READY PLAYER ONE & SOME THOUGHTS ON MEDIUM

Dear Reader,

This morning I watched the trailer for Ready Player One and I got chills. The story is about a boy living in a world that exists primarily online–in The Oasis–rather than in reality.

I listened to this book during the spring semester of my sophomore year and was obsessed. It began during my workouts–to motivate me to spend more than just twenty minutes on the elliptical–but I ended up playing it constantly. I had it going as I walked to class, as I did my laundry, even as I worked on my Big/Little reveal shirt in our suite, while in the company of others. One time I found myself at work much too early, so I took a few laps around the library and continued listening to the story. I laughed out loud at times, and even gasped when they mentioned Hamilton, Ohio–a town I visited almost weekly while on campus.

The story was so captivating and thought-provoking, and by listening to it, I really saw it play out like a movie in my head. So you can imagine my extreme excitement when I happened upon the trailer this morning.

Like I said–chills. I think this story could be beautifully translated into a movie. I think a lot of stories could. It all felt so real and magical in my head, but seeing the Oasis and the adventure on the big screen could be truly amazing. I mean, we have so much at our disposal to make these sci-fi and fantasy stories come to life. It worked well with Harry Potter–YEARS ago–and with Fantastic Beasts, we were shown how much more can be done to tell the story now. And tell it in a way that does the original work justice. Perhaps tell it in a way that it was meant to be told.

This got me thinking about medium. Again, I just recently mentioned Edgar Wright popping up on the screen before Baby Driver began and thanking the audience for coming to see his creation–the work that he wrote and directed–in it’s intended form. He was talking about coming to the theater, of course, but it also spoke about the medium he chose. Baby Driver had a great storyline with vibrant characters and could be made into a play or a novel or even a cartoon, but it excelled as a live-action movie. And maybe Wright can’t draw or chose against a novel because he wanted the audience to hear the music (which is integral to the story and the experience), but this story that only existed in his head, he had to get out in some form. This form was cinema, and it worked beautifully. And I don’t think it’d be the same in any other form.

Still, going back to Harry Potter, some books excel on the big screen. And some certainly don’t–I’m looking at you, Eragon and Percy Jackson. So whenever I see that a favorite book of mine is being adapted into a movie, I’m first excited because I think of all the possible routes they might take, but I’m also worried that they’re going to screw everything up.

But people are always going to make books into movies and classics into graphic novels and stories into musicals and so on and so on and so on. One of my favorite books, Noughts and Crosses, was made into a graphic novel and is supposedly being turned into a show on the BBC. Another favorite, It’s Kind of a Funny Story, already exists as a novel and a movie and is currently being adapted into a musical–starring the understudy for Ben Platt in Dear Evan Hansen (I took quite a winding road when I discovered that one night).

It’s just interesting to think about the way the artist intended to share their story. Take Shakespeare–all of his plays were meant to be performed live and watched by crowds of people who experienced the story together. Now his work has been adapted into movies and graphic novels and is most often read–even further, dissected–by high school- and college-aged kids across the country.

I like that, though–that variety. I do like consuming art the way it was intended, but I also like seeing the different elements that each medium can add to a story. Even listening to a book vs. reading it can evoke different emotions or mean more or less to different people. When a story is great, I’m always interested in seeing all the different ways it can be told–even if I end up liking one significantly more than the other, which is often the case. Warm Bodies is better as a book, Thirteen Reasons Why is better as a TV show (though still not a favorite), Newsies is better as a movie, and Hamilton works best as a musical–which might be most surprising (yet most agreed-upon) of all. But I’ll still test each one out so I can experience the story in new ways and come to my own conclusion, really finding out what resonates with me–and then I can talk to people who have very different opinions and learn even more.

I still need to read the books of movies I love like Catch Me If You Can and Me and Earl and the Dying Girl. I still need to read Game of Thrones and Valerian before seeing them on screen. And maybe one day I’ll watch Shrek: The Musical on Netflix, since I love the movie so much. (I’ve heard the musical really isn’t that bad, but I want to come to my own conclusion.)

