"I like the cold, grey winter days...

...Days like these let you savor a bad mood."  -Bill Watterson


Winter has really settled in. I'm starting to understand why everyone here seems to detest the very mention of it during summer. While I wouldn't go so far as to say I hate it, it's not quite sunshine and roses. In fact, it's quite the opposite.


I am still captured by the whimsy of watching flurries float down slow, but not lazy. Fast, but not rushed. Straight, but not ordered. It's when I snap out of my haze and get back to the reality of scraping the ice off my car that I really miss summer.


Let me clarify that really quickly. I miss Eden, NY summers. I do not, however, miss Florida summers. I don't think I'll ever miss that monstrosity. 


But the lack of sun does tend to wear on my psyche. I don't remember the last time I saw the cheery yellow of the sun drifting through my windows, chasing the sorrows away. It's been a while. It has allowed me an abundance of time to feel down. That has manifested into many different things; homesickness, tiredness, and a very general blah feeling. This isn't constant, but it is quite close to majority.


I have a theory. I think that you can go without social activity or you can go without sunlight. But you can't do both. Obviously, this theory has some pretty gaping holes. But for me, it's pretty accurate. 


When the sun is shining I tend to have a bright outlook on things (No pun intended. Well, actually, it was kind of intended.) When I'm with friends or family I am at ease, forgetting that I have a ton of homework and come tomorrow I have "insert some mundane activity that for whatever reason I'm feeling major anxiety about here" to do.


But when it's snowing, overcast and I stay at home alone all day I tend to lose every last drop of contentedness I ever had. Unless, I've noticed, I clean. But there's only so much I can clean. The last few days I've been spending plenty of time with my friends and that, above all, seems to be helping a lot. 


What I'll end with is this: Winter is a mysterious, beautiful thing. If only it lasted for three weeks it'd be perfect. See you none-too-soon, Spring. I'll be waiting.

School...Yippee! Wait, what?

School has started up again. In fact, I just got home from school a mere twenty minutes ago (it's 11:30 PM now). A lot of things are different from last semester.

For starters, we're in a different kitchen. A bigger one. A nicer one. Oh yeah... The size of my class has also changed. There's now only 8 people in my Retail Bakeshop class and 6 people in my Classical Bakeshop class. It's crazy to see the humongous group of beginners next door. To think we were there merely four months ago. We've come full circle. It's a strange thought.

I've learned fast that Retail Bakeshop is going to flat-out kick my ass. Depending on your station for the week you are expected to make (correctly, of course) four dozen cookies or two cheesecakes and two pies or a couple sheet pans of bar cookies, so on and so forth. The trick is, you have less than three hours. And mix that pressure with Chef Dorothy's (who seems nice, if a little reserved, from what I've seen) ambiguous stare, it's enough to unnerve just about anybody.

That class ends at 6:30. Guess when the next class starts. Did you guess 6:30? If you did, give yourself a pat on the back. That's right. There's no break in between. That means from 3:30-9:45 we are in straight production. On our feet. In a kitchen. I must admit I'm not sure how well this is going to work out for things like my back and feet. Even Chef Kyle let on that about the third week he starts to see students shoulders slump. It's just a lot on your body.

That being said, I have a sense of comfort knowing that my classmates double as my best friends here. Every single one of them. Not many people can say that. So, all in all, I think it will be a very interesting semester. Definitely one I'll remember for the rest of my life. And with that, I shall end this post. It's late and I'm tired.

Goodnight, all.

P.S. If you noticed that this post was lacking any sort of witty word-play or basically anything that would make it interesting to read, that is directly related to the time I get out of school. I didn't get home until about 11:05 so this is what gets pooped out (sorry, that was gross).

I don't really know what to say here except that my favorite Atlanta Bread customer has passed away. He was hilarious, kind, and never failed to make me smile. When I saw him for the last time before I moved to New York I gave him a hug and assured him I'd see him when I was home. I'll miss you.

Here's to you, Rick. Hope they have ham sandwiches on a toasted croissant, swiss cheese, mayo only, hold the pickle, and huge glasses of iced tea wherever you are now.

I Just Don't Write Enough

Even writing on here once, or maybe twice, a week leaves me with the sense that I'm not writing enough. I used to write stories. Now, I'm lucky to get one started, to get an idea. Even more rare is getting it to take off somewhere. I've decided I'm going to try exercising my chops a little bit. I find pictures that interest me and write a little something to go along with them. Here are my first three:

"Do not fear, child," the smaller of the two beasts coaxed. "We wish you no harm."

