Fall Break Recap

HEY I WENT TO TEXAS. It was fantastic.

Fall Break started with my 8 AM circuits lab, which usually makes me want to flip a lid but this week we were dealing with combinatorial logic - easily my favorite topic in all of circuit theory. It didn't hurt that we were able to finish lab in under the allotted 3 hours. My flight to San Antonio made a pit stop at DFW, and it was trying to sit so close to home for an hour or so without being able to get there. I got over it, though, once I boarded the flight for San Antone and the grooviest brother around. I'll try to refrain from singing his praises too much, so I don't make him blush, but he was waiting at the airport to pick me up before I even got there, took me straight to downtown San Antonio, and directed us to world famous Tex-Mex. Street vendors around the restaurant were peddling all sorts of Mexican wares, so the only obvious course of action was for us to try on multiple goofy hats and purchase the best as finishing touches on our ACL hipster ensembles, and then wear them until we got back to his apartment, right? Right. The night was still young at that point, though, so for good measure we got our minds blown by Looper and ate snuck-in sweetbreads in the theater. Actually sweet breads, as in pastries, not sweetbreads as in animal organs. There was a little confusion on this front, but we cleared it up. (Can I just say hallelujah for the advent of the smartphone? Innumerable are the times that I mention some offhand, unnecessary trivia that can only be validated by on the spot googling.)

Then the next day was ACL Day. Oh, glorious day. After a morning of music videos on the Youtube and an extremely successful trip to the HEB, we met up with some of Brandon's law school friends (who all happen to be wildly attractive ladies. props, Yo-Man) and caravanned down to weird old Austin, just in time for some more Tex-Mex before hitting Zilker Park. Now, I've had a POA for this day since the minute the schedule was released, opting for quality over quantity. So I saw Andrew Bird, The Shins, and Jack White. Ermehgehrdness I loved every minute of it. Andrew Bird was a whistling, violin strumming treat. The Shins were amazing, per usual. And Jack White was unbelievable. He's kind of my hero, and I was about 10 yards from the front of the crowd, right in the thick of things. Not only did he play stuff from his recent solo album, he also played gems from the Raconteurs and the White Stripes. Seven Nation Army, y'all. Live. I was in dorky Jack White lover heaven. Seriously, though, I could go on and on concerning that man. I'll spare y'all. All throughout the day we were subjected to short, albeit torrential, downpours, which just made the whole thing more fun and memorable in my opinion. Due to the rain, I didn't come away with too many pictures. Though I've also tried to stop focusing on picture taking at concerts in order to really enjoy the moment. I hardly ever go back and look at them, so what's the point?

Replete with live music, we filled our bellies with some Whataburger before settling in for the night. The next morning we breakfasted at a diner before parting ways, law students off to study for torts and yours truly passed into the able hands of my parents for the journey east. Where I got to Don Juan's as soon as possible. Then I exercised my power of being an exhausted college student home for a short break. And by that I mean I asked my mom to go to Hastings for me because I was really in the mood for a period drama. YOLO. She brought me Jane Eyre. I want to be Jane Eyre. I want to watch this movie every second for the rest of my life. It was great. The next day, because it would be silly to actually take a break on my break, I undertook to make a t-shirt quilt with my middle school t-shirts. I managed to finish the quilt top and starting the actual quilting before running out of time and thread. Something to look forward to for Thanksgiving, I suppose. That night I got to spend time with my practically sister. We are scarily similar and I love it. She helped me make a tutu for my Halloween costume at our family dinner without batting an eye. This is especially impressive when you consider the fact that "costume" wasn't at all mentioned in the proposition, which went sort of like this: "Will you help me make a tutu?" "Sure."

In short, I love live music, I love Jack White, I love my family, I love food, I love Texas, I love home. Let's do this again sometime, ok, Texas?

These Streets Remind me of Quicksand

Yesterday afternoon some friends and I decided to go hiking. We decided to go hiking at the same time that everyone else in Atlanta decided to go to the Braves game. T R A F F I C. Thank goodness these newfangled GPS thingies do not run on Apple Maps and can actually get you where you want to go, even sporting handy "Avoid All Possible Traffic" features. Now, avoiding all possible traffic is not the same thing as avoiding all possible ghettos. I know this because our route took us through a bit of a shady neighborhood. But here's the thing, y'all: it felt like home. So far, the majority of my Atlanta sketchiness exposure has been limited to big city stuff, which is not anything you'll ever see in Tyler, Texas. This adventure, however, had me feeling like I was in North Tyler, crusin' down Gentry. I can't explain it, but that just made me feel so at home and at peace. Odd, I know. Completely unplanned, we came across a rickety shack touting Atlanta's Best Burgers. It was Ann's Snack Bar. GHETTO BURGERS, Y'ALL. These burgers are legendary, meaning we couldn't very well just pass up the opportunity, could we? So we walked in, occupied four of the ten bar stools (when all ten are full, no one else is allowed to come in the building - it's serious stuff), and sat there until the cook was ready to take our order and grill up our Ghetto Burgers. Goodness gracious, they were delicious. And after the tiny detour we got back on our quest to Arabia Mountain, which is actually less mountain more monadnock, where we walked in and around the old quarries until the sun set. So, here's to new adventures, to exploring more of what Atlanta has to offer, to eating Ghetto Burgers, to being outdoorsy chic, and to going to bed by 9:45 on a Friday night. Sometimes, life is alright.

