A Cynic's Guide to Social Media

So I've discovered myself becoming more and more cynical these days. Blame it on old age (I'm like, legitimately in my 20's now), blame it on stress, on global warming, on running out of Star Wars fruit snacks, whatever. I've made the decision to blog about these grievances instead of talking to a trusted confidante because that seems healthy. I mean, if you constantly complain about the minutiae of your life in person, you're a bore and a bad friend. But if you do it through text, you're a writer.
The first area I need to vent about is social media, or Facebook and Twitter specifically. People seem confused about what is and what is not interesting and funny, and I thought I would clarify, being an expert on saying things that are not interesting or funny.

(DISCLAIMER: If you do these things, please know I do not hate you. I just judge you to varying degrees.)

Updates or stories about interesting trips you have taken: interesting.

Updates or stories about your meals: not so interesting
example: "BRRR it's so cold I'm so glad I made this organic basil, Parmesan, dragonfruit stew to warm me up! Aren't I so hip and interesting? *blurry, instagrammed picture of suspicious looking gunk*

Celebratory or proud updates about accomplishments/engagements/graduations: post it up, I'm proud of you, boo.

"I'm so tired!! I also don't realize that most other people reading this are around the same age and I guess I can't figure out that EVERYONE is perpetually exhausted right now LOL.": not interesting.

Pictures of your pets: interesting and ENCOURAGED BECAUSE CUTE

Postings of random "thoughtful" or "deep" quotes set on a hipster background because I guess you think Facebook is Tumblr: not interesting.

Example

Links to interesting articles or postings/discussion of topics you're passionate about: interesting

Music lyrics with a little heart after them: always and forever not interesting

Posts about the good times you have with your friends: go for it

"It's Valentine's Day and my *significant other* is just so adorable I love them so much I spent a whole minute crafting this status/tweet proving my everlasting devotion to this person *LESS THAN THREE LESS THAN THREE* *filtered picture of convenience store flowers posted to make other girls jealous of how much people love you*: please God stop we get it

Wordplay/Jokes that don't suck: the world needs more of this

"Can you BELIEVE what Dr. McLickMyFace just did on 'Hospital Teenage Vampire Love?!' I have friends I watch this show with, so I'm guaranteed some likes! And that validates my self-worth!": no thanks.

And, because fair is fair, here are a few examples to prove not even I am immune to these insufferable offences. Never-ending shame.

2012 Did Its Best, Kids

Considering it's the last day of the year, I figured it was a good a time as any to write something that concludes 2012. It's a shame inspiration isn't really coming to me now, though. At this point I have about ten hours of the year left to get this done, and it just might take all that time.
So 2012. "A" for effort. 2011 was a truly wonderful year, probably the best of my life, and 2012 did its best to compete. It was never really going to come out on top, but everyone involved went through the motions anyway and had a surprisingly good time along the way. I'm sure there's a metaphor that goes along with this, but I'm struggling to think of it right now. Let me get back to you. I just wrote this entire post and came back to this and still have nothing. That will be my resolution for 2013- thinking of an appropriate metaphor for this.

Early 2012 was pretty great, as it was the final semester with all my friends from study abroad together at school. We went on various adventures like:
- attending our friends' Anthropology colloquium which, ok, was about as exciting as it sounds, but they were in charge of it and we got to keep the extra food from the intermission. I ate cheese and crackers like a king for a week. Also, there was a little girl there who wouldn't let me out of the room without "the password" and I very nearly kneed a seven-year-old in the face.

- spending spring break in Texas with my friends' family, where we ate at the absolute best chicken restaurant in existence and my hand was attacked by a deer. At the time it was also March Madness, so we all spent about two days doing nothing but watching basketball and I survived, which is pretty miraculous.
- throwing a surprise birthday party for my friends' because their real birthday is in July so they never get to celebrate it at school. We had cake and Happy Feet plates for the cake. Later that night I had to leave the party to be voted in as the next president of the History Club. It was a fairly eventful day.

