As much as I love you, little bloggy blogsters, I must admit that the past few days have taught me how much better talking to people in person is -- better even than talking on the phone. It's the eyes, the turned head, the knowledge that your life and someone else's life are completely at the same place in those few moments; whether we even know each other five minutes from now, we'll both be tied to that one physical place in time in the world. Maybe that's the appeal of sex. I don't know.

The past week of my life has been fraught with concerns, and I accidentally capstoned the tumult, and my undergraduate life, tonight. I went on a whim to When the Whistle Blows, a ceremony held to honor the students, faculty, and staff who've died over the past year, and found myself thinking prophetically about how some small portion of the eighth blow of the whistle which was in tribute of the Tech community as a whole was for me, mine, signifying my physical departure from the Institute. I felt kind of like my thoughts were a little superficial, a little forced, that an event like this had to make me think deeper with some grand significance or reflection on the past and leave me with some great thought for the future, some new goal; or I was supposed to experience some great rush of memories flashing through my mind in snapshot fashion (you know, the movie reel that plays in your mind before you die). I think there was a log jam in the neurons and instead of thinking of moments, stories, specific people and incidents, I was overwhelmed with this fierce sensation of feeling what Georgia Tech is. I forced myself to be conscientuous of all the little things going on around me (you're going to want to remember this artificially important event, Jen): birds chirping a supporting chorus for President Clough's speech-making voice, the flapping flag flown at half mast, the almost imperceptible shake of the mother a few rows in front of me crying (this sort of event, moment is what defining memories and thoughts are supposed to be made of, Jen; this is what great emoters emote about; remember this, Jen, remember the details, remember the great oratory devices that describe how it's only by grace that we get to meet these people that come into our lives for a little while, a short short time, remember this is your history in the making these are your thoughts' infantile progression to eventual paper. Remember, Jen.)

Leaving is (tritely) really sad. Feeling like you're losing something is sad. Feeling like you're being taken away from something is sad. Luckily, I think I've moved beyond these first reactions, at least for tonight, to feeling hope. Hope for what I will be able to do for my alma matter in the future, hope for what those who come after me can do to strengthen my beloved Institution. Now I just need to work on getting out everything I want to say to those not quite done here yet, things I still want to happen but have to let go of, my jaded advice, my opinions that because I'm "old" the youngin's will be forced to listen to. I will prove to myself that I've learned to trust others while I've been here. The incredible bond I feel to the idea of Georgia Tech, not just its physical spaces and specific people who I adore, but to the GT that will always live inside of me has been cultivated for the past four wonderful years. In an essay for a scholarship competition that I wrote the spring semester of my sophomore year, I declared:

Studying abroad made me realize that there’s a big world beyond Ferst Drive, and that while my education at Tech will prepare me for some aspects of this world, the nonacademic sides of Tech are what are preparing me for life.

I hope students realize that leaving Tech with an education and high GPA is not the total Georgia Tech experience; instead, it’s being involved and taking advantage of all the opportunities this school has to offer. Discovering that these buildings and walkways are fertile ground for cultivating passion and finding what you love can improve the value of the Tech experience.

This is my Georgia Tech experience: quality education a continent away from my dorm room, late nights making story layout follow the Pica rule, and even memorable football games on rainy days; mostly, just knowing that I will value the experience as much (if not more so) once its over as I do now.

Well Sophomore Jen (girl, you were wise beyond your years :) ), I think you were right. And I hope I've made you proud. And with the perspective of have a mere 22 days until graduation, I feel like I can already say that I value my experiences here, the great body of life I've accumulated, more and more. Thank you, Georgia Tech, for providing me one of the greatest opportunities I've had in my short life to learn so much about who I was, am, and am still working on being. Thank you, innumerable friends and acquaintances who may not know that I looked up to, respected, and valued you.

Thank you.

woof woof woof. who let the dogs out?

I was struck this morning while reading the New York Times how much of America, and the world, is characterized by hyperbole. It's hard to know what's important anymore since so many things are inflated beyond even a recognizable importance. I think the news media has a lot to do with this in how they cover events (insessantly nonstop over and over) -- you can tell how "important" an occurrence is by examing the number of no-name, irrelevant, unqualified pundits are consulted in examining a story; an increase in this number equates to the increase in un-importance of the important story -- and even celebrities are to blame in this life of bigger is better. I was watching Live with Regis and Kelly (laugh, I know) this morning and Drew Barrymore was on. I was amazed by the number of times she said "wonderful" "amazing" "super" "excellent" "fabulous" "absolutely love".

Sure, elevating the mundane to a level of adoration and excitement can make for a more interesting story when you're describing, say, your trip to the grocery store, because then it's more of a parody or sarcastic or witty or funny. But, I'm sorry, it's not witty to infuse an overzealous amount of happiness and passion into your story about your hair color. Or your Love Of Getting Older. It's not unique. Lots of people like changing their hair color and can cite all the trite deeper meanings ("It lets me reflect who I am spiritually and emotionally in a physical representation of my life"). Plenty of folks enjoy the benefits of getting older ("Wisdom, wooo!"). So stop overexaggerating everything because then hyperbole will just become standard and we'll have no way in our human dialogue to express happiness, thoughts, or feelings that are above and beyond typical. I'll lose my ability to truly express to you how much I love chocolate.

Though on a much different scale, Kristoff's editorial today was about social hyperbole, but concerning more important consequences of such hyperbole than my rantings complain about.

I try to think about issues from all sides, right, like most people who attempt to be even-minded before forming an opinion; talking about religion is even more delicate and oftentimes can't be understood from others' points of view, but as a Christian I've tried to understand the broohaha over the pope's death. I agree that a death should be sufficiently recognized and all that, but isn't it awesome that he's going to heaven now? And why does the pope get buried with his medals and inscriptions and special robes when you don't need any of those sorts of wordly possessions or accolades when you're with God? I don't get that part. Or, why do so many people really, really, really want to get a glimpse of the pope's dead body? He's just a man who other men appointed. I probably shouldn't write about such an inflammatory subject here, but meh, maybe someone will comment :)

I've come to be apathetic about the inherent hypocrisy of human nature, because I don't think there's much I can do to change it on a broad scale; I can only try to make sure that I'm not being hypocritical in my words, actions, and decisions (because it'd be hypocritical of me to complain about all these things and do exactly what I'm complaining about. So here's my anti-hypocritical vow to myself: I will do my absolute, total and complete best to not extravagently overexaggerate when totally unnecessary -- unless for the sake of a really really funny joke, or super duper important story, or ohmigosh this one time i....

There's this paradox right now, struggling for my thoughts. I want to talk to someone, but just as strongly I want to hide from the world.

Have you ever been brought to tears by the site of a slightly wilted flower? Have you ever almost tripped trying to avoid stepping on the earthworms covering the concrete because it's raining and they're taking their chances to change homes?

As glad as I am that I'm finally seeking explainations, I'm doubtful that they'll point me away from the conclusion I'm dreading I've already made. Hm. I'm bursting at the seams with felt ideas, but don't know how to put them. Sigh.