YIBBSY LIVES!!!! Sort of. This post will be the final chapter of our love story. *sob*
This is Hannah writing, Clara is currently baking chewy choco-chip cookies that I will happily consume as soon as they come out of the oven. The NPR music app is serving as our evening background noise (All Songs Considered is on A LOT when Clara can get her hands on the iPad), and I can't help but think about how our time together is coming to an end. And not only my time with Clara and her family, but with SOTA, highschool, and all my friends. This love story wasn't just about the love Clara and I shared this year, but the love we have for our school and they lovely people we have gone to school with.
Clara and I went on a date tonight, we grabbed burger's from Frisko Freeze and headed to the water front. As we looked out at the water, I thought about how no other place in the world is like the Northwest, or even Tacoma for that matter. I thought about how I didn't spend enough time doing homework, or enough time with my friends, or enough time with my family. I mean, what the hell was I doing with my time all these years?
*cough* (netflix) *cough cough*
In reality, I balanced all those things, spending a little of my time on each. But what I want now is more. More friend time, more family time, and more... childhood. I want more drives, more midnight barbecues, more homework parties, schemes, and dreams, and tea parties. I mean, from here on out, it's all real-life prep, and then REAL LIFE. Which is really effing scary. When I get too morose thinking about how I won't be a kid anymore, I think about things like Career Cruising, Senior Project Portfolios, and asinine Artistic Responses. And then I feel a little bit better.
(but not really.)
But... then I start thinking about how in the past three years, I have made some of the best friends I feel I will ever have. Next year, I have the arduous task of starting from scratch. While that sometimes sounds nice, my more lazy instincts are just cringing at the thought. I mean. Ugh. Being nice... and not telling people when I need to leave a take a shit. And reigning back the weirder habits and jokes and outfits. I just wish I could stay with you people forever and never have to worry about whether the person I'm eating lunch with will watch my choke on my triple cheese mac-n-cheese with bacon, or if they will immediately perform the Heimlich.
Clara would perform the Heimlich and then laugh at me. I wouldn't have it any other way.
Basically, this spring, we got way to busy to really keep this blog going. Next year, we'll both be at college (Clara's at NYU, the little smarty! I'll be at Portland State University being a hippy. As per usual) and keeping this love story alive on the web will be asking too much. This doesn't mean our love is dying by any means. Even if I gain a hot companion at some point, my Facebook relationship status will still read "Married to Clara Youtz".
Because, I mean.
She's kind of the love of my life, after all.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Saturday, February 18, 2012
So Insane and I Just Don't Know It
What do you mean there hasn't been a blog post in 4-evah? I seem to recall... let me look at the Calendar, just a minute.
OH.
Well, both Poncho and I have been very busy, you know, making life happen. It's been a little insane the past couple months, as many of our fellow seniors know. For instance, my scrumptious roomie has put together a FANTASTIC blog for her senior project, and if you haven't checked it out, you are missing out. She is interviewing local people who are making music and being regular humans. All the articles so far are really unique and well written. Here's a nifty little linky poo, so now you have NO excuse: http://hearandnownorthwest.wordpress.com/
I have been working on my senior project as well with my partner in crime, Suriya. We're going to a local middle school and teaching female empowerment classes. Some people are like, "Why aren't you empowering the boys?" and to that, I say, "Why aren't you empowering the boys?" I mean, I would love to teach all the children of America about gender expression, media influences, and healthy relationships, but I'm on a little bit of a time crunch. Gotta have those phases in.
So we are both busy making waves in society, as well as rocking new hair cuts, and owning spring semester classes. Yibbsy is taking Modern Dance 2 and Chamber Choir together, so that's fun. Hmm, I just realized that we are singing and dancing together... maybe we should put on a show, just the two of us! Yibbsy: The Musical.
BAHAHAHAH. No, that's preposterous. (Clara, say the word, I'll find a producer.)
