What is a Holiday?

For years the most sacred symbol of Christmas, the nativity, as blessed the Staten Island Ferry terminal. The admiration of Mary and Joseph upon the Christ Child has filled both locals and tourists alike with the true spirit of Christmas. Unfortunately, the borough of Staten Island felt the nativity took too much of a religious stance for this time of year and have stripped the ferry terminal of this classic decoration.

"Too many holidays occur to just focus upon Christ's birth" are the feelings of many. Even public schools are forced to say, "Happy Holidays" instead of  "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Hanukkah." Only winter deocartions, like snowflakes and snowmen, are suitable because they do not favor one particular holiday, or religion over another.
 

It is certainly a travesty that a simple nativity was abolished from its own season. True, many holidays occur this blessed time of the year. A menorah very well could have been placed next to the nativity along with the kinara candles for Kwanza or any other religious adornment displayed this time of year. Instead of taking sacred symbols we should be including more of them. Let us not forget... what do all of these holidays have in common? They are all founded and celebrated because of RELIGIOUS beliefs. Without Christ there is no Christmas, without the miracle of lights there is no Hanukkah, therefore without these sacred stories there are NO HOLIDAYS.

I have said before, each year these festivities become less of what truly defines them. We have stripped the holidays down to an economical stand point. And seeing as our country continually faces financial deficeit, we abuse the holidays, using them merely as a strategy to help us stay afloat.

I invite you all to try this: take a couple of minutes at night to just sit with your thoughts and deocartions, listening to a religious song in celebration of your holiday. Just today I listened to "O Holy Night" while relaxing by my Christmas tree. Maybe this will help all of us to better understand the true meaning of the most wonderful time of the year!

A Poem

I promised in my very first blog I would share some poetry... well here it is! I wrote this piece while studying Italian Renaissance art in Florence. The Madonna and Child is one of the most sacred and beloved symbols of Catholism. Mary repeatedly wears a forlorn look signifying her knowledge of her son's fate. Being as it is the Christmas season, this poem seemd fitting.

"My Baby Boy"

Sweet child I am here

Queen of Heaven, Mother to you.

Kiss my cheek

hold my hand.

They can't harm you now.

You are mine.

Darling baby your fate is sad

Savior of men, Son of God.

Close your eyes

don't worry, I am here.

Guiding you.

Loving you.

My Child God.

My baby boy.

I've Got All My Sisters With Me!

“Twas the night before Bid Day and all through the dorms

every PNM was restless, that was the norm.

Each single girl lay awake in her bed

while visions of welcoming sisters danced in her head.

I, one such girl, all the night sighed

hoping I would be chosen for Alpha Omicron Pi.

The morning finally came and I walked in the room

to a letter reading “Alpha Omicron Pi welcomes you!”

I sprang up the stairs to a wonderful sight

of AOII sisters shouting, “We knew you fit just right!”

Choosing to partake in Greek life at Wagner College (specifically Alpha Omicron Pi) has been the most rich and rewarding experience of my college career. Wagner College Greek life truly defies the horrific stereotypes labeled upon sorority girls. These were strong, classy women looking to make the world a better place by their unity. My very first lesson as a potential new AOII member will forever stay with me, “Around the room you see each sister wearing the AOII letters, but if you take a closer look you will notice each girl wears a different pattern and color. This is to show that we are all different yet come together for the good of our sorority.” Those immortal words touched my heart and helped me discover how to be an individual yet work with girls different from myself.

The friendships I have made through Alpha Omicron Pi are ones to truly last a life time. We have laughed, cried, worked, traveled, and fought together; every experience only cementing our bond. Some of my fondest memories are of snowy days gathering in the lounge, pushing the couches side by side, and curling up with blankets to watch a timeless classic. Even as a college graduate, I have kept in touch with my sisters, calling some of them my very best friends.