clever and catchy

It's time to play "What's Been Hanging Out in Molly's Backpack". I did a clean out of my front backpack pocket this week, then made a mental note to do clean outs more often. Here's what I found: Ayn Rand's Anthem, my beloved TI-Nspire, koozie wrapped camera, letters from home, nuclear wallet card, Tide-To-Go I got from Madi for high school graduation with the original message, 2 forks borrowed from the Student Center food court, toothbrush and floss, Burt's Bees cuticle cream, headphones, headband, orange, camera cord, crossword puzzles, planner, GTL emergency phone numbers, Swiss army knife, Burt's Bees lip balm, two pink erasers, a plethora of pens, Kleenex, ibuprofen, two USB drives, two packs of gum, Ricola, a Russian Earl Grey teabag, and a TAZO chai teabag being used as a bookmark. Impressive, no?

*not pictured: lots of various trash

On an unrelated note, I spent a good amount of class time this morning perusing Bing images of Vladimir Putin and puppies. Then I toyed with the idea of not telling that to anyone ever. But just look!

Friday Five

Five Things That I am Sort of Super Proud Of.

5. My vanilla-hazelnut coffee blend: this is by no means anything cool or impressive. I just really really like Einstein Bros. vanilla hazelnut coffee and the departure of the Einstein Bros. from our student center was really cramping my style this year. So I decided it was time to put on my big girl pants and make my own coffee. For the first time. (Call me a princess, but I just sort of assumed that someone else would make my coffee for me for my whole life. That dream is done.) So, basically, all of this is to say that I'm really proud of the fact that I can buy Folgers brand vanilla and hazelnut flavored coffee grounds and mix them together. It's a big deal to me, alright?

4. My heritage: everyone knows I'm from Texas. I make sure of that. I love it, and I am all kinds of proud to be from the greatest nation in the world. And every time you talk about this "Six Flags" you have here in Georgia, I will tell you the origin of the park and the meaning of it's name and list all six flags in order of appearance, regardless of if I've told you before or not. More important than where I come from, though, is who I come from - I am proud as all get out of my family and the values that they have passed down from generation to generation that make me who I am. The majority of my jewelry is heirloom, passed down from my mom and grandma, and I love that it reminds me of the great women who wore it before me and the loving men that gifted it to them.

3. My bookshelf: not to brag, but it's pretty ballin'. I take tons and tons of pictures of my various books/bookshelves, trying (usually failing) to be artsy and cool and Madi. A girl can dream.

2. My babies: I got the mom gene pretty hard. (Not to be confused with mom jeans. I try to stay away from those.) I like to take care of people, then I get really proud of them when they turn out AWESOME under my tutelage. The kids I led in small groups at church, my confirmation kiddos, my 6th 7th grade girls (they grow up so fast!), my EL babies; they all make me so proud that I want to burst and tell everyone "I know them! I know them!"

1. This here little blag: starting off, I never imagined anyone other than my parents and grandparents (and probably the mahjong ladies) would read my incoherent thoughts. Then I came to a technical institute and my incoherent thoughts became more than just a hobby, they became a necessity. I'm proud to have retained this appreciation of words and the freedom of language at a stage in my life where accuracy and numbers and computers and formulas and proficiency are considered "the most important thing".

0. My God: I belong to Him? *brushes shoulders off*

What are you proud of?

Average Everyday Happenings

Welp, today was a doozy, folks.

