musing # 2 -- the "look at me" generation

Jennie Yabroff closed her article "Here's looking at you, kids" in Newsweek of March 24th with these words:

"One thing you can say for the Look at Me's is that they won't suffer the collective amensia of their boomer elders, who often boast about being too stoned during their youth to remember it. But this generation may have something else in common with boomers: they are so busy documenting their experiences, and being documented, that they may end up with postcards of a trip they have no memory of taking."

She's talking about the documentation generation. She defines them (us/me) as those born after '82, but I'd push that barrier back a few years. We're also apparently called "Millenials."

And it all reminds me far too much of something (brace yourself) John Mayer sang years ago (2001), before Facebook was even around (hard to believe, but the 'Book launched February of 2004):

"I'm writing you to catch you up on places I've been

You held this letter probably got excited, but there's nothing else inside it

didn't have a camera by my side this time

hoping I would see the world with both my eyes

maybe I will tell you all about it when I'm in the mood to lose my way with words"

and then later:

"Oh, today I finally overcame

trying to fit the world inside a picture frame..."

I always liked those lyrics. Now I know why. I've never been one to take pictures excessively, I didn't actually ask for the digital camera I got as a gift a few Christmases ago, but this weekend, as Lawrence celebrated KU's Final Four victory over UNC, I got a text from my sister, cheering on the Hawks from Washington, D.C.:

"Send pics if u can!!"

I grabbed my phone, (I had left my camera behind half on-purpose), hopped up on a planter at 9th and Massachussetts St., and joined in the fray of flashes to make sure and document what I could already see with my own eyes.

musing #1 - spring break/what college still does for me

This weekend marks the the end of my alma matter's spring break. [caveat: I've never been a big spring breaker. My only college trip was an 18-hour drive to Pensacola last year with my dad—and I wouldn't have had it any other way.] Anyhow, I'm a working girl now, but spring break still affected me in a few ways this week, as a recent graduate:

1.) I'm about to get a heaping dose of envy. My friends will be coming home within the next few days, sunkissed, or, at the very least, gloating about some random bar/street fair/specific alcoholic beverage prepared perfectly for them by some excessively attractive bartender.

2.) Because I've just started work, spring break is an irksome reminder of the fact that until I've accrued my 6.67 hours of vacation per month, and until I reach that elusive six-month mark (Sept. 1, baby) after which I can actually take any of that vacation, I'll be spending most of this summer indoors. Bummer.

3.) I'm going to have to deal with thousands (okay, hundreds) of new Facebook status updates like the one I just read, care of a girl I went to high school with: "We drank all of the tequila in Acapulco. No really, it's all gone, and I bungee jumped over the ocean. Mexico es muy bueno!" She's jumping in a swimsuit on the beach in her new profile photo.

However.

Despite all of this bitching, the most notable thing about spring break, for me, this year, was this: It got me out of work an hour early.

My boss asked me to check out some books at KU's library, and I was happy to oblige. But as I padded up the damp marble steps of Watson Library last Sunday, I realized I could see absolutely no one else on campus. I walked to the door, and sure enough, because of spring break, the library was closed, and would have shortened hours that entire week.

I presented my situation to my boss the next morning, to which he replied:

"Well why don't you just take off an hour early today and go get them?"

[Insert a moment of inside-the-head tap dancing and the restraint of a smile]

"Sure," I replied.

I may not get a week-long or summer-long break anytime soon, but at least this year, spring break still nabbed me an hour of freedom. And in celebration, I might just treat myself to an umbrella-adorned drink tonight.

muse # 1 - marketa irglova

Marketa Irglova is the 20-year-old, Czech Republic-born musician who delivered just over one minute of total Oscar bliss after she had been unintentionally cut off by that infamous music while attempting to accept the Oscar for Best Song.

Irglova and musician Glen Hansard, 17 years her senior, made a movie together, called Once. I went to see it bearing absolutely no preconceptions (coincidentally, my favorite way to check out a movie) at a local independent theatre, and after a few minutes adjusting to Hansard's strong, delightfully rough voice, pretty much flat-out fell in love with both Hansard and Irglova, and especially the two of them together. Partway through the movie, my boyfriend at the time (who of course, was a musician), leaned over and kissed me, swift and hard.

"What was that for?" I whispered.

"I love you," he responded.

We went home, he figured out "Falling Slowly" (the song that would later win the Oscar) within five minutes on the guitar, and we proceeded to sing in his bedroom, perched on drummer's thrones and high on that unique soul-rumble that can only from a truly great song.

It was much to my giggly cheer, then, to learn months later that Irglova and Hansard are actually dating in real life, and to hear Irglova's words after Jon Stewart graciously asked her back on stage:

"The fact that we're standing here tonight, the fact that we're able to hold this, it's just proof that no matter how far out your dreams are, it's possible," Irglova said during take two. "And, you know, fair play to those who dare to dream, and don't give up. This song was written from the perspective of hope, and hope, at the end of the day, connects us all, no matter how different we are."

Spoken quickly, effortlessly, and with the grace of someone twice her age, Irglova rocketed her way to tons of best Oscar moments lists, and damned near made me cry.