DIOS MIO.

THIS SEMESTER IS KICKING MY ASS.

It’s hard to be a full-time student, a very nearly full-time worker and a full-time friend and girlfriend. It’s hard to work five days a week and the only days you have off from work are stacked with school from noon to 9:30 p.m. on top of the other days when you go to school in the morning AND work at night. It’s hard to maintain your relationships, the only thing you have to keep you from going crazy when everything else makes you feel so stressed out that cold sores erupt all over your face. It’s hard to get a full night’s sleep when you spent all day running from here to there and back, but you still have to write that story and memorize that Spanish presentation.

Dios mio, y’all. I’m motivated by the fact that for the first time in my higher education career, I can see my graduation date. But seriously, this shit is bananas. The pace is ridiculous. I’ve never regretted taking my time going school because I’ve had to support myself through this. And I don’t feel remorse for that either. There’s a lot of satisfaction that comes with being self-sufficient, and I’m proud that for the most part I haven’t been a burden to my parents. Working full-time at the Globe-News meant going to school half-time, and that was perfectly fine because I wanted to make sure I did school the right way, not the “on time” way. But here, with the end so near, I can’t cut back my credit hours. I have too much momentum going.

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

Oh dear, I should not be airing out my frustration right now. I do not have time for this.

Fear of indefinite heights: Defeated.

Ok, you probably already guessed this since it’s been nearly 5 months since the trip, but I’m probably never going to write a long post about Chicago. Especially since I’ve already visited another thriving metropolis, Salt Lake City, and now everything is all muddied and mixed up about both trips. What can I say? I’m a small town girl. That fancy city stuff just confuses us.

But, these are new. They’re the tourist photos from the Willis Tower. Pretty cute stuff.

Sunset = red headed primetime.

I’ll admit, I did not want to take this photo. I had absolutely no intention of stepping out into those retractible-glass balconies. None whatsoever. Under normal circumstances, I would never consider standing in a terrifying little window pocket hovering a little over a quarter-mile above the ground. But it was sunset, and I really wanted a decent photo. Much to my dismay, from top to bottom all of the windows had been licked, snotted on, and smeared with syrup and Cheetos and all of the other random, disgusting, sticky shit that comes out of small children. There was no way I could get a nice photo; they were simply too filthy.

That is except for the one with the professional photographer posted up to take pictures of tourists on the Skydeck Ledge. His window was pristine. The sun was dipping quickly, so I jumped the line and asked the photographer sheepishly if I could snap a quick photo, and he obliged. I stepped nervously in without looking down once and snapped a photo. I turned to leave and the photog said, “Hey, you’re already in there. Might as well take your photo, too.”

It was the longest 5 seconds of my entire life.

If this winds up on Awkward Family Photos, I will choke a bitch.

Red hair and black leather, my favorite color scheme.

Today while I was stalking sources for a feature about Wake the Dead, a Tim Burton-inspired coffee shop in San Marcos, I ran into Bob, a 60-something-year-old sweetheart who was covered in heavy, black tattoos and wearing a Hawaiian shirt under a ruddy, worn blazer while he complained about how unreliable cell phones are compared to land lines.

“It ain’t working, Chris. I dunno what the hell’s wrong with it, but it won’t make a call. I never had this problem, rarely ever, when I had a regular phone!”

He endeared me immediately with this complaint, as I remember discussing in an advertising class a few years ago about how consumers have traded reliability and functionality for convenience, and cell phone campaigns often boast that their brand experiences the “fewest dropped calls.” It’s funny to me because rather than claiming to have a good product, they admit that they suck but at least they suck less than their competitors.

I digress.

I giggled thinking about that, and Bob heard me. He started chatting me up about the story I was writing and what kind of camera I had and would my story be running in the University Star and did I know his son at the bike shop and then, “Hey! You remind me of a song about a 1952 Vincent Black Lightning and a redhead named Molly. Do you know that song?”

I did not know that song, but I do now.