So I’m excited to see Ready Player One in theaters. I’m also excited for when Crazy Rich Asians comes out, and if they ever decide to turn The Night Circus into a movie or Netflix series, the first emotion I’ll feel will certainly be excitement as my mind reels with the possibilities.

But if they ever made Bojack Horseman–a show I love dearly–into a live-action film, I would want no part in it.

There’s a line, I think. And some things just wouldn’t work.

(But maybe I’m wrong.)

Sincerely,

Sammy

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SHIT I LIKE: THE FIRST INSTALLMENT

Dear Reader,

Every once in awhile, something will catch my attention–a quote, an anecdote, a fact–things that are funny or interesting–I’ll hear something and I’ll think, that’s sick. I want to remember that.

So I’ll write it down. I’ll make a note of it wherever I happen to find it. Most of them end up in one of my journals or as a note in my phone, but some of them are all over the place. If I hear something cool in class, I’ll scribble it in the margins of my notes. If I see something interesting on Twitter or Tumblr, I’ll take a screenshot. Sometimes I’ll come across something in a book, so I’ll leave a sticky note to mark the page.

It’s a fine method that works for the most part, but it doesn’t do a great job of keeping them all in one place. And many of these spots are hardly revisited so they’re often forgotten, which defeats the whole purpose.

So now, whenever I come across a random note, I’ll add it to my growing list entitled “Shit I Like.” And I thought I might as well start sharing some of that list on here, as well. So here are some cool anecdotes and quotes from books and movies that I’ve come across lately and have sparked some thoughts within me.

No. 1: The idea behind Penguin Books.

Allen Lane, the founder of Penguin Books, was traveling and had nothing to read. He dreamt of good literature that was available everywhere and cheap. So in 1935, the first Penguin paperbacks arrived, featuring Ernest Hemingway, Andre Maurois, and Agatha Christie among others. They were color-coded (orange-novels, blue-biographies, green-crime) and cost sixpence–the same price as a packet of cigarettes.

The “Armed Forces Book Club” then began to spread joy & entertainment among the soldiers. The small size of these paperbacks fit perfectly in their uniform pockets. They were also prized in prison camps. (Information from Readers of Broken Wheel Recommend)

No 2: From a sign in the Shakespeare & Company Bookstore in Vienna.

“Penguin Classics opens the door to a treasure house of pure pleasures.”

No. 3: A revelation from the movie Into the Wild. 

HAPPINESS ONLY REAL WHEN SHARED.

No. 4: The importance of a single book.

British writer Henry Green is largely forgotten & never sold more than a few thousand copies of his novels, but he largely inspired Sebastian Faulks, Eudora Welty, and Anthony Burgess. John Updike wrote that Green’s novels made “more of a stylistic impact on me than those of any writer living or dead.” Even a book read by only a dozen people can have a massive effect if one of those readers goes on to write a book read by millions. (Information from Books for Living)

No. 5: A message at the beginning of the movie Baby Driver. 

I went and saw Baby Driver in theaters a little over a week ago. Before it played, a man popped up on the screen and introduced himself as Edgar Wright. He thanked the audience for coming to see the movie that he had written and directed, but also thanked us for coming to see it in the form that it was created for. Watching the movie, it was clear what he meant.

The storyline was great and all the elements of the story were there. It’s possible that it could be adapted into a great book or graphic novel or translated onto some other medium–but it was also clear what medium it was meant for. All of the decisions Wright made were clearly intentional and he wanted us to know. He wanted to thank us for coming to experience his art the way he intended for it to be experienced.

Sincerely,

Sammy

FIVE REASONS WHY I BOUGHT A TYPEWRITER

Dear Reader,

When I woke up on Wednesday, I definitely did not think I was going to buy a typewriter. I had never thought about purchasing one before, actually, but I started to after watching this video. I spent the morning researching everything about typewriters, reading reviews and articles about where to buy them from, and going over my budget to see if I could swing it. At the end of it, though, I figured there were way more reasons to say yes than no.

