The most awesome TA EVER!

(Warning...this is going to be long and probably very disjointed. Read with caution!)

So, it's taken me awhile to get back to this. Sorry. But I have my reasons, and for once, they don't involve me being horribly uninteresting! So, cutting straight to the chase: I'm a TA (ish). Yay! I should elaborate, I guess.

I went to my old high school/middle school, and visited one of the art teachers. She was always super cool to me, and when I was in 8^th grade, co-ran the After-School Art program that I was majorly involved in. So, yeah, I went to visit, and she kind of forgot that I went to college. So, she was downright astounded when I said I was a college grad (which I TOTALLY am now!). I asked her if she ever needed any volunteer stuff let me know, and it so happened that the next day (Wednesday, two weeks ago) her Service Through Art group were painting murals and I should "totally come and check it out."

I went to a Quaker school. We're all about peace and service and generally being a good person, there. Yes, I am a proud alumn; and even if my high school years sucked (which they did, cuz it's high school) they were probably better than yours, so NYAH!

So, I did go the next day. Remembering that I'm not a morning person, waking up at 8AM to traverse public transportation to get to a middle school by 10AM... I was not a happy Jazzy. But, I got there, twenty minutes early, and out of breath because I scrambled up there so I wouldn't be late. First thing, she sprang on me that I had to do a presentation to a group of hungry, judgemental 10-14 year olds. (I had to do it right before lunch. So cruel...) So, I was automatically nervous. Then the REAL artist came in.

Meet Jonny: a really (really) tall, scrawny, scraggily mural artist and sculptor. Mid-thirties (I'm assuming) assistant to the biggest mural artist in Philadelphia, and practiced art teacher.

So, I'm awkward. You know that by now. Luckily, my former teacher did all the introducing. We shook hands and shot the shit for a minute or two, before setting up for the muralling. My old teacher (who will now be refered to as Mrs. Dice [not her real name]) asked me to take pictures for them, and, with my brand new, wallet murdering, DSLR camera, I gladly obliged.

Thus, the first week passed. I chatted with real adults for awhile, took some pictures, and had...well, the best presentation I could manage considering the short notice.

The second week I missed, due to only sleeping about three hours.

Now, lets get into yesterday. My second day. I got there a bit late, due to a fiasco with public transportation, construction, and mud. Mrs. Dice and Jonny were pushing the art cart to the hall they were painting when I ran over to them. We went to the enclave that the kids were painting, and Mrs. Dice went to wait for the kids. As I chatted with Jonny, I realized a few things:

1. I haven't quite shaken the whole "giving college critiques" thing, and I was terrified to advise these kids because I might be a dick and make them cry.
2. I might be more seriously considering being a teacher.
3. I will never, never be as cool as Jonny, the mural artist. Seriously.

The kids came, and started painting, and I started taking pictures. Here's where it gets interesting though. Jonny and Dice now gave the kids almost complete creative freedom now. And, I was quite frankly impressed. Like, some of these kids were GOOD. Really good. The ones that weren't particularly great artists were impressively creative, or had a really entertaining sense of humor. I'll show you some pictures.

 The background: root/tentacle thingies.

 The art cart!

 Jonny.  One day I'll make it to this guy's level of awesome.

 A kid painting words.  They were told to collect words that they overheard in the enclave to paint.  It was only a guideline, really, and the kids wrote everything from memes to pictures to...I dunno, the actual assignment.

One amazing "Amazing." 

A kickass horse. 

Eyeball.

My personal favorite little corner.  I'm a sucker for pretty geometric patterns!

Meme-kids' doodle corner.

Remember, most of these kids are ten, twelve, fourteen years old, at oldest. I advised and encouraged as best I could. What struck me, though, was that these kids remembered me. One girl, who two weeks ago mentioned that she wanted to go to a creative arts high school in the city, came up to me, excitedly, telling me that her mom decided to let her try to go, and started doing the paperwork and stuff. She then found me right after they went to clean up, and started talking painting and techniques and mediums with me. Yes, I was having an intelligent conversation with a sixth grader about painting. I remember how it felt to be talking to adults at that age, and I did my best to talk to her like an equal, not like a little kid. I'd like to think I did a good job.

