KASSIE IN THE RAW

What is the deeeaaaaal with comedy?

2011-08-03T22:02:00.003-04:00

Friends, family, strangers, haters,

The latest news is that a buddy asked me if I had ever done stand up comedy before. No, I have not. I have been encouraged by certain folks (mostly moms - my own and others), but it has always sounded terrifying until now...So I know a guy who knows a guy who could probs get me a gig doing stand up at a pretty prestigious NYC comedy club that shall remain nameless so as not to jinx anything.

So what do we think? Should I try it? It's not a talent I ever thought about having or flexing. Mostly cuz, besides being scary as folk, a stand up comedian merely by walking on stage is saying, "I think I am hilarious." My ego hasn't been able to reconcile that one. Here's where the tipping point is: certain comedians make good money. If walking on stage and telling strangers funny stories can bring in CASH?! Hmmmm. I work at a certain retail store. I have to communicate with and smell and sometimes touch lots of people that I have no desire spend time with. These strangers are turning me into a horrible person. I'm really worried that I have literally lost my ability to empathize. Maybe I'll regain some humanity! Besides, I don't even have to interact with or like see the audience.

Weigh in, folks. Go.

SEINFELD, I WILL NOT SHAME YOU.

A Word On Self-Aggrandizement

2011-06-21T20:17:00.004-04:00

Yo yo yo! I'm baaaaack!!

Quick recap: The past almost year, I have been studying my acting by day, working full-time as a vampire computer-nerd by night, and trying to remain healthy and sane in between. Now that I have graduated, have a couple of gigs under my belt, and have changed my work schedule to something less life-ruining, I have more time to blog again!!

I apologize for my absence, and if you are reading this, I must say that you have passed my test of true friendship and I am forever indebted to you. I can say that confidently and yet with little personal accountability as I have no way of knowing exactly who you are. Awesome.

Ok, I think I need to ease back into this whole thing, so I have chosen a topic that has been on my mind today. The concept of self-aggrandizement. It's something that I've been extremely uncomfortable with my entire life. Everyone knows that self-deprecation is socially adorable and more than a little charming. I find it attractive in men and women alike. Self-promotion I have found equally loathsome.

What is so disgusting about giving oneself props? What's your gut reaction when a person tells you in all sincerity that they are really good at something? Mine usually is, "This guy [and it's usually a dude] is either Narcissus or hates himself because he is not. And I can't handle either scenario. I'm out." It's unappetizing, right? It's also dangerous, because then I think, "OR this dude either has a tiny penis he's overcompensating for or a third leg he's much too proud of!" And then I'm upset because you made me think of penises (peni? penipoda...?) and I don't want to think about your penis. I hardly ever want to think about genitalia.

LATELY, though, upon reflection, I have found self-aggrandizement (at least to myself, in the safety and privacy of my own noggin) has been instrumental in what I consider my successes thus far! How else does one grow and progress if she doesn't look back plainly at what she has done well, where she has succeeded, and what methods were employed to get her there?

When I was in college, I walked on to two different sports teams. Until very recently, I have have not recognized this as any sort of achievement. They were just things that I forgot I did once:

-When I was 17 I joined my university's rugby team and was a surprisingly quick study. (If you would like me to teach you the most effective way to tackle someone, by all means, contact me). I later quit after I watched teammates receive dislocated body parts, head injuries, memory lapses, etc. At the time, my brain was the one part of my body of which I was actually proud, and I didn't want to keep it in harm's way (self-deprecating! aren't I precious?). But, looking back, successfully joining a rugby team and excelling is kinda cool! And I unconsciously learned from this that I could probably succeed in a similar situation in the future.

-When I was 19, right after I transferred to Michigan State University for my upperclassmen years, I tried out for the women's crew team and made it. (I also quit this team less a month into the off-season for reasons that were right and important then...maybe I should dedicate a blog to 'why Kassie quits sports clubs'...) I remember after a long day of tryouts, our last test of the day was the invisible chair wall sit. It's where you sit against the wall, thighs parallel to the ground, for as long as you can stand it. Ten minutes was the maximum limit the coach was going to make us do. I was one of the few remaining in her invisible chair after seven minutes had past. If memory serves, the coach stopped us before eight minutes, but I remember feeling like I had some strength left in me had we continued. Let me stress that at this point in my young life, I was fairly unhappy and generally unimpressed with myself.

I'd like to juxtapose this last experience with one I had today. I have started exercising much more regularly again. Today I went to a class at my local gym where the final exercise of the night was...the wall sit! I lasted maybe 45 seconds. The toughest person in the class I think lasted 2:45. Was I embarrassed that my thigh strength is 1/10 of what it once was? Well, yeah a little. BUT, was I more impressed that my younger self owned that challenge? Hells yes!! I must have had legs that would make Thigh-Masters weep! I had Everest-climbing quads! After I shakily flopped to the floor today, my heart filled with love and empathy for my old critical self. She deserved a little recognition and I never gave it to her. As part of the MSU DI athletic package, she was offered private tutors, trainers, free clothes and a generous per diam during the season. But did that make her see her talent and success with humble pride and appropriate encouragement? Nope! I distinctly remember feeling confused and uncomfortable with it all.

My current inner condition is much improved from my self-flagellating days at MSU. I do not envy her or her steel-bending musculature. I'm happy, I like myself, and I think I've learned that self-deprecation and self-aggrandizement have their rightful place in all of us. My specific organs were my heart for all things failed and some black-hole in my memory banks for anything good I ever did in life ever. Now my belief is that recognizing our achievements and being proud of them should be something done regularly in our minds and hearts as it spurs us on to greater heights and joys. And self-deprecation should be left to the trivial dribble of dates and dinner parties, and reassigned to that black hole where my best memories used to go. Besides, if we don't know what we're good at, and don't love doing it, how are we going to serve anyone else with our mad skillz? Sounds wasteful now.

The next time someone tells me that they are the best at x, y, or z, I will try to congratulate them for recognizing their own strengths.

I probably still won't want to spend more than five minutes alone with them. Baby steps in my maturation, folks. Baby steps.

Holler at me, lovers!

Kassie

p.s. My former crew teammates at MSU turned into female Arnold Schwarzeneggers. I remember breathing a sigh of relief after I quit as I considered my own feminine-sized deltoids (If any of you would like me to show you how to properly operate an Erg, please contact me).

p.p.s. My former rugby teammates at BYU mostly ended up with C averages, at best, and back hair and acne.

p.p.s.s. That last one is not true.

You're gonna make it after all!

2010-08-26T02:55:00.005-04:00

Who can turn the world on with her smile? I can, so it seems. I've just moved into a fab new neighborhood, have a wonderful new job, and I'm feeling a little bit like Mary Tyler Moore. Good times. I have a few stories for you all. Let me recount to you my first 'holla'd at' occurrence in my new neighborhood. It came unbidden yesterday afternoon.

Now, back in Washington Heights, one can be expected to be mildly sexually harassed at least once a week, or once an outing if you're walking greater than or equal to five blocks. Recently, I was walking from the library on W. 145th St. to my apartment on W. 162nd St., and got hollered at no less than FIVE TIMES! I am not boasting, ladies and gentlemen. I wouldn't be surprised if female dogs get hit on by some drunken residents. Nor shall we assume their intentions are honorable. I doubt they're thinking, "Wow! What a fair young lady! She appears to be interesting! She bears signs of nobility! I admire her inner and outer beauty, therefore, I shall exclaim, 'Ay Mami!'." Nope. I usually try to look as unappealing as possible if I have to walk places. On the library occasion, I was wearing my old Beatles t-shirt that I usually wear only under things because of the obvious yellow pit stains. Even so, I was waiting to cross the street at a corner when the driver of an SUV (also waiting) looks over at me and says, "Yo the Beatles is sexy...so are you!" Yikes. Did I mention the girlfriend glaring at me from the passenger seat? Awkarder. (Hopefully it was just a pimp/prostitute relationship. Otherwise, that's just rude) I used to hate walking around up there.

So I'm working nights at my new job (I'm very happy there, thanks for asking!), and my sleep schedule is still wonky. I rolled out of bed sometime in the afternoon yesterday and I had a hankering for a New York slice, so I walked to the corner to a local pizzeria I spotted a few days ago (no cat calls!). In fact, I had walked into the place last week and realized I was too poor to buy anything so I pretended to go get money and that I'd be back. The young Italian pizza immigrant goes, "I'll be here!" in a "I'll-be-waiting-wink-wink" kind of way. Yeah, yeah whatever, Pizza Guy. Well, yesterday, I walk in (mind you I'm rocking serious bedhead, a big blue t-shirt that is about three sizes too big in a man size - picture the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka, and unbrushed teeth; I literally did three things between sleep and pizza: bra, pants, shoes & purse) and the same dude is there working. Here we go.

