Do People Still Think College Kids with iPads Are Douchebags? Did They Ever?

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I graduated from college over two years ago now. But sometimes it feels like much longer. I mean, it seems like so much technologically has changed in that time. To put it in perspective, the summer before college started, I was using your typical Samsung flip phone. Then I graduated to something new, which I thought was revolutionary. My freshman year, I got one of those slide out keyboard phones. And I thought it was SO COOL at the time. And how did I know that? Because Blair was using the same one on Gossip Girl. And I watched that show AT LEAST twice.

My sophomore year, I got my first touch screen phone. It was an HTC Envy, and that thing was the bee’s knees. (And people who actually say “that was the bee’s knees” are probably rolling their eyes at this entire post, but that’s beside the point.) That’s when touch screen phones really started to take off, and my lousy HTC was uncool in a matter of months.

Finally, my senior year, I upgraded to a slightly larger touch screen phone, the Samsung Galaxy S2. Which, in all honesty, is probably better than my current iPhone.

My general point here is, things were changing pretty rapidly in the whole cellphone realm. And in other areas, too. I remember when the iPad came out, I thought it was the most useless piece of shit you could ever spend $500 on. People would chuckle (maybe scowl is a better word, here) at the students who brought their iPads to class, and set them up on a little stand to take notes on. Sure, we were attending the third largest University in Wisconsin, but if you had that kind of money, in all honesty, why weren’t you attending Madison like the rest of us wanted to?

But that was two years ago. What would I see if I went back and roamed my alma mater today? Would I still see the Ugg booted, Columbia jacket-wearing girls and LMFAO-listening guys? Probably not. But what about the iPad useres? Would there be more Apple screens glowing in the dimly-lit seats of the lecture halls? And would people still be mocking those kids like they used to, or would they be pulling out their own iPads, sitting down and having a normal, everyday class?

If I can go from a flip phone, to a now out-of-date iPhone 4s in four years, it kinda makes me wonder what else is coming. And after mocking the iWatch for a while, will we inevitably find ourselves waiting hours for one outside a sparkling Apple store? Who can say?

I just hope when I set foot on campus for the first time since leaving next month, I’ll at least see something more entertaining to blog about than technology.

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We’re All (Point) Dumed

photo 4 For the past few weekends, I’ve been flocking to the beach. Like any other midwesterner, I’m still enthralled by the whole experience. I guess growing up around lakes will do that to you. But this past weekend, we thought we’d try something new, and so instead of just going to our usual spot at Zuma Beach in Malibu, we drove a little farther down to Point Dume. It’s a gorgeous rock face that forms the northern end of the Santa Monica Bay. After a short drive and a $12.50 parking fee, we were surprised at the seclusion of Point Dume Beach. The short shoreline was dotted with people, but when we walked down a little ways, we were pretty happy to find a long stretch of shoreline all to ourselves. photo 1   We laid our towels down and relaxed in the sun for a while, dipping our toes every now and then. But what prevented me from having the full on beachy experience was one of my irrational fears of swimming in the ocean. I’m not sure why, but this summer I’ve been too uneasy about getting in the water, out where the waves break. I’m not used to swimming in the ocean, and when I tried it earlier this summer, it didn’t pan out too well. I mean, nothing catastrophic happened, but it was enough to make me want to get out. As soon as I got about chest-deep, each passing wave took my breath away. The waves grew and grew until I felt like I had no control over myself and had to get out, which is, of course, not entirely true. I guess that’s where my irrational fear began, and I haven’t gotten in since. So, on this gorgeous summer day, with the sun beating down and the sound of the waves breaking and washing up onto the sand, I was unable to join my boyfriend in the sparkling blue waves. And I felt pretty lame. He kept asking why I wasn’t coming in, and I kept spouting off all this worry wart bullshit, like “A wave is gonna break over my head and get water up my nose,” or “The undercurrent is going to pull me down and I won’t be able to come up,” or “I’ll crack my head on a rock and you won’t know I’m drowning,” and a bevy of other excuses for not doing something a 6-year-old could do: get in the ocean. v And that got me thinking about all my other irrational fears that really make no sense. Like how when I’m on an airplane that’s taking off, my only thought is that this is definitely, positively, my last fleeting day on Earth, because at any moment we could go down in a fireball of twisted metal. Or if I go to the Westfield mall without makeup on, I’m going to get so many patronizing and diminishing stares that I’ll never be able to love myself again. Or that the centipede on the wall of the bathroom is going to fall off, scuttle along the floor, crawl up my pant leg, up my shirt and into my hair, where it will be forever burrowed. Maybe my issue is, I never want to be out of control of myself. I want to control the way I look, by slathering a bunch of makeup on before I can feel good about myself while going to shop for jeans with my boyfriend. I want to control the things around me, like by not entering a room if a spider is in it. And on a perfect summer day without a care in the world, I won’t get in the gorgeous Pacific Ocean because I’m afraid of getting swept away by a wave, ten feat from the shore. As the sun started to go down and a cooler breeze picked up, we packed our beach towels, slid our sandy feet into our flip flops and headed back to the car. But before we left, we decided to check out Point Dume. People were standing on top of it and looking out over the water, and there were even people rock climbing up the face. We walked up a short path to the top, but kept going. We followed the sandy path until eventually we got a gorgeous view of the coast on the other side of the point. The golden light of the late afternoon was giving everything that storybook feel. After turning back, we walked out onto Point Dume, which stands about one hundred feet above the waves. The sheer drop was a little intimidating, but I couldn’t help but feel pretty great standing up there with the wind in my face and an amazing view of a secluded cove below. photo 2 So, why is it I feel fine standing on a rock face without a fence or barrier, but I’m too afraid to swim in the goddamned ocean? Irrational fears can take over, and ruin a lot of fun situations. A relaxing plane ride. A bathroom with a bug on the wall. Or a fun day at the beach. So maybe, just maybe, this summer I’ll step out into the water and forget about what I can’t control. I said maybe. d

