So there's this boy (gasp! a BOY?) in my poetry class and his name is Matthew and he is super cool and Katie and I totally had "friend crushes" on him all semester. He goes to Holy Cross. He invited us to his birthday party last night, and we totally went. We weren't sure what to expect, mostly because we'd never really had a conversation with him before and didn't know any of his friends.
Katie and I went with Emily, another girl in our poetry class, and she drove which was super nice of her. We were slightly scared about the whole situation, but we bit the bullet and went in. And...
everyone was SO nice! We weren't halfway through the door when Matthew's friends started chatting with us. There were lots of people there, and we met almost everyone throughout the night. Even the girls were really nice and friendly, and the guys were all very friendly without hitting on us, which was very much appreciated and made for an uber fun night. We met Nate, a German enthusiast-- as in he was obsessed with all things German. Leo, he was the other birthday boy, was super funny, and Leo and Matthew were both wearing Princess headbands. Oh, and there was a chihuahua there, and I'd never seen one in real life. It was freaky and I didn't touch it. Anyway, we met redheaded Katie and Alexis who was hilarious, and Anthony who was HILarious and had a beautiful voice. Quote of the night: "SOMEone is going to get pregnant tonight; the playlist I made is SO sexy." -Anthony... and Alexander, Matt's roommate, who goes by Alexander and not Alex because he's named after Alexander the Great. And Ryan who looked like he had pink eye, but apparently it was a cheerleading injury. And Melissa who was co-hosting the party and had the cutest little boy who I offered to babysit for. And Dan who's planning on going to Ireland with Matthew through Saint Mary's and spilled an entire bottle of beer on the floor right when we got to the party. And another Matt who says he was a hockey player. And lots of other super nice and interesting people. And AND there was this wonderful delicious heavenly dessert that included ice cream sandwiches, cool whip, and snickers.
Annnnyway, three cheers for new Holy Cross friends. Hopefully we'll get to hang with them some more before (don't say it).... graduation.
It's never too late to make new friends.
27 February 2010
26 February 2010
"Hi, Mom"
Has this ever happened to you?
You're in a public bathroom, minding your own business, when the person in the stall next to you says "hello?"
And you think-- why is this person talking to me? Do they like my shoes? Are they out of toilet paper and need me to pass some over?
And just as you are about to answer "hi" back, you realize that they're on the phone with their mom or their boyfriend or someone they feel comfortable enough with to talk to on the pot. Their cell was on silent, so you didn't hear it ring. And you feel like such an ass when you realize it.
This has happened to me more than once, and upon telling my friends about it at lunch today, I found out that this isn't something that happens to everyone.
Don't talk to your friends and family (or anyone) on the phone in a public bathroom, please. And if you do, answer the phone "hi, mom," or "hey, Cory," or something that lets the people in the other stalls know that you're not talking to them.
Thank you.
Kelsey
You're in a public bathroom, minding your own business, when the person in the stall next to you says "hello?"
And you think-- why is this person talking to me? Do they like my shoes? Are they out of toilet paper and need me to pass some over?
And just as you are about to answer "hi" back, you realize that they're on the phone with their mom or their boyfriend or someone they feel comfortable enough with to talk to on the pot. Their cell was on silent, so you didn't hear it ring. And you feel like such an ass when you realize it.
This has happened to me more than once, and upon telling my friends about it at lunch today, I found out that this isn't something that happens to everyone.
Don't talk to your friends and family (or anyone) on the phone in a public bathroom, please. And if you do, answer the phone "hi, mom," or "hey, Cory," or something that lets the people in the other stalls know that you're not talking to them.
Thank you.
Kelsey
25 February 2010
Legs
A new razor
Is one of my favorite things in the whole wide world. You never cut yourself shaving, and when you get out of the shower, your legs are so insanely soft and they stay that way and not prickly till the end of the day. And when you go to bed at night in shorts cuz it's warm under your blankets, your legs are so smooth against the soft of the sheets and you curl up in a ball and feel just you.
***
I shave my legs every day. Most people think I'm crazy. Correction: most girls think I'm crazy. When I tell people, they look at me like I just said I love chocolate chips with ketchup and they say something like "I don't have time for that," "I haven't shaved in, like, two months," or something that makes me feel very anti-feminist.
Let's just get this straight: I shave my legs every day because I love the feel of my legs, smooth against the soft of my sheets. And if I don't shave my legs, then the prickles rub against my jeans and IT HURTS! I haven't seen my boyfriend in two months, and still shave my legs every single day. MY legs are smooth like the hood of my car and soft like fresh mashed potatoes on my tongue. My legs are soft and smooth for me. I am a woman.
***
Let me tell you something about my legs-- I have sausage legs. They are a bit plump, yes, but that's not why I call them sausage legs.
Do you know, when you have raw sausage, and it's in the package, and it's all red and white and splotchy? That's what my legs look like all the time. All red and splotchy. Bad circulation. If I lean them up against the end of the couch and let the blood rush to my center, my legs look normal for once. Just bright white. Soft and smooth. Or if I rub them down with lotion-- for just a second after they're all lotiony-- my legs are normal for once. Just bright white. Soft and smooth.
