Thursday, July 15, 2010

An Entry From 2005:

Four and a half years ago I was skiing in a blizzard, and occasionally drinking coffee and playing with crayons, as I contemplated life, yet again:

Friday, December 16, 2005

What happens when I do that?

Here's a killer, monstrous, enormous entry. Lately when I drink just a bit too much wine, I get these wonderful epiphanies. It sounds crazy; yes I'm well aware; but I'll be sitting back and taking a break from being a motor mouth for a second or two, and these odd heavy thoughts come to mind. And they're never anything important–such as wouldn't it would be great if I could help all the starving people in world, and find the answer to world peace?


Right. Those are certainly not the type I have–mine are completely focused around me. Which sounds awful, but they're usually about my life and how I feel about it, where it's going, and what I like about it. So I'm guessing you would like to know one of the enlightenment sessions I had the other day while drinking? One: That I love dance music. And, like I said–I always forget them. So I'll try to start writing them down from now on.

Anyways I just got back from Snowshoe Mountain, West Virginia, where I was on a ski trip. Snowshoe is in the middle of nowhere might I add. But it is beautiful. And it snowed, aka blizzarded, for most of the trip, and they don’t even get cell phone service there–other than that, it was great. Great group of people. I love skiing and wish I got out on the slopes more. But it's crazy that when leaving West Virginia, it was blizzard-ing for a few hours of the ride home, then changed to ice for a few hours, and then become rain for the next few–and then I arrived at home in Ohio only to be greeted by grass on the ground, when all I had previously been seeing, was white.

On the topic of skiing, I feel like skiing is such a social status sport. Skiing is so damn expensive, mainly because all of the equipment as well as gear, to be bought. Whenever I'm on the slopes, I tend to think about Colorado and immediately think about how many paparazzi shots in the winter there are of 'stars' skiing in Vail–which is magical by the way. Vail, that is. And I always think of Aspen, during the winter months. And then there's also the whole idea of property ownership in ski resorts. Can you afford a house, a condo? Or do you stay in a hotel room, yourself? Which brings me to another point.

Why is it that America is so
 obsessed with celebrities and stars? I never get why we glorify certain people in the Hollywood, industry. (Update: I (think) that I have figured this out by living in Europe. Celebrities are America's version of royalty. It's the same with royalty in Europe.) Why is it that most of the general public finds it acceptable to criticize celebrities, even though they do not even know them at any level? What is it that makes them so interesting and glamorous to us? They’re real people just like you and I, kind of like when you were in third grade and saw your teacher at the store, outside of school, and about creamed your pants because you didn’t realize they actually have a life outside the classroom. It's crazy to imagine them as real people, but for some reason we would rather not. And I love how everyone, myself included sometimes, is obsessed with the material items they own and how much each of them cost. Like anyone will actually read this–but you know it seems like every time that I read through a random (and personal) digital publication, I just cant help but feel a little bit creepy, digging through the folder of someone’s life. Then again, they made it public. As have I.

Today while in the village, and everyone else was skiing, I went to Starbucks and did the whole 'lets chill in there for three hours'–thing. Get a breakfast sandwich–at Starbucks you ask? (Update: this was 2005, before Starbucks really offered food-y things on a large scale.) I know; who would of thought? A breakfast sandwich at Starbucks? And a hot chocolate, I read USA Today, and listened to the iPod, colored with crayons in a coloring book (which are for everyone, in my book, not just kids), and reassured to myself what I already knew...

I enjoy being alone a lot.

Which is another subject in itself, but don't worry. I mean that in a completely non-creepy 'I might kill myself' sort-of-way. In more of an 'I love life' sort-of-way.