Pizza Dude: "It's you! What can I get you, babe?"
Me: "Hm I didn't realize we were dating..." (I didn't actually say this, but my sassy brain was thinking it)
Me, for real: "Two cheese please."
Pizza Dude: "Ipad."
Me: "Huh?"
Pizza Dude: "Ipad...where do you keep all your buttons?" (Wink wink, pointing at all different points of my body; my shirt advertises the new Apple Ipad)
Me: "Oh...Ipads don't have any buttons." (Trying real hard to will the pizza to warm up faster with my mind)
Pizza Perv: "What do they have?"
Me: "They have touch screens."
Ballzy Pizza Perv: "Can I touch you then?"
Me: "NOOOOO." (Said in the same manner as a little girl would say it, had her brother just asked if he could spit in her hair)
By this point I've paid and am trying to get the hell out of there.
Bally Pizza Guy as I rush out: "Stay pretty!"

I leave clutching my pizza, trying to figure out what just happened. I told one of my best friends this story, and he 1. laughed way too hard and 2. told me to take it as a compliment and live in the moment. He's probably right, but I just don't handle these things well. I just get confused and uncomfortable, and make a list of places never to visit again. Maybe it's a crazy girl thing. When I don't put any effort into my appearance, I assume I look like Will Ferrell's version of Harry Caray, therefore anyone hitting on me at any time immediately becomes some sort of weirdo pervert. But I know a lot of girls who like the attention no matter what, so maybe they're the crazy ones. I dunno. Only in New York. Besides the one Italian dude, I no longer walk my neighborhood in fear (or in 'homeless drag' to avoid harassment, barring first-meal hankerings)!

Here are a couple of good NYC MTA bus stories. All of them feature a different large black women. All the buses I take seem to be run by said women. They don't drive the bus, but we are all subject to them. One time I got on and the only spot open to sit down was in between a petite woman to the left and a large black woman on the right. I sat just barely on the edge of the seat, not wanting to cramp any one's style. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the lady on my right scooching over to her right. Naturally, I think she's doing this for me! So I ease my way back until I hear, from my right, "Where you goin'?!" I look up at her, smiling, thinking she was starting friendly banter. I quickly realized she didn't really want to know what was my ultimate destination. What she meant to ask was, "Do you really think I'm going to allow your leg to touch any part of my leg for the duration of this voyage? If you do, I'm afraid you are mistaken (Move your white ass back over)." Naturally, I did what I could, and also I found whatever I was reading for the rest of the trip just rapturous.

Word to the wise, try to stay out of the way of people who like to walk around/stand on a bus when they don't have to. They're probably a little bit off their rocker. Avert your eyes, pretend to text someone, sleep, etc. I was on my way home one morning when this bossy old LBW (large black woman) was standing up front by the driver, ranting and raving. I looked up once to see what she was talking about, caught her icy gaze and my blood stood still for a minute. Pretend you were looking around at everyone! You're life is at risk, Cardon! It was sort of hard to not hear what she was saying. We had a crying infant about halfway back on the bus, and at one point crazy LBW yells out to the mom, "That baby's cold! Put a blanket on it, it's freezing! C'mon now!" Oh. no. she. di'int. Mothering a stranger's baby! That's not allowed, is it?!?! I looked over, aghast, at the mom. She was calmly ignoring LBW. Incidentally, the baby was all bundled up already. LBW kept talking until she got off. Probably telling the driver how to drive better. Some people can get away with anything!

My last story isn't really a story. I was riding home from work the other day and was real tired and had a headache, and this CBW (crazy black woman) with a long black trench coat kept walking up and down the aisle. Sitting down, standing up, sitting somewhere else. That's the whole story, except she wreaked strongly of urine and something sour, like rotting flesh. I was so angry that she was making me smell her. So angry that she was stinky. Why are people so stinky sometimes?

I wonder if Mary Tyler Moore ever had to smell a CBW on a bus.

Holler back,

Kassie

More Like Happy Dependence Day

2010-07-04T19:38:00.005-04:00

Warning: This post smells of tree-huggers and free love. Do not be frightened.

Until I was about twelve yrs. old, I was a military brat (US Air Force w00t!). A fortunate by-product of such an upbringing has been a healthy, maybe even fierce pride and respect for our country and our military (cue Kenny Rogers). While this patriotism is alive and well inside my ticker, I've never been quite as disenchanted with our nation as I have been the last few years. I have taken the time to remove my "American" hat (resembles a baseball cap with a flat bill/sticker still on, "D" for Detroit; sits slightly askew) and don my simple "Human Being" hat (maybe like something I'd weave out of weeds?) to have a look around, and I've had myself quite an education. Mostly I've become aware of bad, bad Americans making bad, bad decisions all over the place. In a word: Boo, America!

Many times I've sat in my little room with my little energy-efficient Ikea lamp & light bulb ablaze utterly frustrated at my lack of influence in healing the world & making it a better place (cue MJ). These sessions usually occur after forgetting once again to bring my own bag to the grocery store. NYC has got to be the biggest waster of plastic bags in the world. And probably about 5% of those bags are under my kitchen sink. Gaaaaaah. For shame! In a word: Boo, Kassie! My heart is soooo in the right place, but it seems inevitable that I just keep aiding in the demise of this land that I love!

How can little you and I repent America? (If you've read a lot of the Old Testament, which I've been doing lately - especially Jeremiah - the word repent is used sillily. Specifically, with regards to God - He can't repent He's already at Himself! Anyways, I've taken to using 'repent' in any way I please. Silly translators.)

1. Stop being ignorant. Regardless of your political views or how you feel about global warming (If you think it's a myth, that's great. Not a myth? CDCs and other oil waste products. They are poison whether or not they are actually punching significant holes in our beloved ozone layer), bone up on at least the ecological consequences of your actions. Start small. I promise you learning about this stuff is addictive. It's a little like researching your family history - before you start, your gut says it's important, but your attention span says it's important for someone else. But once you've started , you're hitting my dealer for a re-up like daily. Word to the wise: If you're going to head to the media for your 'facts', make sure you check out both camps. I've lost complete faith in any news program besides The Colbert Report & The Daily Show.

2. Watch this film: http://www.hulu.com/watch/158468/fuel

IT'S FREE! and it's a feature film, so dedicate a night to it. It's educational AND entertaining! If you, like me, get inspired to help change and unite the world by serving and sustaining one another, this film will be a relief and a huzzah! Because, as you will learn from the flick, people, nay nations have already done all the work and made all the changes. The world is just waiting with it's arms wide open for the group hug we are all starving for, we just need to seal the deal with our support. How?

3. Contact your Congressman. Why are people so afraid of these stool pigeons? It's easy! We have email, telephone, snail mail. They have offices, even if they don't spend any time in them! Photocopy a buttload of your biofuel/renewable-energy-for-your-community demands and send one each day, or even all at once. They need to feel the pressure from their constituents to conform to the new green trend. No one wants to be more trendy than Congressmen do! Obama can't do much without the dis/approval of Congress, and who runs Congress? We do, actually! What?? I knoooow!!! We all know that Congressmen are (with a few exceptions) whimpy people-pleasers who need fill the holes in their souls with power and money. And they need to listen to us, or else their power & cash flow diminish. I'm gonna write my Congressmen this week. I'm not sure which state I'm a resident of, so I'm gonna hit up both New York and Virginia. Of course, our points should be made in a spirit of fellowship and progress, not disrespect aka the spirit of point #3.

If you can't be bothered with "environmental issues" and can't see their connection to your own life, that's cool. I can see how it feels like an unnecessary & futile effort. We've got enough on our plates with our small independent worlds. Well, at least check out www.thefuelfilm.com. Give it a two-minute browse and see if anything inspires you. At the very least, your effort could help create hundreds of millions of green-collared jobs here in the States. Which is reason enough for me!

Each of us can do something to eliminate our dependence on oil and coal. We don't have to create or instate alternatives. That's already been taken care of! We just need to strong-arm some politicians to do their job. The power is in our hands! And if the masses (you and me) don't do it, who will?

Or at the very least, get paper instead of plastic.

GOD BLESS AMERICA!! LAND. THAT. I. LOOOOOOVE!!!

Holler back,
Kassie

Musings on fellas and free monies

2010-06-27T21:03:00.005-04:00

Gah there are so many things right about this picture. For those of you who don't know him, meet Sufjan Stevens. I've been in love with him for roughly three years. Amongst other things, as you can see, he plays the banjo. He's from Michigan. His first name is Sufjan. He describes his sound as "sixth-grade band class". How could I NOT fall for him? I just felt like honoring him today.

