Living Alone

 I saw this article some time ago in the New York Time: One is the Quirkiest Number. Apparently this is what I have to look forward to next year.

http://cdn.freshome.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/apartment_bar.jpg

I guess as a college student this entire article seems strange to me. I mean, many of us students live on our own. But this seems to emphasize, especially for other older adults, that those who don't live with another person are strange weirdos who talk to inanimate objects (wait, you mean the "normal" population of American don't to this? I think everyone I know has yelled at their computer at least once; maybe they should rethink this). I get the feeling this article is saturated with the idea that those who live alone are destined to become odd, reclusive hermits that will never get married and have two hundred cats. You know the stereotype.

You can guess how I feel about this.

(Also, I don't know who's apartment looks like that photo, but let me express my extreme jealousy. I live in a brownstone; I can't quite fathom how apartment units like the above exist (or how anyone can afford them.))

And yet, New York Times ran this other contradictory article as well: Living Alone Means Being Social. Basically, the author states that living alone actually leads to more social interaction.

Two articles, published in the same paper in the same month, saying different things. Not completely contradictory things (I mean, the author of the first never says that the quirky live-aloners are exactly hermits). But there's definitely a different portrayal of the two. The first living alone sound freeing if perilous; the second makes it sound European and chic.

Here's the deal: people live alone. It's not going to be the same experience for everyone; you can't just come out and say "all people who live alone are like blah." Because I know basic psychology and that's crap. Probably, this is just my beef with journalists trying to clearly state how things are in culture when nothing is quite clear. And I'm still pissed that they think living alone will cause me to eat peanut butter completely naked in my kitchen; for all you know, I already do that (hahaha, I don't). Point is, saying that because more people are now recently living alone doesn't mean "the human species is discovering a new way to live;" it might be a little early to call the card on that trend (considering the study of suburbia and urban life is a rather recent phenomenon in itself). But maybe there is something to it (from a cultural standpoint, I say yes).

Doesn't mean I'm going to start eating peanut butter from the jar while completely naked in the kitchen though (and in retrospect, that seems like an extremely precise idea; perhaps the journalist was trying to tell us something :P).

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.

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.

Madame Bovary, Critique, and Writing

Today, for like the third time this month, my professor in my CSCL class went on a tirade about Baudelaire and Flaubert. Okay, tirade is unfair - that makes it sound like he doesn't have a point. He does have a point - it's just a very angry, bitter one.

In the realm of culture, we've been talking about how, allegedly, writers such as Baudelaire and Flaubert are hypocrites. They are not writing a critique of bourgeois life - instead, they pull towards preferring Romantic fiction over modern life. Though a student in my class argued that by showing crisis, that having love fail and Bovary die and torment and tormenting that they are working through this crisis of modern live versus Romantic fiction. My professor disagreed and instead said that Flaubert despised his audience and that his prose was designed to be mistaken for realism, that the "novel in the end is about the creation of beautiful sentences" and "opaque prose, free of indirect discourse" with an omniscient narrator that is actually prejudiced by the characters. What seems to be a critique actually trumps us, tricks us, and is not what it seems to be.

This is the point in my notes where I wrote: OMG... how the hell can I be a novelist with this shit?

Now, I haven't read Baudelaire. And I don't recall much of Madame Bovary, unfortunately - it was one of those novels I tried reading during AP Literature my senior year in high school and I just didn't have the time to actually read it - it was sadly more of a skimming process. Yes, I know, shame on me. Senior year was a nightmare, though. Point is, I can't really argue whether or not Flaubert writes in such a way. What I can argue is what I know as a writer. And boy, oh, boy - do I dislike what my professor has to say.

For one, what writer actually hates his audience? Who DOES that? Okay, so Flaubert might have, I don't actually know. But here's the point that another student made that I really agree with - at least with our personal interpretation of the novel, does it matter what Flaubert thinks, what he was aiming at, what he was trying to do? Not so much - what matters is what we come away with. And if we think that it happens to show a different message than what Flaubert intended, we can reshape it's purposes. Our professor agreed with this in a "yes, but..." kind of way, and then went on a tangent about Ulysses, which I didn't understand because I haven't read it yet (sometimes I feel like the only person in that class who hasn't read every classic novel ever, but I think that's just me. Nevertheless, I feel like I'm failing in some way. But please tell me when I'm supposed to have time to read it).

