major (journalism) in a dying profession, and I wanted to reassure them (and myself).
So it was no surprise then when the summer after sophomore year I spent my time working for a media group in Israel, doing mainly research and some graphic design (which was the best part). Through this fellowship though I was able to realize it's time to look outside the box and find something that really interests me. I also realized that while I really enjoyed journalism, I wasn't enthused about writing anymore.
So now---after over 2 months in Israel (June-August), dropping 2 newspaper sections (it was too much to handle and I no longer wanted to do it), and and over 2 months interning at a local television station in LA, I can safely say that I no longer am interested in print journalism, but am interested in journalism in general, from the technological perspective: whether online journalism, graphic design, layout or even broadcast journalism.
Writing Greatness
Parent teacher conferences. The three most hated words for any high school student. I paced up and down the hallway anxiously awaiting my parents arrival.
"Tommy, your teacher thinks you ought to join the newspaper staff. So, tomorrow you are going to get the form and see how you like it," my mother said soon as she opened the door.
I pleaded with her to reconsider. She was unknowingly sentencing me to popularity suicide. This was the worst thing that could have happened to me.
I joined the staff and that same day I was named co-sports editor. I thought to myself, "Hey, this could be worse. I am writing about something I actually care about." I turned in one solid story after the next. Coaches and players were eager to get their hands on my sports section.
In writing, my popularity increased immeasurably. I became close friends with the entire football team, the coaches and a good portion of the student body. I was hooked.
Now, I am a junior at the University of Southern California and am still actively pursuing my dreams of writing greatness. One day, I will write and broadcast my own material on ESPN.
"Tommy, your teacher thinks you ought to join the newspaper staff. So, tomorrow you are going to get the form and see how you like it," my mother said soon as she opened the door.
I pleaded with her to reconsider. She was unknowingly sentencing me to popularity suicide. This was the worst thing that could have happened to me.
I joined the staff and that same day I was named co-sports editor. I thought to myself, "Hey, this could be worse. I am writing about something I actually care about." I turned in one solid story after the next. Coaches and players were eager to get their hands on my sports section.
In writing, my popularity increased immeasurably. I became close friends with the entire football team, the coaches and a good portion of the student body. I was hooked.
Now, I am a junior at the University of Southern California and am still actively pursuing my dreams of writing greatness. One day, I will write and broadcast my own material on ESPN.
I look back now and realize that writing is the best thing that could have ever happened to me. It is something that will be with me the rest of my life.
When I grow up...
...no I don't want to be famous, but I want to work in the movies.
From sixth grade on I thought I wanted to be on television. I had a weird obsession with the NBA and my uncle told me to be a sports broadcaster. I went up in front of my elementary school graduating class and said, "I want to be a sports broadcaster just like Hannah Storm."
I only took one journalism class in high school and it was a joke. So I applied to schools known for great journalism to make sure I would make it to ESPN. But once I finally got my shot to be on television and talk about the NBA, I realized how much I hated being on tv. I thought I could just adjust to it, but it wasn't for me. I'm the type of person who hates taking pictures, let alone being on camera.
So I changed my ambitions freshman year and decided I wanted to be a producer. I thought that if I could still stay around sports and journalism I'd be happy. Yet, I find myself gravitating towards a career in my minor, cinema.
I hope that senior year I am able to land a great internship which will lead me to a production/development entry level job in the movie industry. I would like to be located in New York City, but I know most of the jobs are in L.A. and I'm prepared to stay here for my first couple of years.
In 5 years I hope that I can move back to New York to a more executive level job in the industry. I know that I will have to pay my dues just like everyone else has before me but I feel like with hard work, I can get one of those coveted East coast jobs.
From sixth grade on I thought I wanted to be on television. I had a weird obsession with the NBA and my uncle told me to be a sports broadcaster. I went up in front of my elementary school graduating class and said, "I want to be a sports broadcaster just like Hannah Storm."
I only took one journalism class in high school and it was a joke. So I applied to schools known for great journalism to make sure I would make it to ESPN. But once I finally got my shot to be on television and talk about the NBA, I realized how much I hated being on tv. I thought I could just adjust to it, but it wasn't for me. I'm the type of person who hates taking pictures, let alone being on camera.
So I changed my ambitions freshman year and decided I wanted to be a producer. I thought that if I could still stay around sports and journalism I'd be happy. Yet, I find myself gravitating towards a career in my minor, cinema.
I hope that senior year I am able to land a great internship which will lead me to a production/development entry level job in the movie industry. I would like to be located in New York City, but I know most of the jobs are in L.A. and I'm prepared to stay here for my first couple of years.
In 5 years I hope that I can move back to New York to a more executive level job in the industry. I know that I will have to pay my dues just like everyone else has before me but I feel like with hard work, I can get one of those coveted East coast jobs.
shrinking in my seat
In our very first journalism class (History of News), Uncle Felix asked a pretty simple question:
"How many of you worked for your high school newspaper?"
I'm not usually the type of student to sit front and center in a class, but I thought I'd add some variety to my life that day. So there I was, being all chummy with the die-hard journalists when this question was suddenly thrown at me.
My fellow second-rowers (I wasn't bold enough to actually sit in the first row next to the TA's), of course, all raised their hands in response to Uncle Felix, a look of "duhh" on their faces.
I shamefully kept my hand down. That was definitely embarrassing, considering I was probably sitting next to all the former editor-in-chiefs.
I ended up at Annenberg by default. When it came time to choose which college I'd go to, I knew I didn't want to be an English major but I did like writing. So I thought, what the heck? Top-ranked program at a top-ranked school, why not go to USC?
But that was then, and this is now. I've gone from an embarrassingly-clueless-about-what-a-lead-even-is journalism student to one who actually enjoys doing interviews and putting packages together.
I'm still unsure of where I want to end up, but I do know that I want to be respected for my work. Journalism isn't glamorous and it's tough dealing with the kind of people you run into in the profession (politicians, police, mean man-on-the-street interviewees). But it's also extremely rewarding meeting the amazing people who have so much to share. Being able to tell their stories is what I want to do.