I strategically placed my four-legged alarm clock so that I would be sure to wake up this morning after going to bed late last night on top of recovering from being sick. Because, you know, every other morning, when I don't particularly want to be pestered awake at 5 AM, I am without fail. I woke up this morning at 8, an hour later than I intended, the four-legged alarm clock still sleeping peacefully beside me. What is this witchcraft. So that left me with an uncomfortable time interval with which to finish my homework, dress, eat breakfast, do hair and make-up, and get to my 9 AM class. So I went to class pretty much exactly how I woke up, but with almost completed homework! And, wouldn't you know, the apple I grabbed for breakfast was mealy, so I threw it away along my route to class. After class I headed to the library to finish writing my lab report that was due that afternoon, and ended up not finishing before having to go to my next class. But then I saw one of my very favorite goobers in the world and gave him TWO birthday hugs and it was awesome. I stopped by the student center on my way to class to pick up a quick lunch and, heaven help me, could not simply pass by the Wacky Wednesday table where people were handing out free popcorn. (I saw an episode of Good Eats once where Alton Brown talked about cavemen eating popcorn, so I'm going to consider it paleo. Chyeah!) Also on the table were individually wrapped candies and toys. Who wraps toys? Who wraps plastic toys that look like gummi bears? Who displays wrapped plastic toys that look like gummi bears in the same pile that contains wrapped candies? I picked up a plastic scotty dog and asked if it was edible. The popcorn guy laughed at me and said he guessed it could be, but he wouldn't suggest it. I decided to make like a tree and leave. So I get to class, where I am approached by a guy I have never spoken to before. "I feel like I have an eyelash or something in my eye. It's felt this way for about two days." And he looked expectantly at me, like I was about to provide the cure to his eye dilemma. Instead, I asked if he had "dug around in there" to try and get it out.

"Yeeeah...I tried that but it still feels like something's there..."
"Uhh, ok, well, do you normally wear contacts?"
"No, I have astigmatism."
"Ok, well, I would just wait a few more days, and, ummm, I guess if it doesn't get any better you can go to the health center and they'll rub a piece of paper on your eye and tell you if you've scratched your cornea or if you just have an infection and then give you some eye drops." (Not that that has ever happened to me or anything...P.S. exhaustion leads to oversharing when you're Molly Cook.)
"Alright. Well, how expensive are contacts?"

And we continued to discuss the benefits of contacts versus spectacles until class started. Now, here at Georgia Tech we have representation for every species of nerd. I'd peg this guy as a "I Love Video Games But Only if They're Not Too Violent My Mom Dressed Me Until I Came to College". This is pure speculation, but here is how I imagine his thought process: "Man, my eye hurts. What do I do? Normally I would ask my mom. But my mom isn't here...but my mom IS a girl. Maybe I should ask...a girl. Do I know any girls? Hmmm. Not really. I know, I'll ask that one!"

Then during class I spent the majority of my time laughing at my own joke that I sent via text message to two of muh girlz. After class I continued to work on the lab report up until it was time to head to lab, where we pushed a button for an hour. Seriously. Radiation Detection is not as cool as it sounds. I headed to Chorale afterwards and nothing exciting really happened until the end, when a little scrubby guy came up to me, gave me an impressive stinkeye, then proceeded to say - I kid you not -

"This might be the weirdest thing anyone has ever said to you. [dramatic pause] I feel like you are what I would look like...you know, if I were a girl...and a little taller. But I'm not sure. I don't really look at myself in the mirror much."

To which I said, "That is amazing. Thank you for sharing that with me." And my day was instantly the best day in the history of the universe.

Then I went to Marksmanship Club and held a lot of guns, and called my grandparents to tell them I had held lots of guns, and my day was instantly even more the best day in the history of the universe.

Another Way to be Weird

Hi, my name is Molly, and I'm a nonconformist.

Hiiii Mawwwwlly.

Except going to a support group would be what all the other nonconformists were doing, so I'd probably steer clear. But at least I can admit it now. Up until a few years ago, I'd deny anyone who suggested that I might be "nonconformist" because I didn't want to be labelled. Yeah, High School Molly was that girl, alright? And skinny jeans just fit my body better, alright? And Conor Oberst is a master lyricist, alright?

...ahem. Well, this week has been the start of a grand nonconformist experiment disguised as a health conscious life decision - I have started following the "Paleo Diet", which really isn't a diet, per se, so don't freak out. I heard about the diet in a couple different places, did a lot of research, and found it to be a really neat approach to making healthy decisions. My dad has been eating gluten-free for about a year and a half now, which I think gave me a good starting point for making the transition, as the whole premise of the lifestyle is to return to what our bodies are made to eat. This means no wheat or other grains, dairy, legumes, sugar, processed/packaged foods, etc. So basically, anything that normal college kids eat is out. And there it is. The true motivation. The driving force behind this harebrained scheme of mine. And I ain't afraid to admit it. Eating paleo makes me different, and I like that.

But Molly, if you can't eat bread or pasta or cheese or milk or Greek yogurt or granola or peanut butter or tortilla chips or chocolate, what do you eat? I figured my hypothetical reader would ask this question, so I took the liberty of designing this highly scientific food pyramid which suits my paleo lifestyle better than the accepted standard.

 I eat a lot of vegetables. I also eat lean meats, eggs, fruits, and almonds. It's only been four days, so I can't really pinpoint any results or benefits quite yet, except for the fact that I've had to become more creative with what I eat and cook. In and of itself, that's already enough of a positive outcome for me to be glad I gave paleo a whirl. (I've also been in sickness prevention mode, which means at least three cups of tea daily. Plus there are some fantastic teas out there that can handle sweets cravings.)

