Once upon a time, in a faraway and distant land, I wrote a blog all about the changing face of Jimmy Page. I come to you today to talk about a startling development I became aware of last Monday: Ralph Macchio’s face.
Some of you are, perhaps, unaware of who Ralph Macchio even is. For that you should be ashamed, but who am I to judge, eh? Macchio was the shining star from the amazing 80’s movie franchise known as “The Karate Kid.” He somewhat faded from public view in the years following the movies’ success, but he has recently resurfaced on the soul-sucking show “Dancing with the Stars.” When I sat myself down to watch the season premiere yesterweek, I nearly pissed myself when it came time for Macchio’s dance. By no means was my near-soiling caused by amazing dance skills or horrendous missteps, instead I was amazed at how little his face has changed in the past 30 years!!! What I am about to show you may not make sense, but I assure you- it is real.
Age 15-ish Age 50, that’s right, 50!!!
Now, when I make the claim that his face has hardly changed in 30 years, it is not simply with the intent to give him a kudos. No, indeed, I have serious concerns that Ralph either sold his soul to the devil or is an alien. Equally viable, these are the only possible explanations I can possibly come to. I must admit, I am deeply disturbed. Almost more disturbed than I was with Jimmy Page’s transformation into an elderly Chinese man. Almost. (Click here to read said blog and laugh/weep your little hearts out.)
Gah! I just can’t stop staring at the side-by-side comparison! Did he have more wrinkles in the before pic? What the hell is going on?!
I hate studying.
Maybe quitting university and going to work full-time for the rest of my life, without any significant education, wouldn’t be so bad. At least it would save me from having to write an essay on whether “Horrors-among-the-hollyhocks and a sanitized sense of evil” is an agreeable statement about Agatha Christie’s Poirot-novel The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. Hollyhocks are, by the way, a kind of flower, brought to Europe from Asia in the 16th century.
How would life as a proletarian work out for me?
I did have to quit one of my previous jobs in a nursing home due to my arms; I have recurring carpal tunnel syndrome in both arms. So working in the health-care-system is basically out of the question. I have recently started working as a waitress at a restaurant, and a bartender at a bar. Both of which I like, but it’s basically only night-time jobs, and that doesn’t work out well with my plans of having a family with 16 kids and a couple of canines. Also: Both of these jobs involve a lot of carrying, pouring and other activities to make my arms hurt.
The biggest problem is this: I know what I want. I want to teach. And that can’t be done without studying. And so I’m stuck writing about the horrors among the hollyhocks, and other terrible tales.
This was brought to you, once again, by the queen of procratination.
(Upon trying to add the tag “University” the bar suggested unicorn. This made me happy, so I kept it.)
My little blog friend, how I have missed thee.
What has happened to BRBcoffee? It seems the “honeymoon phase” is over. I occasionally feel obligated to post something on here, but no topic ever really seems worthwhile. And by worthwhile, I mean me putting forth a mere 30 minutes of my time to write something slightly sarcastic, related to unicorns, or slightly depressing. That being said, today I would like to talk about happiness.
Happiness is a fickle thing. It is nothing without sadness. The heights of joy influence the depths of sorrow, and vice versa. This sounding a bit too Mr. Miyagi for you? Let me explain myself using various examples:
Let us say you are underfed on a regular basis. You therefore expect to be hungry often. Going a day without food doesn’t seem like a big deal to you, but getting extra food once a week is a joyous occasion! Now, let us say you overeat on a regular basis. You therefore never experience the pangs of hunger. Going a day without food seems like pure torture, but getting extra food once a week is hardly even noticed. See what I mean? Our past experiences of high and low, pleasure and pain, define our future likelihood of being happy or being sad.
Let me share a personal example. Whenever I go to my grandma’s, I am enveloped in a world of absolute love, respect, and all the things which make a person happy. The more time I spend there, the more I get used to living such a life. Then, I come home to a house where, let me say, that isn’t the case. Sure, many people would find my living situation to be a fine one, but when I have to come back from that high of being at my grandmother’s, it seems like a crap shoot. It’s somewhat painful to experience that transition- I assume it’s like coming down off a powerful drug high.
My question is as follows; is it better to experience the absolute highs of life and to constantly judge your happiness accordingly? Or is it better to have low expectations of what can be and draw happiness from lesser things?
According to this study by the University of Michigan, the top five happiest countries in the world are Nigeria, Mexico, Venezuela, El Salvador, and Puerto Rico. I therefore nullify my previous question and come to the conclusion that happiness = living near the equator and worshipping soccer.
Adios Amigos!
I bet you’ve all been wondering to yourselves “Gee, I wonder why Frida hasn’t bothered us with more stupid anecdotes and feminist propaganda lately????”
I bring to you: The answer to your unasked question!
I’ve been drowning in schoolwork. And political work. And just being too cool to hang around on brbcoffee.com. (Just kidding! You can’t be too cool for brbcoffee.com, only not cool enough!)
But like I was saying: I’ve been busy having a life. Also, I kind of broke my computer a bit whilst falling (with perfect form, might I add) on the devilish ice, and now it’s a pain to use for writing longer texts. These days, I basically only use it for Criminal Minds, Special Victims Unit and West Wing (my latest obsession, thanks to my “man-friend” [wink-wink, nudge-nudge]).
So why did I choose today to write this blog? To rub your noses in how my terrible day turned into a great day!
So first I deliver to you the story of my last couple of weeks.
I fell on ice and broke both my computer and my dignity. All wounds heal, I have some laught about it, and then it happens again. Only this time there wasn’t a computer there to break my fall.
I pretended to be a doctor and did my diagnosis based on receiving it a couple of times before (last time: Also due to falling on ice. Go figure…) I came to the conclussion that I had a mild concussion. No need to fuss, just some dizziness, constant fatigue and the possibility of throwing up. Also: I shouldn’t really try to read, work out or drink alcohol in a week. Only one problem: I go to university. I have to read! (This week: Truman Capote-In Cold Blood)
Then, after a couple of days mostly spent in bed and sitting down and stuff, I go to work my first shift in this student-bar. And I did hit my head mildly, again, so I didn’t manage to go into work today because standing up made me sick. And I had this meeting, and it was a massive failure, and a lot of things just plain sucked. I drop by my man-friends place to pick up some stuff (he’s in Oslo again, so I’ll have to go to the Wombats-concert alone. And I still can’t drink. Yay!) and I go home. (Doesn’t really sound like this day is getting better, does it?)
Back home I check my mail.
CA-CHING!!!!!!!! (For those of you who can’t read the pixeled [is that a word?] tickets: Me and 4 friends are going to see Foo Fighters! On our way to Roskilde. Yeah, that’s a big festival. In Denmark.)
(Also: I was going to use paper-clips or staples to keep the two sheets of tickets together, but couldn’t find any, so enjoy my sparkling blue hair-clips.)
Oh, and by the way: My hair is red now.
Zooming in and out of focus,
This was Frida.
Greetings, glorious gonads
Gonna get going, gobstopper
Alright, I can’t write an entire blog entry with only words starting with the letter G. But it’s one of those things you have to try at least once.
What is this greatness I refer to in my title? Well, my
[poll id=”40″]
has agreed to lend me his awesome
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, and I’m gonna drive that thing all the way from my current place of residence (being Oslo), to Stavanger to get my speakers and my bass and stuff. Woo!
That is all.
Vegard