But most of the time, I have sausage legs.
Is one of my favorite things in the whole wide world. You never cut yourself shaving, and when you get out of the shower, your legs are so insanely soft and they stay that way and not prickly till the end of the day. And when you go to bed at night in shorts cuz it's warm under your blankets, your legs are so smooth against the soft of the sheets and you curl up in a ball and feel just you.
***
I shave my legs every day. Most people think I'm crazy. Correction: most girls think I'm crazy. When I tell people, they look at me like I just said I love chocolate chips with ketchup and they say something like "I don't have time for that," "I haven't shaved in, like, two months," or something that makes me feel very anti-feminist.
Let's just get this straight: I shave my legs every day because I love the feel of my legs, smooth against the soft of my sheets. And if I don't shave my legs, then the prickles rub against my jeans and IT HURTS! I haven't seen my boyfriend in two months, and still shave my legs every single day. MY legs are smooth like the hood of my car and soft like fresh mashed potatoes on my tongue. My legs are soft and smooth for me. I am a woman.
***
Let me tell you something about my legs-- I have sausage legs. They are a bit plump, yes, but that's not why I call them sausage legs.
Do you know, when you have raw sausage, and it's in the package, and it's all red and white and splotchy? That's what my legs look like all the time. All red and splotchy. Bad circulation. If I lean them up against the end of the couch and let the blood rush to my center, my legs look normal for once. Just bright white. Soft and smooth. Or if I rub them down with lotion-- for just a second after they're all lotiony-- my legs are normal for once. Just bright white. Soft and smooth.
But most of the time, I have sausage legs.
24 February 2010
The Corners of My Dreams
(a sestina for my poetry class)
I dream about you every night.
You’re not always the center of my dreams,
But you’re always somewhere, in a corner,
Looking on with a mischievous smile,
And holding my heart
In your pocket for safe-keeping.
On Monday night I dreamed
I was at that bakery on the corner
But you were the baker, with funny hat and wide smile.
You handed me a freshly-baked heart-
Shaped cookie, and I gave you a five and said keep
The change. I left the shop, and it was suddenly night.
On Tuesday you were standing on the corner
As I passed by you in the current of the smiling
Crowd, I felt a shiver in my heart.
I glanced your way and caught your eye but kept
Swimming with the crowd. And the stars that night
Sprinkled their light on the two of us dreamers.
On Thursday morning I woke with a smile
And felt my hammering heart.
I tried to fall back to sleep so I could keep
Dreaming of you like I had through the night.
I couldn’t fall back into the dream,
But I sighed when I saw your boots in the corner.
When your ship is at sea and my heart
Is longing for the rasp of your voice, I keep
Your love in my jewelry box and open it at night
And out pours the music of our dreams
For the future, and it fills the corners
Of the lonely room, and I remember how to smile.
Last night as I was sleeping, I kept
Waking, thinking I heard your breathing in the night
Air, but then I remembered that it is only in my dreams
That I will feel the soft breath from the corners
Of your soft sleeping smile
Until you return and breathe some life back into my heart.
I think that when I dream of you, it’s my heart’s
Way of smiling and telling me to keep
You. And I can’t wait to fall asleep in my bed in my corner.
I dream about you every night.
You’re not always the center of my dreams,
But you’re always somewhere, in a corner,
Looking on with a mischievous smile,
And holding my heart
In your pocket for safe-keeping.
On Monday night I dreamed
I was at that bakery on the corner
But you were the baker, with funny hat and wide smile.
You handed me a freshly-baked heart-
Shaped cookie, and I gave you a five and said keep
The change. I left the shop, and it was suddenly night.
On Tuesday you were standing on the corner
As I passed by you in the current of the smiling
Crowd, I felt a shiver in my heart.
I glanced your way and caught your eye but kept
Swimming with the crowd. And the stars that night
Sprinkled their light on the two of us dreamers.
On Thursday morning I woke with a smile
And felt my hammering heart.
I tried to fall back to sleep so I could keep
Dreaming of you like I had through the night.
I couldn’t fall back into the dream,
But I sighed when I saw your boots in the corner.
When your ship is at sea and my heart
Is longing for the rasp of your voice, I keep
Your love in my jewelry box and open it at night
And out pours the music of our dreams
For the future, and it fills the corners
Of the lonely room, and I remember how to smile.
Last night as I was sleeping, I kept
Waking, thinking I heard your breathing in the night
Air, but then I remembered that it is only in my dreams
That I will feel the soft breath from the corners
Of your soft sleeping smile
Until you return and breathe some life back into my heart.
I think that when I dream of you, it’s my heart’s
Way of smiling and telling me to keep
You. And I can’t wait to fall asleep in my bed in my corner.
23 February 2010
So Over the Olympics
Am I the only one who is not turned on at all by the Olympics? I just don't really get it. Okay, I can get into skating once in awhile because it's like a dance-- entertainment. But skiing, curling, all this other crap-- I just don't get it. Every one seems to be obsessed with it, and I feel pretty left out. I mean, it doesn't bother me. My roommates have it on all the time, and I don't mind having it on the background, but it's just boring.
