I'm seeing now that the title sounds like something that you'd find in the book section of Urban Outfitters next to the flasks with offensive and inappropriate photos of Native Americans and useless tchotchkes and knick-knacks that were made overseas but it's okay because they have funny slogans and/or mustaches on them. But whatever, gotta start somewhere! I don't think CEO and Douchebag Richard Hayne would mind taking off Sundays to do what he does best. That is, nothing good. Would the six-day plan work for him?
Monday, July 30, 2012
New lifestyle calls for elimination of 24 hours
I'm seeing now that the title sounds like something that you'd find in the book section of Urban Outfitters next to the flasks with offensive and inappropriate photos of Native Americans and useless tchotchkes and knick-knacks that were made overseas but it's okay because they have funny slogans and/or mustaches on them. But whatever, gotta start somewhere! I don't think CEO and Douchebag Richard Hayne would mind taking off Sundays to do what he does best. That is, nothing good. Would the six-day plan work for him?
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Feedback needed! New addition to MadQuest.
You know how people have their little music/meatless/thirsty/travel Monday/Tuesday/Wednesday feature? I want to do something like that. Like, Cereal Tuesday! And I'll venture into the world of one cereal every Tuesday and give a quirky review because cereal is quirky and I'll take dumb but funny pictures of the cereal in action while I pretend that I am an avid food blogger. Or something along those lines.
I want YOU to tell me what you want to read about every week. Should I do a movie review Thursday? Book recommendation Sunday morning? Political Saturdays? Of course, the titles would be much punnier and the content would be entertaining and mildly thought-provoking. My interests include, but are not limited to: cats, vegetables, live music, and guilt-free magazine reading.
Comments and suggestions required or I will block you from viewing my page.
Inconsistency. It's in my nature
That said, I'm back! I, like the farmers of America, have suffered from a drought; my drought, however, is a little different, and I don't think I'm experiencing equally harsh repercussions. It's a drought of anything other than working, sleeping, eating, driving, running and chillaxing. (Doesn't that sound like a handful? It's not. Trust me). Serious chillaxing. Books upon books upon books upon Netflix upon food upon nothing. Basically, I've been treating myself. Not to say that writing isn't a treat, but when I'm in an infinite chillzone, blogging ain't my priority. Sorry, folks. (Hopefully my mind doesn't wander to chillzone when the semester starts... but I guess I'm not really REQUIRED to write for The Lamron. I just have to, you know, tear apart everyone else's writing. Just kidding)........
But I feel the rain now; the drought is over and it's time for me to reload and recharge; here we go I'm back and ready to roll! My time off was enjoyable but I can only diddle-daddle for so long until that voice in my head says, "Hey, you're not contributing to anyone or anything by watching all of Seinfeld in four days. Stop that!" And I'm like, shit, you're right, dude! And I experience a complete turnaround and chillzone gets a harsh but necessary makeover. That's excluding these next two weeks during which I plan to plop myself on the couch to watch the most fit, most toned, most sexy and chiseled figures, fine tuned to perfection, competing for my heart. The Olympics, I mean. I do not have a dowry.
But all that is a mindless stream of consciousness that you don't care about. Hehe, sorry! I hope you enjoyed my most inner thoughts. What you WILL care about is what I'm about to share.
It's a beautiful thing that I discovered this week, and I think you all should Google it sometime. An elusive object, you may have heard your grand or great-grandparents talking about it at some point when you weren't listening, but probably should have. No, not the five-and-dime where they bought candy cigarettes and salt water taffy. I'm talking about something bigger, something better. Think worldwide, think:
Any of those creatively-placed "at" signs or asterisks help in ringing that bell?
But how often do we find ourselves COMPLETELY immersed in nature? No cars, no roads, sidewalks, iPods, blogs, condoms, nadda that. Think about it, seriously. Have you taken a trip into the woods lately? If you're nodding - hell yeah! If you're still thinking, then see what I'm saying? If you're just not into nature at all, then you should probably stop reading and continue with your lifestyle. Nothing for you to see here, my Apple-and-everything-technology-and-media-including-but-not-limited-to-Pinterest-and-Reddit obsessed friend.
Mom & Doug's Fantasyland |
For everyone else whose interest I may have sparked, I was lucky enough to spend a few nights at Mom & Doug's (See Engineer post) this week; it's a house placed gently into a sparklingly preserved neck of woods that falls among the blanket of trees that covers the rolling hills of sunny upstate NY. The house and its surrounding entities (Adirondack chairs, previously seen lean-to, extra garage full of knick-knacks) disturb as little as possible and coexist with the harmless greenery. Ferns make the best neighbors; their casseroles for our annual block party are awesome (hehe. Was that lame? Sorry).