This week, I recognized a trend in what I tend to be attracted to in a fellow. And I'm not sure how I feel about it. Puzzled, I think, because after looking over the list, it appears as though my ideal dude is Willie Nelson. And, needless to say (I hope), he is NOT. Here are a few things my butterfly-inducing-boys usually have in common: they play instruments (guitars/banjos mostly), they like to garden, they are amateur photographers, they are hairy about the face/chestal area, they love bikes, they are frugal, and they are incredible at some sport (that's a typical girl thing, probs). OH! And they usually end up being under 6'0", which is bad news bears for Kassie as I'm at least 6'1" with heels on. K. So, no big deal, none of these are bad things or too creepy, except that every gay man in NYC probably has the exact same list... But what I've been trying to figure out is, whaaat? Why? There's gotta be some fundamental characteristic I'm attracted to underneath it all that leads to...gardening. And whatnot. I can't be that superficial (oooooh! he has a homemade bike? AND a beard? swooooon)! Gah I dunno I'm a weirdo. But I will get to the bottom of this. Because to know oneself is to know God. Or something like that. I bet Sufjan makes his banjos with materials he grew in his backyard and makes strings out of his chest hair. And then takes pictures of them with his digital Nikon and uses the copies as stationary. Gaaaaaah so sexxy!

AND subject change:

So since my classes have ended, I've been trying to get me a full-time job in the City because that is what one is supposed to do. Surprisingly difficult, ladies and gentlemen! I've technically had an extremely part-time/on-call job for an oral surgeon since March (he has called me probably four times and I have been able to work for him once), and I think he fired me via text on Wednesday. It's ok, folks, I didn't come to NYC to be a surgical assistant. So back to the drawing board. I got a couple of rad gigs this week. Did you know that marketing companies hire actors and pay them good money to exist?? Wednesday I got $100 for six hours of work, three of which I had the tiring task of hanging out in Madison Square Park and looking like I wasn't being paid to be there. We were promoting a movement (trying to get peeps to take their lunch breaks and leave their offices building let's change corporate America w00t!!) and I pretended to be a convert, eating my lunch at the park. It was beautiful out and there were some really cool-looking birds chilling in the little flower garden I was admiring. So I even communed with nature a bit. (Also, has anyone been to MSP recently? There are these strange naked dude statues standing in what appears to be yoga's "mountain pose". What ARE these? Some little kid walked up to one, stared, and just took a hold of the statue's manhood. Like it ain't no thang, just holding it as casually as if it were his mom's hand. Awesome. THAT, my friends, is art to me...) I was even interviewed for some NBC affiliate. Flirted with the cute field reporter. Easiest money EVER! Free t-shirt, free lunch and granola bars. Perfect gig for poor people like me (I was so excited to get a free t-shirt)! I'm all about this!

I also might be starting my own baby-sitter's club, members: one. Maybe I should get a members only jacket... A friend of a friend hooked me up with this rad little family up in my neighborhood aka "the barrio". I'm gonna regularly babysit two wee lasses - three & four yrs. old, a-dor-a-ble. AND the mom is gonna tell all her friends about me. More easy money and, truly, kids say the darndest things. I freaking LOVE humans not in my age bracket.

Why waste my time doing crap I don't want to do? Office assisting, surgery assisting, paperwork, selling beds, blargh. If there are things out there like fake-activist-ing and hanging out with rad kids, I'm all over it. It may be less consistent and less health-care-covering, but it's fun stuff! Loved ones, I think it IS possible to support yourself actually doing things that you enjoy. Don't give up hope!! And don't let the ego get in the way. I'm a 27-year-old babysitter. And I have no apologies.

Holler back,

Kassie

I still miss MJ

2010-06-15T16:43:00.006-04:00

I miss him a lot today for some reason! Probably because I just watched "This Is It". I don't think I ever properly mourned for the King of Pop. For all of you who are too cool for Mr. Jackson, I recommend you skip this post and go get a life. Cuz you just don't get it yet. For the rest of you, journey towards healing with me.

When I was a kid I lived in Germany for a few years. The old man was financing his oral surgery specialization via the USAF. We would go on lengthy road trips around Europe and, tellingly, my fondest memories are of being in the backseat, staring out the window totally absorbed in the magic my Walkman was pumping into my tiny impressionable ear canals. The two cassette tapes I played the most from ages 9-11 were the Boyz II Men Cooleyhighharmony album (abcbbdmmmhm!) and Michael Jackson's Dangerous. Hot damn, I know I would've already become like the President by now, or Oprah, had Bad found it's way into my cassette collection then- I didn't get hip to those insane grooves until later - but, to be honest, I'm lucky I had any good music to listen to. Sweet serendipity landed those cassettes in my player, there is no other explanation for me having them. It couldn't have been my mom's doing (I love you mom, but Lionel Richie and Michael Bolton did not plant the seeds for the deep and abiding love I have for music today. I'll give you Nat King Cole).

I can't explain accurately what I felt then, or really what I feel now, when I hear MJ sing or watch him dance. It was like knowing you're experiencing something big and important, and knowing you will and must be a part of it. I didn't know it then, but it was inspiring me. I distinctly remember it stirring up stuff inside of me that was powerful and alien, kind of like how David Bowie made me feel the first time I saw Labyrinth, but safer and less confusing. We didn't have proper TV until we returned to the States, and then I would wait until an MJ song would come on and sit there slack-jawed, mouth-breathing, probably drooling, mesmerized by a music video. The one where Eddie Murphy is a pharaoh, or the one where he's white and he's singing about how it's ok that way cuz it don't matta, or the duet with Janet in space where they scream a lot. SOOOOOOOO GOOOOOOOD! I don't care if you're the most boring, scroogiest, art-hating soul-sucker in the world - if you were around when MJ was around, you wanted to be him. You can lie to me, but don't lie to yourself, guys. I still want to be Michael Jackson.

As I am no longer a child and have a little life experience under my belt, what impresses me most about MJ isn't his freakin crazy presence or his singular dance moves, it's his courage and inner strength. He was so abused, had so much pressure on him since the womb, so much public scrutiny and negativity, yet he never quit and he always left it all on the stage. This beaten man wanted to 'bring love back into the world'. He definitely was a little insane, and God bless him for it. The sane don't have that kind of capacity. I can't imagine the pain he dealt with everyday. The dude probably never even had the chance to fall in love with someone. But the general love that man had, and had the courage to share, was enormous, too big to let fear or ill health contain it. Aaaah MJ! So tragic and so sweet a life. "What a beautiful mess", as Jason Mraz would say. I am so grateful for Michael Jackson!

It makes me sad to think about how my kids won't have MJ around to provide them with their first mind-blowing experiences. I know we still have the music, but it's not the same. He won't be a part of the collective unconscious that pervaded my youth and young adulthood. He was a great example in that he never, ever fit in anywhere down here on Earth, but he rocked his own angelic alien-like status and inspired the hell out of us. I want to be an angelic alien, too. I want to find my own moonwalk to show you.

So I guess the lesson here, folks, is dare to shine, despite your weaknesses and maybe your craziness! Don't hide your candles under bushels!! We need to find a new version of MJ by the time my kids are old enough to dream (as said children have yet to be born, you all have plenty of time to practice). Listen to good music! Sing. Dance. Or at least find out the things that blow your mind and make you feel scared and excited at the same time. And, most importantly, go easy on your kids if and when you have them. Where would MJ be today if he had a different dad, you know? He'd probably be in the middle of another world tour and I wouldn't care much if you all hid your gifts. Cuz I'd still have MJ.

In heaven, my hope is that there are lots of baby animals of course (that never poo or pee and that smell like baby lotion), we sit on edible cotton candy clouds, and sit around with our loved ones experiencing the world of MJ. What if heaven is a perpetual Michael Jackson concert, without the bounds of mortality?? WHAT CAN'T THAT MAN DO THEN!?

Many thanks, MJ!

Holler back,

Kassie

So many things should not be legal

2010-06-09T00:47:00.007-04:00

Especially this. It's 2010!! How is bullfighting still a thing?? Where you at PETA? It boggles my mind. I have so many problems with this.

First of all, if this sort of activity is going to happen, it should at least be held exclusively at the Coliseum. Rome is to spectator murder-sports what St. Andrews is to golf. Animal-stabbing really shouldn't have left the circular confines of that sadistic arena. Second, it's way too simple to be a sport. I'm a girl, and I can fathom the object and rules of the game without even watching! A true sport should take a girl at least a season of diligent study and maybe even a high school level P.E. examination to understand it enough to enjoy or play. The really great sports require strategies from the players that are incapable of female contemplation. I am a fairly intelligent woman, in addition to being an avid sports fan with a good grasp on and experience in most sports, but I still sit in dumbfounded silence every time I witness the men in my family discuss in depth whatever sport is in season. I think the female brain is missing that lobe, just like the male brain is missing the thoughtful/multi-tasking lobe. Jim Rome might as well be speaking Norwegian on his podcasts. That is the way I like it! That's the way it's supposed to be! That is a world that makes sense. Third, the predominant thought in an athlete's head during a sporting event should never have to be, "Only one of us is going to make it out of here alive, hombre."

Bullfighting? Really? Dude wears tight pants and a jacket that someone went a little crazy with the bedazzler on, holds a piece of cloth in his hand that inspires murderous thoughts in a pre-enraged animal, enters big sand box with aforementioned animal, is armed with colorful swords (of course), attempts to kill bull by severing spinal cord via the lumpy thing on the bull's back. Are there fancy rules I don't know about? Probably a maximum IQ for participants. Must be equal less than or equal to the bull's, apparently. WHY IS THIS LEGAL?