We also decided that when we go off to college, we will use this blog to post videos of us dancing around our respective cities. Kind of like being pen-pals, except TEN MILLION TIMES BETTER. If you are reading this blog, but have never seen Clara and I dance together, buddy you are missing out. Post a comment with a song you want us to dance to, and maybe in the next 10 days, you will see the magic that is Yibbsy: Dancing.
Llama Out.
xoxo
OH.
Well, both Poncho and I have been very busy, you know, making life happen. It's been a little insane the past couple months, as many of our fellow seniors know. For instance, my scrumptious roomie has put together a FANTASTIC blog for her senior project, and if you haven't checked it out, you are missing out. She is interviewing local people who are making music and being regular humans. All the articles so far are really unique and well written. Here's a nifty little linky poo, so now you have NO excuse: http://hearandnownorthwest.wordpress.com/
I have been working on my senior project as well with my partner in crime, Suriya. We're going to a local middle school and teaching female empowerment classes. Some people are like, "Why aren't you empowering the boys?" and to that, I say, "Why aren't you empowering the boys?" I mean, I would love to teach all the children of America about gender expression, media influences, and healthy relationships, but I'm on a little bit of a time crunch. Gotta have those phases in.
So we are both busy making waves in society, as well as rocking new hair cuts, and owning spring semester classes. Yibbsy is taking Modern Dance 2 and Chamber Choir together, so that's fun. Hmm, I just realized that we are singing and dancing together... maybe we should put on a show, just the two of us! Yibbsy: The Musical.
BAHAHAHAH. No, that's preposterous. (Clara, say the word, I'll find a producer.)
We also decided that when we go off to college, we will use this blog to post videos of us dancing around our respective cities. Kind of like being pen-pals, except TEN MILLION TIMES BETTER. If you are reading this blog, but have never seen Clara and I dance together, buddy you are missing out. Post a comment with a song you want us to dance to, and maybe in the next 10 days, you will see the magic that is Yibbsy: Dancing.
Llama Out.
xoxo
Monday, January 23, 2012
What May or May Not Be A Surprise
Surprise! Hannah is a feminist! If you didn't already know, now you do. And before I go on to the meat and potatoes of this post, let me just say something really quick so no one has weird ideas about what I mean when I call myself a feminist.
1) I do not hate men.
2) My shaving habits have nothing to do with my views on feminism, they have to do with the fact that I forget and I'm lazy. To lazy/can't remember to run a razor over my armpits more then twice a month? Yes.
3) I wish you would forget whatever stigmas you have about the word "feminism" for just a sec, and read this post without all that junk in your brain.
4) I do not represent all feminists, and no one person who claims the feminist label represents me.
5) I live by this basic definition of feminism: Feminism is a movement to end sexism and oppression.
So that's quick and dirty of that, now lets move on to what this post is really about.
It's about this picture that I have seen around the vast interwebs on blogs, FB pages and Zines.
This picture:
Basically, I have a beef with this message.
I think that the intention is pure, but misguided. I believe people are posting this in an effort to bring to light the outbreak of body-image and self-esteem issues that are consuming women and girls today. This is a noble intention, one that I wish more people were involved in. Anorexia, eating disorders, and self-mutilation are problems that almost every girl in America grapples with daily. But the above image doesn't really coincide with the 'love your body as it is' notion.
Bettie, Shirley, Elizabeth, and Marilyn are from a different time, but they are practicing the same method of torture that Heidi, Nicole, Keira, and Kristen are. They still sit, stand or lounge around looking sensual and demand that there is an 'ideal' woman, and that they are them. Everything about them says that if we do not look like them, or aspire to be like them, we are not the best women. The most desirable, delicate, mysterious, virtuous, whatever! It doesn't matter if it's 1960 or 2010, if we allow the media to take one body type and present it as the Ideal Female, we all suffer. We all suffer, because we spend our time trying to squeeze something into a shape it was never meant to be instead of trying to solve global warming, or provide education to girls who have escaped trafficking, or tackle any giant world issue.
The fact of the matter is, more people need to look at that picture and say: I will never look like ANY OF THESE WOMEN. I will always look like me. I love looking like me.
Yibbsy out.