This summer was spent down on the Massachusetts South Shore, working as a counselor at a day camp. The whole experience was wicked fun, although a good half of it was yelling at kids to walk. I also slept outside for the first time, without a tent or insect repellent. On an unrelated note, I also learned I can make it through a ten hour work day after getting no sleep and lying on a rock all night.

This later part of the year has been a bit of a struggle, as I entered into my most work-intensive semester yet, without almost all of my best friends to distract me or act as a buffer against the suck. I found various other sources though, so I didn't manage to completely lose my mind. It occasionally got incredibly lonely, but every time a friend from somewhere in the country or across the ocean would do something unprompted to make me feel included and missed. If nothing else, 2012 showed me how great my friends are, even when it's not necessarily convenient.

I have hope for 2013 to be great. I start student teaching full time, and then start grad school. I'm going on a school trip with friends in May to Europe, and will be able to see my friends who live there. Hopefully, I'm going back to camp this summer (if I can find somewhere to live). Regardless of where I am though, the great people I have in my life will stay there. That's not changing.

Election Day

So today is election day in America. In case you happened to forget that, one glance at your Facebook feed should be more than enough to remind you. Yes, young Americans, posting a political status makes you a completely mature, intellectual person. We're all very proud you voted.
Ok, I am actually really proud my friends are excited about voting. For a lot of them, it's their first time voting in a presidential election. For me, it's my second time around, and all the election day talk has made me think about what my life was like four years ago and how much has changed since then. SPOILER ALERT: a lot has.

2008-
On election day in 2008, I had been 18 for about a month. Sure, it's a slim margin to make it by, but I took advantage of it anyway. My parents kept me home from school that day (I think I was feeling a little sick and they just let me stay home) so we all went together to vote. I walked into my former elementary school, which I hadn't really been inside since the last day of 5th grade, and it felt strange to be back for such an incredibly adult thing to do. We headed into the gym and I saw the tables and booths set up and was immediately overwhelmed. I turned to my mom to let her lead the way, and she just gave me her "After you" look and hand motion that is a standard tool of hers when she wants me to take charge. I hate it, even though I need it. But I led us to the "G" table anyway. I got my ballot first and found the nearest open booth. I took the special marker they give you and commenced to stare at my empty ballot for a few minutes, terrified of making a mistake. I slowly filled in each bubble, moving a little faster when I got to the last sections, that included names and positions I'd never heard of in my life. "This guy's the incumbent, I bet he's doing a fine job. Here, have a vote, sir." Eventually I pulled back the curtain and walked over to the counting machine, only to find my parents already there waiting for me, with identical looks of amused impatience on their faces.
Then they bought me lunch and my mom and I went shopping.

This year, almost every aspect of my voting experience was different, because every aspect of my life is so completely different. Not only was I in a completely different state, but I voted absentee instead of in-person, and was far more well-informed this time around. I probably thought I was well-versed on the issues and was making an informed decision when I was a senior in high school, but as a senior in college now, I really doubt that. I think four years ago I just voted with my gut and lucked out. I had just finished applying for college, and between that, my classes, marching band, and my increasingly demanding social life, politics got kind of pushed to the periphery of my life. This year, I've been paying attention and could actually defend my stance and decisions. And even though I am voting for the same person I did four years ago, at least now I know why he has my vote.

Once, in London, a local asked me how Americans have freedom. I struggled answering it because it seemed like such an absurd question. But I think a vital part of it that shouldn't be ignored is how American adults, regardless of age or standing in life, have the right and the opportunity to have a say in how their government is run. The effectiveness of the process can be debated, but the principle remains the same.

2012 YouTube Survey (On Blogspot)

Last year around this time I wrote a post answering the questions to the 2011 YouTube survey, and the next edition of it just came out. And because it lends itself easily to lazy blogging, I figured I might as well do it. So here. Learn yourself some.

