Another Friday. Another night of watching high school basketball--not one game, but two. In the last few weeks, I've effectively quadrupled the number of high school basketball games that I've attended in my entire life. Which brings my total game-attendance number to 4.
Tonight's games were really exciting, because they were raising money for breast cancer and it seemed like the entire town came out to support the two competing teams. Lots of little kids running around, which made me nervous b/c I thought they were going to get trampled. One little boy took particular interest in Tyler's tri-colored score-keeping and kept turning around an peeking over Tyler's knee to get a look at his notes. (As for me, I kept thinking the "HP" scrawled on the notepad stood for "Harry Potter" instead of "Highland Park"...yes, I am a nerd.)
Truth be told, the amount of energy crammed into the tiny gym made me really nervous. I don't think I've ever witnessed that much school spirit outside of movies--turns out that people really DO get excited about basketball games in real life! Who knew? People paint their faces! They do mass arm wavey things! They chant the names of the players!! They actually WANT to be there!!
At W&M, they had to close a cafeteria and set up a buffet line at the court to get people to even remotely consider going to a basketball game. And I have no idea how basketball games worked at CHS b/c I was too busy staying out of the players' way.
It's weird seeing high school from 6 years out, b/c it really is like nothing changed. The girls behind me giggled about how cute the boys are from the other team (the exotic other team!), which took me back to a particular choir trip to Atlanta where girls from our choir fawned over boys from another choir. Ah, teenagedom. It will never change.
Which brings me to tonight's blog point: I am terrified of having children. No, not just the pregnancy bit; I've kind of accepted that that's going to have to happen and my belly button will never look the same again. But it's the fact that teenage years never change. And my God, my teenage years were a wreck of failed romances and awkward decisions and blown-up drama. And on and on and on and on and on! How can I possibly deal with a having that again in my own home? The Ivory Tower/Rapunzel housing situation suddenly makes a lot of sense--because I really hate to think about these half-children running around, making their own decisions and making stupid decisions. I don't have kids yet, but man, the thought of letting them go makes me kind of sick to my stomach. How did our parents ever do it? And why weren't we more scared about the world and what awaited us? I guess that's one detriment to hindsight: if we had known just how hard and unforgiving the real world was, would we ever have even bothered getting out of bed? For these kids, these games are their lives and they're so wrapped up in the newness of drama and love and achievement. And there's something so sweet about that. As a good friend of mine recently said, it kind of makes you wonder if any of them know that senior year just might be their peak, and it's all downhill from there. Because unless you're really that good, you're going to have to do more with your life than play ball or wave pompoms.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Chantilly in the Big I-L
As some of you might know, Tyler freelances for an up-and-coming site called CSL Insiders, which covers all the high school sports in our area. I tagged along with him tonight as his photographer (hopefully will get photo credit this time!) Yes, we're a fun couple on Friday nights. ("I'm going to go to a high school basketball game and write about it! You can take pictures! OKAY!")
They played "Chantilly Lace" during half-time while the players were warming up. At the first sound of that opening "HEYYYYYYY, babyyyy!" I was viciously thrown into a flashback of short purple skirts; blurs of blockheaded boy-children crowding the hallways; "pep rallies" that were not really so much peppy as it was just kind of stupid. So that was weird. I mean, what are the chances that anyone outside of Chantilly High School even knows that song?? The team had been warming up to a combination of hip-hop and Miley Cyrus (yeah, that was weird, too), and then suddenly, there was that HEYYYYY BABY.
After the game, Tyler ran to get quotes from both of the coaches so I waited for him in the hallway. During the 10 minutes that he was gone, I could've sworn I relived high school.
First off, there was me, in a big awkward coat off in the corner clutching my camera bag, not really belonging to any crowd, watching everyone else interact. Then there were all the giggling, shrieking cheerleaders prancing around and literally throwing themselves at the varsity basketball players, who all tried to look bored and uninterested as they ate their after-game snack of hot dogs and nachos from the concession stand. All of these semi-children lingered on the stairs for their rides, hormones sloshing around their veins as generously as the prevalent orthodontia in their mouths. They eyed one another in a sort of crazed glee that made me wonder: Are they really this perky, or is this learned behavior from TV or great American stereotypes? Like do they really want to act this way, or do they just THINK they should be, following in the footsteps of generations of smiling beautiful cheerleaders/nonchalant athlete hot shots? To complete the whole experience, there was actually one cheerleader bawling into her locker as her two friends alternately patted her on the back and flirted with the guys.
Tyler could not hustle back from wherever he was fast enough. Doing high school once was bad enough; re-living it again in any sort of abbreviated version is just unnecessary.