On a related note, there was a girl on the Olympics (skiing I think) that's named Kelsey and it really freaks me out to hear my name on TV. When I was growing up, I was the oldest Kelsey in my town. There were no Kelseys in my class, and there were only 2 Kelseys that were ever in my school with me. I liked being the only Kelsey, and I prefer that there be no other Kelseys around me-- so here's a shout out to all the Kelseys out there: don't try to be my friend.
I have a bio quiz tomorrow and I just realized it. F. Gotta go study.
On a related note, there was a girl on the Olympics (skiing I think) that's named Kelsey and it really freaks me out to hear my name on TV. When I was growing up, I was the oldest Kelsey in my town. There were no Kelseys in my class, and there were only 2 Kelseys that were ever in my school with me. I liked being the only Kelsey, and I prefer that there be no other Kelseys around me-- so here's a shout out to all the Kelseys out there: don't try to be my friend.
I have a bio quiz tomorrow and I just realized it. F. Gotta go study.
22 February 2010
The Ballad of Seamus O'Connor
(something I wrote for my poetry class)
There once was a lassie named Honor O'Shea
Who lived in a small Sligo town.
She worked as a maid milking cows in the hay,
And her body was short and round.
Down the hill in a thatch-roofed house
Lived a lad named Padraig O'Connor.
One day he decided he needed a spouse,
So he called upon up-the-hill Honor.
Padraig was tall and thin and pale,
And Honor could break him in half.
Round Honor herself could have broken the scale,
But Padraig could make her laugh.
So on May twenty-fourth as the sun was out shining
Paddy and Honor were wed,
And by five twenty-four as the party was dining
Paddy took Honor to bed.
Young Padraig sighed as he took his bride.
He was happy to be Honor's groom.
And Honor sighed as she laid by his side--
Her maiden-flower a-bloom.
Nine months later, again in their bed,
Young Honor lay on her back.
She breathed with might, her legs were spread,
And the baby cried with a smack.
Paddy came in when he heard the babe crying.
Honor had tears in her eyes.
She kissed her dear child, but Honor was dying,
So the new mother said her good-byes.
"Take care of the baby," said Honor to Paddy.
"Give him the name of my father."
"Seamus will suit him; he'll be a bright laddie."
And she died in the arms of the other.
They laid her to rest on a dreary March day
As the baby cried in his carriage.
Paddy laid flowers upon Honor's grave
Not a year after his and her marriage.
When Seamus grew up, he was tall as a tree.
He got his height from his father.
Big and round and mighty was he.
His girth he had got from his mother.
By the time he was twenty, young Shea was an ox.
He could pull a plow on his shoulders.
But Shea, he was fast, he could run like a fox.
As he hurtled the heaviest boulder.
Young Seamus kept growing, taller and thicker.
He barely fit lengthwise in bed.
And riches were spare in the O’Connor home;
They barely had money for bread.
So Seamus O’Connor packed up his sack,
And headed for Auld Dublin town.
He hugged his old father and said he’d be back.
He promised he’d not let him down.
He stepped off the train at Connolly Station,
And gazed at the great Dublin city.
He gawked at the capital town of his nation
And the wee young lasses, so pretty.
As he wandered the streets, he looked down at the crowd--
All the people he towered above.
He looked up in the clouds, to his mother he vowed
He would find him a job she’d be proud of.
He met an old captain on the docks of the harbor
And asked if he needed a sailor.
The captain looked up from the blade of his arbor
And suggested he go to the tailor.
To Grafton he walked, past the storefronts and vendors
To a shop along St. Stephen’s Green.
He knocked on the door, in all his tall splendor,
But the tailor inside, he was mean.
He looked up at Seamus and gaped at his height
As he peered with his spectacled eyes.
He slammed closed the door in a fit of great fright;
His rudeness he didn’t disguise.
So back to the quays, young Seamus strode
Till he found an O'Shaughnessy's pub.
He sat on a stool and set down his load
And ordered a pint and some grub.
As he finished his Guinness and ordered one more
And remembered his horrible day,
A little old woman walked through the door,
And sat at the bar next to Shay.
The little old woman ordered a drink
And sparked up a light conversation.
She sipped on her whiskey and gave him a wink
And inquired about his vocation.
"I haven't a job," said young Seamus to her.
"I've been looking for one all day long.
My journey through Dublin has all been a blur;
It seems I just do not belong."
"Poor laddie, chin up," said she with a grin.
"I've got just the calling for you.
My rugby team is in need of a win.
Old Molly knows just what to do."
So she trained him in running and tackling and throwing.
On the field, in the scrum, he excelled.
In the fall he was ready to make his first showing.
He wished and he prayed he'd do well.
On the field that first day, he tackled and ran
And scored point after point for his team.
At the end of the match, as he shook Molly's hand,
He knew he had conquered his dream.
Seamus went on to win hundreds of matches
In Ir'land and all the world 'round.