I also had the privilege of touring an organic dairy farm last week - UH-mazingly cool. Mom's was a little more pleasant when it came to really, you know, "breathing in" the nature, as it wasn't filled with the pungent scent of manure but hey, it's natural! Plus, the cows were really cute and I milked from their udders! Harder than it look, guys. Try it some time.
Pocahontas (see right) agreed and said that what she loved most about rivers was that "you can't step in the same river twice." (I am aware that was from the Disney rendition of her story - partly accurate, mostly untrue. They took away some of the violence and terror. That does NOT mean the film isn't beautifully heart-wrenching).
True though, isn't it? Her quote, I mean. An experience or sight in nature will never be duplicated. The walls and ceilings of this giant room around you incessantly change. When you plop yourself into nature, you start in one environment and five minutes later, it's gone. It's incredibly fascinating, breath-taking, and natural. Nature.
Check out that awesome sun and water photo on the right. I'm pretty sure that's something that you could StumbleUpon. You know, like "20 Images of Nature you NEED to See Today" and people scroll through in a heartbeat and then Stumble their way to the next ADHD-inducing page. But this one was real. And I stopped stumbling when I got there.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Summertime.... and the livin' is way too easy.
Now, I don't know about you, but all of those things above (except maybe the driving, although it has gotten more tolerable lately, possibly because I found Rochester's NPR station - 88.5 for those who are wondering. It's just me, Renee, and Steve every morning. With the occasional interjection from inferior and local WXXI. Just kidding, guys. But seriously) are awesome.
Note: Sorry about the long-ass parenthetical remark up there. I got carried away. I am aware that you probably had to reread that sentence a good three, four, maybe 19 times, both with and without the phrase, like when you were in second grade. I don't really care. I just hope we're all caught up now and/or those who were angered have since exited off of this tab. They only helped me by adding to my view count. Thanks folks!
Awesome, in the sense that my brain may or may not be melting. Disintegrating. Right before (behind?) my eyes. I can feel the knowledge that once occupied a small part of my cranium where active and critical thinking took place; it's slowly easing its way out, little by little, with every new lazy and bedridden day. Yesterday I woke up drenched in my own cerebrospinal fluid. Could've been sweat, highly likely.
Cells are leaking out of my skull like a slashed tire. Actually, it's probably more like a child stabbing a balloon with a fork. I'm pretty sure everything's just gone. But the balloon isn't that one that was on the infomercials in the '90s. Remember? For 30 minutes they'd mesmerize us with the same scene with the magic balloon being tested in various and dangerous situations for a balloon to fall into? What was that balloon called, anyway? I couldn't find it on Google and I searched "magic balloon," "magic balloon with fork," "fork stabs balloon," "balloon As Seen on TV." Let me know what you guys find; you'll probably have to delve deeper. EBSCO Host, perhaps?
I Google Imaged "melting" and this came up. Pretty accurate. |
But it's an awful and frightening thing. I feel like Charlie in Flowers for Algernon.
I could, and we all try to at one point or another, argue that watching biased and somewhat (barely) informational documentaries on Netflix and reading a couple New Yorker/Economist/Glamour magazine articles are thought-provoking activities that nourish our brain cells. Like, the whole "I read the news every morning, so I'm up-to-date on current events and therefore I am convinced that my brain is still functioning at the same level as when I was reading the news + 15,000 more pages every day. Oh BTW, because I do that, I'm better than you."
Yeeeaaaaah.
So what are you guys doing about this brain melting phenomenon? Is everyone suffering like me, or have you not even realized what's happening yet? Are we picking up new hobbies, learning new languages? How do you guys convince yourselves that there are still some gears turning up there? I'll share with you some of my pseudo-intellectual activities and hobbies that I use to make myself feel a little bit better and a little less like a waste of space, air, and food.
I've been cooking and baking a lot! Like I said above, Chopped contestant is the character I take on when I'm in the kitchen. I've gotten quite good at stir fry (thanks to BRAND NEW RICE COOKER!!), cookies, and oh dude, we made black bean burgers one night. Those were reaaaaal good. But, I don't know. Does that even count? Adults cook all the time. Kind of. But I think that because I'm learning and stuff, and exploring my options, it's ok. I have food literature that I've been reading. And by that I mean, I stalk foodgawker every day. I'm really stretching it here, aren't I? |
Wow. So, I thought I had more. I'm reading more books but I'm not going to tell you everything I'm reading, listening to, and watching. Superfluous. Unnecessary. Trite. I also work every single day of the week, so like, throw that in my credentials too. I'm not just dicking around and dabbling all day. Oh, and dude! Friends! They're great! I have them and we all hang out a lot. Dennis Green and many others came over for taco night pot luck this week and it was oh-so-good. Oh-so-good. Who doesn't love a good taco? Riddle me that.
