Up and Up and Up

"To live will be an awfully big adventure."

With the words of Peter Pan as my battle cry, I charged fearlessly into 2012. I'm proud to say I've learned a bit about adventuring.

In this lovely mixed-up world there are two sorts of adventures, and I am fortunate enough to have experienced both. The first kind found me in the first half of the year. I danced myself across the stage as Laurey Williams (...okay, so the dancing was a little shaky), and I glided across another stage in my "confident woman shoes" as a graduate. I took Disneyland by storm yet again with my favorite people in the world, my family. I celebrated my last year as a Kamper with one of the best weeks yet. These are the mountaintop adventures, the crowning moments that make you feel larger than life. 

Coming off this high, I entered college. As a certain Alice once learned, some adventures make you feel big. Others make you feel very, very small. 

It's terrible and beautiful, being out on your own. Stepping onto campus, I felt like the Darlings arriving in Neverland: awestruck, confused, excited, and incredibly young. With experienced and comfortable Peters flying around all over the place, I found myself flapping my arms frantically, trying to think happy thoughts.

After senior year, I assumed I had it all together, that I knew everything, that I was the best. I was supposed to be Peter. As Mr. Barrie himself put it, I was learning "the difference between an island of make-believe and the same island come true." It's quite a lovely island, though, with so many adventures crammed into one place. Arriving full of dreams, expectations, and myself, I was promptly emptied of all my pretenses and pride. Suddenly I realized the millions upon millions of facts I didn't know, books I hadn't read, plays I hadn't seen, people I hadn't met, experiences I'd never found. I felt smaller than I've ever felt in my life-- but oh, the room to grow! 

I've been late to classes, or slept through them completely. I've blown auditions. I got a B in a class  when I should have gotten an A. But I've also stood triumphant over a well-written English paper, an audition gone well, a line clearly delivered. Above all, I've met and befriended marvelous people, many of whom have become extraordinarily precious to me. These are my happy thoughts. 

I lied to you at the beginning of this post. There's not two types of adventures. The hundreds of thousands of adventures in the world remain as unique as their adventurers, but they all have two things in common: they begin, and they end. In this year of our Lord 2012, with the appropriate pomp, circumstance, and triumph, I completed the adventure known to most as high school, beaming all the way. With the appropriate timidity, perspective, and excitement, I began the one called college. 

What's coming in 2013? No earthly clue. 

But just watch me fly.

Alvin. Alvin? ALVIN!

     Like this post,  this originated as a journal entry for my Communications class. We were asked to choose and defend our absolute favorite Christmas song. This is what I came up with.

It was about two in the morning when I wrote this. Don't judge.

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     Music has been throughout the ages an outpouring of joy, a wellspring of happiness, a way to express the inexpressible. It comes as no surprise, then, that the most joyful holiday of all has garnered an entire genre of music for itself, leaving the paltry offerings of Halloween and even Thanksgiving behind. Given this incredible range of carols, I am now faced with a Herculean feat: choosing the best Christmas song of all time. Should we rate based on music or lyrics? Poignancy, or entertainment factor? However impossible the task may seem, I aim to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that “Christmas Song,” made famous by Alvin and the Chipmunks, richly deserves this coveted title.

 First, “Christmas Song,” otherwise known as “Christmas Don’t Be Late,” has proved to be wildly popular. Debuting in 1958, the single won no less than three Grammies. Merely garnering such prestigious awards deserves respect; the feat becomes even more impressive when you consider that every other artist gunning for these awards was beaten out by a boy band of anthropomorphic chipmunks. (Talk about a bummer). Furthermore, the song has maintained absurd popularity in the last half-century as a seasonal favorite on radio stations across the country. 