For another, does our endless critiquing of EVERYTHING really get us anywhere? Does insulting Baudelaire and Flaubert really help us get a better understanding of culture? I don't think so. What happens when we feel like we have to critique everything all the time and we can't just ENJOY something any more?  I'm worried that I won't be able to read a novel now without wondering if it's just trying to sweep me off to a fantasy world and make me forget about present reality (which it of course it's doing in some ways - isn't that the point? But apparently that's a terrible thing now...) According to my professor, there's something wrong with "art for art's sake" - but is it, REALLY? In every situation, at all times? I don't think so. I'm sure my professor would have really good come-backs for all of this, and maybe he's right... but I just feel like I'm being pushed towards the whole "everything you know is wrong" - which is NOT what I understood cultural studies to be, when I started this excursion in my past classes.

Also, I have a personal motivation in this topic. If I write a book and I am so lucky and blessed as to have it published and people actually read it, the first person to tell me that I am not realistically portraying life is going to get smacked. THERE'S A REASON I'M WRITING IT THE WAY I AM. And I certainly don't hate my audience. Maybe, in just a few situations, things need to be unrealistic. I don't care if I'm the only CSCL student in the world who will defend fantasy and sci-fi and the purpose of some fiction, but GODDAMN, the only thing I want to do right now is sit back and watch Doctor Who instead of wondering if my writing is actually destroying the world because I'm just perpetuating stereotypes and running away from problems instead of working through them. Well, I can't watch Doctor Who tonight - so this is one problem I'm just going to have to think through.

But as of right now - I still think I'm right :P

All Hallow's Weekend

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.

Theory Land, Part II

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.

A Yankee on "British" History

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.

Which brings me to another interesting BBC article... Is the US Declaration of Independence Illegal?

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...

Theory Land

Now that I've spent the bulk of my week getting over the flu, studying for a variety of tests and trying to figure out how the hell someone might become immortal (it's for a my personal writing work and WHY must I always find the hardest fucking things to write about is beyond me...) it feels good to get back to some serious, solid blogging.

Whatever the hell that is.

And lo and behold - a topic has found itself prominent in my mind once more: theory.

I feel like I have spent too much time this year reading the same stuff over and over and over in regards to Cultural Studies. I took a 1000 level course last spring (that operated much more like an 8000 level) and now, in this 5000 class (which is like senior-beginning grad school realm) I feel like I basically already know this stuff. I mean, the prof highlights some new things but, for the most part, I've got the origins of CSCL under my belt.

Which means now I'm just trapped in the realm of reading theory. More and more and more theory.

Here's the deal - on any given day, I don't usually mind reading philosophy/theoretical texts. Foucault? Bring it on. Adam Smith? Love the guy (Theory of Moral Sentiments for the win!) Hobbes, Thoreau, Rousseau, Bordo? All things I have read, read part of, will read, will re-read (Bordo refers to Susan Bordo, author on gender studies; she's pretty awesome).

But somehow... somehow I have gotten myself stuck in the "hey, guess what, our world sucks and we don't know what to do about it" realm of theory. The post-modernists or something. IT IS KILLING ME.

Generally, I wouldn't mind reading this stuff. Disagreement or lack of interest isn't the issue - I am interested and I don't totally disagree with what they are saying; and even when I do, I don't mind, I like reading stuff I disagree with. But something... something about these readings are rubbing me the wrong way.

In Defense of Science

[Львица] told be about this story the other day and I was totally amazed by the photo that accompanies it: Major benefits for spinal befida surgery in the womb.

Isn't that just wild? Something about the baby in the womb grabbing onto the surgeon's finger is just - miraculous, spine-tingling, utterly powerful.

I need to see this, especially after the doubt-trip I just went to trying to get my fever/cough/help-I'm-trapped-in-a-shit-hole-can't-someone-get-me-out diagnosed. I'd had a cough since Wednesday or Thursday and then on Saturday night at the Ren Fest I started getting super cold. When everyone else was totally fine. Not good.

