Saturday, February 25, 2012

Bradley Hathaway

I decided instead of blowing my wall up I would put this here. Bradley Hathway is a poet/singer/songwriter/christian and he's got some great things to say in a creative way so check out some of these videos. Just click the links. :  )

The Hug Poem - my favorite.

The World is Screaming - my other favorite.

Manly Man

There is Hope


The Day I Broke My Arms- Part 2

I tried to move towards the door but found that I was stuck. I couldn’t lift the bags. So I dragged them by my side, slowly, incredibly slow. Outside my bus stop was two blocks away. Oh and it had started raining. And I was already sweating from the effort it took to walk out the store. Across the street I saw there was another bus stop (not my bus) but I decided I had to make some kind of attempt to get back to the apartment. So painfully I made my way across the street, food falling out of the bags, cars waiting for the nineteen year old grandmother to get out of the road, and soaking wet.

When I had arrived at Safeway an hour before there had been a man standing outside. He was scrappy and looked like he was waiting for something. I predicted drugs. That man was now watching me as I collapsed onto the opposite corner and more items spilled over onto the sidewalk. We made eye contact through the rain a few times, him forward and obvious, me cautious and creeped out and this continued for about five minutes until he started walking towards me. I was trying to decide if I should even bother dragging a bag along as I made a run for it when he approached and said, “Take this. Leave it against the fence when you’re done,” and handed me his umbrella. He then crossed back to the entrance of Safeway. I’m in love with that man to this day. As I watched him walk away I hoped that he wouldn’t get busted for his drug deal. (But that Jesus would save him, of course.)

I waited at the bus stop for forty minutes before bus #1 arrived. I won’t get into too much detail about how strenuous it was to get up those steps. No one helped me. It was awful and let’s not forget my arms are broken. I sat, no fell, into the first seat available. “Your bag is leaking.” I looked and there was a damp brown stain on the bottom of one of my bags. The soy sauce. I grabbed the bottle and the whole bottom half of the glass broke off. So now I was sitting out of breath with all my stuff sprawled out and balancing a soy sauce bottle upside down in my hand trying not to let it splash out as the bus turned and hit pot holes. 

I think I was in shock from pain because I had a relaxing fifteen minutes before I realized I had missed my stop. (Why did I ever think I could relax?) I rang the wire above me and a quiet ding went off for the bus to stop at the next get-off. “There’s not a stop for another half hour.” The woman next to me said.

“What? Do you think he’ll let me get off here?”

“You could ask him.” She said.

So I leaned forward. Bus Drivers have always bothered me and this was no exception.

“Do you think I could get off now?!” I asked loud enough for him to hear me.

“Hmm I don’t know. It’s up to them. We’ll have to take a vote.”

What the heck kind of bus was this? I didn’t want a democratic bus! I wanted communism! I already had the oppression and now I wanted immediate and authoritative decisions. But I played along anyways. I turned and started to beg the whole bus with hand gestures and an obnoxious smile like some contestant from American Idol who pleads through the camera for you to vote for them. Except in this case I wanted to be voted off. The whole bus erupted in cheers. Literal cheers. “Yeaaahh!”, “Let her off!” “Give her a chance!” It was very loud.  I’m pretty sure I heard a “no” somewhere in there too but it was probably from some bitter old guy in the back who secretly lives on the bus anyways so I didn’t care.

“Alright if they say yes, I say yes.” Everyone burst out into applause. The bus pulled over to the side of the road and I went through the routine of pulling my bags along behind me, the soy sauce precariously placed in one of them and stumbling off the bus as I thanked my many supportive fans. I stepped out, people still cheering, and finally I was half-way home.

Part 3/3 Coming Soon! It’ll be shorter, sorry for the length!

Erin Nicole x

Friday, February 24, 2012

Convo of the Day

I was hanging with this girl Liz and she told me about something kinda weird. I've heard these stories before but i've never really thought about them. She was also cracking me up. I'll probably do a Convo of the Day every once in a while.

Liz: I was watching the news and there was this dog that saved its owner’s life. The lady couldn’t breathe and the dog brought her the phone book and opened to the right number and saved her life.

Me: That’s crazy!

Liz: That’s why I hate animals. They can’t be trusted.

Me: What? But that dog just saved someone’s life.

Liz: Yeah they’re too smart.

Me: I think you're right. When you told me that story I thought it was cool but now it’s really weird. Dog’s pretend to be dumb and yet that dog knew to get a phone book and opened to the right page. He could read. What else can dogs do that we don’t know about?

Liz: Exactly.

Me: I mean when we’re not looking are they making hot pockets in the microwave? Making phone calls to the neighbor dogs?

Liz: They are, they are. That’s what I’m saying! They’re deceitful! 

Me: So wait, if you were dying and a dog came up to you and offered to save your life would you say no?

Liz: No I’d let him save my life but I’d tell him we can’t be friends afterwards.

