Subway, eat fresh!

Jan starts off her lovely day waking up in her bed, alone, and looks at the clock not only to find that she is late to work, but two hours late to be exact. Alarmed at the fact she was so lazy as to not set her alarm because last night she was writing on her blog (Who does that? Haha). For her luck to get even worse, all of her "cute" clothes were "dirty" Bum-mer. So she waltzes over to a mushy pile, and pulls out her favorite tan pants that bunch her stomach at the top. Noticing the bunch, she puts them on regardless. She grabs her favorite paisley purple top as well, to match with her stylish blue jacket. Thinking it might be chilly today, she grabs a blue overcoat to not only complete her stunning look, but for function too. Bravo Jan. Stumbling out the door with her black bag, she thinks she might be forgetting something but doesn't care. Why? Well, she is Jan. 5 minutes later, after catching a taxi that cost about ten bucks for all of two miles, she realizes that empty feeling she had. That empty feeling was that she forgot her monthly subway pass. Oh no! Her mind races wondering if she should just buy the ridiculously expensive day pass at the station, or go back home and suffer more grief from being late for work. She chooses the day pass, grimacing at the fact that she will have to dish out 5 bucks for just the way there. She speed walks to the station, and pays for her day pass. Her stomach started to gurgle and make noises which made her realize she forgot to eat as well. There's a coffee kiosk right by the subway, but she has to make it quick to avoid even more stress today. A small coffee of the day, typical Jan. Oh dear, the bland voice of the woman on the intercom says "5 minutes to pass the turnstile before the next subway departs". Which would be Jan's subway. In a hurried mess, she twitches as she tells the zitty teenager making minimum wage at the coffee kiosk to hurry up. She absent-mindedly tosses a fifty dollar bill to the boy instead of the 5 she intended, and runs to reach the turnstile. The first good thing in her day was reaching that on time. That is, until she realizes she dropped a fifty on her coffee that was the fifty she needed for lunch and a ride home. As much as it killed her to let that money go, she continued on her journey to work hoping to make it for the 12:30 meeting. She carried a pissed off expression throughout her entire day, even handing her day pass to the gentleman working the subway. Finally reaching her destination, about 3 and 1/2 hours late, she arrives just in time for what appears to be lunch break. "You'll never believe the day I've had!", she announces to her co-workers. After she tells her boringly long story of the awful morning to Mark and Sheila in the lounge, she takes a seat next to them. "So, good thing i made it in time for the 12:30 meeting, eh?", she says. Too bad nobody told her the boss rescheduled the meeting to be at 9:30 that morning, around the time poor old Jan woke up. As Jan starts muttering profanities under her breath, she collects herself doing so and says, "Someone must have set me up today. I don't know who would, but I have a feeling someone did." Now, who on Earth would do something like that? :)

www.3situations.com/BillSullivanWorks

Wow. That was one of the hardest things I've ever written. I'm not exactly fond of writing in 3rd person. But I deal. This time the thanks go to Bill Sullivan, and his subway project. It is so interesting seeing people portrayed in this fashion, the faces and feelings you can get from just a simple picture of someone getting off the subway. His photos really capture an essence of difference in people. Thanks again Mr. Eeeeeee. This was a slightly challenging assignment, but I still enjoyed it.

A joke I think is funnnnayyyyy

Today's assignment is to find a joke we think is funny. My joke is one that my friend took about ten minutes to finish telling me, about a year ago. This is my interpertation of it :)

An old sailor is standing around at the docks with a steering wheel in his pants, looking very pissed off. A boy asks him "Why do you have a steering wheel in your pants?" He answers, "Argh! It's driving me nuts!"


It may be the lamest thing ever,
but it's the funniest lamest thing ever.

Note the picture up top of me, showering with clothes on. Fun day.

