I’m Amanda. I’ve got wide eyes, a smart mouth, and a MetroCard. And I’m not afraid to use them.
Next Thursday, I have yet another hunk of writing due for my fiction workshop. I don’t know what I was thinking when I signed up to turn in so much writing two weeks after the last batch.
I know! Probably that I’d be able to get Junot Diaz to ghostwrite.
In exactly two days, I’m going to freak out and be unable to consume any media - it’ll be all about pooping it out. So I’m trying to get some reading in tonight. The following dialogue from Carrie Fisher’s Postcards from the Edge grabbed me.
I regale my co-worker friend Clark with my more interesting dating stories. And believe me, they’ve been interesting. Alas, I can’t blog most of them.
So I just tell friends offline, including Clark. It’s nice to get a guy’s - especially a normal guy’s - opinion.
Without further ado, I present my second video post.
I may have to take this down later and start charging for lessons.
Tonight’s the night I’m stumped.
1. The first big winter snowfall
2. Cider donuts
3. Opening up a new bottle of shampoo
I’ve been thinking of things worth waiting for.
I have front burner goals for my life, but they’re nebulous. I guess they’re more like stuff in the kitchen cabinets that flows onto the counter. Then on the floor, down the hall…
They don’t fit in one place.
Today my friend Jeremy helped me paint part of my living room.
Painting called for apartment origami, as there’s no adequately-sized place to put all the furniture that needed to be moved.
Actually, doing most anything at home in NYC involves apartment origami. I know people who store clothes in their kitchens and wash dishes in the bathtub.
Two days ago, I found out that someone I grew up with died.
This boy was a classmate of mine for years, the son of my theater arts teacher. He always got first place at the science fair, and I got second.
He was the only boy who asked me to dance at the first dance in sixth grade. This was when he briefly liked me, before he began a passionate romance with a girl named Sabrina who was taller than him. I went to the other dances the rest of the year, never got asked to dance, and then stopped attending.
Using blogging and Twitter for crowdsourcing has proven to be pretty effective.
A few weeks ago, I asked New Yorkers where to find affordable figs and got an answer. Then I asked about blog hosting options and got more answers.
It won’t be long before I’m asking the Internet at large to make me a sandwich.
I’ve always respected teachers.
After my rocky, short-lived stint as a teacher in NYC, I have even more respect for those who stick with it.
And I have the utmost respect for teachers who love what they do and make a real difference. Teachers like Mr. B, the music teacher and chorus director at P.S. 22 in Staten Island.
