Being a Big Sister (Erin’s Thoughts)

For fifteen years of my life I’ve been the proud owner of a skinny, feisty, and pretty little thing that my parents call my sister. Hannah’s a constant in my life, and I never really think too hard about the kid that lives across the hall from me.

Obviously I have to acknowledge her existence… that’s not what I mean. What I’m saying is that when you have a sibling, especially one you’re pretty close with, you don’t usually stop and think about who they truly are to you.

In our high school yearbook they did a feature on siblings in our school. And the very first picture in the section is one of me and Hannah from about two years ago.

It’s not exactly my favourite picture of us, and it’s old, but it got me thinking. Hannah and I have something really special. A bond that the universe gave us, instead of us having to find each other. It has its ups and downs, but it’s there.

Hannah is fifteen. She’s tiny, pretty, athletic. Straight As, president of the freshman class, funny, talented. People say we’re a lot alike, but she’s definitely got her own thing going for her.

I remember when Hannah was really little. She spoke in a garbled kind of way, and only I could understand her. We used to know every line to the Little Rascals, we used to play Harry Potter (I still have the spell books we made, with the horrible drawings and hundreds of misspellings), we used to build forts in the coat closet under the stairs.

When I held her hand, I used to marvel in how small it was in mine, even though she’s only two years younger than I am. Little baby hands. Now, years later, she has bigger hands than I do.

Hannah and I fight, just like any pair of siblings. We slam doors, we yell at each other, we say snappy little things to each other. But who doesn’t expect that with siblings? It’s like the law to hate each other sometimes.

I remember the first time Hannah told me she hated me. I was devastated. Now it happens every so often without repercussion.

Hannah’s lazy. Almost endearingly so. Almost. She could be sitting in the kitchen and I’m five rooms and away and she’ll ask me to get her food. Or she could be right next to the door and she’ll ask me to close it. Or she could be getting up to go downstairs and she’ll still ask me to take her plates to the kitchen.

We’ve concluded that we don’t know what she’s going to do when I go to college. She’ll wither away to nothing without anyone to feed her.

But Hannah’s my best friend. She and I play Nancy Drew computer games together, we watch Avatar: The Last Air Bender together. We gossip. We play games, we act in plays, we have adventures. We flirt with boys, hang out with friends. We stay up at night and talk and talk.

And I hope she’ll always be my best friend. Because even though I didn’t have to befriend her, the universe knew that we needed each other. That I needed a sister to love and support and just hang out with.

My mom has a plaque that her sister (she has like, six of them) gave to her. It says:

A sister reaches for your hand and touches your heart.

Well, Hannah and I always made fun of that. Imagine reaching for someone’s hand and then plunging your fist into their chest.

So I’ll end it on this. I love my little sister. There’s no one else like her. I’m infinitely proud of her, and so, so happy that I have her.

I’m sure anyone with a sister know what I mean.

XOXO Erin

Sun On My Arms (Thom’s Thoughts)

Hey, all. I haven’t posted in a day or two since recently, I’ve picked up a swell job: lifeguarding. The other guards are great, my bosses are friendly, and the work itself is tiresome but worth it. It’s very fulfilling stuff.

The talk of other students and guards is tanning. I understand, I mean… if you think about it, tanning can kind of be the key to looking hot or not, in some cases. It’s just what’s in, I suppose. I’ve spent most of my life being a pale kid. Having a pool in Missouri made me tan for a while, but mostly I’m just white.

Well, the first few days on the job tanned (and burned) me noticeably. It’s great, though. For once, I feel like I’m actually working towards a whole bunch of things: money, complexion, fitness. It’s several birds with one stone. On a different note, I’ve never even come close to killing a bird with a stone before.

I met a kid on a roaming patrol shift today who approached me and said his name was something like “Column.” Then I found out his name was Cullen. He said he was five, and while I scanned the pool area, he told me all about how he read at a first-grade level even though he was five, and how he wanted to be a football player when he grew up because they wore the most protective gear. He told me he read Harry and Mudge. 

“Who’s the author?” I asked, recognizing the book.

“A whole bunch of different people write the books,” he said. “No one, really.”

After a couple of minutes of this, the adult swim period ended. While adult swim goes on, we have to remain at our posts, of course, but mostly our jobs lately have been to watch over those people who are relaxing at the edges, and in our down time ask people if they like the new renovations. People, on the whole, have been incredibly friendly and nice to me. I’ve met many good folks.

The whistles blew. Cullen, mid-sentence, suddenly sprang up and hurled himself into the water. I gasped and went to hold out my tube, but he had done it on purpose. He was loving it.