And I also just want to be able to raise my hand sometimes...
"How many of you worked for your high school newspaper?"
I'm not usually the type of student to sit front and center in a class, but I thought I'd add some variety to my life that day. So there I was, being all chummy with the die-hard journalists when this question was suddenly thrown at me.
My fellow second-rowers (I wasn't bold enough to actually sit in the first row next to the TA's), of course, all raised their hands in response to Uncle Felix, a look of "duhh" on their faces.
I shamefully kept my hand down. That was definitely embarrassing, considering I was probably sitting next to all the former editor-in-chiefs.
I ended up at Annenberg by default. When it came time to choose which college I'd go to, I knew I didn't want to be an English major but I did like writing. So I thought, what the heck? Top-ranked program at a top-ranked school, why not go to USC?
But that was then, and this is now. I've gone from an embarrassingly-clueless-about-what-a-lead-even-is journalism student to one who actually enjoys doing interviews and putting packages together.
I'm still unsure of where I want to end up, but I do know that I want to be respected for my work. Journalism isn't glamorous and it's tough dealing with the kind of people you run into in the profession (politicians, police, mean man-on-the-street interviewees). But it's also extremely rewarding meeting the amazing people who have so much to share. Being able to tell their stories is what I want to do.
And I also just want to be able to raise my hand sometimes...
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Hurts So Good
I have an unusual love. It's a love that makes everyone, even my family, think I'm crazy. It's something that is painful but feels so good.
I love waxing and plucking my eyebrows.
Call me crazy, but it's one of the best feelings in the world. I am super anal about my eyebrows; maybe it's because I know if I didn't wax them, they'd look like my father's. Maybe it's just about keeping a routine. Maybe it's about narcissism. Again, I'm not sure about why I do it, but I know I love it when I do. Shaping my eyebrows makes me happy.
I have to get them waxed every two to three weeks or I get really irritated with myself. When I do go, I love the feeling of the hot wax- it's actually very relaxing. The pain I feel is only minor, but I think it feels good because I know it's making my eyebrows look better. I love the way they look once it's done. Clean, shaped, well groomed.
Since I don't have all the money in the world to get them done every week like I would LOVE to, I shape them myself in between waxings. It's not quite the same, but I still get a small feeling of happiness.
I love waxing and plucking my eyebrows.
Call me crazy, but it's one of the best feelings in the world. I am super anal about my eyebrows; maybe it's because I know if I didn't wax them, they'd look like my father's. Maybe it's just about keeping a routine. Maybe it's about narcissism. Again, I'm not sure about why I do it, but I know I love it when I do. Shaping my eyebrows makes me happy.
I have to get them waxed every two to three weeks or I get really irritated with myself. When I do go, I love the feeling of the hot wax- it's actually very relaxing. The pain I feel is only minor, but I think it feels good because I know it's making my eyebrows look better. I love the way they look once it's done. Clean, shaped, well groomed.
Since I don't have all the money in the world to get them done every week like I would LOVE to, I shape them myself in between waxings. It's not quite the same, but I still get a small feeling of happiness.
French people
The summer after my senior year of high school, my best friends and I did the inevitable: We went on a Eurotrip.
I went into the trip with high expectations for the following: Italian food, Italian men and Italian people. I went into the trip with low expectations for the following: British food and French people.
I was 4/5.
The French, much like the Canadians, get a really bad rep. In my experience, it is completely unfounded.
Let's just say I was impressed with their impeccable looks and perfect fashion sense. But the clincher was this - THEY WERE INCREDIBLY NICE!
In Paris, whether we were lunching in a tiny street bistro or wandering through the Louvre, the French people I encountered greeted with me a glowing smile and that oh-so-charming lilted English.
In Ecuador two summers ago, when I was in a canoe going down the Amazon River, my best friends were a couple from Paris who were simply celebrating being in love. While the French are often criticized for their upturned noses, I spent half the trip in dirty clothes eating spaghetti with ketchup with Francoise and Patrice.
Going back further, during high school, my family hosted a foreign exchange student from France for two years in a row. I still consider him mon frere, or my brother in French, simply because we were kindred spirits on so many different levels
I love the French, and I think you should too.. for there really is no city in the world that makes you feel quite like Paris does. It's the people.
I went into the trip with high expectations for the following: Italian food, Italian men and Italian people. I went into the trip with low expectations for the following: British food and French people.
I was 4/5.
The French, much like the Canadians, get a really bad rep. In my experience, it is completely unfounded.
Let's just say I was impressed with their impeccable looks and perfect fashion sense. But the clincher was this - THEY WERE INCREDIBLY NICE!
In Paris, whether we were lunching in a tiny street bistro or wandering through the Louvre, the French people I encountered greeted with me a glowing smile and that oh-so-charming lilted English.
In Ecuador two summers ago, when I was in a canoe going down the Amazon River, my best friends were a couple from Paris who were simply celebrating being in love. While the French are often criticized for their upturned noses, I spent half the trip in dirty clothes eating spaghetti with ketchup with Francoise and Patrice.
Going back further, during high school, my family hosted a foreign exchange student from France for two years in a row. I still consider him mon frere, or my brother in French, simply because we were kindred spirits on so many different levels
I love the French, and I think you should too.. for there really is no city in the world that makes you feel quite like Paris does. It's the people.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
The Green Light
Rush hour traffic in Los Angeles... is there anything worse? Sure, there are plenty of things I would rather not partake in. Rush hour traffic is fun, it's a game. It begins with the on-ramp, soon as the light turns green... the game is on! The car opposite of you is the opponent. The goal is to get to your off-ramp before they reach theirs. With my hands clenching the wheel, I often give a smirk to the driver next to me. Soon as we hit the parking lot of cars trapped on this four lane highway... it is play time. I imagine myself a running back trying to find the open holes in the defense. Aggressiveness is paramount, but patience can also lead to great success in reaching your goal first. As is true in life, you have to be aggressive if you really want something and patient if you want to keep it.
