My name is Carly Jane. I'm going to be a princess when I grow up, but I'm majoring in journalism at Ithaca College just in case. I'm going to be making headlines one day, but on the less glamorous side; I'll probably just be punching them into InDesign.
Facebook stalking and over thinking. I think everyone is guilty of both every once in while; some more than others, and I’m pretty sure I’m included in the group that does both too frequently. But hey, it’s the weekend before finals. And I really, really don’t want to study. At all.
So I was looking at this kid-I-went-to-high-school-with’s Facebook; I’ve known him since elementary school, I don’t know the last time I said even three words to him, but I was looking at his profile. It kind of makes me wonder who is looking at MY profile instead of studying right now… But that’s not really what I’m going for right now.
Anyway, this kid had pictures kissing his girlfriend (who I’ve also known forever, but I can’ t remember the last time I spoke to her…) and I couldn’t help but kind of giggle to myself. Other than those two pairing up to be a funny couple, I think I was laughing because I couldn’t believe that he was kissing a girl. As I looked at more pictures and thought to myself that they are my peers and I shouldn’t be laughing, I thought about why I was laughing.
I realized the only reason I was laughing was because in elementary school, he was the boy in our grade that was dubbed as “gay.” Now, fifth grade was over 7 years ago, so I know I should really move on, but then I got to thinking why exactly he was the one singled out.
Because he was the nice one.
He was always, always nice to the girls; he played with us in the playground instead of playing soccer with the other boys. Admittedly, he was a little feminine, I can remember him being one of the few boys in chorus with all the girls in third grade - something that resulted in a lot of teasing. But fast forward to college, if I had a dollar for every time one of my friends said they would love to “date a musician,” I’d be a rich girl.
It just made me upset that we all—as big, grown up girls—say we want a nice guy or that we hate all those asshole boys… but, is it our fault? Did we (not just girls, but young boys too) scare the all the nice boys into being assholes when we were only in elementary school by calling them “gay”? It just got me thinking, which just got me upset.
We’re not living in the days of “sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.” We learn, day one, that words CAN and DO hurt. I just think people need to be aware of the affect that the words they use have on everyone.
In any case, I really ought to get back to studying for spanish, sadly. I’ll let Hilary Duff take it from here… (click it, yo).
"Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes.
The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can praise them, disagree with them, quote them, disbelieve them, glorify or vilify them.
About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They invent. They imagine. They heal. They explore. They create. They inspire. They push the human race forward.
Maybe they have to be crazy.
How else can you stare at an empty canvas and see a work of art? Or sit in silence and hear a song that’s never been written? Or gaze at a red planet and see a laboratory on wheels?
While some see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do."
World, meet Augustus Gloop. Also known as my left middle finger. He earned his namesake from the fat kid in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, on an account that he’s fat, but in retrospect, I think Violet Beauregarde would’ve been more appropriate; she is fat AND blue.
Anyway, most of you are either a. gagging, b. wondering how I met Augustus or c. both. Well, it all began Friday night… I went to my friends Jess and Cathy’s room where we tried to come with our plans for the evening; it had been a pretty rough week (work-wise) and we were excited to go out.
I’ll make a disclaimer now: This was not the result of being drunk, on my part at least. I’m going to assume other parties involved were intoxicated.
We were trying to figure out our plans for the night and Jess and Cathy’s other roommate, Julia, mentioned a Jersey Shore party. I’m not too sure why, but we decided to go. And get dressed up. While we were dressing up, Jess joked that would get dressed up and not end up going… you can probably guess the ending.
So we go to a different party at The Circles, on-campus apartments were upperclassmen live. Aka not the Jersey Shore party. Aka I was wearing a cropped shirt for no reason.
It was a lot of fun and really crowded, so around 11:45, my friends and I go outside to get some air and I guess the people who lived there were nervous about the cops because they had just been yelling at everyone to be quiet, and were rushing people out the door.
They must’ve been in a serious rush, because my hand got closed in the door. And locked. I started screaming like crazy and my friends weren’t even sure what was going on, and I eventually got help opening the door. This kid, Craig, helped me get the door open and also held snow in his hands so I could “ice” my fingers and offered me a ride back to my dorm.
He eventually did drive me and my friend Jess back to my room-after I asked about a million times if he had anything to drink (Mom, aren’t you proud?) and he said no, of course. I then thanked him profusely.
