Between Clever Lines

Amazon has this nifty new toolbar that lets you add things from all over the web to your amazon.com wishlist.  First off, I think this is amazing, as I can finally legitimately add Ryan Gosling to my wishlist.  It does, however, make me drool every time I look at the site.  There are a lot of things to lust after, and I feel hopeful that I'm on Hannukah Harry's nice list.  Aside from world peace and chocolate that makes you lose weight, here's what's on my wishlist this year. Schrodinger's Kittens  by John Gribbin,  How to Teach Physics to Your Dog  by Chad Orzel, and  The Drunkard's Walk  by Leonard Mlodinow Despite recently becoming a humanities major, I still love science and mathematics.  I am especially geeky when it comes to physics.  Despite my less-than-stellar grade in the course in high school, it was one of the best classes I ever took, and I am still trying to teach myself quantum physics. Moleskine City Notebook: New York  and  Moleskine Music

My New Year's resolution is to take more pictures, specifically self portraits.  I want to take a self portrait every week for an entire year, one that I'm really proud of. They will probably all be better than this. Anyway, three of my best friends and I are already home from school, and our other best friend finished her last exam yesterday.  We decided to go get her and bring her home together.  It's a nearly two hour drive, though, so we had to amuse ourselves. Kaitlyn, upon entering the car, was immediately smothered in hugs. We haven't seen each other in a month, so it was a pretty emotional reunion. I got to see her dorm without the aid of Skype for the first time, which was awesome.  Kaitlyn reads this blog, and got inspired to do her own version of my wall decorations.  She also did some circles on her roommate's side of the room,  using some...*cough*... interesting  circles. At least her roommate can be safe and decorative!  After crowding in

I've been making paper snowflakes while I study, and most of them have hearts to match the hearts on the walls. This leaves me with piles and piles and piles of adorable little paper hearts without a home, and I can't bear to waste them. I got this adorable yarn on (where else) Etsy a few months ago, and I haven't had much to do with it,  so I attached the hearts to different lengths of string  and hung them over my pillow!  Aren't they cute? And the snowflakes look so pretty on our window.  (:  We haven't gotten any snow yet, so these will have to do for now.  I also put paper hearts on my friend Emily's wall today to de-stress after my chemistry final!  Isn't she the cutest? Emily's bed is right on the other side of the wall from mine, and we knock back and forth to each other.  We have a secret code. Did you ever have secret codes when you were little?  Do you have any now?  Tell me!

When I'm stressed (like I am right now for finals), I usually want to bake or make crafts.  From reading  Katie 's blog to de-stress, I've been dying to decorate my walls.  Unfortunately, my walls look like this: My roommate's walls, however, look like this: We've both been really stressed lately, so I wanted to do something that would make her smile.  I've had these magazines since I went home for Thanksgiving break, and I figured it was time to do something with them.  After about an hour of furious snipping, And pausing to sniff the perfume samples, I had a huge pile of scraps. But also, a huge pile of hearts!  I used sticky tack to stick the hearts to her wall, And made a pretty pattern! Now when she looks up from her bed, she'll have something pretty to look at and will remember how much I love her.  (:  I even had enough hearts left over to do the wall above my bed!  Now it'll always look like I'm dreaming of love. What do you do t

I am on a bus right now. What an interesting transient community. I am sitting next to someone who has lived at the same university as me for two and a half months. We have never met. Isn't that peculiar?  I was thinking of that earlier. Last Friday as I was leaving my Chemistry lab at around 5:00, one of my classmates was heading in the same direction as I was. We walked together, exchanging casual remarks about the weather and music and our lives. I'd never met him before. I'm not sure I would have been able to pick him out as a Brandeis student in a crowd. But we just kept talking and it was nice.  Our paths were about to split when I realized I had no idea what his name was. We yelled introductions as our paths diverged. It was a backwards sort of friendship. I didn't see him again all week, until the next lab. It turns out we've been in the same lab group for two and a half months now. Even then, I didn't talk to him during that lab. We left at differen

Most of you know that I am now in the middle of the monstrosity known as NaNoWriMo .  I'm keeping up pretty well, and I'm actually really into my story, which is nice.  A huge part of my writing is music, so I figured I'd put some of the songs in my playlist here.  Enjoy! NB: I'm a big believer in the order mattering for mixes, but I haven't made my official NaNo mix.  These songs are in no particular order. "If We Can Land a Man On the Moon, Surely I Can Win Your Heart" (Beulah) "Wishing Well" (The Airborne Toxic Event) "Loneliest Generation" (Harper Blynn) "All is Love" (Karen O. & The Kids) "Turn Off Your Phone" (Andy Glover) "I'm Right Here" (Mike Lombardo) "The Debt" (Julia Nunes) "Blue Eyes" (Mika) "Drop Down" (Mike Falzone) "Around You" (Sherwood) "Roll Away Your Stone" (Mumford and Sons) "This is Why We Fight" (The Decemberists) &