So, yeah. I don't have any time frame or plans for permanence. I'm thinking at least a week or two of strict paleo, then I'll probably reintroduce some things like popcorn and chocolate and freedom at restaurants. This may or may not have anything to do with paleo, but I've been craving pancakes everyday this week, which I rarely ever think of on a regular basis. Now you know.

booksandbooksandbooks

I've spent countless hours thinking about goals for this semester/year. Some are silly, some are serious, some benefit me, some benefit others, some are big, some are small. Given my track record on things like new years' resolutions and diets that perpetually start tomorrow, I'm working extra hard to follow through on these goals. I guess you could call it a goal to achieve my goals...

Anyway, one of the most prevalent things I think of over and over again is the fact that I want to do stuff. I've been living in Atlanta, a super cool city, for two years now and I feel like I haven't even scratched the surface of all that's available to do. Cue this morning's excursion to the Decatur Book Festival with the roomie. It was a Molly Cook dream come true. There were books, authors, and giant crossword puzzles everywhere. And I got a Michael Jackson paper doll fo' free. Step one on my journey to do stuff: complete.

So here's to book festivals, and here's to this blag keeping me accountable for reaching my goals.

Friday Five

Five Things Without Which I Could Not Survive the First Week of Class.

5. Pilot G2 07's in every color and Black Pilot Precise V5's: I write my notes in pen, no pencils. (Except for math classes but those are OVER!) Without these pens I would have no notes, because I am one of those people who will write on looseleaf and recopy everything before writing in the same notebook with a different pen.

4. iPhone: so I can check email and Twitter without having to go through the arduous task of opening a laptop. Really, though, it's extremely convenient to have everything I need at my fingertips. I'm also one of those people who has to have closure with any and every question, so I look up a lot of random stuff on the interwebz to either prove points or satisfy general curiosity. And wouldn't you know it, this thing even calls people!

3. Tea: I drink it caffeinated in the morning to wake up and herbal at night to wind down. My quality of life is significantly better when tea is involved.

2. Chacos: worn 4 out of 5 days this first week. How else am I expected to truck across campus comfortably AND stylishly?

1. Wristwatch: call me old-fashioned, but I just love wearing my watch(es). I know I can check the time on my phone, but I much prefer using a watch. These handy tickers keep my world running on time.

Round Six

"Wait...you're taking quantum mechanics for funzies?"
"No, I needed to fill some hours and it might or might not count as an elective."
"So...you're taking quantum mechanics for funzies?"
"Ohhh my gosh, I think I am."

I kind of dig physics. This semester, my course load has finally been whittled down to where I'm mainly taking classes that I want and no longer trudging through basics - wut wut. That means I'm taking radiation detection/detection lab, a special topics class on reactor materials, quantum mechanics, heat transfer, and circuits lab. So far, I've been to everything but the labs. Here are my impressions:

Radiation Detection: my professor is disappointingly normal. He's just a very normal guy.
Reactor Materials: return of the Deo! This class is taught by the same professor I had for radiation physics last semester. He wears clothes that are, on average, 3x too big, usually unmatched, and always disheveled. He has also been known to sport the jean jacket on occasion. (Last year I tried to start a betting pool on what he'd be wearing each day, but it didn't catch on. So I just betted myself in my head.)
Quantum Mechanics: this class is full of physics majors. As in, I was one of four girls and the average hair length was still shoulder-length. Mhmm. The professor is from somewhere foreign and slightly resembles a mermaid from Harry Potter, but only in the face. His grading policy for homework included, "You need an answer. It doesn't need to be the right answer, but you need an answer."
Heat Transfer: imagine the most monotone British voice imaginable. Then imagine that voice talking about conduction, convection, and radiation. We were assigned watching water boil and making a cup of tea for homework. I'm not quite sure how serious that was, but I sure did it.
In general: this is the first semester that I am not that girl walking around almost in tears on the first day. Represent! I still have yet to start a semester without hearing about the double slit experiment in at least one class. I gave someone directions to a building, and they were the right directions. My killer ultrabook is the envy of everyone who sees it.

Non-classwise, the first of the semester has included lots of Target/Walmart runs, dance parties, Tangled watching, tea drinking, staying up way too late, bulletin board pinning, Hamlet re-reading, embroidering, and wishing that this wealth of free time could last all semester.