A word to the bullfighter: 1. Sorry for the loss of your tongue but, and it needs to be said again and again - I told you so. 2. This does not make you manlier. I am sorry you were deceived by your proud country. Please try to step back with me and take an objective look at exactly what's going on here. Are you seeing what I see? Yeeeeeaaah I know, yikes. How about next time you just release an "angered and disoriented" bag of chicken breasts on a remote-controlled vacuum into a racquetball court with you and a sledge hammer? You can still feel macho by brutalizing an "animal" without the threat of being gored in the chin. Also, you have tenderized the meat for dinner. Win win win.

Ugh so many things to change in this world! Can I help illegalize this somehow? Gah I need more sway on global stage than I currently hold. Tomorrow, when I write my congressman my serious disappointments with the (lack of) financial regulation reform, I'll air my concerns about the bull-fighting epidemic. I vote no more please.

Holler back,
Kassie

I love to hate you. No wait, hate to love you. No, you to love hate?

2010-06-01T17:31:00.006-04:00

This song isn't new at all but I'm real stoked on it right now:

It's by this unassuming fella over here to the right. I love Brett Dennen. Look at him! He looks like that shy, quiet dude in high school who always wore led zep t-shirts and who surprised the hell out of you when the yearly talent show came around. I love it when things are sooooo not what they seem. Well, not so much in a Dorian Grayish way, but like a tamale kind of way (who knew such deliciousness could be contained in an ordinary corn husk?! and it takes love and hard work to make that savory soul-healer...I could take this metaphor much further, but I'll control myself. Gah such a dork) Anyways, this dude is quality.

So I've made a couple of new friends recently and I told them I'd blog more often out of respect for the medium. Mostly, I invited them to read this crap and I feel unworthy, so I need to kick it up a notch. We found out we all blogged, but they actually blog about useful and helpful things. And they do it like almost daily. I talk about stuff running around in my brain (visual: dog chasing it's own tail) maybe once a month. And since the chances aren't great that the concept will change (if any of these turn out to be helpful in any way, I promise you, it will be accidental), I've dedicated myself to more frequent ramblings. Holy geez I'm listening to my Ben Harper channel on Pandora right now and it's blowing my mind. Richie Havens doing "Here Comes the Sun" may or may not make your life a little better.

Maybe I'm just in a fantastic mood because today was my last class. I don't think I've shared this with many of you, but from class one, my acting teacher has proven to be giant douchebag. Huge. I have stories that would shock and awe you. The military could send me to Afganistan to the most cave-y terrorist-infested mountains, give me a megaphone, have me recount a few experiences, and I would not be surprised to find hordes of weepy Al-Qaeda shuffle out of their hiding places as broken men. I cried for three hours straight, uncontrollably, in class recently. He's got a gift. It takes talent to know how to completely break down a class full of such different people! And for that, I give him a lot of credit. Tip o' the hat.

All that whining said, today I was in love with the dude. The struggle was over. We all talked. He transformed from a death eater into a homo sapien, and I was objectively able to see how his constant spewing of disgust and shame actually made a strong group of capable artists. Bravo, David. I guess you're not ultimately a douche if it was just the means to an end?*He pretty much is a hero of mine now. We'll see how long that lasts. Isn't it crazy how quickly and unexpectedly our feelings can change about people and things? We change all day everyday and I love it. Life can be monotonous, can't it? But you're wrong, it's completely unpredictable and exciting every second. Life would be a lot easier if we remembered this. And remembered the things that never change. Like my love for you all (aaaaw yeah)!

I may shave my head tonight. What are you gonna do? Maybe someone will leave a puppy on my doorstep.^ Who knows?

holler back,
kass

*Please don't infer that I'm implying a possible attraction to guys who belittle and torture me. I'm into the nice ones still, Mom, I promise.

^Fat chances, I know. Shut up! That's not the point.

Miss you!

2010-04-13T22:39:00.003-04:00

Just a quick note for the day:

Today I've been thinking a lot about people that I've been missing around the country, nay, the world. And there are a lot of them! I know legion of folks and I won't forget any of you. I can't. I try, but my memory is relentless. Blessing and a curse. Anyways, for those people that I don't want to forget, I will think back fondly and melancholily* about them, and inevitably this is the thought that always surfaces: "That little bastard better miss me back!" But not like in a cutesy, nostalgic way. This thought is like jealous Zeus that kills all the lesser-god thoughts that are in his way. Doesn't matter who it is I'm missing. Even my little two-year old nephew is an unknowing victim of my violent love. For him, Zeus also adds, "and I better be his favorite aunt! Little smiley jerk."

Who am I? But I can't be alone in this, right?

If I made greeting cards, I'd get rid of all the, "Miss you!" and "Thinking of you!" mumbo-jumbo and replace them with anecdotes along the lines of: (outside of the card) "Sure do miss you..." (inside of the card) "...but more importantly, I hope there's a gaping, throbbing hole in your heart that keeps you up at night and just gets bigger and bigger because I'm gone." or maybe, "...but more importantly it would be great if you've lost all hope in the future being anywhere near as blissful as your time with me." or "...but more importantly I hope you need therapy. Lots of it." That kind of stuff. It's ugly, but it's the truth. And the truth will set you free?

The fact of the matter is, that honestly, from the bottom of my heart, I hope that each and every one of you are in pain. Moderate to extreme. No, just moderate at most.

And I hope it is because of me.

Sincerely (hope the sight of my name is like a kick in the chest),
Kassie

Holler back, lovers!

*new word...also could be a new breed of flower, perhaps with petals that stay within a neutral color palette; dull yellows, sad grays, the color of teardrops, etc. They skip blooming and go straight from the pod to wilting because, why bother?

Who dat?

2010-02-28T22:17:00.004-05:00

I'm not sure what I'm emoting here in this picture. It looks like I'm trying to be polite, but really I'm not a fan of what or who I'm hearing. Look at that left eye. That is a disinterested left eye if I've ever seen one.

So Mama Donna kindly chastised me for not getting on this blog more. She's right! Why start a blog if you're not going to finish it? Which begs the question, how long does a blog live? FOR-E-VER. I'm telling you right now, I won't be blogging past menopause. I can't make that kind of commitment. Oh! You know what else? You know how chicks complain about their dudes always being 'afraid of commitment'? What if I'm the dude? I don't like committing to things lately. Don't tie me down, baby, I'll have you in a half-nelson quicker than you can say "sign here". I also get real excited at the idea of having babies, though. So. Chock full of contradicting feelers. But this is all beside the point.

The point is I got a rad new hairdo. Check it out! First time I've had bangs since like the single digit years. I walked into this salon my roommate recommended, told the hairdresser (Katie-she's a doll) to have at it, and this is what she came up with. She's a painter in real life. She works her art into hair to pay the bills. You can't see this, but she shaved The Mona Lisa into the back of my head. That's not true. But she did treat me as a work of art and kept complimenting my facial area, so she's won me over for life. I'm real easy, folks.
Possible scenario:
Hairdresser Katie-"You're so gorgeous I think you could really pull off baldness. Like a shiny happy noggin type of head."
Kassie-"Yes do it. Yes. You think I'm gorgeous I will do whatever you say. And I will tip you generously. Thank you."

It really is that easy. Just like when I meet a person, I don't trust them until they've genuinely laughed at something I've said. (I discovered this about myself last year. I know the implications. Let's just leave it alone for now.) I'm a simple person. I have simple needs. And currently I'm simply just so thankful that God lets me still look very much like a girl when I have boy hair. Cuz the truth is I'd keep the short hair either way probably. But my boobs are huge. So that helps.

AAAAnd on that note. Holler back!

Goodbye 20<10s

2010-01-01T14:42:00.002-05:00

This is always what I think about when I watch the New Year's Eve countdown on the tellie. This poor guy. He HATES New Year's. I don't think he's feeling all that hope in humanity that the crowd was tripping on earlier in the evening. We haven't even learned to throw our coffee cups into the garbage can (five feet away from us) when we are through. Cmon guys, they're everywhere! I feel you, my sanitation man. Thank you for your commitment to your dirty job. We couldn't continue to pretend we are evolving without you.

Hey! Happy New Year! Happy New Decade!! I'm usually not big on New Year's as everyday is a new day, but this time it's a new decade, and I can get behind the excitement of that, I guess. Especially since I'm gonna OWN this decade (you can quote me on that). To celebrate I bought 10 lbs. of delicious Indian food and a bottle of Martinelli's, fell asleep at like 8 pm (dude, I was getting my butt kicked by lady issues! I said it. Uncomfortable?), I woke myself up at 11:30pm to watch the new-and-improved ball drop with Dick Clark, bless his heart, and then I hit the sack shortly thereafter. I know what you're thinking-how does she DO it?! I could never keep up with this force of nature!! Relax, guys, I've been doing it for years. You have to build up to it.