Aside from friendship, the charities and activities we sisters organized further define what being a part of Greek life really means. From arthritis walks to bagel sells for breast cancer awareness, we were able to spread our philanthropic attitudes around campus and the community. Our greatest charitable contribution though came from adopting a little girl named Lauren with a pediatric brain tumor through an organization called “Friends of Jaclyn.” That day we gained the youngest sister of Alpha Omicron Pi along with her loving, and wonderful family. Having Lauren in our lives helped all of use to appreciate the simple things in life. This brave girl has given us all the courage and power to believe.

All of these reasons and more define my rationale for becoming a member of Greek life at Wagner College. With my college years behind me and my future in front, I can confidentially thank AOII for turning me into the woman I am today. My friendships made and experiences shared will always resonate in my mind, giving me the strength to get through all of life’s obstacles. So thank you, Alpha Omicron Pi, for all you have done and all you continue to do.

A Christmas Story

I have always been a firm believer in this: performing good deeds creates a domino affect. When people witness a good deed being committed, it is like a forest fire; one tiny spark ignites and spreads wildly along. "Christmas" simply is another word for "good deed". Was it not a "good deed" of God to share with us his only Son whom would come to save humanity? Unfortunately this gigantic side of Christmas is quite often overlooked. People are too concerned with this year's latest trends, transforming Christmas from spiritual into commerical. But even the smallest good deed can restore Christmas back to its former glory.

A close friend of mine, DeAnna, is in the mist of a vigorgous graduate program with the hopes of utlimately becoming a child life specialst. When she tells people of her future plans, they often laugh at her, thinking she has cleverly constructed a fancier way of saying "teacher" or "nanny". In actuality, a child life specialist works with children suffering mentally and physically. These special individuals dedicate their lives to insuring the well being of these brave little soliders trooping through some of life's obstacles.

One day I received a message from DeAnna, "Please watch this video. This is what I want to do with my life and it is important for people to see good deeds in motion." I immediately clicked on the link that led me to a 10 minute video hosted by news reporter Matt Lauer. He walked through a set of revolving doors and straight into St. Judes Children's Hospital. St. Judes Children's Hospital specializes in the care of children suffering from cancer. Unfortunately cancer among these tiny tots is a growing reality.The staff of St. Judes though not only tend to the chidren's physical aliments, but hire child life specialst to assist in moral building programs and activites. A young, lively girl playing with a doll demonstrated one such acitivty.

"I'm taking care of my dolly and making sure she gets her chemo and radiation," the girl stated
"What is that little hole in her arm?" Matt Lauer asked.
"It's where her port goes in so her cancer goes away on vacation," the little girl responded back matter of factly.

The child life specialists have exhibited through toys, that while treatments seem scary, they will help the cancer  pack up its bags and hit the road! The video continued on with a pet show, art classes, and a fun filled pajama party for the whole hospital to enjoy. I was consumed with both gloom and glee as tears slowly trickled down my cheeks. No child deserves to suffer such an awful fate, yet the tactics used to boost optimism were inspiring and fuel for good deeds.

I roamed about my small, suburan town today on a mission to complete some daily errands. The last leg of my journey led me to a nearby shopping center. Walking back to my car, I spied the most beautiful cookie cutters in the window of culinary store, William Sonoma. I had to go in! A burst of hot chocolate and peppermint hit my nostrils as I made my entrance into this Christmas wonderland. I strolled past a sea of reds and greens that would put even Santa's kitchen to shame. My path finally ended at the cookie cutters where I was assisted by a rather nice woman. She sweetly showed me to her register when I finished picking out my purchases.

"Will that be all?" She asked me.
"Yes, I believe so."
"Oh I almost forgot, for the month of December we are asking people if they would like to donate to St. Judes Children's Hospital. Would you care to make a donation of your choosing?"

Choking back tears my mind ventured to DeAnna's heart melting video, "Yes! Of course I will... I'll donate $5 please."

"Wonderful!" She sang back to me.

All of a sudden, the woman walked over to a beautiful, silver Christmas bell and began to ring it. Every employee in the store broke out into a thunderous round of applause. I (along with the other customers) stared dumbfounded at this strange act.