 Furthermore, the Chipmunks in this single perfectly convey the childlike innocence typified by the Christmas season. The song naively personifies Christmas; the mellifluent rodents beg, “Please, Christmas, don’t be late,” as though time could somehow actually stop a few days before the holiday. Unlike most Christmas songs, it is also honest in its portrayal of the shallowness of children. All three Chipmunks affirm, “We’ve been good, but we can’t last,” confirming the fact that they are only being good in expectations of presents. And who could forget Theodore’s undying longing for that hula hoop? Somehow, Alvin and his bushy-tailed brethren manage to sweetly charm their audience with the childlike innocence and make them overlook their deviousness, an impressive accomplishment. 

 I am an artist at heart, and I can appreciate Bing Crosby’s dulcet tones or the jingling of bells just as much as the next girl. However, when I think Christmas, I always return to Dave Seville’s firm admonishments of Alvin and the squeaky wistfulness of Simon’s wish for a toy airplane. Whether you value the affirmation of the masses or the wide-eyed, greedy child within yourself, you cannot deny the Chipmunks their collective throne as the kings of Christmas music.

You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown

If you've talked to me for any length of time, you've probably been exposed to my obsession with Peanuts. There's something just plain enchanting about finding wisdom where it's not expected, and the sweet old comic strip is such a great example. With its witty social commentary and pint-sized philosophers, it has captured the hearts of millions over the last sixty-two years-- especially mine. And especially Charlie Brown.

Watching A Charlie Brown Christmas tonight, I got to thinking. And in this thinking, I realized that Charlie Brown is pretty much my hero. And in light of this realization, I decided to blog.

So here you go: a few short reasons why everybody should be like that lovable round-headed kid.

He's an optimist. So Charlie Brown's a little gloom and doom sometimes. The bleakness of life gets to us all sometimes. But despite this pessimism act, the man tries to kick that stupid football of Lucy's every single year. How many times has he fallen flat on his back? All of them. All of the times. Does that stop him? NO! Fully aware of Lucy's devious tendencies, he always, always gives her the benefit of the doubt and always, always hopes for the best. 

He's persistent. In the same vein, Charlie Brown fails at pretty much everything, not just kicking that elusive football. He can't fly a kite, he can't win a baseball game, and he can't even spell the word "beagle." (And Snoopy is one, folks.) Such insurmountable failure would be enough to send even the best packing, but not our leading man. Even as he bemoans his own lack of skill, he goes right on trucking. Under that facade of self-deprecation there's enough confidence to keep him going for the last sixty-two years. 

He's true to himself. Despite his lack of Valentines, Christmas cards, and Halloween party invites, our hero never goes out of his way to try to fit in. He's one hundred percent himself all the time. When Lucy demands a shiny aluminum tree, he proudly comes back with his pathetically lovable little evergreen-- not for the sake of defying the norm, but because he thinks it's the right thing to do. That little tree needs him, and doggone it, he's going to take care of it! While he wants people to like him, he's only willing to gain everyone's approval for his real and honest self. If he's unpopular, it's only because he refuses to compromise. And that rocks.

What a man, what a man, what a mighty good man. Keep at it, Chuck. I'll be your Little Red-Haired Girl anytime.

Super Cute

"By the way, you're super cute." 

When he walked by, we were sitting in the Burger King at the Little Rock airport, waiting (rather impatiently) for our chicken nuggets. He looked Rachel straight in the eye and complimented her. Making no further attempt at conversation, he simply picked up his bag and walked away, leaving my "super cute" best friend and I laughing in awkward bewilderment. 

Now there's usually nothing blogworthy about a compliment, I know, particularly not one from a random stranger. The more I sit and think about it, though, the more I appreciate this seemingly awkward guy's kindness. He wasn't hitting on us or gunning for a phone number-- if he had been, he would have stuck around for it. Nope. He just saw a cute girl and thought, "Hey. She is cute. I wonder if she knows. I think I'll tell her." End of story. 

Is there anything so rare as a pure, selfless, honest compliment? I mean, really. This man risked embarrassment purely to raise someone else's self esteem, with absolutely no payoff for himself.

Thank you, Awkward Compliment Man, for making our day. The world needs more people like you.