"It's all about the triumph of intellect and romance over brute force and cynicism." Okay, so that's Craig Ferguson talking about Doctor Who, but this blog endeavors exactly that. Lofty yes, but what the hell, why not. Onward, my romantic intellectual companions!
Yesterday, while I was at home, I had the sudden urge to add all the albums that I have of musicals onto my iPod. I haven't done this before because of space issues on my computer but now that my iTunes is on a back-up drive...well, I can add as many songs as I want.
So after this epic upload, I was listening to the music from one of my favorite shows, Jekyll and Hyde. I got obsessed with it in 2002 when I discovered Linda Eder (a Broadway performer who was raised in Minnesota). I seriously listened to this soundtrack for nearly the entire winter, so now that whenever I listen to it after not hearing it for a long time, the first thing I see is snowfall and Christmas lights. I was also lucky enough to see it performed by Burnsville High School, who has one of the most incredible theater programs in the south suburbs. They were even doing a showing of it somewhere in Scotland as I saw ads for it in Glasgow and regretted the fact that there was no way I was going to be able to go. Despite the fact that it's not that well-known and the music isn't quite as spectacular as some shows, I suppose, I'm still a fan. Perhaps because it's based off of one of my favorite creepy stories by Robert Louis Stevenson.
Man is not one but two/ He is evil and good/ And he walks the fine line we'd all cross if we could. That's part of the chorus in one of the main songs, "Facade." If Henry Jekyll were working today, he'd probably be a psychologist trying to understand human nature. Unfortunately from him, that probably wouldn't save him from spiraling into taking experimentation too far and using himself to release his evil side. Which doesn't work out so hot. Because now he's just a normal man, both good and evil (leaning more towards good) with a totally evil maniac trying to escape from him. The musical of this saga is dark and powerful and really chilling (especially when you're listening to it amongst a misty October afternoon). This is one of my favorite songs that just haunts me:
I love the voice of the actor that sings this too - it's so emotional. Also, you can hear a bit of the voice he uses for Hyde lingering in some of the words, and it's super eerie.
This show is just tragic and utterly Byronic, I'm sure. A good man being corrupted by his faults though he intended to do good with his work - how much more of a tortured hero can you get? I also like that this adaption takes into account the women in Jekyll's life, something I always wondered about when I read Stevenson's story (because there were no women in that story and nothing make me wonder more about something than not addressing it all). There are some REALLY great pieces for the women characters in this show and I could share all of them, because some of them are SUPER FANTASTIC. I'm not, though, because that'd probably be tedious and annoying. Instead, I'm going to recommend two - "A New Life" and "In His Eyes." And I'm going to play the one that, for some reason, I just can't get out of my head today. It's really short, not super spectacular, but I just keep singing it to myself. So here it is - "Emma's Reason," a song where Emma, Jekyll's fiance, stands up for wanting to marry him even though everyone thinks he's bonkers. This isn't the whole song, but I can't find it in it's entirety, in English and without any extra weird stuff. So this'll do:
I don't know what makes this show so obsessive for me, but now I can't stop listening to it. A great soundtrack for Halloween, though, I must say.
I had the weirdest of feelings today. I was walking around the medical part of campus, around Moos Tower and the area where all the hospitals and medical buildings are, near Washington Avenue where they're putting in the light rail. I was walking across this stone courtyard and out of nowhere, I thought I heard the dinging of the bell on the light rail when it departs from the station. Except that that was impossible. Because the light rail isn't there yet.
Oh my God, I thought to myself. I just heard the future. It was a weird, wibbly-wobbly time moment. Most likely it was a hallucination in my weird old brain. But who knows...
Speaking of the future, [Львица] and I decided that pans with regenerative Teflon would be something we'd like to see in the future. That way, when you burn something in it, the pan isn't screwed for life.
Today overall has been a rather odd day. I had no Italian class this morning, just an oral exam, so I did my homework and spent my time walking around the river, looking at the foliage and taking in the fall atmosphere. I don't know why, but today just feels... mysterious. Consciousness of the date aside, it really does just feel - spooky.
Perhaps in part because of the weird dream I had last night. I dreamed that I was on the Scotland trip, in Stirling, looking at "the Guy Fawkes house." One - Guy Fawkes has nothing to do with Scotland or Stirling. Two - I'm not so sure they'd have a house to commemorate him, even in York where he's from. Three - Stirling did not look like Stirling in my dream. Although the painting of Guy Fawkes that was there actually did look like him. And I seemed to remember that he's also known as Guido. Weird.
Also, I think I had a dream about [novel killer] and Desperate Housewives, but I don't remember any of it. Except that I got into some epic suburban housewife fight with her.
So there you go. This post has no point. Except for this - Happy Halloween!
This is turning out to be the best Halloween I've had in years.
It isn't going how we were planning - we hoped to go to a club or a party with our fabulous costumes. But there aren't many exciting events on Saturday night that aren't 21+... curse our youthfulness! So [Львица] and I decided to go back to our hometown of Lakeville for the weekend and spend it with our families.
I was somewhat disappointed - just because I built up this whole fairytale idea of having a Halloween extravaganza that I realistically should have known wouldn't happen. Sometimes, being a Romantic totally blows. Especially when you're an obsessive Romantic.
Tangent time - Am I obsessive? Stupid question, coming from the girl who's blogged about Torchwood and John Barrowman more than anything else this past month. It's been on my mind a lot - yes, I've been obsessing about obsessing :P - because of a Facebook conversation I had with X:
Me: I've always had an Scotland obsession. But now it's worse. incredibly worse.
[X]: I can't imagine... especially with your talent for obsession. (You have to admit, you're good at it. ;) )
Of course, I come back with a smile and agree that I'm a pro at obsessing... but am I really THAT obsessive? I am obsessive - it's a Scorpio trait, I'm a pro at ruminating, I tend to blabber on about the same things forever. But am I EXTREMELY obsessive? Like, to the point where I can't tell if [X] means this in a jesting manner or if she's referring to how I obsessed over [No-Mr-Darcy]. And [tedesco]. And a zillion different movies and books and such. Am taking part in a normal human trait? Or going too far? Do people just humor me because they think it's cute that I fixate for one things for extended periods of time? Or are they creeped out?
I worry about this because of how I reacted Thursday night. Admittedly, I just saw Ianto die on Torchwood and was utterly devastated (yet another sign of obsession, right?) but when [Львица]'s plans changed for Halloween, I suddenly a sudden impact with reality. It wasn't [Львица]'s fault or anything; it was just that I suddenly realized that there wasn't anything for us to do, exactly, for under 21s. And that my whole building up for some sort of magical Halloween experience wasn't going to happen. And suddenly this whole spiral of worry that I hadn't been consciously thinking about unfurled. I realized that I'm spending more time thinking about fictional things than real life, that I'm stuck fantasizing about the impossible, that I have totally unrealistic expectations for love and life and shit...