Photowords # 2

"Eeeeeeeeew boys and girls in bed sleeping together". That's life guys, grow up. This is what i chose for repose. It is a very tasteful and nice shot. It shows a very peaceful situation, two people comforting each other, holding hands. They are seemingly calm, and resting. There is no disturbance or disruptions, just peaceful, calming rest.
This is my picture for renegade. This picture challenges the traditional way of things. Tornadoes are seen as something naturally horrible, similar to volcanoes or hurricanes in that sense. This picture shows two twisters forming the shape of a heart. While i know this is impossible, and most likely computer generated, it moves me regardless. It is a "rebellious" tornado, much like myself ;)
This is my choice for tranquility. I chose this photoword because it shows a sweet little turtle that has met it's fate. It is out of it's element, and will sadly die. You're probably thinking, "She must be smoking something, that is not tranquil". Beside this sweet little turtle, lies a flower. It is still alive, while the color begins to fade from the stem. Death is beautiful and tranquil, as it is sad and terrible. The tranquility in this photo leaps out to me in that form. Maybe it is just my opinion. Any thoughts? Credits to photobucket.
This is my photoword for stereotype. I chose this picture because it is an extremely well done epiction (in my opinion :D) of a stereotype that is truly affecting this world. Anorexia and bulimia are two very important issues, especially in the modeling and entertainment industry. I chose this photo because it represents the stereotype that all models are bulimic or anorexic. It is a very powerful photo to me, and the credits go to America's Next Top Model.

My ending of a short story.

In Humanities class today, there was an assignment to read a short story and then write our own ending to this vaguely ended story.
Here's mine:

Tom has lost all of his hope. He feels as though he will never make it across this river, so why try once more? As his breaths get farther and farther apart, his body feels weaker with each passing second. The water which had previously just reached Tom's wounded leg was creeping up higher and higher. His life felt like it was slipping away as he gave one last kick to the horse's flanks. He would be a forgotten soul, he thought, as he gripped tighter on the horse's neck. Tom muttered some last words to his horse, then slowly slipped out of conciousness. The water was reaching just to his neck, and gradually began to lower. As Tom's cold, still hands still gripped onto the horse's back, Carol approached wishing Tom could've made it like the horse did.

Library of dust assignment.

My containment.

My once lover.

~ October 22nd, 1967.

I always lived a small life. I was just a normal guy, not horrible looking. I was never famous, I didn't have a mansion, and I lived life without much controversy. I didn't make a hit single on the radio, and I never took more of anything than I should. I lived in a small house in Salem, Oregon. I spent my free time with friends, and dated some girls here and there. I painted in my free time, and had a small interest in photography. Despite all that, nothing ever mattered to me much. Just one thing.

~ October 25, 1967.

She had beautiful, brown hair and blue eyes that sparkled like nothing I've ever seen before. The moment I saw her, my entire body had this want. This want to run up to her and get down on one knee, and take her as mine for the rest of my life. I had never talked to her before, didn't know her name, and yet I already knew I would do anything for her; As well as anything to have her. It was April 2nd, earlier this year when we met. I saw her for the first time at my best friend's high school football game. She was walking around the campus with another brunette girl that looked a year or so older than her. That's when it happened. She caught my eye. She stopped where she was walking, as did I. I came over and introduced myself. We got to talking, and I talked her into letting me take her on a date the following Saturday. That date was the first time I really had a chance to look at her. She was so pretty, more than she probably knew.

~ October 27th, 1967.

Over the following months, we grew to fall in love. We would go out on evenings, and she looked at me every day with the same want I felt when we first met. I adore her. And she felt the same. Life seemed all too perfect. I finally had someone by my side. Sure, we fought occasionally, but that's what you get when you fall in love. She taught me things, as well as I did for her. No more boring routines in my life, no more same old-same old. It was perfect; it was heaven. I had begun to wonder if I should marry her. It seemed as though everything was perfect. In a few months, I had learned to love someone more than anything I’ve ever loved before. That is, until we started to fight more. About once a week, we would fight. I never hurt her. I always swore I would kill myself if I hurt her. If anything hurt her.

~ November 29th, 1967.

Remember when I told you about a month ago that everything was perfect? That I would never hurt her? I didn't mean to do it. We had a big fight on November 1st. A day I will never forget, the most morbid and haunting memory I will ever have. After we fought, she left the house to go get some air and calm down. Nothing out of the ordinary, seeing as how these past few months have been going similarly. This night was feeling more sad than usual. I made the choice to run after her, this time. I knew my words had hurt her more than before. I didn't like that. As I said, I would never hurt her. But I did. I came out of the house, in search of her. I found her. Oh, did I find her. In the middle of the road. Barely breathing. I called the ambulance, and they admitted her into this place called the Oregon State Hospital. They told me I would be allowed to visit her weekly, and she would be let out in about a month. I didn't realize they were lying.

~ December 30th, 1968.

