Ten Minutes

Yo yo yo!

I almost broke my 2015 blog promise to write one more post before the end of the year! Ten minutes until 2016. I'm excited for it to come. I feel like this year was a bunch of hard emotional/spiritual/physical/lyrical/spherical prep for 2016. Which is gonna be off the hoooooooooook! My bestie sent me two quote recently that I'm making my 2016 mottos/mantras/tramp stamps:

Numero Uno
"Whatever you're meant to do, do it now. The conditions are always impossible."
-Doris Lessing

Zwei:
"Let everything happen to you. Beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final."
-Rainer Maria Rilke


I'm excited to fail and get my heart broken and be lonely and scared and feel all the things in 2016. Also in 2016, I will never say "off the hook". I do promise you, but more importantly me that.



HAPPY NEW YEARRRRRRR!

Kass

My How Things Have Changed - End of 2015

Hi Roxanne! 

And anyone else she may make read this! I just saw that this blog has gotten like 6000+ hits to date which doesn't make any sense. I know 26 people tops. I think what may have happened over the years is that "Kassie In The Raw" sounds vaguely like a possible porn website and folks maybe have come here by mistake. But if that were the case, the blog would have millions of accidental views. It's a mystery.

Anyway, two-ish years since the last post! I reread the past couple of ones and I gotta say I have seen progress in Ol' Kassie. Which is fantastic! I'm pretty much doing what I want to do and living where I want to live and being who I want to be. So that's ok. Good Lord this is boring.

I may fire up the blog engine again! At this point my journal is like, "Blech Kassie quit trying to be funny I'm exhausted." I will commit to at least one more post before 2016. Lucky yoooooooooou!

The Sofa vs. The Square

Lately I've been feeling a bit sorry for myself. Whether or not the reasons are valid is immaterial (we know the answer to that); the point of this blog is going to be PERSPECTIVE. Sometimes I need to take my head out of my a moment to look outside my tiny universe for one damn second. But first...

The Sofa

2014 thus far has kinda been a ¡Qué perra vida!-themed affair (I'm learning español. Duolingo, holmes!). The sofa was not in and of itself a spirit-breaker. It was sort of the penultimate straw on this camel's back.

Roommate Allison and I moved into our new apartment Friday, January 4th, 2014, the day after The Blizzard of 2014. I don't wanna talk about it, except that I found this steal of a sofa on craigslist 30 minutes after it had been posted, and as we own no things, I was going to make this happen. What ensued thereafter involved hunger, exhaustion, a rented conversion van, un-plowed roads, darkness, premature elation when Allison and I perfectly execute couch-retrieval, snow banks, spinning wheels, darkness, resourcefulness, cardboard boxes, premature pride when I find broken-down boxes, darkness, dumpster, blunt force trauma, my head, rivers of blood, darkness. And then of course one still has to return the rental van.

I packed snow into my pre-frontal lobe until the gushing subsided, and Allison sacrificed her scarf to turn me into a fashionable Rambo. We were in Williamsburg so I may have unintentionally started a new trend. I'll have to go back and check how the ladies are wearing their scarves these days.

Post-victory, exhausted, un-showered (day three), and ready for that Oreo. The next day I had a nice canyon forming from the gash and a forehead that resembled that one dinosaur in Jurassic Park with the - hold on I'll google it, brb - pachycephalosaurus. Kassycephalosaurus. 

I was going to have my picture taken for an acting thing two days later. This is what I worried about almost immediately. What an idiot. I should have gone as Kassycephalosaurus. It made my face so much more interesting. The things I choose to focus on ughghghgh. Vanity, ladies. It's not just a river in Egypt. Speaking of Egypt...

"The Square"

NPR gave me a head's up about this documentary that was filmed in the trenches of the revolution happening in Egypt. It was released on Netflix yesterday and today it crashed my pity party and burned it to the ground. I would gladly give everyone in this documentary an opportunity to punch me right in the face. I don't have the right to utter ¡Qué perra vida! - not only because I am not cool, but because I live ¡La dulce vida! ¡INDEED!

I'm annoyed that I get so self-involved. I'm annoyed that I just made this about me again. I'm also annoyed that I can't help my humans in other parts of the world. I can't fight the regimes, I can't save the dolphins, I can't stop the bullies. I guess I can just spread the word within my little circle of influence. That's how the revolution started in the first place, right? 

Watch the film. Everything will be ok. Scars are cool. 

Kassie 

North and Norther

Last week, I bussed it up to Mass & ME to be reacquainted with Nature and with some of my maternal home fries. This is what they look like:

(Maine Nature)

(Nantasket Beach Nature)

(Kono the Dog)

I love that damn 80lb. puppy. We just laughed and laughed, Kono and I. I also spent some QT with the moms and the grand 'rents, etc etc etc. It was fantastic! I didn't talk as much as I expected I would because I was quite overwhelmed with the clean air and panoramas and lack of humidity and being around so many people who remember when I used to poop my disposable pants. I was fully occupied with soaking it all in. I sat on a porch facing the White Mountains for probably 75% of my visit, just watching the hills and the birds  (rose-breasted fancy lady finches...female mourning doves...little bitty brown hoppers...). Why does bird-watching work?! It's a mystery. I was enthralled.