He made thousands of tackles and thousands of catches.
He threw thousands of lads to the ground.
He sent all his money to Sligo for Paddy.
His father was filled with pride.
He was proud of his famous and rich little laddie.
He had always been on his side.
And as Seamus now walks through the Dublin streets,
All of Ireland knows him by name.
But no matter how many teams he beats,
He is not overcome by his fame.
He looks up at the clouds and winks at the sky,
And she shines down her love and her pride.
And he knows she's been there since the day that she died--
His mother, his angel, his guide.
There once was a lassie named Honor O'Shea
Who lived in a small Sligo town.
She worked as a maid milking cows in the hay,
And her body was short and round.
Down the hill in a thatch-roofed house
Lived a lad named Padraig O'Connor.
One day he decided he needed a spouse,
So he called upon up-the-hill Honor.
Padraig was tall and thin and pale,
And Honor could break him in half.
Round Honor herself could have broken the scale,
But Padraig could make her laugh.
So on May twenty-fourth as the sun was out shining
Paddy and Honor were wed,
And by five twenty-four as the party was dining
Paddy took Honor to bed.
Young Padraig sighed as he took his bride.
He was happy to be Honor's groom.
And Honor sighed as she laid by his side--
Her maiden-flower a-bloom.
Nine months later, again in their bed,
Young Honor lay on her back.
She breathed with might, her legs were spread,
And the baby cried with a smack.
Paddy came in when he heard the babe crying.
Honor had tears in her eyes.
She kissed her dear child, but Honor was dying,
So the new mother said her good-byes.
"Take care of the baby," said Honor to Paddy.
"Give him the name of my father."
"Seamus will suit him; he'll be a bright laddie."
And she died in the arms of the other.
They laid her to rest on a dreary March day
As the baby cried in his carriage.
Paddy laid flowers upon Honor's grave
Not a year after his and her marriage.
When Seamus grew up, he was tall as a tree.
He got his height from his father.
Big and round and mighty was he.
His girth he had got from his mother.
By the time he was twenty, young Shea was an ox.
He could pull a plow on his shoulders.
But Shea, he was fast, he could run like a fox.
As he hurtled the heaviest boulder.
Young Seamus kept growing, taller and thicker.
He barely fit lengthwise in bed.
And riches were spare in the O’Connor home;
They barely had money for bread.
So Seamus O’Connor packed up his sack,
And headed for Auld Dublin town.
He hugged his old father and said he’d be back.
He promised he’d not let him down.
He stepped off the train at Connolly Station,
And gazed at the great Dublin city.
He gawked at the capital town of his nation
And the wee young lasses, so pretty.
As he wandered the streets, he looked down at the crowd--
All the people he towered above.
He looked up in the clouds, to his mother he vowed
He would find him a job she’d be proud of.
He met an old captain on the docks of the harbor
And asked if he needed a sailor.
The captain looked up from the blade of his arbor
And suggested he go to the tailor.
To Grafton he walked, past the storefronts and vendors
To a shop along St. Stephen’s Green.
He knocked on the door, in all his tall splendor,
But the tailor inside, he was mean.
He looked up at Seamus and gaped at his height
As he peered with his spectacled eyes.
He slammed closed the door in a fit of great fright;
His rudeness he didn’t disguise.
So back to the quays, young Seamus strode
Till he found an O'Shaughnessy's pub.
He sat on a stool and set down his load
And ordered a pint and some grub.
As he finished his Guinness and ordered one more
And remembered his horrible day,
A little old woman walked through the door,
And sat at the bar next to Shay.
The little old woman ordered a drink
And sparked up a light conversation.
She sipped on her whiskey and gave him a wink
And inquired about his vocation.
"I haven't a job," said young Seamus to her.
"I've been looking for one all day long.
My journey through Dublin has all been a blur;
It seems I just do not belong."
"Poor laddie, chin up," said she with a grin.
"I've got just the calling for you.
My rugby team is in need of a win.
Old Molly knows just what to do."
So she trained him in running and tackling and throwing.
On the field, in the scrum, he excelled.
In the fall he was ready to make his first showing.
He wished and he prayed he'd do well.
On the field that first day, he tackled and ran
And scored point after point for his team.
At the end of the match, as he shook Molly's hand,
He knew he had conquered his dream.
Seamus went on to win hundreds of matches
In Ir'land and all the world 'round.
He made thousands of tackles and thousands of catches.
He threw thousands of lads to the ground.
He sent all his money to Sligo for Paddy.
His father was filled with pride.
He was proud of his famous and rich little laddie.
He had always been on his side.
And as Seamus now walks through the Dublin streets,
All of Ireland knows him by name.
But no matter how many teams he beats,
He is not overcome by his fame.
He looks up at the clouds and winks at the sky,
And she shines down her love and her pride.
And he knows she's been there since the day that she died--
His mother, his angel, his guide.
21 February 2010
Just Call Me Evander Holyfield
Guys, I almost lost my ear this weekend. Seriously.