"That bell is for you," the woman said. "You have choosen to help those in need during the Christmas season and for that we are truly greatful." I just blushed a Christmas shade of red, thanked the woman, and headed out the door. When I met the cold winter wind outside all I could feel was warmth. A wave of satisfaction washed over my smiling face for I felt wonderful. I felt joy. I felt Christmas.

This has been the greastest gift I have given. I did not just give to a good cause, I gave to whoever was shopping in that store and heard the bell toll. DeAnna shared the video with me which snowballed to my good deed, and hopefully continues to roll along to others. That bell ringing was a symbol of hope, a symbol of power, a symbol to believe.

So here is my bell ringing, reminding all to believe in good deeds and the spirit of Christmas. Award winning author Chris Van Allsburg beautifully explains the magic of Christmas through a bell in his beloved story The Polar Express.

"Though I've grown old the bell still rings for me, as it does for all who truly believe."

The Case of the "Gallery Chocolate Napper"

So... for those of you who have read my previous blog entitled "Paranormal Activity" you are aware that the "Gallery Ghost" at my job has been stealing the chocolates I so kindly leave out on my desk for clients. Each morning I returned to a mysteriously empty candy dish with no evidence of an invasion! We could never find the twinkling of a wrapper or a little critter present left behind either. One time my two co-workers cleverly executed a trick on me and hid my treats. This rouge was just a one time prank... so where were the chocolates disappearing to?! This morning, my question was answered.

My day began like any other with my mindless morning chorses: I unlocked the doors, switched on the lights, hit the radio button, tucked my personal belongings away, and ventured to the back room to hang my coat up; this same room is also used as storage for many of our paintings. Turning to make my exit I saw it, this tiny, furry, black ball sprint past my feet and behind the art work! I stood frozen for a minute in disbelief before finally gaining back my composure. Immediately I headed for the door (tripping over the carpet along with way) to alert Erin of my critter sighting. I barged into the frame shop screaming, "A mouse, Erin... It's a mouse! We have mice!" Trying to catch my breath, Erin just stared at me wide eyed, "Ok... I have to see this. Show me!"

We headed back to the scene of the crime walking quite gingerly so as not to disturb any intruders that might surprise us. Slowly we moved each painting  to better view the entrance way when this glimmer of gold caught our eyes. As we continued to dig through paintings the glimmer grew brighter and brighter... the gold was none other than candy wrappers! There they were, a gigantic mound piled high of every precious chocolate that had gone missing in the course of a month. It was like finding a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.Thrown into a fit of laughter we immediately called a very ill Ryan to inform him of our genius detective work.

The case of the "Gallery Chocolate Napper" has come to a dramatic close. The crime scene was cleared of evidence and all holes were thoroughly blockaded. The Gallery Ghost was also acquitted of all charges. It was some very clever little creatures just trying to save up food for the winter. I can picture it now: A tiny, powerful army marching straight for my desk ready to conquer any obstacles that might keep them from getting to their treasure. This kitchen is now closed, so look elsewhere furry friends!

A Mid-Summer Jersey Night's Eve

A New Jersey summer can ultimately be compared to a 3 month long Halloween Hulabaloo. The politically correct term for tan (at the Jersey Shore) is "pumpkin orange", the women hide their faces behind masks of makeup, the men sport hairstyles that literally stand on end, and the stylish costumes garbed by everyone would make even Tim Burton jealous. One particular bar that I can always count on to NEVER disappoint for this "Halloween treat" is Bar Anticipation (Bar A) in Belmar.

"Beat the clock" has become legend as the ultimate summer event on a Tuesday evening. The price of admission is free before 8:00 P.M. By this time the bar (inside and out) becomes like a packed sardine can with locals and tourists looking to have a black out experience off of the 25 cent watered down beers being served in dixi cups. The reason this blessed event was bequeathed "Beat the Clock"? Because one must do just that; beat the clock by drinking as much beer as one can consume in a half hour before the price rises another 25 cecnts. Typically the night turns into a magical party where a 45 minute drink wait at any one of the 8 bars is considered great, wearing alcohol becomes an outfit's accessory, and moving from one spot to another lasts as long as a weekend vacation. Oh, and of course the men are all prince charmings, showing prodigious amounts of chivilary.