[ONE] NO SCREEN: I spent the entire day on Tuesday behind a screen. It’s kind of impressive when I look at how productive I was able to be without even leaving my house–or the couch, for that matter–but I went to bed with bloodshot eyes and a pounding headache. Still, I need to set goals for myself if I want to improve my writing and make progress on my novel, and doing that always adds screen-time to my daily schedule. Writing by hand is out of the question because of how easily my hand cramps and how illegible my writing gets, but typewriting is the perfect alternative.

[TWO] FOCUS ON WRITING: The other benefit is that I can completely unplug. When I write on the computer, there are so many distractions–especially since I’m on Google Docs. Any time a random question pops into my head, I can just open another tab and look for the answer. Whether I end up on the Rolling Stone’s 500 Greatest Albums List or looking up why the QWERTY keyboard is set up the way it is, it’s way too easy for me to get sucked down rabbit holes.  With a typewriter, I can just play an album or put a playlist on shuffle, leave my phone charging in a separate room, and type for a bit, distraction-free.

[THREE] SLOW DOWN: One major reason why I started typing everything over writing down my thoughts by hand is because my brain moves so much faster than my pen. It’s much easier for me to ramble when I’m typing–I can write 1,000 words on a subject I’m passionate about without even breaking a sweat. But sometimes this is a disservice. This writing isn’t good by any means. It’s drawn-out and filled with tangents and by the time I’m done, I’m miles away from where I wanted to go.

When I’m forced to slow down, though, my writing improves. I choose my words more carefully and I stick to the main point. The added benefit of using a typewriter is that I have more stamina when it comes to typing than writing–even though it does require more force to push down the keys than what I’m used to with a computer. This adds to it as well, though, because it makes me want to write better. If I’m going to go through the whole process that involves everything from loading the paper to manually starting each new line to resetting it when the keys jam, I’m going to punch each key with conviction.

[FOUR] IT’S VALIDATING: Along those lines, the whole process makes it worth it. There’s something validating about the clacks and dings and something beautiful about having something tangible at the end of it. I can start the day with just thoughts and ideas and watch as it forms into something I can hold and say, “look at what I made today.”

[FIVE]: IT’S SO PRETTY: All of these reasons can be summed up to the fact that I think a typewriter will help me be more productive, and this one is no exception. I spent the entire morning researching which typewriters are best for beginners and capable of heavy use and I ultimately decided on one from “We R Memory Keepers” that I picked up from TJ Maxx for a total of $170. It’s brand new, mint green, and definitely a splurge, but it was easily the best deal I found.

So many people on the internet shared their bad experiences of purchasing typewriters from sites like eBay and Etsy. Some sellers don’t properly package and ship them and spent weeks trying to negotiate prices. I considered getting one from a reliable source like TypeWriters101.com–I considered the funky-looking 1966 Royal Safari from the Space-Age era as well as the pale blue 1960s Brother De Luxe, but I didn’t want to spend that much money or wait weeks to get it. I wanted to start writing immediately.

I think it’d be really cool to eventually buy one that has history attached to it, but for now, the one I have is exactly the one I need. It might not be cool and vintage, but I love the way it looks and it certainly gets the job done. When I look over and see it sitting on the desk, I’m drawn to it. I want to write. 

Ray Bradbury said “The great fun in my life has been getting up every morning and rushing to the typewriter because some new idea has hit me.”

Now I’m excited to do the same. 

Sincerely,

Sammy

“JUST SO YOU KNOW, I CHECK YOUR BLOG LIKE EVERY DAY.”

Dear Reader,

My sister sent me that lovely text this morning. But when I replied, “aww bb” she said “ya but it doesn’t even matter cause you don’t POST ANYTHING ANYMORE.”

Ouch.

But okay, u right.

The thing is, I’ve thought a lot about random blog posts I wanted to write. I read ten books in September and there’s one in particular that I’m dying to talk about. So I thought about doing reviews, but then I could never just find the time. I have two other “journals” (I suppose) that I try to write in and I guess this blog just sort of became neglected.