Me: Yeah. That dog should have just given the woman CPR. See now he’s not so smart.

Liz: He didn’t want to blow his cover.

Me: Oh my gosh they’re smarter than us all.

How do you guys feel about that news story? It genuinely freaked me out.

The Day I Broke My Arms - Part 1

So I’m going to be doing a little thing called Adventures in Portland. It’s a series about my adventures in Portland if you didn’t get that from the title. Here’s the first installment. Let me know what you guys think and I’ll keep doing more of ‘em until you or I (probably you guys, I refuse to cave first) am tired of them! Also my memory sucks so I may make some parts up, or all of them. Hey! That could be a thing. Guess how much of this story is true? Just KIDDING it’s true for the most part: Oh before I start a little background for those that don’t know. I was in Portland, Oregon for an internship that lasted two months and Wagner was my roommate. Ok now for real:

Every so often while I was in Portland I needed to eat. So when I got tired of sneaking Wagner’s food I had to go to Safeway (think Genaurdi’s if you feel you need to relate to the story, or just want a mental image. Also think a squirrel quickly eating a nut behind the open fridge door if you want another mental picture of me sneaking food) Well one day this very thing occurred. I hadn’t left the apartment much so as I was walking down the streets of the city I felt liberated.

 It’s was a non-rainy day, the smell of weed wasn’t too strong, and I was feeling great because I was finally walking with a purpose: find food. Little did I know this was going to be the most painful and awkward day of my life. When I got to safe way I loaded my cart up. Milk, tonnss of pasta, canned things, toiletries, heavy bottles, soy sauce (remember the soy sauce it comes into play later), big bag of rice and basically everything in sight. I don’t know what I was thinking but for whatever reason I forgot I didn’t have a car, or that I’m the weakest person I know, or that bags don’t carry themselves- it’s why they have handles.

 As I finished paying and checking out I had a total of three bags. (Now that I’m thinking about it do bags all together feel lighter if you disperse the items into several bags so that each individual bag is light in itself? You know, distribute the weight more evenly? I don’t know. I hate regret, I don’t want to know. Someone scientifically figure it out.)So I picked my first bag up and broke my right arm. It was the heaviest thing I’ve ever even looked at let alone lifted. Then the second bag and broke my other arm, then the third which I tried to hold in my right hand along with the first bag. (Also now that I think about it I should have just returned some of the food. Whatever.) And so I got a small taste of the things to come that day, I should’ve seen the broken arms as a warning. But I’m me, so I didn’t.

I had to cut it short because I’m over my word limit so this is Part 1 and is serving as an intro to this first adventure. Some of the things that happened that day were almost unbelievably ridiculous but you’ll find out next time what happens.

Erin Nicole x

Thursday, February 23, 2012

Sometimes, I lie

Actually here's a poem to hold you over until I put my essay up in probably a week. :  ) My inspiration for this poem came from a conversation I had in Montana. I had been talking with some interns about how art is an expression of self which got me thinking if art is an expression of self then what are we and all of creation but an expression of God? The poem ended up being about something different but hey I can't explain how inspiration works. So here you go:

What is this man's beginning
but a mound of stone
breath of a greater origin
and the hands that carve him
Driven and Sure
so that no regret
is found within them
in every hew
and every break

a crevice is revealed

that was meant to be
moments of dust land
where they began
but this man's thoughts are stuck
on him, the creator
those careful hands
What love comes from the fingers
that form his hold!
That could crush
but never would
and this man
shaping nothing
of their eternal bond
is put on display
the public respond

Here they come
receiving from his purpose
in a small way he is there for them
it is not a performance
or one of effort
but a stance
Still and Unprotesting
granite though they are
they watch in awe
do they not see the signature
or that he is not preventing his fall?

To some hearts
a pick is laid
the process of being made
to others the surface thickens
harder than before
but it is with hope
that this man looked
to where the honor should always be
and saw those hands
those calloused hands
appluading he.

How To: Make Harvard Love You

Hey everyone! (Or just Tiffany, haha now you’re obligated to follow.) I’ve wanted to start a blog for a while now but I had a small issue- I had no idea what to write and every time I tried to start one I would get carpal tunnel, or something. :  / So I was completely stuck somewhere in between being a real live blogger and crying myself to sleep every night… until about a week ago when I started applying to colleges. Turns out the college application essay is just like a blog post! Well the good ones are. After realizing this I immediatly knew how to be a blogger. So what can you expect from I'm A Real Blog! © ? A bunch of college application essays about my life. Its way less boring then it sounds. You can also expect some poetry and short stories written by me, observations, things/writings I found inspiring or helpful. Basically whatever I want. My next and first real post is going to be my actual college application essay so you can get an idea of what’s to come and hopefully enjoy it!
Oh, so how do you make Harvard love you? yOu Be SMarT and read my college application essays.

Erin Nicole x