This semester has been one of the most useful semesters of my life. The memory theatre has not only been academically enhancing, but has also imnproved my daily life. At work, my memory theatre has helped me remember customer's orders as well as their names. Before this class, I could honestly say that I could not remember anything, or anything for very long. I still have a bit of trouble with names and faces, but no where near as much as I did before.
This class has been so much more than academic, to me. Being around equally fasinated classmates and under the instruction of Dr. Sexan has truely been a pleasure. I hope that I am fortunate enough to take a course from the inspiring professor. Thanks for giving me something to be obsessed with.
I have to say, though, Kublai Khan kicked my butt.

Gas Station Angel

A moment in my life that I can recall thinking that I will never forget was last summer when I decided to venture off to California for a week. I had saved up a bunch of money in my bank accout and had also brought a large quantity of cash with me for gas and other expenses. But by the time I had arrived at a gas station in Nevada, I realized that I had left my debit card at home... Gas cash was running low, and I had about $175 for the rest of the way to my destination, Marina Del Rey, where my hotel was (no debit card for the hotel room, either...). By my calculations, gas should've barely lasted me until I reached my hotel, if I didn't take any detours. However, being that I am a female with horrible directional recources, that didn't happen. Two wrong exits later, I was beginning to panick. My parents had located my debit card and read me the numbers, but nowhere would accept that form of payment without some sort of identification proving that was my debit card. It was time for gas. I pulled in somewhere in Los Angeles attempting to use my debit card numbers, and that was a no go. I was SOL. Driving away, I was thinking of what to do until I was shipped a new debit card. Right as I began thinking that I should find a Walmart so I could sleep, as it was one in the morning, I turned into another gas station. I don't know what I was thinking, in fact, I don't even know that I thought about what I was doing as I turned the steering wheel. I pulled in to the fill up and sat there for a second. I didn't know what I was doing. Nowhere was going to accept my card numbers. Nowhere. But, I went inside to ask if they would. The cashier was a younger, blonde lady. I explained my situation to her and she listened with intent, wide, brown eyes. Right as I ended my story, I could feel tears well up in my eyes as I realized that she wasn't going to accept my card numbers. And right then, the cashier turned around to her purse and grabbed her wallet. I remember that specific, understanding, kind, gracious look on her face as she told me that her husband is a doctor, and she doesn't need the money, she just works there to pass the time. She put twenty dollars in my tank. Considering I drove a '97 Dodge Neon, twenty dollars was more than enough to get to my destination. I gave her a hug, the type of a hug you would give your mother after she smashed a spider when you are little. As I drove off the gas station lot, I had this feeling, like a feeling I had never had before, that I had just seen an angel. I began to cry.

Trap Doors

The last time I put my memory theatre to use was when I dispursed my prefixes. In doing so, I used a "trap door" into a non existant basement. This imaginary room was very useful because it gave me spaces to store however much information I needed. However, after a while, it became a bit difficult as the imaginary room was pitch black, and items began to disappear within. It would be interesting to look into this "trap door" situation and figure out a way to make things easier to see. I have the 9 characteristics from Ong to memorize still, so I would like to explore the world of trap doors further.

Prefixes!

So, I have decided that memorizing prefixes is extremely difficult. I feel as though I may as well be memorizing poetry. I have sat here in this very spot with my notebook and pen going through my parent's basement dispursing items whose purposes seem to be forgotten as soon as I set them down. It is quite tricky trying to associate "Ob" with "blocking" and some sort of memorable furnature along with it. But, I must say, with out the memory theatre situation, I would have been a goner at ten words. Maybe there is a trick for each type of word to be memorized...? I hope to have this figured out by the end of the semester. But for now, I am enjoying the challenge of my newly discovered memory.

My list of 51 things turns out to be 25 prefixes and their meanings. They are as follows:
A - not
Ab - away
Ad - increase
Ante- before
Be- completely
Com- with
Contra- against
De- down
Dia- accross
En- put into
Hemi- half
Hypo- under
Infra- below
intra- inside
Ob- blocking
Peri- round
Semi- partly
Sub- lower
Sym- in union
Ultra- bveyond
Un- not
Under- below
Op- against
Col- jointly
Abs- from

Vanishing Magic

 I wish it was easy to "become as children", so many problems would be solved. The days when the mailbox was a ride-up ATM, where my neighbor's sparkly lawn rocks were rare, expensive gems and when the only boy who needed me was Beary the berry colored Teddy-bear. Why was it so much easier back then? I was thinking to myself today, "What would happen if I were to see the world through lenses of my little self? Would life be easier? Would it make things more clear?" This is going to be my project for the upcoming week. And you know what? I bet it is going to be like a mini vacation. Boys won't matter, money won't matter, life should be pretty much black and white. I am going to watch a couple Disney movies, eat a bunch of macaroni and cheese with little hot dog pieces, but most of all, I am going to embrace the magic that we all forget is here - the magic that we, for some reason, think we are no longer entitled to. Maybe Christopher Robin will bring Pooh Bear along for the ride.