So then I thought about writing a post called “something’s gotta give.” I actually wrote part of it during one of my lectures, which is kind of ironic because in part of it I was talking about how I was becoming a good student.

And it was just during this time of beautiful clarity where I felt like the pieces in my life were all coming together. I was working out with my friends and exercising daily. I was eating better. I was sleeping more. I was caught up on all my homework and I was enjoying all of my classes and life was just really good.

Then I lost that freakin’ notebook. And my life took a little bit of a spill. (I really want to stress how little the spill was, though, because I am very very aware that many people have things a lot harder. My life is still very very good. Everything is relative.)

I’ve actually been losing a lot of stuff lately, which really pisses me off because I can’t afford to be this much of a hot mess anymore. I lost my brand new water bottle that I got maybe two weeks ago. I lost my favorite pencil (which doesn’t seem like a big deal but it absolutely is and it’s like a $2 pencil). I can’t seem to find my headphones right now, which sucks. And I also couldn’t find the book I need for class today.

I’m also skipping a class today, but it’s to work a shift for my friend who drove home because her best friend from high school’s mom committed suicide last night.

I think I might write about suicide pretty soon, because it’s been on my mind a lot. Not in the way that I’m thinking about it for myself–I’m actually very mentally healthy right now and I really don’t like seasonal depression is going to be an issue for me this year. Let’s hope I didn’t just jinx that though.

But suicide has just been everywhere. My friend had to fly home for his cousin’s funeral a few weeks ago. My friend at school lost his best friend the week before classes started, and the suicide note was written to him. I’ve been noticing all of a sudden how many friends of mine have the semicolon tattoo. Beautiful, hilarious, intelligent and kind friends of mine. And it makes me wonder whether or not they see that. It makes me realize how little I know about what truly goes on in my friends’ minds.

So, I don’t know, I guess I’ve been a little down lately thinking about all this stuff. And every time I try to write about it, the post just gets depressing and I hate that I bummed myself out by thinking about what everyone else has to deal with because it feels like I’m, I don’t know, mooching off of feelings? Or like I don’t have the right. I really can’t articulate the strange shame I feel, but I never finish writing it thinking, “this is good. I’m gonna publish this.”

So there’s your post, Sarah. (lol)

Sorry I’ve been a little all over the place lately. I don’t really know where my head’s at. And I guess sorry for no longer using my blog to figure that stuff out. I feel like it just got too repetitive. Like how many times have I written about why I started this blog? Or how many times have I said “I’m writing for clarity!” It was boring me, so I’m sure it was boring all of you.

Wow. I really don’t want to post this.

This is the kind of thing that I end up deleting and immediately trying to forget about.

But, what the hell, let’s just hit publish.

I think I just want Sarah (or whoever else) to log on and think, “oh wow, she wrote today!”

Sincerely,

Sammy

LET’S TALK ABOUT MY LOVE LIFE, SHALL WE?

Spoiler alert: it’s still barren.

Dear Reader,

I’ve been reading a lot of books recently. YA novels, to be more specific. I have to read one a week but I’ve sort of become obsessed with reading again so I’m already on book six. (Many reviews to come.)

You want to know what a lot of YA novels have in common, though?

Love stories.

Young love stories.

Stories of kids falling in love so easily and so quickly that adult authors write reviews that say things like, “a first-love story so well remembered and honest that it reminds you what falling in love feels like.”

TIME said that.

Well guess who hasn’t fallen in love.

Yeah, it’s me.

I don’t think back to high school and remember the feeling of being excited when that boy was waiting outside my classroom, ready to walk me to my first class. I can’t recall being asked out on a date or having butterflies when he picked me up. I never fooled around in a basement while his parents were upstairs and I never had anyone worth sneaking out of my house for.

I know I sound really bitter, but I just wish I had those experiences. I wish I had those memories.

You want to know the story of my first kiss?

It was the summer before freshman year of college (I know) and I was in the driver’s seat of my car (I know), dropping off the only guy who ever reciprocated feelings to the same extent as I did (I could get into this in more detail but I’m exhausted by just the thought of explaining this further). He abruptly turned, sort of jumped on me, went for the kiss and missed, pulled away, went for it once more, and missed again. Then, embarassed, muttered “let’s not tell anyone about this,” and quickly left.