Yeah, it really had nothing to do with the pre-Halloween events. It had more to do with this.
In my cultural studies class on Thursday, we were talking again about Monsieur Lefebvre's ideas of culture and his harsh critique of Surrealism. Our professor had been lecturing at us how there is a distinct difference between the wondrous and unexpected in real life and what Surrealists/ literary modernists are involved in - the magical, marvelous and bizarre. Our professor argues that the bizarre prevents us from seeing the wondrous in real life, that it does anything but look the harsh realities of everyday life in the face and instead paints it garish colors and injects it with a life it doesn't have.
There's some truth in this. I mean, some things completely obscure reality and can be dangerous, in high amounts. But I feel like many things labeled surrealist or modernist don't ignore reality - maybe they just don't want to deal with it ALL THE TIME. Maybe sometimes, a small escape isn't so bad. Not ALL the time, clearly. But can you blame me or anyone else for want to run to sci-fi or shopping or chick flicks or going out with the guys when life gets shitty? Sometimes we need to forget, for just a short period, about the parts of our lives that suck so we can see the wonderfulness of our everyday lives. I overestimate the ability for people to see the amazing-ness of everyday life, but I believe that people do see it. But sometimes you need the escape first. Of course, I'm being a total bourgeois here, but I REALLY don't want to discuss that at the moment. So I'm being an inappropriate cultural studies student here. But I'm not really trying to be a cultural studies student. So don't judge me.
Anyway, that's exactly what I did - escaped. I stopped worrying about whether or not my using Torchwood as a way to escape the monotony of this semester is ruining my perception of reality for five minutes and... used a different way of escaping. [Львица] and I went to the Mall of America on Friday afternoon for some retail therapy (yes, yes, as a cultural studies student I KNOW this is a sign of the power of consumer culture. But sometimes it really works, at least for the short term. Which, of course, is the drawback). I bought two incredibly cute dresses, one little black dress and a fantastic sequined phenomenon. Shown here:
Yes, I admit the sequined one is would not typically be my choice. But after seeing La Cage - and I need a party dress - and I love the colors - AND I LOOK FANTASTIC IN IT. Which was mind-blowing to me, she who usually looks terrible in tight tiny dresses. So win. Epic win :D
I traipsed around Friday and Saturday in my "costume" which was my totally ridiculous way of having a Halloween costume without buying anything. Thus I was Gwen Cooper from Torchwood, since I have a similar black leather jacket and pencil jeans. And boots - lots of boots. A costume and my favorite TV show combined. Win-win. [Львица] and I carved pumpkins on Saturday morning which was FABULOUS. Talk about noticing the magic of everyday. There was something truly amazing about cutting into those fresh, fragrant gourds and scooping out the seeds to roast and coat with cinnamon-sugar or salt. Especially cutting into the one I carved, a funny, wild-shaped one that had the oddest, oblong seeds and an aroma more like butternut squash than pumpkin. Our carvings turned out really well. [Львица]'s birdcage was incredible and my goofy face didn't fair too badly either :)
Our pumpkins :)
And that evening I went out to dinner to Kieran's Irish pub with my parents. It's one of my favorite restaurants and was wonderfully decorated with Halloween decorations. I got a good night's sleep at home, watched a spooky movie with my parents and got to nibble on Halloween candy (I forgot how much I actually like Almond Joys, by the way).
So, nothing fancy. Just everyday. But magical none the less. Maybe my cultural studies prof has a point after all. But I don't carve pumpkins everyday... how can I really call it that? OMG, why do I keep doing this to myself? I don't need to keep theorizing my life - that's what got me into this problem to begin with. IT'S MY LIFE. What happens, happens. Whether everyday, wondrous or bizarre. And I need to stop criticizing how I feel all the time - otherwise I truly will loose grip on reality.
Tomorrow's Halloween - another school day, a dress rehearsal for my band concert. Nothing super exciting. But who knows - I still think there is something magical about this holiday, whether anything extraordinary happens or not. It doesn't need to. It just... feels magical, no matter what.
Apparently [manly metro] looks a bit like Alec Baldwin when he's not growing facial hair. Because he totally did not look like Alec Baldwin on the Scotland trip.
[manly metro] is the one in the black jacket.
See my confusion? Understandable, right, how I shocked I am that he suddenly looks like Alec Baldwin without the goatee? Weird man... weird. And after the dancing Gumbi outside my window last night, it's too much (the sax man and Gumbi were real.... I can't believe it).
Another late night blog, because I was woken up by a saxophone player. Yes, you read that right. A man with dreadlocks was playing the saxophone, standing outside the house across the street, in the dark, loudly playing the opening of George Michael's "Careless Whisper" while a guy in a Gumbi costume danced around him.
I've never done drugs, but I got the feeling like this might be one of the crazy hallucinations 'shrooms might cause. Don't do drugs, kids. This was whack - and I WASN'T HIGH. I SAW THIS, SOBER, WITH MY OWN EYES. OUTSIDE MY WINDOW.
I just can't believe it was REAL. I mean, yeah, it's Halloween weekend, but I was in bed, half-asleep, and then I heard the saxophone (and was beating myself up for not remembering the name of the song it was from) and then I tried to figure out where it was coming from because it was SO LOUD. And then I saw Gumbi. And then they and two other guys made their way down the street, while the saxophone player continued to blast the song which my searching for its name was calls "the song they play when people start having sex in movies" as they made their way across 35W into Dinkytown.
Really, I'm writing this right now because I've got the sax solo stuck in my head and I had to figure out what the fucking song was! And also, I want evidence that I just saw what I saw... because this was weird enough to have been a dream. And by tomorrow morning, I might just think it was. Thus, here is the evidence that it was not so. It was real. I just saw Gumbi dance to George Michael. I need to get some fucking sleep.
Psychology came to the rescue the other day with a realization I made. While looking up something about Buffy the Vampire Slayer, it suddenly occurred to me why the character John Hart looked so damn familiar on Torchwood - BECAUSE HE'S PLAYED BY THE SAME FREAKING ACTOR WHO PLAYED SPIKE ON BUFFY. Holy shit, people - holy shit.
I began freaking out. I mean, Spike is incredible and knowing that it's the same actor just makes my life. Just like finding out the guy who sings as the blonde Nazi chorus guy in the "Springtime For Hitler" segment in The Producers is JOHN BARROWMAN (I always wondered who that attractive man was ;) ). And that like half of my friends watch Doctor Who. And Doctor Who has a thing about gingers, which is funny because being ginger is a continuing topic of discussion amongst [Львица] and me (as [Львица] is actually a redhead).