My roommate Katie and I were getting in the car after an impromptu spin around Goodwill where we each bought a $5 sweatshirt which, if you ask me, is pretty steep, and where Katie also bought an owl statue for her collection. (Every time we/I've been to a thrift store in the last year, we've been able to find some sort of owl statue or art. It's inevitable. I'm not sure if there was an owl fad in the 1970s or what, but if you've noticed, the owl fad is making a comeback. I now own a Fossil wallet with an owl on it, and a sterling silver own necklace. Everywhere you go, you can find owls on tshirts, pencil cases, and PJ pants. Owls are definitely making a comeback). I was very tempted to buy a sweet greet ottoman, but I knew we didn't have room for it, and I knew I wouldn't have room to bring it to Florida in May.
Anyway, after Katie and I made our purchases, we left the store and entered the bright sunny day outside. As we got in the car to drive to Aldi for groceries, I was bending to sit in the driver's seat, when my door started to close on me without my realizing it. Well, long story short, my ear caught on the door and I immediately started howling with pain. I almost started crying tears from my eyes. I just kept shouting "Katie! I hit my ear! Owwwwww!" over and over for about five minutes until the pain began to subside.
It didn't bruise, but each time now that I talk on the phone or wake after sleeping on my left side, I can feel my ear begin to throb again. It is NOT fun.
Well, we proceeded to Aldi, which made me feel like I was in Ireland, and I got all nostalgic. We plugged a quarter into the cart, filled our re-usable bags with eggs and milk and other cheap cheap staples, and left the store with nearly all of our groceries (excluding the brand-name cereal and produce that we would later get at Meijer) for less than $50. Woot! I even got coconut shrimp, and I can't wait to eat it.
On another note, I am on a country kick today. I used to be a total country girl back in my middle to early high school years, and though my tastes have changed a bit, I will always have a place in my heart for my Lonestar and Dixie Chicks and Jessica Andrews and Brad Paisley and the like. It's comforting to know that even now, when I turn on the country station, I am sure to hear a few songs I know. Country changes and evolves very slowly, and they still play songs on the radio from 15 or 20 years ago, and it's wonderful. Sometimes I just need a little twang in my life to remind me of my childhood-- to remind me of a ride in the boat up north, floating along, bathing in bug spray and sunscreen and the warm Wisconsin sun with nothing to worry about except whether to have watermelon or pineapple with my dinner. Ahh, those were the days...
My roommate Katie and I were getting in the car after an impromptu spin around Goodwill where we each bought a $5 sweatshirt which, if you ask me, is pretty steep, and where Katie also bought an owl statue for her collection. (Every time we/I've been to a thrift store in the last year, we've been able to find some sort of owl statue or art. It's inevitable. I'm not sure if there was an owl fad in the 1970s or what, but if you've noticed, the owl fad is making a comeback. I now own a Fossil wallet with an owl on it, and a sterling silver own necklace. Everywhere you go, you can find owls on tshirts, pencil cases, and PJ pants. Owls are definitely making a comeback). I was very tempted to buy a sweet greet ottoman, but I knew we didn't have room for it, and I knew I wouldn't have room to bring it to Florida in May.
Anyway, after Katie and I made our purchases, we left the store and entered the bright sunny day outside. As we got in the car to drive to Aldi for groceries, I was bending to sit in the driver's seat, when my door started to close on me without my realizing it. Well, long story short, my ear caught on the door and I immediately started howling with pain. I almost started crying tears from my eyes. I just kept shouting "Katie! I hit my ear! Owwwwww!" over and over for about five minutes until the pain began to subside.
It didn't bruise, but each time now that I talk on the phone or wake after sleeping on my left side, I can feel my ear begin to throb again. It is NOT fun.
Well, we proceeded to Aldi, which made me feel like I was in Ireland, and I got all nostalgic. We plugged a quarter into the cart, filled our re-usable bags with eggs and milk and other cheap cheap staples, and left the store with nearly all of our groceries (excluding the brand-name cereal and produce that we would later get at Meijer) for less than $50. Woot! I even got coconut shrimp, and I can't wait to eat it.
On another note, I am on a country kick today. I used to be a total country girl back in my middle to early high school years, and though my tastes have changed a bit, I will always have a place in my heart for my Lonestar and Dixie Chicks and Jessica Andrews and Brad Paisley and the like. It's comforting to know that even now, when I turn on the country station, I am sure to hear a few songs I know. Country changes and evolves very slowly, and they still play songs on the radio from 15 or 20 years ago, and it's wonderful. Sometimes I just need a little twang in my life to remind me of my childhood-- to remind me of a ride in the boat up north, floating along, bathing in bug spray and sunscreen and the warm Wisconsin sun with nothing to worry about except whether to have watermelon or pineapple with my dinner. Ahh, those were the days...
20 February 2010
An Addict's Reflection: Law and Order SVU
My name is Kelsey Knoedler, and I'm addicted to serial television.
Right now, my drug of choice: Law and Order SVU.
