Emily Rose writes a blog!

Keep in mind, this is only my opinion.

Mon, 23 Nov 2009 11:41:00 -0500

I think one of the downfalls of living in a democratic, capitalist society founded on the ideals of free speech is that we believe in complete, total egalitarianism of thought. Here’s what I mean: I would never say I’m just as good at figure skating as the next person, or just as good at physics, or just as good at playing the cello. Because that’s simply untrue. Yet, all the time, I hear “My opinions and thoughts are just as valid as anyone else’s.” No, they’re not. Some ideas and opinions are better than others, and some are just plain wrong. After watching the health care debates over the past few months I can only conclude that most Americans encompass the lowest common denominator, and so it’s endlessly frustrating that these people can defend their willful ignorance because they are “entitled to their opinion.” That’s just another way of saying, “I can’t be proven wrong, because this is what I believe with my gut, and you must respect or appreciate that.” This is why town hall meetings are so infuriating, as are Internet message boards.

I guess my point is that it really makes me upset that Sarah Palin was given $5 million to have a book ghost-written for her, and now she has a platform on which to espouse her moronic ideas. The same goes for Carrie Prijean.

It's Complicated? Yeah, it is.

Mon, 23 Nov 2009 00:50:00 -0500

roommate: his facebook says he's in a relationship. and his pic is them together
me: well, you knew that, right?
roommate: he writes on everyone's facebook walls except mine
roommate: we probably aren't going to bang.
roommate: I think this statement speaks wonders about our generation
roommate: we like to fuck but we need the internet to do it
me: it's totally like that 50 cent and justin timberlake song
roommate: just like it

January Jones is an advocate for shark rights!

Thu, 19 Nov 2009 11:42:00 -0500

January Jones is an advocate for shark rights!:

She’s been lobbying Congress, and the Commerce Committee is coming so close to helping pass the Shark Conservation Act of 2009.

I cannot think of a huger exploding fusion of my interests.

Dear Potential Future Employer,

Tue, 17 Nov 2009 08:17:00 -0500

Funny story: this social media woman came to my school last week and gave a lecture about creating an online presence— a “personal brand” or some bullshit like that— and talked about how employers care about what you post and what you project. And I just laughed; I share a name with a young woman best known for dying from a failed exorcism and am basically impossible to Google. I never worry about my “personal brand” or this blog being found because they’re easily lost within an overwhelming sea of information. So you can imagine my embarrassment when I forgot to erase the address of this website from my email signature after confirming our interview a few days ago. If this is your first time here, welcome.

I understand the importance of making a good impression, of putting a best foot forward. And I do sometimes worry about what will happen after leaving the cocoon of my tiny liberal arts college. But I’m not going to stop living my life— or writing about it— because I want a job.

You’ll probably learn more about me from this blog than you did from my CV, which is fine. You’ve probably figured out some stuff already: like that I love animals and Africa and my family. But also, you know, sometimes I drink. And I spend a lot of time online. And I sleep three hours a night or six hours in the middle of the day. The result of those factors is now what’s on your monitor, and I don’t feel compelled to apologize for any of it. I’m twenty-one and I read and write to proof myself from existential dread because those are the only things I’ve ever done.

I think I’m a good hire. I think I’m a good person, too. And I don’t think typing bad words or posting a picture of myself with my friends at a bar blowing off some steam should affect my chances just because I’m a young person, and the lives of young people are more public and accessible than those of our parents. Do you ever think about what will happen when my generation runs for office and a potentially amazing president or senator has his or her chances killed early on because of one digital image or email? I think about that sometimes, and it scares the hell out of me.

I guess my point is this— keep reading, if you want. It doesn’t matter, because I’ll keep writing. And I’ll be okay if you hire me or if you don’t. So talk to you during our interview next week. I’m looking forward to it.

—Emily
http://emilyrose.tumblr.com

Let Me Know If This Is You!

Mon, 16 Nov 2009 23:24:00 -0500

I don’t think I’ve mentioned this, but the house in which I live is university-owned, and belongs to a series of living units on campus whose sole purpose is to educate my college on pertinent topics and produce campus programming. (ex: There are houses for students concerned with minority issues, environmental issues, religious issues, etc.) The Women’s House (where I live) chiefly tackles feminist and GLBT matters. So we plan Take Back The Night and the Day of Silence, but we also sit around and eat Cheez-Its and talk about people we don’t like. It’s like a sorority house, if my sorority were filled with sassy lesbians who belong to the ACLU. Anyway, next semester we’re short one member, which poses a problem for funding. This is the campus-wide email I wrote which we’re circulating to recruit. The questions represent a cross-section of our thirteen members.

Have you not had sex in ten months?
Do you engage in sex with strangers, on the Internet?
Are you gay?
Do you spend most of your time with the gays?
Do you enjoy clothing-optional environments?
Have you ever choreographed your own dance to a Lady Gaga song?
Is your life pathetic, despite your awesome personality?
If so, the Women’s House may be for you!
Help improve the safety and status of Ohio Wesleyan women while laying around on our oversized couches and eating baked goods! Take endless Facebook quizzes and compare them to those of your housemates! Make a difference while avoiding any type of productive schoolwork!
Stop by and pick up an application today! Interviews to follow. Try not to be a dick (though you’re allowed to have one).

