You Treat Me Like a Stranger

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I'm hesitant about writing this since I recently advertised my new blog on Facebook and the fact that Google + has officially and finally changed my name to my actual name on here. But, based on the fact that I haven't gotten any backlash as of yet and that most of my friends don't talk to me on Facebook let alone read my blog, I don't think I have anything to worry about. But still, I feel like a backstabber. A bad friend. A traitor. All because I need a place where I can pretend someone is listening to me because I don't know how to deal with one of my closest friends becoming a stranger.

Last night, [X] and a co-worker of her's were in town for a comedy show at Coffman Union - "An Evening with Bo Burnham." Now, I didn't know anything about Burnham and [Львица] and I just decided to go because it seemed like a good gesture, to meet up with [X] and see her since I haven't spoken to her since Christmas.

Except that it was totally awkward. Namely because both girls from out of town felt the need to compare everything on our campus to their school. And because [X]'s co-worker didn't seem to like us (paranoid me wondered if perhaps [X] had already told her a thing or two about us before they arrived). And Burnham wasn't my cup of tea. At all. (You can read about that on [Львица]'s blog, if you're so inclined). 

The chance I did get to talk to [X] felt forced, meaningless small talk with me rambling on about psychology or Sherlock or how Benedict Cumberbatch is the greatest thing ever, only to have [X] either say little in reply or have her correct me that, in fact, Cumberbatch is ONE of the greatest things ever (not the point. Not even close). Even bringing up the Scotland trip felt sort of weird and forced, as if that wasn't us, that was some other life, some other world, not ours. Maybe it was because her co-worker was there that she didn't talk to me much. Or maybe I should just accept that she no longer puts me first in terms of friends, she probably never did, and I should just get over it. But sometimes I wonder if anyone's ever put me first, or at least equal to someone else, and it's a nagging sense that I don't amount to anything and that I've failed somehow. But I know that isn't true - I gave it my all with [X] and it just didn't turn out. She and I will never have the deep conversations we used to have on occasion - the deep conversations [Львица] and I now have at least once a week (thank God for [Львица] and [the Question]. I don't know what I'd do without them). Even conversations with people I've just met or acquaintances from my classes (like [amante della musica] and Ellie, a girl in my music as discourse and comedy class): seem simpler than talking to [X] now. Maybe she really just has become someone that I used to know.

Cheque, Check

[Львица] and I came to a consensus the other day: men don't know how to write checks. Okay, so not all men, obviously. But a wide variety of twenty-something college boys sure don't.

http://carayowell.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/09/Abundance-Cheque-Example.jpg

Case and point: last summer, on move-in day, I had to tell the tenant of 103 how to fill out the check for the first month's rent because he'd never written one. Then the other day, [Львица] was watching a guy who was writing a check for the security deposit to rent an apartment in our building next year and he didn't know how to do it.

What is with this? I mean, both [Львица] and I realized that are mothers are the ones who pay the checks in the household and that neither of our fathers write checks very often. Not saying they don't know how, but that it doesn't happen often. Why did the checkbook become a woman's tool? What's with this?

I don't have the answers... seriously, I don't. I'm just mindlessly musing because it's late and that's what I'm good at.

British Accents

Yesterday in my television class we were talking about PBS and how their programming differs from other American channels. Amidst this talk, we discussed how PBS imports some British shows, like Monty Python's Flying Circus, miniseries, and "low-brow" comedy - and yet all of these shows are seen as very "high-brow." Why? Because people with British accents just sound smarter to us Americans.

I've been thinking about this ever since and it's true. Why this is comes as somewhat as a mystery to me. Maybe it's some sort of residual "we used to be a colony of you and then we went off and did our own thing and got stuck with this weird accent" sort of thing. Maybe, as human accents go, the accents of the UK (because Lord knows there is more than one British accent) just has an intellectual sound to it. Maybe the British are just smarter (they at least, I hope, know that Ash Wednesday falls on a WEDNESDAY unlike several girls in one of my psych classes. And my professor for my Comedy class :P). 

Regardless, members of the United Kingdom, you have an incredible power of the American public. Please don't use it against us.

GOOGLE!!! *fist shake*

http://www.johnhaydon.com

So I updated to Google+ tonight and just realized that everything I had about myself on the blog - my username and my funny little saying about relating time travel to Doctor Who (which took me FOREVER to write) all disappeared when I integrated my new profile with my blogs. Goddammit.

Oh well. I'll still refer to myself as another name. I'll just pretend I didn't change anything. I'll just lie to myself until I stop regretting and realizing that this entire Google+ things is a confusing waste of my time. Sigh...

In memorium of my once-was description (I think it was basically like this):  If culture is to time travel as being a culture vulture is to being a time traveler, then I'm a mediocre stand-in for Doctor Who. Give me a break, I'm trying my best.