No More Toshiba

Chances are, if you've ever spoken with me, you've heard me complain about my computer. Not that it was particularly awful or anything, I just liked to complain about it. Well, after about six months of an increasingly more frequent blinking white screen, the display on the ittle Toshiba has finally tuckered out. For a few weeks or so I used a television as an external monitor, which was kind of awesome but slightly impractical. Now I have a killer ultrabook. Watch out, world. There's only one problem: in my back to school packing haste I failed to install Photoshop on the new machine. Needless to say, Imma need that before schoolwork starts picking up and I have things to procrastinate for. (procrastinate from? procrastinate on?) The good thing about this is that I still get to be in adventure mode for the time being, because if the blag says it, it's got to be true.

I have had a few back to school adventures, like unpacking! and rearranging furniture! and hanging posters! and shopping at IKEA!

And for your reading pleasure, here are some articles that have intrigued me recently:
eReaders
Postcards (I wish I had read this before going to France.)

Study for Hrothgar

I found this beautiful story on the interwebz. It's all about two extremely smart, witty, and good looking roommates who started a campaign during their Dead Week. They pledged to devote all of their time to studying for finals and really learning class material, making up for those nights earlier in the semester spent torrenting movies and learning dance moves on YouTube, in order to bounce back from a few undesirable scores and end the semester with stellar grades. And what better to rally around than the idea of a sweet, tender, loving, pet? After several phone calls with one of the amazing roommate's amazing mother, they had spoken promise that if grades were delivered, the two could MAYBE get a kitten for their apartment next year. "Maybe" was all these motivated and incredibly stylish women required: days were spent in the same positions in their living room, working practice problems and making flashcards, stopping only every once in a while to practice the Wop or belt out Broadway classics. When such motivated and clever young ladies put their minds to something, things work out. This case was no different. Grades were delivered, and it was time to start looking for the perfect kitten.

Unfortunately, one of the classy and fabulous roommates had plans to be out of the country for the summer and would be unable to meet the precious kitten when it was found. But these striking girls organized a Skype date across time zones, one rising early, the other staying up late, in order to come together as one, beautiful, sweet family.

identities have been protected

Isn't that just the most precious thing?

First Impressions

It took awhile, but I've finally made it to a mental state to start telling travel tales.

First of all, remember when I went to Las Vegas? Yeah, well, what I didn't tell anyone was that after sitting on the plane for an hour or so, my flight was delayed to the point of me missing any and all connections that I needed in Chicago, so I had to go home and wake up extremely early the next morning to catch another flight. It was miserable. So of course I'm worried about not being able to fly out of Pounds Field in time to catch my flight from Dallas to Frankfurt. Lucky me, that 25 minute flight went without a hitch! Then I just sat in the airport for three hours or and waited to board the flight to Frankfurt. In the process, I met other GTL kiddos on the same flight and formed a coalition. We joked that if the plane were delayed and we missed the bus to Metz, at least we wouldn't be alone! Then the plane was delayed. We didn't joke anymore.

Apparently some fellow got on board, felt sick, and decided that he didn't really want to fly to Germany anyway. So he got off the plane. But one cannot simply walk off of a plane. The airline has to go into the bottom where all of the checked luggage is kept and fish out his bag. This takes awhile. While they were fishing, it came to the airline's attention that there were some metal shavings in the ball bearing of something pertaining to the lavatory. So that had to be fixed, too. Two and a half hours of sitting on the tarmac after our scheduled take-off time, we finally got into the air. The good news: I had an aisle seat. The bad news: the fellow beside me had extremely broad shoulders that spilled over into my zone. Oddly, he had really short legs. So when I told my parents I was hoping to sit by someone "normal-sized", I guess this guy averaged to normal. He was uncomfortable to sit next to, though.

We did miss our shuttle, but lucky for us there was a later one scheduled. We just had to sit and wait some more. And, voila!, I'm in France. The first night was a welcome dinner, the second day an orientation, and classes started on the third day. For the orientation, we got to bus into downtown Metz and walk around for a bit before eating dinner (at an Asian place?), hopping aboard the tourist train for a guided tour, and then attending a reception with the mayor.

My first impressions of Metz:

-cora is amazing
-where is the peanut butter
-how can one consume this much bread without becoming bread themselves
-it's colder than I thought
-I wish it would stop raining
-the mayor is extremely punctual
-these French people are so trendy
-soccer all the time
-these crows have got to be Crebain

My first impressions of GTL:

-class? what?
-so. much. lunch.
-so. many. vectors.
-homework assigned the first day, due the second, quiz on the third. lawdy.

What're you eating under there?

WARNING: this post contains mature content about underwear. kind of.

During finals week, I thought about finals. Almost exclusively. Some might say I obsessed over them. The act of packing up my room was not at all forefront in my mind until Friday at noon. Come that time, though, I was intent on packing up. I thought of everything. Clothes had their suitcases, books had their Sterilites, sheets had their boxes, dishes and cookware had their boxes, too. I even moved all of what I had packed into the living room area of our apartment, arranged by weight and size: heaviest, squarest, and most packable nearest the door. Everything had a place, everything was thought of. Everything, that is, except for underwear and for the clothes and toiletries I would need for the three days spent in Auburn before driving home.