"In the criminal justice system, sexually-based offenses are considered especially heinous. In New York City, the dedicated detectives who investigate these vicious felonies are members of an elite squad called the Special Victims Unit. These are their stories."
(I really want to meet the guy who does that intro. Wouldn't it be wicked awesome if you were working at a coffee shop in NYC, and all of a sudden a guy comes to order his coffee with THAT voice? That chance alone almost makes me want to move to New York City.)
The past two weekends, I have hardly been unable to pull myself away from the computer watching episodes of Law and Order SVU online-- as many episodes as I can find. Over Christmas break, I learned how to use the DVR and recorded the many daily marathons of SVU that occur on 15 different channels and watched them non-stop all day. I just don't get it. It's nearly the sames stories, episode after episode, filled with rape victims and/or children being criminalized. It's sick, it's terrible, and I can't tear my eyes away from it. I've tried watching episodes from the other 57 versions of Law and Order, and none of them are the same. It can't be the sex crimes that keep me interested, because those give me nightmares if anything. The other night after watching a particularly frightening episode involving a break-in, I told my friend Rachel to text me when she got home and dead-bolted the apartment door behind her. So what is it that draws me in?
One theory is that it's the detectives, Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler, that keep me glued to my TV or computer screen. They're beautiful, they've got issues, and they somehow, after ten years of being partners, have never been romantically involved. I'm not sure if it's their personalities I am drawn to or if I'm just watching and waiting until all those years of working so closely lead to a hot and steamy sex scene.
Or is it the suspense? The sense of mystery. Each episode opens with the discovery of the victim, and if I happen to be flipping through the channels and catch the first five minutes, I'm hooked. I just have to finish out the hour to find out if it was the psychiatrist, the ex-boyfriend, or a stalker from the grocery store. Most of the stories are fairly similar, and most of them are totally predictable, but I keep watching time after time just in case they surprise me this time-- like the best episode ever that ended up being about a legendary bank robber.
(It's actually my dream to play a dead body on one of the Law and Orders. Just imagine, you're flipping through the channels on day at home, when you suddenly see me as a cold corpse on TV and you're like "hey! I went to college with that girl!" It's also my dream to be in a first aid video and in a reenactment of "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" on the Discovery Health Channel," but that's another blog post altogether...)
Or do I watch SVU for the satisfaction that comes from watching the bad guys get caught and pay for what they did? According to the RAINN website, only 6% or rapists will ever spend time in jail. On Law and Order SVU, they nearly always get their guy (or sometimes, girl). In real life, less than 40% of rapes are reported. If a rape is reported, there is a 50.8% chance of an arrest. If an arrest is made, there's an 80% of prosecution. If there is a prosecution, there's a 58% chance of conviction. If there is a felony conviction, there is a 69% chance the convict will spend time in jail. So, even in the 39% of attacks that are reported to the police, there is only a 16.3% chance the rapist will end up in prison. Factoring in unreported rapes, about 6% of rapists will ever spend a day in jail. 15 of 16 walk free.
Why do we subject ourselves to watching crime shows or horror movies or murder mysteries, when those crimes and horros and mysteries are our greatest fears? I think the reason I'm so drawn to SVU is because Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler and all the other detectives on the show make me believe that I am safe-- that they will protect me. That there are detectives out there who are keeping rapists off the streets and keeping me safe. In the real world, only 6% of rapists spend a day in jail, but in the world of Law and Order SVU, nearly 100% of rapists are taken off the streets and sent to prison. I think I'd rather live in that world.
Right now, my drug of choice: Law and Order SVU.
"In the criminal justice system, sexually-based offenses are considered especially heinous. In New York City, the dedicated detectives who investigate these vicious felonies are members of an elite squad called the Special Victims Unit. These are their stories."
(I really want to meet the guy who does that intro. Wouldn't it be wicked awesome if you were working at a coffee shop in NYC, and all of a sudden a guy comes to order his coffee with THAT voice? That chance alone almost makes me want to move to New York City.)
The past two weekends, I have hardly been unable to pull myself away from the computer watching episodes of Law and Order SVU online-- as many episodes as I can find. Over Christmas break, I learned how to use the DVR and recorded the many daily marathons of SVU that occur on 15 different channels and watched them non-stop all day. I just don't get it. It's nearly the sames stories, episode after episode, filled with rape victims and/or children being criminalized. It's sick, it's terrible, and I can't tear my eyes away from it. I've tried watching episodes from the other 57 versions of Law and Order, and none of them are the same. It can't be the sex crimes that keep me interested, because those give me nightmares if anything. The other night after watching a particularly frightening episode involving a break-in, I told my friend Rachel to text me when she got home and dead-bolted the apartment door behind her. So what is it that draws me in?
One theory is that it's the detectives, Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler, that keep me glued to my TV or computer screen. They're beautiful, they've got issues, and they somehow, after ten years of being partners, have never been romantically involved. I'm not sure if it's their personalities I am drawn to or if I'm just watching and waiting until all those years of working so closely lead to a hot and steamy sex scene.