Single Ladies, or: Why I Don't Hate Valentine's Day

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I can always tell when it's that time of year again: the shops get full of things pink and red and white, Victoria's Secret bombards me with ads like nobody's business, and I get the impulsive urge to read Jane Eyre.

Yeah, you read that last part right. I've accidentally started a routine where I feel the sudden urge to read my favorite novel around February 14th. I did it last year, I think I did it the year before, and I'm reading it now. It was kind of by chance. But it's a tradition I rather like having started.

As the sort of girl whose most exciting Valentine's Day has comprise of getting the stomach flu from my dentist my junior year and watching my friend [uber gay] get pissed off at us all for sending him singing valentines my senior year, I like treating this day kind of simply. This year, I'm staying home, drinking wine, and watching a movie with [Львица]. I like this trend, just staying in and treating myself ("treat yo self!" as Tom Haverford says on Parks and Recreation).

God, I love this show...

Anyway, as I was saying, I kind of like this staying in thing. I mean, as long as I'm single, I'm not going to sit around and mope and be all like "This is Single's Awareness Day!" and wear black like I did in high school. Because that only made me feel feel small, stupid and unimportant; while I may be unimportant, I am not these other things. So I am gonna have a good day, dammit! I love myself and I'm gonna show it.

And, because I am a deep, deep, crazy romantic (not Romantic, like Baudelaire - I've been reading him and that dude has issues with the ladies. But that's a topic for another post), I believe in Valentine's Day. I don't believe you should buy a bunch of stuff for people you care just to show them you care. Because that seems phoney. It shouldn't be about the buying of stuff; it's about the love. It isn't about money or lingerie or candy or jewelry; it isn't about loving more just because it's a special day of the year. It's about taking aside one day, one special day to celebrate that love you have everyday and linger over it a bit more. About being thoughtful - not necessarily consumerist - and getting something for the one you care about. That doesn't mean buying stuff - it could mean making dinner. It could mean just calling someone up and talking to them. It's not about the stuff; it's about doing what you feel to express your love. However, I still think giving someone a rose is one of the most goddamn romantic things in the world. Just so you all know ;)

I'm also not one of those people who feels threatened by happy romantic couples. Okay, so yes, there is a lingering seed of jealousy and a bit of angst, but overall, I'm happy for them. Just because I'm single doesn't mean I'm pissed off at all the people that aren't. Because that doesn't seem to make a whole lot of sense. And because, one day, that could be me. And if it's not, well, I'm buying myself roses. TREAT YO SELF!

I'm not the Walrus, but...

[Львица] was talking about a friend of her's from the Berlin trip who's a really good judge of guessing people's spirit animal. Out of curiosity what her's might be, she took an online quiz and got jaguar. I thought that was rather accurate, so I took the quiz myself and got...

The Rabbit Spirit
You scored 72% Creativity, 59% Compassion, 50% Strength, and 56% Intelligence!

You are a Rabbit Spirit. You are very sweet and kind, and can be creative. You are sometimes nervous and shy, and are very alert as to what's going around you. You have a couple good friends, and love frolicking in the meadows.

OMG, look how cute I am! If I had to guess, I would have probably deemed myself a rabbit. Mainly because of the frolicking in the field bit. But also because they're kind of shy, but fun and out during the early morning and twilight, my favorite times. I'm not athletic. I'm not a hunter. I'm not wise, or super clever, or sly, or totally badass. BUT I'M GODDAMN ADORABLE.

I think I live with that. It also explains why I eat so many carrots.

Double Duty

So, I just started another blog, Martin Freeman is Not a Hedgehog. You should check it out, because it's about a fangirls and celebrities and stuff that I talk about here (but feel should be in a separate space so I can easily find these posts, as I think I'm going to do my senior project on fangirls. Isn't being a CSCL major brilliant?)

HOWEVER, I AM NOT ABANDONING THIS BLOG. NOT IN THE SLIGHTEST. This just means I get to blabber on about cultural stuff that doesn't necessarily relate to my obsession with British celebrities. I think you'll thank me later.

After the Caucus

As a Minnesotan, I would like to address the fact that Santorum won the caucus here by saying this does not exactly represent that the state of Minnesota agrees with anything that is said by him in the following video:

I, for one, did not vote in the caucus because:

1) I am not a registered Republican. I am not a registered anything. I am a good old Independent/"I'll vote whatever the hell I feel like and screw your party lines" maniac.

2) I have yet to understand how the caucus works. You see, back in the Old Country (Indiana) we had something that made slightly more sense - it was a primary, and registered voters of Insert Party Name Here voted. I have yet to encounter any Minnesotans that a) know what a caucus is and b) voted in it. And only around 50,000 voted in the caucus. That's less than the number of students enrolled at my university.