"But your teeth are big and you have horns sticking up from your heads," the small child whispered.

"Ay," the larger beast said, "'tis true. But to us, you are the strange one. With your soft hair only clinging to your head and your body no larger than a finger of mine, you are an alien to us just as we are to you. Do you see us frightened by your strangeties?"

She considered. "No."

"Then why don't we first be friends and leave the worries for another day?"

............................................

The siren looked on at the men around her. She laughed inside.

Most of them are married. She could see it in their eyes. She knew, but she didn't care. She would never coerce a married man here, but once through the doors on his own accord, he was hers.

As she sat before the show started, still as could be, she mentally checked herself. Her blood red stockings were pulled up high. Her meticulously curly hair was still in its place. She felt good. She felt sexy.

............................................

New York City was a truly exceptional city. Being that she had lived here since she was fourteen, now thirty-two, she knew she knew her way around it. She was silently triumphant. She came here with thirty dollars and one filled suitcase to her name. She now had a lush Manhattan apartment filled with clothes and shoes and art. She had made it.

Looking around her on this drizzly night reminded her of home. The colors were vibrant and everywhere, never a dull spot. It was 3 AM on a Tuesday and while traffic was lighter, not much was different than its PM counterpart. She was heading to get a bit of tea from her favorite coffee shop. She often did this when she couldn't sleep, which happened to be almost every night.

You see, while she had made it in the sense that she was one of the most noted artists around and was set monetarily for life, she had seemingly failed in the social department. Both her parents had died which is what had spurred her to move here in the first place. She would not let men close enough to her to fall in love. And she could have friends. She had offers to go places all the time. She simply declined them preferring, instead, to spend her evenings with her cat, Vincent.

She finished the night with her tea, and a sense of longing.

Here are the websites I got the images from in order in which they appear:

Monsters

Siren

NYC

Oh and by the way, I'd love it if you would tell me which one was your favorite. Thanks! =)

A Story For You

I'm going to tell you a story about Camille Saint-Saens. He was a musician and composer that was born in October of 1835. Early in life he became aware of his extreme musical abilities. And when I say "early in life" I mean he wrote his first piano composition when he was three and a half.

When he was 50, Saint-Saens was vacationing in a small village in Austria when he wrote the masterpiece "The Carnival of the Animals" or "Le Carnaval Des Animaux". It is an epic fourteen part symphony that he wrote chronicling a trip to the zoo. He included movements like "The Swan", "The Elephant", and "The Aquarium".

Each part is distinctly its own, conjuring up its very own, sometimes quite comical, image in your mind. For instance, the movement entitled, "Tortues" or "Tortoises" plays what you might know as the "can-can" only slowed down very dramatically. And for "The Elephant" Saint-Saens took what would normally be a high pitched, fast paced song and had it played on the bass, slowly and lethargically.

After one small performance of the symphony for his friends he forbade it to be played while he was still living. He wanted to be taken seriously as a composer and felt this would hurt his reputation. If I remember correctly, "The Swan" is the only movement he allowed to be played during his lifetime.

I find it terribly interesting, watching history repeat itself so sinuously while no one seems to be noticing. This reminds me an awful lot of all the musicians and artists out there putting their fun, free, and truly creative sides behind them as they attempt to be taken "seriously" in the modern, adult world. What's even better, is that this is a sterling example of how wrong of an idea this is! Le Carnaval Des Animaux is one of Camille Saint-Saens most known, and acclaimed works.

People seem to think that there are two parts to the human brain: 1) The eternal child. The part of you that would rather just play hooky for the day and go to the movies. The part of you that would rather write or read or paint or play xbox all day long. We tend to suppress this part of our minds as we age thinking that we must forego what is fun for what is expected of us. 2) The adult. The part of you that knows that life isn't fun and games. The part that makes you wake up every morning, have a cup of coffee, read the newspaper, and go to work. The part that "gets the job done", so to speak.

I think this kind of proves my theory that you can merge your two selves into one, equal state of being. Just do what you're good at and as long as that's not selling crack on street corners you are probably going to be very successful. And even better than successful you can be happy. That elusive little title that everyone wants, and so few achieve.

I hope you are doing what makes you happy. Goodnight, all.

It's happening again!

Hold on to your seats ladies and gentlemen! I've made another vlog! I know, you just didn't get enough of my random, boring talks last time. I've heard your pleas and spent a good hour-ish making a new one for your viewing pleasure.

Enjoy:

Click here for the video that will solve all of your problems and clean your house!