I had to drive back to my house while peaking through the gaps between my fingers because I was covering my face with my hands. I cringed the whole way home. I was laughing and rolling my eyes, but I legitimately face-palmed for the fifteen-minute drive home.

We didn’t talk or see each other for a few weeks after that.

Cute little innocent embarrassing story? Maybe when you’re twelve or fourteen. When you’re going on eighteen (or eighteen and a half in his case), it can sort of stunt any romantic progress and prolong your awkward period when it comes to relationships.

So now I’m vicariously living through books.

And I’m reading these books like, how are these girls finding such great guys? And how am I so far different from these girls?

I know they’re characters and they’re fictional stories (except for the one I’m reading now), but it’s weird being in college without having passed these milestones that everyone else seems to have hit ages ago.

It’s similar to when recent grads are applying to jobs but won’t get hired because they don’t have any prior experience and they’re like, okay that makes sense except how am I going to get prior experience if no one will hire me??

That’s me in the dating world right now.

Sincerely,

Sammy

WHY AM I WRITING? (OH RIGHT, INSOMNIA)

Dear Reader,

I can’t sleep. I’ve read a book for class. I’ve come up with scenarios in my head to try and inspire some dreams. I’ve even written down a few of these late night thoughts. 

And then I thought, Sammy, why don’t you just write something for your BLOG? 

So I started writing a list. A list of things that this blog post could be about. But then I realized that this list is not producing any quality, uplifting ideas. 

Why? Probably because it’s 2:30 and I’m sad because I’m thinking too much and my brain sort of sucks. 

My list began with: write about how uncomfortable I am. Because I literally am never comfortable in my own body. Never. I always feel too big or too pasty or too clunky or clumsy (but not in the good way). And I thought, I could write about that because that’s relatable, right? 

Except that post would be depressing as shit and I’ve already cried tonight. So no thank you. 

Then I thought, ooh your birthday’s coming up! Write about that! But my first thought was I hate birthdays. And then I thought, wow I can’t believe I’ve already reached that age. And then I thought, shit wait I’m way too young to be hating my birthday. I should be looking forward to it and making plans and texting all my friends about it…

…but instead I’m just anticipating more disappointment. And realizations. And sadness. 

And then I thought, well shit Sammy, don’t write anything at all then! Because every thought I have late at night is self deprecating and they definitely don’t deserve to be recorded–mind you, published on your blog. 

But I’m in the middle of doing that right now, aren’t I?

Where are you going with this Sammy?

Freshman year I wrote a post about how everything is harder at night. Maybe it’s because my head is spinning a mile a minute about all the mistakes I’ve made today. Maybe it’s because my house is creaking and I’m still lowkey afraid of the dark (and ghosts, and serial killers, and did I lock the front door?). Maybe it’s because I’m just alone with ME and who I am as a person and I haven’t really learned how to love myself yet. 

But the night is hard. It hasn’t always been, but suddenly now it always it. 

Yet every morning after I cry myself to sleep, I wake up with the sun and things seem easier. 

Things may never BE as simple as they seem in the morning–before you have time to over analyze it all–but they’re also never as hard as they seem at night. 

They’re just things. Things that can be dealt with in the morning. Or the afternoon. Or the early evening. 

Things that can be dealt with by myself or with the help of friends or my sister. 

Things that have no place being dealt with right now because what am I going to do about it at 3AM besides worry?

Nothing. 

3AM is not for thoughts. 3AM is for sleep.

(Actually I might tweet that lol)

And while that might be easier said than done, maybe if I repeat it enough, it’ll happen. I’ll finally sleep.

And then the morning will come and I’ll roll my eyes and laugh at this blog post because I am probably being way too dramatic for a twenty year old. 

Sincerely,

Sammy

THE SUN MAKES ME SLEEPY

Dear Reader,

I’m currently sitting in a coffee shop (surprise, surprise) across from my sister (another shocker), and–let me tell you–the coffee is not doing it’s job.