3) If you don't know why I wouldn't vote for Santorum, watch the video again. If you aren't agreeing with the Fox News anchor (which I did, for perhaps the first time in my life), then perhaps we're having a failure to communicate - just like what's going on in this interview. I think we're done here.

Confessions of a Self-Depreciating Fangirl, Part 2

As I was saying, something happened the other day. I became suddenly aware - and obsessed - with a new celebrity.

In case you haven't noticed by his sudden appearance/mention on this blog, it's Benedict Cumberbatch.

Yes, poor Benedict Cumberbatch, poor, poor Benedict Cumberbatch, who has girls declaring themselves to be his future wife because he, unlike so many celebrities fangirls pine over, IS UNMARRIED.

Not that it stops fangirls from obsessing over married celebrities but, you know, the potentiality of this situation not ending tears is slightly less from the fangirl perspective. Here's how it reads to them:

He's not married! He's so talented! He's so handsome - and those cheekbones! And that voice!* If I could meet him - it'd be perfect!

*They always mention his cheekbones. And his voice. Yes, I did bring up his voice before - he sounds like he could be related to Alan Rickman and it's fucking brilliant. But the repetition of the cheekbones thing... yes, he has a very nice facial structure. But talking about slicing tomatoes with his cheekbones... too far, girls. Way too far... 

I had some variation of this thought the other day (minus the cheekbone bit). Part of it ended up in my Sherlock post, as you might have noticed. Which was nothing abnormal - I talk about celebrities. A LOT (and dammit, he DOES have a fabulous name). But I found myself realizing I'd latched on to this fangirl idea of getting married to a celeb. And I freaked.

Okay, a brief history of me as a tween. I began my earliest fangirling when The Lord of the Rings movies came out (Aragorn all the way, baby). And I went pretty hardcore when Gerard Butler played Erik in The Phantom of the Opera. However, I was fourteen, and had absolutely no interest in dating anyone, no matter how wonderful and famous they were. Because I was fourteen and really yet unaware about life in general. Point is, I was not like other teenage girls who were buying shirts that said, "Mrs. Pitt" and "Mrs. Affleck" from Claire's and convinced that somehow, despite the thousands of girls who were wearing those shirts, they were all going to end up married to said celebrities. Even at the age of fourteen, I thought this was baloney.

So somehow, between the ages of fourteen and twenty-one, I've regressed immensely, to a prior state I was never actually at (well, there was a sort of similar instance where for a few days I thought I might actually get an acceptance letter to Hogwarts, but that didn't last too long for me. I wasn't feeling too secure about my studious nature at the time).

Here's probably how it happened: I'm on Tumblr, ensconced amongst all these photos of celebrities, and suddenly I start seeing all these posts about peeps being fanatic about their favorite celebrities. It starts to look normal to me, and I find myself slipping in and doing the same thing. I found who Benedict Cumberbatch was in part BECAUSE OF Tumblr. But here's where it went different, where it didn't morph into a previous favorite actor obsession: the first thing that really caught my attention wasn't just a photo; it was a quote from some article where Cumberbatch - according to a Tumblr user quoting the article ("I saw it on the internet, it's definitely true.") - said that his biggest regret was not having kids by the age of 32.

Whomp. Just like that I was suddenly, emotionally attached to a man I've never met. This is not unusual - this has happened a bajillion times. What WAS different was how I reacted to it, that I didn't just care that he was attractive and intelligent and talented; no, I also cared about his emotional well-being on a level I can honestly say I've never reached before for a person I've never met, never seen in person, never in lived in the same country as. That was warning sign number 1.

Warning sign number 2 was spending more time on Tumblr than on anything else - even my fictional writing. Not because I talk to people on there (I really don't; I don't get how that works with just an ask box and a bunch of photos). No, it was because I wanted to see all of these new photos of my new favorite actor and share in the experience of people knowing who he is. And slowly, I realized I was getting jealous of the other people out there who I once sympathized with; where once I felt we bonded, I suddenly felt jealous of; as if they were trying to prove themselves a better fan than me. Big old warning sign number 3.

And then yesterday, I was on Tumblr and I saw this gif set I'd seen before: Cumberbatch dancing to "Thriller" at a party. Only there were a bunch of comments talking about how it had been stolen from a Facebook profile and that it was not meant to be shown to the public. Tumblr people were asking for it to be deleted and not reblogged and to address whoever had originally posted it it. But it was too late. I was incredibly creeped out.

I began wondering... How may of these other photos out there are NOT supposed to be released to the Internet? And not just for Cumberbatch - for Michael Fassbender, David Tennant, etc. etc. etc. What do these guys actually think of their fans? I mean, I want to be a famous writer - how would I feel if people posted this sort of stuff about me? (Freaked. Totally freaked. I'd appreciate it at first but then once I started seeing stuff about me everywhere, I'd totally flip out.) So why would we treat actors any different than we'd treat ourselves?

