I found my 10 year old slam book last night. In my defense, slambooks in Bangalore ’99 was like ‘ohmigod so totally the bomb and stuff’. Actually, no. Back then, I was your average religious yet free-spirited 12-year old – which meant that I loved sparkly lip gloss, Wrestle Mania, and Jesus. Hmmm… no wonder boys didn’t ask me out a lot. They didn’t know if I was going to perform the Inverted Indian Deathlock on them, or quote scripture.
That slambook reminded me of how things change. I discovered that way back in ’99, most of my now super-cool and devastatingly trendy friends absolutely adored Britney Spears. AND Celine Dion. I still think that they’re super cool and devastatingly trendy. But that’s probably because I’m fundamentally and tragically unhip. I too, am guilty of a Miss Spears fixation. I even watched Crossroads. Twice! (What can I say? I have a thing for punishment. Audio-visual style.)
That slambook also reminded me of how some things never do change. Like my horrific drawing skills. My version of the iconic Kuwait Towers looks like a ballpoint pen. My coloring skills were so outré, it looked like the leprechaun from Lucky Charms threw up a rainbow on the page.
That slambook got me all nostalgic for the time when my friends and I would fight over who gets to be Scary Spice. (I was always Ginger because I was not scary or sporty or posh or baby-like.) It reminded me of the time when we’d nickname ourselves after nail polish shades (Mystic Mahogany. Oh, how wrong you sound now.) I remember the time when we’d spend 45 minutes after every Friday Vesper service trying to color-coordinate our outfits for Sabbath the next day. Ah, the five of us. We were a force to be reckoned with. Force of Nature that is. (It’s an inside joke. Don’t pretend understanding.)
That slambook also got me thinking. About how we can never completely ‘know’ who we are. Not when we change so dramatically every five to ten years. Perhaps the best that we can aim for is to understand the phases we go through and still like ourselves… somewhat at least.
P.S. Funniest Thing I’ve Heard on T.V. in a Long Time:
Where – The Tonight Show with Conan O’Brian
When – A while ago.
What – “In the year 3000, babies will listen to dance music when Lady Gaga joins forces with the Goo Goo Dolls to form the super-group – Gaga Goo Goo”
Fell off the couch laughing? Check.
Milk through nose? Check.
Bu-bu-but… I wasn’t drinking any milk. Doom doom dooooooom.
-
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
If You're a Diva and You Know It, Clap Your Hands!
I’m not clapping.
I’m not a diva. Well, at least Facebook tells me I’m not. According to the Almighty FB, I’m not the beautiful Satine from Moulin Rouge. I’m not even Eliza Doolittle. Instead, it turns out that I am Mary “Spoonful of Sugar” Poppins. Great. Brilliant. I’m diva-stated. (Hyuk Hyuk)
Friends, Romans, countrymen, let me tell you one of life’s biggest truths- There’s nothing like a birthday to put you in one heck of a heavy duty philosophical blue funk. I turned 23 last Thursday and for the past whole week, I’ve obsessing over how little I’ve actually accomplished so far in my life. See, while the other 23-year olds are out changing the world one reality show at a time, the biggest challenge of my day is trying to figure out where Katy Perry fits on my Annoyometer. (Which, by the way, ranges from Level 1 - Slurred Vocals of Amy Winehouse i.e. surprisingly not, to Level 3 billion and 4 - Enrique’s sing/crying i.e. capable of inducing Chucky-like homicidal tendencies.) As of this very moment, she’s firmly entrenched in Level 4509 – Ross and Rachel’s story i.e. annoying… if I actually gave a crap.
Actually, truth be told, this past year hasn’t been completely uneventful. I discovered my inner prude this year. Now I can combat every one of my random friend’s “I got so wasted last night” story with an “Then I baked 5 dozen cookies and wrapped them in plastic wrap and apple green ribbons. It was just soo darling!” story. Great. I’m growing up to be Martha Stewart. Only less talented and/or street cred. Huh.
This year I also learned that while I do like to name drop jazz artists and listen to bands like The Beatles and Oasis on Imeem, it’s songs like Usher’s ‘Yeah!’ that make me want to shake my groove thang. (Did you wince at that 'groove thang' bit too? Groove thang, my foot - which, according to the Urban Dictionary, is not necessarily the same thing.)
You know how sometimes that pool of immobility (immobile-ness?) that your life languishes in becomes so overwhelming that you think that you’re either going to explode or implode with all the stationary-ness?
No? OK, guess it’s just me then.