I would, and had high intentions, of posting about my internships and exactly what I'm doing there, but then I got really wary of my bosses/supervisors seeing this blog and I decided it was a bad idea all together. I just replayed the GIF that I created in my mind of them seeing this blog and immediately decided to scrap the internship post. I'll take being mysterious over looked at with laughing eyes for the next two months, please.
But, I don't know, what do you guys think? It's work-appropriate, right? Besides, all the hype about workplaces not hiring workers because of Internet activity is buuuuullllshiiiiiiiiiiiit. If you're curious as to what my internships are and what my 9-5 life entails, my LinkedIn is a somewhat up-to-date self-promotion.
BTW, sorry the colors/text of the blog keep changing. I can't seem to find a scheme that I find aesthetically (or, Megan, Jesse, Laura, Dom, whoever's out there, should I say athletically??) pleasing for over a week. I don't know, am I allowed to change colors more often than not? I feel like it's against the rules of blogging but it's not like MadQuest is the Huffington Post or Perez Hilton. Yet. In due time I will come up with a concrete design but for now, trial period!
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Exercise, I love you. No I hate you. Now I love you.
That's fine, Jillian. I didn't want your body anyway. BTW - heard she actually had plastic surg. to get those abs? Can anyone please tell me it's true? |
I was only ten - no two - minutes, actually seconds, into this "CycleCraze" session before that familiar exercise anguish struck and my life turned shitty. My legs - quads burning like fire and glutes barely functioning - felt like noodles and that hoarse, helpless shortage of breath was all I could focus on. When Nike woman in spandex cat suit announced that the warm-up was over, my heart, quads, and mind had emotional breakdowns at the thought of what lay beyond this so-called "warm-up." "Warm fucking up?" I thought. "Seriously?" I turned my head slowly toward the clock - as to not attract any sort of attention or give off the indication that I was suffering - and my fears were confirmed: With 57 minutes to go, I knew I was in for a bumpy and probably really shitty ride.
But I couldn't leave. Oh no. Leaving an exercise class, as we should all know by now, whether it be Zumba, yoga, water aerobics or ceramics, is one of the biggest faux-pas in the gym world. If you leave a class early, there's a good chance that you'll get called out by the instructor. "Leaving early!?" they'll say. "Can't stand the heat!? Heheheh. I'm just kidding, have a great one, we'll see you next time!" she'll yell, as I awkwardly shimmy out of the room, murmuring angry words toward her under my breath - or what's left of it - for patronizing me, refusing to admit to myself that she is right: I really can't stand the heat. By that point, every class attendee has already profiled me as the girl who left the spinning class early. No longer do I stand with the elite gym gurus; I am at the bottom of the cardio food chain, known for reading full magazines while walking at a brisk 3 m.p.h. on the treadmill and doing four reps with an eight-pound weight followed by ten sit-ups. My chance at ever being taken seriously in any place with a treadmill, dumbbells, punching bags, or middle-aged men and women jumping up and down to Daddy Yankee and P!nk remixes is gone.
Exercise. Why do I choose to do it, and repeatedly? Why do any of us force ourselves to suffer through the recommended aerobic activity of 30 minutes of intense cardio (cardio is underlined in red. Is it not a word? Is cardio FAKE!? Have I at last debunked the age-old myth that exercise is good for you!? Scratch the whole point of this post, and take the upcoming Olympics off of all of our to-watch lists!!!!! No, I could never do that. I've been waiting four years to watch gymnastics and Michael Phelps from my couch again) at least three to five times a week accompanied by two days of strength training, and don't forget the stretching, or else you're fucked! They (you know, the leaders up there. Whoever regulates everything we do. I just refer to them as "they" and people usually interpret the pronoun as seen fitting) have turned exercise and recreational activity into such a required task and health regulation for some of us that things that used to be fun - like sports and running - have been replaced by a 30-minute block of time every day dedicated to torturous activities, and we only do it all to keep up with the standards of this day and age.