Because we idolize them. Honestly, if I met one of the actors I've mentioned, I have no idea how I'd react. I can't truly imagine it. Well, I mean I do imagine it but it's not authentic. In my mind, I'm all cool and collected. In reality, I'd probably be having a fit and pass out or just be too nervous to even say anything.

So there's this conundrum here - the want to treat actors like you would anyone else (because, after all, that's probably what they want and if you want hang out with an actor, you don't want to be the crazy one who's built a shrine out of printer paper and teacups in your room), but also the need to respect them, to express your admiration (which then gets totally carried away here). And you get stuck in fangirling.

So why do we do this to ourselves? Well, fangirling is easier than some other options. Let me explain:

1) As I've mentioned before, it's less riskier than actually getting involved in relationships. Here, the only person who can break your heart is reality - and even that can be eluded for an extended period of time.You keep telling yourself that anything is possible and that you could totally wind up marrying someone famous someday. And you keep those voices in your head telling you you're just being silly silent a while longer.

2) It's easier to let it go than fight it, especially if you're in school. I mean, I sat through 30 plus minutes today in a lecture, discussing the flaws in an experiment. 70% of the things students said were confounds WEREN'T and we spent forever discussing why so. Unfortunately for me, I get this stuff within the first five minutes. And for some inexplicable reason, even as a junior, college is boring for me. So I spend the rest of class bored out of my mind and daydreaming, wishing for an escape. It's no wonder that I want to be swept off my feet by some dashing actor.

3) In relation to the first point, there's this predominate feeling that a lot of these fangirls don't have boyfriends and can't get boyfriends, for whatever reasons. Boys ignore them, they get "friend zoned," they just have bad luck... you get the idea. You know my story. So, it's like this decision that since they can't get a normal guy, they might as well reach for the stars and dream of something impossible.

This all sounds rather sad and disturbing and disheartening, I know. I'm sure all fangirls aren't this way, but the more time I spend on Tumblr, the more I see girls like this. It makes me realize that this part of myself - this repression of obsessing with actors, inability to get a normal boyfriend, dreaming of perfection - isn't as abnormal as I'd thought. But now this powerful, potent release is no longer comforting. It's terrifying. I'm no longer alone, but I still feel the urge to run away from myself. I hate myself for acting this way. But I just feel more insecure, more trapped by my own life - trapped by school, trapped by circumstances, trapped by things I have to do but don't want to - and I'm back to wanting to escape as I was before.

And as much as daydreaming can be fun and wonderful, it can also be dangerous. You've got a good picture of why. My friend [X] once said that most of her life is lived in her head, which I found profoundly sad. Not having actual actions, just dreaming out what you want to do rather than actually being able to do it. While the importance of imagination is great, its power can go too far.

Perhaps my want for action is what made this situation different. I had the sudden urge to meet Mister Cumberbatch. Okay, obviously fan girls want to meet all of their favorite celebrities. I want to meet John Barrowman, but more out of a "wow, we'd be great friends; I feel like I already know him" vein. This current case is markedly different. This is more like, "Hey, I know nothing about him, but I feel like I understand him better than anyone else." Which is totally weird. And probably what 80% of other fan girls feel. So tough shit for me.

However, also in combination with this is the whole issue with photos and videos being released that aren't supposed to be, in which I feel the desire to prove that not all fans are not so incredibly creepy. Which is impossible to do while feeling like a creep. So of course I found myself trying to not be creepy, to try to be a fan without being totally mental about it - an elegant, mature adult who just happens to fancy an actor. While all the time, in the back of my mind, I'm trying to figure out how I could get to London and "stumble across" Cumberbatch during the Olympics or something as equally absurd (because, you know, out of 7 million people there plus however many millions will attend the Olympics, I'm going to be able to find ANYONE). It's a like a constant battle, trying to not feel like a tween about this (it's interesting that all the imagery about fangirling comes from young girls. But that's a topic for another time). And now all this self-reflection, and reflecting upon reflection, is a bit much. I've just got a whole lot of words on a page and no clear idea of where to go from here. All I know is that I want to be recognized for who I am, not a mindless, faceless fanatic. So I'm limiting my time on Tumblr, reminding myself that actors or people to (unlike what Max Bialystok might say in The Producers), and that I am young and naive and very good at being both things and that I might as well accept that I'm going to do stupid stuff. But the least I can do is limit the embarrassment I cause for myself and for others. Because these actors I adore so much deserve better than... whatever this attempt at explanation and apologizing this is. Sorry, great thespians, and, while I won't pretend that you're reading this, I extend an apologia for this league of fangirls. And an extra expression of regret to the fine Mr. Cumberbatch as the unknowing example in this RIDICULOUSLY LONG post (many apologies, dear sir... you've been dragged into the realm of cultural theorizing.). And since this really is an on-going tale and I've no idea how to close this, I'm just going to stop... right... here.