Or is it the suspense? The sense of mystery. Each episode opens with the discovery of the victim, and if I happen to be flipping through the channels and catch the first five minutes, I'm hooked. I just have to finish out the hour to find out if it was the psychiatrist, the ex-boyfriend, or a stalker from the grocery store. Most of the stories are fairly similar, and most of them are totally predictable, but I keep watching time after time just in case they surprise me this time-- like the best episode ever that ended up being about a legendary bank robber.
(It's actually my dream to play a dead body on one of the Law and Orders. Just imagine, you're flipping through the channels on day at home, when you suddenly see me as a cold corpse on TV and you're like "hey! I went to college with that girl!" It's also my dream to be in a first aid video and in a reenactment of "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" on the Discovery Health Channel," but that's another blog post altogether...)
Or do I watch SVU for the satisfaction that comes from watching the bad guys get caught and pay for what they did? According to the RAINN website, only 6% or rapists will ever spend time in jail. On Law and Order SVU, they nearly always get their guy (or sometimes, girl). In real life, less than 40% of rapes are reported. If a rape is reported, there is a 50.8% chance of an arrest. If an arrest is made, there's an 80% of prosecution. If there is a prosecution, there's a 58% chance of conviction. If there is a felony conviction, there is a 69% chance the convict will spend time in jail. So, even in the 39% of attacks that are reported to the police, there is only a 16.3% chance the rapist will end up in prison. Factoring in unreported rapes, about 6% of rapists will ever spend a day in jail. 15 of 16 walk free.
Why do we subject ourselves to watching crime shows or horror movies or murder mysteries, when those crimes and horros and mysteries are our greatest fears? I think the reason I'm so drawn to SVU is because Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler and all the other detectives on the show make me believe that I am safe-- that they will protect me. That there are detectives out there who are keeping rapists off the streets and keeping me safe. In the real world, only 6% of rapists spend a day in jail, but in the world of Law and Order SVU, nearly 100% of rapists are taken off the streets and sent to prison. I think I'd rather live in that world.
19 February 2010
Navy Blues
I'm not one to hold a grudge. I'm not usually one to be mad at someone or "in a fight" with someone or not speaking to someone. But right now, I've got some beef with this little old lady named the navy.
The navy is taking Colin away today, so today, me and the navy are in a fight.
Okay, so he'll only be gone for three months. And he's going to Europe which is super awesome, and I'm actually a little jealous.
INTERJECTION: I HATE it when people have their iPods on SO loudly in the library or in the computer lab that I can hear them across the room. I swear that every time I sit down to work peacefully at the library, I am distracted by the high pitched tune from a neighbor's mp3, and I am SICK of it. Seriously, how loud do you really need to have your music? If I can hear it all the way across the room, it probably shouldn't be blasting in your ears that loudly. But I'm not a confrontational person, so I guess I'll just let it go. But, girl in the white sweater and brown puffy coat, if you're reading this-- TURN IT DOWN! For all our sakes.
Okay, so anyway, Colin's leaving today and I'm super down in the dumps about it. I try not to let my happiness depend on where Colin is or is not, but it's hard. I go from being 1,000 miles away to being an ocean away. Now I can't even talk to him on the phone regularly. Blah, blah, blah, woe is me, I miss my boyfriend. I won't complain about this any longer, but it's a big part of my life right now, so I've obbs got to blog about it.
He'll be gone for three months, but after that three months, we'll be in Florida TOGETHER! Woot! Plus, while he's gone I get to come up with creative packages to send him. Any ideas?
A Sailor's Blessing
God, bless my sailor, keep him safe
From rivals on the sea.
Protect him from the wind and waves
And bring him back to me.
The navy is taking Colin away today, so today, me and the navy are in a fight.
Okay, so he'll only be gone for three months. And he's going to Europe which is super awesome, and I'm actually a little jealous.
INTERJECTION: I HATE it when people have their iPods on SO loudly in the library or in the computer lab that I can hear them across the room. I swear that every time I sit down to work peacefully at the library, I am distracted by the high pitched tune from a neighbor's mp3, and I am SICK of it. Seriously, how loud do you really need to have your music? If I can hear it all the way across the room, it probably shouldn't be blasting in your ears that loudly. But I'm not a confrontational person, so I guess I'll just let it go. But, girl in the white sweater and brown puffy coat, if you're reading this-- TURN IT DOWN! For all our sakes.
Okay, so anyway, Colin's leaving today and I'm super down in the dumps about it. I try not to let my happiness depend on where Colin is or is not, but it's hard. I go from being 1,000 miles away to being an ocean away. Now I can't even talk to him on the phone regularly. Blah, blah, blah, woe is me, I miss my boyfriend. I won't complain about this any longer, but it's a big part of my life right now, so I've obbs got to blog about it.
He'll be gone for three months, but after that three months, we'll be in Florida TOGETHER! Woot! Plus, while he's gone I get to come up with creative packages to send him. Any ideas?
A Sailor's Blessing
God, bless my sailor, keep him safe
From rivals on the sea.
Protect him from the wind and waves
And bring him back to me.