I was fed fresh vegetables from gardens! Chicken from outdoor grills! Homemade breads! When I retire from the career I have yet to establish, I will happily move up to the North Country, [have someone] plant me a garden, buy a mountain lake, and sit in my hand-whittled rocking chair and proceed to slip blissfully into senility (I predict my brain will start slipping shortly before my 40th birthday). There are way too many days between this day and that day.

Thank you soooo much, family!! For the familial love, the hospitality, the stories told, the wisdom imparted (and absorbed), the patience displayed. I'm a lucky, lucky gal.


Kass

KONO 2012!!

A Word on Woody Allen and Me

I just finished the Woody Allen documentary that came out last year, and I'm only slightly ashamed to admit that I have a crush on him. On the youngish him. I feel shame. But I feel much more adulation and bizarre attraction. I challenge any woman to watch him in "Manhattan" or "Annie Hall" and not maybe resign to his charm. And to Diane Keaton's charms! They don't make them like they used to! Or maybe they do...*winkwink*...(me?). I need to watch his earlier stuff. "Bananas" is next on my list. This is all. I yield the rest of my time to a severely overdue update.

Hey guess what? Sorry that I haven't blogged in literally a year! I signed in again today for the first time and there's all this new stuff! I changed the format a bit. My big ole face is in the background. It's this self-promotion stuff; I'm trying to get the hang of it. I hate it. Was that the correct use of a semicolon?

So there were all these stats listed when I signed into my moth-eaten blog page, and turns out this thing has had over 2200 hits! WTF?? Who are you people? I was certain only a handful of family members looked at this thing and maybe the outlier roommate and/or stalker (just one before I die, please, God). Me and Woody are completely baffled. That being said, I am all ABOUT you creeps checking me out! Do it! I've made a mid-2012 goal of blogging regularly. I would say that I accomplish my goals greater than 50% of the time. Things are looking good!

This is the story of the past year of inter-web rogueness: Hot damn Ray LaMontagne is a sexy voodoo man! He's the ambience music this evening. He will, without fail, put me in the mood. For blogging. Note to self, fellas...(hahahaaaaa@nomalesreadblogs) Aaaaand we're back on topic - Here's the thing - I did long and thorough standup comedy research, and I have come to the conclusion that I am too well-adjusted a woman and/or I harbor too little self-hatred to be a successful stand up comedian. I don't have a stand up brain. I seem to have more of a comedy improv leaning. I have to say that I'm pretty relieved I won't have to stand in front of 25-75 unfamiliars in sundry stages of inebriation who have come either to mock me or to ignore me and concentrate on getting laid. I'd rather just spontaneously make my roommates giggle in our living room. Other than research, I quit my job at a leading technology-based, fruit-promoting juggernaut, got off the Facebook, got sick, got poor, got milk, got poorer, and then got hilarious & adorable children to watch part-time for entertainment, enrichment, and frankly financial purposes (I don't own them - they are rented out to me by their legal guardians, usually their parents, on a weekly basis with the tacit agreement that I will do them no harm...basically I'm a pediatrician.). It's been great! But it's also been creatively not entirely fulfilling, so here is what is happening now - Ostensibly, it's time for me to "start my career". I know. I, too, am rolling my eyes.

I'm getting back on Facebook! It's gonna be more of a professional lady page (not no stop it), but really that just means I won't have a wall, in case a casting director or whoever decides someday to browse the FB page. Casting directors are a thing, right? Walls should really be called Public Restroom Surfaces. PRSs. I want to avoid any "for a good time call..."-type situations. AND I'll be joining Twitter soon blargh which makes me throw up in my mouth a little, but apparently it's a necessity. These are all of my internet things. Tell all your friends!!

I'm gonna be doing a music thing! I went to an Ok Go concert last week and it made my whole body ache which can only mean that I, too, must Ok Go. I wrangled a friend into reteaching me guitar skillz and we all know I have the voice of ten thousand angels and the lyrical stylings of one Bobert Dylan, so we shall move forward from there. I also have a drum player who is fantastic looking AND hilarious! Just what every band needs!! We have no drum set or rehearsal space - baby steps. It's all a process. Madison Square Garden concert dates TBD. Stay tuned.

I'm gonna be doing act-y stuff! I've been procrastinating starting the whole audition/agent-search/resume-bedazzle game because it has seemed overwhelming. I'm in a fetal position, naked, rocking, as I type this right now. But, meh, it's gotta get done so I am initiating. It's probably about time that I become comfortable admitting to myself that I am an actor/singer/performer. Ugh I'm a slashie. Acknowledge and accept, Cardon. There have been suggestions of podcasting. Well, we've come up with a podcast name. It would be called The PodKass. Roommate Abby is the pun queen.

More to come!! Thanks for looking here! Lookuphere lookuphere!


Kassie

p.s. I learned how to do this!

What is the deeeaaaaal with comedy?

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

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.