Our extremely awkward, bless her heart, RA came to do the customary room checkout. I paid little to no attention as she did her thing because, like I said, I'd already thought of everything. My staring into space was interrupted when I heard, "oh...ahh...you...ahh...don't forget your...stuff". I turned around and saw she had opened the top drawer of my dresser, where all of my bras were just chillin'. "Whoopsies. Yeah, I'll be needing those." And she didn't make eye contact with me again. I think I made her uncomfortable, and I am truly sorry. I am also truly amused.

When all was moved out of the apartment and into Calpurnia, including the rogue bras, my dad and I set up quarters in a La Quinta for the night. What else to do with time on our hands in the big city than seeing The Avengers and eating popcorn for dinner? So we did. Then, pulling back into the La Quinta at 11:15 at night, I came to the realization that all of my clothes were packed amidst the veritable jigsaw puzzle of boxes in the back of my car. Now, this wouldn't have been such a problem - I'd already been wearing the clothes I had on for two or three days. What's a couple more? - except for the fact that every single pair of underwear I own was packed in the innermost, bottom-most bag. Cue a midnight underwear run to Walmart, where I also picked up some jeggings and a t-shirt. What more could a girl need?

Just like that, two strange underwear occurrences graced my one day. Until now, my underwear has been pretty boring. Now it's got some character. And it's on teh interwebz.

On Being Multilingual

Well, finals have come and gone and I'm pretty sure I have the kummerspeck to show for it.

I've been wanting to use that word all week. I took four years of German in high school, and always appreciated how literal the language is. I tried and failed to continue learning the language at a college level, but I know I'll always attempt to throw out phrases as often as I can. Same with my limited Spanglish. And my virtually-nonexistent-but-there's-still-a-little-there Russian and Italian. And now French, since in t minus nine days I will be on a rather large plane headed for a bus that will take me to Metz. Cue this teeny lifestyle blog becoming a teeny lifestyle blog with some travel thrown in. Invigorating. For those of you who've spent summers/semesters abroad, packing advice would be greatly appreciated! Hit me up. Je m'apelle Molly. (Useful French phrases would be greatly appreciated, as well, since at this point all I'll have in France is a lot of cheese omelets and a lot of French people knowing my name.)

From the desk of...

Well, the Housing Department managed to fix our HVAC unit to blow cold air. This is a monumental occasion, seeing as I can finally close my window for more than 8 minutes without being stifled and at risk of asphyxiation. That...was an overreaction. (please read the previous sentence as if you were the Nard-Dog after punching your hand through a wall.) Hyperbole aside, I'm thrilled to be able to close my window. Now I can reset my pictures and knick-knacks without fearing they'll be blown over periodically by gusts of wind. And since I enjoy lists and sharing mundane information, here's a catalog of the flotsam and jetsam littering my desk:

• fancy Kleenex
• flash cards from last semester
• 3 PEZ dispensers - Belle, Pooh, and a BYU football
• a model TIE interceptor
• flashlight
• mug from Steak and Shake
• blank index cards
• way too many writing utensils than practical
• Eat Mor Chikin cow
• teacup from Cafe Intermezzo
• Millard the Hedgehog
• digital Burger King Star Wars watch, in collector's tin
• a Nalgene and a Camelbak
• framed photographs - Halloween circa 1998, atop Judge Baylor, at the HPDHP2 premiere, roomies, with Lord Vader, Mission Week 2011, with my favorite SBDT '10-'11 O
• travel coffee mug in need of a wash*
• empty jar of Smuckers Natural, complete with dirty spoon*
• desk lamp
• Han Solo
• The Fundamentals of Fluid Mechanics
• fingernail clippers
• iTunes giftcard
• handwritten Bible verses - Romans 12:12, Psalm 23:1-4
• TI-nspire, sans batteries

*in my defense, these items are only a day old.

In unrelated news, my grandparents were here last weekend! It was the bomb. And my mom plus my bestie and her mom (and one of my practically-moms) will be here starting tomorrow! I'm planning a dissertational post in which I compare and contrast the particulars of each visit and thence conclude which of the two made the most lasting impression. Jokes. In truth, I'm planning an "oh-my-gracious-I-love-visitors" post in which I detail why my family/friends are the most ballin' people on the planet. Hold on to your hats!

"This next song is about getting drunk in a club...no, it's not."

I wrote the previous post about Music Midtown many moons ago. Then I forgot to post it and it was lost in the blagosphere. Until now. It's timely. You'll see.