They played "Chantilly Lace" during half-time while the players were warming up. At the first sound of that opening "HEYYYYYYY, babyyyy!" I was viciously thrown into a flashback of short purple skirts; blurs of blockheaded boy-children crowding the hallways; "pep rallies" that were not really so much peppy as it was just kind of stupid. So that was weird. I mean, what are the chances that anyone outside of Chantilly High School even knows that song?? The team had been warming up to a combination of hip-hop and Miley Cyrus (yeah, that was weird, too), and then suddenly, there was that HEYYYYY BABY.
After the game, Tyler ran to get quotes from both of the coaches so I waited for him in the hallway. During the 10 minutes that he was gone, I could've sworn I relived high school.
First off, there was me, in a big awkward coat off in the corner clutching my camera bag, not really belonging to any crowd, watching everyone else interact. Then there were all the giggling, shrieking cheerleaders prancing around and literally throwing themselves at the varsity basketball players, who all tried to look bored and uninterested as they ate their after-game snack of hot dogs and nachos from the concession stand. All of these semi-children lingered on the stairs for their rides, hormones sloshing around their veins as generously as the prevalent orthodontia in their mouths. They eyed one another in a sort of crazed glee that made me wonder: Are they really this perky, or is this learned behavior from TV or great American stereotypes? Like do they really want to act this way, or do they just THINK they should be, following in the footsteps of generations of smiling beautiful cheerleaders/nonchalant athlete hot shots? To complete the whole experience, there was actually one cheerleader bawling into her locker as her two friends alternately patted her on the back and flirted with the guys.
Tyler could not hustle back from wherever he was fast enough. Doing high school once was bad enough; re-living it again in any sort of abbreviated version is just unnecessary.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
obsession with the cute
My friend Anna shared a Vanity Fair article with me last month about the "culture of cute" that is sort of taking over the American cultural norm. The article traced the origins of the cute-mania to Japan, where the obsession with cute things has been a prevalent part of their culture. The author, Jim Windolf, didn't seem that enthused by how this trend is trickling out of the East and into the Western world. However, I think this is because he is a man and therefore probably has an innate fear that he will one day wake up and find his home decorated entirely with Hello Kitty products, courtesy of his wife.
So while I found the article to be an intriguing look at the globalization of culture, as an Asian female, this is not exactly news. Did I grow up eating Asian pastries shaped like fish and other assorted wildlife? Yes. Who had a change purse embossed with a cartoon hamster? Right here. Was I once bestowed by my Taiwanese cousin with a full set of 40 (yes, 40) Hello Kitty magnets that she had collected from the local 7-11 because she had 3 full sets and wanted to get rid of one? You betcha. In fact, my high school boyfriend once told me that all Asian women liked things that were "small, cute and useless." (I retorted that that was why I liked him. Jerk.)
Most of my childhood was spent in this cute-crazed world before it really caught on in the States. If you knew me in my childhood years, you will also know that I was a chubby, shy, be-spectacled ball (literal, not figurative) of awkwardness. Perhaps because of this, I was very reluctant to embrace the "cuteness" that I felt like I really could not relate to. Also, a sort of inner feminist screamed at me to be taken seriously as a smart, capable person, and not as some sort of adorable, airheaded bimbo that people liked because she was pretty, or whatever. (Yes, even as a 10-year-old, I knew that I couldn't trade on my looks, and so developed an intense aversion to people who did. It's still kind of a complex.)
In the last few years, it's really become acceptable for full-grown women--and men--to publicly proclaim things to be cute and still be taken seriously. At first, I was really kind of turned off to how all these so-called mature figures were openly squealing over Winnie the Pooh or a particularly adorable dish shaped like a giraffe.
And this was the shocker...it really did make me happy to see something that is cute. Like in a bubbling, breathless, kind of hyperventilating sort of way. But I wonder, is this sort of reaction one that is learned, because it's become socially acceptable to ooo and aahhh over a helpless turtle trying to eat a tomato or the stealthy Ninja Cat? Am I really happy to see a baby bunnie, or is it because I'm expected to, as a living and breathing young woman? Was I becoming an Asian--well, now American, too--stereotype?
I don't know what this really means about me, but all I know is, this picture got me through most of the hellish 4th quarter that was Medill:
And no, I'm not ashamed to admit that it's now the tiled background on my work computer. Stereotypes be damned, I love this baby bunnie! [Squeal!]
So while I found the article to be an intriguing look at the globalization of culture, as an Asian female, this is not exactly news. Did I grow up eating Asian pastries shaped like fish and other assorted wildlife? Yes. Who had a change purse embossed with a cartoon hamster? Right here. Was I once bestowed by my Taiwanese cousin with a full set of 40 (yes, 40) Hello Kitty magnets that she had collected from the local 7-11 because she had 3 full sets and wanted to get rid of one? You betcha. In fact, my high school boyfriend once told me that all Asian women liked things that were "small, cute and useless." (I retorted that that was why I liked him. Jerk.)