Who's hungry?
Moms of the world will cringe when they hear this:
Frozen bean and cheese burritos make a perfect meal.
College students nationwide know what I'm talking about. It's hard juggling classes, work, friends, family and having to cook fresh meals for oneself when there are only 24 hours in any given day. Frozen foods are a gift from the heavens when it comes down to nourishment during college years (and, for some, years to follow). No, really.
Think about it. Bean and cheese burritos are full of protein, dairy, starch, fat and overall deliciousness. And when frozen, these delicacies are just 45 seconds away from edibility.
Perfection beautifully wrapped in a corn-flour tortilla.
These creations trump all other frozen foods. Frozen nuggets provide just a protein source. Frozen pot-stickers provide just a source of fried oil. Frozen vegetables provide just that, frozen vegetables. But bean and cheese burritos are fun for all -- carnivores, omnivores and herbivores, alike.
I saw a Vons coupon recently offering a 10 frozen bean and cheese burritos for $10. Supermarket run, anyone?
Frozen bean and cheese burritos make a perfect meal.
College students nationwide know what I'm talking about. It's hard juggling classes, work, friends, family and having to cook fresh meals for oneself when there are only 24 hours in any given day. Frozen foods are a gift from the heavens when it comes down to nourishment during college years (and, for some, years to follow). No, really.
Think about it. Bean and cheese burritos are full of protein, dairy, starch, fat and overall deliciousness. And when frozen, these delicacies are just 45 seconds away from edibility.
Perfection beautifully wrapped in a corn-flour tortilla.
These creations trump all other frozen foods. Frozen nuggets provide just a protein source. Frozen pot-stickers provide just a source of fried oil. Frozen vegetables provide just that, frozen vegetables. But bean and cheese burritos are fun for all -- carnivores, omnivores and herbivores, alike.
I saw a Vons coupon recently offering a 10 frozen bean and cheese burritos for $10. Supermarket run, anyone?
A closeted Buffy fan?
There are certain things people love, whether their favorite food, favorite book, or even favorite show, which make people snicker.
You see a bored, dejected look on their faces when you talk about it . You ramble on incessantly, and they just stare blankly back.
But that's because they just don't get it.
For years I have been addicted to a television show whose title makes people snicker, laugh or think I'm a complete loser. The cult classic ended five years ago, yet every time I see a DVD cover, poster, or show by the creator, I get nostalgic.
For "Buffy the Vampire Slayer."
Yes, that is the worst title ever.
But once you get past the hokey title you realize the show has more depth to it. Unlike "Gossip Girl," and even "Gilmore Girls," the show has relatively little teenage angst.
After all, when you're a girl forced to slay vampires and (try to) stay in school, you take things with a grain of salt.
"Buffy the Vampire Slayer" revolves around a girl and her friends, and their adventures in supernatural "Sunnydale" fighting vampires (instead of crime). Along with slaying vampires and keeping the creatures at bay, they deal with normal teenage drama, from financial woes, and college applications, to boyfriend drama (especially when your boyfriend is a 300-year-old vampire).
The writer of "Buffy," Joss Whedon (the man behind Firefly, Angel, and soon-to-be-released-Fox-show Dollhouse) has an impeccably brilliant style of writing. His dialogue for the characters is unusual , witty banter that has the characters in their actions foreshadowing most of real life's problems--like when a "magic addiction" portrayal parallels a "drug addiction."
Because Whedon makes art (his television show) imitate life so scarily well, the show is a cult classic that is still talked about even today. You know "Buffy" impacts lives when there are books, movies (possibly), conferences and even lectures about it.
You see a bored, dejected look on their faces when you talk about it . You ramble on incessantly, and they just stare blankly back.
But that's because they just don't get it.
For years I have been addicted to a television show whose title makes people snicker, laugh or think I'm a complete loser. The cult classic ended five years ago, yet every time I see a DVD cover, poster, or show by the creator, I get nostalgic.
For "Buffy the Vampire Slayer."
Yes, that is the worst title ever.
But once you get past the hokey title you realize the show has more depth to it. Unlike "Gossip Girl," and even "Gilmore Girls," the show has relatively little teenage angst.
After all, when you're a girl forced to slay vampires and (try to) stay in school, you take things with a grain of salt.
"Buffy the Vampire Slayer" revolves around a girl and her friends, and their adventures in supernatural "Sunnydale" fighting vampires (instead of crime). Along with slaying vampires and keeping the creatures at bay, they deal with normal teenage drama, from financial woes, and college applications, to boyfriend drama (especially when your boyfriend is a 300-year-old vampire).
The writer of "Buffy," Joss Whedon (the man behind Firefly, Angel, and soon-to-be-released-Fox-show Dollhouse) has an impeccably brilliant style of writing. His dialogue for the characters is unusual , witty banter that has the characters in their actions foreshadowing most of real life's problems--like when a "magic addiction" portrayal parallels a "drug addiction."
Because Whedon makes art (his television show) imitate life so scarily well, the show is a cult classic that is still talked about even today. You know "Buffy" impacts lives when there are books, movies (possibly), conferences and even lectures about it.
My guilty pleasure is cleaner than yours
Warm laundry.
You know that awful, smelly thing that piles up when you're not looking? That pain-in-the-butt chore that you put off each week? Believe it or not...that's my guilty pleasure. Everyone knows when it's my laundry day. I always seem to have an extra pep in my step and smile on my face. Not to mention, I smell pretty good.
I love it so much that I've made a routine of it. Whether my meticulous laundry habits stem from OCD or undying love, I'm not sure. But here goes:
1. Sort my dirty laundry - darks, whites, reds.
2. Throw each load into a washer for a rinse.
3. Dress my recently stripped bed with a clean set of sheets.
4. Watch my quarter jar decrease as I throw everything into the dryer.
5. Carefully pull the clothes out of the dryer, making sure not to touch the lint trap and taint my fresh, clean clothes.