I’m blaming this more on the sun, though.

Maybe it’s because I’m a nap person–I tend to take at least (I know) one a day around noon on my living room couch, much like a cat who has their favorite spot on the windowsill so they can sleep in the sun. Or maybe it’s just because I’m a typically lethargic person.

Either way, it’s 3pm, I’ve downed my iced latte, and I’m exhausted.

But I’m writing because I’m still trying to write everyday and I have some updates. First of all, though I have been writing daily, I haven’t posted every day like I was planning on doing. Part of this is because some of my recent posts have been pretty self-deprecating and I hate when that content starts consuming my blog, and sometimes I don’t feel comfortable sharing all of that. Sometimes it’s therapeutic and sometimes it’s really awful for my self esteem, but most of the time it’s just something that needs to keep private.

Also I kind of forgot that I said I was going to post every day in August–which is so typical of me and I hate it. But that’s part of what happened so I apologize. Mostly to myself I guess, because it’s not like I’ve offended anybody by not keeping my word.

Anyway, I feel like I’m starting to get into the swing of things this summer which, again, is very typical of me, considering I go back to school in about a week. But, of course, I’m finally writing consistently and journaling more often and watching a lot of movies that I’ve forgotten about but truly love (Easy A, She’s the Man).

Also, because I’m leaving in a week, I’ve been seeing all my doctors back to back. I felt pretty confident after nailing my eye doctor’s appointment (20/20 vision yo) but then I went to the dentist and found out I had four cavities and I cried. I even wrote a blog post about permanent damage and how I’m incapable of taking care of myself, but, again, that was pretty self-deprecating and ended on a dark note so it never saw the light of day. And then there was my main doctor which was extremely embarrassing but nothing new.

So that’s where I’m at right now. The new semester begins on the 29th and I have that gut feeling that I get when I know I’ve screwed something up, but I guess that happens when you burn bridges before you’re done crossing them.

Here’s to the new (school) year–and hopefully more blog posts.

Sincerely,

Sammy

[BOOK REVIEW] HARRY POTTER AND THE CURSED CHILD

Dear Reader,

I’ll admit it: I was a little late to the Harry Potter party. While my sister was reading these stories at 8 years old, I didn’t even read the first one all the way through until I was 16. I honestly wouldn’t have it any other way, though, because a lot of it would have been lost on me. (Also, Sarah had to wait a few years for the release of the sixth and the seventh, where I got to read all of them back to back in the last month of summer before my senior year of high school.)

So yes, I was 16 when I experienced the magic, and it was amazing. The series honestly changed my life a little bit. As someone who is also planning on writing a few books, I was so inspired by the fact that this entire world and this seven-year adventure could be created purely from imagination and told so perfectly. And then for the books to be just as lovable? It’s truly amazing.

So, if we’re being completely honest, anything JK Rowling writes about these characters that I fell in love with four years ago is, most likely, going to be amazing to me. And, spoiler alert, it was. (Oh, quick note, there aren’t real spoilers in this review, but we’ll get to that.)

And I keep seeing things around the internet regarding why people didn’t like the play or why people are “outraged” that it’s not another book or whatever. And all of those people are surely entitled to their opinions, but I do not think it’s overrated. I do not think it’s too little too late or a desperate grasp on something that’s over now.

I loved it. I cried so much, sometimes just because of nostalgic reasons and sometimes because I was touched by the story. I laughed out loud–mostly at what Ron said because I forgot how damn much I love Ron. I read it in one night–maybe like three and a half hours which is so quick for me–simply because I couldn’t put it down. I thought it was amazing and now I want to read and watch the whole series again.

So, like I said, there are no spoilers in this review because I hate the thought of ruining someone’s first time reading something, but I’ve decided to do something new. The purpose of my book reviews from now on will be whether or not I recommend it, whether or not I liked/loved it, and what a person should look for when reading it–what type of person this would suit.

