Like Mother, Like Daughter

Our fate is sealed. One time we happened upon our mothers choreographing a dance in a secluded hallway. They rule their world...and ours, and they won't ever let you forget it. Apart, they are each a force with which to be reckoned, but together, they are truly unstoppable. At this point in our young adult lives we have come to terms with, and cannot deny the fact that we are indeed Kristine Soffa and Abby Schor. It's a slow but inevitable progression that leaves us cringing at times and grateful at others. Gotta love 'em.

Free Nancy Sinatra Music | Free music ringtones at EZ-Tracks.com

Give Me a Tropical Contact High

We need to escape. Palm trees are necessary. Upon returning from some time off, receiving a compliment in regards to the browning of our skin is really quite the thrill. No need to be modest, we all know a good tan when we see it. We can all agree that everyone looks better with a healthy glow. This is precisely why we need an island.

A quaint little island, but our little island just the same. Our sun-kissed skin will have the opportunity to bask in the rays for fifteen hours a day. After retiring to our ocean view cottages, we will use the outdoor showers. We then will apply copious amounts of after-sun lotion, while sipping a crisp rose. We will also lounge in our robes and comb our hair. When we have had enough of that, we will dress for supper. We will enjoy our lobster, the obvious choice at the charming little place on the corner, accompanied by the "rhythm of a steel drum band." We will be welcomed home by a nice little bed time treat. We will then wake up, and do it all again.

This is our Kokomo. Everyone has her version of Kokomo...ours just happens to be the same. We live in a society in which the majority of our American lives is spent working. Who we are

is based on what we do. Why is it that our means for acquiring wealth becomes our defining characteristic? This imposition makes one long to get away. And this is how we know that all members of our culture have a Kokomo.

We were two-years-old in July of 1988. This was our introduction to The Beach Boys, and perhaps to Tan Culture itself. Despite our immaturity, we already knew: Kokomo is where we want to go. Kokomo represents the naivete of a culture embarking on a new decade of prosperity and Tom Cruise. The Cocktail soundtrack, which both of our families happened to own, was jam-packed with upbeat, idealistic tracks. Not only did the album ignite Bobby McFerrin fever, but Tutti Fruitti was featured as well. However, the stand out hit was The Beach Boy's ode to the perfect island. Although Kokomo only held the #1 spot on the U.S. Billboard charts for one week (it was prematurely replaced by Escape Club's obscure hit, Wild Wild West), it remains a world renowned phenomenon.

Unfortunately, our present state prevents us from enjoying our said Kokomo just yet. This is where summer comes in. It will only last until September, so embrace this special Kokomo while you can. In the summer months, Kokomo is everywhere. Don't let us down.

	The Beach Boys - Kokomo .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

Attempt #1:

18 with an attitude, 19, kinda snotty acting real rude

Picture it, 2005. As the first signs of spring emerge on the Skidmore College campus, the student population has come out of hibernation. It's a Skidmore we never knew existed; people are actually outdoors, interacting. We notice specimens we have never seen before, especially junior and senior boys. As freshmen girls, scantily clad in our in our preemptive summer digs, we are kids in a candy store. We've already written off any potential freshman or sophomore prospects (with the exception of a bangin' sophomore, who we fondly refer to as Conversion Van), and the newfound upperclassmen serve to fulfill our fantasies of Jordan Catalano. With an herbal refreshment, a freshly burned mix for cruisin' downtown Saratoga Springs, and sunglasses, we truly believe that we are the coolest people on campus. Just as the freshmen girls before us and the freshmen girls after us, we make the mistake that the school is ours.

A Friday in the Life:

10:30 am - Julia shuffles into Emily's dingle (a double room with only one occupant) to waken her friend in order to recap the previous night's antics.

10:33 am - Emily prepares a remedy for our hangovers.

10:37 am - Julia fills up her Nalgene.

10:45 am - We are in Black Beauty (Julia's dearly departed Volkswagon), listening loudly to Kanye West "We don't Care."

10:54 am - Finally at Uncommon Grounds, our very own Central Perk. We giggle at the prospect of having our favorite employee take our order. Julia orders an iced soy latte and an everything bagel toasted with Atlantic smoked salmon, capers, and lemon; Emily gets a cinnamon raison bagel toasted with a shmear of cream cheese and an iced coffee. We do not dare remove our sunglasses when ordering, as eye contact with anyone is definitely something in which we are not interested.

11:07 am - Julia complains that the smell of burnt bagels in Uncommon Grounds is penetrating her clothing and seeping into her hair, and insists that we sit outside. Emily doesn't mind because we can tan. And as Uncommon tends to be a watering hole for all Skidmore students, it is perfect for people watching.

11:09 am - Spotted: Education Jake entering Uncommon. A boy in our shared education class. He subsequently drops out of Skidmore two weeks later...however, we never stop referencing him. Emily wants to go to Walmart.