My first summer as a 21 year old, Bar A was my playground. I happily boarded the train to Belmar as if it were the monrail taking my away to the Magic Kingdom. The beer tasted wonderful, the music rocked my world, and the men were like GQ models (or so I believed in my drunken stupor). I thought Bar A and I would always have this kind of relationship; one filled with passion and excitment. But sadly the honeymoon phase faded and I soon discovered what Bar A was REALLY like. It happened one faithful Jersey night; just this past summer.

My first summer as a 22 year old I learned that Bar A was what I always believed it to be... simply a playground for 21 year olds. The beer now tasted like cheap, stale dregs left at the bottom of a barrel, the music proved to be none other than a poor cover band trying too hard, and the men were more like lions ready to pounce on any living creature that moved. One particular night, I came face to face with one such lion.

I was trying to push my way through a crowd in an effort to reach the bar (because the only way to have an enjoyable time is under the influence). All of a sudden I felt a slight tug on my right arm. Thinking it was my friend Nikki only a few short steps behind me I reached blindly for her hand so I could drag her along at my pace. But when I felt this hot, clamy hand, I knew it was not that of a female. I turned to see this lanky, milk white boy covered in acne just inches from my face. He sported a backwards cap, a plain white T-shirt, and something baggy around his legs which techinally should not be called pants. "Yo babe, what's good?"

1. "Yo" should only be used when refering to the toy
2. I am not "in toyland", I am not "in arms" so I am not called "babe."
3. Sushi is good. Red wine is good. Using "What's good?" as a way to say, "How are you?" NOT GOOD.

The combination of his appearance and "vast vurnacular"  surely was not going to rope me in. I quickly pulled my hand away and ignored him as if nothing happened. "Sweetie, let's dance. Ya know ya wanna." Again, really winning me over with the syntax. I chose to keep playing the ignorance card hoping he would get the hint.

He did get the hint, but he felt some parting words were in order:

"Bitch, I'm a 10 and you're a 4!"

Really? I swiftly turned my head around and calmly hit him back with this cleverly constructed line...

"Yes, on a scale of 1-10, 1 being the highest... you are a 10 and I'm a 4!" Bruised and beaten he sulked away and proceeded to press his body upon one of the "pumpkin orange", masked in makeup females that clearly had no standards.

Men really do not handle rejection well at all. Instead of this guy just walking away quietly with whatever pride he had left, he felt the need to belittle me as a recharger to his confidence. Well, if it made him feel any better "Hey! More power to ya fella!" But in the back of his tiny little brain he regrettable knows that I am really a 1... 1 being the highest!

Paranormal Activity

I have always believed in a world beyond our own; where the spirits step out of their heavenly realm to play tricks on the innocent living. Even as a child I was fascinated by the true life ghost stories and have been turned on to shows like "Haunted History", "Ghost Hunters", and "Ghost Stories". I have journeyed on many a ghost tour in lovely Colonial Williamsburg as well as Boston and Gettysburg. But it was not until recently that I fell prey to my own ghost story... or so I believed.

I work at an art gallery in charming Red Bank, NJ. This small, quaint town has its share of little boutiques, delicious restaurants,  elegant bars, and some of the oldest buildings in the tri-state area. I just so happen to work in one such building. Constructed in the mid 1800s, the building originally served as a school for young girls. The downstairs clearly resembles a living room and kitchen. Follow the steep, tiny stairs to the second floor and you have entered many little areas mimicking bedrooms. Now of course the place (from ceiling to floor) is covered with the art we collect from overseas.

