Archive for March, 2009

ATTN: Readers of the SD Union-Tribune!

If you live in San Diego and read the U-T, keep on the lookout for a compelling letter to Miss Manners in the advice columns! It was just sent today, but it’s soooo good, I have a feeling all of SD will see it very soon.

Dear Miss Manners,

My college applications required teacher recommendations and it is common courtesy to give your recommending teachers a small gift as a token of appreciation. So I had the brilliant idea of giving my teachers a giftcard and a t-shirt from whichever college I end up committing to. However, the problem is, is that one of my teachers is rather heavy and would most likely wear a t-shirt sized XL or XXL. The gifts are a surprise so I cannot ask her for her t-shirt size, but I am worried that she’ll be offended that I bought her an XXL shirt. Another option would be to give her a generic item like a school pennant, but I definitely want to give my other two recommending teachers a t-shirt and I’m worried that she’ll think I gave her a less practical gift.

Is it impolite to guess someone’s size when buying a gift? Is it impolite to ask? What is the best way to ask if I must?

Thank you,


The writer of that letter is none other than yours truly. And as for the identity of the teacher, all I’m going to say is “neckbaby”.

This has been a question that’s been racking my mind for quite some time now and I can’t wait to hear what Miss Manners says!

Out of curiousity, what do you think, dear reader of Bosh? Leave a comment with your opinion.

Yours truly,

CollegeBound (who is obviously Josh since Elaine is too nubby to go to college)

Wait Listed

I knew when I was sitting in sixth period English that today was the day. I was going to come home and find my decision letter from my first choice, Emerson College in my mail box. And I did. And those of you with an IQ higher than Forrest Gump’s have probably guessed the result by now.

My relationship with Emerson has not been an easy one. Back in September I first found the school and it was love at first web-browse. I applied for Early Action and was deferred. But I sucked it up, listened to everyone reassure me and settled in for the nice, long wait.

You know, it’s funny. When friends, relatives, past applicants, strangers on the Internet and teachers tell you that you should get in somewhere, you start to believe them. I mean, I knew from the start that it was a bit of reach, my stats were just a smidge – a smidge – lower. And I really expected my witty essay and passionate answers would get me in. I guess not, though. The admissions staff really must have laughed when they saw that I even applied for the Honors Program.

And I know, I know, I know. “At least you weren’t rejected!” STFU! I would almost rather be rejected. I would rather have this saga come to a close than have to wait until June 30 for a definite response. I just can’t handle it. I want to know now. I really loved Emerson. The more I read, the more I felt like it was the best possible place for little Elaine Gray, burgeoning woman and filmmaker. But, oh well. What can I do? I tried, and sometimes you just fail. I guess that’s the lesson here. And don’t worry, I will put my name on that damn wait list. I won’t lose anything (besides for a little emotional/mental stability come the end of June). I just feel like I need to totally disregard it as an option now and focus on my remaining choices.

Which, don’t get me wrong, are fantastic choices and I’d be lucky to go to either one. It’s just hard to let something go that you’ve been hoping for such a long time. (Well, seven months. But that’s kind of a long time when you’ve only got seventeen years under your belt).

But like our Lord and Savior, Britney Spears, says:

I got a plan, we can do it

just when you want it, baby, baby, baby.

As long as you want it

we can do it, baby, baby, baby.

I guess that Emerson College isn’t Brit’s plan for me. It will just take a little bit for me to be okay with that and move on. And then get my heart re-broken/filled with love and joy on June 30th.

Best wishes and better luck,


O Nomi! My Nomi!

Now, you may think I am stealing Elaine’s idea of paying tribute to Walt Whitman and the best people in the world at the same time, but I am NOT.

We just have the same English teacher and therefore the same assignments.

So here it is folks! A poem for Nomi Malone, or Goddess, or Pollyanna. Whichever name you prefer.

“O Nomi! My Nomi!” by Joshua Lin à la façon de Walt Whitman (the French automatically makes it more classy)

O NOMI! My Nomi! Your fearful trip is done.

Your body’s weather’d every mile, now you are good for fun;

The slots are near, their bells I hear, the gamblers all exulting,

While follow eyes the bright Cristal, her dances hot and daring:

But O fame! fame! fame!

O the costumes barely there!

Look to the stage where Nomi sees,

Cristal nude and bare.

O Nomi! My Nomi! They rise to see your bells;

Know that–for you the Cheetah fills–for you they bring small bills;

For you they hoot and whistle loud–for you the rooms a-crowding;

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; (LOL, I didn’t even have to change this line!)

Here Nomi! dear Heather!

This man who lauds your flare,

Gives you a chance to try and dance,

With Cristal  nude and bare.

My Nomi cannot answer, her lips are red and still;

As Marty holds within his arms, a bowl that gives me chills;

The ice is pooled in Tony’s hands, awaiting Nomi’s hand;

From Tony’s lips, his question slips, “why can her bells not stand?”