Everything in my life is connected... which is starting to weird me out. My favorite late night comedian, Craig Ferguson, likes Doctor Who, my friends like Doctor Who, I finally started watching Doctor Who the other night (the first episode of the first restart season with Christopher Eccleston, the episode called "Rose" - I got advice from a girl in my Italian class who is a big Who fan as to where to start in the series on Wednesday when our substitute professor didn't show up) AND I LOVE IT.
There is clearly some link between things I like and people I like. And, fortunately for me, psychology has a short and sweet little theory about it. It's called balance theory and it makes me incredibly happy.
Here's how it works - basically, humans want to achieve balance in their life, between things they like and people they like. It's always showed pictorially as triangles, so here's a nice little representation of it:
So, in a balanced situation, Pam's worst enemy is Oliver. But she loves skiing. Therefor, if Oliver hates skiing, all is right with the world. But, if Pam likes Oliver and likes skiing, but Oliver hates skiing, things are going to unbalanced and Pam is going to have a much harder time of finding stuff to do with Oliver.
Here's how it works with my life. I like British things. I like science fiction. I like my friends. My friends generally also like British things and science fiction. So things pretty much equal out.
Except for the fact that the end of Season 3 on Torchwood sucked. What the hell was that, killing Ianto? And Jack's grandson? AND IANTO?! ;(
Sorry, I knew it was going to happen, but I'm a little distraught. And now Jack is all angsty... it's disheartening.
Anyway, balance theory. So I'm upset with the end of season 3. But I REALLY love the show. So I'm feeling a bit of dissonance about that. However, I've chosen to ignore it by continuing to watch it in hopes that Ianto will magically come back. And by continuing my utterly juvenile gushing over Jack Harkness. We'll see how that works out...
So due to my sudden interest in La Cage Aux Folles (and my attempts to find Youtube videos of John Barrowman in a revival of it) I came across these videos. At first I thought it was John Barrowman talking about loose women. And then I realized I'm an idiot and "Loose Women" is the name of a TV show in Britain. Take a look:
I guess this show is comparable to the US's The View. Except that I don't think The View has ever been this fun... not that they couldn't be, with a few tweaks. Maybe they should change their name to something subtly controversial - that might be a good start. Loose Women certainly has a nice ring to it. :)
Today during Italian when, for the second day in a row the sub for our professor did not show up, I found myself daydreaming about Scotland once again. (May I note that it's especially weird in college when subs don't show up? Technically students are allowed to leave after 15 minutes if no instructor arrives but if you do this, often you will get yelled at later. Yesterday, we did take advantage of this, but today, we found the film we were supposed to watch on Netflix and watched about 30 minutes of it. We should get extra credit for that, I think :D Especially as the film was quite odd). Anyway, I was sitting there, watching the odd film, thinking about this movie theater we went to on the last day in Scotland (I mentioned it in the post on Captain America, thus it's recently been in my thoughts).
It's called Cineworld City Center and it is apparently the world's tallest cinema (12 stories, baby!). I wish I could find pictures of the inside of this theater because fellow Yanks like myself will be utterly blown away. IT'S INCREDIBLE.
Maybe I've just never been to a really fancy movie theater. I mean, I'm looking up photos online and I keep getting images of Gerard Butler and Ewan McGregor at film premieres. Clearly, this place is kind of a big deal. Now I'm wondering how the likes of me got in there :P
Let me try to explain how incredible this theater is. For one thing, their ticket area takes up a good chunk of the first floor... er, ground floor for you Europeans. None of this pathetic tiny box office area like we have in some American theaters, where you're standing on each other's hair if there's a long line. No, Brits seem to understand that there needs to be ROOM for queuing. Then, there's the fact that they have a STUDENT DISCOUNT. FOR MOVIES. I can't even get a student discount for some museums and theatrical productions in the States, let alone movie theaters! Then there's the floors - there are a million escalators taking you up to each floor, which was a bit baffling for us because there's only two theaters or so per floor (sorry, sorry, American theaters put everything on one level so then our theaters stretch out like a shopping mall. Kudos for you guys for making it classier and more compact, even if the long elevator ride is somewhat dizzying). But once you reach the floor you need, you begin to understand why there's only two theaters per floor. Because the concession areas are BRILLIANT.
It's like... a giant popcorn/soda area along with an candy shop. On each floor. Along with other eatables like pretzels and such. Seriously, if I hadn't been running out of cash and had no idea how much cab fare to the airport was going to cost the next morning, I probably would have splurged on British sweets. I was totally blown away by what the theater was like. Seriously, going to the movies in America is usually not this cool. Maybe because we do it all the time.
I think this is a different theater, but you get the idea of the basic layout and design.
Even watching the movie itself was different. The previews at the beginning were different from American previews (seriously, the ad for Bridesmaids was nothing like the one shown in America). The disclaimers about pirating movies and not letting kids in for adult films were shown more and much more... I don't know, government-y, official sounding. More forceful. And it was different just to hear everything said with a British accent (seemingly minor, but really... for an American, who hears American voices all day long - except when watching British TV - it's kind of weird. Although it does get to the point that when you hear American voices THAT sounds weird).
So, if you're in Glasgow and you have nothing better to do, spend 10 quid or so and enjoy a memorable cinematic experience. And if you don't mind, bring me back some of that candy, please :)
Thank God for Tumblr. I don't know what I did without it (had a lot harder time of finding photos and shit, that's what).
So all because of this painting of a French actor from the 1800s whose body was never found, Reeves has joined the ranks of time-traveling Travolta and undead Nicholas Cage. More celebrities looking like people who are supposed to be dead. Where did this phenomenon come from?!
I don't know... but I'm digging it. Gives me something bizarre to blog about right before Halloween. By the way, Keanu Reeves, if you really are a vampire, can you and vampire Nicholas Cage make Twilight stop? 'Kay, thanks.
So, as we reach the end of October (obviously), I'm sharing two songs named after the month. One is by Eric Whitacre, a composer I'm familiar with from high school band (ah, fond memories):
(There's also a great and terrible band joke on the comments for this video: How do you tune two flutes? Kill one. Sad, but somewhat true. I play flute, I know the pain.)
And another video from one of my all-time favorite bands: U2.
Disclaimer: This is NOT a blog post about Torchwood.
Shit... well, it is now. Can't bring up Captain without this flashing through my mind:
Okay, well, this WASN'T supposed to be a post about Torchwood. This is a post about Captain America (sorry for those of you who thought it was about a Walt Whitman poem. Better luck next time).
I realize now how many superhero movies I've seen this summer. Granted, there were a lot in theaters. But I saw A TON of them. I watched The Green Hornet on the flight to Scotland because it was something to do when I couldn't sleep and it had Christoph Waltz in it (other than Waltz, the movie was a disappointment). I saw X Men: First Class in Glasgow on our last day there (James McAvoy AND Michael Fassbender in the same film? WIN.) I saw The Green Lantern with a bunch of high school friends in the 'burbs. I did NOT see Thor but had how excellent the actor's abs were described to me about fifteen million times.