Token New-Year's-Type Insights
I have learned that:
1. I'm capable of all sorts of sh*t I didn't know about. You probably are, too. Just try something new. Often please. Watch life unfold.
2. When I am home alone, I enjoy going to the bathroom with the door open.
3. I suck at flower arranging. It is an art apparently. I'm looking at some winter tulips I just bought yesterday to brighten up the living room, and they ended up making my life less awesome. They're all askew and look like they're trying to escape. Which, of course, makes me feel guilty. I didn't take them from their homes! Ugh when I'm rich I will take a class about this.
4. My gut is the smartest person I know. My brain is useless 75% of the time, detrimental to my quality of life 95% of the time.
5. Most powerful epiphany of the year: Life is good.

I am incredibly blessed. It's ridiculous. I'm gonna pay it forward, guys. That is a promise.

Much luv,
Kassie 010110

I Fold Like a Card Table

2009-09-08T23:47:00.003-04:00

Regina Spektor's a little bit of a weirdo, eh? She was just making dolphin sounds on this here album I'm listening to. I think I like her. Plus, she resembles Mel from The Flight of the Conchords, and my brain delights in this connection. Oh the possibilities.

Who wants to hear a random "Only in New York" story?! Me too! So I am currently job seeking (ugh I can't wait to be paid for being Kassie Cardon) and awaiting classes to start at the studio, so I have plenty of time to walk a mile round trip for a Popeye's lunch every once in a while! Those $1.50 chicken wraps are a steal, I tell you, a steal! So I'm standing third in line, excited to purchase my delicious and economical lunch when a crazy lady comes up to me from behind and to the left. Her teeth and hygiene reminded me of this lady I have featured to the right here, Ms. Winehouse. The aging woman came up to maybe my left bicep. She was, let's be honest, most likely Dominican in nature, and had long, windswept hair which had been pulled back in a ponytail. I think. I only got a good look at her face, as I stared at it in disbelief for the majority of our relationship.

"Huh?" She had demanded something of me, but I couldn't hear her over my iPod. And these are the words she spake, hand to heaven, with the authority of a mother and the entitlement of Paris Hilton: "Buy me something to eat! I'm hungry." Me: "Wha?" She repeats it, this time with impatience. "Buy me something to eat! I'm hungry!" I stared at her in disbelief. Little beady eyeballs to wide shell-shocked eyeballs. The words had stunned my brain. And I'm not gonna lie, the feelings that ended up surfacing were not ones of anger or defensiveness or annoyance. They were 70% guilt (of course) and 30% unadulterated awe. Some emotion in the respect family. This tiny woman just demanded food and/or money from me, a humongous Amazon of a white chick! I was fascinated by her. Her teeth were rotting I believe, you know, brown in the middle and more cylindrical than they should be. She was angry at me for being me. She made me feel like I had shirked some responsibility for too long, and that this directly affected her, and now was the time I was to make up for it. She made me feel like draft dodgers must have felt when they got caught. She was hungry. Her son was dying in Vietnam. And this was completely my fault.

My reaction?

"Um, ok. Well, what do you want?" I ended up just giving her a couple of bucks because we disagreed on taste. (I was willing to hook her up with one of my wraps, whilst she wanted a fancy $6.00+ value meal.) She was gone quicker than you can say "crack pipe". In-credible. Wow. That woman OWNED me.

I'm not sure if I should feel ashamed of this character flaw. Surely some sort of self preservation survival instinct should have kicked in. I might as well have had "Welcome" written across my chest and been laid at the entrance to her cardboard box. Honestly, though, I feel that she earned it. The delivery of her request alone was worth at least a biscuit.

I know what some of you are thinking. Future Kassie: "Gee, husband of mine, that slug in the face really hurt, but golly, the way your arm swung across your chest, the position of your fist, your form was PERFECT! Bravo!" I'm pretty positive this won't happen. Right? Hm. Maybe I should adjust some more brain wires.

Only in New York.

Holler back!

Long Time No Blog

2009-08-07T19:33:00.003-04:00

Howdy! It looks like I skipped the entire month of July. Whooooops. It was crazy busy, anyway. Much too much has transpired since I moved to NYC, I would have to write several volumes to catch up. All you really need to know is that the acting program went better than anyone could've imagined, they've invited me back for the two year program, and I agreed to after some arm-twisting. :)

I'm stoked. Dreams turning to realities. Apparently that actually happens. I feel more happy and liberated than ever. Doesn't get much better than that.

I'm on vacation in Denver. Getting tan and preparing to rock the NYC fulltime. More to come.

Holler back.

Kassie

I heart (the Dominican Republic of) NY

2009-06-08T22:18:00.002-04:00

So I know I'm a once-a-month blogger at best, but something about moving made me itchin' to get the word out that I made it to the NYC okay. If you were wondering. This picture to the left is not much of an exaggeration. I had the quintessential "moving to the big city to realize her dreams" day yesterday. Complete with a car with my full-sized bed strapped to the top (a Honda Fit, mind you; possibly the smallest hood square-footage out there), a starryish-eyed-yet-prematurely-cynical girl all alone in the driver's seat, getting turned around in Pennsylvania*, driving through midtown Manhattan in said vehicle with the windows rolled down blaring DMB, the miracle lone parking spot right in front of my brownstone, the friendly old black lady sitting on the steps with her church shoes in her hands taking a break to catch her breath and give us neighborly advice, three single lil young ladies hauling 1,000,000 lbs. of junk up to the third story (I'm so sorry. Why must I have a love affair with books WHY?!), and to end the day, the new friends sat down with cool drinks and watched the Tonys. I'm not sure it could get anymore stereotypical. Maybe I could've gotten a flat tire and had Dave Letterman change it for me. Yankee Stadium is a twenty minute walk from my home.

So, yes, folks I made it. Well, physically at least. Which is pretty much all I'll ever ask. My next goal is to search out other normal people. Normals. NYC has a stigma, at least for me, of having uber-motivated, high-achieving, back-biting talented career successes everywhere. I am not interested in these people. Although, you know, good job at all that. I'm sure your parents are proud and stuff. But surely hidden amongst the immigrants (I'm a minority in my neighborhood, btw. W00T! I will learn Dominican. Maybe I'll start with Spanglish.) and the Broadway wackos and the young money dbag's there are folks like me. Just happy to be here. Hoping to learn a thing or two that I can pass on to the kiddies one day. Make some memories.

If you ever wanna come to the City, you have a place to stay. There are a TON of hotels in this town. :)

Kassinator

You must love me...is this thing on?

2009-05-22T11:47:00.002-04:00

See this lady to my right? See what she's doing with her body? Yeah. I can do that. Except with a slightly different facial expression. And never on a beautiful beach. And also whilst being a lot less Asian. W00 w00t!

I discovered yoga back in April and I'll never go back to regular exercise again. I saw some chicks running past the Capitol yesterday in the midday heat, and I thought, "What are you doing?? It's hot outside! That is not fun! Why do you hate you?!" Yoga is pretty much the adult equivalent of the playtime of my childhood when my friends and I would figure out what we could make our bodies do and then end it all by taking a nap. Yoga is the same thing except in a studio with a peaceful lady who walks around and reminds you to breathe when you're trying to stand on your head (apparently breathing is one of the many essential wisdoms we forget as we grow older. That and, you know, loving unconditionally, believing in people, speaking only from the heart, etc. Oh, foolish children...). And it makes you feel sexxy. Namaste!

*Subject change*

I have this open door principle that I've been trying to live by recently. It's a new thing. Mostly it just involves me taking down all of my heart-barriers, letting it tell me who and when to love and at what decibel level, and then following through, regardless of possible outcomes. It's been a wild and crazy ride! But, I have discovered a group of people in my life, probably in all our lives, that have a mysterious and enviable power of others. Let's call them The Mentalists.

The Mentalists:
Throughout my life, even when my heart was surrounded by an impenetrable fortress fortified around the perimeter by a moat filled with alligators and moatmonsters whose diet consisted only of anything bearing the slightest semblance of human or animal love, there have been people who, seemingly through no conscious effort of their own, MAKE ME WANT TO GIVE THEM THINGS. Not just things, but time and effort and myself! And not just me, but other people, too, were somehow mind-controlled into pouring down blessings and gifts and showers of love upon these people. I remember in high school, I had this sweet little friend named Kristen and she was a Mentalist. One day I was sitting at home, and out of nowhere, I remembered that Kristen liked these pink cookies from the gas station. So I went out and bought her five of them (they each were the size of a small child's head) and brought them over to her house. WHY??!! I have friends in other parts of the world who routinely have people buy all their meals, give them free stuff, pepper them with random gifts. Obviously, there are fellas who have this control over me. Undoubtedly, my husband will turn out to be one of these sneaky Mentalists. I'll probably walk around the house naked in stilettos for the first year of our marriage, with home-cooked food in one hand and the latest Sports Illustrated in the other, not because I'll feel obligated, but because I'LL WANT TO! That's the craziest thing about The Mentalists. They don't illicit unwilling servitude. They force me into willing service. And I love every minute of it.