6. Pop in a Gilmore Girls DVD and get comfortable on the couch.
7. Lay all of my clothes beside me and start folding.
Most people fold their laundry without a care in the world. But the process should embraced. What I usually do is wrap myself up in my bath towel--perfectly warm and smelling of Tide. Then I start with my shirts. Move to my shorts and skirts. The undergarments. And finally, I fold my jeans. Once everything is piled up and categorized it all goes safely into my dresser where it waits for the next (and much anticipated) laundry day.
You know that awful, smelly thing that piles up when you're not looking? That pain-in-the-butt chore that you put off each week? Believe it or not...that's my guilty pleasure. Everyone knows when it's my laundry day. I always seem to have an extra pep in my step and smile on my face. Not to mention, I smell pretty good.
I love it so much that I've made a routine of it. Whether my meticulous laundry habits stem from OCD or undying love, I'm not sure. But here goes:
1. Sort my dirty laundry - darks, whites, reds.
2. Throw each load into a washer for a rinse.
3. Dress my recently stripped bed with a clean set of sheets.
4. Watch my quarter jar decrease as I throw everything into the dryer.
5. Carefully pull the clothes out of the dryer, making sure not to touch the lint trap and taint my fresh, clean clothes.
6. Pop in a Gilmore Girls DVD and get comfortable on the couch.
7. Lay all of my clothes beside me and start folding.
Most people fold their laundry without a care in the world. But the process should embraced. What I usually do is wrap myself up in my bath towel--perfectly warm and smelling of Tide. Then I start with my shirts. Move to my shorts and skirts. The undergarments. And finally, I fold my jeans. Once everything is piled up and categorized it all goes safely into my dresser where it waits for the next (and much anticipated) laundry day.
summer heat and mangy fur.
red roses, vanilla extract, cinammon sticks, lavender soap, and green tea
Keen scents that are constantly fused to form luxurious perfumes nationwide.
My favorite scent?
No, it's not cucumber melon.
Nothing smells better than an outgoing puppy after a dip in the pool.
Chlorine and dog hair is quite delightful.
The scent of wet dog is comforting, enchanting, and charming. Growing up, my dog Katie was my best friend. Without hesitation, she would follow me into the pool in the blistering summer heat, splashing and enjoying the cool water. After making her best attempt at the dog paddle (she would usualy end up making erratic splashes), she would jump out of the pool and shower me with wet kisses. Whenever I was done swimming, she was done too.
Within an hour of her dip, the whole house would smell of musty fur. Her mangy coat would leave a mark on the couch, the rug, the potter barn arm chairs- everything. My mom would constantly apologize to guests, "Katie jumped in the pool again. I'm sorry. The cleaning lady is comming tomorrow."
In reality, I think we were the only ones that could smell Katie. No one really complained. The scent reminds me of childhood- the irreplaceable bond between a young child and their first pet.
The smell of wet dog will always bring a smile to my face.
Keen scents that are constantly fused to form luxurious perfumes nationwide.
My favorite scent?
No, it's not cucumber melon.
Nothing smells better than an outgoing puppy after a dip in the pool.
Chlorine and dog hair is quite delightful.
The scent of wet dog is comforting, enchanting, and charming. Growing up, my dog Katie was my best friend. Without hesitation, she would follow me into the pool in the blistering summer heat, splashing and enjoying the cool water. After making her best attempt at the dog paddle (she would usualy end up making erratic splashes), she would jump out of the pool and shower me with wet kisses. Whenever I was done swimming, she was done too.
Within an hour of her dip, the whole house would smell of musty fur. Her mangy coat would leave a mark on the couch, the rug, the potter barn arm chairs- everything. My mom would constantly apologize to guests, "Katie jumped in the pool again. I'm sorry. The cleaning lady is comming tomorrow."
In reality, I think we were the only ones that could smell Katie. No one really complained. The scent reminds me of childhood- the irreplaceable bond between a young child and their first pet.
The smell of wet dog will always bring a smile to my face.
My Dog Ben
A few months ago, my family and I decided to put our 17-year-old dog Ben to sleep. Now even though he had been a staple in my family since I was a kid, almost everyone that knew him would say they didn't like him.
Why?
In his younger years, Ben was a feisty little guy. He was a small wired-haired doxen, about 25 lbs, but, for some reason, he never understood that. Whether it be a small poodle or a huge rottweiler, Ben would bark, growl and do whatever means necessary to get across that he was the toughest dog of them all.
Ben also wasn't the best with strangers or small children. He would bark and run like a mad man whenever some one new was over the house. Or, whenever my little cousins were over we'd have to keep Ben outside so they wouldn't run home crying.
Forget about the gardener or the mailman. They stood no chance.
Another word pops to mind when I think about Ben. Stubborn.
If there was one thing that Ben liked, it was being inside. Trying to get him outside in the morning before school and work was harder than anyone could imagine. In fact, it got to the point where we'd have to lead him out by leaving a trail of turkey to the backdoor, then we'd run behind him and force him out when he got near the exit.
In his older years, Ben developed a skin allergy of the worst kind. Not only did it give him dry skin, but it gave him a pretty terrible stench wherever he would walk. Pretty much, you could tell Ben was in the room just by taking a sniff yourself.
Now that was the Ben most people knew. He was wild, stubborn, smelly and hard to control. But there was another Ben not a lot of people knew. Actually, I might be the only person whoever met Ben that knew this side of him.
Believe it or not, Ben was actually very friendly if you spent some time with him. Over the years, we developed a close friendship - one of the best.
He slept on my bed every night. I would play with him more than anybody else and he followed me all around the house and in the backyard. Also, I thought it was kind of cool how feisty he was because I knew he'd protect me if anything ever happened.
I guess if I look back, he wasn't really a family dog. He was my dog.
The only reason my family kept Ben around for so many years was because of me. They wanted to give him away or put him to sleep five years before he truly needed to go. Ben stayed around because I begged and pleaded, and I'm happy it worked out. He was my buddy. My little guard dog. I wasn't going to leave him out to dry.