I think we’re learned at a pretty young age how far a random act of kindness can go; I mean, who didn’t read The Giving Tree as a kid? If you didn’t, by the way, please go do that. Now. Stop reading this blog, it’s not as good. Anyway, at my camp, every Friday night, we had the chance to recognize people for their random acts of kindness. My senior year of high school, in my Facing History class, we had a homework assignment to do 5 random acts of kindness to 5 strangers. While I had this assignment, my friend Jesse told me to watch Pay It Forward… I’m still getting around to that.
Anyway, I know for myself, when I was going into this assignment it was hard; I was constantly on the look out for people to help. I was selfish and thought I’d do something wonderful for someone and feel great AND complete the assignment. Of course, anyone who has truly, selflessly helped someone understands that it’s really about the other person.
And last Friday, Craig was genuinely just trying to help me out. He had nothing in it for himself, no selfish intend or grade dependent on it. I think that it’s far too often that we forget how much a little bit goes a long way; we fail to appreciate how much someone can do for us by just going a little bit out of their way. It’s always good to get a little reminder that there still are really nice, caring people in the world… and it’s a nice reminder to be the better person, yourself.
It’s no secret that I have a fixation on fairy tales and princesses and things I’m way too old to enjoy; but I think I learned last Friday that being the damsel in distress isn’t as much fun as it looks. Anyway, I got an x-ray today, and the tip of my finger is broken; the doctor told me if I had to break any bone in my body, I picked a good one. Luckily, I’m a righty, so I don’t need my left hand THAT much and my violin career ended in fourth grade. Not to mention, I have nine functioning fingers. Come to think of it, I think the most painful part of the entire evening was the fact that I was wearing a cropped shirt, and didn’t end up going to a Jersey Shore party.
I was just going through my old USB from high school; I was looking for something specific and ended up finding so many other things from high school I had completlely forgotten about; like my creative writing folder. I hadn’t actually forgotten about any of these poems, I just thought they were gone forever and deleted from the South High School hard drive when I graduated.
I wrote this when I was in eleventh grade, and it isn’t about anyone specific; I just like it, I guess, and feel like sharing now because 11th-grade Carly would’ve preferred a slow, painful death to having to share her creative writing. And I have a place to share.
Anyway, I’m sorry in advanced that it’s ridiculously long… enjoy.
We’re in the woods, just as the sun begins to rise
This place you go where no one lives but no one dies
“Where are we?” the brave girl finally screams
all but one look away, too busy with their dreams
dreams that they’re close to breaking free
I turn to her to answer, but I spot another me
There I am, seven years old, frizz and braces glory
I want to look away. I never liked this story.
“Where are you going?” the selfish girl looks my way
“To, um” I want to tell her, but I don’t know what to say
Suddenly, the selfish girl spots her 8-year-old self too
Her jaw just drops, she doesn’t know what to do
The five of us each watch our own little clone
For once we all stop, we don’t want to be alone
“I think I got it,” the smart girl starts to explain
“I think we need to take a walk down this memory lane.”
We walk down the trail, never leave each other’s side
“Best friends forever” a little girl says, and she never lied
“I think maybe we should stay here for a while,
learn a thing or two,” I suggest with a smile.
“Where are we going,” the selfish girl asks again
I say, “I’m not sure, but I think I know the end.”
We are watching our friendship grow before our eyes
If we’re best friends, why is this love such a surprise?
Next we’re on to the preteen years, more vicious than ever
Maybe this is when our friendship saw the end of forever
We see the pre-teen mean one set her sunglasses down,
“I never got those back,” she now walks to them with a frown
the naïve girls says, “there’s a reason, even if you don’t understand.
Everything happens for a reason, life doesn’t go as planned.”
Next we see the mean girl pointing as she’s speaking
She knows our secrets, but it’s the brave girl’s she is leaking.
“I have a secret so big, it can ruin her whole life,”
we just witnessed backstabbing, all that’s missing is the knife.
The mean girl and the brave girl both suddenly get tense
“It’s alright,” in unison with me, I offer my twocents
Next we see ourselves, just like we are today
We are still curious, we walk towards the display
Each step we take, they also take a step nearer
Until we realize, we are looking into a giant mirror.
“This is just weird,” the selfish one says at last
the naïve girl says, “no, weird was long surpassed.”
“The entire time, we were just looking at the inner child,”
I suggest, “We are more like them, isn’t that just wild?”