By Sunday I had a full-blown fever which I hoped would just go away, as fevers usually do for me. No such luck. All throughout watching Torchwood with [Львица], I was shifting between cold spells and hot flashes (the hot flashes seemed to be somewhat triggered by Jack Harkness appearing on screen... please don't use that against me :P).

Anyway, I was sick. Really sick. I woke up Monday with a fever around 101 degrees F. Bad news bears. But I had to go to class - I had to take an Italian test and attendance is mandatory for all of my classes unless you have a doctor's note (university policy, they're hardcore). So somehow I took the test (yes, I took a test with a fucking 101 degree fever - BE IMPRESSED) and dragged myself to my social psych lecture (of which I remember nothing), came home and took a nap, woke up with the fever as worse as ever and decided I should call my mother and have her take me to the doctor.

Generally, I go to Fairview, which is a local hospital/clinic that does really good work. But they close at five in the evening and I couldn't get back to the suburbs until after that. So I had no choice but to go to urgent care at a place called Quello clinic.

Quello and I have a long, terrible history. One of their doctors indelicately called me unhealthy and fat when I was eleven (it might have been true, but still). Another chewed me out for wearing crappy shoes when I had a sprained ankle, saying that the shoes were my problem (um, bitch, I wore those shoes because MY ANKLE WAS SWOLLEN TWICE ITS USUAL SIZE). This time, I was berated for not inspecting my mucus when I coughed and basically told my college is stupid for requiring a doctor's note policy because it violates HIPPA. Oh, and he couldn't find anything wrong with me because he couldn't discern anything from my lungs. I could have a cold, I could have the beginning of pnemonia. So he told me to take 3 ADVIL every six hours along with 2 TYLENOL  to cut down the fever. 3 ADVIL?  I don't even take that when I've got a headache that feels like a rapture in my brain or cramps strong enough to kill a moose. SERIOUSLY, DUDE?!

Needless to say, I did not take his prescribed remedy and I did not believe his lack of diagnosis. So I went to my REAL clinic, Fairview, where they were also mystified at my pretty intense symptoms accompanied by real lack of breathing problems. But they did a much thorough questioning of symptoms AND A STREP TEST which is like the first thing you try in Minnesota when anyone comes into a doctor's office with my symptoms. (It's like everyone gets strep here - which I've actually never had. Actually, I'd never had the test done before either - not as bad as I was expecting. Everyone talks about feeling like they're going to gag, but I didn't get that.)  So the doc decided I probably had just the common flu coupled with dehydration. So no antibiotics, which is probably for the best. Just Tylenol and lots and lots and LOTS of water.

And it's working. I feel two hundred times better. I mean, I'm blogging again. I can actually think straight. That's something. My fever broke earlier today and I feel like I love the world again. I'm still drinking water like a fish, but for the most part, I think I'm totally on the mend.

This is doctors at their best, like the doctor I saw at Fairview. She wasn't rude, she wasn't harsh, she was kind, sympathetic, and legitimately worried for my welfare. Not being pushy, telling me I'm stupid and trying to get me out of there quickly.

But it's so easy to see stuff like Quello instead of stuff like Fairview. It's so easy to loose faith with science, especially in a position like mine. I'm in a psych department that doesn't care about undergrads unless they're doing research and the profs I have are so focused on their own little category of information that sometimes you can't see the big category of PSYCHOLOGY where everything fits together.

And cultural studies isn't always helpful either. It seems like my class this semester keeps saying how science just hates the humanities and how it's whole idea of data just isn't right and that it's totally overrated and over-specified. Okay, sometimes yes, BUT...

I direct you to a professor I had last semester, named Robin. He is INCREDIBLE. I took his science and culture class, after swearing to NEVER take another class about science ever again (because high school science scarred me. And they tended to think of science rather as the U thinks of psychology - one big entity with some distinct parts that fit together - BUT THEY NEVER SHOW YOU HOW. Yes, I know I am both a individualist and a holistic thinker. It's a problem. DEAL WITH IT).

I was utterly blown away by Robin's class. Science in all its different facets, religion, mass media, Glenn Beck, Michael Crichton, people who want to chop their own limbs off - all of this fit together, to show how great and terrible science is. It isn't perfect; it isn't even close. It doesn't give us all the answers. Maybe it gives a few maybe we shouldn't know. But it's working at it.

