O Canada!

My (hopefully soon to be) home and native land...

I could go on with the rest of the national anthem, but I'll spare you. If you're really interested, go Google it or something. However, partly due to the spirit of the 2010 Olympics, Canada has been on my mind quite a bit. No, not because I want the United States to beat this northern country in every sport to try to prove some hardcore American patriotism. Quite the opposite, actually. And no, I'm not hoping that Canada is going to destroy the United States and whatnot. I do, however, think that people, namely Americans, should stop having such an extreme sense of nationalism and realize that maybe, just maybe, there are other countries that are just as super awesome. Yep, I'm talking about Canada. It is time that Canada is seen as more than just America's hat.

Okay, I lied a little bit earlier. Canada is not just "as super awesome" as the United States...It's WAAAAAAAY more awesome. Look, I'm not some traitor or America-hater. Go Team USA, but go Team Canada even more. When Canada and USA played their qualifying game in the Olympics, I was cheering for Canada. Apparently this was not allowed. My support of Canada was mistaken for being against the United States. I was actually taken aback by how strongly they rejected my support for Canada. I have (almost) no hard feelings against old Uncle Sam, but maybe things are greener on the other side of the border.

Reason Number 1: The Canadian side of Niagara Falls is so much more wonderful, if no other reason than you can see it better. Well, I don't think I have ever seen the falls from New York, only from Canada, but still. General consensus is that to truly experience this beautiful natural creation, you should pack your passport and head on up north.

Reason Number 2: Canada is the motherland of one of the greatest sports, and my latest obsession: ice hockey. According to Wikipedia, there is evidence of hockey-like games being played way back when in Eastern Canada. In the mid 19th century, reports have been found describing the game of hockey being played on ice. Halifax and Kingston are home to the first recorded hockey games that took place in the mid-1850s, and students at McGill University in the 1870s created the first known set of rules. Being the birthplace of this wonderful sport, it is no surprise that Canada has produced many of the best hockey players in the world, which leads me to my next reason.

Reason Number 3: My three dream future husbands are from Canada, two of which are hockey players. I know, this is really weird and sketchy, but bear with me. Playing for the Columbus Blue Jackets are two very talented players who are from, you guessed it, Canada. Antoine Vermette and Derick Brassard, native Canadians, came to Ohio to play some hockey. Thank you, Canada! I can't forget the third man, though. Actor Michael Cera is from Brampton, Ontario. Alright, so even though I'm never going to ever meet any of these guys, the data trends are clear. My true future husband, who ever that may be, is more than likely going to be from Canada. Empirical evidence, you guys.

Reason Number 4: How often do you hear about Canada in the news? With the exception of Americans driving up there to get their prescriptions filled and whatnot, Canada has remained pretty under the radar. Everyone and everything there is just so chill and relaxed. Canada gets major points for electing to remain out of the Iraq War. The United States definitely should take a couple of hints from our border partner. Wikipedia also tells us that Prime Minister Lester B. Pearson proposed the United Nations Peacekeeping Force, which continues to work today. Additionally, Canada has one of the lowest national debts. Probably because they don't get too involved in all these militaristic endeavors...but let's not get into that now.

Reason Number 5: I'm not just saying this next reason because I'm a young college kid. Promise. Throughout Canada, the drinking age is either 18 or 19, depending on the province or territory. Everybody knows both sides of the debate on drinking age in the US, so I'll just leave it at that. But I do believe there is no reason the US should keep the drinking age up at 21. Again, let's take a hint from Canada and maybe doing things right.

Reason Number 6: Blue Rodeo. You've probably never heard of them. See, I'm probably the only person under the age of 40 who listens to this music group which is from, well, Canada. I am forever grateful to my dad for listening to Blue Rodeo while I was growing up, because I have turned into a huge listener. Check them out at www.bluerodeo.com

Basically, go Canada. That's really all I have left to say. This beautiful country just seems to have it, whatever 'it' is, right. With the Olympic gold medal game tomorrow between US and Canada, you probably can guess for who I am going to be rooting. If the United States wins, of course that's wonderful, but I am wholeheartedly cheering for Canada. And when they (hopefully) win, I will stand up and sing the rest of the national anthem with the Canadian hockey team. O Canada...

I can't believe I'm doing this...

Over winter break I seemed to continually add to my mental list of guilty pleasures. We all have them. We all acknowledge them. But then why are we all so ashamed of them? Well, since I have nothing to do this Friday night until 9 o'clock soccer practice, I'm dissecting my list to maybe find some meaning and reasoning in why I must accompany some of these pleasures with guilt.