The last day of the year. I can't sleep, I can't breathe, I can't eat. I have this mind numbing feeling all throughout my body, which is becoming weak and tired. I have this feeling all night and day. I hate it. I'm afraid of everything. Imagine the feeling of being scared to go to sleep at night, the feeling of blood dripping down your wrists, and not feeling happy for months. You have just imagined my life for the past year. Ever since she got admitted into that hell of a hospital, my life has been like this. She's dead. Dead. As in she'll never be back to me, and I'll never get to hold her again. I hear she got put into a can. They left her there, because they thought she was insane after the accident. She just got hit by a car! She was having some memory problems, but they locked her in that prison. It's an insane asylum; and it's my fault that she got there. I am a horrible person. That stupid, stupid fight. I never should've fought with her. She was my only happiness in life.
~ May 14th, 1969. I'm sorry to admit this is my last entry. I was admitted into the Oregon "State Hospital" which is really just hell. It's cold and dark here. I was admitted for something called depression, which they assume makes me a crazy freak. I can't stand living here. I have the haunting memory of my once happy life all around me. Love is a ghost. It once was alive, breathing and feeling. It had passion and togetherness, being tender and caring. Then all of a sudden, it dies. And the old memories of it haunt you for the rest of your life. So this is the end of mine. She always left a dent in my life. A dent that can’t and never will be fixed. So I leave you with no memory of me except razorblades on the floor, some Reader's Digest magazines, and my ghost. Once felt, no longer anymore.

http://www.davidmaisel.com/
My humanities teacher had us write a story on David Maisel's gallery, The Library Of dust. The gallery is on these copper canisters, that have cremated remains of bodies from the Oregon State Hospital, which was an insane asylum. People who were mentally ill, depressed, or even just a little out of the ordinary were seen as insane and locked away in this horrible place. The bodies were put in the copper cans, and just left there, unclaimed by families. Our assignment was to choose a can and write a story about who they were, 500 words minimum. The assignment was to write a story about one can, but I felt a strong instinct to write a love story between the two. I also included two images that really moved me in his
Asylum collection. I hope at least one person can read this story and realize that just because someone is different, or has a mental disability, that it does not mean they should be treated differently than another. Thank you to David Maisel and his moving photography, and Mr. Ross for assigning this project that I am incredibly interested in.

Y

Dear Mr.Legislature.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. or even Ms. Legislature,
I'm hoping the ladies of you are all misses. I don't know what man would want to marry a lying woman like that. Good luck on the wedding, guys. I feel ashamed that i am supposedly "represented" by these two-timing fools that are placing their own opinions in place of others. What kind of responsibility and morality do you have voting for other people?! Sounds like major bull to me. The worst part is, you're voting for OTHER PEOPLE on laws that could affect A WOMAN'S UNBORN CHILD! Or whether or not it is mandatory for us women to get INJECTIONS that we might not want to get! That's just madness!!! I am EMBARRASSED knowing this is what makes life changing laws happen. "We get no bathroom breaks or lunch or even sometimes dinner breaks". My best friend's 3 year old niece doesn't even complain like that. You poor freaking babies. Boo hoo. Try living a month in Africa, where you not only don't get lunch breaks. There, you wouldn't last a day. Imagine not having lunch, breakfast, OR dinner. Then we'll talk about 'hunger.' Or let's see how hard no bathroom breaks are at the recyling dumps where you "americans" send all of your trash to in China. Where children have no place to go to the bathroom, much less breaks to do so. While they are busy searching through toxic materials, drinking water infected with YOUR waste, YOU'RE sitting there COMPLAINING about bathroom breaks! Come on! You are not only unprofessional, but embarassing scams of people. If another person is not there, why would you vote for them on such important issues? Are you that selfish? Think about the people that could be affected by your choices. Makes you feel pretty damn small, doesn't it? Look at yourselves in the mirror. Is that the kind of person you think should lead us? You are being pigs, just as the sterotype fits it. If another fellow person is absent or missing, that does not give you liberty nor right to place your opinion as theirs. Put yourself in our shoes. What if we complained about going to school and working, so we just stopped? Who would pay your salary then, morons? I hope one of you actually reads this. Because i am fed up with not having a voice. We don't get a say in these important issues, yet are being represented by people who are voting 3 or 4 times in their own opinion.

Thanks aNOT,

Katherine.