So, while most people, if not all people, didn't like Ben, I loved him. And it was sad to see him go a couple months ago, but it was time. I got as much out of him as I could, and he was in far too much pain to keep it going.
I always used to call Ben a living legend before we had to put him to sleep, and people would laugh, but I never did. Even though he's not alive anymore, and my family has already moved on and bought a new dog - his name is Charlie - people will always remember that crazy little dog.
At least to the people who knew him, Ben really is a legend that they won't forget, even if they didn't like him.
Why?
In his younger years, Ben was a feisty little guy. He was a small wired-haired doxen, about 25 lbs, but, for some reason, he never understood that. Whether it be a small poodle or a huge rottweiler, Ben would bark, growl and do whatever means necessary to get across that he was the toughest dog of them all.
Ben also wasn't the best with strangers or small children. He would bark and run like a mad man whenever some one new was over the house. Or, whenever my little cousins were over we'd have to keep Ben outside so they wouldn't run home crying.
Forget about the gardener or the mailman. They stood no chance.
Another word pops to mind when I think about Ben. Stubborn.
If there was one thing that Ben liked, it was being inside. Trying to get him outside in the morning before school and work was harder than anyone could imagine. In fact, it got to the point where we'd have to lead him out by leaving a trail of turkey to the backdoor, then we'd run behind him and force him out when he got near the exit.
In his older years, Ben developed a skin allergy of the worst kind. Not only did it give him dry skin, but it gave him a pretty terrible stench wherever he would walk. Pretty much, you could tell Ben was in the room just by taking a sniff yourself.
Now that was the Ben most people knew. He was wild, stubborn, smelly and hard to control. But there was another Ben not a lot of people knew. Actually, I might be the only person whoever met Ben that knew this side of him.
Believe it or not, Ben was actually very friendly if you spent some time with him. Over the years, we developed a close friendship - one of the best.
He slept on my bed every night. I would play with him more than anybody else and he followed me all around the house and in the backyard. Also, I thought it was kind of cool how feisty he was because I knew he'd protect me if anything ever happened.
I guess if I look back, he wasn't really a family dog. He was my dog.
The only reason my family kept Ben around for so many years was because of me. They wanted to give him away or put him to sleep five years before he truly needed to go. Ben stayed around because I begged and pleaded, and I'm happy it worked out. He was my buddy. My little guard dog. I wasn't going to leave him out to dry.
So, while most people, if not all people, didn't like Ben, I loved him. And it was sad to see him go a couple months ago, but it was time. I got as much out of him as I could, and he was in far too much pain to keep it going.
I always used to call Ben a living legend before we had to put him to sleep, and people would laugh, but I never did. Even though he's not alive anymore, and my family has already moved on and bought a new dog - his name is Charlie - people will always remember that crazy little dog.
At least to the people who knew him, Ben really is a legend that they won't forget, even if they didn't like him.
Hitting the Spot
As I head closer and closer to my destination, the dank smell of human excretion and rotting garbage grows overwhelmingly strong.
I inhale deeply. Ahh, there's no mistaking that smell.
The trusty stinky tofu stand is just ahead.
And now I know I'm home at last. If there's one thing I miss most about Taiwan, it's the food. It seems to be in Asia that the dirtier a restaurant is, the better the food turns out to be. I suppose there's just something mysteriously exciting about not knowing exactly where your food has been. And if your food happens to smell like a towel that has been used by the entire USC football team after the craziest game of the year, even better!
Two kinds of stinky tofu exist, the deep-fried kind and the boiled kind.
I'm not an avid fan of the first as it just isn't stinky enough for me (not to mention my mother tells me not to eat fried foods b/c they clog your arteries). The second, however, is literally a taste of heaven (or hell, which might be more fitting for stinky tofu first-timers). Watching a formerly white-turned-brown piece of tofu jiggling in a boiling pot of secret-ingredient goodness is, I suppose, not a normal pastime for most Americans.
But for Taiwan natives, getting a meal of stinky tofu (especially if it's free) is like getting a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses from the love of your life.
I inhale deeply. Ahh, there's no mistaking that smell.
The trusty stinky tofu stand is just ahead.
And now I know I'm home at last. If there's one thing I miss most about Taiwan, it's the food. It seems to be in Asia that the dirtier a restaurant is, the better the food turns out to be. I suppose there's just something mysteriously exciting about not knowing exactly where your food has been. And if your food happens to smell like a towel that has been used by the entire USC football team after the craziest game of the year, even better!
Two kinds of stinky tofu exist, the deep-fried kind and the boiled kind.
I'm not an avid fan of the first as it just isn't stinky enough for me (not to mention my mother tells me not to eat fried foods b/c they clog your arteries). The second, however, is literally a taste of heaven (or hell, which might be more fitting for stinky tofu first-timers). Watching a formerly white-turned-brown piece of tofu jiggling in a boiling pot of secret-ingredient goodness is, I suppose, not a normal pastime for most Americans.
But for Taiwan natives, getting a meal of stinky tofu (especially if it's free) is like getting a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses from the love of your life.
My love that is hated
For the typical 9 to 5er, work is not necessarily something that would be on the list of favorite things to do. However, I on the other hand, see work as my escape and the only thing that allows me to hold on to my sanity, amidst my hectic life.
I have my glass of orange juice, and my 4 egg omelet, and im off. Yes, I sit behind a desk for a few hours in the morning, but it is all necessary work for the fun I get to have in the afternoon, when the real work kicks in.
At 3 o'clock when the local school bells ring, I too feel the same relief as the students do. I get up from my desk, and head on over to the playing field. All of a sudden I am completely in the moment, I have no cares, no worries, just now. As I watch the Trojan Football team for the next two hours, I work out in my head, what will be my post-practice questions. What should I ask coach? Who played well today? What can I do to be a step ahead?
After practice is when all the prep work in the morning pays off and when my real work begins. I spend almost an hour interviewing players and talking to PR representatives about next week's big game. How many people can say they call this work? I am not sure, but I can.