I was skeptical about Captain America. "A super-human created to defeat the Nazis? Isn't that defeating the purpose?" I thought (upon voicing this opinion to [X], an apparent comic book fan - which was news to me, yet another sign I don't know my friends much anymore - I got abrupt awkward silence. Oops). They actually carried that quite well by stressing that Steve Rogers is not a bully and the scientists are not trying to create a superior race of beings; they're just trying to win the war and help a guy do what he wants to do with his life, more or less.
Overall, the film was totally enjoyable. It was weird seeing Hugo Weaving (you know him as Agent Smith in The Matrix or Elrond in Lord of the Rings) play Red Skull, because it felt a bit like he was trying to channel Christoph Waltz's Hans Landa. At least until he was got all evil and red and... skull-ish. Chris Evans, though not the best of actors, was a pretty great Captain America (and buff, I must add; he ought to be after he had to take steroids to beef up that much). I freaking loved Peggy Carter (Hayley Atwell) (because who doesn't love a badass 1940s British chick?). I had no idea until like five minutes ago that THAT WAS STANLEY TUCCI PLAYING THE GERMAN SCIENTIST (Dr. Abraham Erskine). HOLY SHIT, DUDE.
I was, however, kind of disappointed in the ending. Because it was all building up for The Avengers film, which I totally expected, but still left me bummed out and feeling all sad and blue for poor Peggy and Captain America's relationship. Being frozen and discovered sixty years later certainly puts a damper on your love life. I'm looking really forward to The Avengers movie now, though, because I fricken' love Iron Man and Captain America is pretty awesome too. And Captain America had a nice dash of Howard Stark, which was fantastic. Gotta love the Starks.
So yeah. Thank you, Marvel, for making your superhero movies better than they were a few years ago. I congratulate you. I may still be partial to Batman, but because I can only watch Christopher Nolan's dark flicks for so long before feeling rather grim and angsty, I'm glad there's another superhero franchise where things are tending to be... a bit on the brighter side of life, you might say.
So a few weeks ago I wrote a blog about a book I was reading by Henri Lefebvre, called Critique of Everyday Life. It was interesting and there were parts of it I really enjoyed but other things I took offense to. Like Lefebvre saying man doesn't understand his own life. I was pissed by this statement, but, after discussing him some in class, I feel I might have misconstrued his statement.
1) He personally may not have meant this the way I took it. He could have been stating another position of a form of thinking he later critiques, namely Heidegger phenomenology. Often authors of this sort of theoretical writing state opinions of other thinkers and, when you read as much as I must for class, sometimes it gets a bit confusing if they are stating their own views or someone else's.
2) He doesn't mean what I think he means. It could be he's not saying people don't pay attention to their own lives but that they don't pay attention to everything in their lives. Cultural studies is known for closely studying things that other fields of study don't think of as super important at times (which I tend to forget, constantly immersed in CSCL and surrounded by people who find it interesting as well). I mean, you don't see too many books analyzing alienation in the social sciences - it's hard to put in terms of an experiment. Difficult, but not impossible (sticking up for the psychologists too, man!) Also, studying what's right in front of your nose is hard to do. Especially when you're trying to juggle work and family and everything else in your everyday life. Then it gets a bit difficult to look at your everyday life.
3) Maybe we don't know our own lives. We can't know everything about ourselves, after all. However, this may not be such a bad thing. Mystery and unanswerable questions are huge parts of Cultural studies - and life itself. Lefebvre sticks up for naivete in life and that it's an important part of living in everyday life. He sticks up for ingenuous individuals in order to keep pretentiousness out of intellectualism.
So, there's that. However, I still disagree with parts of Lefebvre's argument against things like Surrealism. Yes, sarcasm and cynicism all the time is unhealthy. However, don't make me feel bad for wanting escapism sometimes. Yes, I want to work for Torchwood. That's because I'm not avoiding modern life but because I need a different outlook every once in a while. And I would argue that Torchwood and Doctor Who, while being sci-fi, don't ignore everyday life but rather view it in a different form. But that's an argument for another time.
Hey, maybe the real reason I'm obsessed with watching sci-fi shows is to escape from the cultural theory that's invading my mind. And because Torchwood/Who are just flipping amazing shows. What a convenient way to end this post - with another Torchwood/Who reference. Win :D
I think I make this exact expression after reading too much about base/superstructure.
[Львица], [The Question] and I went to see the free movie of the week at the student union on Saturday night (this week's film happened to be Captain America. More about that later, hopefully). While we were walking back, some guy was walking and talking with the people around him and, as we passed them by, he said loudly, (something along the lines of), "It was like, 'Let's get coffee. By the way, this is a date.'" And suddenly, I was sent into hysterics. I was laughing so hard I was nearly crying.
I don't know if this guy was referring to something he himself had done or something that had happened to him, but I know that very experience far too well. Because that's exactly what I did to [No-Mr-Darcy]. Whoops.
And thus, miscommunication leads to awkward situations. Because then everything feels like this:
So there's this thing called NANOWRIMO, which stands for National Novel Writing Month. It happens every November and, what crazy people do, is try to write a full-length novel in 30 days. No rereading. No proofing. No going back and changing stuff. Just straight-out plowing ahead, no matter how terrible it is.
I've tried it before, but have never succeeded in meeting the mark. This year, however, [Львица]and I are bringing back our game plan from last year. And this time I'm going to try and see it out.
In our desperation to make some dough, [Львица], [mind ninja] and I decided we would try out hand at Harlequin romance novel writing. It may not be very prestigious or totally estimable, but hey - it'd be published and we'd have some extra moolah. I gave up early on, mainly because my novel got too serious and too Jane Eyre wanna-be. [Львица] had difficulty getting into hers, but [mind ninja] did really well, at least until [novel killer] and [X] declared that her main character sounded exactly like herself and that one of the men was clearly a friend of ours [mind ninja] had had a bad encounter with. So thus things started falling apart after that.
This year, though, no rookie mistakes. So what if I've never been in a romantic relationship ([X] and [novel killer]'s biggest objection to our attempts)? If you've ever read a romance novel, clearly reality is NOT an important part of the plot. I am not going for greatness, I'm not even going for okay.
I'm going to try to write the worst romance novel EVER. Knowing me, I think I can do it. Tacky, cheesy, ridiculous - I'll pile it mile high. Of course, Harlequin probably won't accept it. But it'll be entertaining. That's for sure.
More about this to come. But for now, time to think of a ridiculous title. I'm thinking "Courted in a Kilt." Ah yes... the absurdity of this is just the beginning.
I decided that, after the email we received from an angry tenant first thing this morning that I should indulge in the closets thing I can get to a British breakfast (as I am totally lacking eggs, sausage and beans in my eatables) - Crunchy Nut cereal and Tesco Earl Grey tea.