It really is no secret that I love concerts. In fact, this past Sunday I might have gone to my very favorite one yet. But I wouldn't put any stake into those words, if I were you, because I think every concert I go to is my very favorite one yet.

It's also no secret that I love Twitter. It's probably my very favorite form of social media. This Sunday, for all of the humor, wit, charm, and facetiousness I've poured into the outlet, it gave back to me in a huge way. I happened to read "Highway to Atlanta" from William Fitzsimmons on Sunday afternoon, Bing searched it, and discovered he was playing literally down the street from me on Sunday night. For $18. In a small, cozy venue. Yes ma'am, thank you. I jumped on that and bought a ticket without so much as a second thought. Then I tried to spread the word, but couldn't find any lovers to accompany me, so independent, big city Molly flew solo for a breathtaking adventure.

The venue was the upstairs of an "olde" bar. It was a William Fitzsimmons concert. [read: everyone of age and their mother was drinking PBR. it was a hipster fest. meanwhile, I was in a cardigan and Gap jeans.] I got there right when the doors opened, landing a front row slightly to the left spot, which I kept and no one pushed me or rubbed against me or anything. (Folksy concerts = perfect for people who don't like to be touched.) The opening act was the brother/sister duo Noah and Abby Gundersen. They were quite enjoyable. He played guitar and sang, while she played violin and provided vocal harmonies. After their set, I noticed one of Noah's guitar picks left on the stage. I caught the attention of the set-up man and asked for it. Score. And then it was William. He was positively affable. It felt like he was just your uncle's cool, weirdo friend who invites everyone over to listen to a folk jam sesh. It was brilliant. His music was wonderful, his presence was gracious and humble, his wit was sharp, his beard was luxurious, his commentary kept me in stitches. It was just all around a great experience. For his last song, he tuned up, then pointed out into the middle of the crowd. "I'm just going to come out right in the middle there, and everyone can gather around. Like a campfire." Yeah, right, he'd been cracking jokes all night, this was just another....then his face was right next to mine as he dismounted the stage immediately in front of me and walked past me right into the throng, playing his last song in the middle of the floor while we gathered round him like a campfire. Wondrous.

William Fitzsimmons

The Courage

Campfire time

 After the show, I hung around with a few other people, hoping for the chance to meet the artists. I talked to Abby first. She was delightful. Only 19 and touring the country with her brother in a band. Then I talked to Noah, and asked about the tattoo I'd been trying to read all the while he was onstage. Turns out it's a Peter Pan quote. And then it was William. I snagged a set list from the stage, and he autographed it for me, talked to me for a little bit, demurred at my compliments, and laughed when I rejoiced over being in such close proximity to the beard. Quality people, quality night, and well worth leaving the confines of my routine-based comfort zone.

Abby Gundersen

Noah Gundersen

Please note my awkward hand, on the left.

The man. The beard.

Music Midtown

{This was written on September 25, 2011 and left to rot. Oops. Better late than never, I suppose.}

It's no secret that I love concerts. I know I've said before that I prefer small, intimate venues, but after today's Music Midtown I'm not too sure - festivals and small venues might now be tied in my book. I just really love concerts.

Basically, Music Midtown was a full day of music in Piedmont Park. Two stages, multiple bands, lots of fun. When we got to the park, we bummed around in front of one of the stages, waiting for some band called Walk the Moon to come on. As we stood, a guy came around with a paper plate and asked if I wanted some face paint. The answer to this question is always yes, my friends. So, he proceeds to dot my face with purple and carries on his merry way. 15-20 minutes later, Walk the Moon takes the stage and THERE HE IS. Front and center, the face-painter is also the leadsinger/keys. And he touched my face. And all of us ended up being pleasantly surprised by their show, seeing as we had never heard of them before. Very nice. After their set was over, we continued to take in the atmosphere. The next band we actually stood and listened to fully was Manchester Orchestra. Then...

...The Black Keys. Since we stood at the stage for the hour in between Manchester Orchestra and the Black Keys in order to move on up through the crowd, we witnessed the set-up process. It included inflating a giant Tiki man, tire, and hanging a giant inflatable dreamcatcher. Um, yes. I loved their show. It was fun and you could tell that they were enjoying it as well as the crowd. On that note, I will say that I've never felt so strongly about the band enjoying the concert as much as the crowd as I did about Coldplay tonight. They were amazing, y'all. They played Yellow. They added an audience chorus at the end of The Scientist and Chris Martin proclaimed it "sounded fantastic". They covered Everybody Hurts in honor of R.E.M. They applauded the crowd. They sang a stanza of Georgia on my Mind as a prelude to Fix You. They were pretty great, and we were less than ten yards from the stage. All in all, a superb day.

