harvard psa.

I was at a conference at Harvard this past weekend where we talked about political engagement among students. I'll go into more detail later, but for now I wanted to share our PSA which we threw together in, oh, about 15 minutes from beginning to end. I really like the script so am hoping we can recreate it back on campus with a higher quality.

Campus Voices | View Content

happy birthday cakes.

I, like many people in this world, don't always love my job.

Scooping ice cream. Getting dirty. Washing dishes. Mopping floors. It's the perfect job for a student, I suppose. The kind of job that gives you a reason to study hard and dream big.

However, there is one thing about working at an ice cream store that I absolutely LOVE. (And no, the novelty of free ice cream wore off four years ago...)

Ice Cream Birthday Cakes.

On nights that I'm lucky, I can occupy my time filling cake orders. I think that there is something really special about being able to make someone's birthday cake. Not only is it a cake for celebration, but it is one that they will remember all year. It is usually a gift -- so somehow, for making it, I feel like I am giving too. Ice cream cakes are particularly memorable because they break the mold of the everyday boring grocery store sheet cakes that have become the staple at children's birthday parties.

As I ice the frozen confection, I imagine what the recipient of the cake is like. Did the person who filled the cake order choose the right flavor of ice cream? Ohh... what if they don't like ice cream? Or worse ... a lactose-intolerant!

By the time I get to choosing the color for the trim, I check the name that the cake is for. Typical but nice names, like John, Sarah and David, get the Electric Blue. Traditional girls names like Susan, Ashley or Wendy get the Baby Pink. Names that sound like they are of old people -- Wallace, Marie, Bob and Fred -- Asparagus Green. If I like the name, like Lily, Hannah, Landon or Beckett -- I give them my favorite color, Golden Yellow.

The inscribing is the best part. With a big, fat circle tip I write HAPPY BIRTHDAY in uppercase block letters. By this time I've usually gone on to dreaming of what the person will think when they are presented with my cake. I always hope for, "Wow! How lovely!" and wish not "Hmm... looks a little rough around the edges..."

After the sprinkles have been artfully strewn and the box assembled, I place my work of art back in the freezer where it will wait until it's picked up. As I set the cake down I always think to myself, "Happy Birthday John! I hope it's a good one..."

Really. I do.

a relationship with joy.

And life is eternal;
and love is immortal;
and death is only a horizon;
and a horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.

On Tuesday I attended the memorial service of my last grandparent, my mother’s mother – Joyce Barbara Harris Hubert Sexton. It was held in Denver, Colorado – a beautiful and free spirited place, that truly suited the kind of person she was.

It is odd to me that through her death, I feel closer to her than I ever felt to her during her life. Somehow, as my family members sat around drinking beer and telling the many wild stories about my grandmother, I was able to derive an image of her that I have been seeking for many years.

Throughout my life, I have always felt slightly gypped in the grandparent department. To start with, both of my grandfathers passed before my birth. My grandmothers were always in states so distant, that trips were rare. Phone calls also were infrequent, and generally only consisted of the kinds of surface level questions that grandparents always ask – how is school? What did you do yesterday? What’s your favorite subject?

As I entered college I started to feel as though I was missing out on something in having such a small relationship with my grandmother. Knowing that phone calls would never really let us get to know each other, I wrote her a letter. It was a long letter, that said more than I normally would tell. I signed it “Write Back! Olivia.”

I don’t know why, but my grandmother never did. I assume she just read my plea as just another way to sign a letter. I know that her non-response was not intentional. But – I decided that I had tried, and perhaps Joy and I weren’t destined to be best friends.

This past Tuesday, as I heard stories about her, I couldn’t help but to learn how much we had in common all along. She was so interesting, and had so many stories to tell. Though she was always reserved to tell them – I can’t help but wish I had tried harder.

my place in the sun.

Good Morning August.

Happy Birthday Mom.

It is hard to believe that the last of the summer months has come. It feels like only days ago that I arrived in Stroudsburg in my Honda – the trunk and backseat brimming with whatever I could get to fit. Hauling my laundry baskets and boxes up into the corner bedroom of Turning Point made me reminisce about moving into a dorm. My first night was lonely. I took to the back porch to admire the view, and ended up plowing through the new David Sedaris book in short time.

But now, just weeks later, I feel at home in this strange place. For the first time in a long time I’ve taken time to be by myself. Though I’ve made friends here, I still spend most of my evenings reading, writing, dancing, cooking or – when I’m feeling just so – watching a movie. In a way, my time here has been like a private retreat. I’ve made progress on my personal journey to wherever it is I’m heading. Happiness? Success? Death? Nobody really knows. But we’ve all got our eyes on the horizon in preparation for what’s next.