As this box proudly announces, Crunch Nut is a brand new Kellogg's cereal - in the States. I had it five years ago in London and have been trying to figure out how to get my hands on it ever since. IT IS DELICIOUS. I'm not a very big cereal fan; in fact I generally try to avoid cereal for breakfast at all costs because it's usually like eating sweetened Styrofoam. But this stuff... this stuff is the shit.
And this tea... I have tried all different kinds of Earl Grey, all different brands. And this is my favorite. It's got the typical bergamot flavor but also a nice smoky overtone. No idea why, but it's delightful. It also reminds me of St. Andrews, Scotland, because I bought it at a Tesco there. It's going to totally suck once the box I have runs out... so for now, I must make the best of it and save it for special occasions. Or mornings with unhappy tenants.
Because I'm trying to avoid politics in the United States right now (mainly because I spend too much time thinking about it everywhere but here) I've been reading the BBC news webpage a lot, especially in regards to Scotland. This article especially caught my eye: 'Britishness' no threat to Scots.
This was a topic we talked about quite a bit on my trip this summer; some of the only history the course covered. I had the good fortune of sitting next to one of the professors we had guest lecture, Nicholas Phillipson of the University of Edinburgh, when our class took him out for drinks after the lecture. He gave us a nice summary of the current political situation in Scotland, which we'd only touched on briefly when discussing the union of Scotland and England in the 18th century. There's been a lot of tension in the past and it's beginning to resurface, now that Scotland has their own parliament again; a tension between people who want to remain part of Great Britain and those who want Scotland to become its own country. Those who want Scotland to separate have formed their own party, the Scottish Nationalist Party (SNP) and things are beginning to heat up, it seems. Especially from what I could glean from Professor Phillipson, this is a BIG issue.
It's interesting when I talk about Scotland here in the States how many people don't realize it ISN'T its own country. There's been success in putting a block between "Britshisness" and Scottish culture so that people - like many Americans - don't quite realize that Scotland isn't its own distinct nation. My professor in my Cultural Studies class went on a tangent the other day while talking about Raymond Williams and how, because Williams was Welsh, he was alienated from British society. My professor then went on to say that people from Wales and Scotland don't think of themselves as English and not even as British; in fact they will take offense if you call them British; they are Scottish or Welsh. His tangent articulated a point I've heard emphasized before, a point that makes politics in the UK incredibly complex and hard to articulate to foreigners. I mean, I'm only going off of what I've read, heard and seen - I am my no means very well versed in this political situation. Mainly because I'm not Scottish...
This Professor Mitchell in the BBC article makes an interesting point, saying that the Scottish identity is strong enough to not be under any threat from "Britishness" now. I mean, he could be right... but I feel like there still some pretty strong feelings towards Britain and that there will be no simple acceptance of being British for some. And this isn't even taking into account the issues of Northern Ireland or Wales (that's right, Wales is in this boat too. They might seem like the quite, peaceful ones who never really rebelled in the past. But even on the BBC they articles published in Welsh - their personal culture is WAY important to them, so it definitely matters). It's a weird situation - a post-colonial, post-imperialistic aftermath where it isn't clear what should happen. Professor Mitchell is right in saying that their is a link between Scotland and the UK but saying they have a "common past" may not sit so well with some. They do share a past but the way the two sides see it is incredibly different. I hope they can find some common ground, but I also don't think that necessarily means Scotland remaining part of the big GB. But then again, I'm a Yank - revolting against the British is in my history.
This article discusses how American and British lawyers are discussing the legality of the Declaration. Meaning was or was it not illegal?
Um... really? We're arguing this? I didn't realize there was any doubt.
Yeah, pretty sure this is NOT how the war went down...
OF COURSE IT WAS ILLEGAL. We were rebels. The only reason America is America and not part of Great Britain is because some how we won the war, not because the document that Jefferson wrote up, stemming off of John Locke, was viewed as totally legit. Does any American really think that the Declaration was viewed as anything other than crap by the king of England? I mean, yeah, it's important to Americans BECAUSE WE'RE AMERICANS and it was our way of putting, in writing, that we were done with England. (It's like changing your relationship status on Facebook, for all of you who feel like that this metaphor relates better than anything else I can come up with. And to totally make the Revolution sound like a break-up. Wow, reminded me NOT to become a history teacher.) (Also, what's with calling the American Revolution the "War of Independence?" Apparently that's what us Yanks are supposed to be calling it these days. But it was a revolution! We revolted! There was death and war and stuff! It wasn't pretty! We should remember that... and honestly, American Revolution sounds more badass.) Of course the Declaration wasn't the final straw for England. They didn't freak out and say, "Oh my God! They wrote a paper! They must really mean business!" No, it was the toll from the war that led to an American victory...and some assistance from the French. Who later had their own rebellion. But that's another story.
Point is, we were doing something totally batshit crazy by saying we no longer belonged to Britain. Somehow, it worked, and we take great pride in it. Which every once in a while makes things a bit awkward with our friends across the pond. Maybe that's why I'm so interested in Scotland wanting to separate from England/Britain/UK... whatever I should be referring to them as at this point. Because things are getting so complicated with these identities. I mean, how do the English even see themselves now? Do they see themselves as one with Scotland and Wales and Northern Ireland? Or do they see themselves as distinct too? I don't know... something to look into, once again...
This is Mo, the [Львица]'s cat. She is actually a princess, waiting to inherit her throne and enslave us all with her cuteness. All hail her - for her power over butter and tuna can be felt far and wide.
Okay, this is really just an excuse to use an excellent picture [Львица] took. And because it took me like an hour to figure out how to combine the crown image and the Mo photo as one single pic. Be impressed, dammit - it took some skill.
I finally saw La Cage Aux Folles at the State Theater last night.
OH. MY. GOD. I LOVED IT. LOVEDLOVEDLOVEDLOVEDLOVED IT.
There's a trick to going to Broadway shows, I've learned. - walk in there knowing the bare minimum about the show. That makes it SO much more exciting. Like Cabaret, which was my favorite musical (up until now) - I knew very little about it walking in. I didn't connect that, even thought it was Berlin in the 1930s, there would be Nazis in it. So when they showed up, I was like, "Holy shit." The plot twists are also a lot more spectacular without knowing the whole show. Which just makes it fun in general.