1)Why are you called that?
My parents knew my name had to start with an "S" because my sister's name started with "R" like my dad, and my mom, whose name starts with "S" needed a child with an alliterative name as well. I was nearly called "Samantha" but my dad's brother's name is "Sam," and he thought that was too close. I remember being little and hearing that story and feeling disappointed, because Samantha is the name of the turn-of-the-century American Girl. I thought it would have been awesome to share her name.
I don't know a lot about my last name, except it's Welsh, people commonly mistake it for the name of a mythical creature, and the crest for it is the ugliest thing you've ever seen in your life. I just tried to find it online, but the ones that show up in Google are so much nicer than the ones my family had printed on sweatshirts my sister and I wore out in public when we were little.
2)Tell us about your favorite schoolteacher
I had quite a few really good teachers, so picking just one is difficult. I'd probably go with my Sophomore AP US History teacher, who I also student aided for during my Senior year. Considering I took her class six years ago, I don't remember a lot of details from the course, but I do recall really enjoying it, even though the expectations and standards were higher than I had been used to.
What really stood out to me was this teacher's obvious concern for her students' success. I remember one day my Senior year, I was helping her organize checks students had turned in for AP tests (she was also the head of the entire AP program). I was noticing how some of my classmates' families had made out checks for 200 to 300 dollars because they were taking a handful, maybe more, AP tests. I wasn't feeling too great about myself, because my family had been going through some fiscal hard times and couldn't have easily afforded those exams even if I had the mental capacity to get through those classes (spoiler alert: I didn't). She was telling me how flawed the system was, in charging students and families so much for wanting to achieve higher levels of ability. And she said something along the lines of, "And then there's students like you, who maybe can't afford it but absolutely should have the opportunity to take them. I mean, I would pay YOU  to take these tests."
That just meant the world to me.
3)What's the strangest food you've ever eaten?
My dad tried to get me to take a bite of his Buffalo Burger when we were traveling through South Dakota. It was a very weird experience, because we had just seen some bison as we were driving through the area, and had stopped to admire them. It was a case of, "Here's this beautiful, adorable, nearly extinct animal. Isn't it great? HERE, EAT IT NOW." No, thanks. I'll pass.
I tend to not eat strange foods, but my standards for food quality are not as high as other people's. This was especially apparent in London, when I was in charge of buying my own groceries. To save money, I would buy the cheapest products, which usually came in cans. Canned rice pudding and macaroni and cheese were my favorites, and both completely grossed out my friends. But I stand by my decisions. My average weekly grocery bill was 8 pounds, which is like 12-3 dollars. I consider that a win.
4)Tell us about your first gig
I went to my first real concert when I was in high school, when I went with some friends to see Hawk Nelson, a still fairly obscure Christian Rock band in some random auditorium of a small college in Minneapolis. Or Saint Paul. They're both the same, it doesn't even matter. Everyone wore the tour shirt that was included with the price of admission, which is still one of my favorite shirts. For some reason, the picture on the back of it is a monster's face, which really freaked out a few of my friends, so I took vengeful joy in wearing it when I sat in front of them in German class. Nothing quite like those unblinking eyes staring into your soul when you're trying to conjugate verbs. The first opening act of the gig played the Hannah Montana theme song and I shared a *moment* with a guitarist from Run Kid Run (the other opening act) when I waved to him in the lobby afterward and he waved back- with a look of utter confusion on his face. It was awesome.
5)What is your favorite place in the world?
The obvious (and, frankly, vague) answer to this is "London." The city has great sandwiches on every corner, well-dressed guys, fascinating history, accents, and so many flags. That's literally all I want from life.
I mean, I also have friends there. But they're totally secondary to food and flags.

Stabbed With Spoons- Softball Stories

A few weeks ago, I played in a 50-inning marathon softball game, and that day reminded me of the years I spent loving the sport. Now that I have finally recovered from every muscle in me hurting and the insane face sunburn I got that day, I thought I should reminisce a little and share my favorite softball stories from my adolescence.

