I don't like Blair and Nate together again. It's wrong. It's just convenient, that's all.
I have a confession to make, however. I was so horrified by Vanessa and Chuck that I almost gagged, but somehow, at the end of the morning after scene, I was completely speechless and unable to construct cogent thoughts. Damned good actors.
This blog is as random as I am.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
Welcome to the Jungle
There are some things you need to understand about this picture.
1. I was not holding a guitar of any kind.
2. I was not pretending to play air guitar.
3. Mary Kate and I decided to take an entire series of photos of ourselves headbanging. As in, at least 20.
4. The majority of these pictures will never be seen by anyone but me and Clayton (my computer).
5. My shirt is from Forever 21. I am 23. I am only slightly ashamed.
6. Lovely, generous people who leave their tabs open to the general public are both a gift and a curse on humanity (and my metabolism).
7. Does anyone remember that Alanis Morisette video where she's
8. I am currently eating oriental rice crackers.
9. #8 is not related to #1-7. I am okay with this.
Love you all,
lw
PS: more pics to come
Saturday, March 14, 2009
badass canoes
Mega, I will update my blog. Promise.
But until I do... KBlack, I had a dream about you. I don't know if you still read this, or if you forgot I exist, but in my dream, we were in a hardcore canoeing contest. Like, badass canoeing. Hope you're doing well :)
<3 lw
But until I do... KBlack, I had a dream about you. I don't know if you still read this, or if you forgot I exist, but in my dream, we were in a hardcore canoeing contest. Like, badass canoeing. Hope you're doing well :)
<3 lw
Sunday, March 01, 2009
Is it wrong to cry over someone you've never met?
I was named after my great Grandma Leah, and I never really knew much about her until I started organizing my grandma's things. She was a writer, like me. She published in newspapers, journals, about so many different things .And she was a good writer! The way she wove words into sentences... I don't think I'm that good. I don't think I'm anywhere near that good. How do you teach that? This was before Lucy Calkins and Nancie Atwell, before writer's workshop and freewrites and invitations to edit and revise.
Writing used to be taught like a formula, like mad libs. Fill in the blanks. Arrange your sentences like this. Topic sentence, three supporting details, concluding sentence. Five paragraph essays.
How, in that environment, did she break free of all that?
I wonder what she was like. I wonder what her family thought of her. My family, historically, is the type that expects children to follow in their parents' footsteps. My father was never fully forgiven for not going into the family law firm. His brother resents him for it. His father thought less of him. He got out, and did something different, and that was unheard of.
My parents have always been supportive of me in my various pursuits. When I wanted to be a ballerina, my mother drove me all over creation for lessons. After my first month en pointe, she calmly bandaged my wounded, bleeding, nine-year-old feet and carried me to bed. You know those scenes from dance movies where the main character dramatically unveils bleeding feet from dancing on her toes? Yeah, imagine doing that when you're NINE YEARS OLD. I thought my feet were going to fall off. When you're nine, everything is much more dramatic.
When I wanted to be a singer, my parents helped me through my voice drills and came to every musical I was in. They have kept every article I've ever had published, and every story I've ever written. They are in the box where we keep the passports. I don't know why the passports and my beat reporting of the UMass tennis team are stored together, but oh well. I suppose both are important?
But when I took my first marketing class and declared a marketing minor, it was like the sun shone out of their eyes they were so proud. See, I am the spawn of two highly-educated people in the field of marketing. When I used to go to MIT parties, Sloan students would hit on me once I introduced myself because they'd recognize my last name.
"Are you related to Gordon?"
"Yeah, we're related."
" He's like, a marketing GOD! Is he like, some distant cousin of yours?"
"Um... he's my dad."
Basically, despite my parents trying hard to support me, there's a part of them that always wanted me to follow in their footsteps. It's just something about my family.
And, before that long detour about me, I was talking about my great grandma, and wondering how she dealt with all that. Can you picture a woman, at that time, running around interviewing people?
How awesome!
I just really wish I'd known her. I wish ... I don't know. For some reason, finding all this out took a toll on me emotionally. It sounds silly, I'm sure. But I really wish I'd known her. I feel this odd connection to her.
As usual, my timing sucks.
lw
Writing used to be taught like a formula, like mad libs. Fill in the blanks. Arrange your sentences like this. Topic sentence, three supporting details, concluding sentence. Five paragraph essays.
How, in that environment, did she break free of all that?
I wonder what she was like. I wonder what her family thought of her. My family, historically, is the type that expects children to follow in their parents' footsteps. My father was never fully forgiven for not going into the family law firm. His brother resents him for it. His father thought less of him. He got out, and did something different, and that was unheard of.
My parents have always been supportive of me in my various pursuits. When I wanted to be a ballerina, my mother drove me all over creation for lessons. After my first month en pointe, she calmly bandaged my wounded, bleeding, nine-year-old feet and carried me to bed. You know those scenes from dance movies where the main character dramatically unveils bleeding feet from dancing on her toes? Yeah, imagine doing that when you're NINE YEARS OLD. I thought my feet were going to fall off. When you're nine, everything is much more dramatic.
When I wanted to be a singer, my parents helped me through my voice drills and came to every musical I was in. They have kept every article I've ever had published, and every story I've ever written. They are in the box where we keep the passports. I don't know why the passports and my beat reporting of the UMass tennis team are stored together, but oh well. I suppose both are important?
But when I took my first marketing class and declared a marketing minor, it was like the sun shone out of their eyes they were so proud. See, I am the spawn of two highly-educated people in the field of marketing. When I used to go to MIT parties, Sloan students would hit on me once I introduced myself because they'd recognize my last name.
"Are you related to Gordon?"
"Yeah, we're related."
" He's like, a marketing GOD! Is he like, some distant cousin of yours?"
"Um... he's my dad."
Basically, despite my parents trying hard to support me, there's a part of them that always wanted me to follow in their footsteps. It's just something about my family.
And, before that long detour about me, I was talking about my great grandma, and wondering how she dealt with all that. Can you picture a woman, at that time, running around interviewing people?
How awesome!
I just really wish I'd known her. I wish ... I don't know. For some reason, finding all this out took a toll on me emotionally. It sounds silly, I'm sure. But I really wish I'd known her. I feel this odd connection to her.
As usual, my timing sucks.
lw
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