So I walked into La Cage Aux Folles knowing that it was about a gay couple in the 1960s, one of who owns a nightclub where men perform dressed as women. And that my most favorite Broadway song of all time is in it (which I'll post below, even thought it's elsewhere on this blog. But this version is sung by John Barrowman, so naturally I could post it a thousand times and never grow sick of it):
What I didn't know is that IT'S THE BEST BROADWAY SHOW I'VE EVER SEEN. Seriously. It is. Albin is the cutest, most wonderful, most interesting character I've seen onstage ever. And the actor who played him, Christopher Sieber, was PHENOMENAL. And he's from Minnesota. So yeah, win-win. Plus the storyline is just so... emotional. And kind of personal. Like, I didn't realize that "I am what I am" was sung right after Albin is told by Georges that who he is isn't what their son Jean-Michel wants around to meet his to-be in-laws. I cannot even fathom how painful that must be. I'm generally moved to tears by the performance of this song, but I definitely teared up big-time last night seeing it live. And kudos to me for sending it to [uber gay] when his family told him to change himself around relatives and he was totally upset. I made the perfect connection without even realizing it.
This show is just so.... feel-good. Much more so than Cabaret, which is probably why La Cage has now replaced it as my favorite (sorry, Cabaret, you're wonderful, but you're just kind of a downer). I mean, I walked out of there feeling on top of the world, feeling great about myself and feeling great about entire world and just wanted to run out and start volunteering for the HRC or the No H8 campaign or something (I would be already, except a little something called school has gotten in the way). But now I have serious motivation to do so. I mean, four... okay, five, because FINALLY we learned that one of our friends from high school, [save the panzer], is gay - so five of my closest friends are gay. So it's kind of a personal topic for me. And I'm beginning wonder if I can't identify as a gay man in a straight woman's body (okay, queer theorists of the world, is this possible? I seem to have a thing for gay men, but I'm a straight woman? Or am I just a straight woman with unlucky taste? How exactly would I discern if I act somewhat like a gay man? How would you know? How would anyone know? What if all women are just gay men in women's bodies? Whoa, that's going a tad bit too far... And this is one hell of a tangent...).
Barrowman... heels... sparkles... I am both envious and a little turned on. What the hell does that mean?!
Meanwhile, back at the ranch... As a perfect way to end the evening, we went to The Saloon, a popular gay bar in the area. Despite the fact that it got some bad reviews from the people we went to the Gay 90s with last year, it was nicer than the 90s. And they played sweet music. And had some nice Halloween decorating. And damn, boy - [save the panzer] can dance. And I realized I LIKE CLUBBING. At least at gay bars. Well, it was great until a strange man older than my father asked me if I wanted to dance. Then it got a bit weird. Otherwise, a great way to end the night.
I just can't get over how good this show was. Like, I went out to dinner tonight with my parents and it was all I could to keep from talking about it the entire time. Why did I like it so damn much? A brief analysis:
1) IT WAS AMAZING. Fantastic costumes, choreography, comedy, romance - it tour de force of Broadway excellence. No matter what Star Tribune said: screw you guys. I hate your website anyway. Although you were right about George Hamilton.
2) It made me proud to be a woman. Yes, a show about gay men made me proud to be a woman. Why? Well, when I was younger, I was terrified to be girly. I didn't think it fit my personality, I felt like people judged me for wanting to be girly - like they just thought I'd be another dumb appearance-absorbed chick (not to mention I was friends with some girls who either didn't care about how they looked. At least they pretended to not care), and I didn't think a lot of feminine clothes would fit my not super-skinny, somewhat-boyish frame. Somewhere between high school and college I decided, "Fuck that shit," and went all out for girly clothes. Like dresses. And heels. OH MY GOD. Do I love wearing heels, no matter what [X] or anyone else says. Heels make you feel like the shit. Ones you can walk in and still look hot? They rule. They make you feel like you can kick total ass. Anyway, my point is, seeing men wear heels and having them totally understand that it takes a bit of still to stay afloat in those babies makes you feel... well, understood. Seeing men totally rocking sequins and feathers and sparkles and all the things women are supposed to like but often get made fun of for liking - well, it was damn nice to see men looking great in them, relating to women, and being their own person, being so comfortable with their own bodies. It made me feel glad to have worn heels and made me feel way less self-conscious dancing at The Saloon later. I could go into a bunch of theories as why this might be, but I don't need theories right now. I'm just glad it had that effect.
One of the reasons why this IS a gay anthem is the fact that it helped
give us a sense of pride in the eighties at a time when thousands and
thousands of our friends and lovers were being wiped away by AIDS. Half
of the original Broadway cast of La Cage had died before the show ended
its run in 1987. And the composer Jerry Herman himself found out that he
was infected as well. This is 'lump in the throat' music for me and
always will be. Thank you George, thank you Jerry. Thank you so much.
This is mind-blowing to me. Half of the original cast DIED?! That is so terribly, terribly sad. I guess you could say the effect of this show was like the Rent of the 1980s. And now I feel like it wouldn't be a bad time for people my age to see this show, especially given the bullying directed towards GLBT youth. Especially since it's so upbeat. An "It Gets Better" campaign before "It Gets Better" campaigns? For the win, La Cage, for the win.
So, anyway, the take home message: see the show. But enough of me talking about the show - why not have John Barrowman, who starred in one of the revivals, tell you about it? (Trust me, it's worth it :D)
So this was my least favorite U2 song until I heard it live, in the middle of the pouring rain at the TCF Bank Stadium this summer. And then, suddenly, it hit me how great this song is. Probably because it summed up exactly how I was feeling. And U2 is just fucking incredible live.
I've spent a good part of the last few months stuck in a moment. I didn't even realize how stuck I was until I started getting shaken loose from it. For some wonderful but unknown reason, I started getting out of my blue funk (baking cookies helped. I should remember that that's a great new therapy for me). And then Wednesday night, the news I'd been expecting for months finally appeared - [No-Mr-Darcy] is in a relationship, back together with his ex-girlfriend. Thank God. I don't even care that I was kind of a rebound girl. I'm just glad that poor girl gets a second chance. And that my chance is totally nullified. Finally I can move on. So, I went from U2 to something more like this...
"Let it go, this too shall pass" - thank you, OK Go, for those simple but sage words of wisdom. Finally I can do just that.
And now, I'm more at this point (I swear, I have a song for everything. I could just make my life into an entire musical out of pop songs, show tunes, and classic rock):
I'm feeling a bit inspired by another post I came across today: Footwear as Political Salve and [Львица]'s post on Zachary Quinto. So I feel like talking about daydreaming myself. Especially since today's daydreaming consisted of meeting a hot celebrity (which is generally how my ludicrous daydreams seem to go).
I seriously spent like half of today thinking about meeting this guy:
*smolder* I'm John Barrowman.*smolder*
Yep. Thank you, Torchwood, for making me a John Barrowman fan girl. I am now way too emotionally attached to a TV show few people in this country has heard of, photo-stalking celebrities once more, and have fallen again for a taken gay man. I'm sure Barrowman would be just thrilled to know he has a crazy, single straight white girl blogging about him (hey, crazy single straight white girl wouldn't be a bad title for a book...)
Anyway... God, I can't think with this picture on screen. It's terribly distracting. I don't even remember why I wrote this post anymore. Oh yeah, I remember why...