Three Sixty Five

I started Project 365 on my birthday last year as a way to keep my mind off of the crud that accompanied my first year of college. No cool story about improving my photography or documenting my life for posterity or keeping family and friends informed. I just needed to have something, anything, to look forward to every day. I needed an occupation. In all honesty, 365 was my saving grace.

Some days were easy: game days, dinner parties, concerts, costumes. Some days were hard, and I wound up taking pictures of flash cards or bookshelves or iPhone screen shots. Naturally, I tried to avoid these days since they made me look like a total lame-o to my parents who, at the time, were the only people I could imagine being interested enough to look at the album. I found myself participating more. I sought out things I could do that would make an interesting picture. I plucked up courage to ask for pictures that I never would have otherwise - and some of those pictures are the best memories. As sappy as it sounds, my life was definitely altered by 365. I began to enjoy all of these things I was forcing myself to do just for pictures. I began to realize that I did actually do more cool stuff than I ever thought. I began to like college.

As the days progressed, more and more people started to ask me about 365. It was neat, but also sort of unnerving to have my life available for anyone to browse.

Now that it's over, I still find myself on the lookout for things to photograph that will make my days look interesting. Then I breathe sighs of relief when I remember that I'm not accountable for documenting every day anymore.

One thing's for sure: I would never have completed 365 without all of the people who let me awkwardly take pictures with/of them, the people who refrained from pointing out how strange I was while taking pictures of me when I asked them to, the people who leapt up at midnight when I exclaimed, "I haven't taken a picture today!!! Quick, do something cool!", the people who suffered my demands of "I need a picture today, so we better do something cool.", and the people who actually looked at all of these pictures and made me feel validated. Thanks for thinking 365 days of my life were worth 365 pictures!

The whole album resides here.

Birthday Shenanigans

Can I just say, my roommates are way better than yours. I don't even care if your roommates are Boba Fett and Werner Heisenberg, my roommates still top that. Why? Because they lied to me and deceived me on my birthday, resulting in only the best surprise party ever.

They all finished class around noon yesterday, while I still went strong from 2-5. It was just enough time for them to bake cakes, brownies, and rice crispie treats, blow up balloons, clean the apartment, and hide it all from view - except the brownies. They said they cleaned the apartment and baked brownies as my birthday present, and I thought to myself, "These girls really get me! That was so thoughtful. La-dee-da!" Then, we went to dinner. Two came late, supposedly having to shower. After dinner, we came back to the apartment and I was asked to open the door since my keys were easily accessible. Then everyone inched back. I opened the door and saw streamers, and thought to myself, "Oh, they must have stayed behind to decorate the apartment! That's why they were late to dinner. La-dee-da!" Then everyone inched back more and I was attacked on all sides by yelling and lights coming on and people climbing out from behind couches. I freaked out. Mainly because for the longest, the only person I could see was a friend of a friend that I had never seen before crawling out from under our coffee table. (It's a tad hazy, but I vaguely remember pointing at him and yelling, "Who is that!?!" over and over. Sorry about that, bruh.) Once I got over the initial shock, I was asked to retrieve something from the pantry. When I opened the pantry someone else was in there and yelled at me. I freaked out again. Then, because my game is rarely even on for parties I know about and can prepare for, much less ones that take me by surprise, I told everyone that my mom planned a surprise birthday party for my fourteenth birthday and I cried. My roommates again proved to be the best ever because they swooped in right after that crash and burn, suggesting we sing and cake. We did. And listened to R. Kelly's "Ignition (Remix)". And did the wop and the dougie. And if that wasn't enough, my roommates again proved to be the best ever because they told me of how they had tried to invite Casey/KC to come, but couldn't find him.

So, yes, you should be jealous that I live with three - and sometimes four - of the raddest kids on the block.

Classes

Registration has made me its mistress this go around, but it all worked out. Sort of. I finally got into the only pesky fluids class that would fit my schedule (HUZZAH!), and I finally got into an English class. Because if I didn't sign up for English the Institute would have put a hold on my registration. Bullies. Here's the rundown: my thermodynamics class is taught by an Italian woman. She's pretty awesome and tall. My fluids class, that I stressed over and submitted multiple overrides for before getting into, is taught by a Russian man. He's skinny and tucks button downs into jeans. My English class is called "Understanding Television". We were instructed to write summaries beginning, "Our assigned reading was ___, and it was about ___". My circuits class is taught by a doctoral student. He has a full beard, a beer belly, and a huge tattoo on the back of his head. My NRE professor speaks at about 4 decibels*. We started an Occupy Row Three operation, but he came in with a microphone and temporary disbanding of the movement ensued.

In other news, nothing really cool has happened to me, except.......muh birfday is tomorrow! Which means today is my very last day of 365. Weird, huh? Reflections to follow.

*a normal conversation takes place at about 40-60 decibels. A jet engine is 110 decibels. A vuvuzela is 120 decibels.