Either way you know what happens then? When it gets to be more than you think you can bear? You'd think that suddenly outta nowhere something spectacular might happen, right? Some sort of epiphany at least, right?? Wrong. Nothing happens. Nothing is going to happen. Nothing is ever going to happen. Not unless we get up and do something about it. (I figure that if I say it enough, I might actually get up too.) But I have this hope. Yeah, yeah, the kind that burns within my heart. A hope that perhaps this year will be different. That this year I’ll finally find what I’m looking for. My erm... raison d'être I think it’s called. Truth is, I’d even settle for just finding out WHAT it is in the first place.
For those who HAVE found it, have you hugged your raison today?
P.S. A few people have asked me if all the events in my last post are true. OK fine. ONE person asked me that. But just to clear things up, yes, everything I mentioned in the last post is true. Down to the last, excruciatingly embarrassing detail. Well, except for the fact that I'm not delusional-ly optimistic. I'm not really a glass half full kinda person. Or a glass half empty one either actually. I'm more of a 'Drink up or Shut up' kinda person. So there.
I’m not a diva. Well, at least Facebook tells me I’m not. According to the Almighty FB, I’m not the beautiful Satine from Moulin Rouge. I’m not even Eliza Doolittle. Instead, it turns out that I am Mary “Spoonful of Sugar” Poppins. Great. Brilliant. I’m diva-stated. (Hyuk Hyuk)
Friends, Romans, countrymen, let me tell you one of life’s biggest truths- There’s nothing like a birthday to put you in one heck of a heavy duty philosophical blue funk. I turned 23 last Thursday and for the past whole week, I’ve obsessing over how little I’ve actually accomplished so far in my life. See, while the other 23-year olds are out changing the world one reality show at a time, the biggest challenge of my day is trying to figure out where Katy Perry fits on my Annoyometer. (Which, by the way, ranges from Level 1 - Slurred Vocals of Amy Winehouse i.e. surprisingly not, to Level 3 billion and 4 - Enrique’s sing/crying i.e. capable of inducing Chucky-like homicidal tendencies.) As of this very moment, she’s firmly entrenched in Level 4509 – Ross and Rachel’s story i.e. annoying… if I actually gave a crap.
Actually, truth be told, this past year hasn’t been completely uneventful. I discovered my inner prude this year. Now I can combat every one of my random friend’s “I got so wasted last night” story with an “Then I baked 5 dozen cookies and wrapped them in plastic wrap and apple green ribbons. It was just soo darling!” story. Great. I’m growing up to be Martha Stewart. Only less talented and/or street cred. Huh.
This year I also learned that while I do like to name drop jazz artists and listen to bands like The Beatles and Oasis on Imeem, it’s songs like Usher’s ‘Yeah!’ that make me want to shake my groove thang. (Did you wince at that 'groove thang' bit too? Groove thang, my foot - which, according to the Urban Dictionary, is not necessarily the same thing.)
You know how sometimes that pool of immobility (immobile-ness?) that your life languishes in becomes so overwhelming that you think that you’re either going to explode or implode with all the stationary-ness?
No? OK, guess it’s just me then.
Either way you know what happens then? When it gets to be more than you think you can bear? You'd think that suddenly outta nowhere something spectacular might happen, right? Some sort of epiphany at least, right?? Wrong. Nothing happens. Nothing is going to happen. Nothing is ever going to happen. Not unless we get up and do something about it. (I figure that if I say it enough, I might actually get up too.) But I have this hope. Yeah, yeah, the kind that burns within my heart. A hope that perhaps this year will be different. That this year I’ll finally find what I’m looking for. My erm... raison d'être I think it’s called. Truth is, I’d even settle for just finding out WHAT it is in the first place.
For those who HAVE found it, have you hugged your raison today?
P.S. A few people have asked me if all the events in my last post are true. OK fine. ONE person asked me that. But just to clear things up, yes, everything I mentioned in the last post is true. Down to the last, excruciatingly embarrassing detail. Well, except for the fact that I'm not delusional-ly optimistic. I'm not really a glass half full kinda person. Or a glass half empty one either actually. I'm more of a 'Drink up or Shut up' kinda person. So there.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
I Like to Sing-a, About the Moon-a and the June-a and the Spring-a, I Like to Sing-a!
When I grow up, while I DO want to be famous, want to be a star, yada, yada, yada, there are some things I just cannot do.
Things I cannot be when I grow up
1. Rock goddess
2. Folk singer
3. Cast member of Cats
4. Maria von Trapp
5. A waitress
Here’s why.
Imagine a CSI meets L.A. Law inspired opening scene. (Tan TAN!)
Date: 31st May, 2009
Time: 6 P.M. (or it’s thereabouts)
Place: Sunshine Orphanage, Bangalore
Victims: Sheryll’s ego and everyone’s ear drums
But, How?