Just like psychology. Just like cultural studies. Just like everything else. It's working at it.

I have to admit this, for my sake and for the sanctity of this blog: I really, really like science (especially biology. I think, deep down, part of me wants to be Charles Darwin). As much as I criticize it. As much as I complain about how I loathed it in high school (that was because my teachers were terrible and the classes were boring, not because I didn't think the material was interesting). As much as I complain about doctors/researchers/psychologists/you-name-it not getting it, I TOTALLY RESPECT WHAT THEY ARE DOING.

Because when you come home at the end of the day, and you just read about how some guys says the entire world is going to pot because capitalism is destroying the world and that racism and sexism are never going to be solved and OH MY GOD WHITE PRIVILEGE... it's kind of nice to know that science is helping save people's lives. You know? It's nice to have solid answers - even if they are just things that we all agreed on to be true. Yes, they may be constructions. But I perceive them as REAL constructions. And though sometimes data can turn complicated things into cold, unfeeling numbers... sometimes, SOMETIMES those numbers can actually provide comfort instead of cold, unfeeling philosophies.



I don't want to become cynical. I don't want to be jaded and angry and pissed off at the world. This strange balance I find myself in between psych and cultural studies, science and religion, left and right politics, and all the various intersections between all of THOSE categories seems to be working out for me right now. Yes, nothing is clear cut - but then again, nothing in life is, now is it?

Buzzword

I realize that I've been using the term "cultural studies" a shit-ton here (it is one of my majors, after all) but have never properly described it. THAT HAS TOTALLY BEEN ON PURPOSE. I've been scared to even take an attempt at defining it. And here's why.

Cultural Studies is a field of study that evolved sometime after the Industrial Revolution. Some place its birth at the University of Birmingham in the U.K. (remember when I said my interests come full circle? This is the sort of shit I mean. It's the bloody Brits again! :D) Others place it more with Marx. Others go all the way back to Georg Fredrick Hegel. Get to know Hegel's name very well - you may never have heard of him, but he basically created the way we think about history.

Point is, it had a lot to do with the French Revolution, the change in commerce following industrialization and the development of metropolitan life. It's pretty Marxist, so my conservative upbringing is often under my own scrutiny in this class (not to say I am or am not Marxist... my actually political opinions are WAY too complicated to bring up right now). It's also undefinable - really every theorist kind of has his or her own personal take on what makes up culture and what doesn't. Simmel sees culture as turning something that was natural into something labeled by humans, and thus not natural, a sort of process, if you will. There's a lot of stuff about process. Raymond Williams, on the other hand, gives an even vaguer idea of culture, again about process, but this from a historical perspective, as how the idea of culture has changed over time to become what it means now.

This is not a simple thing to study.

"America: It's like Britain, only with buttons"

The more British TV I watch, the more I realize how different the UK and the US are. It's kind of mind-blowing, really. Everyone thinks that because we all speak English, we're really similar. Watch this video and think about it (sorry, linking disabled, so we'll have to do it the old fashioned way):

http://youtu.be/s0eYRHZLHAg

This is from a show called Friday Night Project (which, according to Wikipedia is now called Sunday Night Project, but whatever). This show is totally gay. I mean this in a not-at-all insulting way. It's just got a lot of homosexual vibes. Apparently, being gay is way cooler in Britain than it is here. More mainstream, more - part of everyday life. Note to America: work on that, please.

Besides that, the cultural references are just WAY different. Like the celebrities they reference. I have NO idea who they are - and thus the jokes are lost on me. There's even something almost Japanese game show about the way this show is structured. Or maybe they're just having fun :P

Over all, it's the little things that get me. Like how we use words. I was doing the crossword today in the paper and one of the clues was "alphabet ender in England." Zed was the answer - because Zed is how you say Z in French. Which makes sense, they're close together. But how did the Americans shy away from saying Zed? It's too bad... it sounds cooler.

Speaking of different ways of using words, watch this other clip from Friday Night Project:

We have a game like this in America, too (which I was forced to endure by [novel killer]. At least I had [mind ninja] there for moral support). Except we call it, "Marry, have sex with, or kill." Which just doesn't have the same... levity. Plus "shag" is just a great word we don't have in our "form" of English.