“Let’s leave,” one says, her voice is far from clear
“We don’t know where we are,” one girls says with fear
we don’t know where we came from,” the mean one says
the selfish one adds, “Let’s see what becomes of our days!”
“No,” I insist and make them all stop talking
but they ignore me, and just continue walking
but the girl trips, falls straight to the floor
“Are you alright?” we all go to her side, that’s what friends are for.
“Yeah, I just tripped on something,” she says and looks around
she spots something and picks up old sunglasses off the ground
It happened for a reason, to make us all unite
To bad it took an injury to finally stop the fight
We all sat there, and reminisced on the memories we shared
No one is worried about where we are, no one i scared
“As soon as we’re out, you’ll get help,” one girl dared to say,
“As soon as we know where we are, we’ll be sure to find a way.”
“Who cares where we are, we were, or even what’s ahead,”
I say, “We should focus on how we got here instead.
Life’s not a place you end up—it’s a journey that never ends,
Complete with lessons, mistakes, and of course best friends.
So let’s just hope that one day the roads of our lives will collide,
Hold on tight, buckle up, and be ready: life can be a crazy ride.”
I’ve had a post sitting in my drafts for about a week now, but the idea has been sitting in my head for a lot longer. The reason I’ve failed to post it is because I didn’t know how to start it, or how to write it to sound perfect and exactly how I thought it. I wrote it without transitions, just kind of a random post with my random ideas everywhere. And you have to understand: as a writer, writing without transitions is like asking anyone to walk without their knees. It’s stiff and uncomfortable and I can’t do it.
But here it goes…
Irony. I’m a fan. I think that I’m funny and cynical enough that irony really pleases me; I think that, when achieved properly, it’s the perfect balance of comedy and tragedy that everyone can relate to. The reason I’m introducing this post with irony is because it’s ironic that I’m having trouble writing this; see, I’ve wanted, for a long time, to make a post about the two times I can significantly remember talking in front of people. And it’s ironic that I’m having trouble making this post because, as much as I love writing, those were probably the two things I had the hardest time writing. It wasn’t because I didn’t know what I was talking about or I didn’t know what I wanted to say. It’s because it was on two different extremely emotional-driven occasions, on two topics that extremely important to me and everyone that I was speaking to.
I wrote each piece a countless number of times, but I think I’m going to break my own record for writes and re-writes with this blog post. But, here goes nothing…
The first time I spoke in front of people was at Banquet my last summer at camp (as mentioned in my last post). It was something I had planned on doing since I was 8 years old; something I had written a million times over and over again. Yet, when it came down to it, I was up all night well into the morning it was due.
I was sure that was not going to get picked. After all, the odds were against me; first of all, there were 52 girls in my bunk. Second of all, I was writing it the night before-I wasn’t the best student at this point in my life, but I knew this wasn’t a good technique. And third of all, I was trying to put 7 years of memories, experiences, and growth into a short speech.
But, despite all that, my speech was chosen. I spend the next 24 hours crying that camp was over, and only smiling when someone had told me how much they liked my speech.
Don’t mind this ugly picture of me. It’s for effect. Please take notice of Dan Kagan observing in the background.
I actually knew what I had said meant something to other people, and wasn’t just me rambling all my emotions at two very distinguished times; the first was immediately after my bunk one summer, in tenth grade. Everyone had rushed up and put up their camp pictures and changed their status to something along the lines of “LEGENDS NEVER DIE!” “BUNK ONE 2006 FOREVER” “I MISS MY 52 SISTERS!” I’d be lying if I said I didn’t do the same.
I noticed something else, though. A bunch of girls added my quote to their facebook profiles under favorite quotes; the one I mentioned in my last post, “You can take the Angel out of Bryn Mawr, but you can’t ever take the Bryn Mawr out of the Angel.”
The second time was a long time after Bunk One, actually it was pretty recently. I went up to my camp this past summer (2009) to work for a weekend with potential campers. The current Bunk One, girls who were going into 7th grade when I was their age, were assigned to help me as “counselors.” It was towards the end of the summer, and one girl told me that they were working on their banquet speeches, if they so desired to write one.
“I still remember your speech; it was like my favorite speech ever, and it still gives me chills when I think about it.” One of the girls said to me, and then proceeded to quote my speech, from years earlier, almost line to line. I was shocked that anything I could’ve come up with could legitimately have that much impact on anyone.