I am not one of The Mentalists. In fact, I think I may be the opposite of a Mentalist. The people in my life who should shower me with time and love and attention don't and never have. I'm not complaining, this is a reality that I came to terms with at the very instant a person becomes able to come to terms with things (probably roughly around potty-training age; I learned to go in the big girl potty AND that life isn't fair and never will be, so move on. It was a big day for me!). And I'm improving at self-showering. But not until today, when I was driving home from doing a favor for one of The Mentalists in my life, did I open my mind to the idea that one could learn to be a Mentalist!

This is my new goal. I don't know how I'm going to do it. I would ask Roxanne, who is One, but I don't think that The Mentalists even know how they do it. It's like something they just exude. Maybe it's body chemistry. Shoot! Well, we'll see. I'm simply going to start by sending silent messages from my cerebral cortex to others like lasers and see if that has any effect. "You want to buy me ice cream!" "You want to rub my back and cuddle with me!" "I'm the greatest thing that ever happened to you!" "Give my all your money!" Huh. Sounds like a power somewhat akin to The Force. Hm. Will explore this later.

If you find yourself in the near future wanting to send me things or to love me more deeply, don't resist. It just means it's working. And we'll both enjoy the process.

Holla back,
Kass

Who knew that dreams come true?

2009-03-27T02:50:00.002-04:00

So I have realized that people actually read this. After a while folks were like, "You need to blog again! We love reading your blog!" and my I was like, "Sweet! I'm rad!" but that thought was immediately followed by, "Aaah crap now everyone expects all your blogs to be awesome." And then I would postpone writing until I was feeling blogawesomey. Which is never. So thanks, readers, for dooming me to failure. Inevitably, this is being written in the wee hours of the morning as I'm pining for a certain fella and/or a nice, hot panini. (I hate going to bed hungry, you?) And this is what is on my mind:

Well, yesterday I went up to Manhattan for an interview with a prestigious acting conservatory. Basically I went up for a nice day off and to do some shopping, since I wasn't expecting anything else to come of it (I got some sweeeetarse heels! They're so fugley they're beautiful). Anyways, turns out they accepted me and basically my life has instantly become super duper awesome. I'm pretty much gonna ROCK you, world! NYC is gonna give me an inch and I'm gonna take the freakin highway. This is literally a dream of mine coming true: this opportunity. And I've never fully believed in the "dreams coming true" business. So, I'm sort of conflicted cuz now I have to change some personal philosophies, become less pessimistic, blah blah blah. Which is annoying, but it can't be helped.

Me and my mom's newish husband Chuck wrote and recorded some music this last weekend, too, which was rad and scary at the same time. Surely there is a word for that. Andre the Giant? This weekend was Andre the Giant. So I'm singing, readers! Just like I said I would. And to prove it to you, I'll find someone who can teach me how to put songs into blogs. And then we'll see what happens...

For those of you who are waaaay worried/kinda pissed at my decision to pursue my dreams, I am sorry. I really am. I was on your side most of my life so I feel your pain (conflicted, again). But I would like to assure you that I will not allow myself to go hungry or to turn into a criminal. And I won't ask you for money. I just ask for you to not point out how poor I am going to always be and how risky this is and how irresponsible/irrational it seems and how everyone is just gonna tell me I'm wonderful and steal my money when I'm not looking and then all of the sudden I've turned into a the ringleader of some brutal lesbian street gang. That's all I ask. You don't even have to support me! Just don't point out these things. Hey thanks!

ALSO if any of you work with me or know people who work with me, let's keep this on the DL, shall we? I value my job. I'm not retarded (well that's what momma tells me) and I am not gonna give up a good income for a summer conservatory with an unpredictable outcome. Me and the Bossman will work it out somehow, I'm fairly confident. So just leave it to me pretend we never had this conversation

Wanna know what makes the world go round? Love. Chew on that until next time.

Holler back.

When I grow up I want to want to be something

2009-01-07T01:15:00.007-05:00

I just ate one of those strawberry hard candies and it was good, but here's the thing - it was after I brushed my teef. You heard me! It's my way of sticking it to the Man. I found the candy on the kitchen table. Not sure where it came from. I hope it wasn't poisoned. Crap.

Uh so yes it is a New Year and I honestly feel like one million bucks. Probably even a gazillion. But here's how I feel about New Year's Resolutions: Meh. Really? Once a year we're encouraged to improve our lives? (That's a lot of pressure. Why not a little all the time?) I'm not totally into it, but I'm all about moving on and moving up. Something strange has happened to me this year. Instead of me making a New Year's resolution, the New Year actually resolved me. I feel like someone sat down and completed the disarrayed jigsaw puzzle that was Kassie while I stepped out of introspection for the holidays. Also, I seem to have misplaced a lot of my fear. I'm not sure where I had it last. I must have left them in my other year. Regardless, I'm feeling rather at a loss for anxiety and I'm loving it. Fear is for suckers! Fear of change. Fear of spiders. Fear of yourself. Nick Nolte. Well...warranted.

Does anyone remember what they used to say they wanted to be when they grew up? I don't remember ever planning on anything specific. I think I was just hoping to make it past eleven, but I'm sure if I had thought about it, it wouldn't have been International AOG Logistics (not that I am not very grateful for my current job W00T ECONOMY!). So I'm asking myself now. And I suggest you do the same. If you can change something in your life to make it more ideal, do it! Especially if the only thing really holding you up is fear. Break up with the deadweight. Ask dreamgirl out. Apply for that program. Wear those shoes with that shirt - it looks stupid, but just own it. Don't give a damn. Do eet.

Here is what's funny about me: I sing. And I write. I think maybe three of you know this. Actually perhaps a couple more due to my cheap-arse Christmas presents to you all this year (I recorded myself in my bathroom, and it was straight from the heart, my loves). Anywho, I'm thinking this year I'm gonna work on getting a record deal. This will be a goal. Now, you're laughing or at least worrying about my sanity (aaw thanks!) and questioning whether or not you actually ever really knew me (or whether or not you actually really know anyone and who are you, anyway?). Either way, then fantastic! Isn't that the best?! When someone you know plans something either really awesome or really ridiculous?! It makes life more interesting for one and all.

I'm going to sing this year. What are you gonna do? I hope it's awesome. And if it embarrasses the hell out of your family, then even better.

I promise I won't quit my day job. Yet. :) Long live the marine biologists and the ballerinas and the astronauts inside each of us.

Holla Back.

"I am Human and I need to be loved..."

2008-12-02T23:31:00.004-05:00

just like everybody else does. Soooo, who has two thumbs and is lame for not posting blogs in several fortnights? This guy! Turns out I actually have "fans" (probably shouldn't pluralize that) who I've let down, to whom I say, I am sorry and also you should maybe get used to being disappointed.

Have you ever had chunks of life that leave you just baffled? I'm not the best at handling these stretches. I wake up confused, not knowing where I am or at what age. After I've reminded myself that I'm adult Kassie and I'm in Virginia, which is for lovers, and so obviously, I'm where I am supposed to be, I proceed to go about my daily tasks in a state of heightened awareness. That's right, I don't trust you anymore and yes, I have been noticing and analyzing every subtle change in your general behavior since I've been proverbially knocked on my arse by Life. For some reason, I need to pretend like I'm Julia Roberts in "The Pelican Brief". It's creepy and in a way an impressive and specialized skill set, do not worry. I will turn back into my normal crazy soon.

Speaking of lovable crazies, it seems appropriate given the season that I leave you with my presidential hopeful of 2012 (that is, if he's out of the slammer by then). I don't want to alienate anyone by talking politics, but I'm gonna be bold and go ahead and throw myself behind Monsieur Traficant. Sir, you have my vote. My name is Kassie Cardon and I approve this message. Beam me up, Mr. Speaker.

Hugs, anyone?

2008-11-03T15:09:00.003-05:00

You know how one hug, given by just the right person at just the right time, literally fixes everything and, aaaah, all is well?

I don't know how many times in my adult life that I have had the very critical conversation with other adults concerning the superpower dilemma. A lot more often than one would assume. Apparently there is a higher than expected chance that one day, we will all be offered a superpower of our own choosing. Grown men the world over lay up at night attempting to prepare for such an event. What am I to CHOOSE? Flight. Pre-cognition. Mind-reading. Invisibility. The ability to make Harry Potter and Hogwarts real.

I know what I would chose. I would be the Hugster. I would be just the right person that comes at just the right time and gives the hugs that makes it all better.

I was talking to a friend recently about life ambitions/goals/plans/dreams. I've got big ones that I only admit to myself and little ones that I'm close to accomplishing. But after soul-searching, the truth is, I really do just want to become the Hugster. Which is impossible. I've done the calculations, and I won't live long enough to hug 6 billion + people. Also, with timing being crucial and what have you, so...I'm just gonna try my best to be a mini-hugster, in whatever little and imperfect ways that I can.

