1. I will never murder anybody.
2. I will never apply eyeliner on a regular basis
2.5 I will also never apply eyeliner on the inside part of my eyelid
3. I will never idle my car if I do not have a viable reason to do so.
4. When I am slightly more elderly, I will wear my grey hairs with pride.
5. I will never become a person who texts all the time.
6. I will never do a strenuous activity and go to bed afterwards without having taken a shower, only to take one in the morning.
7. I will never blindly follow a specific political party.
8. I will never knowingly be a shabby conversationalist, unless the situation calls for such measures.
9. I will never completely disregard someone else’s opinions.
10. I will never become a person who follows fashion trends.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Christy Rozek--Assignment #5--60-year old photograph
I strolled through the museum, stopping to admire the repulsive modern art. I made my way from the wing with all the “good” art, into the modern art section. On my way there, I passed a nine foot canvas with a single paint splatter on it. It was titled “Goog.” There were some other things, abstract photographs, scary sculptures… But this wasn’t really modern art anymore, because none of this stuff was under fifty-years-old. Hey, this is pretty weird, there’s a piece in here titled “untitled” that is of a person who looks JUST LIKE my mother? The woman seems to be in her forties, she has long amber hair, wearing one of of my mother’s iconic peasant skirts, and standing on top of my house. Except the weird thing is there’s a horse drawn carriage going by in the background. Under “untitled” it has “artist name: Anonymous, 1949.” I opened-up my bag and pulled out my cell phone, hit the number that said “mom,” and waited for her voice. While I was standing there I noticed that the woman in the picture was wearing the necklace that I made for her when I was seven. It was a pretty big print of the photo; I could even barely see my very young signature that I attached to the necklace.
Ten minutes later, I found myself in handcuffs being stuffed into a police car. Apparently cell-phones are not supposed to be used in the museum, and you aren’t supposed to take the art off the wall and stick it in your bag. I was explaining to the police why I was grabbing the picture, but fifteen minutes later I was sat down in a small room with an officer who had a big stack of papers and a very smoky cigar.
Ten minutes later, I found myself in handcuffs being stuffed into a police car. Apparently cell-phones are not supposed to be used in the museum, and you aren’t supposed to take the art off the wall and stick it in your bag. I was explaining to the police why I was grabbing the picture, but fifteen minutes later I was sat down in a small room with an officer who had a big stack of papers and a very smoky cigar.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Christy Rozek--Assignment #4--Alien Invasion
As I stepped out of my UFO, I felt like everyone was staring at me. I walked down the ramp, my motorcycle boots making a rough noise on the steel. Before I took my first step on this foreign world, I thought about how completely awesome it is, finally meeting another species, just in our same galaxy. I stepped off the ramp, bowed and said through my universal translator “greetings from Earth.”
A while later, I was cozied-up by a slime fountain, having a cup of bubble-tea with the Plutonian ambassador. She was definitely a woman, which shocked me, because I always imagined that life on other planets would be far different from ours. I said to her “Thank you so much for your tremendous hospitality, we on Earth never could have dreamed of coming to another world only to be greeted as old friends.” She gave a slight nod and thought for a moment. “Well, I suppose we really are old friends in a way, here on Pluto, we’ve known for many generations that our planet and yours started as one sphere. We don’t know why, but 300 millions years ago they split apart; Earth went careening towards the center of the galaxy, and you were gracefully swept into a closer orbit around the sun. Pluto was flung into the reaches of the milky way, only to be brought back and established on the perimeter of the solar neighborhood.” In deep thought, I stroked where a goatee would be if I had one, “This is very surprising to me, on Earth we are able to observe much of your planet, but we can never reach into your history books, or your fables.”
We walked side by side in the Mystical Gardens of the Global Plutonion Conservatory. “Now what did you say this is called, again?” She plucked a flower from a navy blue stem, extending the shimmering peddles towards me so I could take in the aroma “it’s called a Posiemat, they’re one of our most common variety of weed, they’re comparable to the dandelion of Earth.” I looked around, trying to take in every moment of this. I pointed to a flower, which grew, give or take a centimeter, exactly twelve-inches above ground. The ambassador earlier told me about these plants; upon maturation, the petals change color from a tufty-white into a brilliant gold. During the course of precisely 36-hours they spiral down around the crimson stem until they barely brush against the soil. Here there are ants, a lot like the ones back home, and when the petals brush the Pluto, these ants travel to the top of the flower and make their colony in its center. At the same time, we both said “these Antallamora flowers are my favorite.” The ambassador continued, “here on Pluto we have a festival celebrating the Antallamora, it’s quite a bit like the Religious holidays that you told me about on Earth, except this is a far more serious affair.”
A while later, I was cozied-up by a slime fountain, having a cup of bubble-tea with the Plutonian ambassador. She was definitely a woman, which shocked me, because I always imagined that life on other planets would be far different from ours. I said to her “Thank you so much for your tremendous hospitality, we on Earth never could have dreamed of coming to another world only to be greeted as old friends.” She gave a slight nod and thought for a moment. “Well, I suppose we really are old friends in a way, here on Pluto, we’ve known for many generations that our planet and yours started as one sphere. We don’t know why, but 300 millions years ago they split apart; Earth went careening towards the center of the galaxy, and you were gracefully swept into a closer orbit around the sun. Pluto was flung into the reaches of the milky way, only to be brought back and established on the perimeter of the solar neighborhood.” In deep thought, I stroked where a goatee would be if I had one, “This is very surprising to me, on Earth we are able to observe much of your planet, but we can never reach into your history books, or your fables.”
We walked side by side in the Mystical Gardens of the Global Plutonion Conservatory. “Now what did you say this is called, again?” She plucked a flower from a navy blue stem, extending the shimmering peddles towards me so I could take in the aroma “it’s called a Posiemat, they’re one of our most common variety of weed, they’re comparable to the dandelion of Earth.” I looked around, trying to take in every moment of this. I pointed to a flower, which grew, give or take a centimeter, exactly twelve-inches above ground. The ambassador earlier told me about these plants; upon maturation, the petals change color from a tufty-white into a brilliant gold. During the course of precisely 36-hours they spiral down around the crimson stem until they barely brush against the soil. Here there are ants, a lot like the ones back home, and when the petals brush the Pluto, these ants travel to the top of the flower and make their colony in its center. At the same time, we both said “these Antallamora flowers are my favorite.” The ambassador continued, “here on Pluto we have a festival celebrating the Antallamora, it’s quite a bit like the Religious holidays that you told me about on Earth, except this is a far more serious affair.”
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