P.S. Also, I have two other siblings, another sister and a brother, and I hope they know that I think they also just beautiful, wonderful, talented, intelligent people. I love them!
1) I do not hate men.
2) My shaving habits have nothing to do with my views on feminism, they have to do with the fact that I forget and I'm lazy. To lazy/can't remember to run a razor over my armpits more then twice a month? Yes.
3) I wish you would forget whatever stigmas you have about the word "feminism" for just a sec, and read this post without all that junk in your brain.
4) I do not represent all feminists, and no one person who claims the feminist label represents me.
5) I live by this basic definition of feminism: Feminism is a movement to end sexism and oppression.
So that's quick and dirty of that, now lets move on to what this post is really about.
It's about this picture that I have seen around the vast interwebs on blogs, FB pages and Zines.
This picture:
Basically, I have a beef with this message.
I think that the intention is pure, but misguided. I believe people are posting this in an effort to bring to light the outbreak of body-image and self-esteem issues that are consuming women and girls today. This is a noble intention, one that I wish more people were involved in. Anorexia, eating disorders, and self-mutilation are problems that almost every girl in America grapples with daily. But the above image doesn't really coincide with the 'love your body as it is' notion.
Bettie, Shirley, Elizabeth, and Marilyn are from a different time, but they are practicing the same method of torture that Heidi, Nicole, Keira, and Kristen are. They still sit, stand or lounge around looking sensual and demand that there is an 'ideal' woman, and that they are them. Everything about them says that if we do not look like them, or aspire to be like them, we are not the best women. The most desirable, delicate, mysterious, virtuous, whatever! It doesn't matter if it's 1960 or 2010, if we allow the media to take one body type and present it as the Ideal Female, we all suffer. We all suffer, because we spend our time trying to squeeze something into a shape it was never meant to be instead of trying to solve global warming, or provide education to girls who have escaped trafficking, or tackle any giant world issue.
And another thing! I find it kind of upsetting that both my roommate and my little sister are basically being attacked by this image. By kind of upsetting, I mean rock-me-to-my-core upsetting. I’ll start with my sister, who is very skinny. She's just built that way; tall, ivory skin, and not an ounce of meat on her. She is that ‘ideal’ presented in a lot of mainstream media. Do I think people should aspire to look like her? Hell no. But whoever captioned the above picture would seem to believe that my sister is not 'hot'. It would seem that they think she should not look the way she does, but instead like Bettie Page. Um, no. Fuck no! No, my sister doesn't need big boobs or wider hips. BECAUSE SHE WASN'T BORN THAT WAY. She is naturally very slender, and I will always think that she is beautiful. Speaking of beautiful people: Clara. She is this beautiful young woman with an extraordinary mind. She's just fantastic all around. But I don't see her body type celebrated in any fashion magazines today, or any other time period for that matter. Sure, she has large breasts and a small waist, but she doesn't look anything like Marilyn Munroe or Elizabeth Taylor. I don’t want her to; she’s perfect just as she is.
It all comes back to that idea of an "Ideal Woman" or an "Ideal Figure". It's something that the media does to control and manipulate people, and I could go on for hours about who's really controlling who and all of that, but I won't.
The fact of the matter is, more people need to look at that picture and say: I will never look like ANY OF THESE WOMEN. I will always look like me. I love looking like me.
Yibbsy out.
P.S. Also, I have two other siblings, another sister and a brother, and I hope they know that I think they also just beautiful, wonderful, talented, intelligent people. I love them!
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Saturday, January 14, 2012
How I Finally Came To Accept My Hipsterdom
Hello people that apparently still read this charming little blog of ours.
Poncho here.
I had a moment of awakening this week, one that's been coming for a while. There was an afternoon when I had some free time and I may have spent it in a coffee shop. Nothing funny about that, or there wasn't until I pulled out my reading material for the next hour or so....
The fact that I was drinking a basically black americano was bad enough, but really, did I have to bust out the Kafka? The little black paperback copy of The Sons with the rather minimalist and ever so abstract cover art? It was like I could see myself through everyone else's eyes and what I was seeing was something akin to a giant red flag with the words Closet Hipster jumping garishly off the fabric. And the worst part was that I still can't think of a better way to have spent that hour. The Sons is rad by the way, I highly recommend it to you all.