Ever since my start here, I have had a shaky suspicion of "paranormal activity" taking place. The TV in the back room turns on and off without assistance from anyone. The pattering of footsteps can undoubtedly be heard mulling about the second floor. Also, items mysteriously go missing, repeatedly.

One such item that seems to be disappearing lately are the chocolates I have placed at the edge of my desk. Every night I leave work and the chocolate bowl is filled to the brim. In the morning when I return all of the chocolates are gone! The owners have been made privy to the situation and believe  adorable, fuzzy critters are finding their way into the gallery for a late night snack. If that is the case, why do we never find wrappers? Why do we never find tiny critter droppings? This is because we have fallen into ghostly traps!

I told two of my co-workers, Erin and Ryan, (who work in our frame shop adjacent to the gallery) my theories behind "who stole the candy from the candy jar." Each morning they receive a chocolate update whenever I return to an empty bowl. "The ghost is at it again!" I say on the phone. Erin believes in the supernatural to some degree, but Ryan's hipster and skeptical attitude just leads to an eye roll.


Yesterday morning I went about my usual routine. I pulled into work, unlocked all of the doors, hung my coat up, checked for messages, looked in the candy bowl and... NO CANDY AGAIN! I behaved calmly (though slightly annoyed) since this has become a constant habit, but placed next to the candy bowl was a neon, pink post-it note that read "Thanks." All of the blood drained out of my face and my eyes widen as I stood frozen in fear. "Now the ghost is leaving messages?!" This was a bit too much to handle.

 Immediately I called Erin. "Erin, the candy bowl is empty and there is a note with it too!" I heard giggles on the other end of the phone, "Ok, I'm sending Ryan over." As soon as Ryan walked in the door I knew what was going on. "The ghost left you a note!" he said through fits of laughter. "Ryan, did you and Erin take my candy?" Ryan exploded onto the floor as he tried shaking his head no, then yes. I ran next door to find Erin also crippled on the floor with laughter. Before arriving to work they sneaked into the gallery, turned off the alarm, took all my candy via Ryan's hood, left a little message, reactivated the alarm, and hid the candy in the frame shop. I have to admit it was a cleverly executed plan, and seeing as I am the baby and most gullible of our little trio... it was a sure fire prank.

I still remain a believer of the "Gallery Ghost" and know that in due time all will reveal itself. But from now I am hiding my candy before leaving work!

Remeber Your First Time?

Anyone I have ever crossed paths with can confidently define me as a person obsessed with Italy, a person who has a pure passion for art, a person who can play a mean trumpet, and a person who can still be reduced to tears regardless of the amount of times viewing a particular musical.... that musical is The Phantom of the Opera.

My love for this musical began (I believe) since infancy. My mother constantly played the soundtrack and sang along to it's hauntingly, beautiful melodies when I was a child. I can recall one Halloween listening to the song "The Phantom of the Opera" repetitively as our house became consumed with music, just like the Phantom's labyrinth.

In middle school, I found another individual that shared this same "Phantom Passion" as I did, my band director. (While he remains to be another story entirely and one I will tell) he helped to nurse that tiny phantom seed that had been planted so long ago. I would often stay behind after school and sit listening to the soundtrack with him.

"Did I ever tell you about the time 'The Music of the Night' brought me back to life? I was having heart surgery and had to miss the marching band finals. Our theme that year was The Phantom of the Opera. While  I lay on the operating table, my students filled the skies with Webber's musical genius. They dedicated that show and "The Music of the Night" to me and won. The Phantom of the Opera helped me survive that surgery."

I would listen intently to this story over and over as our favorite phantom song "The Music of the Night" filled the silence in the background. "This song is my absolute favorite, " he would say to me. "He ends it so quietly instead of with a big bang. It really demonstrates great breath control on the part of the musicians." Some of my fondest memories are of sitting in that band room just listening over and over to the music and the stories. I had come to call him my Angel of Music.