After sharing this gem with me, I asked Bob if I could take his portrait and he enthusiastically obliged. Thanks, Bob. Maybe we’ll meet again sometime, and I can tell one of your stories. You’re bound to have a few.

Toddlertography.

Colin, future Nobel Peace Prize winning photographer.

Over Christmas break, which I spent half in Amarillo and half in my hometown (which is called Perryton. That’s PERRYTON. Not Perrington or Perrytown or Perringtown…), I finally allowed my three-year-old nephew Colin to do that one thing that he’s always wanted to do ever since he started moving around freely and getting into stuff he’s not supposed to: I let him play with my camera. And he made me so proud. Below are a few of the photos he snapped, unedited, with only my limited supervision to make sure he didn’t mishandle my beloved DSLR (and I guess I set the exposure too, cause he was shooting in manual!).

I love this photo he took of his half sister, Saba, whom he has a special affinity for. I think it's very natural and captures a lot of emotion that you can't normally get out of her.

Colin's "art shot" of the the light in the my parents' kitchen.

It was my turn to make silly faces for him.

At least the Christmas tree looked nice.

Depth of field! He took a bunch of pictures of my hands while I was trying to take a picture of him.

Completely focused! I'm so proud.

My brother-in-law trying to stretch out his food coma.

My other brother-in-law, chillin' under the mistletoe.

Romance.

February ain’t so bad.

Ring it in!

Well, 2011 didn’t last long. I hate how quickly time goes by!

In any case, happy happy New Year’s Eve! And because I don’t think we’re all quite as infatuated with ZD and JGL as we ought to be, this:

Facebook’s new Timeline kinda freaks me out.

 

Like most social media users, I’ve come to terms by now with the fact that they’re constantly redesigning and updating and adding new features in attempt to keep their product from stagnating. Maybe it’s unnecessary; I kind of feel like Facebook is a well-established staple in our lives at this point. Most of us are self-proclaimed addicts. And once the initial sting from adapting to a redesign wears off and we become accustomed to the changes, I find it difficult to recall what the interface was like previously. Honestly, I don’t remember at all what Facebook was like circa 2006 when I joined the site. That’s pretty weird, right? Especially since most of the changes seemed so drastic at the time.

But Timeline, which I’ve recently swapped over to willingly to prevent the shock from having my profile forcibly updated, is an altogether new monster of the Internet. And I believe that the implications it presents set the stage for another digital shift in the way people share and interact online, especially for parents and their children. Because Timeline is programmed to document and display your entire life from birth, it seems as though parents now have the option to jumpstart their child’s online presence. I personally feel no need to go back on my Timeline and add milestones because it seems a daunting and unnecessary task. But, with the opportunity to start from the beginning, it would really be effortless to keep up. And when the child reaches an appropriate age, parents could pass the profile onto their child for moderation, like a digital rite of passage.

What would be the bigger deal to a child in the 21st century? A big party like a bar mitzvah or quinceañera or having control of your online presence?

And if parents really embrace this idea, as I suspect in the future they will given how each generation becomes increasingly plugged in to the digitized world, how is this going to change the landscape of human interaction? Studies already suggest that kids are affected, both positively and negatively, by social media. On one hand, sites like Facebook promote virtual empathy and can boost self esteem. Every time someone likes your photo or responds compassionately to a downer status update, there’s an uplifting response for both parties. These sites also help introverted individuals better their social skills through practice and peer feedback. But on the other hand, excessive social media use is linked to exacerbating narcissism, anxiety and depression. There are also pros and cons concerning multitasking and engaging learning versus distraction.

But Facebook has only been around for seven years. In the grand scheme of things, that’s no time at all, not substantial enough to observe the longterm effects. I wonder, then, what we’ll learn about ourselves after 20, 30 or 50 years of using social media. I also wonder if Facebook will endure to become a legacy company. The Internet landscape changes so rapidly, that we don’t really see a lot of websites sticking around and remaining relevant.