“Thank you, Lifeguard Tom!” he yelled, and frolicked in the water. I smiled, and took the shoulder strap of the tube off my shoulders and handed it to the next guard.

“Have fun!” I shouted.

Ten, fifteen seconds passed. I walked away, not expecting a reply from my fun-loving kindergarten friend.

“I will!” he blurted.

-Thom
aestheism, not atheism.

I Have Triangle Tanlines (Erin’s Thoughts)

Memorial day weekend is better than any other three day weekend because

a. The weather is awesome. And

b. It’s so close to the end of the school year, pressures and stress are minimal.

So my family, being adventurous like they are, decided to take advantage of the superb day to go to Harper’s Ferry to go white water rafting.

We had to get up really early (4.30 am, about). The middle-of-nowhere town Tom and I live in is about an hour or more away from anything really fun…an hour or so to DC, three hours to Richmond, etc. Of course, when you live like that, a two hour drive to Virginia doesn’t actually feel that bad.

Especially to do this.

My family is a really outdoorsy, get-dirty, get-sweaty type of family. So this sounded like the perfect activity for us. even though we’ve never tried it. I’m good at canoeing, I’m a boss at kayaking, but anything with rapids…

Well. I wasn’t sure how it was going to go. I mean, if the wind blows too hard, I fall over. I wasn’t sure how I would handle rapids.

But let me tell you.

It was AWESOME.

Here’s advice to EVERYONE reading this post. Young, old, fat, thin, athletic or not…white water rafting, especially beginner courses over type 1-3 rapids…

Anyone can do it. And it’s SO much fun.

We went about three miles down the Shenandoah River, over some pretty cool rapids. In the calm spots we got to jump out of the raft and swim. It was awesome. A great way to spend the day.

But when we got back to the car to change into dry clothes, I discovered tan lines.

Tan lines are inevitable, especially with summer coming, but these lines are crazy.

I was wearing a tanktop, plus the floatation vest, so my tan lines are sort of…

Triangular-shaped.

I look like I have really intense henna tattoo patterns on my shoulders and arms. Which would be cool if I wanted them there.

I’m going to try to combat them by just tanning all day tomorrow, but with my odds, I’ll get skin cancer before three in the afternoon.

Meanwhile, Tom’s been at his first day of work today! He’s lifeguarding (he worked TEN HOURS today, people. He’s making BANK) at a community pool all summer.

Which reminds me! I got a job too. I’m working a pretty exclusive internship job at a graphic design office near where I live. I’m SO excited. This is like the first step on the path of what I want to DO in life. (:

So enjoy your lovely weekends, and try to adventure a little. It’s so worth it.

XOXO ERIN

The Reasons I Hate People (Erin’s Thoughts)

The top two reasons I hate people are:

a. To get along with everyone is to literally bend over backwards while juggling cats.

b. People are really hard to draw.

Let’s address my first bullet. No one is perfect. We’re told that from day one, and it’s a reccuring theme in everyday life. No one is perfect, and you’re not going to like everyone you come across.

A few years ago, I was in a show with this guy. He had one of the lead roles in the show, and most of the cast didn’t know who he was, including myself. So, like I would do with any other person, I introduced myself to him.

I was friendly, bubbly, cordial.

But I got no such response. This guy was cold, silent and rather hard to talk to. And this wasn’t just with me. This was with everyone in the cast.

As theater kids, it was really strange to us. Usually people who are willing to go on a stage and act and sing and dance in front of crowds of hundreds will be a pretty social person on AND off the stage. But this guy totally contradicted that.

He would come to rehearsal, do an amazing job on stage, and leave, without saying more than a few words to anyone.

This was an entire theater department trying to be friends with him, and it didn’t work.

But that’s life. There are people out there who simply want nothing to do with you, or a social scene.

And then there are stupid people. Stupidity is one of the top reasons for hatred between people. Ever met that one really obnoxious and unlikable person? That guy who acts like a douchebag or that girl who is loud and self-centered?

There are lots of people like that. And as much as we can tolerate, it’s hard to befriend.

Another reason I hate people is not really a hate at all. It’s a frustration, mostly with myself. They are DAMN hard to draw.

I just finished my first full face portrait of Tom, and it’s horrible. I’ll throw it in here for art’s sake, but I know it looks bad.

I also am going to include a little dark take on the Little Mermaid that I doodled on the edge of some scrap paper. I might make it into something bigger for my friend who requested ages ago I make her a picture of Ariel. I know it’s not exactly the nice one she might have been thinking, but it’s my style nontheless.