Guilty Pleasure #1: Top 40 Music. Yes, it is true. Any time I got in my car at home, I tuned the radio station to WNCI 97.9. (For those not from the great 614, it's the, well, top 40 radio hit station). I never blasted my music for fear of others overhearing to what I was nodding my head like yeah and moving my hips like yeah. Yes, that is the second time on this blog that I have referred to Miley Cyrus...now that is something to be ashamed of. Anyways, what is so wrong with Top 40 that makes me want to call it a guilty pleasure? First off, the so-called-music is absolutely abysmal. So not good music to my ears. Really stupid lyrics, for lack of a better word, doctored voices, and just straight up bad in general. Like, really Ke$ha? Are you going to brush your teeth with a bottle of Jack's? Does the party not start until you walk in? Oh, and are you serious about that dollar sign in the middle of your name? But amidst all of that muck, why am I so inclined to stay on the station to listen to you?

Guilty Pleasure #2: Even as an almost nineteen year old, I still enjoy watching The Disney Channel. Wizards of Waverly Place, occasional moments of Hannah Montana (that's the hardest to admit), Disney Channel original movies, etc. So again, why do I still watch crap like this? Probably because Disney Channel used to be the best thing to ever happen to my generation. Think about it. Lizzie McGuire created a phenomenon. Even Stevens taught us all that if you work hard enough you can buy your own churro machine to keep in your bedroom. And let's not forget those movies. My personal three favorites: Smart House, Rip Girls, and Stepsister from Planet Weird. It's a general consensus, too, that Brink maybe just be the best movie in the history of movies. So as we have grown older, I think we, well, I, have just found it a little too difficult to part with this sparkling aspect of my past. Skate on, Andy Brinker.

Guilty Pleasure #3: Honestly, the rest are all too weird to put on here...

Again, these are things that I do only when nobody else is around to witness. Except for I guess now you know what I do in my spare time. Well, fair enough. Because I know you have your own little secrets that you probably won't share because you still have a sense of sanity. Just try not to judge me too hard on these. Thanks.

Transcontinental

I've never been a huge fan of inspirational quotes. Sure they're all in good meaning, but they're all also a little cliche. However, I hypocritically find myself thinking about three quotes in particular. The first one is from the critically acclaimed television series Gossip Girl. Whenever Chuck Bass says "...I'm Chuck Bass", any and all of his actions have a legitimate reason. Do it to it, Chuck. The second quote comes from one of, if not the, wisest men to ever live in both the wizarding world and the muggle world. Albus Dumbledore, while talking to Harry Potter, says, "It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities". The third and final quote comes from a much older guy and is the cause for my current brianstorm.

St. Augustine once said, "The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page". Now, I don't really know much about this guy, but he seems like a pretty intellectual fellow. I mean, he's a saint, right? So he must be all important and shit and know what he's talking about. Regardless, St. Augustine spoke the words that have evolved into the theme, motto, and goal of my life. Let's hope this guy knows what he's talking about, because I'm living by his words, and his words say this: a person really knows nothing until he or she ventures into the unknown. By remaining in the same place for an entire lifetime, you sit and stare at the table of contents, which only lists everything that is available to be explored in the world and not the invigorating details that comprise this beautifully complex world. It's peering through the window of Coldstone Creamery and surveying the available mix ins and various concoctions without stepping inside to indulge. Now if that's not a tease, then I don't know what is...

In my childhood, and still today, I know that I have been more than blessed to have experienced as much as the world as I have, to have been able to read the amount of pages in this book St. Augustine speaks of that I have. But I'm still not satisfied. My one true passion is packing my bags, getting on a plane, and flying to a country to which I have never before experienced. I want to learn about the world by simply being there. I strive to become a true world citizen, understanding as many cultures outside of the uninspiring one of the United States. I want other people to realize the importance of leaving comfort and stepping into another land, realizing that the world is bigger than one's own self.

There is a video on YouTube of a man in countries all across the world doing a simple little dance called "Where The Hell Is Matt?". Basically, this guy is living the freaking dream. This guy, Matt, left his job and used up all his savings to travel around Asia. Then he decided to just do this stupid little dance in every country he visited, recorded it, and put it on YouTube. The video eventually reached the gum company Stride who said it would pay him to travel around the world and just dance. So he did. If you're interested, here's his website which goes into a lot more detail. (Sorry for the excessive hyperlinks. I just figured out how to do them on here! Super exciting.)