Anyway, the day wore on, and I was invited to stay for Dice's clay classes. And lunch. AT THE TEACHERS' TABLE (hoh man!). All the teachers were really cool and surprised that I was all graduated and stuff. I had real conversations with my old Drama teacher and a new middle school English teacher.

This raises the question: when did teachers gain three dimensions? It's almost like they're real people, and I was too self-serving to notice! Nahhhh...

Middle school ceramics. I didn't see myself ever qualified to help teach a class like that, considering I only took one Ceramics class in college, but...I actually knew what I was talking about. At least enough to advise middle schoolers. I helped a girl with building a ceramic dollhouse (very ambitious, cuz it's going to be really big...), a boy make an octopus lamp (super cool idea!) and tried to convince a girl that her vase was super cool and she shouldn't break it into a million pieces. Then the fifth graders came in. Ten year olds are scary. I already knew that, but I've never been closed in a room with twenty of them. They were fun kids though; quite proud to explain what their projects were (cartouches...not sure if I'm spelling it correctly). By the second set of fifth graders (and the end of my day), they decided that I needed to be quizzed on all of their names, and I was followed around by a kid who wanted nothing more than to talk video games.

Even if you're only 4.5 feet tall!

Apparently, it's amazing that GameBoy was invented the year I was born.

Who knows, I might have found my thing. I forgot how much I liked kids and enjoyed teaching, being around fellow awkward college students for the past five years. We'll see.

Or Jonny.  Whatever.

Observations on a City Subway

I was riding on the El train early on a Saturday afternoon (because mornings are for pussies with jobs!), the back car, the far back seat...my absolute favorite spot to sit on a subway car. Why, you might ask? Well, its much easier to avoid the crazies that inhabit city subways when you can't look them in the eyes. Anyway, I was riding the El train, through Upper Darby and into West Philly.

For anyone who doesn't know, Upper Darby is a suburb of Philadelphia in name only. You don't know you've left the city until you run across Upper Darby High School, if you don't know where you are.

But there are some truly interesting folk that got in my car between the terminal and my stop, an unremarkable thirty blocks east. First, I want to make a note that the ethnicity of the train doesn't seem to change between Millbourne (an even tinier suburb than the one I live in) and 40^th and Market Street. It is almost exclusively black in that part of West Philly.

It's not really a huge surprise, I know. It's mostly a bit of a shock when people of other races begin to get on. It usually begins at 40^th street. It's where University City begins (Upenn and Drexel campuses), which means a lot more younger people begin to come on. You start seeing more white people, more Asians, a smattering of Arabic, Indian, and Latinos. (Though the smattering of Latinos is really throughout the entire ride.) When it really starts to mix is 15^th and Market. It's the hub of the Metropolitan area. City Hall, the tons and tons of polished marble and granite, towering overhead (or, through about fifteen feet of concrete, it really depends if you're in the subway or not), the Avenue of the Arts, the Gallery, and South Street, all within walking distance, and, lets not forget, Moore College of Art and Design and UArts Philadelphia right nearby. That's when you start getting the artsy types, the punks, the guidos coming through.

Anyway, I'm not entirely sure where I was going with this. I know I was originally going to talk about subway crazies, like the guy who incessantly shakes his bottle of ice water, the guy who takes up two entire seats, the guy who lights up his crack rock two rows behind you...

But, then I'd be being mean.

What ever do you mean, socially inept?!

I used to go into the city a lot more than I do now. That changed for a few reasons, the most important of them being I'm unemployed. I've passed the age where there's nothing for me to do anymore. Now I'm just broke.

Interesting fact. Living in a city between the ages of fourteen and twenty is rather lame. There isn't really much for someone who isn't still in awe of The Duck, but isn't old enough to drink legally, to do.