At this point I took inventory of the rest of my life in that moment.
Wearing a big sweater? Check.
Drinking coffee? Already established.
Reading sad foreign literature? Again, predetermined.
Listening to obscure-ish indie music? Double check.
It was hard to argue with these cold, hard pieces of evidence. Especially since this is what my iPod looked like at the time:
Laura Marling-I Am A Master Hunter; I Speak Because I Can
St. Vincent-Marry Me; Cheerleader
Tune-Yards-Gangsta
The Shins-Simple Song
Johnny Flynn & the Sussex Wit- Hello Hello
The Vaccines-Norgaard
Deerhunter-Helicopter
Discovery-So Insane
Emile Millar-Honey I'll Try
Of Montreal-The Party's Crushing Us
The Smiths-Girlfriend in a Coma
etc...
Welcome to my virtual coming out party. I'm a mild hipster. Style glasses, knitwear and all. Thank god this blogsite spellchecks...the word mild almost came out milf. A milf hipster sounds like a deadly combination.
Poncho here.
I had a moment of awakening this week, one that's been coming for a while. There was an afternoon when I had some free time and I may have spent it in a coffee shop. Nothing funny about that, or there wasn't until I pulled out my reading material for the next hour or so....
The fact that I was drinking a basically black americano was bad enough, but really, did I have to bust out the Kafka? The little black paperback copy of The Sons with the rather minimalist and ever so abstract cover art? It was like I could see myself through everyone else's eyes and what I was seeing was something akin to a giant red flag with the words Closet Hipster jumping garishly off the fabric. And the worst part was that I still can't think of a better way to have spent that hour. The Sons is rad by the way, I highly recommend it to you all.
At this point I took inventory of the rest of my life in that moment.
Wearing a big sweater? Check.
Drinking coffee? Already established.
Reading sad foreign literature? Again, predetermined.
Listening to obscure-ish indie music? Double check.
It was hard to argue with these cold, hard pieces of evidence. Especially since this is what my iPod looked like at the time:
Laura Marling-I Am A Master Hunter; I Speak Because I Can
St. Vincent-Marry Me; Cheerleader
Tune-Yards-Gangsta
The Shins-Simple Song
Johnny Flynn & the Sussex Wit- Hello Hello
The Vaccines-Norgaard
Deerhunter-Helicopter
Discovery-So Insane
Emile Millar-Honey I'll Try
Of Montreal-The Party's Crushing Us
The Smiths-Girlfriend in a Coma
etc...
Welcome to my virtual coming out party. I'm a mild hipster. Style glasses, knitwear and all. Thank god this blogsite spellchecks...the word mild almost came out milf. A milf hipster sounds like a deadly combination.
Friday, December 30, 2011
You be the Mommy, and I'll be the Daddy.
TOGETHER AGAIN!! The band is back together! Yibbsy is BACK! Reunited. We are a unit!
Ok, so Poncho is back from Arizona, and I am back from K-town. And it's great. We shared our Christmas presents (but Clara wasn't allowed to touch mine) and we danced in the kitchen whilst making dinner. Dinner was an improvised enchilada dish, in case you were wondering. It was delish.
SO MUCH DANCING. To the tune: Discovery- So Insane... perhaps we will post a video of dancing in the kitchen... but only at your adamant request.
So. To address the title. While we were cooking, well, actually I think we were setting the table. Clara says, "lets put the two guests where we generally sit"
"Mmk. Oh, good, we can take the ends of the table, like the matriarch and patriarch! Mahahaha!"
"hhahahahhaaaa!!"
but then it got real.
Because then we started really analyzing it. Our gender roles...that is.
I'm the Mommy, and Clara is the Daddy. Here's why:
Hannah- Well, should we look at a recipe first, for refrence?
Clara- Naw, we'll just throw some food in a pan, bake it, and make 'um eat it.