Confessions of a Self-Depreciating Fangirl

I am in denial that this semester is happening. Really. I just remembered today that I have an essay due in my Comedy class (which sounds like a lot more fun than it actually is) next Thursday. And I have a test on Monday in Research Methods. And I have to find research articles for my Research Methods paper. And I have to accept myself that I'm back in school and that, yes, once again, I have found myself swamped with work and sick and living half of my life in mental fantasies that will never, ever happen - this week's includes John Barrowman singing Cole Porter and Benedict Cumberbatch reading great English literature to me while I curl up all warm and cozy on the couch, sneezing (elegantly and lady-like, as if such sort of sneezing was possible) and drinking Earl Grey tea. Like I said, totally impossible. The best I can do is hole up in Espresso Royale between classes and drink Spanish Lattes and read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Charlotte Bronte and try not to panic over having absolutely no control over this semester. And life in general.

I mean, where the hell is this year going? It just started and already we're in the first full week of February! I'm sitting here, with a watch around my neck, and time's all just ticking by me. It's kind of unnerving.

Oh, and I think I got Mo, [Львица]'s cat, sick. I know that diseases aren't supposed to transfer from human to cat, but Mo slept on my bed last night and it was fantastic and comforting, but now she's sneezing. I just feel like everything I'm trying to do to make things easier for myself backfires.

Like writing this blog. I should totally be doing some homework, or essay writing, or research planning, or internship hunting. But I just can't make myself care about those things right now. I need to stop working for a few minutes, to breathe and relax and tell myself I'm not going to break down (and all in the back of my head, I'm thinking about all the stuff we're talking about in my classes, about how the Industrial Revolution has made us all machine-like and it's freaking me out). I go on Tumblr to chill out and see fun pix of my favorite shows and movies, but instead I just get visually attacked by totally beautiful European men - okay, okay British and a couple Irish men, you win, [Львица] - (Barrowman, Cumberbatch, David Tennant, Ewan McGregor, Michael Fassbender, Colin Firth, Martin Freeman, James McAvoy, the list continues and seems to grow everyday...) and I feel stalker-ish and, well, for lack of a better word, weird.

Let me set this up for you: I have this absurd desire to be famous. Wow, okay, who doesn't, right? Actually, I never used to care about that sort of thing (well, maybe I did, but I'd convinced myself otherwise). Then something happened - A) I realized that 75% of the people I knew in high school didn't know who I was,* B) I wasn't going to be able to me a music teacher and change lives in a small, sweet way like Mr. Holland, and C) If I couldn't do what I originally planned, then dammit I might was well go big and become the next big American writer. Or some shit like that. And people were finally going to appreciate me and care and it didn't matter that most of my teachers couldn't remember my name and I never got asked to Homecoming or Prom and that one little asshole in my AP Psych class insinuated that I'd never get married. No, none of that would matter when I could roll up to our high school reunion as a fucking millionaire and a best-selling author. And that the fact that they never thought I was cool was an utterly moot point. This is not original. I know. But it's how I've felt since graduation, and it's how I still feel now.

* I'll never forget the time [Broadway Baby] was trying to convince me that people liked me and he asked this guy named Sam who was walking by, "Hey, Sam, do you like [La Maga]?" To which he replied, "Who's [La Maga]?" I'm pretty sure this was a common reaction for most people. Even in my graduating class (which had around 400 people, mind you. My school had 2000 students, so maybe I should stop whining and be glad anyone knew me at all).

So I have an obsession with fame. How American. In turn, I have an obsession with famous people (which I have discussed multitudes of times and will continue to discuss, because I'm a CSCL major and that's what we do. And I just have a lot of feelings). I also have an unfortunate trend of thinking that actors who happen to play my favorite characters or characters I grow to love, who are very handsome/charming/dashing, and say something that I happen to agree with are suddenly the EXACT MAN I AM LOOKING FOR IN MY LIFE. I am not alone in this happening - I see it all across Tumblr. Which is a great sort of, "Hey, look, I'm not alone!" tool - which is nice for the first few weeks. But then you - okay, I - started to get creeped out. Because it's just SO MUCH FANGIRLING.

I can understand a little bit. Okay, John Barrowman is one gorgeous man - I have stated that far too much on this blog. In fact, I had a page in which to try to focus some of the fangirling so as not to make a bunch of nonsense posts. But then I looked at it today and thought it was creepy. So sadly, it is no more. You're welcome, John Barrowman. Not that you read this. Unless you do...