My nights are filled breaking down the day's footage, all to escape to my bed before Leno goes off the air. I rest until my alarm goes off the next morning, and I get to do it all over again. I live it. I love it. And I would have it no other way.
I have my glass of orange juice, and my 4 egg omelet, and im off. Yes, I sit behind a desk for a few hours in the morning, but it is all necessary work for the fun I get to have in the afternoon, when the real work kicks in.
At 3 o'clock when the local school bells ring, I too feel the same relief as the students do. I get up from my desk, and head on over to the playing field. All of a sudden I am completely in the moment, I have no cares, no worries, just now. As I watch the Trojan Football team for the next two hours, I work out in my head, what will be my post-practice questions. What should I ask coach? Who played well today? What can I do to be a step ahead?
After practice is when all the prep work in the morning pays off and when my real work begins. I spend almost an hour interviewing players and talking to PR representatives about next week's big game. How many people can say they call this work? I am not sure, but I can.
My nights are filled breaking down the day's footage, all to escape to my bed before Leno goes off the air. I rest until my alarm goes off the next morning, and I get to do it all over again. I live it. I love it. And I would have it no other way.
Springtime Snow
I love snow storms in the spring. Coming from Pittsburgh, PA, saying that is practically taboo. Most of my fellow Pittsburghers see April snow as some sort of curse. Everyone gets excited by the first snow of the year, usually in mid-November. Enthusiasm for snowy weather sticks around through December as everybody hopes for a "White Christmas." Snow is fun in January and tolerated in February, but by the time March rolls around, the sight of snow sends most people running inside and slamming their doors. If there is even a hint of snow in April, it is as though the world is over and they might as well lock themselves inside and never come out. Every few years, a snow storm will hit at the end of March or beginning of April. While everyone else is practically moved to tears in these instances, wondering what exactly is keeping spring so tied up, I always get very excited. In my mind, if it's going to be cold, it might as well be snowing.
I love love love snow. At any time of year, no matter how much snow there has already been. Ironically, I hate being cold but I am willing to stand outside in 8 degree wind chills if it's snowing. I'm not sure why, but I think snow is the happiest thing in the whole world. It is soft and fluffy and every single flake is unique and beautiful. How could anyone not love snow? It provides countless hours of entertainment. Whether sled riding, building snow igloos and snowmen, skiing or making snow angels, there is nothing quite as innocent and natural as playing outside in the snow.
I think I love it so much because it is simple. What is more simple than something that provides happiness and entertainment that literally falls from the sky? So why argue when the last snow of the season comes in April? I know people are sick of being cold, but if they could just find the excitement inside of them saved from that first November snowfall, I think they would realize how wonderful a spring snowstorm is.
I love love love snow. At any time of year, no matter how much snow there has already been. Ironically, I hate being cold but I am willing to stand outside in 8 degree wind chills if it's snowing. I'm not sure why, but I think snow is the happiest thing in the whole world. It is soft and fluffy and every single flake is unique and beautiful. How could anyone not love snow? It provides countless hours of entertainment. Whether sled riding, building snow igloos and snowmen, skiing or making snow angels, there is nothing quite as innocent and natural as playing outside in the snow.
I think I love it so much because it is simple. What is more simple than something that provides happiness and entertainment that literally falls from the sky? So why argue when the last snow of the season comes in April? I know people are sick of being cold, but if they could just find the excitement inside of them saved from that first November snowfall, I think they would realize how wonderful a spring snowstorm is.
Livin La Vida Ricky
I love me some Ricky Martin.
Yes, there is something about his perfectly chiseled chin and beautiful smile that gets me all giddy inside. His dashing good looks are complemented by his talent as a singer and songwriter. Okay, so he doesn't write all of his songs by himself, but he tries and that's all that matters.
My love affair with the international pop icon began when I was in 6th grade and "Livin La Vida Loca" was all the rage. I could not deny his gyrating hips and starry eyes. And of course, everytime I listened to the song, I totally believed it was written for me. I mean, how could it have not been?
I had all of his CDs, t-shirts, posters, keychains and treasured them dearly. I would also cut out any and every picture I could find of him and paste it to my diary. I was such a cool kid.
And when I began listening to his Spanish languages CDs (read: every other CD before his American debut), I totally wished I was of Latin decent. lol. Yes, that's right. I totally wanted to be a sexy Latina lover to snag the perfect Latino. This is of course, despite my father's strong insistance that Ricky loved boys and not girls. I totally refused to believe it. And even if it were true if he would only have to take one look at me and it would be a done deal.
While my friends had their crazy fixation on boy band phenomenons Backstreet Boys and 'Nsync, I had eyes for one man and one man only.
Ricky was also was my first. The first popular music performer that I saw in concert of course. My aunty bought me tickets to see my love in person. We never got as close as we should have, but all the way up from the nosebleed seats (and through a pair of binoculars) I could see the ant that was Ricky Martin, the man I was destined to marry. I screamed as much as my pubescent lungs would allow and nearly fainted.
Since then, I've grown up and have learned to hide my undying devotion to the man who shook his hips at and for me. It's not exactly the most impressive watercooler conversation topic.
Recently, the Roman Catholic Church publically condemed him for adopting two children from a surrogate mother who just so happens to be his cousin. But they can stop sipping their haterate. He's beautiful and totally ready to be a loving father. And maybe, he needs a loving mother or at least a nanny to watch over his also beautiful children. And I have a feeling I just might be the right girl for the job.
Yes, there is something about his perfectly chiseled chin and beautiful smile that gets me all giddy inside. His dashing good looks are complemented by his talent as a singer and songwriter. Okay, so he doesn't write all of his songs by himself, but he tries and that's all that matters.
My love affair with the international pop icon began when I was in 6th grade and "Livin La Vida Loca" was all the rage. I could not deny his gyrating hips and starry eyes. And of course, everytime I listened to the song, I totally believed it was written for me. I mean, how could it have not been?
I had all of his CDs, t-shirts, posters, keychains and treasured them dearly. I would also cut out any and every picture I could find of him and paste it to my diary. I was such a cool kid.