Like, d'oh! I did my 30 minutes of moderate-to-high heart rate activities, thank god it's over! Ope! I picked up ten pounds and bent my arm repeatedly, looks like I'm quite healthy! Or, I chose to walk up the stairs today instead of taking the elevator and my car is parked an extra 18 feet away, US Dept. of Health & Human Services says I'm A-OK in the healthy standards and I'm taking a step (literally) in the right direction toward a healthy lifestyle! Thanks for the help, Prevention magazine! I couldn't have figured out how to go for a walk without any of your advice. Am I right? It's all turned into a terrible chart that maps statistics to tell us if we're active enough or if we do just a little too much sitting.
We're fulfilling requirements, but do we enjoy this? Do we enjoy the feeling of a face full of fire accompanied by an urge to vomit and/or pass out? Is picking heavy things up and putting them back down a fun thing, or are we all just complying with what we're told to do? Do we ever think about the fact that we're paying an owner of a building to use his conveyor belt and giant bouncy balls? No. Now I'm just getting too philosophical here.
I do not intend to ponder on the whole gym and workout expenditure thing for very long because it makes me feel guilty knowing that all forms of conventional exercise can be duplicated by simply running outside (which I do, and actually did today. I hope no one saw me because I was lookin' roooooooooooough) but I still, and will always, end up buying all sorts of exercise aides: Pilates videos, Turbo Jam classes..... yoga pants..... sweatbands.... superfluous items.... But we're all victims of that, no? So I shouldn't feel guilty. Yoga pants are too comfortable too burden me with those feelings when I wear them, which is every day. What? They're super stretchy and form fitting, but in a good way. Everyone loves yoga pants.
Personally, exercise and I have a love-hate relationship. It's great, it sucks, it's painful, it's pleasurable (lol). Exercising is the greatest feeling in the world and it's the utmost shitty experience ever. I want to die during a spinning class and it burns like gasoline and flames, and that burn, it's really quite great. I feel so many split emotions during one workout that if you were to ask my how I felt during a workout, the response could totally change every second. Feeling strong accompanied by bouts of hatred and self-loathing, usually, is how it works out for me. Choice of song certainly has an effect on my workout too. Dubstep in real life sucks. But while I'm running, there's nothing better than overpowering industrial
But what do I think is the best part about a good/bad-ass workout? Ending. The feeling of being done with an exercise session is one that really can't be duplicated, am I right? It's an end to suffering, that end to pain that makes everything so much more bearable and doable again in the future. It's that release that makes you really love everything in the world as you plop down at your kitchen table after a run and just revel in the fact that you just defeated five miles of turf. When the instructor finally announces that he's starting the cool down and he turns on the chillzone music and tells you to turn off all resistance and just "stretch it out." You're just like, fuck yeah. I did it. And you feel strong and you feel great and you feel reaaaaaaaal uplifted. Real good. You want to tell the world. Or you want to crawl into a bathtub of ice cubes to assuage the imminent muscle aching that lies in your future. Either way, each successive workout session is a milestone for you and they add up and before you know it, you're stronger and you're buying more yoga pants.
I don't know about you guys, but that's why I exercise.
That and the fact that doctors, talk show hosts, and parents claim that exercise has a myriad of benefits including, but not limited to: weight control, muscle strengthening and definition, the ability to combat health conditions and diseases, and a heightened energy. But, like that "global warming" thing I mentioned briefly before, it's probably just a theory that will soon be disbanded.
Until then, I will continue to suffer and release endorphins all over the place.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
In-dep-end-ence!
And don't even talk to me about baking. Flour all over clothes - god help me if I wear black, purple, indigo, royal blue or any hue that contrasts highly with white - crusty cooling racks, egg shit everywhere, mixing bowls piled up and measuring cups strewn across the counter. All for one meal or one batch of shitty and over-crispy or undercooked, too sweet or not-sweet-enough lame-ass cookies.
And a shout-out to dear Katy Boland (first gal from right above, and girl w/ spaghetti jar to the right) who leaves for camp this week! She will be a counselor as part of the Fresh Air Fund at a campground near NYC. The Fresh Air Fund is a nonprofit that provides free summer experiences to NYC kids from low-income or disadvantaged communities and families. Talk about good people, this girl right here. Best of luck to you, Kathryn, and thanks for making us all feel like shit for not being as selfless as you are, darling!
Note: she will be getting paid. Please, when I say selfless, I'm really using the term loosely.
Fuck. I'm a blog snob.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Saying goodbyes and Buffa-no more
I know.
I know. I screwed up. Over a week without a post - nine days, actually. How am I failing so hard when it comes to keeping up with this shit? It's fine, but to the eight of you that read MadQuest, I apologize sincerely. Really, I'm sorry! But since I haven't received any angry letters or emails about my inconsistency, I'll just assume that no one noticed.