See? See what I did there? FANGIRLS THINK THIS ALL THE TIME. They think that their favorite celebrity is secretly reading their blogs. They think that for some reason, Mr. Famous Talented Handsome Celebrity will swoop down from his very busy, hectic life into their very dull, mundane ones and sweep them off their feet to some exquisite life full of roses and awards shows and awesomeness. I am not making fun of fangirls out of spite. Because I find myself wishing for these same things.

And you know another thing that's stupid? Oscar Season and Valentine's Day - two things that should NOT be this close together. For the sake of the fangirls, it's very, very dangerous. I was wondering if anyone's ever tried to crash the Oscars in order to see their favorite actor (probably yes. I feel like it'd be pretty easy - get a nice dress, tell them you're a Baldwin, you're in). Also, Valentine's Day produces a deep melancholia for most people who are of the single state. Which only doubles the power of the fangirl obsession.

I could very easily let myself continue down this path of constantly blogging photos of celebrities I have crushes on and flipping out over them and being totally obsessive, like a little kid watching a puppy in a shop window (wow, nice self-depreciating imagery there, right? Demeaning actors into puppy-like images. I can't decide if that's truthful or too harsh a way of describing this phenomenon). But the other day, something happened. Maybe it's because I'm tired of feeling stuck between the ages of fifteen and thirty. Maybe it's because my mind is being enlightened because of my On Television class. Maybe it's because my fangirling went to a whole new level.

Regardless, this the longest blog I've written this year. But it's a bit too long. So I'm going to continue this in part two. Readers beware.

A Brief Summary of Current Mundanities

http://www.ewhoknow.com

I was checking my email today when I came across a message from Delta airlines which addressed me as Ms. I'd forgotten I'd chosen that article so I'm sitting at my laptop, a small part of my brain wondering for about two seconds, "Who the hell is Ms. Musto?"

It's been one of those days. I woke up yesterday with my jaw aching like mad and by yesterday afternoon I noticed my left cheek was swollen. When I woke up this morning with my gums now swollen, I knew I needed to go to the dentist ASAP. Turns out I had an infection. Which the dentist remedied by sticking some hook-like instrument into my gum to ease the pressure (and release blood and pus while he was at it). All without any sort of numbing or pain reliever, mind you.

I also appear to be catching a cold. Which seems to be the new norm for the beginning of each semester. Maybe I'm just allergic to course work. :P

In more exciting news, I watched the Superbowl, was not impressed with the ads, and decided Madonna is pretty much fantastic. I will now be listening to "Like A Prayer" on repeat for the next month and no one can stop me.

Oh, and I wrote a letter to Michele Bachmann. Which I hope she'll respond to.

And I realized today that I have my first test of the semester next Monday, in Research Methods, and I have that weird feeling like I fell asleep on a car trip and I've suddenly woken up and I now have no idea what part of the United States I'm in.

I also sprained my ankle last Monday trying to take up running at the gym. After all the years I spent loathing running and now I love it and I actually want to do it and I get backtalk from my pathetically weak ankles. *le sigh.*

So there you go... a random summary of nothing, mainly because I've been rather inconsistent in my blogging so far (curse you, spring semester! This is exactly what happened last year!). But I have been blogging for over a year - yay! I haven't given up on this! I'm still writing! And it hasn't totally lapsed into a fan-girl blog. That means I still have the chance of being taken seriously.

Hehehehe...yeah right. The girl who, within the span of two weeks was confused as being young enough to be in high school by one person AND old enough to have a child old enough to be in high school by another, is not feeling very likely to be taken seriously today. So for now, I'm going to curl up on the couch, wallow in pity, and watch Sherlock. Tomorrow I will "act my age." Whatever that means.

On the Turning Away

I heard this song while riding in the car with [Львица] on our drive back to Lakeville one Friday. It's so rare to hear a song on the classic rock radio stations that I've never heard before, so when this song came on and I couldn't name it or the band, I was rather ecstatic. I really love it though - I really need to find more Pink Floyd stuff like this, with this folksy sound. What a beautiful, poignant piece.

Ashamed

http://www.babble.com/

This article came rolling around on my Tumblr dashboard last night and before I even opened it, I had a gut instinct as to what it was going to be about.

I absolutely hate it when I'm right in situations like this.

Sure enough, this Rolling Stone article is talking about Anoka, Minnesota. A town that's only a half-hour away from where I'm sitting now. A town that's cute and picturesque and is the "Halloween Capital of the World" and has a really good restaurant called Serum's.

It is also now the most hated place in America by people I follow on Tumblr. Because nine teens have killed themselves there in under two years because of gay bullying.

Also, it just happens to be Michele Bachmann's district.

Think I'm mad? HELL YES.