Hugs are taking two mutually-agreed-upon awesome things and putting them together in a spirit and moment of gratitude, making that present even better. I feel like my ipod provides me with audiohugs all the time. Here are some of my favorite audiohug combinations:

Belle & Sebastian + long autumn walks amongst colorful falling leaves
The Decemberists + cleaning the house
Kings of Leon + driving on a sunny day with the windows down and sunglasses on
Feist + laying on the bed daydreaming
NPR + the daily commute
Bob Dylan/Sufjan Stevens + long walks along swan-filled Scottish canals
Oh Brother Where Art Thou bluegrass + blogging

Anyone else have favorite audiohugs?
Holla back

Romeo and Manliet

2008-10-19T19:32:00.003-04:00

Why is Feist so awesome? And Fiona? And Sufjan? When I die, I'm totally shaking hands with the dude(tte) who invented music. If not making love to them.

So balance is going aight. I feel like I'm getting a ton more done in the day and life's been more rewarding. I'm not as balanced as I like to be still. I've still got my training wheels on, but I'm advancing for sure. Thanks for asking.

So me and a couple of my homies went into D.C. the other week and saw the Shakespeare Company put on "Romeo and Juliet" auld school style - all male cast. Needless to say, the days leading up to this event were full of my adolescent excitement and giggling (hehehe boys kissing). Little did I know that my mind would be blown by these actors. Literally. At curtain call I was on my hands and knees gathering up the remains of what once was my scalp, cerebrum, and various and sundry other head parts. HOLY GUACAMOLE. I am not exaggerating when I say it was the best play I've ever seen. Ever. Seen. I'm thinking about patronizing only all-male theatre groups as a rule from here on out. It restored my faith in the magic. Magic is real. And sometimes it's found in the theatre.

Thank you Shakespeare (again). You and the music inventor. IOU roughly 98% of my earthly joy.

Manliet

OOoh I am scared of tiny, tiny things

2008-09-28T03:25:00.004-04:00

That statement is true on many different levels, but currently I'm terrified of these crazy-spastic-jumping-flash crickets! I don't know if you all are familiar with these - I hadn't met one until I moved to NoVa - but they jump around super fast in an unpredictable fashion. Their movements are completely random and evil. The most advanced logarithm in creation could not predict their travel patterns. If Satan ever wanted to show up in insect form, he would be the CSJF cricket. Actually, my reaction to a visitation from the devil himself would be a perfect illustration of what these little monsters illicit from me.

I was just in the bathroom, watering the toilet, when I went to the sink and was suddenly filled with sheer terror. One of those beasts was on the ground between the head and the sink. I nearly skipped washing the hands just so I could GET OUT OF THERE asap. But I talked myself down and, whilst screaming on the inside, soaped up and ran to my current location.

This cricket (ugh I shudder even typing it) poses no realistic threat to me or my safety. But I don't care. It probably is the king of lies out to get me. I'm scared of all sorts of little things that shouldn't frighten me. Moths, for example. And little kids that are cooler than me. Compliments. I think it may have to do with my perhaps overactive imagination. Or latent paranoid schizophrenia. Or developing hypochondria.

It's like four a.m. Blogging in the middle of the nite is to be discouraged, I think.

Remember that song "3am" by Matchbox 20? Remember Matchbox 20? I believe their first hit was "I wanna initiate a physically abusive relationship with you" or something to that effect. That first album was money. Sigh. The good ol' days.
Speaking of which, who is that precious little girl? Wow. I bet she grows up to be a force of nature. You can just tell, yeah? You know what's weird? I don't feel I've changed much at all since then. Just got a bigger vocabulary. I think I'm probably a little scared of her. :)

Um, so I really wrote this post to declare my new challenge. I haven't had one since the end of The Rawness. I've known this one was gonna pop up sooner or later, though, so I guess now is the time. I already hate myself for doing it cuz it's lame and boring. My newest challenge of indeterminate length is the achievement of...balance.

Have you ever met someone who has a balanced life? Yeah, me neither. They're elusive, those guys. Also, no one seems to want balance. Why not, you ask? Because balance is boring. Where's the spontaneity? Where are the binges and the famines and the ulcers and strokes? The meat of life?? Admittedly, balance will probably bring some much needed peace and happiness to me on a regular, predictable basis. But I hate knowing what I'm gonna do tomorrow. I'll need to make sure I set aside a certain time everyday where I can go ahead and chose to do something rash and probably useless if I want. (What, there's a breath-taking sunset tonight? F that. I'm gonna sit in here and watch the Family Guy).

Freedom. I'm insane. And soon to be regular. Ew. What a depressing word. Who wants to help me come up with a more evocative synonym for "balanced", "regular", "predictable", "one who sleeps exactly the same amount nightly", etc.?

Holla back!
Kass

The Love Bullough

2008-09-11T18:05:00.005-04:00

Meet my buddy Adam Bullough. Handsome devil, is he not? I met him in southern California where we were serving together as missionaries for a couple of years. The kid is thebomb.com. One of those people of whom you just feel privileged to be in their presence. Aura-licious. He's a musician. He's genuine. He's kind. I always assumed that the world would be hearing from Adam Bullough. The little guy's too big for the universe to keep under wraps. I secretly have been planning on recording music with him someday. He plays the harmonica! You heard me.

Tragedy struck about a month ago when Bullough was thrown from his motorcycle and suffered severe brain trauma. He wasn't wearing a helmet. He was put into an induced coma for two weeks before the specialists (and Adam) could determine whether or not he would see another day. Inexplicably (or maybe not so, to those witnessing), and to the bafflement of his doctors, miracle after miracle have been happening. Luckily, today Adam is improving. He's still in a coma, but is slowly coming to. Even opened his eyes on command a couple of times. In addition to that incredible news, the doctors feel that most of his brain damage can be reversed. Which means Adam will still be Adam. But he fights daily to reclaim his right to wake up again. And again. And again.

Bullough is gonna be fine. More than fine. I have faith. My heart is tortured for his family. I'm grateful for the effort they put into keeping us informed through caringbridge.org. I'm thankful for the reality check.

What am I doing right now? What are you doing? Are you with the ones you love? Everyday, are you becoming, or just being? Are you catching the sunrises? Smelling the Ponderosa Pines (it's like butterscotchy vanilla, btw)? Are you taking chances? Taking pictures?

Am I?

Tomorrow I will get to wake up before the sun rises. It will be effortless. Like it is day after day. And, frankly, I probably won't be grateful for this gift at first. But deep down I will be because I can change. I can change right now. The gift of the rise and shine.

You can change, too. Choose to be happier. Choose to be more giving. Choose to be different. To listen to the voice. To impregnate the moments. Please do.

And please, always remember a helmet.

Holla back.
Kassie

Pennsylvania: The Anus of America

2008-09-02T21:22:00.003-04:00

I hate Pennsylvania. It tried to ruin my life at least twice in the past four days. So far. I know it's not gonna stop at construction and tricky road signs. It's gonna go for the jugular next time. I'm on to you PA! Stay away from me.

I finished my raw marathon. It was an interesting experience. This gal to the right here probably tried to run a marathon whilst being raw. She died two hours later. Just kidding. Actually, she could have. I have no idea. Wouldn't that be awful?! Not funny, Cardon.

My conclusion is that going raw was a good decision that gave the body a nice little boost and cleansing, but that is not necessary to maintain good health and to avoid serious problems. Cancer comes from smoking and the cruel inexplicable draft of the underworld. Adult onset diabetes and heart disease usually come from inactivity, eating mostly sugar and lard pretending to be food, and stupidity. But our bodies are pretty good at making the most of what we give it. Balance is where it's at (I've got two turntables and a microphone...). I'm definitely keeping some of the habits I've formed. I tell you what, though, my first non-raw meal was orgasmic. I wanted to rub it all over my body. I chose to eat it instead.

I got to visit my family in Michigan this weekend. Turns out every single one of them are superhuman. And they are all WAY nice to me, the sub par human. I'm barely potty trained. I spent most of the weekend with my nephew Christopher. He's six years old. I can almost keep up with him. He's a Lego savant. We created many important modes of transportation for robots and Indiana Jones. Now they can save the world. I also got to visit with my good friend Khalid up in EL. He is a good time. I recommend him. We probably should have gotten married when we were five. Unfortunately, five-year-old Kassie didn't spend enough time making life goals. Too much time making things out of mud in the garden. (This may explain the above discrepancy between myself and the rest of my family). Anyways, we visited this incredible music store "Elderly's" and I got to touch a Fender bass guitar that was worth more than my life. If I am ever worthy of such an instrument, this is where I will return to purchase it. And the dream lives on.

I made sure my family was prepared for me being unmarried and most likely unimpressive for the rest of my life. They, surprisingly, are as fine with it as I am. Good to know! Very comforting indeed. And the pressure is dissolved. More to come laterz...

Holla back!
Kassie

BLAAAGH

2008-08-25T20:15:00.003-04:00

Hey. Hi. I'm exhausted. This post is gonna be lame. I don't know what happened. Doing the raw thing got not fun in the past day or two. Spiritually, yesterday was awesome. I was feeling good good good. But my head has lost some focusing abilities. Also, today I got nauseated at work and lost my appetite. Weird. And I keep getting leg cramps in the same spot. Somebody call the wambulance.

