AFA and blogging

Oh yeah, I'm the mother fucking Princess.

I never have anything important to say anymore, and I really wish I did, because I heard blogs are going to be the new history books. Historians get all squishy when they find diaries from past times, "glimpses into real life from the past" and such. Look at how popular Anne Frank's diary is, and she didn't even particularly write about anything earth shattering. Just "Life is really tense. Living in an attic really sucks. I hope we don't die. I love Peter".

Pardon me if that was offense. I'm just saying she was writing about the trivialities of teenage life in the context of some tense politics.

If Cathi Martin were a beverage, she would be: Milk

Ever since I heard that bit of speculation-- that blogs will be future historians glimpse of real life in the early 21st century-- I've been wondering what, exactly, my scribblings have contributed to the collective consciousness of the world. My perceptions of major world events, that is, 9/11, the war on terror, catastrophic weather occurances and climate change, have been peripheral at best.

If Cathi Martin were a character from 10 Things I Hate About You, she would be: the dad

I plan to give a speech next year about how cell phone manufacturers are contributing to the turmoil in the Congo because they're greedy bastards. Yay!

If Cathi Martin were a building on NCC's campus, she would be: the library

I'm beginning to feel the first strains of my biggest fear of the whole "Alex going to UIC" situation. Talking (almost) every day is okay, I guess, but not a very good substitute for the real thing.

If Cathi Martin were a food, she would be: a pineapple

AFA-NIET,
Thrine

Blogging

I am not afraid to keep on living

Things that I find difficult:
-Blogging
-Maintaining friendships
-Talking to strangers
-Handstands

We're approaching an age where we will get information instantaneously from the people actually experiencing whatever it is we want to know about. Traffic reports from the dude stuck in his car. Weather updates from the chick walking her dog. Live videos of the factory fire from cell phone cameras. Our eyes and ears will be your average upper middle class American with a techno-gadget and our opinions will be from any schmuck with a computer. Right now we don't take blogs too seriously, but it's getting there.

Sometimes I try to puff myself up with egotism and write about something I think my vast and influential readership actually might want to read, like a diatribe about blogs. More often I give in to the inscrutable exhortations of my soul and whine about my life. I guess I'm still 15 years old at the fingertips.

In order to validate my elitist attitudes towards everyone else I feel like I shoud:
-Be better read
-Listen to more classic rock
-Discuss the cinema over coffee
-Learn about wine
-Eat at hole-in-the-wall cafes

So much for a meaningful entry. See you later.

punk rawk,
Cath

stress and conversation

I don't mind you under my skin

Stress is a compound interest problem. If I could remember my math classes I'd probably be much better equipped at dealing with life's little stressors. The issue is that when one thing is keeping you on the edge of your nerves, everyday annoyances needle you to the point where someone breathing too heavily through their mouth is liable to make you lash out. It especially doesn't help when a lot of the little things are consequences of the one big thing.

For example: let's say you're dead broke. What cash flow you are bringing in has to go directly to major things like rent, bills, and gas and you don't have anything left over. This means you avoid going out with friends, which is depressing. It means a debt you owe to your roommate is suddenly postponed, which creates tension. It means you can't buy someone a birthday gift, and that you're stingy when it comes to driving places so you can conserve gas. It means when your roomie is inflexible about getting $8 your frustration with their lack of understanding is compounded much more toxically than it should be.

The good thing about stress, perhaps, is that it makes you buckle down and focus on what exactly it is you need to do to eliminate this joy-killer from your life. Lacking money? Make every second at work count. Don't spend it on silly things like Taco Bell or CDs. Sit down with the roommate and calmly discuss what it feels like to be broke and how to work around the situation. Make conversations with the boyfriend and other significant people count, since seeing them is slightly more difficult. Strengthen relationships with the parentals so you can mooch off them.

Just kidding. Sort of.

My favorite type of conversation to have is the ones where we discuss how to properly go about building a conversation. It requires not only a knowledge about interpersonal communication but also includes a sharing of ways of employing insight and tact. Hypothetical conversations are always much more significant and difficult than their real manifestations anyway. It's good brain aerobics.

Conversations in the hypothetical stage:
-The Mutal Grievences
-The State of the Union
-The Cautionary Tale

Q.E.D. bitches,
Cathi


P.S. 4th Place in being funniest in the State!

Sit rep

Awake and unafraid

I like to think that I cope well with not only change, but with spontaneity. It would speak well of my character if I enjoyed surprises, but when they come in the form of a 3 page research paper due in 3 hours, my love for the impromptu is tested.

Have you ever sat down and really, truly thought about your fiscal situation? I mean apart from tax time (which is nigh!). I recently had the revelation that I, Cathi Martin, am spoiled. I don't mean in a "rotten" sort of sense, just "spared the true hardships of reality". This hit me harder than a Lincoln hits a utility pole when the day after "my" car was wrecked, I was in possession of not just another vehicle, but essentially a brand-spanking-new one. I may have never lived in a big fancy house, known what caviar tastes like, or worn designer jeans, but I have been beyond well taken care of.