Anyway, yeah, I don't really go into the city much anymore. But in my more recent forrays into the Philadelphia Metropolitan area has left me with some rather interesting hypothesises. For those of you who don't know (which I'm assuming is none of you, since probably the only people reading this are people I'm friends with) I am a chubby, generally cheerful, socially awkward black girl who suffers from a caustic stew of mental problems. (ADHD and Depression being the big ticket items. They're like, the the bleach and vinegar to my mental chlorine gas.) So, putting me in a small, building with three, young, skinny, pretty, likely fairly well adjusted white girls is bound to leave me feeling kind of awkward.

They were the happy, cheerful kind of girls that generally make me uncomfortable. Customer service should never be so upbeat.

Anyway, I was at an animal rescue in Old City. There were these girls, two adorable Pit Bull mixes, and fifty bajillion cats. Yes, that is a real number. It's hidden between fifty-two and fifty-three. Anyone who knows me knows what I was drawn to, but for those who don't, there was a freaking adorable Pit/Lab mix puppy that just pissed all over the floor of its very nice kennel that I wanted to hug and love and never let go. The problem now was, I needed permission to go into the kennel. That meant I had to talk to Peppy McHappycheer. The conversation went uncomfortable quickly.

"Hey, I wanted to know if I was allowed to check out that little black Pit pup in the back kennel."

"Oh yeah! You just have to make sure you stay in there for at least fifteen minutes."

"Oh, yeah, I know. I used to volunteer here. A few times...a couple years ago. Then I moved out of town. Um, but I moved back now."

"Mhm..."

-long, awkward pause, filled with Jazzy pacing the rescue-

"I, um, I'm just waiting for my boyfriend-doohickey to come back."

-Peppy McHappycheer gives a look like I just said I had sex with Stalin and enjoyed it-

"Shit...um...where is he?"

Yes, Jazzy has the magical ability of breaking happy people by making them think they're dealing with a psychopath. Can any of YOU do that without trying? Yeah, didn't think so.

How to be an Attention Whore (an editorial written in my high school days, with minor edits)

How to be Attention Whore:
The Complete Cohesive Guide to Being a Total Media Whore, Trend Follower, and Attention Seeker
By: Jazzy Quicksilver

How to Look the Part.

Looking like an attention whore is at least 50% of being one. In fact, if you look like an attention whore, you may, in fact one, or are on your way to becoming one. Male and female attention whores normally dress in different ways, however. And if you are going to dress like one, one needs to know the proper accessories.

Male vs. Female Dress
There are many variations of dress in the attention whore community, from the skanky, to the slutty, to the raunchy…but, seeing that they all tend to mean the same thing, we can focus on one faucet of the primary female attention whore attire. To be a proper attention whore, a girl may wear revealing tops and bottoms. The shirt must be cut low enough that one looking upon said female, would nearly be able to see said female's nipples. It must also be cut high enough to show said female's flawless abdomen, even if said flawless abdomen is not flawless, but rather, quite flawed. The proper attention whore also tends to be a Media Whore (media whore – a person who depends on the media to dictate their life, their thoughts, and their actions, commonly confused with the Trend Whore.), so, while wearing the previously stated outfit, the proper attention whore will be found with her friends, talking aboutthe OC or One Tree Hill, or with the person that said female dotes upon. A proper attention whore must flaunt everything that she has, even if it is nothing at all. She will commonly stick her breasts in said person's face, or drop something. The correct way to drop something is to not actually drop it, but, drop it in a cute way. Then, the proper attention whore will choose from two acceptable actions: making it seem like an "accident" or, bending over just right so that the rear is in perfect sight of the person of interest. This is the function of only one type female attention whore's clothing, however. These other types are popular with both male and female attention whores.

Faux-punk/ faux-goth – Better known as "those who live in Hot Topic", these two are quite similar. They only buy their clothing from Hot Topic, as well as jewelry, bags, hats, and other accessories.

Faux-emo – These attention whores tend to look like Rivers Cuomo (Weezer), and are often found foaming at the mouth over the musical and fashion styling of groups like Dashboard Confessional and MCR.

"Vote for Pedro" – Pedro shirt? Check. Pedro hat? Check. Pedro g-string? Check. If it isn't Napoleon Dynamite, it isn't worth wearing.