 -The summer when I was thirteen was probably my favorite traveling softball season, not because of the games we played that year (I actually can't recall if we were even that good), but because I loved my teammates. It became a habit for us to get together and have sleepovers after nearly every game that season. Usually, at some point during these nights, the cards would come out and we'd raid the cutlery drawer so we could play Spoons. In case anyone's childhood totally sucked and doesn't know what that game is, it's this: you sit in a circle, with a collection of spoons in the middle and pass cards from person to person until someone gets four of a kind. When they do, they take a spoon from the middle, and everyone else then has to get a spoon as well. There are one few spoon in the middle than players, and the person who doesn't grab a spoon is out. Now, being fairly competitive teenage girls, this game escalated from a friendly game to a contest of strength and willpower. I would later refer to the game as "Full-Contact Spoons," as it became common for the first person to get four of a kind to grab a handful of spoons, and throw them away from the circle. Oftentimes they ended up on the stairs and underneath furniture.
 I think we once even played in the hallway of a hotel we were staying at for a tournament, and people threw spoons all the way down the hall, and we most definitely did not stop playing when other guests had to pass by.

We also played in an airport a few years later, with pens instead of spoons. I don't think anyone got stabbed, though I can't verify that.

-When I was fourteen, my team qualified and played in a national tournament in Colorado. This was very important to me, because my sister had played in many nationals for the past few years, and this was finally my opportunity to do the same. (It would end up being my only chance- the general trend growing up was my sister's teams were more skilled, but my teams had more fun) Throughout the tournament, I pitched a fair amount, but didn't hit. (I wasn't very good at batting- turns out I would peak in two years for about two  months. Fun fact.) However, for one game against a team from... Oregon? Washington? somewhere... due to some weird rule, I needed to hit. I was pretty intimidated and nervous, and my coaches' looks of, "Oh, shit" didn't really help. But somehow I made contact, got on base, and even scored a few minutes later.

Since that was my only at-bat for the entire tournament, technically that means I batted 1000. I'm a pretty big deal.
-Also, right after that game, a few of us went back to our hotel and went swimming in their pool. As we were hanging out, some other families came in and started talking to our moms. They said they were playing in the same tournament we were and they were from... Oregon? Washington? somewhere... and our moms talked about how proud and happy they were we just beat a team from that same state. It quickly came out that these nice people were from the same team we just beat... by quite a margin I believe. I swam away from that uncomfortable situation so fast I left a wake behind me.
-My high school softball coach was also a math teacher, and he dedicated half his classroom to displaying stuff from the softball team. This included 5x7 photos of each varsity player that took up an entire wall. My senior year, I had him for Honors Pre-Calc (and I was similar in math skill as I was in softball- well intentioned, though lacking in certain areas of motivation and ability). That fall, I was a member of the marching band as well, and a friend took a picture of me in my uniform before one of our performances, looking excited because I thought it was our last football half-time show (marching band gets exhausting after awhile and I was ready to leave the unflattering pants and fuzzy hats behind). The Monday after this was taken, I walked into Pre-Calc past my friends from the last class all laughing at me and see my coach, staring at me with a slightly crazed grin. He moves aside so I can see this picture, hanging on the wall and taking the place of my normal softball picture...

                                                                                   

