thatnight.net

I’ve been preparing for school over the last week and wishing I wasn’t. I am very much ready to cease being an undergrad, although I’m rather positive that I’ll be learning for an extra year beyond the traditional four. If I could coach lacrosse full time for the rest of my life, and afford to live, I would be a very happy person. Oh, and I would also need an iPhone.

Summer is ending. This is both depressing and exciting at the same time, as I love the rare Pittsburgh sunshine, but also the Halloween season. Haunted houses are my Christmas presents. The ideas of decorated department stores and snow frolicking make me cringe. I would sooner spend a month in Salem.

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I went to Cafe du Jour this evening under the recommendation of Cynthia Closkey, and my, was it lovely.

The only problem I had was, when presented with this meal, baked brie and sliced apple with spring honey and a berry reduction (wha?), I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Do you spread? Do you dip? Do you layer? I’ve never been too cultured with food. I enjoy filet mignon on a similar level with Pop-Tarts.

I spent most of my time looking around, it was so pretty, and once I got a flow going with the food, I was in a very happy place. And? It was cheap. Dinner and dessert for $10. That, and the staff was so sweet, it was almost more comfortable being there alone.

I may have found a first favorite restaurant.

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A session at the conference made some video shorts related to the idea of “why you chose the shirt you’re wearing.” Chris Brogan posted all five on his site. I am in the first one, but my favorite (an impromptu comedy about alternative definitions of techie terms), which has nothing to do with the original topic, is embedded below.

It was filmed in a way in which individuals were told to stand against a wall, given a term, and asked to elaborate on the fly. It’s also a very good display of the different people who have come together this weekend.

“What’s Facebook?”

“A really dissatisfying porn magazine.”

On a side note, the Tribune-Review covered us.

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Here are Brian Conley and Steve Wyshywaniuk, the guys from Alive in Baghdad, which is a video blog documenting the voices, and daily life, of Iraqis.

They led a discussion and presented a clip, this clip, which is a very moving account of the conflicts (emotional and physical) of the children who were forced to flee and start their lives elsewhere, and their hope to return. Watch.

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Hey look! It’s Justin!

The presentations so far have been fantastic, including memorable displays by Chris Brogan (Session: Presentation Hacks) and Michael Domingo (Session: Just.Press.Record). Everything is very interactive, the people here are extremely diverse, and it’s overall already becoming a memorable event.

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So, Podcamp Pittsburgh is this weekend, which is an unconference for Pittsburgh bloggers and vloggers and new media enthusiasts. This is a good opportunity for me to meet people, since I haven’t a real friend who knows what a podcast is. This also means that I have no one to cling to during these offline social situations, and am therefore shit out of luck in sustaining a completely confident demeanor.

I was, in fact, so awkward, while violently gripping my free beer (thanks, SIDT!), that I did not take one picture. Not a one.

Luckily, this was day zero, and the good stuff starts tomorrow, so I’ll have more content to share. Not the swag though, that’s all mine. I hope to be writing live throughout the day. Keep by.

Edit: Luckily, Michael Fulk documented the event quite nicely. His shots can be found here. And hey look! There’s intellectual me on the right!

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They do their hair, daily.
Why was I always picturing a dainty brunette in a white blouse and pencil skirt twirling her hair around a thick, round iron while waving around a hefty can of Aqua Net?

They are engaged by senior year.
Because that’s the next step, the only thing left to do in life.

They drink martinis in short, black dresses.
They lean over high tables discussing graduate school and trips to Paris. They are never tired.

They have cash.
Society showers them with impressive amounts of money as sincere congratulations for making it so far. “College graduate? How prestigious!”

They are immediately rewarded with meaningful careers.
Last day of school: You walk across campus in a new suit, holding a diploma. You reach an office with a banner over the door. “Congrats, Grads!” Inside, behind a giant mahogany desk, sits an enthusiastic old man dressed in Argyle. Upon seeing you, he reaches into his drawer of files and excitedly removes a paper with your name on it. At the top of the sheet, in a box, is the location of your new job, the one you worked for. You start Monday.

There’s always room.
English major? We have someone who wants to publish your novel, because you graduated college. Pre-med? Here’s your acceptance letter to medical school, because you graduated college. Art? The Met expects you tomorrow. We told them you graduated college.

Classes consist of an older, eccentric individual speaking passionately about his or her life’s work.
Everyone shows up. They listen with sparkling eyes and involved minds. They all get A’s for coming.

The other classes are (very) on location.
“I hope you’re all ready to explore the wonders of Shakespeare. Tomorrow, to accent our journey through Titus Andronicus, we leave for Italy!”

Backpacks are discarded.
Admittedly, I walked into my first class as a freshman with a black, leather computer bag. At a state college. Minutes later, it was tucked between my right leg and the wall, cowering among the faithful JanSport and Gap messenger bags.

The professors invite you to quaint, personal locations to discuss the things you couldn’t get enough of in class.
You drink tea.

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I’m nearing the two-year anniversary of this website, which doesn’t really mean much of anything, especially since I usually avoid the milestones of actual relationships.

However! I wanted to turn things around a little bit.

I was invited to join the ranks of BlogHer, which is now sponsoring this website, which is especially great, since they don’t tell me what to say or how to say it. They’re kind of just there, a surrogate mother, to maybe cover my hosting once in a while. And make my bed.

I feel pretty good about it, being a part of it all, since I learned pretty much everything about blogging from names such as Heather Armstrong and Eden Marriott Kennedy, and I always related these women, and other online idols, with the organization.

Besides all that though, now my front page has more stuff, and I’m a big fan of clutter.

More (extremely) important things:

We had a massive power outage here a few days ago (microbursts, again?) and a lot of the local food-related businesses have been cleaning out their stock since refrigeration is down. And while it sucks for the businesses, who will have to re-buy everything, my home never lost power, and we got a massive (as in, bigger than freezer) brownie tray from Dairy Queen, which will probably feed me for the next three years.

I watched Freedom Writers yesterday and cried. Then I watched The Crucible and cried. Then I watched Disturbia and fell asleep.

I think I love Becca.

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My cousin Mark, a soldier in the army, is being deployed to Iraq sometime next week. For a while, I was kind of impartial about the whole thing, which is terrible, I know, although I’ve always had the mindset that he was invincible. That, in addition to the fact that dialog about the war has been made so cliché and redundant, that feeling any real danger in the situation was emotionally unreachable for me.

My family is angry about the whole thing, him leaving college, and joining the army. Maybe it’s my relationship to him, in addition to our similar age and opinions, that has made me unable to say, “You’ve ruined your life.” As much as I disagree with our country’s position in Iraq, I don’t believe that he’s made a mistake. He’s made a decision. What good will it do to chastise him, especially when I don’t think he deserves to be chastised?

I wasn’t sad until I actually saw him yesterday. I’ve always seen him as my powerful, more mature cousin. Yesterday, though, I saw him as a 21-year-old. I’m just hoping things work out.

On a side note, there are going to be some changes around this website. Hopefully, they’ll all be good ones.

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The beach has been sort of overcast, threatening everyone with thunderstorms, which is fine, because I’ll accept thunderstorms as long as I still get to be on vacation.

As soon as we set up our towels, the lifeguards kicked everyone out. I walked on the boardwalk for a while. Children searched for small patches of sand in which they could carry on their digging, and everyone else crowded under the few awnings to avoid the approaching downpour.

It cleared up after a while and people started back towards the beach again, like this guy, who reminded me to get henna while I was here, since my Syrian grandmother was a big fan, and there are places here that do it well.

And then my sister was a dinosaur. The end.

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