I need to work on eliminating irrational spikes of jealousy from my emotional repertoire.

It would be nice to think that I'm exactly where I want to be, but I think that's a hard sentiment to be sure of. Doing well in school? Check. Successful in speech? Check. Surviving on my own? Check. Content with my job? Check. Deliriously happy with the boyfriend? Check. Acceptable fashion sense? Well... I guess there's always room for improvement.

A Favor House Atlantic,
Cathers

one year

I've got a history of wearing my mind on my sleeve

The heart, on the other hand, tends to stay locked in my chest pumping blood like it's its job, for better or worse. Which is good, cardiovascularly, but not so good emotionally. The depths of the allegorical heart remain a mystery to me intellectually, if not intuvitively.

Conversation has never been an easy thing for me to accomplish. While expressing ones self is one of the basic tenets of human nature, I spent more time as a child with my nose in a book and my mouth firmly shut than I did debating the finer points of Pog technique with my peers. This lack of practice with verbal expression had made even the simplest of sharing points a thing of torture. It's like having one of those rubber seals they put syringe vials covering my mouth. It physically feels like I'm trying to push through something when I think I should divulge some sort of private thought. Sometimes I'm brave enough to be able to force my way through, but afterwards the barrier always seals itself again. None of this "chipping away at the brick wall" nonsense.

One year, two days ago I, the brazen hussy that I am, made the first of a series of moves with a Mister Alex Durbin. I can't say that was The Beginning, but it was definately the start of The Beginning. Hindsight being 20/20 I feel confidant in saying that things have turned out for the best, although it doesn't feel like it's been a year. I think that's good.

L&O, Cathi

Lovely things

I knew that the lights of the city were too heavy for me

Let's take this from the top.

I told Robert-the-16-year-old that the reason he thinks "dating is pretty lame" is because he hadn't dated the right girl. That yeah, doing the same stupid things over and over again, like going to movies or walking around downtown Naperville does get tired and old, but that's not the point of dating. It shouldn't really matterwhat exactly you're doing, just the fact that you're doing it together. Talking to that person should be the high point of your day, what it is you look forward to. He said his conversations with his best friend were like that. I told him he was in love with his best friend, and after some brow-beating he stopped denying it.

I related that story to my dad over dinner last night, and he kept grinning at me like he knew something I didn't. Stupid grown-ups with their smug smiles and worldly knowledge.

All I know is that "absence makes the heart grow fonder" is a romantic way of saying that you miss someone to painful pieces. It's also a good cover up for the fact that suddenly insignificant irritations like missed or short phone calls and perceived indifference are suddenly much bigger deals than they should ever be.

Now off to the Wisconsin Love-Swing, which is way less dirty or exciting than you'd expect. Giving speeches in the arctic circle, while an amusing sitcom idea, is not my concept of a rollickin' good time.

Table saw,
Thrine

schooly things

Give me your right hand, but keep your left hand free. Let's run in circles, yeah let's make history!

ACHTUNG: Einer gegenstandlos, egoistische Aufsatz ist unter diese Achtung. Ablaufen Sie mit Umsicht*.

I believe it was Durbin who pointed out that the quotation above reminded him of the orangutan dance in the Jungle Book. Fitting, considering the song is about monkeys.

After doing some number crunching (anyone else remember that computer game?) I've realized that I'm, literally, one single credit hour over being able to graduate a term early. It's not really worrisome, just "grrr" frustrating. I suppose I can't complain, seeing as, regardless, I can graduate on time, if not early with some fast talking, with two entire Bachelor's degrees. Fancy me. You know what that means, though? I'm approximately one year, six weeks away from being a real grownup. Maybe I should go for a Master's, just so I can a) put off paying my student loans for another 3-4 years and b) pretend I'm allowed to be irresponsible for a little while longer.

What do you think the odds are of me convincing a richy-rich high school (maybe Neuqua?) that they need a radio program? Because that would be super kick-ass. Kick-asstic, if you will.

For once, school isn't making me crazy. Granted, academically, school has never really had to make me break a mental sweat, but deadline-induced stress-sweats have been numerous, especially since college started. Time management: 1. Cathi: 0. Having only two classes makes me feel like I'm getting away with something diabolical and evil, especially since the "homework" side of my day-by-day schedule is essentially blank. I will admit that, Dark Lord allegiance aside, it's really nice to be able to come home after class or work and think "What do I need to do? Watch two hours of Law and Order? Fabulous" without actually neglecting something of real importance. I assume this lackadaisical approach to life will end come Spring Term, but I pledge to enjoy it while I can.

I think I'd like to be an intern at WGN radio this summer. Yeah, let's do that.

Sorry if I bored you, but you can't say I didn't warn you.

Love,
Cathi

*Altavista's Babelfish translation: "NOTE: One articleless, egoistic essay is under this attention. Run off with circumspection."