This is from barrowmanilove, a Tumblr page discovered by [Львица]. This conversation, posted under one of the millions of pictures on the blog, is between barrowmanilove and another Tumblr fan/follower:
barrowmanilove: Sigh… I wanna passionately make out with John Barrowman…….*pout*
phantomjoy: You and me both darlin’ ..you and me both. *sighs*
barrowmanilove: He has been known to kiss a couple ladies to see them blush. ;)
phantomjoy: yeah, and i wish i were one of those ladies!!
Thanks, barrowmanilove, for putting that idea in my head for the rest of the day. I don't obsess over celebrities to the extend of barrowmanilove... but that doesn't mean I don't obsess at all. I'm blogging about it, goddammit. Clearly it's occupying my thoughts a lot more than other things today. (And a brief note and a tangent; I'm incredibly easily embarrassed. You want to see a lady blush, John Barrowman? All you'd have to do is stand there and I'd be turning redder than a sunburned ginger {my apologies to [Львица] and all other gingers. I couldn't think of any other similes. My brain isn't working so well today if you haven't noticed}.)
Glasses... kilt... puppy in a sweater! Now I think he's just doing this on purpose..
Because I have an overly critical sense of introspection, I of course feel like some sort of pervert for having celebrity crushes. But we've already done this song and dance (see Starstruck). So I won't harp on it again. However, I will awkwardly describe an issue I seem to have. It's called the need to continually be daydreaming about a guy.
See, I've been pretty good about not obsessing over celebrities a ton for a while there. I went through a Paul Bettany obsession after I got back from Scotland, but that was it. It helped me get through the worst of whatever happened between [No-Mr-Darcy] and me. But I swore to myself, no more of the endless needing/clinging to the feeling of crushes, wanting to be in love, etc. I was going to be totally single in my mind and be totally fine with it.
Fail. Total fail.
Not just because I started watching Torchwood. I would have crushed on someone eventually - another actor, a classmate, who knows. But Barrowman is a much better alternative. And he's incredibly good-looking. And I just totally suck at not thinking about being single. I mean, it's like trying not to think of a pink elephant - because then you totally do.
I think this stupid funk I've been in has been greatly due to the fact that I haven't allowed myself stupid daydreams like this. I'm trying to pretend that I'm 100% happy being single when I'm not. And even though it's stupid to compensate with something false, I did feel 200 times better today than I have in quite a while. Less like I'm becoming numb. More like a good old Romantic me and less like a cynical nihilist.
Of course, I'm still not satisfied with that answer. I mean, I still feel like a creep. Lemme put it this way - would you like being in a serious relationship and having people say they want to make out with you all the time? Weird, right?
But considering what I just saw on Facebook like five seconds ago, I'm suddenly really really glad that today was the day I caved in to the hotness that is John Barrowman, as much as it might give me some sort of cognitive dissonance or morality issues. Because I just found out [No-Mr-Darcy] has a girlfriend. Actually I think he got back together with his ex. How about them apples. You know how I feel about that? Relieved. She deserved a second chance. And I could tell just from Facebook that she really f-ing likes him. More than I did. Good for you, girl. I'm glad this saga is done with.
Of course, I'm trapped in another celebrity crush. But what the fuck. Maybe I deserve a little stupid girly fan-girl rampaging. I am my own woman - I know that. So why not kick back and be a bit daft for now? And randomly use British slang...
I finished reading Faulkner's As I Lay Dying yesterday, while sitting in this little study hall/ cafeteria that reminds me of my father's alma mater. I got this cool, intellectual feeling sitting there, letting Faulkner's prose flow over me, and began thinking about how much death has come up in my thoughts this month. I don't mean to be overly morbid, but it HAS been a common theme. For one, I'm writing a book about people who can't die. You can see how it would be a common musing. For another, it's the month of All Hallow's Eve and growing closer to Dìa de los Muertos - Day of the Dead. Again, a common theme. Also, people I admire keep dying. And it's terribly depressing.
First it was Steve Jobs (I think I'm still grieving about that, actually. Is that weird? Probably, yes...). And then this weekend during an Indy race, English driver Dan Wheldon died in an accident. This might surprised you that I am a racing fan (only the Indy Series; my parents and I watched NASCAR when I was younger because we used to live in Columbus, IN where Tony Stewart is from, but I don't like NASCAR much. For various reasons that aren't important right now). My fav driver in the series is Dario Franchitti, but I really like Wheldon too - he seemed like such nice, friendly guy. Something I love about the Indy Series over NASCAR is that they seem better able to keep their cool and less... I don't know, Hollywood. They seem more down to earth. And I really respect people like Wheldon who can drive a car like that and be really damn good at it. It's just so sad how he died - something about racing accidents just haunt me. Well, car accidents in general, but especially racing ones. I remember seeing Dale Earnheardt's fatal wreck on TV when I was 10 - it was one of the first NASCAR races I watched too. There's something scarring and terrible about seeing such a terrible wreck on TV with your own eyes, then finding out later that you witnessed a fatal accident. I can't imagine what it was like to actually be at the track... that sort of thing would haunt me for a long time.
And to continue this parade of macabre, my college band is playing a Bach piece titled, "Come Sweet Death." To really get us into the mood of the piece (I think I've got the mood down enough, thank you very much) our director had us rehearse it once with the light dimmed. It was totally eerie and chilling, even if we as a group didn't sound as good as this choir. It's just... grim. I mean, it's more about life after death than just death... but still, it's a momento mori - a reminder of that death is inevitable.
And because I'm a freak, I get reminded of Captain Jack Harkness every time I play this song (okay, if you want to get to the real passion of a piece about seeking release from pain and looking for solace in the afterlife, but is still a really dark, angst-ridden, tormented song, what better way to illustrate this than our dear Torchwood leader who can't ever die. Even after being blown up - yeah, just saw that in season 3. Holy shit, dude. Holy shit). And to top it all off, I had NO IDEA that Owen and Tosh were going to die at the end of Season 2 and now I'm all pissed off about that and THEN Wikipedia ruined the end of season 3 for me by telling me that Ianto dies and now I just want to crawl in a hole because I freaking love Ianto AND WHAT THE HELL, TORCHWOOD WRITERS WHY ARE YOU KILLING EVERYONE?!
Look, I take my sci-fi TV very seriously, apparently (I got really into Buffy freshman year. I mean, I had a dream that [mind ninja] and I were killing vampires. It was terrifying) and I'm terribly saddened that Ianto is going to die within the next three episodes. And it's just another reminder of our eventual lack of control, that we can't help the fact that we die. And it is terribly, terribly hard to deal with. Nay, impossible.