Oh, Britain... sometimes I'm sad that we left your empire. Oh, the splendors we could share together. But then if I were British, this wouldn't seem as novel and exciting. Plus, if America still belonged to Britain, we'd be stuck in some weird parallel universe and it might be like 1984 and totally suck. So we're probably better off. No hard feelings, right? Right?

Culture, food and why I'm a vulture

I had a strong, intense feeling the other day of just exactly how much of a "culture vulture" I've become - although I'd like to think it's more from a learning standpoint than exploitative. I was sitting in a falafel shop discussing with [Львица] the merits and disadvantages of becoming a vegetarian. I love talking about food. It's one of the few things that combines nearly all aspects of my education in one facet - sciences, health, history, language, labor, economy... the list goes on. Then I begin thinking about all the things that interest me. And how I want to study everything.

And while we continued eating our hummus and falafel, we began having this huge intellectual conversation about GLBT issues and then back to vegetarianism (and how apparently [novel killer] wants to try to follow Ramadan, so religion eventually came up too). Then I end up with this huge mental web of all this stuff tying together, not just because of how the conversations link but because everything DOES link together. I know I might be seen as a sort of flaky eccentric who likes trying everything, but I like to try different stuff, to experience things that I can't understand. I love trying different foods like falafel and curry dishes and sushi that fifty years ago were nonexistent in American cuisine. And I like how so many differences can still connect to so many similarities. Take food for instance again, because it's a great example and the easiest to work with. So many cultures have a version of dumplings, but they're all a bit different - there's actual dumplings in several different forms, gnocchi, ravioli, wantons, spatzle, pierogi, empanadas... the list goes on and on and ON. All these versions of dumplings are different - but it's the same basic idea.

One of my classes this semester, the only Cultural Studies course I'm in this fall, keeps mentioning how aspects of our culture, especially the university system, presses too much for separate disciplines. And when everything relates to everything, that may not be the best way of going about things. Being anti-disciplinary isn't easy... but it sure makes things a lot more interesting :D

Hipster Attack

So within the span of five minutes this morning, I saw two stories related to hipsters. One from my father: Hipsters are Abandoning Obama. Interesting. Am I right in seeing that this article seems to be saying that hipsters are abandoning Obama because he's "too mainstream?" Or is that my personal judgment of hipsters coming in? (even though I sort of claim to be one... ah, the paradox that is my life)

The other story I saw prior to this article on, where else, Facebook, from [manly-metro]: Minnesota named 'Most Hipster State in the US', to which [manly-metro] commented on his link:
"FFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The vibe I was getting was that he really doesn't like hipsters. Especially when one girl commented "*proud* :p" and he called her "bad" for saying that. Right... Okay, [manly-metro], here's one for you: would you rather be known as the most hipsters state in the US or the state that elected A PRO WRESTLER as governor? Oh, you think that's manly? How about the state that gave us MICHELE BACHMAN? I'm guessing you don't like her much. Many college students don't. But may I show you what some people think of hipsters and other college students? This is a comment from the article about hipsters abandoning Obama:


They are what Glenn [Glenn Beck I would assume... ah, the things I could blog about him...] called “Useful Idiots” that were misled by their college professors into thinking that progressive-humanism is glamorous and will do good for all with communist/marxist skewed delusional end result thats not reality!!! Americans in their 40′s and older have seen the evil and impoverishing effects in their reality that has been hidden from these sheltered punks!!! The look on their face when they find out they‘ve been deceived would be quite satisfying if we weren’t all in misery with them! Sometimes I believe that God is going to give us a good as* kicking so that us free Americans can see how blessed we have been and to teach us a lesson we won’t forget for generations!!!

The frenzy at the end of summer, or: reality sucks

So I got this text yesterday, from [X], who I honestly wasn't expecting to hear anything from for the rest of the summer:

Hey, I'm en route to {school} and I just wanted to say I'm sorry we haven't hung out or talked in a while... Things have been CRAZY with me and I'm sure you've been busy too. I just wanted to say good luck this year, I'm thinking about you, and stay in touch :)

All of this right after I was debating whether or not to message her about how her trip to Chicago, or whether or not she ever read the message I wrote to her about how things with [No-Mr-Darcy] panned out. Or whether she's stumbled across this blog and now hates me (I do have a link to this on my Facebook account, but considering most people don't look at my profile, I didn't think much of it. Though according to the stats on Blogger, people have used Facebook to look at my blog... but who? Maybe I'm just being paranoid...)