The next time I spoke in front of a significant group of people was at my Poppop’s funeral. I asked my dad, maybe the day before, if it was alright if I could, and he said absolutely. I spent maybe the next 24 hours preparing something to say, but I rewrote it a million times over; actually I was still writing it on the way to the funeral.
I went up to the podium with my little brother, and squeezed his hand tightly as we looked out at our audience; it was all familiar faces, all eyes filled with tears, all people who had their attention on me. I was devastated already and now I was terrified. I went first, as the big sister, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel like a baby at that moment.
I cried my entire way through the speech, but I guess I was still clear enough for people to understand the words I was saying, because people complimented me after it. Mikey spoke, and I was so impressed; not only by his words but the confidence he must’ve had in that moment. After all, he was only 12.
Afterwards, after Mikey, my dad, my uncle and I all spoke and the service concluded, the rabbi came up to me and told me how nice it was. He asked me how old I was and I told him I was 17 and a senior in high school. Then he asked me if I knew what I wanted to study and I told him journalism, he then replied by telling me that it was a good choice, I clearly was passionate about writing. I was flattered, of course, because I think when someone compliments you on something you really care about and work hard on, it’s more meaningful than something you just have-like looks. Plus, I sort of felt like a character in some sort of mythical, coming of age story. I just felt like having a rabbi or any other religious or spiritual leader compliment you and pursue you to follow your dreams is something out of a fiction story. But I digress…
The point is, I realized that making both those speeches, especially the one at my Poppop’s funeral, were a once in a lifetime chance and I’d have to do. I’d never have another chance to tell everyone how much camp changed my life or how wonderful my Poppop was. When I look back on my life, those were two of my hardest moments; not only was I talking about this that were so upsetting and so important to me, but also I don’t like public speaking. But, interestingly, those were also two of my proudest moments; first of all, I came over one of my biggest fears, which is talking to a large group. But I got to share wonderful memories about two things that are really important to me and who I am as a person.
And, well, if you ask me… that sounds a whole lot like a whole lot of irony. :)
…I’m ACTUALLY bothering to write this post again. That’s right, I wrote this already (it was slightly different, of course) and it was deleted. And I’m actually writing it all over again because I love camp that much. Camp is really up there in my favorite things in the world; right next my family, peanut m&m’s, laughing and Joe Jonas. It’s a pretty exclusive list.
I’m in love with this commercial. Are you allowed to be in love with a commercial? I’m not sure, but this goes up there with my favorite commercials ever (among this also exclusive list: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mYNFX2QLGWM try not to judge me). Anyway, the reason I love this commercial so much (the one about camp, not the slightly obnoxious Chevy one) is because it’s so true.
I’m a friend, a daughter, a sister, a student, a journalist, a princess (just checking to see if you’re reading, just kidding I totally am), a jew, a listener, a writer, a reader and about a million other things I can categorize myself into. But importantly, I’m a camper. More than that, I’m an angel.
I went to Lake Bryn Mawr Camp for seven summers, the best seven summers of my life. There I learned more about my world and all the people around me than I could’ve ever intended. There are even often times I find myself thinking of camp in situations that could not be more unrelated. I made a speech on the last night of camp during my last summer as a camper; something somewhat out of character for me, since I hate public speaking. But I had confidence at camp that I couldn’t have gained anywhere else and I spoke of things I was so passionate about that I don’t think anyone else could’ve understood.
As I stood there, making a speech I promised myself I’d make 7 years earlier, I concluded with, “You can take the angel out of Bryn Mawr, but you can’t ever take the Bryn Mawr out of the angel.” And now, another 4 years and countless lessons on chiasmi later, I realize that this still holds entirely true.
So, I decided to write up a few things I would include if I were featured in the ACA commercials.
Because of camp, I am not afraid to be myself. To this day, I still consider myself sort of shy (I know all the people who know me who are reading this are laughing right now are laughing, stop). However, when I was younger it was a lot worse. But at camp, I was always in situations where I was comfortable with people I was comfortable to be around, and therefore I started to appreciate that people will appreciate you more if you open and just be yourself.
Because of camp, I met my best friends in the entire world. I went to an all girls camp—it may sound like hell to some people but it was perfect for me. I may not have gone to meet my husband, but I know I definitely met my bridesmaids. The friendships I formed at camp are the friendships that mean the most to me today. I’m not sure you can TRULY appreciate this unless you have camp friends, but Jordan and Jenny, my best friends from camp, know that they are more like sisters to me than friends.