            I want to dye my hair again.  I think maybe turquoise this time.  I’ve had the turquoise dye under my cabinet for forever, but there’re a few reasons I haven’t dyed it yet.  For one, I don’t want to be that girl, the one who dyes her hair just because she’s heading off to school and can reinvent herself.  I also didn’t want to have dyed hair during the high holidays while I was at synagogue.             But I had a conversation with Cece today about what’s probably the real reason: The Manic Pixie Mythos.  When I had purple hair, people looked at me differently.  They thought I was quirky, interesting.  Just because of the color of the tips of my hair.  Isn’t that odd?  And I didn’t want people to think I was a manic pixie.  I didn’t want to feel like I had to live up to my hair.             But days like today are the days I want to escape into my inner manic pixie dream girl.  I want to dye my hair again and tell some guy that the Shins will change his life and read po

Here's the conclusion I've come to. Living your life afraid to get hurt? Isn't worth it. You miss out on all of the good things doing that.  What you have to do is take the times he called you beautiful, that time she put her arms around you and danced to your favourite song, the roses he bought you for your birthday, and you need to put those memories somewhere no one can touch them, not even the people who created them. And you need to remember that once, you were loved. You were loved so much that one person couldn't handle all of the love and it had to be shared between two people. And you deserved that love.  And when she leaves or he says he regrets it, you protect the good memories and lose the rest. You deserve the beautiful memories, but you never deserve the slamming door or the click at the other end of the phone line. So you make as many good memories as you can, and then you save them. And that's all you can do. 

             Once, when I was in fourth or fifth grade, for the last week in November and the beginning of December, my parents wouldn’t let me go into the guest bedroom.   I figured that was just where they were keeping the Hannukah presents, and I don’t like ruining surprises, so I kept out.             At 4:30 one morning in early December, my lights flicked on.   My father was holding a camera and wearing a sombrero.   My mother had just put some mariachi music into the stereo by my bed.   Get up and pack whatever you want to read on the plane ride , they said.   We’re leaving for Mexico in twenty minutes .             I hadn’t been allowed in the guest bedroom because that was where the suitcases were.   My parents had been planning this for months and just decided to keep it a secret.   I don’t know how, but they did.   I didn’t really believe them that it was actually happening until there was sand between my toes and sun on my face.   It was probably the most amazi

            Sometimes, I get so involved in the lives of others that I forget how to live on my own.  I share my hurts with my friends, but I forget to let myself actually feel them, to just sit still and breathe and acknowledge that yes, this hurts.  Very much, in fact.  But that’s okay.  That hurt means I’m alive and it means that I had something that I cared about enough to miss.  And I’m lucky because not everyone ever has something that important to lose.             I need to learn to be my own person, even when I’d rather be have someone else around.  I need to realize that it’s okay to be in my own headspace sometimes.  I don’t need another voice around at all times to tell me I’m okay.  I’m making that time for me to be alone.  Well, alone with Taylor Swift and Ben and Jerry.  Hey, a girl has to have her ways of coping, right?             I filmed a music video tonight.  I am so very, very proud of it.  It’s a song that I put a lot of emotion into and the video was emotional

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the power of a name.  I spend so much time talking to my friends on skype.  We’re almost constantly connected.  From the time I turn on my computer to the time I turn it off at night, I am talking to someone.  It struck me the other day that I hardly ever hear (or rather read) my name. We are conditioned to love hearing our name.  So much so, in fact, that our brain rewards us for just hearing the syllables that we use to identify ourselves.  And yet I’m surprised and happy every time I read the six letters of my name typed by someone else. Why don’t we use our names more often?  Maybe we feel like it’s weird to continue to say the names of people we’ve known for months or years.  Maybe we feel like they should know that we know who they are by now.  But it doesn’t hurt to remind them occasionally. I guess what I’m really saying is say my name, say my name .

And maybe if you had someone to come home to, You'd fight harder to come home alive, She says, Then looks at me.  Like I'm worth coming back for.  Like I'm worth living for.  And I'm afraid in equal measure That I'd be that person,  And that I wouldn't be enough. 

I’ve been absent from the internet deliberately today.  I checked twitter once or twice.  I talked to a few friends on Skype.  I sent messages to friends on facebook because, as much as today is an anniversary of a horrific event, there were people born today, too. I don’t have a TV here, so I didn’t watch programs with pretentious people pretending to understand what it’s like to have someone you care about die saving innocent lives.  I didn’t read interview after interview.  I didn’t RT any articles on twitter or photos on tumblr.  I didn’t watch any videos on YouTube or tell people over and over how proud I am to be an American. I am, though. What I’m most proud of is that there are people in America who sacrificed their lives doing what they believed was right.  People who continue to defend our country not from an entire race or religion, but from the individual people who mean us harm.  And I’m proud that I live in a country where I can remember those heroes by celebrat

The sign that says "Attractions" at the exit for my grandparents' house is blank, as if the state of NY can't imagine for the life of them what would attract anyone to the tiny town of Eastport, Long Island. There are no malls, no waterparks. I'm not sure I want anyone to know what should attract them here, honestly. If everyone knew about this place, a thousand tourists would trample the flower beds that my grandmother used to cultivate so she could sell bouquets out of her farm stand. They'd eat up all of the "Play Doh" ice cream at the Hershey's stand that also sells international phone cards. They'd buy all of the silly bracelets on main street. They'd dig up all the sand, catch all of the waves. Is it selfish, to keep this a secret? The attractions for me here abound; a raspberry, sweet as a promise, erupting on my tongue, a whisper through the fence from the boy next door, a game of Pooh sticks with my mother over the bridge dow