Car Crashes & Killer Smoothies

photo 1Back in January I was involved in a car accident that totaled my VW Rabbit, and miraculously, my smoothie survived. Let me back up.

When I first moved out to Los Angeles, I bought this trusty* set of wheels (*later revealed to be not-so-trusty.) She was a 2000 Chevy Metro, and my dad and I drove her all the way from Mt. Horeb, Wisconsin to Pasadena, California. I bought her for the low, low price of $3,500 with an auto loan I took out from my local credit union.

I was super excited to be moving on from my 1992 Honda Accord to a brand new (to me) car, especially one that was going to take me all the way to my new home in the City of Angels. And when I finally arrived, my Chevy navigated me through LA traffic with the utmost of ease (albeit without air conditioning.)

But when it came time to get my California plates, it was time for the dreaded mandatory smog test, which, alas, my Chevy would not pass. I was then faced with the impossibly expensive task of deciding to fix my car (by replacing the ENGINE for Christ’s sake) or buying an entirely new car. And rather than fix my beloved Chevy, I chose the equally daunting task of finding a new car. photo 2

I was still paying off the Chevy, mind you, when I decided upon the newest car I’d ever driven and subsequently decided to buy… my glistening silver 2007 VW Rabbit. I was ecstatic. I felt like a million bucks driving that thing, although I had no idea how I was going to afford the monthly car payments and insurance. But I didn’t care. I loved that Rabbit.

But as they say, all good things must come to an end. And whoever invented that saying really fucked us all over by doing so, don’t you think?

Four months later, on the morning of January 28th, I was driving to work at around 6:23 am. I came around the bend of the 101 freeway, and subsequently smashed into the back of a car which was stopped in the slow lane. There was a four car chain reaction. The force from driving 55 miles per hour into the back of a Dodge Magnum crumpled the entire front of my beloved Rabbit, gave me pretty bad whiplash, not to mention some major seat belt burn. photo 3

Fuck.

Everyone was alright, although a bit shaken up, as we waited by the side of the road for what seemed like ages, shivering and making stressed out small talk. Finally, a tow truck took me home, and my Rabbit to a mechanic.

To make a long story short, I ended up being fine, but my car was totaled, and I was found to be at fault for the accident. I was going to be paying big time.

Not only do I work 23 miles from home and was now without a vehicle, but I was faced with the possibility of being slapped with a lawsuit.

I remember going to the mechanic where my Rabbit was sitting pathetically in the lot, and checking out the damage. It was pretty scary to look at, and the mechanics were actually surprised I made it out alive. But probably the most ironically funny thing that happened was when I opened the door of my crushed vehicle.

Miraculously, the smoothie I had made that morning and was taking to work, was still in the cupholder, completely undisturbed from the accident. Which proves only one thing. Volkswagen’s miraculous German engineering not only saved my life in a high speed crash, but it also saved the life of a healthy green smoothie, not a drop of which had spilled over the edge of the cup.

So, amidst the suckery of crashing a new car, and having to buy another one just four months later, I was able to smile at that undisturbed smoothie in my smashed up car’s cupholder.