So here's the thing. I want to be Matt. I want to live his life. I want to travel the world and have that be my job. And maybe I can write about what I see while I'm abroad, having my pen dance across the paper describing the same terrain on which Matt dances his little jig. Furthermore, I want everyone else to have the desire and curiosity to see what is beyond the United States borders besides for a waterfall up north and bikini clad spring breakers down south. Get up and out and go somewhere. Hell, even if you don't leave the country, take a road trip to some state you've never been to. Or just be like one of my good friends, who travels all corners of the globe every night, compliments of Google Earth. One of these days, I know she will more than see these countries on her computer screen. She'll see them and breathe them and live them. I can only hope that more people find this same yearning to explore. Go out and read this damn book that St. Augustine wants you to. I don't think you'll be disappointed.

Rewind

Holy shit, you guys. It's already December. The countdown to Christmas has begun, the first snow in Chicago graced the earth today, and we are at the peak of the hockey season (my new favorite obsession. Go Columbus Blue Jackets!) On this beautifully frigid day, though, I am cooped up in the library, alongside other diligent students because, well, along with this fascinating precipitation, December also brings the ominous black cloud over all universities: Finals Week.

Oh mah god. Where did the time go? Yes, yes, so cliché, I know. But seriously. In exactly ten days, I will have (hopefully) successfully completed my first college semester, and that freaks me out a little bit. For the past sixteen weeks I've been just hanging out in Chicago, going to class, meeting an abundance of random people who I'll probably never talk to again, and not paying attention to the rapid passing of time. Back in October, Thanksgiving and Winter break seemed like light years away, but now that it is almost here, the time will come all too soon. After turning in my last final, I'm hopping on an American Airlines flight home, and I'm staying there for five weeks. Those thirty five days will be full of absolutely nothing. No homework, no studying, no real worries; rather spending all my time with my best friends back home. But if these fifteen weeks went by faster than I can even comprehend, these next five will seem almost nonexistent.

Time is a strange phenomenon. You can never control it, but you can manage it. You never have it when you need it, but it is always in abundance when you least want it. (I feel like Alanis Morisette could have included this in her song ironic in which everything she sings about isn't actually an example of irony... but whatever.) We simply cannot control the passing of seconds, minutes, days, years, and that kind of sucks. A good friend of mine once said, "I wish we could live in a never ending summer after senior year", and although we can hope and pray, it will never happen. Why can't we make it happen, though? Keeping track of time is a man made idea. This earth didn't evolve with clocks and calendars, so we would have been perfectly fine just winging it day to day. Time makes people anal, myself included. Like my mother, I am always ten minutes early to everything. We would all be so much more relaxed and peaceful if there were no tracking of time. No deadlines, no curfews, nothing.

But since we can't eliminate time now in this day and age, we just have to deal with it. We'll never be able to live forever in the summer after senior year. Unless, of course, we all find and drink out of the magical spring in Tuck Everlasting. I can't elongate the time before finals week. But I can go and make the most of the little time I have. Maybe summer after freshman year of college will be even better than summer after senior year. We can only wait until the time comes to find out, though. That time will be here before we know it. If these past four months flew by, the next four are bound to, as well. I only hope I'm not lying on my deathbed wondering where all the years have gone. In the short lives we lead on this earth, we can only make the most of the small time we have. It is bound to speed by, but, well, shit happens, right? Even though its always changing, we just have to live in the now. And right now the time I have to study for finals is slowly dissipating and will be gone before I know it. Instead of watching the hands on the clock tease me of the slowly approaching end of each day, I'll battle them and make those minutes worthwhile.

Party in the USA (is that copyrighted?)

The countdown I started on my whiteboard in my dorm room finally reached "Home!" today. The time had come for me to leave behind communal living, mind-numbing lectures, and shitty cafeteria food for five days and go home to friends, family, and the largest face stuffing festival in the United States: Thanksgiving. Thank you, pilgrims!! Not only are you helping increase the obesity levels in this country on a single day and initiating the killing millions of innocent turkeys (I should point out that I have been a vegetarian since the womb), you are also bringing me joy in the most abundant amounts.

For the first time in three months, I am home, and it feels oh so wonderful to be here. Pulling up into the driveway of my house produced rather strange feelings. No doubt I am thrilled to be home for a week, but it also seems rather foreign. My family continues to live here, but I am not there to witness it. It is strange to think that life happens here everyday, but I know nothing of it. Technically I don't even live here anymore, yet I still can't call Mertz (my dorm) my home. Nevertheless, I walked into the undeniable comfort of my house, making a beeline to greet my kitties who had congregated in the kitchen anxiously waiting for my arrival. And, well, I was so relieved to have arrived.

Within ten minutes of me being home, I get a text informing me of the plans for the night. And here is where coming back to Ohio gets even better...even better than seeing my cats! Shocking, right?! After three months, or one fourth of an entire year, I am on my way to hang out with my friends. My Ohio friends. The closest friends I have. The people I have not seen in far too long because the distance between each of us is incredible.