I wish things were simpler, like in kindergarten. Back then, you liked people or you didn't like people. You got along with some kids and not with others. But now... now I seriously get along with like three people from high school. What the hell happened?

Click here to express yourself through the hidden meanings of ancient and modern symbols!

So I originally planned on talking about the Minnesota Renaissance Fair, as I attended opening day yesterday. But after I Googled information about the henna tattoo I got yesterday, I changed my mind.

I love henna - the sweet, eucalyptus smell of the paste, the feel of the paste as it slowly crumbles away, the beautiful, sienna stain left behind on the skin. Since I've yet to actually get a real tattoo (since I've only recently made up my mind on what I want to get, and that was purely by accident) henna is a great alternative - it looks great, it's painless and if I decide I don't like it, it'll fade away over a few weeks.

This time, though, I got something I really really like and would love to have permanently done - a nautical star (yes, yes - the sea again, I know). So, curious as to the meaning of the tattoo (though I had a pretty good inclination as to what it meant), I web surfed this morning to learn more. I did not receive the result I was expecting.

Yes, it was a sailor's tattoo, used as a symbol for safe-passage home and good luck so a sailor would never be lost at sea. Apparently over the last century or so, it's acquired a few different meanings. According to several websites, it's become a symbol for the gay and lesbian community, especially lesbians. In the 1950s, lesbians would get it tattooed on their inner arm or writs (some part of their arm; it changed depending on the site) which they would hide during the day then reveal during night to "express who they truly were" (I do ask the people who say that the tattoo was on the wrist, how exactly did they hide that? I feel like the wrist is the most visible area on the body, unless you're living in the Victorian era or before. But for the 50s? I don't know... Curse web forums and their lack of sources!) Of course then I found a million people flipping out about, "Does having a nautical star mean you're gay?" to which people were like, "No, it doesn't mean that at all, that's not what the symbol really means." Actually, the best answer to the question (meaning the worst) was "The tattoo only means you're gay if it's on your lower back." Um, yeah, who decided that exactly? (ten bucks it was the guy who wrote that response).

Rage

So in my previous post, I mentioned something along the lines of having friendships on the rocks. In case I had any doubts, last night proved that point rather clearly to me. I have a friend, who I'll call [novel killer] (for her sake and my own) who I’ve gotten into fights with before, generally because of comments she says that come off as crass or racist. Last summer I started screaming at her when she made a comment about Native Americans before my mind had even had time to recognize that I was angry. On certain topics, we go together like oil and water… or maybe more like sodium and water.

Things have been okay for a while, but she slipped out some offensive comments about Hurricane Katrina, seemingly oblivious to her insinuations. It wasn’t so much what she said, it’s that she didn’t seem to think that she was doing any harm. Again, I started shaking before I even knew I was mad, but this time stayed silent. To no avail. The room was filled with my friends and displaying my anger like that was a sure way to kill the mood. I couldn’t look at anyone; I just stared at my feet and at the carpet, afraid that if I made eye contact with anyone I would receive looks of pity or contemptuous judging.

Things got worse. [novel killer] used a racist slur later in the conversation, for which she got rebuked and then apologized, saying it was an accident. How does one accidentally use a racial slur in this day an age? I was fuming. It would be one thing if she grew up in the South, in a family who was racist. But this doesn’t seem to be the case. Yes, she had family members who were racist, but so did I. It isn’t like she grew up in an area where she never saw anyone act any differently. This only made me angrier.

Which happens to be my fatal flaw. If hers is bold racism, mine is rage (or as I like to think of it, a terrible intolerance for intolerance). I have inherited a terrible temper, which my friend would be attributed to my Italian and Irish heritage. But it’s more than that. I’ve worked at not getting upset as much. When I was younger, the simplest things would make me cry or yell. Now I have to be pushed to the extremes to be made upset. But I feel like racism is an extreme and that I perhaps have a right to be mad. I’m a cultural studies student; I’m sensitive to this stuff. But reacting with anger won’t do any good – it’s too unpredictable. I can’t even control it. One moment I’m fine, then my blood is boiling and raging and my body is both weak and strong, shaking under pressure. I feel a little bit like the Hulk, filling the room with tension and pure, negative emotion. Thus I need to find a better way to deal with it.