Yet, somehow, Faulkner makes me feel better. Not that he is comforting - he's really not, with his gritty, complex, grim ideas. But he's honest. And I like that. He doesn't always make complete sense. But neither does life. He wonderfully captures the difficulties of living, of dying, of grieving. And somehow, he makes it sort of beautiful. The same way Bach does with his tragic piece. The way momento moris are - great and terrible and beautiful. I guess what I like about all these things is that they articulate the mystery - the unknown. The fact that we don't know why things happen the way they do, why death is a necessary part of life, why it is so hard to deal with, why we think about death while other creatures don't, why accidents happen, why people like Wheldon and Jobs die too soon. We just don't know. And there's something comforting to know that we as individuals are not the only ones who think about this; it's a sort of strange way of uniting us socially, to know that we worry about the same things, that we are not completely alone. Perhaps thinking about death is important, a way of reminding us that time is limited, that people are important in our lives. Maybe I'm not really being morbid. Maybe I'm just being human.
It all started when I got home last night at around 9:20 pm from band. I was checking my email and the Twitter universe when [Львица]'s phone rang and the girl from apartment #3, a basement unit, said her bathroom was flooding. [Львица] went down to investigate while I got the key from the lockbox for #103, as we thought it might be a leak from that unit. As #103 wasn't even home, we were kind of confused how there could be a leak (as most water issues from the pipes seems to occur when the person in the unit above is using the shower). [Львица] went to deal with #103 while I went to go help the tenant in #3 with the leak. As soon as I saw the bathroom, I froze.
The water was ankle deep and pouring out from the ceiling like a waterfall. A bottle of some sort of hair product was floating around and water was seeping into the carpet of the rest of the studio apartment rather quickly, turning it into the consistency of a swamp. I stupidly ran to get some towels, trying to figure out how to keep the water from spreading further. It did little good, as the towels were soaked in an instant. I ran to grab some buckets to start capturing water in while the ceiling tiles fell down, turned into what felt like soggy cardboard-like things and covering the floor in gritty sand-like stuff and staples. I set up some buckets and a giant trash can and, with another bucket, started dumping as much water as possible down the shower drain. Within minutes I was soaked by the onslaught of water from above. I continued to bail out water, like a sailor in the bottom of a sinking ship, and hoped to God one of the valves [Львица] was shutting off would finally do the trick. Eventually, she just shut of the water to the entire building and the water ceased its waterfall-esque activity.
[Львица] took over trying to salvage #3 bathroom while I went to each unit (23 in all) to tell all 34 tenants that the water was off in the entire building. #5 and #4 already knew; #5 is right next door to #3 and she had water seeping into her room from the leak. #4 heard the noise and came out to investigate and also had water at the edge of one of their doorways, even though their apartment is across the hall. I wish I could have tape recorded everyone's reactions as I went to each room, drenched from the leak with my hair plastered across my head like a wet squirrel and water pooling up around my feet from my saturated jeans. I returned to the basement to find that there was no longer any water standing in the bathroom but that the carpet was turning into a lagoon. After many calls to our landlord and his sister, we got an emergency clean-up crew to come out and vacuum the water out of the carpet and our friend Dan the plumber to come and fix the pipe. It was now around eleven o'clock at night.
The ceiling after the leak... photo courtesy of [Львица]
Apparently, whoever designed the plumbing in this building was on crack. Plumbers show up, look at the rows of pipes and the valves for each stack and open up the walls and just shake their head. There were pipes in #3 that had duct tape around them. Not plumber's tape; DUCT TAPE. Seriously? I mean, c'mon.
We got the water mopped up from the hallway, the girls in #4 expressed their consolation that we have the worst job in the world, and the kind-of drunk flood rescue crew and the kindly plumber arrived to save the day. After much-to-do, the carpet was mostly dry, the pipe was temporarily fixed (it was all caused by two pipes that separated... however the hell that happened) and the very tired building managers could finally go to bed.
Except that it wasn't over yet. Today, when I got back from class (yes, I did go to class despite getting only 6 hours of sleep; I think that's more than some kids usually get, so...), the plumber (a different plumber - Mike, who we'd met over the summer) was here to permanently fix the problem. Except that the problem started traveling upwards. Once the leak stopped in #3, it went up to #103 and started coming out. A hole was made in #103 and water started spurting out, making the carpet wet. Mike had to leave to go to another appointment, but another guy was supposed to come. Except that he didn't, we didn't have the other guy's number and Mike just left with an active leak. It kind of felt like this (minus Sam Neil):
So [Львица] shut off the water again, we waited for Mike and Jim, Mike's boss to return, and I did my Italian homework. The plumbers returned, made a hole in #203's room and finally figured out how to fix the leak. After deciding that the plumbing in our building is just insane.
We were joking about the other day how we feel like all the water in the building was collecting in one area and going to explode. Except that we thought that it would be in our apartment, since we had a leak above the sink (which isn't actually a leak... there's no water coming out of the pipe; it was just strangely damp. Who knows...). And then the explosion in #3... *sigh*.
As of now, all is well (KNOCK ON WOOD). All I can say is this job certainly keeps me on my toes. And Mike Rowe of "Dirty Jobs" fame totally missed out on what would have been the most epic episode of his show ever.
I saw something about this on TV the other night, but thought it was probably just speculation. Then I came across this article while waiting for my social psych class to start: Van Gogh Did Not Kill Himself, Authors Claim. According to these authors who spent 10 years studying documents, they believe Van Gogh might have been accidentally died by being shot by friends, not committing suidice.
Though this can't be proved 100%, this is... REALLY fascinating to me. I mean, Van Gogh is my favorite artist. How can you not love a guy who painted this?
I LOVE STARRY NIGHT. I can't tell you why. I just do. It's like it takes on some sort of special meaning I can't quite put into words.
Van Gogh is just a fascinating guy all around. He's psychology's go-to man for an example of bipolar disorder (thought it seems the authors want to bring that into questions... Interesting). Everyone knows him as the guy who cut his ear off and sent it to a girl he liked (he did not actually do that; he did cut his ear off but he didn't send it to a girl, and it's unlikely he even did it for a girl. One theory is that he had tinnitus and that, along with whatever personal/emotional/psychological problems he was having caused him to cut it off). And his art... my God, his art...
I saw this in London. LOVE.
I always got the feeling that he was a sort of tormented artist that no one understood until it was too late. And the fact that he supposedly committed suicide made it even sadder. Like I can't even look at the painting he did of the field where ended up dying. And I hated how psychology dealt with him (though I did read a book by Kay Redfield Jamison where she did a really good job of talking about how he might have been bipolar. But then again, Jamison is both actually bipolar and a genius. So she gets it).
But if Van Gogh didn't actually commit suicide... that would some how make me feel better. Like maybe his torment wasn't that extreme. Maybe it would help remind that there's more that just tragedy in his paintings - that there's also a bit of joy, a bit of pleasure. A bit of hope.