I Might Die Here: An Ethnographic Study on Massachusetts

Spending the summer in Massachusetts has provided me with an interesting view into a previously unseen subculture in America. After moving here a few years back and living and attending school on the east coast, I have been slowing picking up on the unique vernacular and little differences in personalities that persist in the eastern area of the country. However, Massachusetts frankly  kind of has its own thing going on. The state is like that one friend you have who you have a lot in common with and is great, but they have certain things they do on the weekend that you don't really know a lot about or even really talk about because you think they're a little weird.
That metaphor is a little stretched, but I'm going for it.
One of the first things I learned when I was thrown into the company of many born-and-bred Massachusetts residents was the existence of the term "lax bro." A lot of people just threw around this phrase and because I had never heard it before and I couldn't quite hear what they were saying I was totally perplexed about what was happening. Eventually it was explained to me that, obviously, lax is short for lacrosse and the term refers to those guys who sport their lacrosse pennies every day, bond with other bros through man-hugs and comparing college football teams, and have muscles that, in general, take up the space of three average-sized middle school students. Upon reflection, I realized that even though this phrase was new to me, I had known many, many other "lax bros" back home when I was going through school. What's kind of interesting is that the bros I knew years ago I remember not being very pleasant people at all, whereas those I have recently met in Massachusetts are almost ridiculously nice. Now, this could be the result of a number of reasons, but this is an ethnography, not a psychological assessment. And thank goodness for that.
Now, one of my more prevalent personality flaws is my habit of giving a lot of thought to certain things that really have no reason to be thought of for any extended period of time. Because of this, I was doing a sort of personal analysis of the "lax bro" term and realized this description and idea were not exclusive to guys who play lacrosse, by any means. So I came up with my own term of "Mass bro" as a way to further categorize people I see and meet, because nothing bad has every happened from doing that. The "Mass bro" differs from any given jock or fraternity member in subtle but distinctive ways. An absolute resolution to the superiority of the sports teams of Boston is an intrinsic necessity in their personalities, along with perhaps an unknown ignorance of areas of America that did not play key roles in the Revolution.  So basically, every guy my first college roommate has dated.
I learned of the legend and reputation of the Masshole in my early days of living in the east, and spent the past three years gaining experience with them firsthand as I commuted through the area. It is a common belief that all stereotypes are based in at least a tiny amount of truth. However, this stereotype exists because it is based in what is equivalent to the Pacific Ocean of truths. Being a paranoid and defensive, yet incredibly angry driver regardless, my time behind the wheel in Massachusetts has led my to be constantly terrified for my life, and also filled with a near-omnipresent rage at everyone on the road. To make matters worse, the roads here are incredibly twisted and full of curves, and when you take overly-bold drivers into the equation, it's horrifying. For example, there is one intersection nearby where the road curves and the brush is thick so when turning left, you literally cannot see if anyone is coming on the right. You just have to place your bet, spin the wheel, and hope the ball lands on the color that doesn't end up with you dying in twisted metal and fire.
Also, drivers in Massachusetts don't believe in turn signals. I honestly think that's the first lesson they teach in the schools here: "Now kids, what did we learn today? 'Letting other people know which way you are going is quitting.'"
These quirks and various aspects to the psyche of Massachusetts are not limited to a specific gender or age demographic, either. I have seen them exhibited in young boys in elementary school to older women, spending their golden years leading ghost tours around Plymouth. And it is not something I resent or disdain in any way. In fact, I have been hearing "r"'s slowly leaving my words as I speak, and the David Tennant cut-out in my room has a Sox hat on. If anything, I am one of them.
You're welcome for FREEDOM, America.