Just melt, O ice,  and rise, O bells!

But ice flies in the air,

And my Nomi offstage storms,

Totally nude and bare.


I think you can see all the parallels to the original… namely the strong symbolism of “bells” and “rising” (that’s “tits” and “erection” respectively).

And in case you are socially retarded, this is inspired by the true life story of the award-winning film “Showgirls” starring Elizabeth Berkely.

Romantic Gestures

The other day I was at a Mexican restaurant (not the much frequented Santana’s Mexican Grill, but the much closer Chili Peppers) and noticed a man with an odd tattoo. It started at the end of his jawbone under his ear and moved diagonally to the middle of his cheek. it was a name,  Nicole, printed in pretty cursive. Then I noticed a girl standing next to him, since I assumed to be Nicole because in the same place on her face read “Marcus”.

You have to really  like a person to get their name tattooed on your face.

In fact, I’d argue that getting a face-tattoo of your lover’s name is a more serious commitment than marriage. It’s a celebrity cliché to have an overnight marriage/annulment (shoutout to my girl, B.Spears!). But a tattoo is hard enough to get rid of, and a tattoo on your face is basically impossible. Any kind of surgery will result in a scar in the shape of your former tattoo. A cover-up tattoo will have to be bigger and more intricate to really cover anything up. Can you imagine seeing a huge flower or dragon on someone’s face?

I wonder how he brought it up to her? Was it a surprise? Did he just come home one day with it? And since he had her name, did she think, “Oh shit, now I have to go get his name on my face.”?

This is how I imagine the conversation between Marcus and Nicole going:

Marcus has taken Nicole out for a fancy meal at the Outback Steakhouse. Candles are lit (that he brought himself and was asked by the waiter not to light but did anyways). He asked her not to order anything over twelve dollars.

Marcus: Nicole, these past three months have been so special to me.

Nicole: Me too, baby. Pass the A-1.

Marcus: I really like you. In fact, I think that I like you like you.

Nicole: Marcus, I like you like you, too!

Marcus. Good, because I brought you hear to ask you something.

Nicole: Marcus…you mean…?

Marcus: Oh! No, no! Nothing like that! Shit, I’m not ready for marriage!

Nicole: Thank Jesus! Me neither.What is it?

Marcus: I waas just wondering if you wanted to get each others name’s tattoed on our faces?

Nicole: Is that all? Okay, sure. We’ll go after dinner!

Anyways, I guess my point is that people are weird. And face-tattoos are gross.

But in the end, I wish Nicole and Marcus all the happiness in the world so that they never have to deal with the embarrassment of meeting a future date after their break-up and having to explain the name on their cheek.

Costuming Help

So Josh and I are performing the “Single Ladies” dance for the school Talent Show, but we don’t know what to wear! We also have a third back up dancer, so we need three outfits: one for “Beyoncé” (me, obvs), and two backup dancers.

Any suggestions?

O Britney! My Britney!

In English, we has to rewrite Walt Whitman’s “O Captain! My Captain” to be about someone else.

Obviously, I chose Britney Spears. We’ve already featured some Britney poetry on this blog before, but here’s another beautiful example of the art inspired by Britney Spears.

O Britney! My Britney!
O Britney! my Britney! your fearful trip is done;
Your body has weathr’d every drug, the freedom you sought is won;
Your album is out, there is no doubt that Platinum is has become,
The critics still shout, the media still criticizes:
But O I don’t care! I don’t care! I don’t care!
O the scorn from fellow man,
Where on their iPod’s are trendy bands,
I remain a Britney Spears fan.

O Britney! my Britney! you tour across the nation;
Hurry up – the time has come – the stage is set; ;
For you a spectacle – for you a three-ring-circus;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Britney! dear role-model!
The Honda Center waits;
Come the eve of April 19th,
We shall have our far-a-way date.

My role-model does not feel my touch, my voice does not fill her ears;
Even when she moves and speaks; she still is never near;
My Britney doesn’t answer, her face remains stiff and still;
Through magazines and TV screens, she’ll never feel my goodwill;
For she will never know me!
Not my face or name,
But I will always follow her,
Because without Britney,  life would be too plain.

Overheard in Kindergarten

Even though I have no plans of becoming a teacher, I’m in my second year of ROP Child Development classes. That means that I get to have an internship at at kindergarten class every morning, and earn a bunch of useless college credit.

So yesterday morning I was with my class and they were working on coloring something.

“Finnigan*,” I said, “What nice flowers you’ve drawn!”

“Thanks,” replied Finnigan smugly, “when I grow up, I’m going to be an artist.”

“When I grow up,” added Marshall* from across the table ,”I’m going to be a snake-hunter!”

“A snake-hunter?” I questioned.

“Well, on Mondays I’m going to be a doctor, but the rest of the week I’m going to be a snake-hunter.”

Good for Marshall. I hear that snake-hunting is a really viable career option right now. His specialty is going to be pythons, in case you were wondering.

*Names have been changed

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