Hannah- Ok hunny, if you think that's best.
Clara- Lets just throw on some more hot sauce!
Hannah- Is everyone going to like it?
Clara- Oh... Hm. Well, maybe just a little then.
Ok, so, right now it makes like no sense, but trust me, it works.
Ok, so Poncho is back from Arizona, and I am back from K-town. And it's great. We shared our Christmas presents (but Clara wasn't allowed to touch mine) and we danced in the kitchen whilst making dinner. Dinner was an improvised enchilada dish, in case you were wondering. It was delish.
SO MUCH DANCING. To the tune: Discovery- So Insane... perhaps we will post a video of dancing in the kitchen... but only at your adamant request.
So. To address the title. While we were cooking, well, actually I think we were setting the table. Clara says, "lets put the two guests where we generally sit"
"Mmk. Oh, good, we can take the ends of the table, like the matriarch and patriarch! Mahahaha!"
"hhahahahhaaaa!!"
but then it got real.
Because then we started really analyzing it. Our gender roles...that is.
I'm the Mommy, and Clara is the Daddy. Here's why:
Hannah- Well, should we look at a recipe first, for refrence?
Clara- Naw, we'll just throw some food in a pan, bake it, and make 'um eat it.
Hannah- Ok hunny, if you think that's best.
Clara- Lets just throw on some more hot sauce!
Hannah- Is everyone going to like it?
Clara- Oh... Hm. Well, maybe just a little then.
Ok, so, right now it makes like no sense, but trust me, it works.
* * * * * * * *
Hannah then proceeded to have her token cheerleader moment. You all know what I'm talking about....that moment when you inadvertently say something incredibly bitchy in the midst of a longer rant. In this case their was a certain Bainbridge babe involved. It's not Hannah's fault that she's incredibly good looking and thoughtful. And has a better hair cut....Hannah.......
And then I introduced Hannah to a Laura Marling song that literally emotionally derailed us and then basically annihilated any sense of pride we had for any of our creative endeavors.
But currently we are sitting in the dungeon enjoying some rather scandalous mints and rummaging through Hannah's brand new....let's just call it literature, with...ornaments. Intrigue.
I LOOOOOOOVE HANNAH! and we are very ready to get back to some marvelous people.
Sincerely,
Llama and Poncho
Monday, December 26, 2011
The Morning After
Dear Clara,
This isn't a post about birth-control, sorry about the misleading title. No, this is a post about my least favourite day of THE WHOLE YEAR: They day after Christmas. This year it is especially awful, for a multitude of reasons. One, because we are separated. This is a time for family and friends, and now that you are this hybrid of family and friend, it feels wrong that we are not in close physical proximity. You know, they tell you that it's a time for family and friends, but everyone knows it's really just family. If you try and hang out with friends, your mom or dad look at you, and then say things like,
"Well, if you really think now is a good time." and
"Well, if its really important to you..." or,
"Its two days before Christmas! Its family time." or,
"Its two days after Christmas, its still family time." it never ends.
Christmas: You will never see your friends again. Even if my parents don't say those things, I know. I don't even try anymore. And none of it even matters because my cuddly Poncho is A GAZZILION MILES AWAY, FRATERNIZING WITH CACTI. Yuck.
Reasons number two: Homework. Winter Break homework is a bitch. (ooh, the black keys just came on my iTunes shuffle, so this is about to be a very angsty rant.) So, break starts, and the work disappears for awhile. You think: I'll do it after Christmas, its not that much work. Lies. I have so much work, and by so much work, I mean the fact that I have work at all. When we began attending SOTA, one of the many perks was that winter break was 3 WEEKS of fantastical, wintry playtime/sleepy time, AND that the semester ended at winter break! Ergo, three of the least stressful weeks you will ever have in your life. Well, we had that strike in September that screwed a lot of people over. I mean, the whole thing was just a giant poo-fest. And it carried over. INTO MY LIFE. Into my stress-free, fantastical wintry sleepy/play time. So, I am still in bed, staring at my pile of unwrapped goodies, trying to pretend that I don't have a veritable mountain of things to actually think about and accomplish.