Fact: All Camp Songs Are Embarassing

This summer I am down in Massachusetts, living with my friend Emily and working at a local day camp. It seemed to be a better decision for my career when compared to simply returning to Christmas Tree Shop for another four months of grumpy foreigners on vacation and older locals stocking up on Portuguese buns (which are, for the record, delicious), sunscreen, and novelty beach home decor. And so far, I am loving my time at camp, partially because, unlike the majority of the other employees, who grew up here, I have limited experience with the whole camp atmosphere and protocol. Still, growing accostomed to working there has gotten me to thinking and reminiscing about the three camps I did attend when I was growing up, before softball became my entire existence.
1) Camp Winnahupe
This was a Girl Scout camp I attended for a week when I was very small, probably when I was around 5 to 6, so my memories of it are very  limited. Here's what I do recall:
-my group being told to bring up a bucket of water from the lake and me blatantly refusing to help
-my counselor saying we weren't leaving until every girl smiled, and when I did, she said she wanted to see me smile with my teeth showing and I said, and this is a direct quote, "I don't smile like that." I was kind of a little shit, wasn't I?
-the camp lasted a week but only one of these days included staying overnight in tents, and it was a completely awful experience. I don't remember why it was awful, it just was. I don't think our early 90's tents were super great at keeping out the bugs.
-all the campers got purple shirts and for some reason that shirt just stood out in my memory for years and years afterward. It wasn't even a particularly cool shirt. I probably just liked purple. A lot.
2) Camp Tecumseh
This was another Girl Scout camp I attended with my troop when I was maybe around 8 or 9, and I honestly have no recollection about if it was a day camp or a sleep-away camp. Here's what I do remember:
-the camp had a climbing wall I was absolutely terrified of and I can't recall if I put up enough of a fuss that they let me out of having to go up it. I was pretty steadfastly anti-fun as a child. Still am, frankly.
-the camp also had this slide that was made up of giant black tubing set up on a gently incline, and it was dubbed "The Black Hole." This was the coolest thing at camp because you couldn't see anything as you went down it and to an 8-year-old, that's as terrifying as it gets. But there was a special badge made just for kids who went down it that said, "I survived the Black Hole" on it and it looked super bomb on the back of my Brownies vest.
-as I was waiting in line for the Black Hole, I was stung by a bee for the first (and, so far, only) time in my life. It stung me on the side of my neck so when it happened I instinctively kind of squished my shoulder to my head and squished the asshole. After I had recovered from the sting, some other girls told my how lucky I was to have gotten stung where I had been, because, apparently, if it had been just a few inches to the left, and I'd been stung right on the back of my neck on my spine, I would have been paralyzed. And really, that must be true, because I heard it from the entomolgical experts of the Girl Scouts of America.
-we'd have meals in the dining hall, but we could never just eat in peace. At every meal time the whole room would be forced to participate in rousing renditions of songs about Johnny Appleseed and the founder of the Girl Scouts, Juliette Low, whose name I did not just have to Google to remember. I hated camp songs. But we'll get to that.
Right now.
3) Camp Wapo
This was a church camp I attended for a week after third grade, and it was super popular and all the cool kids at my church went to it. And I, having just moved to the area in February, desperately wanted to be cool and accepted. If only I could go back and tell myself how early that ship had already sailed. But anyway:
-being a Christian overnight camp, there was strong emphasis on singing as a form of worship for kids. Now, as self-concious and perpetually worried about everything I am these days, as a child I was exponentially worse. So every time a song started that involved dramatic and extensive gesticulations, as most did, I cringed emotionally and physically. I just kept thinking, "Can't I love God without having to sing about the Pharoh letting us go and God's different names in multiple rounds?" Which is a question I still believe is valid.
-like many other camps, businesses, and housing developments, this area was situated on a lake. As a general rule, swimming in lakes is a pretty disgusting situation to be in, but if you don't think about what is in the water surrounding you, it's fine. One day that week at camp, I was swimming with my friend, and the unpleastantness of the water became unavoidable. We were just floating there, when out of nowhere a bloody, dead fish appeared right next to us, somehow staring into our souls with its own soulless, unseeing eyes. It was gross.
-on one of the last nights, the whole camp gathered together for some kind of candlelight worship thing. For some reason that remains unclear to me, all the campers had crosses put onto our foreheads with ashes despite it being months after Ash Wednesday. Throughout the worship-service-thing, my group couldn't decide if we were supposed to keep the ashes on our heads or not, so a few of us wiped ours off because it felt weird. We soon found out we weren't supposed to do that (Sorry, God), and I felt totally embarassed as a couselor cleaned off my empty forehead as we left. In retrospect, it wasn't that big a deal but at the time I was like shitshitSHITshitshitshitSHITSHIT only not really because shockingly I didn't think or talk like that at 8.
So while it may seem like my camp experiences were all totally awful, I actually remember generally really enjoying my time at those places. After writing this, I think my camp memories more just show the roots of my personal vices or weird issues. I was a strange child, and am now a strange adult. But at least some progress has totally been made because where before when a camp song came up I cowered in a corner now I can be like SUPER LIZARD SUPER LIZARD SEE HIM SWIM SEE HIM SWIM IN AND OUT OF WATER IN AND OUT OF WATER WITH HIS FINS WITH HIS FINS. I like camp.