Today, six months after the accident, I’m happy to report I’ve settled my insurance claim lawsuit-free, am completely unharmed, and have a brand new (to me) 2007 car. And you better believe it’s another VW. You can’t deny that kind of engineering. photo 4

Cherstagram

cher Cher is active on Instagram. I didn’t know that, but do you know who did know that? 115,834 people. That’s right, 115,834 people are a) Cher fans and b) on Instagram and following Cher on the social networking site. And that, for some reason, puzzles me.

I realize Cher was really big back in the day. She had the Sonny & Cher show in 1965, was a fashion icon, made her mark on Broadway and has since become known as a musical legend. Sure, most of that could be considered before my time, but I do remember the occasional Cher hit playing on a Weight Watchers commercial every now and then. And of course I recognize her importance in history.

I guess what surprised me so much about Cher’s Instagram wasn’t the fact that she had Instagram, but the sheer fact that her fans do. These days, celebrities who have any kind of social presence have already jumped on the Twitter and Instagram bandwagons. Heck, even Bob Saget has one. But usually the followers seem to be young, Kendall Jenner fan types. But I guess I was wrong.

When I think of Cher fans, I don’t necessarily picture young people. I picture 50-years or older female feminists who watched the Sonny & Cher Show and wore bell bottoms back in the day. And I just don’t picture those same people signing up on Instagram, following Cher and then commenting on her photos.

Sure, I like and respect Cher as much as any other Millennial should. But I guess I didn’t think she’d have the kind of global reach to Instagram users than I thought. After all, only 13% of Internet users have an Instagram account. Or is that a lot?

The more you know.

Approaching 25

10387566_10201968764532965_243794554693818239_nMy birthday is on Friday. And yeah, it’s one of those anniversary numbers. You know, like The Breakfast Club 25th Anniversary Collector’s Edition DVD Box Set. Or something. But no, it’s just Callie Mills, the 25th Anniversary of My Birth, Life Edition. Nobody really cares you’re turning 25, except you.

Nobody’s going to send me an “Over The Hill”-related joke card, and nobody’s going to take me out for a raging night out where I’ll get shitfaced andwear a crown. Nobody’s going to make me a cake with one hundred candles, and surely nobody will buy me a car. It’s just 25. And I don’t know how to feel about it.

On one hand, it means I’m out of my early twenties. My nonexistent career as a ballerina hasn’t peaked and isn’t on the down and out. I’m old enough to get married and it isn’t considered weird. But most of all, it’s too late for me to be a prodigy.

I guess I always thought I’d be a prodigy. And yeah, I know that sounds incredibly arrogant, but this is honesty hour. I remember thinking as soon as I graduated college, I’d move out to LA and immediately be hailed as the greatest young writer of our time. I’d move out to LA, and as soon as my internship was over, I’d be hired right away because everyone would suddenly realize they need the next female Tarantino on their staff because, well, that’s a no-brainer right? I’d have that unmistakable talent that would set me apart right off the bat, because my college professors loved me.

I used to look at Lena Dunham and Mindy Kaling, who were 26 when they began writing for their respective shows, and think, that will be me. No doubt. I guess that gives me a year.

Maybe it’s because my parents loved me too much. I didn’t have one of those neglected childhoods that all the great writers seemed to have. Maybe I got patted on the head a few too many times, and it ended up damaging my brain.

But I’m not even working in the industry, and I’ve been in Los Angeles for two years.

Here are some things I knew before coming here, but I actually fully realize now: nobody is going to hand me a job. Sitting at home waiting for things to happen doesn’t do anything. And just because you live in LA doesn’t mean you go to the beach all the time.

So as I approach my 25th birthday, these things are running through my mind. I don’t want to miss out on my dreams. I don’t want to be writing about Kim Kardashian’s latest Instagram picture in five years and pretending to be enthusiastic about it. I want to be doing what I always dreamed I’d be doing, no matter if I’m 25 or 45 when it finally happens.

25 isn’t old, and it isn’t that young, either. But if you tell me age is just a number, you should probably take into account the fact that I failed multiple math classes.

I’m not giving up on my goals. But I’m going to hang up that prodigy stuff. Nobody needs their younger self hovering over them like a fucking fly.

So, I’m going to Disneyland on Friday. Because sometimes you just need an overpriced hotdog and some fireworks.