Now, I have stressed how many times I have listened to the music, but have yet to say how many times I had actually SEEN the play. Well, at that point in time... I HAD NEVER SEEN THE PLAY! There was no movie version and it had never dawned on my parents that I might be interested in seeing Phantom instead of some  "kid friendly" musical appearing on Broadway. For years I only had the music to go off of, but then the movie industry stepped in.

Just a few months before the movie was released, my band director passed away. I was beyond repair. My mentor, my friend, my Angel of Music was gone. I fell into a deep depression, one that seemed like a black hole sucking the life force straight from me. Then, the movie came out.

My mother took me to the opening day of the movie's release, hoping this would be able to heal just a fraction of the pain I was feeling. Suddenly the theater darkened, and the Paris Opera House appeared on the screen. I tear rolled gently down my cheek as I began to embark on the adventure I had longed for since childhood. I sat mezmorized. I hung onto every word that was said and every phrase that was song. I felt as if my band director was watching it alongside me. When the movie ended and the lights flooded back into the theater, I continued to stare at the screen crying my eyes out. I felt sad, wonder, joy, and the wave of memories rushing back to me. This seemed a mere blip in comparison to the waterworks I was reduced to when I finally saw Phantom live.

One birthday, my aunt handed me a beautiful wooden box with stars and a moon carved all around it. "Happy Birthday! I hope you love it." I opened the box ever so lightly and there inside was a delicate and beautifully detailed Venetian mask. I carefully picked up the mask and ran my fingers over the porcelain lips. I looked back down in the box and saw a note along side an envelope. The note read:

"Image you are wearing this mask and dancing the night away with your very own Phantom."

I opened the enveloped to find 4 tickets to The Phantom of the Opera on Broadway! I screamed, cried, and flew into my aunts arms thanking her over and over again. Naturally I took her as my gust,  along with my mother and sister.

I entered the theater and sat in my plush, velvety chair staring at the stage. Finally the lights fell low and the maestro struck up the band into the overture. I cried from start to finish. I was finally seeing this play, finally hearing the music live. And as the Phantom swept across the stage pulling the hypnotized Christine through the long, standing mirror as her Angel of Music, I could feel my own Angel of Music around me. Of course, the largest tears and fondest memories came when the Phantom began singing "The Music of the Night."

Today, I have worn out several copies of my Phantom CDs, can quote the movie verbatim, learned the entire musical score on my trumpet, visited the Paris Opera house on my trip to France, and have seen the Broadway musical a grand total of 3 times. Still, I am tear stricken. Still, it will never be enough. Still, I can feel my Angel of Music with me whenever The Phantom of the Opera is around.

The David Made Me Do It!

Have you ever had an experience, one that awoken your senses and made the path you were headed down seem so much clearer? That is exactly how I felt the first time I saw Michelangelo's David.

Like many students journeying off to college for the first time, I was completely unsure of what I was journeying after! I had stressed and made myself sick over applications, the SATs, open houses, and interviews, yet never contemplated what I was going to study once I chose a school! I wrote down "Political Science Major" thinking I would just take up that then head to law school like so many others in my family before me.

My first semester of college, I took a 19th-20th Century Art History course with an amazing professor. Her passion for the subject and knowledge of art exuded from her mouth everytime she explained a particular painting or the history behind a certain artist. This passion blanketed my brain in an art historical realm that i am happy to say I never escaped. From that point on I made sure to take every art history class this professor was offering and dove deeper and deeper into the art world. Of course, my parents were concerned, "How can you make a future from art history? What can you do with that besides teach?" I did not care. I found a subject I actually wanted to absorb. But of course, parents heeding words seep into even the most dead set of minds, and I began to question whether art history was a suitable choice.

My sophomore year my professor was conducting a 2 week study of Renaissance art in the city that born some of the greatest artists known to history, Florence, Italy. I immediately signed up, backed my bags, and headed out for my first overseas experience. Our trip was majestic. Church after church, museum after musum, everything I had ever studied was right there  before my eyes. No slide show. No text book. But tradgey does strike even on the best of trips, and I came down with a case of strep throat.