Creepy Ariel Mermaid Picture:

Tom. Full Face:

Enjoy! Comment and like below.

XOXO ERIN

Sir, Your Brain Cell Count Is Low (Thom’s Thoughts)

We all know people who just don’t seem to connect to reality the way we do, don’t we? And we all know people who compensate for this by being overtly intimidating or aggressive, or by accepting their intellectual restrictions to the point of simply not trying.

While this is all fascinating, I guess I’ve come to realize that there are two kinds of stupid, put simply: dumb and mean.

Now, of course, we often see unpleasant mixtures of these traits. And while it sounds very old-school, it’s usually got a few dead giveaways that I’ll refrain from sharing. These involve appearance, physical behavior, et cetera. You can just kind of tell: Hey, that guy’s a complete moron.

Not always in the conventional sense! No, more often, we run into those people who we think darkly to ourselves (not without committing to some mental penance, simultaneously, for thinking such a thought!) will achieve very little in life.

Now, if I started making my penance for these kinds of thoughts a strict exercise regimen (I’d say that thought earns me a good thirty pushups) then I’d be ripped by July. But that’s not the point.

The point is, about a month ago, I was sitting on a metro, flying through the underground tunnels of D.C. And Erin and her family sat several rows up; I was in the back, and she was in the front.

And suddenly, at one stop, this guy gets on who strangely knew the guy behind me. The guy just behind me wore a Tap Out shirt and shorts that fell to his ankles. He sat, minding his own business, until this newcomer got on the train.

But the newcomer didn’t want to sit beside his friend. Instead, he wanted to sit in an empty seat, adjacent to his friend. “Y’all gonna have to get the [expletive] outta the way,” was his exact quote. I sighed, and remembered how my strong suit has always been avoiding pointless fights or confrontations. I moved up a row and sat next to an old woman who appeared to be sleeping soundly.

Now, here are two redeeming qualities I noticed in the newcomer:

1) He was holding a ticket in his hand, meaning he had legally boarded the metro and was not, in fact, breaking the law as I was inclined to believe through harsh and defensive stereotpyes.

2) Instead of hijacking the seat on the opposite side of the aisle, which was occupied by an older man with a cane, he chose me. This implies that he may have had traces of an instilled sense of respect for elders, which is an incredibly valuable and important societal trait in young people. On this, I commend him.

I don’t condone what he did, and at the time, I was somewhat furious. But if I’ve been taught anything, it’s that there are ways to get back at people you dislike that aren’t nearly as direct or consequential as immediate violence. Also, I wouldn’t have been able to take him anyways.

I chose a strange way to ‘get back’ at the newcomer. I turned in my seat several minutes later and smiled what I later described to a friend as “the nicest, most innocent smile I’ve ever given to anybody.” He caught it like a baseball to the face.

Now, here’s my theory: due to his apparently failing intellect, he probably paid minimal attention to the smile, barely retained it in his short-term memory, and, later that day, shoplifted some small, insignificant items from the Sundries section of a CVS.

Had his IQ been a few points higher, this is how it would’ve gone:

He would have registered the fact that I had smiled immediately, and also would have been able to barely articulate strange aspects of the situation, like the irony in my smile. This would have led him to the error of his ways, which he still wouldn’t have corrected anyway. Then, later that day, he would have shoplifted some small, insignificant items from the Sundries section of a CVS.

Generation X? More like generation X-citing! Way to spice up my life, friend!

-Thom
aestheism, not atheism.

The Unreasonable Reason I Sometimes Hate My Boyfriend (Erin’s Thoughts)

Music.

That’s the reason.

I’ve always prided Tom in having an exceptional taste in music, one that both matched and went along side my tastes. But recently, due to no fault of my own, Tom’s tastes have deviated and turned to a path that will only lead to darkness.

Okee. Okee. That’s a huge exaggeration.

Our friends Josh and Erica have introduced Tom to the bands Karmin and One Direction.

Most of you are looking at me like: So… what’s wrong…?

What’s wrong is that I’m sort of not into that kind of music. I enjoy something that has a more new-age sound; independent, techno shit, along with a lot of other indie type bands. And pop music sort of turns me off.

So what happens when I lean over to Tom to listen to his iPod, expecting to be greeted by Two Door Cinema Club, Vampire Weekend, Phoenix, Voxtrot, Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s, Chairlift… anything…

And it was… One Direction? My boyfriend was listening to One Direction. On repeat. Continuous loop.