I am in transit again, this time in a car, listening to nerd rock and watching rain splatter against the sun roof. I'm on my way to Long Island for a few days to stay with my grandparents. My aunt and uncle are taking shifts driving, and this car is filled with so much caffeine. Sort of necessary when I didn't finally crash onto my bed until around 3:30 this morning. As much as I love the feeling of airports and being on the train, I also love the anticipation the night before. Unfortunately, that usually adds to my already irritating habit of not sleeping very much. I know I'll be up late the night before every trip, so I usually save all of my packing until the night before. I then proceed to stay up, throwing things into a suitcase and chatting on skype. It's a system that works for me; I don't agonize about packing for weeks, and I don't have trouble sleeping in the car. I love road trips. I like the possibility of everywhere we stop. I like the junk foo

New York, I love you. I love your insane cabbies, your subway stations with four piece jazz bands busking at random stops, your pretzels of varying degrees of edibility, your parks, your random skaters in said parks who don’t mind coming over to sit down and listen to you play ukulele in Union Square, your nerdy comic book stores, your over abundance of cafes, your restaurants devoted entirely to rice pudding, your quiet streets, your loud streets, your residents who pretend that teens singing Doctor Horrible’s Sing Along Blog in three part harmony on the Q train is nothing out of the ordinary, your ridiculously tiny dogs, your postal police officers, your metro system that is never fully functioning, your knockoff designer handbags, your little corners full of treasures that almost no one knows about, your plethora of Harry Potter advertisements, your inspirational or at least improbable graffiti, your overabundance of knitting stores, and your residents. I love the beautiful pe

I love traveling, but not in the way most people do. So many people seem to hate the long drive/train ride/flight in between them and wherever they're going. They don't like waiting, which is a common and completely reasonable sentiment. But it isn't mine. Sure, I love being places that aren't home. New York City (which I'm on a train to right now - yay for mobile posting) is one of my favourite places in the whole world. I feel comfortable in Cancún and Xcarat.  Almost more than that, though, I love the feeling of being in airports. I love that rush when you're en route to your destination, when you don't know yet that you've forgotten your toothbrush and your dad is going to get sun poisoning because he forgot his sunscreen AGAIN. It's a forced rest, the calm before the storm. I love train rides. I get all of my reading done, write, listen to music, think, and sometimes just stare out the window at my whole state flashing by. I'm not sur

I haven’t written in a long time, and honestly, I don’t have a great excuse.   I’ve just been busy with a lot of work and writing, and I honestly don’t have the initiative to blog very often.   I’m doing it now just to talk about this new album thing that I have.   You could get it, if you want. http://amandasternklar.bandcamp.com Also, I just realized I have callouses from playing ukulele.   It’s odd, but I’m almost proud of that fact.   I like that I care about something so much that I play it enough that it has physically changed me.   Does that make sense?   I’ve never really had that feeling before.   But I like that I have something that I can just go to when I’m upset and I know it will make me feel better.   I like having a thing .   That is my blog entry for today. I should probably sleep more. [rockets&dinosaurs] ~Amanda

I never said I would post regularly on this blog.   Let’s just start off by saying that. I have written a few entries, I just haven’t typed them out.   I type all day at work; cut me a little slack. Anyway, I’m waiting for new music to load onto my iPod, so I thought I would say hi.   Hello.   I’m a high school graduate now.   It’s weird.   People keep asking me if I feel different, and I really don’t.   Should I?   I don’t know.   Vlog about that later.   By the way, ohmygoshthankyou to everyone who said such nice things about “On Remembering To Be Awesome”.   I am really happy with how that vlog came out, and I’m glad others thought so.   Kym even tweeted it to the vlogbrothers.   It would be amazing if one of them watched it.   Future goal.             I bought my first piece of furniture for my dorm today.   A teal floor rocker from Target.   I have sheets and towels in the same color.   Is it weird how excited I am to decorate my dorm room?   I love it.   I like that I will

I feel like a puppy is as good a way to start off a blog as any.  This is my dog, Thaddeus, at just a few months. Hello!  My name is Amanda, but if you're reading this blog, I've probably finally gotten around to making a video or a twitter post about it, and you probably already know that.  Whatever.  I like introducing myself.  I'm 17.  I'm not very good at blogging consistently. Lately, I've been thinking a lot, partially as a function of having graduation less than a month away.  I have some angst-y rants that I want to get through.  I also just occasionally have things I want to vlog about that I just don't have the time or capability to film, or I don't want to clog subscription boxes.  Also, there are some awesome people on here who need following, so... Is that what you call it on blogspot?  Following?   I don't know. I'm Amanda.  I like to take photographs.  I'm a bit mad.  I love new friends. Friends? DFTBA! ~Amanda P.S. My fir