commuting thoughts

The car is prime thinking time for this one. I almost never write down what I think about when I'm driving, but I should. I'm sure it lacks profundity, but I get enough of that in my creative writing class. Which I am definitely not deep enough for. I'm pretty sure people "get" me. My creative writing class is another entry in and of itself though.

Tis the holiday season. I'm one of the few people in the world that doesn't mind seeing Christmas cheer up in the early weeks of November. Simply because it brings out a slightly more humane side of humanity. Unless you're shopping, then it doesn't XM 103 started their Holly station. I couldn't be happier.

The holidaze also bring me home for a wrinkle in time. I typically dread going home, simply because I have noting to do but lull around the house and try and make small talk with people I haven't seen in years.

It brings long chats with parents, and the latest topic for that is what I'm going to do with my life. I don't like that question, I should hope I have at LEAST 40 years to decide that, if not more with modern medicine. Since the decision to take a year off and do stuff before jumping into grad school, the Tremblay elder's have been questioning my actually going back to school.

I don't they they realize that I adore school, it's being employed that I really can't wrap my brain around. And some day, I do hope to be Dr. Bethany Tremblay-(hopefully I'll add some other last name to the end of that hyphen...) with a college classroom of my own. A year off could be what I need to get over some test anxiety, improve some GRE scores and experience a little bit more before I add an M.A. to my things to do list. It's a good idea. I'll go back.

I also thought about how much I dig the White Stripes. I went to a LOT of concerts this summer (most of them free-thanks Wolf Trap!) and the White Stripes concert was the only one I paid for, and I'd pay for it all over again.

Now, I'm definitely a small club-bar concert sort of girl. Nothing screams rock and roll like smoke and the smell of stale beer. But, the White Stripes concert was at the Patriot Center at George Mason (and I'd never repeat living THERE, ick). My ex-boyfriend and I had seats at basically the top of the stadium, and the entire time I was afraid I'd fall. The White Stripes themselves were quite tiny, but the stage show they put on was huge. The stage was simple, but blown up by lights, and Meg White is just fabulously wonderful to watch play. Jack is, too, don't get me wrong, but there's something delightfully perky about Meg.

I just got into them over the summer, because of aforementioned ex-boyfriend...but...I dig them. I'm no expert, but when I'm driving and can yelp out a line "I even love it when you're fakin' it..." I'd be hardpressed to say that doesn't make up a euphoric moment. Will observing things like this make me a decent rock reporter? ...No? Ok.

Um...I think that's it for this moment. Just some thoughts for today.

And, damnit, I'm going to get better about posting in here.

Peace in the Middle East