18 February 2010
(Lent)il Soup
Just wanted to clear something up. I know what Lent is in religion. It apparently appeared to some from my last post that I did not. I understand it's all about Jesus and sacrifice and becoming closer to God and what-not. I understand this tradition, and I know there are many other Christian denominations besides Catholicism that practice Lent, including United Methodist. We might not rub ash on our foreheads, but we can practice Lent for the same reasons as Catholics.
However, I think that many people, like me, have taken a religious tradition and used it in a secular way. For many people, Lent has become a challenge, much like a new year's resolution. It has become a reason for people to challenge themselves to give up a vice that might make them healthier or help them lose weight, etc. Although I am not a very religious person and I don't necessarily see my Lenten goal as a way to be closer to God, I do in fact KNOW where the Lenten tradition originates and how and why Catholics and other Christians practice Lent.
On another note, today felt like spring. It was only 35 degrees out, but it was it just felt like spring somehow. As I was walking to class, the sun was out, and birds were chirping, the air was cold but balmy, and snow was melting. It's days like these that get me through winter and keep me looking forward to spring. And I love spring.
However, I think that many people, like me, have taken a religious tradition and used it in a secular way. For many people, Lent has become a challenge, much like a new year's resolution. It has become a reason for people to challenge themselves to give up a vice that might make them healthier or help them lose weight, etc. Although I am not a very religious person and I don't necessarily see my Lenten goal as a way to be closer to God, I do in fact KNOW where the Lenten tradition originates and how and why Catholics and other Christians practice Lent.
On another note, today felt like spring. It was only 35 degrees out, but it was it just felt like spring somehow. As I was walking to class, the sun was out, and birds were chirping, the air was cold but balmy, and snow was melting. It's days like these that get me through winter and keep me looking forward to spring. And I love spring.
17 February 2010
Kiss My Ash
Welcome to Kelsey's Lenten Blog!
Each year I toil over what I am going to give up for Lent. Okay, that's an exaggeration. I don't actually toil. I don't usually realize it's Ash Wednesday until I see my first black-foreheaded Catholic. No, that's a lie too. I don't usually realize it's Ash Wednesday until I see my second black-foreheaded Catholic. When I see the first one, I think to myself "what is on her face? Should I tell her? I don't know her very well, but if I had a big black smudge on my forehead, I'd want a stranger to tell me." And then I see a second person with a more defined cross and I remember it's Wednesday and then it dawns on me that I've stumbled upon Ash Wednesday without even deciding what I'm giving up for Lent.
I'm not Catholic, I'm United Methodist. We aren't required to give anything up for Lent. But I usually like to challenge myself just to see if I can do it. I've given up soda, dessert, and fast food among other things. I always thought it would be cool to give up mirrors, although that one could be tricky. My roommate freshman year gave up Facebook, which I thought was completely absurd. And I'm not really sure about the logistics of that whole "I'm giving it up for Lent but I can do it one day a week" thing, but I don't really see the point.
My pastor (back when I used to go to church regularly) once encouraged us to do something positive for our Lenten promise rather than giving something up. So this year, I've decided to start a Lenten Blog. How is that positive? Well, I'm a writing major, and I've come to realize that I simply do not write enough. I like to write, but I just don't have time to write every day. But today I am making a Lenten promise to myself to write a little bit every day. To sit down in front of my computer for at least a half an hour every day and move my fingers and see what comes out.
So here 'goes. I don't know if anyone's reading, but get ready for 40 days of craziness, absurdity, and sass.
Each year I toil over what I am going to give up for Lent. Okay, that's an exaggeration. I don't actually toil. I don't usually realize it's Ash Wednesday until I see my first black-foreheaded Catholic. No, that's a lie too. I don't usually realize it's Ash Wednesday until I see my second black-foreheaded Catholic. When I see the first one, I think to myself "what is on her face? Should I tell her? I don't know her very well, but if I had a big black smudge on my forehead, I'd want a stranger to tell me." And then I see a second person with a more defined cross and I remember it's Wednesday and then it dawns on me that I've stumbled upon Ash Wednesday without even deciding what I'm giving up for Lent.
I'm not Catholic, I'm United Methodist. We aren't required to give anything up for Lent. But I usually like to challenge myself just to see if I can do it. I've given up soda, dessert, and fast food among other things. I always thought it would be cool to give up mirrors, although that one could be tricky. My roommate freshman year gave up Facebook, which I thought was completely absurd. And I'm not really sure about the logistics of that whole "I'm giving it up for Lent but I can do it one day a week" thing, but I don't really see the point.
My pastor (back when I used to go to church regularly) once encouraged us to do something positive for our Lenten promise rather than giving something up. So this year, I've decided to start a Lenten Blog. How is that positive? Well, I'm a writing major, and I've come to realize that I simply do not write enough. I like to write, but I just don't have time to write every day. But today I am making a Lenten promise to myself to write a little bit every day. To sit down in front of my computer for at least a half an hour every day and move my fingers and see what comes out.
So here 'goes. I don't know if anyone's reading, but get ready for 40 days of craziness, absurdity, and sass.
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