Penthouse Dreams

Thanks to McKenzie Ditter, I came across this article from whatweekly.com. McKenzie posted it on her blog because she can be seen in a photo a little more than halfway down the page as she meditates at Evolver's Dream Spore, a weekend event including yoga, round table discussions, and camping in Freeland. Judging from the photos alone, it looks like it was a pretty neat event!

I share it with you now because something that caught my eye on this website were photos from the Penthouse suite at Silo Point in Baltimore-- a place that, in 1923, was the fastest railroad grain elevator in the world and today is a luxury condominium building located near Locust Point. I knew it was Silo Point without even looking at the text because of this photo:

How could a 20-year-old college student possibly be familiar with the bathroom of a $4 million+ penthouse? Because John and I attended a party there last summer hosted by his friend's wife while the place still had prospective buyers. (Maybe it still does, I don't know. I haven't been keeping up with the market lately. Cough.)

Also, I um... "used" their bathroom.

The toilet that can be seen off to the side of the first photo was the most impressive part of the very large bathroom. Yes, the toilet. Shut the door, sit down, and look at all of Baltimore from over 300 feet up as you relieve yourself. I highly recommend this experience if you get the opportunity. I had at least three "opportunities."

Check out the rest of the photos and you'll see what amazing architecture was used in the renovation of the site, not to mention the breathtaking views of the city.

Don't ask me how the party was allowed to happen-- I never did know what my boyfriend's friend's wife's connection to the place was. (Obviously, my own connection was pretty loose.) The penthouse's main living area didn't even have real floors yet, unlike it does during the party whatweekly.com shows. The local jam/techno band Segway played a couple of longs sets of entrancing music that had even the most timid dancing along as some pretty professional looking lights bounced around the large empty space and even up onto the ceiling above.

It was definitely one of the most surreal experiences I've had. I tried to imagine what it would be like to actually live in a place like that and not just party in it: The floor-to-ceiling windows all throughout the house letting in light, the strange quietness of living technically in the city, but also above it. Meanwhile, here I was in dream land, picturing it all as rain drops from the seemingly within-reach clouds fell on my head while standing on the dizzying balcony. Cool indeed.

This latest party at the Locust Point hot spot sure looks fancy-- the suits, the dresses, the art, the professional photographer. But I think our "secret" party was quite a rare and special (and chaotic) event.

Bored to soul-eaten death

There is something wrong with me. Something seriously and disturbingly wrong with me. I am done with the semester (and have earned a pretty nice looking GPA if I do say so myself), and yet, I am not excited, I have not responded to this accomplishment with utter joy and happiness, and I am already bored to tears. I have no idea how to entertain myself! When did this happen?

For the first ten years of my life, I was an only child and therefore learned pretty quickly how to enjoy spending time on my own. I usually did this by pretending I was a lion or a deer or something, and I would literally live in that imaginary world for hours. And I never got bored! What creativity! I have always considered myself to be a pretty creative person. So why am I suddenly wasting the day away waiting for inspiration to hit?

I have been looking forward to the summer for quite some time now. True, I'll be very busy soon enough: I'm taking two summer courses throughout June and July and will be continuing my nannying gig for most of the summer. Still, I'll have plenty of down time, and the main reason I've so been looking forward to these summer months is because I've been planning on USING that down time to work on my writing and actually get some fiction written, for Pete's sake! I'm sick of talking about it without actually having anything to show for it.

But what happens when I sit down at the computer, the story I started WEEKS ago sitting in front of me, with tons of time to spare? Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Yes, I've heard of writer's block, thank you, but I refuse to use those dirty little words. Because saying you have writer's block certainly doesn't fix the problem. Of course, you could say the same thing about any complaint. I know I can be good at complaining sometimes, but I know that whining "I'm tiiiiired" repeatedly really won't help me be un-tired. Sigh. Sigh, indeed.

It doesn't help that today has been a pretty blah day weather-wise, and all I've really done is go to the doctor, call Comcast, and eat some soup. Picking up the guitar was just a vain and disappointing attempt at creating something.

Probably one of the main reasons I'm in such a despondent mood (glad you're reading this, aren't you?) is because Justine, my roommate and friend of three years, left this morning to go live on silly Long Island with her friends and family for the rest of the summer. And because I'm moving back to my mom's when the lease runs out, this was our last day of living together.

This is Justine:

Oh wait, no. THIS is Justine:

You are jealous that I got to live with that for so long. To quote Monica from Friends: "It's the end of an ERA!"

So, yeah. Back to living in this huge apartment all by myself.

Which is precisely the reason why I can't let myself waste my time any longer. Because if I do, I'll start to become paranoid and imagine that a soul-eating demon thing is trying to break into my apartment at night when I'm eating Fritos in my Snuggie while watching reruns of Frasier. Or something. This is how my imagination will compensate for the lack of written word.

Nothing like fear as motivation!

"Single Babies"

What is your first reaction when you watch this video? My reaction involved some major jaw-dropping action. The fact that CNN is paying attention to it indicates just how strongly people have reacted to the undoubtedly talented but also overly-sexualized six and 7-year-olds.

I mean, I can't dance like that. These girls must have been training since birth. But the fact that they're younger than my youngest sister (who is 8 1/2, and whom I can't imagine ever dancing like this-- shudder), is disturbing. Their talent clearly is the result of some inherent dancing gene, but likely also pushy stage parents. Do they not realize this is every pedo's dream? And, like the anchorwoman says, that the girls are wearing less clothing than Beyonce herself in the original music video? They look like 19th century western child prostitutes. Or 18-year-old college girls on Halloween. Whatever.

In my humble opinion, I think their true talents could have been showcased way differently while still eliciting jaw-dropping action from viewers. But, you know, in a good way. My advice? Less shock value. Also, fewer pelvic thrusts.

In Dolly's Boots

“Reading about Retta Lee Jones’ journey to Nashville was a lot like reading my own diary, except she had prettier boots. It’s a wonderful story about dreams and determination that reminds us all to squeeze the most out of every single day.”

--Dolly Parton

 
 
Who is Retta Lee Jones? And why is Dolly Parton talking about Retta Lee Jones? And why should you care that Dolly Parton is talking about someone named Retta Lee Jones? Um, because my mom wrote the novel Somebody Everybody Listens To, and it's about Retta Lee Jones.
 
 
 

 
 
Yeah. Dolly Parton read my mom's book.
 
I consider this to be a big deal. I mean, it's not every day that Dolly Parton goes around reading young adult fiction novels and giving blurbs for them. So, needless to say, I'm proud of my momma.
 
Her book comes out tomorrow, May 13th.  So I suggest you pick up a copy for you and your loved ones and help pay for my college tuition by doing so.
 
http://www.suzannesupplee.com/