I pulled out the earbud and stared at him. He shrugged. I couldn’t even bear to look at him. Lately all he’s been listening to is upbeat pop music, and it’s starting to wear me out.

And it makes me want to bang my head against a table.

But, looking at the situation, I can see this is unreasonable. Pop music makes Tom happy, so I should be happy that he’s happy. And I should be accepting and fair to him.

But I just… I just…

I can’t even…

Hatred and love for music can bring people together and cause huge chasms that can only be spanned by other things (in Tom and my case: love). I’ve made friends because of music (I met a guy on chatroulette the other day who may or may not be reading this post who shares a common love of the Artic Monkeys, which by the way has been stuck in my head the entire day). I hold utter contempt for my whole county because it’s infiltrated by country music.

I can’t even with people who like rap.

Perhaps I’m a music elitist, but I don’t see it as a terrible problem. I try not to let that hurt my social ties at all.

So this is my solution:

While it’s hard to love everyonefor their musical tastes, I can still love everyone despite that. Find something else that makes them wonderful.

Or in the words of One Direction: what makes them beautiful.

*shudder*

In the meantime, take a look at this sweet song I discovered yesterday. This isn’t the official video (it doesn’t even have an official video, it’s not even on iTunes), but it goes really beautifully with the music.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3K8yC0Irdk4&list=UUShKKrn8FGAPQ_boAoURQAg&index=1&feature=plcp

And if the link isn’t there, try looking up Symmetrical Spark. The song is called Sawtooth by Willowbeats.

XOXO ERIN

Gustave Flaubert’s Take On It (Thom’s Thoughts)

Today is testing day for Sophomores and Freshmen. So that means, naturally, that the course of my day must be interrupted. My classes are tweaked to strange lengths of time that make no sense, and are very antagonizing. I have nothing to do. I sit here and jot on a notepad what I’d like for my birthday party, which is in less than a month. So far, I’ve only got the theme: reptiles.

Yeah, just kidding. The theme will be ‘fun,’ like it always is. Or sometimes is.

I sit here, listening to “Midnight City” by M83, and think: man, it’d be great if I could get locked in a room with a typewriter about now. Maybe then, I’d put a dent in my novel.

But I can’t. All my strange, literate fantasies never come true. It sucks to be so societally tied to responsibilities that we can’t do what we want to do. I think that’s a pretty major flaw in today’s world, don’t you think? We spend all our lives working something that, depending, we may or may not want to do, just to end up retiring and having one-seventh of our life to do a frugal amount of what we wanted to do all along.

Note to self: pick a job you like.

I think I’ve always ‘ranked’ things in my mind. For example, I rank the color red as number one on a list of all the colors. However, red is in no way my favorite color. It’s just a color. I like yellow, because it means happiness. But that’s like, fourth or something.

Similarly, on a list of all the professions in the world, writing is first. Followed by… well, I haven’t finished the list. Maybe firefighting, it doesn’t really matter what comes next.

I have a reason that writing comes first, though, and a reason for these ranks is quite rare. But here it is:

Writing is everything that we have.

Picture a huge venn diagram with millions of intersecting circles. The circle in the middle is labelled “writing” or “communication,” or better yet, “expression.”

My dad asked me once why I chose writing as what I wanted to do. It was always so obvious to me that writing was my first choice, but I really never mentally elaborated on why. Later, I had a small revelation that brought me to the basis of my reasoning:

Specializing in biology means you specialize in biology. Specializing in physics means that you specialize in physics. But will these biologists and physicists ever be able to truly articulate the extent of their findings? Possibly not. Quite possibly, these people will speak the language of their occupation, which is stifled compared to that of the English language.

I believe that, as a writer, it would be my duty to incorporate everything I know into my work, and do so in a way that everyone could easily appreciate and understand. This means what I know about biology, and physics. And art, and music, and the behaviors of Sumerian peoples from thousands of years ago. And things I invent and make the hell up.

Biologists study biology, and physicists study mathematical applications. Writers study everything.

I want to know everything, and I know that’s irrational. But that’s what I want. My idea of heaven would be to know everything for what it is, to know all the aspects and the features of it all.

That yearning I feel may possess some degree of naivete, but I see no harm in understanding the universe for what it is. Writers try understanding in ways more creative, comprehensive, and even practical than scientists and theorists. Writers are philosophers.

And fiction or non-fiction, we create the universe the way we want to see it.

-Thom
aestheism, not atheism.

[P.S. WordPress gave me this quote after I'd written this post out, as an incentive to write more:

"The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe."
-Gustave Flaubert ]