Minnesota gets in The Rollings Stones. And what for? GAY BULLYING. IN A TOWN THAT'S ONLY A HALF HOUR AWAY FROM WHAT'S BEEN CALLED "THE GAYEST CITY IN AMERICA."

FUCK.

Ugh. I'm just so upset. Here I am, in my secure little college, going to the Saloon and the Gay 90s and feeling like a great ally and all this and then I read THIS.

It really, really bothers me. And, instead of just sitting here and blogging about it, I'm going to write a letter to Representative Bachmann. It may not make a difference - but it's better than nothing. Minnesota is better than this.

Hipster Shenanigans

This is [Львица] and I at Homecoming our senior year. I came across the photo on my computer the other day and I felt like randomly sharing it.

Yeah, we're destined to be hipsters, aren't we?

Revealing [La Maga]

So, if you regularly read my blog (which I don't think anyone does, but if you do, I owe you a coffee and infinite adoration) you'll notice I'm no longer [Nazi Vampire Hunter]. I'm now [La Maga]. Of course, none of this really matters because I still identify myself by my first name. But it does matter... oh, yes it does. Because defining one's identity in words is fun and cool and hard to do but I'm driven to do it anyway because I'M A WRITER AND GODDAMMIT I WILL CONQUER THESE WORDS!

I had coffee today. I'm sorry. (No I'm not. I really love coffee).

The deal is, [Львица] changed her name. You see, she was [the major was a lady] but that name has now been switched in all previous posts and, accept for the fact that I love recalling past things and had to mention it here, it will no longer appear on this blog. And, because I'm a copycat and felt like changing mine to something that won't connect my blog to Twilight, Nazis, or Nazi Vampires eating babies, I decided to go with something new. Yes, [La Maga] doesn't sound as kick-ass, but trust me: it's cool in it's own right. At least, I think it is.

Here's where it comes from: back in the day, my compatriots and I got really into tarot somewhere between graduation and the summer after my freshman year in college. I really grew to like [novel killer]'s deck, a design called Paulina Tarot (which you can check out here, if it behooves you). While I'm probably getting scorn for being into tarot from all sides (assumptions that it's all about the occult, assumptions that I'm trying to predict the future in a way that's no more legit than horoscopes and fortune cookies), I DON'T CARE. For one, it's actually based of a European card game and is not inherently about witchcraft, Satan worshiping or any other not-so respectable hobbies. Also, I feel it's a lot more complex than horoscopes, considering it's not just giving you a description of basic personality types that could fit anyone; tarot descriptions are actually pretty particular, there's 72 cards, and the meanings change depending what sort of deck you have. Look, I'm a logical, rational human being, but sometimes, things in life can't be explained by science. I like to think tarot is one of those things. However, I don't expect you to agree with me. Honestly, I have a furious love for the mysterious - I thrive off of these sorts of things.

Anyway, [novel killer] used her deck to answer some questions I had about life. And I was totally blown away. Like it was accurate. Really freaking accurate. And because I like odd, not-so-normal things, I got interested in tarot and decided to buy my own deck. [novel killer] gave me some advice about it, in particular saying to go with the deck that jumps out the most at you, the one you can't get out of your head - because that deck is choosing you. And it happened that the deck I liked most was the same style [novel killer]. So I bought it. And it was brilliant.

http://www.paulina.ws/tarot/1-magician.html

There's this whole series of weird stories I could tell you about my deck - and [novel killer]'s because they: a) each have their own personality and b) are related, but I've probably weirded you all out enough thus far. So I'm going to cut to the chase and talk about the major arcana. The major arcana are twenty-two cards that represent personas, so to say. Death, The Chariot, The Fool... these are all major arcana cards. Anyway, each person has a card that represents them. And when you get a deck and get to know it, you find out which card it is (via a long drawn out process With my deck, it's The Magician - hence La Maga, the Italian for the same word.

Here's the description of the card for my deck:

Infinite possibilities, self confidence, personal power, determination, concentration, action, focus.
Reversed: lack of courage, destructive use of powers, manipulation, confusion.

Do I think that sounds like me? Well, I sure as hell want it to. Look at that card - it's gorgeous. But seriously, out of all of the major arcana card descriptions, this one fits me best.

http://erinmorgenstern.com

But enough of me going about tarot. The reason all of this is on my mind is that I just read one of the best books I've ever encountered in modern fiction: The Night Circus. IT IS AMAZING. I bring it up because it's all about magicians and a tarot reader and a guy who's card is the Magician. And it's absolutely such an amazing, sweet, powerful, romantic book. Everything I want my writing to be, as a matter of fact.

So, long story made longer, I decided to call myself [La Maga] because it encompasses all sorts of things for me. And I'm all about creating stuff - what represents creating better than the infinite possibilities of a magician?