If you look at where my closest friends chose to attend school, your eyes would have to dance back and forth across the map of the United States because we're partying all across the USA. We range from all the way out west in Seattle to all the way down south in Georgia and all the way back up north in New York. No two of us go to the same school. Needless to say, it's kind of difficult to hop in a car and drive down to Georgia from Illinois on any given weekend.

Seeing everyone tonight had a similar sensation as when I came home. Although we all try to keep in touch as much as possible, I have no clue what is really going on in my friends' everyday lives. What do they do in their spare time? Who are they hanging out with? Where do they go on the weekends? Everybody has their own almost secret lives that I will never truly be able to understand simply because I am not seeing them everyday anymore. We can talk and share stories, but there are empty faces and places that I can only attempt to imagine. If we are all shaped by our experiences, then we have all become completely different people. Nobody's "college lives" are the same, whereas in high school we were all stuck in the same place doing pretty much the same thing.

Even though we're all across the country, we all are nodding our heads like yeah and moving our hips like yeah. Not to mention this unfortunately captivating song is played at every single party across the country. For this week, though, we will have congregated our party to in the UA in our hometown suburban setting, and I couldn't be more thankful.

Thank You, AP World Literature

I am forever indebted to my eleventh grade AP World Literature class. Walking into that class for the first day held no inclination that two years later I would count my lucky stars for allowing me to take that course. Being my first AP class, I really had no idea what I was getting myself into. We had had an astronomical amount of summer reading and journals to complete in preparation for the class, and before even stepping foot through that doorway, I had decided that class sucked.

We were given another assignment on the first day of class, another reason to question my decision to be a proactive student and try to earn college credit. We were to write what was called an "Occasional Paper", or OP, once every quarter. This OP had to be at least 500 words and could be written on any topic we desired, as long as it had a point and was not simply a narrative. We could write them at any point during the quarter. Once we had written them, we were required to read it in front of the class. Wonderful. On top of the endless list of books to read for this class and others, I had to come up with some topic out of thin air to write a paper on. Oh, and it was worth 50 points. Why oh why didn't I choose to be a slacker?!

Well, the first quarter went by, and I managed to crank out a less than interesting OP about my recent student trip to Africa. I did not give the paper much thought, as I was simply trying to conjure up a semi-well written paper to obtain my fifty points. The second quarter rolled around, and Winter Break was slowly approaching, aka OP deadline. One Saturday afternoon, inspiration struck while I was watching the news with my dad. There had been a debate on whether to call a tree in some governmental building a Christmas tree or a Holiday tree. After discussing it for a bit with my dad, I sat down to write the paper that more or less changed the course of my life.

I came into class the next Monday with my second quarter OP. I nervously got up in front of the class to present this paper that discussed the meaningless of political correctness and the cultural implications of the holiday season. Throughout my delivery, there were laughs, snorts, and other appreciated responses from my classmates. Once I finished, I received the customary applause from my peers and handed my paper in to the teacher. She held out her hand with a smile and encouragingly nodded her head, telling me that this OP would make a wonderful college essay.

Although I had been freaking out about the whole college process, I never fully thought about having to actually apply. Until now. I sat down in my desk thinking to myself, "What made this OP college essay-worthy?" I couldn't answer that question until my third quarter OP.

When I wrote my third quarter OP, I realized how much I truly enjoyed writing these. If nothing else, they are simply an instrument for me to express my most random thoughts in the way in which I express myself best, through my writing. My personality and voice through the written word are able to carry through to fully and comprehensibly convey what it is that I am thinking. I had found my niche.

Before I knew it, I was entering my senior year of high school. I was signed up for AP World Literature Year 2, and was hoping and praying that we would have to write more OPs. I had heard horror stories from other AP Lit classes whose teachers did not require them. Every day when I walked into my AP Lit class, I hoped and prayed that our teacher would introduce them to us again. My prayers were answered when our teacher told us that one a quarter, we were to stand up in front of the class to read a 500 word paper about whatever topic we choose. Hallelujah!

Those eight OPs I wrote during my last two years of high school gave me such joy. I never thought I would enjoy a school assignment as much as I did. When college application season finally approached, I listened to the advice of my junior year AP Lit teacher and used my second quarter OP as my college essay, and, well, I was pleased with the results. This essay gained me acceptance to the university which I currently attend where I am further pursuing a career in, essentially, writing OPs for the rest of my life. But until I am out in the real world as a real journalist, I thought I would try to write some more OPs. I mean, eight simply was not enough. So, here we are. I hope you enjoy reading these posts as much as I love writing them. Let me know what you think!