But I always feel like I have to leave out so much and I hate that, so I’m starting a new thing where I’ll post a separate review, on the same day, but it will be password protected so no one will get spoilers if they don’t want. The password today is “ireadit” and the purpose I’m trying to create for this is to start a conversation. My favorite part of reading is talking to others about it–and I think that’s why I love Harry Potter so much. Never have I ever read a book so popular among my peers, my friends, my family. And, so often, the conversations I have after reading a book make it mean that much more to me. It helps me make sense of all of it and decide my own personal opinion.

So, if you’ve finished this and want to go to that post, I really want to hear your thoughts! Comment you opinions or your questions or your grievances with the book. And, if you finish this book in three weeks, the beautiful thing about the internet is that the post–the conversation–will still be there, ready for you to add your input.

Well, here goes the trial period. Hope to see you over there.

Sincerely,

Sammy

JUST TRYNA BE FUNNY

Dear Reader,

I posted an unattractive picture of myself on Instagram today (no filter) because it made me laugh.   

That’s something that’s been on my mind a lot lately. What people find to be funny and how important that can be. 

I’ve never quite been a “class clown” type character, and even in friend groups where I’m the one receiving the most laughs, it’s usually because my sense of humor (and the jokes I tell) is (are) obnoxious. 

And if there was every something I wanted to be so badly it was “the funny one.”

No one can deny how good it feels to make someone laugh. And–even more egotistically–how good it feels to be labeled as funny. But I’ve always been too insecure to actually feel like I’m funny (probably because I’m insecure about everything). 

I’ve been so obsessed with comedians and all different styles of comedy. I read all these hilarious autobiographies and watch clips and TV shows like Last Comic Standing and Whose Line and SNL. I am obsessed with my school’s improv troupe, and I so desperately wish I could be a part of something like that, but I know I’ll probably never put myself out there in such a way. 

Because there are two things I know for sure: 

1. Not everyone can do it. And that’s the sad truth. And I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to think that quickly or keep my face from getting red or manage to not trip over my speech in front of a crowd. I mean how could I–a shaky, red-faced nobody–be able to deliver a punchline?

2. You have to have confidence. Or, at least, you have to fake confidence. 

All of my favorite people and comedians and even YouTubers are the ones who know they’re funny. And that’s at least half the battle. 

There’s a great quote from Bossypants where Tina Fey describes Amy Poehler through an exchange she had with Jimmy Fallon that proved one single point: she did everything she did because she wanted to, and she didn’t care who did (or didn’t) like it.

It’s like the picture I posted tonight. We took way too many, but this one made me laugh, so I posted it. Then I said “what if I just had the caption be #nofilter?” And we laughed some more. And then I saw that one of the locations I could pick was “Fort Meigs: Ohio’s War of 1812 Battlefield.”

So here we all were, rolling around the basement at 11:30, laughing at stupid jokes. And I posted that ugly picture that took us too long to take with the lame caption and slightly incorrect location, not because it’d get a lot of likes on Instagram or because people would think it was funny. 

But because we all thought it was funny. 

I think it’s funny. 

So I’m trying to do more shit like that because life is too short to be worrying about what everybody else is giggling at when you could be making yourself laugh instead. 

Sincerely,

Sammy

WE’VE ALL GOT A TYPE

Sometimes I wonder,

when I’m sprawled across your bed

and the sun is just starting to rise,

How would you describe this moment?

If you had to write it down–

If you had to capture it,

What would you say?

What would you notice?

Would you talk about the way the light hits my skin?

Or the separation between my lips,

or the curve of my back?

How would you describe my stare?

Would you call it pensive,

or vacant?

Would you wonder about the thoughts that lay

just behind my eyes?

 

But then I snap out of it,

look over at you,

and realize what’s happening

and who we are.

I didn’t find you pouring over literature in coffee shops,

I find you in math lectures.

I see you solving calculus problems,

not writing poems in the park when you’re in love

and suddenly everything looks beautiful.

And maybe you don’t even fall in love,

because you choose numbers over words every time.

So I stop thinking of the words you’d assign to me

when I’m staring into your eyes

or playing with my hair.

And I wonder if I’m just another number to you.

and what that number is.