The Adventist Youth dept put up a program at Sunshine orphanage that fateful Saturday evening, and one of the scheduled ‘events’ was that we had to teach the kids a song. Well, Shivonne had to anyways. She couldn’t make it so I bravely stepped forward. I mean, how bad could it be, right?
Wrong.
It was bad. Really bad. So bad that one uncle later told me that he had never heard ONE song sung in so many different pitches. In his vote of thanks, the church pastor thanked me for the lovely songs I taught them. SongS?? It was ONE song! Guess not everyone understands the musical stylings of Sheryll ‘Norah Jones’ Sampson.
So there I was, singing ‘I love the mountains, I love the rolling hills, I love the… Baaaaah’
What the? A sheep? In the middle of campus?? How? When? Why??? And in all confusion, I blurted out (and loud) the first thing that came to my mind.
'It wasn’t me.'
Gah!
Turns out that one of the AY leaders was testing out the animal noises he’d downloaded for a Noah’s Ark skit which we were going to perform after my song.
But seriously Bean, sheep? What next? Elephant noises?
Yes. Yes indeed. I bravely smiled, joked with the audience, and continued singing ‘I love the mountains, I love the rolling hills, I love the… pppppppppphhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwww...’
This is getting old.
Thanks to my awesome powers of delusional optimism (aka glass half full… with nectar of the gods… and magically slimming Lindt chocolate-itis), I see at least two upsides to this sad and sordid story.
1. I’ve got new material for Chapter 4 of my autobiography – ‘How I Became the Crazy Cat Lady’ (working title. Also called ‘How to Die Alone’)
2. I was so bad that the kids forgot that I was supposed to teach them a song and thought I was part of the regular entertainment. It’s like George Burns once said “If I get big laughs, I'm a comedian. If I get little laughs, I'm a humorist. If I get no laughs, I'm a singer.”
I got big laughs, people (person?), BIG laughs. Conan O’Brian better watch his back or the dude’s job is so Bangalored, baby!
Huh.
And why not a waitress you ask? Coz I’m so heavy duty clumsy I make my momma cry, that’s why.
Sing it with me, people! Boom-di-ala, Boom-di-ala, Boom-di-ala, Boom-di-ala...
Things I cannot be when I grow up
1. Rock goddess
2. Folk singer
3. Cast member of Cats
4. Maria von Trapp
5. A waitress
Here’s why.
Imagine a CSI meets L.A. Law inspired opening scene. (Tan TAN!)
Date: 31st May, 2009
Time: 6 P.M. (or it’s thereabouts)
Place: Sunshine Orphanage, Bangalore
Victims: Sheryll’s ego and everyone’s ear drums
But, How?
The Adventist Youth dept put up a program at Sunshine orphanage that fateful Saturday evening, and one of the scheduled ‘events’ was that we had to teach the kids a song. Well, Shivonne had to anyways. She couldn’t make it so I bravely stepped forward. I mean, how bad could it be, right?
Wrong.
It was bad. Really bad. So bad that one uncle later told me that he had never heard ONE song sung in so many different pitches. In his vote of thanks, the church pastor thanked me for the lovely songs I taught them. SongS?? It was ONE song! Guess not everyone understands the musical stylings of Sheryll ‘Norah Jones’ Sampson.
So there I was, singing ‘I love the mountains, I love the rolling hills, I love the… Baaaaah’
What the? A sheep? In the middle of campus?? How? When? Why??? And in all confusion, I blurted out (and loud) the first thing that came to my mind.
'It wasn’t me.'
Gah!
Turns out that one of the AY leaders was testing out the animal noises he’d downloaded for a Noah’s Ark skit which we were going to perform after my song.
But seriously Bean, sheep? What next? Elephant noises?
Yes. Yes indeed. I bravely smiled, joked with the audience, and continued singing ‘I love the mountains, I love the rolling hills, I love the… pppppppppphhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwww...’
This is getting old.
Thanks to my awesome powers of delusional optimism (aka glass half full… with nectar of the gods… and magically slimming Lindt chocolate-itis), I see at least two upsides to this sad and sordid story.
1. I’ve got new material for Chapter 4 of my autobiography – ‘How I Became the Crazy Cat Lady’ (working title. Also called ‘How to Die Alone’)
2. I was so bad that the kids forgot that I was supposed to teach them a song and thought I was part of the regular entertainment. It’s like George Burns once said “If I get big laughs, I'm a comedian. If I get little laughs, I'm a humorist. If I get no laughs, I'm a singer.”
I got big laughs, people (person?), BIG laughs. Conan O’Brian better watch his back or the dude’s job is so Bangalored, baby!
Huh.
And why not a waitress you ask? Coz I’m so heavy duty clumsy I make my momma cry, that’s why.
Sing it with me, people! Boom-di-ala, Boom-di-ala, Boom-di-ala, Boom-di-ala...
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