Which brings us to the other portion of our program: Unwrapped presents. Presents are at the height of their being when they are in the process of being ripped of their mystique. Right now, however, they are sad. They are no longer presents. It's just a pile of stuff that's yours now. If we were between the ages of 2 and 7, this would not be the case. Well, maybe a little bit, because toys loose their magic a little, but at least it's a toy. When you get older, you don't get a lego set or a doll, you get clothes and useful things. It blows. Because come the morning after, you are sad that you have nothing to play with. The highlight of the 26th is running around between all the other depressed people at the mall, returning what doesn't fit.
Poncho, I miss you, because I got quite a few fun things for Christmas, but I don't have you to share them with. (By share, I mean let you look, you can't actually touch my new things. They are mine.) I can't wait for you to come back from Cactus-land, and I can't wait to escape the hellish gray of Kitsap County. Dear God, there are no useful buses here. It's a giant trap, made to look like a quaint, suburban area. It's doing nothing for my disposition. I hate today.
-Hannah (the very unhappy holiday Llama)
P.S. Sorry for all the CAPS. It's a hard day for me...
This isn't a post about birth-control, sorry about the misleading title. No, this is a post about my least favourite day of THE WHOLE YEAR: They day after Christmas. This year it is especially awful, for a multitude of reasons. One, because we are separated. This is a time for family and friends, and now that you are this hybrid of family and friend, it feels wrong that we are not in close physical proximity. You know, they tell you that it's a time for family and friends, but everyone knows it's really just family. If you try and hang out with friends, your mom or dad look at you, and then say things like,
"Well, if you really think now is a good time." and
"Well, if its really important to you..." or,
"Its two days before Christmas! Its family time." or,
"Its two days after Christmas, its still family time." it never ends.
Christmas: You will never see your friends again. Even if my parents don't say those things, I know. I don't even try anymore. And none of it even matters because my cuddly Poncho is A GAZZILION MILES AWAY, FRATERNIZING WITH CACTI. Yuck.
Reasons number two: Homework. Winter Break homework is a bitch. (ooh, the black keys just came on my iTunes shuffle, so this is about to be a very angsty rant.) So, break starts, and the work disappears for awhile. You think: I'll do it after Christmas, its not that much work. Lies. I have so much work, and by so much work, I mean the fact that I have work at all. When we began attending SOTA, one of the many perks was that winter break was 3 WEEKS of fantastical, wintry playtime/sleepy time, AND that the semester ended at winter break! Ergo, three of the least stressful weeks you will ever have in your life. Well, we had that strike in September that screwed a lot of people over. I mean, the whole thing was just a giant poo-fest. And it carried over. INTO MY LIFE. Into my stress-free, fantastical wintry sleepy/play time. So, I am still in bed, staring at my pile of unwrapped goodies, trying to pretend that I don't have a veritable mountain of things to actually think about and accomplish.
Which brings us to the other portion of our program: Unwrapped presents. Presents are at the height of their being when they are in the process of being ripped of their mystique. Right now, however, they are sad. They are no longer presents. It's just a pile of stuff that's yours now. If we were between the ages of 2 and 7, this would not be the case. Well, maybe a little bit, because toys loose their magic a little, but at least it's a toy. When you get older, you don't get a lego set or a doll, you get clothes and useful things. It blows. Because come the morning after, you are sad that you have nothing to play with. The highlight of the 26th is running around between all the other depressed people at the mall, returning what doesn't fit.
Poncho, I miss you, because I got quite a few fun things for Christmas, but I don't have you to share them with. (By share, I mean let you look, you can't actually touch my new things. They are mine.) I can't wait for you to come back from Cactus-land, and I can't wait to escape the hellish gray of Kitsap County. Dear God, there are no useful buses here. It's a giant trap, made to look like a quaint, suburban area. It's doing nothing for my disposition. I hate today.
-Hannah (the very unhappy holiday Llama)
P.S. Sorry for all the CAPS. It's a hard day for me...
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