If I Had Fashion Sense This Summer

Summer is a time to get those sweaters outta here and embrace the loose-fitting, comfortable warm weather garb.
Although I’ve gotta admit, I love cold-weather clothes, I’m ready to get the shorts out and give my body some room to breathe.
I’m a fan of everything comfortable. Usually when I get home from work, I slip into a soft maxi-skirt or leggings and that’s how I stay for the rest of the night. So this summer, ahem… if I had a fashion sense, these are the things I could definitely see myself wearing.
I’m a big fan of the French Wardrobe. It’s the idea of having a slimmed-down closet, if you could call it that. It’s the principle of having a solid foundation of basic pieces, and then buying no more than five new pieces for each season. It’s supposed to keep the unnecessary clothes and clutter out of your way. And while I haven’t quite mastered this principle, I’m willing to try.
Below are my five picks for this summer. I think they reflect my own style, and comfort, while also staying timeless. In other words, I could go back next summer and wear these again, or even wear them for different seasons by pairing them with different items in my wardrobe, and different accessories. Plus, I’m a lover of neutral colors that can fit any occasion while not being boring. And you can always spice things up with some colorful flats or a bright necklace.
You can click on the caption below each piece to find it online.
  So, what’s on your summer wish list?
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Instagram: It’s not just for #selfies anymore.

Ask anyone who follows me on Instagram (@thecalliefox) and they’ll tell you mine has dramatically shifted from shameless selfies and pictures of sunsets to something a little more different. It’s weird to talk about, because I wouldn’t consider myself a photographer in any sense of the word, but I’ve enjoyed taking photos more and more that don’t fall under the typical girly Instagram stereotype.
What I mean is, I’ve been really getting into following more interesting and well thought-out Instagram accounts. I put some of my favorite pictures in here to give you a little idea of what I mean.
This has really become a fun little hobby of mine.  There’s something addicting about finding new users to follow, each with their own style and landscape they typically take pictures of. And there’s something comforting in the fact that everyone is pretty much equal, in the sense that we’ve all just got our iPhones… not some big fancy Canons.
I took a photography class in high school (like everyone else), and I never thought taking pictures with an iPhone could be any kind of art form. But lately, I’ve been changing my mind about that. Below are some of my own snaps.
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My Essentials For A Night In

 

 

I might not have the grueling schedule of Angelina Jolie, or the incredibly harsh working hours of a presidential aide, but getting up at 5:30 every morning has been new. I’ve had a variety of jobs that differ than your typical nine to five, but this one is seven to three. And I have to get up at 5:30 since I have about an hour drive to get to and from work every day. This has made my weeknights a little rough, because I’m super tempted to just pass out at eight, but since Kevin doesn’t get home from work until seven, I want to stay up later. 

So, when I need to relax and unwind for the night, I’ve got a few things that tend to settle down my mind and help me turn the volume down on the day. I start by showering, washing my face, and putting on a mask. The current one I’m trying is this super scientific-sounding one from Eclos. It says it has plant stem cells, so I guess it sounded green enough to attract me. Like most clay masks, it hardens after about ten or fifteen minutes, and when I wash it off with warm water, my face feels super smooth and clean. It’s pretty good at getting rid of flaky patches here and there, and giving you that cleaned out pores feeling. 
 
The lotion I’ve been loving is this one from LUSH. I’ve been hearing people rave about this place for a while, and was really looking forward to checking out one of their stores when I first moved to Los Angeles. I’ve gotta admit, when I first walked into the shop, I was intrigued by the stark black packaging and handwritten-like white fonts. The aroma of fresh soaps and bath bombs floated through the air, and I knew I was gonna love that place. But when I checked out the prices, I almost choked on my gum (kidding, I don’t really chew gum). Nonetheless, I was determined to buy a quality body lotion, even if it was a little bit overpriced. The one I picked is this one, called Dream Cream. It boasts a calming blend of oat milk, lavender and chamomile, and to be honest, I can’t really think of a more relaxing combination of ingredients. It’s like sipping tea from the warm bath in a cottage nestled in the hills of England. Or something. It’s really thick, and great for the body. 
Speaking of tea, I’ve been trying to make a point to expand my collection. I’m not a huge tea drinker, maybe because I just forget I have it. But I am a fan of green and English breakfast. But when those get a little too bland for my liking, I like to spice things up. One of my favorites is the Peppermint tea from Trader Joe’s but I was at Whole Foods the other day and a new one caught my eye. It’s this one, from Whole Foods, called Sleepytime Peach. I’m a fan of their Sleepytime variety, since it doesn’t really make sense to have a caffeinated tea after dinner. What I like about it is, it isn’t too sweet, but not too mild. It has a hint of peach and is just all around really refreshing and pleasant. 
Finally, I’ll relax with a good book, do some writing, or peruse one of my favorite blogs. One of my favorites is EssieButton. She and her boyfriend Aslan live in England, and they also have a really great Youtube channel. Sometimes I fantasize about moving to London and buying an apartment just to fill it with Scandinavian furniture, like their really cute place. I just love their interactions, and sometimes they’ll record their weekend trips to various museums and markets. 
 