Because of camp, I learned that spirit isn’t just needed to get a better color war break and it doesn’t just matter when you’re at camp or a sporting events. It’s an attitude and a state of mind. I’m guilty of some pretty bad cliches, and to other people, this may very well be the worst. But it’s true. If everyone in the world can maintain the patience, positivity, optimism and enthusiasm that we had when we were in bunk one, I’m sure the world could be a better place.
Because of camp, I learned that your “home” doesn’t have to mean your house and your “family” isn’t always your mom and dad or brothers and sisters. Home can be anywhere were you feel that love and comfort and your family can be anyone who provides it. I’m so lucky that I have two amazing, loving families and homes; one in Long Island, and another in the Poconos.
Because of camp, I am me. I don’t know who I would be today without those 7 summers. And quite frankly, I’d be scared to find out.
From the outside looking in you can’t understand it, but from the outside looking in your can’t explain. I think that explains camp (as well as my friendships from camp) pretty nicely, so I’m going use this quote to justify this post to anyone who didn’t go to camp and thinks I’m a crazy person. However, I’ll also include: if you did go to camp, I hope you understand. If you’re still going to camp, you have no idea just how jealous I am. And, most importantly, if you are young enough that you can still start camp: GO GO GO GO! :)
So this week I was finally back at school, which explains my lack of posting. Not that I was ever posting so prolifically, it’s still an explained hiatus.
Well, my grand adventure back to school began on Saturday. I’m going to make a long story short (mostly because I don’t quit understand the details and as a journalist… the only thing worse than being vague is being wrong) and just tell you that around 10:45 Saturday night, a warning light came on in my car and shortly thereafter, my dad pulled off the highway to some random exit and the car instantly died.
Almost immediately, a man pulled up behind our car and asked if we needed any help. I think my family and I tried to be as appreciative as possible about the kindness of this man, but when you’re on the side of the road 4 hours from home, it’s easier to be cynical and skeptical of strangers. He took a look at the engine and helped my dad push the car (we were a matter of yards away from a gas station) but this all proved to be useless. Eventually, he drove back (to his home, presumably) and came back with tow ropes and drove his car while pulling our car into the gas station.
There, my dad asked the people at the ExMart if we could leave the car overnight, or at least until we had something figured out and they let us; the girl at the counter even offered my dad the name of one of her friends who works with a tow company. And Jeremy, the guy who pulled the car, called a cab. My dad and I were working the internet on our phones trying to find a local rental car place, when someone in the ExMart overheard our predicament and told us they all close at 11, even on Saturdays. He knew this because he worked for the cab company, but in exchange for delivering us that disappointing news, he did call the dispatcher of the cab, and they came almost immediately after that.
Our cab came and I piled my entire life in that car (mind you, I was driving back after being home for 5 weeks!). My parents kept saying afterwards that our cabdriver looked like something out of Deliverance. I’ve never seen it, but I don’t think I want to.
We were about 20 minutes outside of Binghamton when this all went down, so he took us to a La Quinta (so exotic) in Binghamton. There, my parents finally took a deep breath and were able to laugh about the whole situation, which I was sort of doing the whole time.
The next day, my dad rented a car and drove the rest of the way from Binghamton to Ithaca, roughly an hour. They dropped off my stuff and took me to WalMart and Wegmans and then went back to the car. They didn’t go back home until Monday night (my poor baby brother) and I’m not really too sure what is going on with the car since I last left it on the side of the road. All I know is that in a few weeks, my parents are going to have to drive back up to Binghamton and get it. And that it’s a sensitive subject at the moment.
So, this wasn’t really a short story, I guess. I was originally going to write about my classes, but I guess I’ll make another post for that.
This whole situation was pretty reminiscent of when my parents and I drove down to Maryland with the same car and got a flat tire and didn’t have a spare. Then too, my dad had to go off with some sketchy looking dude while my mom and I waited on the side of the road; well, actually, we sat in a Toll Plaza…
This time we were obviously sure to have a spare tire, but that clearly didn’t matter. My parents teased me that they never get into these kind of adventures with Manda or Mikey, but I just reminded them that that’s why some day, I’m going to have a better memoir than them. ;)