Basically my will to live is slowly wasting away. Just kidding. But eating hasn't been fun for a couple of days. Except for the peaches I got at Cox Farms. Those were aaaaaahhh. Even the tasty stuff is too much for me these days, though. I feel like my taste buds have been brought out of a coma. I had some snap peas and red peppers the other day and I could hardly handle the power of the flavor. It was shocking. I made some chocomole (using avocadoes, dates, cacao powder, etc.) and I could only have a couple of spoonfuls at one sitting. Food now has too much flavor. What is that?

Todays conclusion: going raw makes one a little dumber, somewhat more physically uncomfortable, and unable to eat much food when hungry. I bet you my reflexes aren't 100% presently, either. You could punch me right now and expect no retaliation.

At least my skin is considerably more glowing. :)

Ugh,
Kassie

Everybody pees.

2008-08-21T21:31:00.004-04:00

My bladder has commandeered control over my body and is currently in charge. My brain isn't happy about it, but is not powerful enough to coup. My heart finds it amusing. She's not fighting to regain control. So I guess this is how it's gonna be for a while.

I haven't noticed any unpleasant side effects yet except that it seems that I am in a constant state of tinkling. I. P. Freely. I wasn't expecting this. Of course, most of what I eat now is just water in different packages. Sometimes it's green, stringy water. Sometimes it's orange and tangy water. Water going in and out, in and out. How painful are catheters?

Pleasant surprises:
! I haven't been unusually hungry or tired. Kassie-the-people-eater remains dormant. I don't know how to react to this discovery. Not only that, but I don't crave anything either. What's happening to me?!?!?! Is it possible that Arby's roast beef is infused with addictive chemicals? Maybe they just slaughter the really attractive, popular dude cows that all the lady cows want to make babies with. I, too, used to lust after that beef. No more? Wha? What am I to do!??!

@ My energy level remains fairly consistent all the day long. I have forgotten what this feels like. I'm used to sugar highs and food comas. To be honest, it kinda makes me feel boring. I can be a good time when I've had one too many fried Mars bars (which is one). But only for about an hour. Then I'm asleep curled up in a ball on your couch.

# I will never peel another orange in this life. I've always hated it anyway. As yummy as an orange can be, there's too much at risk on the quest for the fleshy goodness. You get all sticky and acid squirts into your eyeballs and orange gets under your nails and then you suspect the orange has a personal vendetta against you and then you feel crazy for projecting human emotions onto a small, helpless, mute piece of fruit. So you're left feeling a mixture of aggravation, paranoia and guilt. What a horrible experience. On the other hand, juicing oranges is wonderfully therapeutic and deeeelicious. I'm all about the juice. Juicy juice juice. Down into my belly.

K, that's enough for today. The end.

Holla back!

Ravaging the Garden of Eden

2008-08-18T21:05:00.005-04:00

So I just got back from my first trip to the organic foods store. I came home with about 350 lbs. of produce that cost somewhere in the ballpark of one million dollars. This will probably last me three days. I'm not gonna lie, I will be super pumped when I make it that far.

So, Kassafrass, just what is "going raw"? Not completely sure, but what I could glean from my not-so-extensive research, going raw is like living (at least orally - easy, kids) as those ancestors of ours did before someone found out where the fire had been hiding for all those years. It's eating raw, "living" foods that have not been chemically altered or heated up to the point of the denaturing of important enzymes, proteins, nutrients, etc. And I'm pretty sure any milk products are out, unless someone can loan me a goat. Who had been raised free range and sans hormones. Mmm?

Well, when I first heard of this concept of living off the land/going back and becoming one with our roots, the spirited hippie inside of me was so excited she immediately tore off all her clothes and cliff-dove into the nearest mountain lake. Awesome. I liked it. Plus, there have been all these studies and ballywho (ballywha?) raised about how this crap in our over-processed food is giving us cancer and asthma and obesity and male-patterned baldness...sounds like a good idea to see what happens when I don't have to deal with all these damaging additions.

On the other hand, the physiologist inside me wonders, will my kidneys get bored? My liver will posit, what am I, chopped? (I know, straight off a Laffy Taffy wrapper. I hate myself a little.) Balance is important, too. Whatevs. I'm gonna go for it and see what happens.

I guarantee you this won't be like a year long thing. Probably won't be a Thanksgiving long thing. Right now it's looking like a Labor Day thing, if not a, hey TGIF! thing. I definitely will do it long enough to experience a physical change that can be recorded. I went to the doctor today and they recorded my pre-raw condition. Surprisingly, I'm in great health. Mrs. Doctor Lady even asked me if I exercise a lot because my results seemed indicative of such a lifestyle. Heh heh. Oooooh . Not enough, Doctor Lady, not enough. (p.s. Dr. Lady looked and acted like a grown up Daria. Remember her? MTV? My first impression was initially doubting, but then it turned into a mixture of empathetic pity and affection. Med school wasn't fun for you, was it Dr. Daria Lady?)

Final pre-raw observations:

1. Eating raw seems to include a lot of "juicing" and "blending". Pretty much, you gather things off of trees and plants, smoosh them all together, and drink them, just like our ancestors did. Apparently the blender preceded fire (hmm). Also, it seems that the raw food diet was created by the toothless. Now my teeth can finally just sit back, relax, and work on looking pretty.

2. Raw foods take more preparation than the cornucopia of refined foods from which I generally glut myself. For example, my Honey Nut Cheerios prep in the morning is 93% remembering who/where I am and what one does in a kitchen, 7% locating spoon and bowl/milk and cereal. Combined prep. time: 30 sec. Hard to beat. This will take some adjustment.

3. My poor body is gonna be way confused about where all that refinery went. I'm pretty sure in my blood there are microscopic peanut m&ms floating around with the red and white blood cells. My bod's gonna look at me like this:
Also, I haven't found a good raw staple to replace it. Any suggestions?

4. I really can't handle being too hungry. Food is like food to me. It's not the stomach pain or the lethargy that kills me. That's just kinda annoying. And it's not that I'll miss the social eating engagements. I'm too cheap to go out to eat regularly (damn you Chicfila!) The problem, however, is that starting sometime in the past five-ish years, whenever I reach the point of relative starvation, I get possessed by this neurotic, Chicken Little, Alzheimer'sy version of myself. I get disoriented and irritable, scared of nothing in particular, and certain that the world is shortly going to end. My dad suffers from the same phenomenon. The ladies in his office refuse to work in the afternoon unless he's had a sandwich. Because he loses his mind. You don't want to be conscious when my father is restructuring your jaw on an empty stomach. He's a grumplestiltskin.

5. My friend Heather told me that she used to work for a guy who made his own organic carrot juice and drank so much of it that his skin actually turned orange. Does this mean that if I drink enough carob smoothies I can finally become a black woman?! W00t! I guess only in body, not in spirit. Not good enough. Perhaps I need to juice Mo'nique.

I'll keep you posted on the development of these observations in the coming days and weeks. And if you find me unusually snappy, hook a sister up with a banana or sumfin. Tanks very mooch.

Day T - 1 and I am terrified...

2008-08-16T16:02:00.004-04:00

Sometimes a girl's gotta, you know, completely change the direction certain aspects of her life are headed. I tend to do this at least fortnightly, but I've gotten out of the habit as of late. I have become existentially out of shape, if you will (will you?). So what am I going to do about it?

I've decided to go raw. In a couple of different ways. Firstly, I am quite literally going to stop eating foods that are not raw. I have my reasons, they range from wanting to draw closer to God via purification of mi templo yo, to deciding that eating whatever you want/whenever you want is for wussies. Regardless, this is gonna be hilarious and painful. I'm probably going to lose 79% of my friend pool and, according to a raw food website I read yesterday, at the beginning of this process I may experience diarrhea, pimples, rashes (?), dizziness, headaches, and random and inexplicable mucous discharge. HOT. I secretly hope to discover a new side effect. Like hearing other people's thoughts.

My second rawness choice is this blog itself. It terrifies me. I tend to think that I am insane. I literally would rather burn all the journals I've ever written from my deathbed than let anyone I've ever encountered ever read them. Nobody needs to see that stuff. I'd rather you keep your naive caricatures of who you all think I am floating in your minds for eternity. But, alas, due to my weakness for dares (especially ones of the double-dog variety), and also with the encouragement of not a few people confessing to me that they would buy 20 of my books if I ever wrote one (I tend to think that you are insane, too) I have created this blog in order to overcome my fear of your eventual fear of the real, raw Kassie Cardon.

So welcome to the madness! I have tasted it, and it is quite tangy, juicy, and untampered with.

I promise each blog with be at least this long, so as likely as not Roxanne is the only person who will actually read any of this. Which is comforting. Hey, Roxanne! Jens Lekman was on "This American Life" today!! NPR is cutting edge! Jens is incredible!