And when I began listening to his Spanish languages CDs (read: every other CD before his American debut), I totally wished I was of Latin decent. lol. Yes, that's right. I totally wanted to be a sexy Latina lover to snag the perfect Latino. This is of course, despite my father's strong insistance that Ricky loved boys and not girls. I totally refused to believe it. And even if it were true if he would only have to take one look at me and it would be a done deal.
While my friends had their crazy fixation on boy band phenomenons Backstreet Boys and 'Nsync, I had eyes for one man and one man only.
Ricky was also was my first. The first popular music performer that I saw in concert of course. My aunty bought me tickets to see my love in person. We never got as close as we should have, but all the way up from the nosebleed seats (and through a pair of binoculars) I could see the ant that was Ricky Martin, the man I was destined to marry. I screamed as much as my pubescent lungs would allow and nearly fainted.
Since then, I've grown up and have learned to hide my undying devotion to the man who shook his hips at and for me. It's not exactly the most impressive watercooler conversation topic.
Recently, the Roman Catholic Church publically condemed him for adopting two children from a surrogate mother who just so happens to be his cousin. But they can stop sipping their haterate. He's beautiful and totally ready to be a loving father. And maybe, he needs a loving mother or at least a nanny to watch over his also beautiful children. And I have a feeling I just might be the right girl for the job.
Run, Eliza, Run
I'm an avid runner and I really love it. This is a recent development in my life. I, like most people, used to hate to run. In high school, I remember during field hockey season, every Monday my coach would require us to do a timed two-mile. If I were to look at my attendance records, Mondays would be my most frequent mental health days.
It was the start of college when I really developed this love of running. I think its cause I don't have to do it anymore that I really love it now. I can just throw on my jogging shoes at any hour of the day and run for however long I want, wherever I want. I find it to be a completely liberating experience, knowing I have no path mapped out in front of me, no one to tell me where to go. I find I can think more when I'm running. My mind is free to wander where ever it wants. No one is there to distract me or tell me I'm wrong.
The obsession began with just a few miles every day or every other day. Once around campus was my route. Before I knew it, the few miles turned into 8 or 9 miles a day. My distance became a bit of an obsession.
Running has many advantages for me. Not only is it advantageous for me physically, I also find it to be mentally helpful. Whenever I'm stressed or angry, going to for a run is my outlet.
Now a lot of people run, I know. Some people say they enjoy too, but without a pair of running shoes, I think I might just self-destruct. For those of you who hate running, I suggest you stop viewing it as a chore. Try running by the beach, or on a trail. Go to a place that is visually stimulating, and you might just realize that running is in no way a chore, but instead a great way to enjoy the outdoors. If you can't run outside, and you have to use a treadmill, try making a great playlist on your Ipod or mp3 player. This will also make the experience enjoyable.
Many people say they dislike running because it is boring. I say, you just don't know how to run. Mix it up. Sprint for a few seconds, jog for few, walk for a few. Maybe try sprinting during the chorus of a song or sprinting at every stop sign. Also, try getting a running buddy. Every week my sister and I go run at Santa Monica. We find it is a great time to catch up with each other.
Running for most is a dreadful task. For me, it's the best part of my day. Everyday I spend at least one hour running. I have found ways to keep it exciting and I think if people take my advice, they will also discover how truly enjoyable running can be.
It was the start of college when I really developed this love of running. I think its cause I don't have to do it anymore that I really love it now. I can just throw on my jogging shoes at any hour of the day and run for however long I want, wherever I want. I find it to be a completely liberating experience, knowing I have no path mapped out in front of me, no one to tell me where to go. I find I can think more when I'm running. My mind is free to wander where ever it wants. No one is there to distract me or tell me I'm wrong.
The obsession began with just a few miles every day or every other day. Once around campus was my route. Before I knew it, the few miles turned into 8 or 9 miles a day. My distance became a bit of an obsession.
Running has many advantages for me. Not only is it advantageous for me physically, I also find it to be mentally helpful. Whenever I'm stressed or angry, going to for a run is my outlet.
Now a lot of people run, I know. Some people say they enjoy too, but without a pair of running shoes, I think I might just self-destruct. For those of you who hate running, I suggest you stop viewing it as a chore. Try running by the beach, or on a trail. Go to a place that is visually stimulating, and you might just realize that running is in no way a chore, but instead a great way to enjoy the outdoors. If you can't run outside, and you have to use a treadmill, try making a great playlist on your Ipod or mp3 player. This will also make the experience enjoyable.
Many people say they dislike running because it is boring. I say, you just don't know how to run. Mix it up. Sprint for a few seconds, jog for few, walk for a few. Maybe try sprinting during the chorus of a song or sprinting at every stop sign. Also, try getting a running buddy. Every week my sister and I go run at Santa Monica. We find it is a great time to catch up with each other.
Running for most is a dreadful task. For me, it's the best part of my day. Everyday I spend at least one hour running. I have found ways to keep it exciting and I think if people take my advice, they will also discover how truly enjoyable running can be.
J'aime France!
although it seems everyone today in america hate france, it's culture and it's people, i happen to be obsessed with it! j'aime tous les trucs francais!
in 6th grade i had to make the decision between taking french and spanish. i figured i couldn't roll my r's so i picked french. i had a lot of people question my decision because they thought what practically could french have in my life? clearly spanish is the second language in the united states and i should have taken it...but i do not regret the choice to take french.
after about 7 years of different french classes, sadly i am still not fluent. but, i have learned enough about the french culture to want live there for the rest of my life. i feel once i live in paris or the cote d'azur... i'll become fluent.
now there are a few specific aspects of the french culture i have come to love and appreciate over the years. as of now, with the current situation in the media, dominated by politics, i happen to be obsessed with their president nicolas sarkozy and his wife of less than a year, carla bruni. it always amazes me that people believe that france is so foreign and different than the united states. as its president has been married 3 times and his current wife is a pop singer! i think americans need to realize sarkozy is an ally of the united states, not an enemy.