Male attention whores, on the other hand, are more commonly either one of the above factions, or, the hard to pull-off "I'm Not an Attention Whore" which is normal, everyday clothing. If a male wants to pull of this difficult style of whoredom he has to have the correct attitude of being one, or else, he will fail at being an attention whore, and will be looked down upon as a normal, average, individual.

How to Act the Part
Attention Whores will do just about anything to be noticed. They may run around, beating things with sticks and singing loudly while the people around them are trying to get perfectly plausible work done, they may moon a crowd in an assembly, flash a group on Mardi Gras, or simply be anywhere where there is a definite spotlight. Either way, there are particular ways to go about being noticed.

The Slutty vs. the Non-Slutty Approach
The slutty approach normally has more to do with physical appearance. The attention whore must think highly of their own physical beauty, even if said physical beauty is nonexistent. This approach is usually best done whilst intoxicated by some legal or illegal substance, and ideally will lead to an appearance on a "Girls/Guys Gone Wild" –esque show. The ideal slutty attention whore will behave in a matter seen above, wearing said attention whore clothes, and is very willing to show any part of their body. Male slutty attention whores, better known as man-whores, are always willing to show their bodies as well, and are frequently seen running around topless, even in frigid temperatures. These attention whores are ideally in better shape than most will be in their entire life, and tend to obsess over their muscles and bodies. The attention whore may also fall into the conception that a person of interest of the opposite sex will be more attracted to them if they make out with a member of the same sex, even if they have no attraction to said member of the same sex.

The non-slutty approach, on the other hand, is better known as the annoying kid approach, where said attention whore acts like a moron or a person that forgot to take their ADHD medication. To do this, an attention whore must be willing to do nearly anything to be noticed, from walking on balcony railings, to banging on pianos with drumsticks, to streaking, mooning, blowing things up, anything that gets noticed is fair game. These attention whores are normally either the "Vote for Pedro" or "I'm Not an Attention Whore" breed of attention seekers.

Introductions to Your Humble Narrator

I don't know when exactly I was considered an adult. It just kind of happened. I wish there were some kind of initiation ritual or something, but it was honestly just: "Hey, you're out of college. Have fun in Grown-up Land!"

Thus the name of the blog.
                                                        

So, who am I? Good question, glad I asked it. I am a recent college grad and an aspiring author by the name of Jazzy Quicksilver. No, that's not my real name, even if I wish it were, but it's close enough. I didn't go to college for anything practical or useful, like for a BSA or an Engineering or Education degree. Nope. I went to school for Art.

And so the search begins; for work, for friends, for lodging of my very own. So far I've been out of college for less than a month, and no luck with anything so far. Not that I was really expecting anything different.

Well, let me stop getting sidetracked. I should continue the introduction instead of ramble on. First, let me show you the players of this game that is my silly little life.

PLAYER ONE:

The Artist: Jazzy Quicksilver

1. She has tired, defeated eyes typical of a disillusioned former art student.
2. Littered with tattoos and piercings. Four tatts and counting.
3. Flabby belly typical of a gamer.
4. Failhawk hair – part-time punk.

PLAYER TWO:

The Boyfriend: Boy Sam

1. Kind of looks like Shaggy Doo.
2. Droopy eyes, always cheerful. Painfully optimistic.
3. General Scientist. Cool when you're a kid. Silly as an adult. He doesn't give a crap.
4. Tall, skinny, enviable metabolism. * shakes fist *

PLAYER THREE:

The Tank: Anders (aka Dread Kitty)

                                   

1. Fifteen pounds of fluffy, grey, super staticky fur.
2. He does not want your silly cheeseburgers.
3. Has identity issues. Thinks he's a dog. Thinks he's a cat. Maybe he's a...CatDog?!

*Please don't sue me, Nickleodeon! I'm really poor!

You got it all? Yeah, I didn't particularly think so. Don't worry, you will one of these days. Now that I've gotten that out of the way...well, I'm not particularly sure what to do next.

Um... you'll hear from me soon, I suppose.

Bye?