Blog, Sweet Blog

Posts Tagged ‘childhood

Mood: Eh, you know, Tuesday
Music: Kaltwetterfront-revolverheld


The deadly marmot.



I’m posting this having just listened to an NPR segment on the dangers of Facebook, personal privacy, and our obsession with online exhibitionism. Here’s a quote…

“We increasingly know things about each other (or think we do) that we should not know, have no right to know, and have a right, actually, not to know,” Noonan writes.

And yet, I don’t think this applies to me because…I’ve been blogging for a while?  …I try not to shove it in people’s faces IRL and I keep it mostly anon online?  …I’m a carefree, fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants rebel who thumbs her nose at convention and quaffs from the chalice of rugged individualism and my every thought is like, important and stuff?  I don’t know, you guys! I’m sorry for contributing to the downfall of Western civilization and all, but I’ll just die if I can’t share my animal poop stories.

Speaking of…I went on 12 mile hike through Rocky Mountain National Park with my parents one summer when I was still in high school.  I’d had a “stomach ache” all morning, but decided to go on the hike in the hope that a grueling, high altitude summer hike would restore me to good health.

It didn’t.

I felt progressively more sick with each mile and prayed for a nice bathroom to magically appear just off the trail.

After a couple of hours, we stopped at a glacial lake to rest and sightsee.  The lake was beautiful, a clear pool of ancient ice melt resting in a shallow bowl of boulders and rocks.  By this time, my little problem had worked its way up to a Level 3 Bathroom Emergency.  I had to go and looked around for a private spot.  The best I could manage in a glacial field filled with giant rocks, less giant rocks was squatting behind a boulder with my parents on one side and the lake on the other.

So, I’m squatting there, “doing my thing” when a little (and by “little” I mean as big as the fattest housecat you’ve ever seen) marmot…

walks up to say hello…or murder me…or give me the rabies, not sure.  I had never seen a marmot in real life (let alone 4 feet away) and I was excited…also embarrassed, kind of scared.  Most of all I felt sad that this pathetic display was my new woodland friend’s first impression of me.

I tried to shoo it away but it wasn’t going anywhere.  We watched each other for another awkward few minutes before I finished and broke the silence.

“Well, I’m going to go.  It was nice to meet you.  I’m…um…really sorry, ok?  Ok, so…bye.”

The marmot said nothing. I didn’t look back.

I found my parents, but couldn’t bring myself to mention the meeting.  It was too shameful, too fresh.  I finished the rest of the hike but the look of pitying judgment in the marmot’s eyes followed me home and for years afterward.

Mood: This is a long week, y’all
Music: Tones on Tail-Burning Skies


(via artnevercomesfromhappiness)


Feliz Cinco de Mayo, Internet!

I was getting down, tumblr-style in celebration of Mexico’s victory at the Battle of Puebla and had written something worthy of posting on Ye Old Blog, Sweet Blog.  So here it is…it’s about mariachi and my love of Mexican (and Hispanic) culture and I hope you like it!  Saunter over to mah tumblr page for more Cinco de Mayo goodness.


———————-



I love mariachi, you guys, like really and for truly…without a hint of irony. I love everything about it; the charro suits and dresses…the sombreros…the sweet, sad songs…the trumpets and violins…the musical cry of AH HA…the fat guitarrón…all of it.

Like most things, I think my interest started in childhood.  When I was little, I liked three things: skiing, alpine slides, and Casa Bonita.  We didn’t get to go to Casa Bonita as often as I would have liked (which, admittedly, would have been most days), but the few times we did get to visit the cavernous, pueblo-shaped monument to bad food, mariachi bands, and gun fighters had a profound effect on tiny me and my developing aesthetic.



At some point, mariachi moved from a fond remembrance of childhood to a more serious, adult interest. I remember watching a PBS documentary about the annual mariachi festival in Guadalajara and it was riveting; I would love to go someday.

A few years later, my family took a Mexican vacation to a resort between Cozumel and Tulum.  It was a super fun trip, but one of the best parts was a Mexican folk music revue in the resort’s main square.  I begged my wary family to buy tickets for it, swearing it would be the best thing ever.  I don’t think they liked it much.  It was made for tourists and high school musical cheesy in places, but the music was solid.  The show featured a lot of mariachi, but they also did a tour of Mexico’s other indigenous styles (jarocho, etc.).  I think the rest of my family wanted to leave about 2/3rds of the way through, but I loved it all.



Yeesh, this is getting long!  K, two more things…some day, I am going to host a big party somewhere, for some reason, and I am going to hire a sweet mariachi band to play all night long.  Also, if there was a real, dirty, hard-drinking, dead sexy band like the one in From Dusk Till Dawn (minus the demon/vampire part), I would quit my job and become a professional groupie, just sayin’.


an introduction





Hi, I'm Anna and I love cheese!

This blog is a chronicle of my life and a catalog of happy ephemera. The About page has a little bit more information, but, remember, none of this is really me...it's just a supplement, a thumbnail sketch, a mostly anonymous Intarwebs placeholder. I'm way better/less wordy in person. :-)

Oh, and if I wrote something about you and you thought it was mean or hurtful, I'm sorry. It's how I felt at the time, but probably isn't how I feel now. Chances are, I love you and I think you're awesome.

copyright

All content on Blog, Sweet Blog is copyrighted by me, Anna Hell. Unless otherwise noted, all photos, words, and content on this site are mine, created by me, and should not be used without my permission (or at least attributed and linked back). I try to embed links or quote original source material if I use another person's work.

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