This minor issue excluded me from the day long adventure to Siena, "It's rainy and you will want your strength for the rest of the trip. I have no doubts you will return to Italy and see Siena." These were the cautionary words of my wise professor as she and my fellow students slipped out the door. "If you are feeling up for it later though, go check out The David at the Galeria Accademia... it's not on our itinerary." A few hours later I wrapped a scarf around my throat, threw on my rain boots, and was headed for a date with David.

I walked into the museum a half hour before closing. "Welcome Senorina! We close soon, but please look around." The entire museum was covered in silence. The only sound to be heard were my wet rain boots splashing against the marble floors. I thanked the guards for their kind words, took my ticket, and made a left.

I stood motionless for a few moments as my eyes beheld the beauty in front of me. An aisle lay at my feet lined with 10 of Michelangelo's unfinished sculptures. These prisioners seemed to be breaking free of the marble cages that had held them captive for centuries. Michelangelo once said, "I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free." He believed the figures to already be buried within, and it was simply his job to chisel them out. They were exquisite, mysterious, filled with sorrow. Then something pulled my gaze to the room's front.

There it was. There he was. The David. His perfect features, chiseled body, and stone cold stare were more than any photograph or sketching could capture. This iconic figure defining Italy and art all around the world was even more perfect than I ever dreamed. I could feel Michelangelo's presence perserved in The David; immortalized forever. I was alone with him, just starting in amazement as a single tear gently rolled down my face. I knew, at that moment... this was my path in life. I am meant to be surrounded by art. Something that triggers such strong emotions deserves attention, deserves dedication. I sat with The David until the museum closed and walked out into the rainy streets of Florence forever changed.

I continued studying art and now work as an assistant in an art gallery. My journey is far from over, but I have David to thank for the push in the right direction.

As a tribute to this experience, I wrote a poem at the time:

"Within the Marble"

Hold thy pick and chip away,
I have been waiting for you.
I'm inside, can you hear me?
Within I do not wish to stay.

Your work begins on this day,
for I did cost you a fair fee.
Chisel, chisel, set me free.
no more in here I desire to lay.

Keep on working if you dare.
Pull me from this marble cage,
give me eyes so i can stare.

Forever remaining the same age,,
for the viewing people to come who care,
for the memory of you lingering there.

Not-a-Match.com

From the genuis mind of my mother, as a way to shake off the post college blues, I signed up for something I never daned to do before, EVER... I joined match.com

I am a single gal and though I have enjoyed the single life (maybe a little too much), I do wish my prince would find me, sweep me off my feet onto his horse, and we would ride to a castle in the sunset. Or go out for a nice dinner.

I know of all the non-paying dating websites out there and have had a few friends spark some meaningless 4 month relationships from them. I thought, "What fun, I new way to get rejected!" But, then I joined match.

Match.com, for starters, is a paid dating website. You actually have to pay to send emails and sometimes view other people (fun, right?). I thought, "What the hell, give it a whirl for a month. People who pay for these things must seriously be looking to settle down and not play games." And in a month, I met someone.

This someone was great. This someone was a few years older than me, a musician, Jersey boy, Italian, responsible, and very mature. But most importantly this someone knew what he was looking for in a girl. This someone found it in me. He contacted me first with a very well written email about how he admires my musicianship and he loves the fact the one word I use to sum myself up is "class". I figured this guy was definitely worth conversing with. Before long we were chatting on the phone and had our first date planned. I have to admit I was a bit skeptical and very unsure of the date, but again I kept saying to myself, "Give this a chance"!

Our first date was amazing! We had great food, listened to great music, had great converstaion that lasted the whole night, and ended with a great good night kiss. After that night I tried not to pump the situation up because normally I get one amazing date, "I'll call you", and then I never hear from them again. To my astonishment he called the very next day... and the rest was history. We dated for several weeks and I was walking on clouds. He called me everyday and we would chat for hours about anything that was on our minds. We reguarly saw each other: I attended his shows, watched movies together, or we went out on the town. Those couple of weeks we dated I kept telling myself, "This is what I have been looking for. No bullshit. A person who is genuine and knows what he wants."