I’ve learned that I am the type of person who gets attached to the experiences I encounter. I think back to the days of summer camp, when my ride home was full of tears and throat clenching pains. I suppose not much has changed, because I’ve never met an experience I didn’t like. Well… OK … I guess I would have been happy missing out on that awful haircut. But when it comes to the places I go, and the people I meet, I’m hooked. I feel as though I could fit in just about anywhere – which really, ultimately, makes me feel like I may never find that one place where things are perfect enough to stop.

storm sleep.

I was awoken last night around 4 a.m. to bolts of lighting crossing the sky and the crack and growl of thunder so loud I could feel it. Looking out my window, over the valley below was the darkest of nights that I've seen here so far. Yet, when the lightning flashed, the entire valley was illuminated in neon white. It almost had a heavenly glow.

I closed my windows. I put on a pair of socks. Tucking myself into bed I thought of how lovely it is to be able to sleep while such chaos unravels beyond my window. In the earth's most violent moments, I enjoyed the most peaceful of mine. And yet, when the sun came up today, long after the storm had passed, my violence returns and our turbulent lives march on.

how to make cupcakes.

In anticipation for one of my co-workers birthday's, I decided to bake some cupcakes as a gesture of friendship, and to show off my awesome baking skills. After a few minutes in the cake mix aisle at Mr. Z's, I settled on "Golden Vanilla" cake with "Original Chocolate" Icing. You can't really go wrong right?

Well, all was going well until I got home and found that the kitchen in which I'm living has few of the necessary cupcake baking supplies. And so, a how to guide for you.

HOW TO BAKE CUPCAKES IN AN UNDER-EQUIPPED KITCHEN.

STEP 1. Get creative and find a container large enough to hold your batter. A Coffee pot. A sauce pan. A metal flour container. Or even a pitcher ... these are all legitimate options.





Step 2. I know you might be used to an electric mixer, but you're roughing it, so you're going to have to suck it up without it. Grab a spoon and stir like you've never stirred before. And get rid of those clumps now, nobody wants a lumpy cake.


Step 3. Quality control. Take a little taste and make sure everything has come out right. Remember that wine tasting course you took. Consider the texture, the sweetness, where the cake hits your tongue. You might want to rake air over the cake to allow its natural flavors to be released. And whatever you do, do not swallow. That's just tacky.


Step 4. Now is the part where your container selection plays a vital role. Pitcher & Coffee Pot > Sauce pan & Flour container. If your container has a handle, get to pouring. If it doesn't, you made some bad choices along the way -- wash that spoon to get rid of your germs and start ladling.

Oh, and in case you were wondering. Your kitchen definitely does not have cupcake pans. Make sure you buy some aluminum ones at the store. You get 15 cents off if you choose ones decorated with an American Flag.


Step 5. Bake. But watch your cupcakes constantly. You set the temperature to 350, but you never really know how hot this oven is. It's burned your popadums before.






Now stop reading, and start baking!

personality paradox.

Last year I posted this…

February 24, 2007

I believe that everybody has a couple adjectives by which they can be defined. These words weave together to paint a loose picture of the person – something like a poorly contrived watercolor painting. Though details are indefinite, shapes and figures can still be perceived. Picture a Matisse painting that has been sitting in the rain for a few hours ... or stare at a bright light for 10 seconds then close your eyes – paying close attention to the floating neon shapes. Yes, somehow in my imagination these blurry images can represent the foundation of a personality. Don't ask me how. Just go with it.

I don’t know if it is my time here in London, or the natural growth of self – but I am beginning to wonder if the adjectives that I had chosen as mine are still valid. Is my definition of self supposed to be the true person I am, or an idealistic person I aspire to be? One one hand I want to pursue an idealistic sense of self. But on the other hand, I wonder if I am neglecting parts of my personality that I should be embracing. Is “me” good enough? Or should I keep working at being “better than me”?

I realize that this is not the most interesting post. In fact, no matter how I phrase my sentences, it really is quite confusing. But here is the carry-home message: I am thinking... a lot... about who I am and what I want to be. I am at an extraordinary point in my life where I have an incredible amount of control over my future. If I wanted to, I could change my major and alter where I will be in 5 years completely. It is an uncomfortable amount of power that I’m not quite sure what to do with.

In short, every decision that I make today will play into my life 50 years from now.

No pressure.

I have now decided that I was completely wrong.

Thus, my new post:

The optimist. The wit. The prep. The geek. The rebel. The tomboy. The oxford chic. The self-conscious. The proud. The ambitious. The wandering. The American. The youngster. The wild.

I have always defined myself by the opinions of others. In their fleeting experience with me, I earn an adjective. It is impossible to summarize a personality in a few words, but we all do it with each new acquaintance. It’s like somehow a few words are enough to map an entire person.

But truly, adjectives will never come close to capturing the complexities of the human personality. We are ever-changing. We are temperamental. We are phony. We are honest. If one word was ever given the task of encompassing a personality, it could only be “infinite.”

I decided, about two weeks ago, to stop thinking about my adjectives – and to stop thinking about the adjectives of others.

Maybe, we can just allow each other to be infinite and enjoy the ride instead.