More about Baseball

  When America's favorite past time is used as a parent-child bonding experience, its powers typically extend to fathers and sons. Maybe fathers and daughters as well, but mostly, I think (and I'm stereotyping here as well as using way too many commas for one sentence), it's a father-son thing. Not in my family. For me, watching baseball is strictly a mother-daughter activity.
  My mother's love of baseball goes way back. She used to be a die-hard Dodgers fan. In the early phase of my parents' courtship, my dad would suffer through hours of Dodger games, detesting the activity but enjoying the company. Then the Dodgers went on strike (something about demanding higher wages...I'm not really in the know on this one) and my mom became disenchanted with the sport. Thus, I grew up exposed to football fandom instead. That one never really stuck.
  I'm not sure how this happened, but my mom fell in love with baseball again right around the same time I was falling in love with it for the first time. [See my post on the Giants]. When I came home from school for the summer, we really got the fever (baseball, not Bieber. just to clarify). Whenever the Giants played, we were watching. Or listening. Or trying to find the scores online while on vacation.
  Mom taught me the rules, suffered my questions, corrected me when my "coaching" of the TV was a little off. Thus, some of my favorite memories from this summer are watching baseball with her. During night games, late in the 7th or 8th inning, after my dad and my sister have gone to bed, my mom and I can be found telling at the TV in unison, calling out, "you have got to be freaking kidding me!" with identical intonation and inflections.
  The boys of summer have given my mom and I one more thing that we share, one more common trait to add to the long list of reasons why I have earned and proudly wear the nickname "Laurie Junior."
  Is this post corny? Yeah, but honestly, which of my posts aren't? I love my mom and I love baseball. And I am very much okay with that.

On Writing

Source

I just finished reading Stephen King's On Writing. "Just," as in I put it down five minutes ago, got on the computer to write, then got distracted by Facebook (my eternal problem). But seriously, this book will likely be one of those that I carry with me always, both literally and figuratively. I read the majority of it over a two-day span while at work. The entire time I was itching to write, to test King's theories and ideas in my own way. So, here I go, off to try (once again) to take what I've learned about writing and make it part of my everyday life.
Wish me luck?

NEW YORK

I never thought I’d like New York City. I’ve always wanted to, but let’s look at the facts: I’m quiet, reserved, introverted. Both large crowds and thoughts of having to interact with huge volumes of people tend to stress me out. Traveling and being far away from home usually exhaust me. Am I sounding like a square yet? Possibly your grandmother? Yes, that’s me!

Despite my reservations, and to the great surprise of my mother, I fell in love. It’s strange that I can say that about so many vastly different people, places, and things, but for me it’s all the same. I fell in love with New York in the way that I do frequently with movies or books or ideas. I felt that yes feeling in my heart, the one on which I often rely in order to make decisions. That feeling helped me choose what college I wanted to go to. It helps me decide who I want to spend time with (or not). It decides when I actually like something and when I say I like it just to fit in with everyone else. It has helped me choose my path through life thus far, and I trust it to keep doing its job. Too corny? Yeah, probably, but I’m a cheesy person. Slightly irrelevant New York themed example: one of the main reasons I wanted to make it to the top of the Empire State Building is because two of my favorite movies happen to be An Affair to Remember and Sleepless in Seattle. Sappy music? Bring it on. Horribly unrealistic love story? I’m there, baby. I’m rambling now, and I apologize for that, but I needed to post something about my New York adventure before I forgot all that I wanted to say.

So here goes. The following is probably the best way to describe how I’m feeling right now: Five days ago I had never been further east than Reno, Nevada. Five days ago I hadn’t been on an airplane in years; hadn’t ever been in a taxi or taken the subway. Five days ago I had fewer blisters on my feet and fewer dreams in my head. I was scared of where my future was going, of how much I was allowing myself to limit my options before they even left my own head, of how I would ever be able to make my grandiose daydreams become reality. Five days ago there was one less thing on my long list of things with which I am, to borrow an infamous phrase from Twilight, irrevocably in love. I’m grateful for those five days, despite the fact that they left me so exhausted I was almost in tears.

I made a brand new start of it in ol’ New York, New York, and I’ve got nothing to do today but smile.  [Is it blasphemy to mash together lyrics from Sinatra and Simon and Garfunkel? Probably.] 

 Approximately 1/3 of my 600 pictures look like this....

 ...Or like this. View from Empire State Building

 View from the Empire State Building

 My favorite building, you already know why

My sister and I hamming it up with Lady Liberty

New York, Baby

I’m going to New York on Friday. I, a girl who has never been further East than Reno, Nevada, am getting on a plane with my family and heading to the Big Apple. Start spreading the news.

I’m at once incredibly excited and absolutely terrified. To me, New York is where the cool kids hang out. It’s the Mecca for artists and writers and creative types hiding behind varying degrees of reclusiveness. It’s the capitol of all art and writing, the hometown of my two first loves and best friends. I have always tried to hang with the cool kids. I have rarely fit in with them. I’m witty and beloved in my head; I’m awkward and shy in real life. You can see how trying to hang with those for whom “cool” comes effortlessly could be a major problem. Not that this matters much in real life, but it makes me think. I have dreams of maybe one day being an East Coast resident, an intern at one of those major publishing companies which reside in that big city full of dreamers like me. I’m afraid my visions, my delusions of grandeur, will get chewed up and spit back out by reality, the way most of my visions do. I’m afraid that these delusions will become crushed by a tidal wave of realization. I’m afraid I’ll run home with my tail between my legs and never want to try my hand at life outside of Northern California again anytime soon.

I’m too safe. I’m too afraid. I’m too easily frustrated by my own failures, my ultimately inconsequential shortcomings. I need to get off the computer. Away from the internet. I need to actually get out and do things. I need to stop sitting around feeling sorry for myself for never having done anything, for never having any proper adventures or doing anything that feels real. This changes now. Or, maybe, in the morning, as it is currently almost 10 PM and old habits die hard. Keep your eyes peeled, though, World. ‘Cause I’m a’coming.