Unfortunately, I don’t know what it is. I can’t rebuke her without getting upset. My friends, at least those present last night, didn’t leap to my aide to tell her she was wrong – and this perhaps angered me just as much as her attitude, their preference to pretend that it hadn’t happened and change the topic rather than face the issue head on. But ignoring the issue doesn’t work – it just allows her to think it’s okay and that she can get by with it. And I can’t tell her to stop talking – the difficult thing with issues like this is that people have the right to say what they think. And I know a great deal about feeling like my voice isn’t being heard – I wouldn’t want to be a hypocrite and cut hers off, as much as it might piss me off. The only thing to do is what I did last night – leave as soon as possible. I wasn’t feeling well anyway, I’d had a long day and I shouldn’t have been away from home for as long as I was. Unfortunately, when we talked about racism in school, they never applied it to what it might be like for one of your own friends to be racist. Right now, I’d like nothing more than to avoid the friend in question indefinitely. But it won’t work that way. My friends always plan group things and thus avoiding her would be avoiding everyone. And avoiding her won’t solve the problem – it will only make me look like the bitch that I probably am. There’s nothing I can really do, except let my temper cool and to write about it. Maybe once I’ve gotten it out of my mind, I can finally return to some state of normalcy. “Anger is temporary insanity,” it’s been said. I can see that, at times. But what if being angry feels sane?

Death and all his friends

Okay, so I wrote this blog for another blog (for one of my classes) but I really like it and want to save it. So forgive my recycling. Basically, this is about the book White Noise (which is fantastic - read it) and how the main character thinks about history. We could only site three passages and were limited to how many of those passages could be directly about history or death. Anyway, I had fun writing this and I'm too lazy to write anything new right now :P

This is going to be a bit tricky, summing up Jack Gladney’s understanding of history without referring to any other passages in the book, as I think I’ve developed an obsession for Delillo’s way with worlds, but I’ll give it my best.

Jack has a curious approach to history – yet one that is seems pretty familiar at second glance. He and his son, Heinrich, have a conversation that alludes to his view of history while the two of them are discussing Tommy Roy Foster, the man Heinrich plays chess by mail with and criminal who killed six people in Iron City.

“‘He says if he had to do it all over again, he wouldn’t do it as an ordinary murder, he’d do it as an assassination.’

‘He would select more carefully, kill one famous person, get noticed, make it stick.’

‘He knows he won’t go down in history.’

‘Neither will I.’

‘But you’ve got Hitler.’

‘Yes, I have, haven’t I?’” (45)

This passage shows two basic ways Jack sees history – making it (in this case, killing people, though even that may not be enough for Tommy Roy Foster to be considered important) or studying it, as Jack does; with this we’re back to our first blog post, caught between Ranke and Sam Byck’s methods. This passage also echoes the urge of being remembered, of wanting history to keep note of what happened, even if it is something terrible, as in murder. Like Loughner, Sam Byck and others, Tommy fears being forgotten – a sentiment Jack himself can understand. But as Heinrich reminds him, he has Hitler to fall back on, something to cling to and perhaps, through his creation of Hitler studies, be remembered for his work.

Jack mentions more of his association with Hitler, this time in a conversation with Denise, Babette’s daughter about the Third Reich. 

“‘They lost the war,” she said. “How great could they be?’

‘A valid point. But it’s not a question of greatness. It’s not a question of good and evil. I don’t know what it is. Look at it this way. Some people always wear a favorite color. Some people carry a gun. Some people put on a uniform and feel bigger, stronger, safer. It’s in this area that my obsessions dwell.’" (63)

Jack admits that his study of Hitler is more than just work; it’s an obsession. Connected to this obsession is the idea of belonging to something bigger than oneself – to feel “bigger, stronger, safer” as Jack says. Jack also admits that he doesn’t quite understand why things are this way. Through a simple, basic way of explaining this to Denise, he also works to convince the reader of this stance – that there is something prevalent in history with groups that bond together, whether for better or for worse – in revolutions, in political parties, and (in more current situations) the Tea party. 