"... KNOWS what he wants." HA!

One weekend I was shocked to not have received any contact from him. We went from to talking everyday and seeing each other constantly to not conversing for an entire weekend. My pyshic powers (or woman's intitution) told me something was not right. Of course my heart was screaming in my chest to just relax, he is probably busy. Then the phone call came that Monday...

"Hey, listen I want to talk to you about something and this is not easy. We have had a great couple of weeks,  but I am still on match.com because I am not sure what I am looking for and do not think you are it. You are great and all and I had fun, but I am not sure what I want in a relationship, I cannot verbalize what it is, but I want to keep looking."

Ok... so after processing that eloquently put speech, I waded through the bullshit and this was my translation: "You are great, but there might be something better out there only a mouse click away."

I was thankful for the courtsey call (beacuse sometimes I don't even get that), but really?

This is what our society has come down to. While online dating has its perks and gives people the chance to truly meet that "Shining White Knight" or "Damsel in Distress" there are just too many choices. One week you could believe to have found your soul mate, but think, "Just because you are on a diet does not mean you cannot look at the menu, "and then your mouse clicks on an intriguing picture and BAMN! You are hooked on someone you believe to be better than what you already have.

We always tend to want what we cannot have. Most enjoy the game of trying to chase it down, but what happens when you finally catch it? Do you still desire it in the same way, or do you find yourself bored and looking for the next thing that captures your attention? This someone I was seeing wants a relationship, craves a relationship, and he almost had it with me. But it was not enough. I think he might enjoy the chase more than what he is actually chasing after.

Are any of you on dating websites? Do you feel the same or has something like this happened to you? I am not bashing match.com and in fact have made some great friends as a result. In our world today though, no work is required. Everyone looks for the "easy way out" and now it has reached the dating world. Why go out tonight and look for Mr./Ms. Right when he/she may only be a hop, skip, and click away.

I recently watched a movied called "He's Just Not That Into You" and was shocked by the accuracy of a particular quote said by Drew Barrymore's character Mary:

"I miss the days when you had one phone number and one answering machine, and that one answering machine had one casette tape, and that one casette tape either had a message from a guy or it didn’t, and now you just have to go around checking all these different portals just to get rejected by seven different technologies. It’s exhausting.”

About Me

So, I am guessing my first ever blog should naturally be a bit about myself before I go off on a blogging rampage.

Hello readers! My name is Brianna and I am a typical 22 year old living in a classic, suburban town in New Jersey. I have recently graduated from college studying art history and Italian. Though the economy is still under the weather, I was fortunate enough to land a job as an associate art director at a gallery near my home. I immensly enjoy working with art (as I am sure you will get to read about).

I have 3 profound loves in life... one being art (as you have just discovered). The second is music. Without music, I would be lost. I play the trumpet and piano. I can honestly say I would not be who I am today if it was not for my musical background and education. I have traveled playing around the country, but nothing thrills me more than to sit in my room on a rainy day and just play whatever songs pop into my head. Lately I have been rocking out the classic French song, "La Vie en Rose".

My third and probably deepest love in life is Italy. While in college I had the pleasure of studying abroad in Italia twice. The first was a 2 week Renaissance Art course in Florence. The second was a 4 month semester in "La Citta Eterna"... Rome! While my Italian background helps to fuel this passion, I was just taken in by everything Italy had to offer: food, culture, music, art, history, men. Of course I am a prideful American and sport my red, white, and blues, but I fell in love with the country.

I decided to start blogging as a way to release my stress at the end of the day. I have found that whenever I have a strong emotion (happy or sad) I need to share it with someone. I hate bottling my feelings up, because eventually I burst! Sometimes there is not always someone there to listen, but writing can be used to the same affect. I have used poetry as a tool for this (and am looking forward to publising some on my blog). I want to touch someone, inspire someone, or just relate to someone.

So enjoy!