I would use the classic no-Internet excuse but my friend, colleague and fellow blogger Ben Cosman had no problem keeping up with his daily posts without the Internet. In fact, the lack of Internet in his room was a focal point of his for a while. My life has obviously deemed itself hopeless, my goals unreachable and me? I cannot and will never be able to keep up with the reliability of Mr. Cosman; I am, however, back in business.
This past week was just a pile of events rolled into a cannoli (wtf? cannoli is underlined in red. So is "wtf") of packing and unpacking, spending money and driving. So I guess the cannoli was from a shitty pizzeria , or maybe even the frozen section of your local gas station. Just... not. good. Too dense, wrong ingredients, an inappropriately crusty shell.
So what was the bulk of this cannoli? Well, in one weekend I packed up my life - mostly clothes and scarves, the necessities- and shipped myself to Geneseo in a U-Haul attached to Mom's Jeep, saying my final goodbye to my home in Buffalo and the cat hair that will forever be there. I took with me a couch and cookware for 12 people. There are three of us.
Along with this hometown farewell came another and undoubtedly sadder sayonara. Big sis of 20 years Emily trucked away to Green Bay with her boyfriend, who is now an actuary, (like engineers, another job where, unless you are an actuary, you're left to wonder), Kevin (right below) and Fancy (left below).
We spent the last few days in a boxed-up house, littered with various items that still had no designated box, which led to their ultimate end: trash bags. I felt like we were squatting and I waited every night for Benny to come and ask for my rent, to which I would reply, "What happened to Benny? What happened to his heart and the ideals he once pursued?" Rent anyone? No? Ok.
Yeah. I know, right? This was our fridge. So sad, but clean, which is important. The ketchup and mustard crusties in the door? Gone. Five-year-old fishsticks? Discarded. Moldy fruit spreads and ricotta cheese, you name it, it's not in that refrigerator. You would look at this and think that we were bohemian vagabonds, living paycheck-to-paycheck, getting shitty take-out every night like the cold and striving artists in the movies. Or like Emily, in the State Farm commercial! Or is it AllState? IDK, but she's on the "Ramen-every-night budget."
But alas, we were not on that budget! We were on the items-that-don't-need-to-be-refrigerated budget! Mmmmmmm, who else looooooooooooves kettle-cooked chips? Raise of hands? So yes, to clarify, this is a couch with various goodies, and a remote. Emily has always been a good companion for eating a whole bag of Goldfish followed by a few Pop-Tarts and a Super Big Gulp (seen below). That couch, along with my clothing, hair and face, was covered in crumbs. I think the cats had some salt in their fur, too.
On our final night, Jake (Emily's BF) bought us $28 of Mighty Taco!!! And let's just say that $28 at Mighty Taco - or any fast-food chain for that matter - can go quite, quite far. Far, as in, 14 burritos. Dealio! Who doesn't love a super mighty, medium, with sour cream and a large Loganberry?
The only bad part? The next day.
Yeaaaah. Talk about irritable.
Just kidding.
And so marks our last days in Buffalo before the big move. I'd say that's a pretty decent way to end our time in a city that has two solid entities to offer us: Mighty Taco and a Seven-Eleven within walking distance.
I am so sad to see Emily leave and to say that we will not be living together this summer, or possibly ever again! Nothing beats hours upon hours of Man Vs. Food, Ancient Aliens and NYC Prep (all on NetFlix, all highly recommended for viewing). We did more, but those times seem to stick out the most for me...
But even though we won't live together, nothing shall change! I love her and she loves me and we are the best of sissies forever. With our background (our childhood in the '90s, specifically) I don't think we'll ever have a problem being on the same page.
Please note: This picture was taken post-lunch and post-packing. We know. We know that we, at least I, look rough. It was a long morning. Look past it. Thank you. |
My life is so hard.
Oh, and one last note. Last night, I was explaining my recent migration to a friend, to which he asked in a mildly confused tone, "So wait, you don't have a home anymore? I'm so sorry, but uh, wow, that's great for you!"
First of all, who asks that? Second, I do have a home, thanks, and it's not my Toyota Corolla! It has walls, a roof and two bathrooms. I was like, "I mean, I guess, what? Yeah, if you want to... say it like that. Sure?"
And in my head I continued, as everyone does when they want to say so much more but just don't have the confidence to spit it out: Thank you. Thank you so much for making me feel like a child of gypsies. Your sympathy is appreciated, sir.