Most of my childhood was spent in this cute-crazed world before it really caught on in the States. If you knew me in my childhood years, you will also know that I was a chubby, shy, be-spectacled ball (literal, not figurative) of awkwardness. Perhaps because of this, I was very reluctant to embrace the "cuteness" that I felt like I really could not relate to. Also, a sort of inner feminist screamed at me to be taken seriously as a smart, capable person, and not as some sort of adorable, airheaded bimbo that people liked because she was pretty, or whatever. (Yes, even as a 10-year-old, I knew that I couldn't trade on my looks, and so developed an intense aversion to people who did. It's still kind of a complex.)
In the last few years, it's really become acceptable for full-grown women--and men--to publicly proclaim things to be cute and still be taken seriously. At first, I was really kind of turned off to how all these so-called mature figures were openly squealing over Winnie the Pooh or a particularly adorable dish shaped like a giraffe.
And this was the shocker...it really did make me happy to see something that is cute. Like in a bubbling, breathless, kind of hyperventilating sort of way. But I wonder, is this sort of reaction one that is learned, because it's become socially acceptable to ooo and aahhh over a helpless turtle trying to eat a tomato or the stealthy Ninja Cat? Am I really happy to see a baby bunnie, or is it because I'm expected to, as a living and breathing young woman? Was I becoming an Asian--well, now American, too--stereotype?
I don't know what this really means about me, but all I know is, this picture got me through most of the hellish 4th quarter that was Medill:
And no, I'm not ashamed to admit that it's now the tiled background on my work computer. Stereotypes be damned, I love this baby bunnie! [Squeal!]
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Vicky, Age 24, Grown-Up...?
I'm sitting here in my pjs, eating cold pizza and listening to Tyler type on his laptop next to me. It's been a really long day, but we are celebrating my first day of work and his acceptance of a job offer with Giordano's and watching sports on TV. So yay for both of us being employed!
My first day of work at ACCO Brands was fairly pleasant. I did the HR stuf in the morning (forgot to bring proof of citizenship though, so that was a bit of a fail), and then was shown to my cubicle and got to work reading 3 years' worth of newsletters and trying to learn as much as I can about the company. To recap, I'm now working as a Communications Specialist for an office supply company in Lincolnshire. Everyone seems pretty nice and laid-back, and from what I gathered the corporate culture here is "In at 8:30am, out by 5pm," which was SO good to hear after the "In at 8:30am, out at 1am the next day" of the last few weeks of Medill.
The only really crappy part is that my commute is 2 hours both ways, and if I miss the bus in the afternoon, I miss my connection at Golf Mill Mall, which means I'm stuck in Niles, or wherever Golf Mill Mall is (godforsaken middle of nowhere with almost zero interesting stores), until like, 8:30pm. Which I reallllllly don't want to do. I made some friends today at the bus stop--a very nice girl named Gina and a guy who apparently works closely with the transportation department and could answer all my CTA bus pass questions thoroughly, a feat that none of the actual CTA workers I spoke with were able to do.
I'm kind of worried that the commute is going to burn me out (it really exhausted me today, and it's only day one!), but from what I hear, driving to work is a zoo and that's why so many employees take the bus. So not really a win-win situation, but that's all right.
On to early-bed for me--I'm a morning person, but getting up at 5:30am is still pretty rough. But beggars can't be choosers, so here goes my first official job!
My first day of work at ACCO Brands was fairly pleasant. I did the HR stuf in the morning (forgot to bring proof of citizenship though, so that was a bit of a fail), and then was shown to my cubicle and got to work reading 3 years' worth of newsletters and trying to learn as much as I can about the company. To recap, I'm now working as a Communications Specialist for an office supply company in Lincolnshire. Everyone seems pretty nice and laid-back, and from what I gathered the corporate culture here is "In at 8:30am, out by 5pm," which was SO good to hear after the "In at 8:30am, out at 1am the next day" of the last few weeks of Medill.
The only really crappy part is that my commute is 2 hours both ways, and if I miss the bus in the afternoon, I miss my connection at Golf Mill Mall, which means I'm stuck in Niles, or wherever Golf Mill Mall is (godforsaken middle of nowhere with almost zero interesting stores), until like, 8:30pm. Which I reallllllly don't want to do. I made some friends today at the bus stop--a very nice girl named Gina and a guy who apparently works closely with the transportation department and could answer all my CTA bus pass questions thoroughly, a feat that none of the actual CTA workers I spoke with were able to do.
I'm kind of worried that the commute is going to burn me out (it really exhausted me today, and it's only day one!), but from what I hear, driving to work is a zoo and that's why so many employees take the bus. So not really a win-win situation, but that's all right.
On to early-bed for me--I'm a morning person, but getting up at 5:30am is still pretty rough. But beggars can't be choosers, so here goes my first official job!
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