And, yeah, it's one of the first words I ever learned in Italian. Judge me at will.

Also, many many many thanks to [Львица] and [The Question] for dealing with my name change. It's super annoying to go through all those posts. Thanks guys :D

Byronic Heroes, Fandoms, and Benedict Cumberbatch.

Benedict Cumberbatch.

I love this name. I could say it all day.

I first saw this actor in a film called Creation, which features Paul Bettany as scientist Charles Darwin. I had no idea what Cumberbatch looked like, who he was or really anything about anything and so I don't remember what part he played; I just saw his name in the credits and I was like, "Sweet ass name! I wish I could use that in a book. But probs can't; 'cause he's famous."

Seriously, I am so cute and dumb sometimes in my cluelessness. Actually just dumb.

And then I got a Tumblr and then I realized Benedict Cumberbatch is in fact very, very famous and plays Sherlock Holmes on the BBC show Sherlock. And then I realized that I cannot believe that a TV show, portraying Sherlock Holmes in the modern age, has been on for two seasons and I was just now realizing it existed (in my defense, it's a BBC show. And I don't have cable. Or live in the UK). So I of course had to watch it. Which I did, very luckily finding the first episode, "A Study in Pink" on PBS (for free! You go, PBS).

OH. MY. GOD. I know people on Tumblr obsess of this show like there's no tomorrow. And now I see why. IT IS INCREDIBLE. Seriously, I feel like someone reached into my head, dug around for how I envisioned Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson, put them in the 21st century and made it all PERFECT.

I know, I know. I'm being a total fan girl after seeing only one episode. I'd apologize but I'm not sorry. However, I would like to explain that this all has a perfectly understandable source. His name is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. And created the first fandom.

You see, back when Doyle (WHO WAS SCOTTISH!!!)'s stories first came out in the late 1800s via serial magazine, people got pretty attached. I mean, I think it's perfectly understandable: Holmes is logical, able to solve any case, eccentric, and totally BAMF. Also, he's not so perfect - he's got a bit of a drug habit, is arrogant, not so tact, and admits himself that if things were different, he'd probably be a serial killer. Clearly, the public then agrees with me - Byronic heroes are FUCKING AWESOME.

But the Doyle got tired of writing about Sherlock Holmes. So, trying to write himself out of this quandary, he decided to pen a story in which Holmes is killed by his nemesis, Moriarty. If your favorite character has ever died in any TV show/movie/novel, you can imagine how people reacted.

They, of course, flipped a bitch.

So Doyle had no choice but to resurrect the brilliant Holmes and cleverly find a way he could have survived. And there you have it - the first fandom.

You can probably see why I like Holmes, what with my penchant for Byronic heroes. He's tied with Edward Rochester on my list of hottest fictional characters ever (but I didn't just admit that). Add that to murder mysteries meets science and logic pre-CSI and it is pretty much the most fantastic thing ever. I have read every one of these stories/books twice (except for "A Study in Scarlet," which I just reread a week or so ago, so that makes that one three times read). I've been a total Sherlock Holmes geek since I was 15 or so, and I love how popular Holmes has become (again) in the last few years. I mean, there's a Holmes museum here at the U! (why in Minnesota, I've no idea, but I really have got to check it out some time). Plus there's the Robert Downy Jr/Jude Law Sherlock films, which are pretty good, and a Masterpiece Theater movie with Rupert Everett I saw ages ago which was good too. But I think Sherlock hits the mark best: yes, it's modern, but something about the dynamics between Holmes and Watson, the way the mysteries unfold, the vibe of the tale - it just works. And the way it reflects the original stories is very, very clever.

Also, I feel I am being slowly sucked into the legions of fan girls swooning over Benedict Cumberbatch, obsessing over his eyes, his cheekbones, and declaring that they will marry him (because, somehow, unlike most celebrities fan girls pine after, he is not married). I'm sorry you have crazy fan girls, sir, but you're gorgeous, you're talented, and your voice... Your voice... Here is how Urban Dictionary describes it:

he...has a gorgeous voice 'like a jaguar hiding in a cello'

This is not a lie. Seriously. He's got the same sort of vocal timbre that Alan Rickman has. Which is pretty much amazing.

So there you go: between Doctor Who, Torchwood, and Sherlock, I think I should have enough Byrnoic heroes to obsess over for quite some time. And another British actor to add to my list of favorites - seriously, like 85% of that list contains British or Irish actors. That should tell you something, Hollywood :P (Am I still passively-aggressively upset that Michael Fassbender didn't get nominated for an Oscar and this year is Gary Oldman's first EVER nomination? Oh yeah). But I digress.

Moral of the story: Watch Sherlock. And help me come up with ways in which to say Benedict Cumberbatch in everyday conversation. Because I really freaking love his name.