I really can’t wait to see who applies.

Creative Outlets

Sun, 15 Nov 2009 12:10:00 -0500

True story: I don’t remember most of last night, but I did wake to this poem, written entirely in iambic pentameter, on a word document on my Macbook. (I think this is because I’ve been reading a lot of Yeats lately, but he mostly does iambic pentameter about Irish nationalism, not awkward encounters at dive bars.) It’s apparently an account of what I did last night, written probably around 3 a.m.

Laura claims she just needs to get laid.
To her, Sam I. seems the best candidate.
“He’s a freshman, Laura. And gay,” I say,
Her reply: “Lowered those standards long ago.”

We arrive, all I do is scan the bar.
We’re here for my erstwhile boyfriend Adam,
Who sent this text fifteen minutes ago:
“Hey you. Beer pong at Backstretch. Come over.”

Laura doesn’t know this, she just thinks that
I wanted to get out of the house.
Which is simply false; I really miss him.
After a quick search, our eyes finally meet—

Adam plays beer pong with his new girl.
She’s a sober six, maybe drunk seven.
“Woof,” I want to say, and pour my beer down
His stupid blue shirt he looks so good in.

Laura gets mad, and then I feel guilty.
“I wish you could see yourself the way that
I see you, Emmy. Please stop this now.
We accept the love we think we deserve.”

Which is ironic, considering Sam.
We leave the bar to go dance at Clancey’s.
It’s chock full of townies and dumb freshmen,
But we groove to Billy Joel with gay dudes.

And all seems a little right in the world.
At the gyro place after closing time,
Laura wipes tzatziki sauce off her hands
And says “I love and hate how weird this was.”

More Conversations With My Father

Tue, 10 Nov 2009 22:33:00 -0500

Mike Rose: I think you're worrying too much about this whole "temporary life direction thing." And I think a little rejection might do you some good.
Me: What are you talking about? I need rejection? Do you know how many first dates I've been on? And do you know how many of those turned into second dates? I LIVE A LIFESTYLE OF REJECTION.

Thinking of buying a new domain name.

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 23:39:53 -0500

It’s sharktrivia.com. For accumulating and assembling facts about sharks— like, basically, a clearinghouse for shark information. Should I get it?

A play I wrote recently, called “In the Air...

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 22:37:00 -0500

A play I wrote recently, called “In the Air Tonight,” was selected to be performed in my school’s annual student-produced one-act play series next month. The director of my show invited me to call-backs tonight for the two roles, and at first I was so giddy I couldn’t believe it. Here were people— good looking, talented people!— passionately acting out the words I worked so hard to perfect, words of which I couldn’t feel more proud. And then after about an hour I wanted to puke because I was so sick of hearing those words— my shitty, pedantic words, words which could have been written more carefully and honestly. It felt like the actors auditioning read that script a hundred times, and each time it elicited a different reaction in me.

When it was over, I wasn’t sure how I felt. But I know there’s nothing like it, and I don’t want it to go away.

(The video is what I’ve listened to on repeat over the past two months while hunched over my computer and a teriyaki bowl. If you want inspiration, Phil Collins is really your man.)

"That’s only a lot worse according to you."

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 16:41:49 -0500

“That’s only a lot worse according to you.”

- my dad’s reply

"I don’t think you realize how much worse this could be. My decomposing corpse could be rotting..."

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 16:21:03 -0500

“I don’t think you realize how much worse this could be. My decomposing corpse could be rotting somewhere with five other strangled bodies in East Cleveland, next to a sausage factory. Think of how pissed you’d be then.”

- text I sent to my dad after I shattered my back windshield while backing into a dumpster and then asked him to pay for it

Loved Halloweekend. This is my favorite picture, taken on Friday...

Sun, 01 Nov 2009 14:20:58 -0500

Loved Halloweekend. This is my favorite picture, taken on Friday night before heading out to Senior Night. I am the last queen of France, Maine native Laura is a moose, and Houlihan is ineffably, and always, himself.

Halloween Senior Night is in 21 hours

Fri, 30 Oct 2009 00:48:54 -0400

I’ve got a blonde wig, a crinoline skirt, and three yards of silk fabric and lace. I haven’t worn heels in four years, the lining of my top needs interfacing and sewing, and the iron is threatening to melt everything.

And (spoiler alert) if I don’t win that costume contest tomorrow, heads will roll. Not unlike my character.

"oh i miss you here every day. whenever i do something, like climbing lion’s head a few..."

Sun, 25 Oct 2009 20:14:00 -0400

“oh i miss you here every day. whenever i do something, like climbing lion’s head a few weekends ago, i think “emily would have loved this” or “i wish emily could be here”. and now summer is coming and of course the city is glorious…”

- emails from Cape Town sometimes depress me

I have all the pieces for my Halloween costume except the wig

Sun, 25 Oct 2009 19:57:39 -0400

frictionlesssuperfeet:

Now I just have to do a bit of cutting and sewing, and we’ll be off to the races!