11:46 am - We leave the comfort of Black Beauty for the comfort of Walmart. Emily decides we need to buy more board games.

11:51 am - Julia misplaces her car keys.

11:53 am - Julia finds her car keys.

11:56 am - After discovering the easily accessible guns in the sporting goods section, and having a sociological breakdown, we run for our lives.

12:12 pm - We announce our presence on campus through the obnoxiously loud music thundering from Black Beauty.

12:18 pm - Although we do not have class and do not live on campus, we still believe it necessary to be there. We find a central location in which we can lounge, gigggle, and scope out the hotties.

12:51 pm - Spotted: Mick Nencia. Despite the fact that he is two years our senior, he is mercilessly subjected to our brazen senses of humor. He is notorious for hitting on unsuspecting freshmen girls, which we find ruthlessly hysterical. For some reason he never received a nick name. Five years from now he will still be a source of entertainment, and a possible victim of prank phone calls.

1:10 pm - After spying and heckling numerous characters and crushes, we decide we're exhausted.

1:21 pm - Nap time. We need some r & r, so we recline in Emily's bed to watch Doogie Howser, M.D. We remain on 4th floor of Moore Hall for the rest of the evening, considering that it is not our policy to go out on Friday nights.

What a day.

Nelly - Ride Wit Me

Found at: - FilesTube

Celebrate!

It has been one year since our extended Buzios, Brazil.

Yes

This song is the best...and not just because Johnny Castle and Baby like to listen to the record. The Ronettes are the cutest people ever.

1998-The Year of M.A.C.

7th grade was fun because ignorance is bliss. We never really knew how ugly we truly were until years later, when in retrospect, we had the clarity that allowed us to acknowledge the intensity of our awkwardness. We were, however, aware of 7th grade boys, and knew that we were not what they wanted. 7th grade boys like the 7th grade girls who look approximately two years older than the rest of their female counterparts. These girls, the "developed" girls, were not necessarily the nicest--the 7th grade hierarchy made them Queens, while we were merely court jesters. Even if you hung out with these girls and were considered "cool," once the boys were in sight, the cruelty of 7th grade set in. Resembling the little boy from "3rd Rock from the Sun" (yes, Joseph Gordon Levitt is, like, so totally hot NOW...) is not an easy feat when you're 13. Not to mention, looking like a chubby version of your little brother doesn't score you any points when you are mistaken for him at the middle school dance. Although we were out of touch with our appearance, at the same time we were consumed by it. Being 13 was difficult. Enter M.A.C. cosmetics.
We believed that by applying frosted white eye shadow, matching pink lipstick, and copious amounts of sparkles, we could deceive the population of 13-year-old boys into thinking we were Jenny McCarthy. We used M.A.C as a device to distract from our awkward, unappealing, 13-year-old selves...or so we thought. In reality, frosting ourselves only enabled us to live out our feudal sentence as entertainment for the popular masses. M.A.C. did not stop Lauren and Blair from spreading a rumor that Emily's mom shaved her legs for her. Nor did it stop Holly from refusing to share her sour lemon War Heads with "dork" Julia. Despite the fact that M.A.C. was not our Fairy Godmother, our tubes of lipglass served as a much needed security blanket for the harsh world that is 7th grade.

M.A.C., this 7th grade song is for you.

Celine Dion - Because You Love.. download at emp3

A Salute to Paul Newman

Dear Paul Newman,

We are sorry that you are no longer with us. Your absence has left a void in the world of devastatingly handsome men. Yes, we have our James Francos and Leonardo Dicaprios (both of whom happen to be in Emily and Julia's Top 5, respectively), but they lack a certain charm, leaving something to be desired: you. You are the reason that there are cliches about piercing blue eyes. You came from a time when mothers taught their sons to remove their hats when a lady entered the room, and hold the door as she left. You can sail a boat, turn a tree into a cabin, and let's face it...fighting the Nazis is hot, especially while a Marlboro Red dangles nonchalantly from your perfect pout. We know you are a respected actor, but this is not the reason we love you. In fact, we have seen very few of your films. To be honest, you could have become rich and famous on your looks alone. Your salad dressing is pretty good, but the fact that the label bares your image is what keeps us coming back for more; bravo to the marketing staff of Newman's Own. Even though we have been warned by our mothers to never accept a ride from a stranger, if you pulled up in your Datsun, nothing could stop us from getting in. And not to mention, having been nineteenth on Dick Nixon's enemy list only attracts us more. Are you purposefully trying to seduce little old us? Your philanthropy is adorable too. But at the end of the day we would really like to know how you aged so gracefully, all while maintaining the perfect tan...

We believe only the great Sir Tom Jones can express our feelings for you in words: Paul Newman, you can leave your hat on.

	tom jones - you can leave your hat on.mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

This is good

Thank you, Bill Clinton...