anyways, i don't want to get political in this blog. so i'll get to another reason france is great...it's cinema. i'm a cinema minor and some of the greatest films come from france, in my opinion. the renoir epic "la grande illusion" starring jean gabin and eric von stroheim (sp?) should be seen by more americans. i know it is hard to sit through a foreign film but it is so well made and should be re-released in american theatres more often. another one of my favorite films is called "le jeu du cons" or "the dinner game." a very very dark comedy that could have been made by apatow and co. if you have a wicked sense of humor this movie is def. for you. and also i mean the cannes film festival. the most reknowned festival in the world and is in one of the most beautiful settings in the world. along the croisette, what's better than a non-stop week of partying with great films, movie-stars and great beaches? je ne sais pas!
politics and cinema are great exports from france but the country itself has a great history of its own. i've taken several classes on euro history and one on modern french history and france's story from monarchy to modern republic is a great one. they have some of the greatest figures in all of history. hello!! louis xiv and napoleon. without louis we would never have the great palace of versailles, merci france pour le roi soleil. and yes i know he was a horrible person who bankrupted the country and starved his people but versailles is a marvel.
yes, i know. i've used some french in this blog. i can't help it. it's one of the most beautiful languages in the world and at the olympics is still the other language the announcer speaks besides engligh and the host country's language. french is a dipolmatic language and i hope it doesn't die. more people should speak it to understand it's beauty. i try to speak it as often as possible. it usually gets fused with english forming mine and my friends favorite language...franglais. you say as much as you know in french and fill in english words for the rest! oui, c'est tres cool! et cool est un mot en francais.
oui, beautiful like the country itself. from the great wine fields in the north (burgandy and champagne) to the great palaces to the cote d'azure (the blue coast)---france has many sites to see. i know that paris is still the number one tourist destination in the world, it represents l'amour. but i don't think americans appreciate how great the rest of the country is. i have never had a problem in france and i totally don't speak the language fluently. i find if i am a tourist, an american tourist, they treat me just as well as any other person there.
j'espere que i've convinced some to understand why france is so great. i've barely named any reasons at all. all i know, is that i've become immersed in it's great culture ever since i started taking the lanuage in 7th grade and i've never looked back. vive la france!
c'est trop dommage qu'il est impossible pour moi d'ecrire tous cette blog en francais :(
there are def. some grammar problems in that sentence, o well.
ps i forgot to mention food! obvi france is known for their amazing cuisine, i mean who doesn't love crepes? je ne sais pas!!!
in 6th grade i had to make the decision between taking french and spanish. i figured i couldn't roll my r's so i picked french. i had a lot of people question my decision because they thought what practically could french have in my life? clearly spanish is the second language in the united states and i should have taken it...but i do not regret the choice to take french.
after about 7 years of different french classes, sadly i am still not fluent. but, i have learned enough about the french culture to want live there for the rest of my life. i feel once i live in paris or the cote d'azur... i'll become fluent.
now there are a few specific aspects of the french culture i have come to love and appreciate over the years. as of now, with the current situation in the media, dominated by politics, i happen to be obsessed with their president nicolas sarkozy and his wife of less than a year, carla bruni. it always amazes me that people believe that france is so foreign and different than the united states. as its president has been married 3 times and his current wife is a pop singer! i think americans need to realize sarkozy is an ally of the united states, not an enemy.
anyways, i don't want to get political in this blog. so i'll get to another reason france is great...it's cinema. i'm a cinema minor and some of the greatest films come from france, in my opinion. the renoir epic "la grande illusion" starring jean gabin and eric von stroheim (sp?) should be seen by more americans. i know it is hard to sit through a foreign film but it is so well made and should be re-released in american theatres more often. another one of my favorite films is called "le jeu du cons" or "the dinner game." a very very dark comedy that could have been made by apatow and co. if you have a wicked sense of humor this movie is def. for you. and also i mean the cannes film festival. the most reknowned festival in the world and is in one of the most beautiful settings in the world. along the croisette, what's better than a non-stop week of partying with great films, movie-stars and great beaches? je ne sais pas!
politics and cinema are great exports from france but the country itself has a great history of its own. i've taken several classes on euro history and one on modern french history and france's story from monarchy to modern republic is a great one. they have some of the greatest figures in all of history. hello!! louis xiv and napoleon. without louis we would never have the great palace of versailles, merci france pour le roi soleil. and yes i know he was a horrible person who bankrupted the country and starved his people but versailles is a marvel.
yes, i know. i've used some french in this blog. i can't help it. it's one of the most beautiful languages in the world and at the olympics is still the other language the announcer speaks besides engligh and the host country's language. french is a dipolmatic language and i hope it doesn't die. more people should speak it to understand it's beauty. i try to speak it as often as possible. it usually gets fused with english forming mine and my friends favorite language...franglais. you say as much as you know in french and fill in english words for the rest! oui, c'est tres cool! et cool est un mot en francais.
oui, beautiful like the country itself. from the great wine fields in the north (burgandy and champagne) to the great palaces to the cote d'azure (the blue coast)---france has many sites to see. i know that paris is still the number one tourist destination in the world, it represents l'amour. but i don't think americans appreciate how great the rest of the country is. i have never had a problem in france and i totally don't speak the language fluently. i find if i am a tourist, an american tourist, they treat me just as well as any other person there.
j'espere que i've convinced some to understand why france is so great. i've barely named any reasons at all. all i know, is that i've become immersed in it's great culture ever since i started taking the lanuage in 7th grade and i've never looked back. vive la france!
c'est trop dommage qu'il est impossible pour moi d'ecrire tous cette blog en francais :(
there are def. some grammar problems in that sentence, o well.
ps i forgot to mention food! obvi france is known for their amazing cuisine, i mean who doesn't love crepes? je ne sais pas!!!
Friday, September 5, 2008
ONA assignment, due in class September 18
Last night's lecture notes, a link to the HTML tutorial, and a link to the ONA assignment have been added to the class wiki.
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