In any case, we certainly do live in interesting times. It’ll be fun (hopefully) to watch the global status update over the next few decades.

Let’s share an adventure.

Ok so, THE HOBBIT!!!!

 

I’m stupid excited about this, folks. I loved reading the Hobbit. I remember the whole ordeal vividly. I was in 7th grade. It was Christmas break. The buzz about the Lord of the Rings movies was getting pretty loud. I wanted to read the Hobbit first, because I had heard that was chronologically correct. I had a low-lighted lamp on the side table next to my bed and an inflatable chair with flowers on it. I stayed up all night and read hundreds of pages and fell in love with Bilbo Baggins and his unexpected journey. It’s one of my most-loved adolescent experiences.

But then I started the actual trilogy. I read the first book and half of the second one before I was bored to tears and disappointed like you wouldn’t believe. Seriously. After 50 pages of wandering in a forest looking for hobbit tracks and nothing else, I gave up. Don’t get me wrong, I love the action-packed movies. They’re deeply imbedded in some of my fondest memories. I saw each one at my hometown theater a few times. My sisters and I had long debates about which male character was the sexiest (My sisters pined after Orlando Bloom, of whom which I’m not a fan. And I’m not ashamed to admit that I had the hots for Elijah Wood with his chocolatey curls and big blue eyes. If only he were taller!). Shortly after my high school sweetheart and I started dating, and not long after he had recovered from a collapsed lung that nearly killed him, he told me he acknowledged two regrets in his life during the ambulance ride to the hospital. The first was never asking me out. The second was that he wouldn’t get to see The Return of the King. It was almost bittersweet then when he, his brother, my sister and I went to see the movie together. He had accomplished all that he intended to do in his lifetime. This is another one of my fondest memories. But, my love for the tome certainly didn’t end with the last available showing at the box office. I’ve since participated in those epic 12-hour marathons where you lock yourself in a room with a bunch of beer, several bags of Doritos, a couple plates full of pizza rolls and some donuts and watch the extended versions of each movie with only a bathroom break between DVD swaps. It’s only a matter of time before someone gets them all on Blu-Ray and we do it again in HD. But to this day, I’ve not even once considered finishing reading those books.

And finally, 9 years later, the much lighter hearted Hobbit’s tale is going to the big screen.

“A: Oh my god! Can we go to the midnight premiere?
B: Yeah, for sure.
A: Can we wear capes?!
B: No, I don’t own a cape.
A: I meant robes, not capes.
B: I don’t have a robe, either.
A: We can find some robes.
B: Actually, not having these items was going to be my excuse for not wearing a costume. So I’d rather not acquire them.”

I don’t think John is as excited as I am.

Funny to me at the moment.

A: ‎”Yeah, I feel like I’d want to invite someone over to hang out and play video games. ‘Hi, hold on. I’m just gonna go put on some slippers.’”

B: “And then you come in, stompin’ around on babies. ‘Don’t mind me, I’m just gonna stomp babies for a few hours.’”

A: “Yeah, no big deal. It’s what I do, just stompin’ babies.”

"Do you think someone MAKES those? No way. Surely not. I bet they just cut a hole in a babydoll."

Salt Lake City

John and I spent Thanksgiving in Salt Lake City where his sister lives. Below are a few of my favorite photos from the trip. And I’m still mad at myself for forgetting to take my camera to the Utah Museum of Natural History where there were DINOSAURS. Epic fail.

Mountains

Utah was COLD. But, at least the valley surrounded by mountains was beautiful.

BOB THE PUG

Respiratory distress aside, Bob is one of the most lovable dogs I’ve ever met. Who cares if he snores and snorts? Adorable.

Cathedral of the Madeleine

Biggest, beautifullest church ever.

Reagan (looks like Ryan Gosling)

Josh (doesn't look like Ryan Gosling)

Dear Stovall twins,
Thanks for modeling against your will.
Sincerely,
Crazy camera girl