We do not feel like adults; we do not know how to be adults. We've been produced and packaged and shipped off by American idealism. We have completed sixteen years of prestigious private education, followed by four years at a small, liberal arts college. Just like our childhood friend, Eloise, we had grown accustomed to simply saying, "charge it please and thank you very much." We were fussed with and groomed to their liking, all to be pushed out of the Plaza Hotel and jolted by reality. We know we are lucky. However, right now our lives resemble a Monet: "from far away its okay...but up close, its just a big old mess." Two years out of college we are still lost, yet faced with rigid societal expectations about what we should be doing and who we should be. After fighting and avoiding our inevitable transition from adolescent to adult, we realize that in order to enjoy growing up, we must willingly let got of the past.

We are children of the prosperous 1990s. We are children of Bill Clinton, Ace of Base, and TGIF. We went on family vacations, received tricked-out American Girl dolls from our overindulgent grandparents, watched countless hours of Nickelodeon, and learned through MTV News that The Notorious B.I.G. had been shot. We expected eight gifts for Hanukkah, chatted incessantly on our personal telephone lines, and listened to Tragic Kingdom on repeat. We never knew a divided Germany, the USSR was a song by the Beatles, Elton John was always gay, and what was the Gulf War? As our generation has been particularly pampered and indulged, it is perhaps even more difficult for us to recognize and concede the fact that we must indeed leave the comfort of our childhoods behind and become adults.

Upon penetrating the “real world” and departing from our known selves, we are faced with many expectations from society with which we are only theoretically familiar. We are expected to marinate in the juices of our forefathers and live the "American Dream" by embracing the opportunities with which we are presented. We fantasize about our glory days, but in reality, the 90s are over. We have been blindsided by the weak dollar, the competitive and dwindling job market, and worldwide ecological and social turbulence. We bear the burden of satisfying and appeasing both societal and parental expectations, while struggling not to compromise our ideals and identities. With college far behind us, we are continuously harassed and advised about what to do with our adult lives. Society has imposed so much upon our generation, that we feel before we begin to mend what we have inherited, we must figure things out for ourselves. What does it mean to no longer be a child? Who are we in 2010?

We don’t pretend to know the answers, yet we can attest to the fact that we have spent the last two years trying to figure them out. After college graduation, we worked menial jobs and lived with our parents for the sole purpose of our South American Odyssey. We went, we had fun, we came back. Now, nine months after we have returned, we are no more enlightened or aware than we were before we left. Our allotted period for self-discovery has come to an end, along with our romanticized versions of our former selves. We realize that the lives we once lived are now an unattainable fantasy, a figment of the 1990s. Overwhelmed by our opportunities, yet stifled by the hemorrhaging global condition, we are puzzled. Our one certainty is that we are looking to be inspired. We are looking to “damn the man, save the empire,” but our inner monologue of uplifting 90s pop culture has greatly disillusioned us with its false promises. We know that our current state of confusion is not unique; every adult has gone through this transition, especially Lelaina Pierce, who had the good fortune to come of age while The Gap still sold denim separates. However, as everything thus far has been mapped out for us, the uncertainty of our next step is daunting.

As children, our future projections of ourselves never reached as far as twenty-four. Yet here we are. We may end up wasting many years on the self-indulgence of our disarray, but why wouldn’t we?

	Kim Wilde - Kids In America .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

you make me feel like dancing

div>

	Leo Sayer - You Make Me feel Like Dancing .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

Piriapolis, Uruguay: a sun-filled, Latin world

Faded pick up trucks cruise around town blasting reggaeton, salsa, and even some good Bat Mitzvah music, with tan individuals piled into the back. No one here is light. Even the children are a shade of golden molasses--running barefoot around the small beach town to get their gelato. Everyday we purchase two white chaises from 15 year old Uruguayan nuggets, who have been browned to perfection by their daily intake of ultraviolet rays. They have become a staple and our greatest source of entertainment. They make us giggle like school girls, which is sick, because we're almost 10 years their seniors.

It stays light forever; the sun is completely set at 9 pm.

And here is the best part: as the sun begins its slow descent at 6:30 pm, the entire population crowding the bright, early evening beach begin to applaud the sun for all its glory. Some even bid farewell to the benevolent orb with a standing ovation.

This is the truest and purest form of Tan Culture.

	Orishas - Naci Orishas .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

Thank you, Ace of Base...

the most wonderful time of the year...the end of february

in |

out

missed calls......................................voicemail

not being in college....................................being in college

being tan...........................................being pale

1998-2002.........................................1980-1997

Scandinavian bands..........................................Brooklyn bands

The Gap............................................American Apparel

living with your parents....................living with your parents

Trader Joe's..........................................Whole Foods

vacations.........................................working

Razrs..........................................Blackberrys

Carly & Her New Guy..............................Julia & Chris

wine...................................vodka

avoiding adulthood..........................real jobs