I elected to sew my Halloween costume this year when I went home for fall break. It still requires lace, bows, and a wig, and I don’t know how I’ll finish it this week, but my mom definitely called today and said “I got your Visa bill. You need to finish that costume, or I will kill you.” She didn’t really say that (Jen Rose is very non-violent), but the get-up still should be, in a word, bonkers.

Marino, I challenge you to top me.

Nathan woke me up by offering tea, I remember. This seemed...

Fri, 23 Oct 2009 11:01:00 -0400

Nathan woke me up by offering tea, I remember. This seemed ridiculous: I was hungover, obviously, but we were in the middle of South African sweltering summer, and a hot beverage sounded about as appealing as another shot of gin. I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes.
“What are you thinking about, cupcake?”
“I want this t-shirt,” I said, looking down onto the logo emblazoned on my chest. Pretoria Boys High.
“Take it,” he said. “I have fifteen others in the closet. You can wear it home.” His smile was so sad. With everything we’d talked about, how he spent the whole night crying, this was the most trivial thing he would have to deal with all day.
“Plus you owe me,” I said. “For misleading me about being gay and everything.” I was the only one he’d told, and we both knew the road ahead would be long, but I still felt the need to banter him.
“I do,” Nathan said. And he looked at me with real pain and tenderness, and I pitied him. Then he drove me home. It would be the last time I came to the house in Claremont.

Waking up alone in my Pretoria Boys High t-shirt— 9,000 miles away from where I acquired it, Indian summer now over, rain beating down on my roof— always calls to mind an easier time: when love was a sweating cocktail waiting to be gulped down all at once, when the sultry weather made sharing a bed unbearable, and when goodbyes were given with a parting gift.

Me: Seriously, I am losing it. My mask of sanity is rapidly melting away.

Fri, 23 Oct 2009 01:47:23 -0400

Me: Seriously, I am losing it. My mask of sanity is rapidly melting away.
Nora: It's actually more like face paint.

I love news on Twitter. It’s brief, it’s convenient,...

Fri, 09 Oct 2009 09:26:00 -0400

I love news on Twitter. It’s brief, it’s convenient, it’s changing the whole way we consume media, blah, blah, blah. But I woke up this morning, read this, and thought, “Oh my God, someone has BOMBED the MOON,” thinking, like, Dr. Evil from the Austin Powers movies was real and finally decided to make good on his promise to blow up our lunar satellite. Nope. It’s just the LCROSS mission implemented by NASA, doing its job exactly. Which prompts a couple of questions:

Which stoned intern is tweeting for The New York Times? And how awesome must that job be, considering the possibilities for fucking with people?

Please Don't Read This, Potential Future Employers

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 21:48:00 -0400

Twenty-one is a weird age. I’m too old to still be traipsing around frat houses, too cool to show up at the bar before 1 AM, too young to be taken seriously by older guys, and too busy to not be dying to blow off steam at the end of the week. Luckily, I live in a house with thirteen other similar people, and at the beginning of the year we made a list of alcohol theme nights. (I am soooo over costume theme parties, obvs, not counting my Lady Gaga Halloween get-up.) Here’s a breakdown of what’s happened so far. It’s also a good case for why I should probably learn to limit myself.

Mojitos, Mo’ Problems- Our first night back at school. I haven’t seen my roommate Nora in many months, and her thick dark hair now falls to the middle of her back. Coming off a summer obsession with the Manson family, I start referring to Nora as “Leslie van Houten” for the rest of the night, as they do now bear some resemblance. When she finds out who that is, she gets upset and insists that I stop. I don’t. Later on, I almost purchase a pitbull at Clancey’s.

Lon Gislands, Lon Gnights- I black out circa 10 pm, then call every boy I’ve liked in the past year a minimum of four times in the middle of the night. I call Lon Gisland native Neel Shah five times. The last time, I tell him I love him.

Gin and Juice (Mind on Money, Money on Mind)- This party takes place on September 12th, the same day 22 years ago that South African apartheid police tortured black consciousness leader Steve Biko to death while Biko was held in detention. I cry for twenty minutes while talking about this, and then force all thirteen of my housemates to listen to “Biko” by Peter Gabriel on repeat until they make me go to bed.

This weekend’s theme is “Welcome to the Jungle Juice.” My best friend Paige is visiting from northern Ohio. I can’t wait to see what happens.

Sage Advice

Wed, 30 Sep 2009 22:37:00 -0400

I’m going on a first date tomorrow. I haven’t been on one of those in a while— at least not the traditional awkward dinner/interview kind, and so I’m kind of nervous. Really nervous, actually. And when I’m nervous, I (as Luda might say) act a fool. That means anything from talking too fast to talking too fast while revealing my whole sordid life story, including the night involving the townie stripper. My roommate Nora knows me better than most people, so I asked her for some advice about how to keep calm around my burgeoning suitor.

“Just be yourself,” she said. “But not too much.”