Fairy Tales Aren't Just For Taylor Swift

Ahh, the fairy tale. This is such a wonderful, forgotten concept that many people, besides children and Taylor Swift, seem to overlook because they are "too old". I wish it didn't have to be this way. We live in a world of "what is the point of stories that aren't even true" where we stuff Santa Clause and Mickey Mouse into a box in the crevices of our mind to decompose by their lonesome because we ought to make room for "reality". This is sad. These are the creatures who shaped and molded our little minds to perceive the world in the happiest ways possible. I find that at the root of my desires, is a fairy tale in "grown-up" form waiting for me. Think about it. We all want sucess. Who ended up with the sucess in the end of all these stories? The hero/heroine of the fairy tale. We all want love. Who ended up with love in the end? The hero/heroine of the fairy tale. We all want happiness. Who lived hapily ever after? You guessed it. I wish I could sit down and be hypnotized and be put into a place where I was little again, where fairy tales are prominate, and "world" is just a word Mom refers to. But I guess that is what books are for.

I am beginning to love this whole memory theatre thing. I memorized the 12 tribes of Isreal in about 20 minutes, which is incredible for me considering I have the WORST memory ever. Anyways, this is my memory theatre:
When you walk up the stairs, you run into a reuban sandwich and a glass of water where I used to leave my dirty dishes for maid service to pick up (...mom). Across the hallway is the bathroom where Levi and Simeon are chilling with a bottle of hydrogen Peroxide. I imagine Levi as a gigantic pair of jeans and Simean as a big red cinnamon human being. In my little sister's room is a stuffed animal lion on her bed and his name is Judah. On the floor, among a collaboration of Lego creations, is a Lego ship, where we are introduced to Zebulan. At the window, is my little sister, at about age five, is pointing and saying, "Iss a car, iss a car!" while wearing a donkey hat, which, of course, is Issacar who means donkey. In my old bedroom is Dan who is sniffing my diry underware...and his special name is "snake". He is standing over Gad who means "trampoled on". In my mother's room is Asher who means "rich" because that is where my grandmother used to stay when she stayed with us....she smokes, so she would ash her ciggs there, too. On the wall is an aweful plack of my step-dad's, which is in the form of a "humorous" deer holding Neptune's septor. And that is Nephtalia. In my mother's closet is Joseph eating grapes, because his name means "fruitful bows", and Bennjamin is jumping up and down in a "Team Jacob" T-shirt because he means "wolf".

Brother Dearest

I definately had to laugh when the topic of cruel sibling names came up. I used some pretty awesome names for my big brother growing up, but not so much for my little sister (I pretty much only called her big-head....which wasn't a lie, in my defense). In fact, I think it struck me as particularly funny because not even three days ago, I texted my brother and offered him a big, juicy, "Hey f*&$ face, what's up?" and when he didn't answer, he got an endearing, "Hey, homo f%$@. Answer me." I find it rather funny because he is such a straight-edged chum. When I use vulgar language it gets the BIGGEST rise out of him.... he gets so upset! Its the best. I think harrassing him was my favorite past time growing up... I can't remember specifically what I used to say to him back in the day, but I know I loved pushing his buttons. But he was a sh*t head (sorry about the word choice. I did think about an alternative word, but nothing was quite as fitting) back when I was just a tater tot...he used to pull me off the couch by my feet and my head would smack the floor. He thought it was hilarious. He was so much bigger than me, all I could do was get under his skin. And even today, I know that he is always going to love me no matter what, so it really doesn't matter what I call him....so I think he can just deal with f&*^ face. Or else.

I don't have an epithet, yet. I have been bouncing potential ideas off my off-white, poorly puttied bedroom boundaries and wonder aloud why, oh, why, have I not come up with an epithet for myself? How is it that "Grace" is so hard to attach complimentary words to? So,  I sit here on my messed up and rather green bedding imagining a picknic get-a-way as plush as my covers and far away from the woodland troll creatures of clothing who have seemingly swollowed my bedroom floor and wonder to myself if my ever journying thoughts could be the reason for my lack of thinking success. Maybe this is the reason I am the last remainding Oral Traditions student without an epithet... It seems as though "Grace" would be one of the easier names to create an epithet for....or maybe one of the more difficult considering I refuse to be called "Amazing Grace", "Gracefulness", "Grace the not-so-graceful", etc. (I am a waitress; I hear them regularly... and I still have to smile and pretend I have never heard that one before). Maybe I should just go with something along the lines of Grace the epithetless. I think that would solve all our problems, and I could get back to lunch with Tigger and the seven dwarves.

Alright, thanks to the expertise of Rio, I have finally set up my blog.
First thing is first: my memory palace hosting the nine muses. Welcome to my head; here goes nothing.
Calliope is standing on a bar stool in the walkway of my parents house singing an epic song, garnished with a halo of poppy flowers and a ray of California sunshine encompasing her. Cleo is chillin on the couch decked out in her Elizabth Taylor Cleopatra gear giving Euterpa a wierd look for playing her ekulele in front of the T.V. Melpomone is dramatically passed out on the bathroom floor while Mel Gibson cries "Action" over her. Terpsicore is doing an interpretive dance down the hallway with an apple core. Erato is posing erotically on my brother's bed before I beat her ass. Across the hallway is my parent's room where three Polyhymnia sit on my mother's side of the bed reading the Bible and singing Psalms. In the closet is Urania hanging herself on one of those science fair models of the solar system while Thalia and I sit in airport chairs laughing at Urania's epic fail.
That was superisingly easier than I thought. It took me probably fifteen minutes to  memorize those, which is amazing because my memory is pretty much shot to Hell.