Getting up early isn’t nearly as bad when I’ve had a nice, relaxing night where I can wind down and treat myself to some of these things. But as far as falling asleep at 9:30 on a Friday night? Well, that’s something that can’t really be stopped. 

Coachella 2014: At-Home Edition

I went to Coachella for the first time last year, and it’s safe to say it was a once in a lifetime kind of thing. You know, that free feeling of having no responsibilities for three days while listening to a multitude of bands with thousands of other people with a backdrop of gorgeous mountains.
But surprisingly, on the final day when we began driving home (in the middle of a dust storm, actually) I found myself thinking, “I’d be okay with only doing this once.”
I even passed up waiting until the exact moment that tickets for this year’s festival went on sale. I just kept thinking I’d be fine not going again.
But when the lineup was announced and I realized that it actually looked much better to me than last year’s lineup was, I started thinking maybe, just maybe, I secretly wanted to go again this year.
I think the real regret started sinking in when thi
s year’s festival began creeping up. I follow the Coachella facebook page, and they began posting photos of the gorgeous green polo fields being set up with stages, tents and strings of balloons and that endless blue sky. And I’ve gotta say, it added to my regret. And when photos of Coachella began popping up on my Instagram feed when day one began, my full-on jealousy took over.
I pictured myself having one of my normal, laid back weekends like I usually do, and comparing it to that free spirited, all-out amazing weekend I’d had one year ago. I really wished I’d bought tickets.

But to my surprise, things took a turn last night. Kevin and I went out to one of our favorite Thai places, bought some Ben & Jerry’s (Everything But The…) and headed home. We switched on the Coachella live YouTube stream, and wondered if it would just make us more sad that we weren’t there. But to our surprise, the opposite happened. We watched Outkast play their first show in years, all from the comfort of our own apartment. We weren’t straining to see over crowds and crowds of sweaty people. We could hear the entire show perfectly. And for once in days, I was glad I wasn’t there.
I wasn’t holding the urge to pee because I didn’t want to wade through the crowds to wait in line at a porta-potty. I wasn’t battling fatigue because the night before I’d stayed up all night waiting to get into the campgrounds. And my feet weren’t killing me from walking around all day, getting a sunburn.
I was on my bed, eating ice cream with my boyfriend, and watching an Outkast show. And I was perfectly happy.

Tina Fey Should Be The Next Host of The Late Show

David Letterman has been on the air longer than any late night host there is. And aside from the occasional Craig Ferguson, the only late night host I watched growing up. (That could have been simply because CBS was the only channel that came in clearly on our family TV, but that’s beside the point.) There’s no denying a late night hosting gig on CBS every night after the nightly news wouldn’t be one of the most sought-after position by big name actors and comedians alike.

There’s been a lot of talk about why there aren’t any women hosting late night shows. Chelsea Handler is the exception here, but considering E! isn’t one of the major networks, it’s a little different. I’d like to cast my vote for who should be take over for The Late Show: Tina Fey. And here are my reasons.

She’s got the background. Having started out in Chicago’s Second City improv group, Fey’s got the improv skills needed to be a host. And considering she was hired as a writer for SNL shortly after, there’s no doubt her show would be funny and have the potential to run for a long time. This is someone who was a head writer for one of the funniest, longest-running comedy shows ever. And can we talk about the Weekend Update? Jimmy Fallon and Seth Meyers, both of whm are now late night hosts themselves, started out co-anchoring the SNL segment with Fey. Which brings me to my next point.

We’ve seen her host. Aside from the Weekend Update, a staple segment of SNL, she and Amy Poehler brought humor to The Golden Globes that I haven’t seen in a long time. And I’m not the only one who thinks so. Since first hosting the awards show with Amy this year, the two were even asked back to host it again in 2015, and I really don’t see anyone complaining.

And can we talk about all the other awesome things Tina has done? She created 30 Rock, which has won 11 Emmys (nominated for 57. Yeah, 57.) Mean Girls, which can now be called a cult-classic,
other various films, and more.

So, is she busy or something? Call her up. This is my bid for Tina Fey as the new host of The Late Show. Let’s bring women into late night television.