Interconnected with his Hitler obsession seems to lie another obsession – death. Jack mentions it repeatedly and towards the end of the chapter, he ruminates on it once again.

“When I read obituaries, I always note the age of the deceased. Automatically I relate this figure to my own age. Four years to go, I think. Nine more years. Two more years and I’m dead. The power of numbers is never more evident than when we use them to speculate on the times of our dying.” (98)

Though he is dealing with small, local histories, reading the obituaries of people from his town, Jack is heavily impacted by this, especially as he has a fear of death, notably dying alone. He also effectively impacts the reader in a personal way, playing off of the idea of running out of time. He and Heinrich discussed this before with Tommy, and now Jack seems to be feeling it himself – he could be dead in two years. Numbers indeed do gain more power in that aspect. This certainly made me think about how I feel about my age. I always cringe a bit when I tell people that I don’t have a boyfriend, have never had a boyfriend and thus feel like I am subtly being judged. My grandmother, who was married by my age, already fears I have become a spinster. Though I’m only twenty (or already twenty, depending on your mindset) there’s already pressure that I’ve missed some specific opportunities in my life and that, as the saying goes, “I’m not getting any younger.” Through fear of missing out on opportunities (like relationships and so on) is there a fear of death? Kind of seems like it, from Jack’s way of thinking.

Life is short, time is running out – all of these common sentiments play into Jack’s worries and these powerful ideas powerfully sway the reader to understand where he is coming from. He worries about death and dying alone, which references his obsession with Hitler and bonding together into a greater entity… which involves more death. And once more, history is focused on dead people and dying. Yay.

Hipsters

Considering I only learned about the phenomenon of hipsters last semester (how exactly I never noticed them before is a mystery to me) I've developed a quite an interest in their lifestyle.
Partly because of Hipster Hitler, which I found out about in one of my classes, and was simultaneously offended and humored. Then my roommates called one of our acquaintances from high school a hipster and he went on Urban Dictionary.com to find out the definition. He has now embraced full hipster-ism and is going out of his way to prove he is one, by constantly talking about music and romance and shit.

Quite honestly, I still don't know what a hipster is, exactly. It's a bit hard to define (a circulating reference, as we called it in the same class where I learned about Hipster Hitler). However, whenever I see someone in thick glasses and a woolly sweater in a cafe, I am suddenly cheered up. I think there's a lot of hipsters in Cultural Studies, so maybe that's why. Also, they just look retro and like they don't give a crap, which is oddly refreshing. Of course, I've never gotten into an argument with someone who considers themselves a hipster, so take that with a grain of salt. But I feel like I could so easily become a hipster - wear the tight pants, get some retro sneakers. I already hang out in cafes all the time, and I listen to random-ass music (some that apparently is actually popular with hipsters). On the down side, "Look at that f@cking hipster" is pretty funny to me, and I can't lie that I have no understanding of what sort of philosophy or whatever a hipster has. Truly, I'm not hipster material. They'd think me to mainstream and totally shun me.

But they are everywhere. On campus, on TV, on YouTube (check out Arcade Fire Hipster Attack - it's awesome). And I don't know when this happened. Maybe hipster just wasn't a platform of expression in high school (or at least my high school - we had emo instead). But I kind of like this whole vibe. A snarky attitude towards the 50s (and everything in general) plus some cool music and interesting fashion choices - yeah, I can deal with this. Unless they all become like my acquaintance who became a hipster because of Urban Dictionary. Then I will truly have to withdrawal my support of hipster-ism. Because then hipsters would just be lame. But I have hope - maybe they'll be like the beatniks of the 1950s. And if they aren't... well, I'll save my judgment for something else I actually dislike. Like Jersey Shore.

Slacker

I was informed yesterday of the etymology of a common word in the English language: slacker.

It was used as a derogatory name for men who wouldn't fight in World War I. Makes me feel kind of bad that we throw that around all the time, especially since it seems so harmless and unemotionally charged now. How does something like that become such a common part of mass culture? Wish I had time to research that... instead, I must endeavor to better understand the Cartesian split. So sadly etymology will have to wait.