"It's all about the triumph of intellect and romance over brute force and cynicism." Okay, so that's Craig Ferguson talking about Doctor Who, but this blog endeavors exactly that. Lofty yes, but what the hell, why not. Onward, my romantic intellectual companions!
[Львица] and I were watching American Psycho on Saturday night and, weirdly enough, one little dialogue bit about Sri Lanka gave me sudden deja vu.
I was suddenly reminded of a place called the Tea Room, in my old hometown of Columbus, Indiana. It was in the basement of this old hotel downtown that was either 1910 - 1920s or 1930 -1940s style that my girl scout troupe went to for one reason or another one sunny afternoon. I'd never had tea before and I was worried that I wouldn't like it because I expected it to be really bitter like coffee. But I really wanted to like it because I liked the whole idea of drinking tea - I'd had a plastic tea set that I played with a million times when I was six and seven (which probably helped influence my obsession with Britain). So I was hoping beyond hope that I would enjoy real tea - not just the milky water I'd made before.
The tea was from Sri Lanka, I distinctly remember our host telling us this and showing us where on the map it's located (ever since, Sri Lanka has held a certain sort of charm with me). We were served raspberry tea in this elegant little tea pot along with little cookies (or do you call them biscuits? :D) and I think - I think - cucumber sandwiches.
The tea was the most fabulous thing I'd ever tasted on earth. I have tried to find a raspberry tea that tasted as good as what I had that day, but I've been unable to find anything that could compare. It wasn't too sweet or fruity or too bland or too... anything. It was absolutely perfect. I fell in love with tea that day - and the whole culture and art associated with tea drinking - and I've never looked back.
Another thing I learned that day was that I have an odd affinity for certain time periods - the Victorian Era, the 1910 through 1940s. There's just something about that style, the history, the clothes - EVERYTHING - that just draws me in. Even as a ten year old, I was wandering around that hotel, peering into one of the rooms they showed us, just wanting to live there, to become a part of it. Maybe this is why time travel interests me so much - because I have all these little qualities, all these little fascinations with other time periods built up in my mind, and seeing them brought to life in literature, in film, etc, utterly enchants me.
On a sadder note, while trying to find photos of the Tea Room, one website said that it is now closed :( Just like so many of the other things I loved about Columbus. Alas... Thankfully, there are many tea rooms around (especially one I long to go to in Glasgow, but didn't have the chance while I was there) and I can easily enjoy tea in my own kitchen (as I'm doing now). But it will never be as magical as that first taste, that first cup in the Tea Room.
I finished reading Faulkner's As I Lay Dying yesterday, while sitting in this little study hall/ cafeteria that reminds me of my father's alma mater. I got this cool, intellectual feeling sitting there, letting Faulkner's prose flow over me, and began thinking about how much death has come up in my thoughts this month. I don't mean to be overly morbid, but it HAS been a common theme. For one, I'm writing a book about people who can't die. You can see how it would be a common musing. For another, it's the month of All Hallow's Eve and growing closer to Dìa de los Muertos - Day of the Dead. Again, a common theme. Also, people I admire keep dying. And it's terribly depressing.
First it was Steve Jobs (I think I'm still grieving about that, actually. Is that weird? Probably, yes...). And then this weekend during an Indy race, English driver Dan Wheldon died in an accident. This might surprised you that I am a racing fan (only the Indy Series; my parents and I watched NASCAR when I was younger because we used to live in Columbus, IN where Tony Stewart is from, but I don't like NASCAR much. For various reasons that aren't important right now). My fav driver in the series is Dario Franchitti, but I really like Wheldon too - he seemed like such nice, friendly guy. Something I love about the Indy Series over NASCAR is that they seem better able to keep their cool and less... I don't know, Hollywood. They seem more down to earth. And I really respect people like Wheldon who can drive a car like that and be really damn good at it. It's just so sad how he died - something about racing accidents just haunt me. Well, car accidents in general, but especially racing ones. I remember seeing Dale Earnheardt's fatal wreck on TV when I was 10 - it was one of the first NASCAR races I watched too. There's something scarring and terrible about seeing such a terrible wreck on TV with your own eyes, then finding out later that you witnessed a fatal accident. I can't imagine what it was like to actually be at the track... that sort of thing would haunt me for a long time.
And to continue this parade of macabre, my college band is playing a Bach piece titled, "Come Sweet Death." To really get us into the mood of the piece (I think I've got the mood down enough, thank you very much) our director had us rehearse it once with the light dimmed. It was totally eerie and chilling, even if we as a group didn't sound as good as this choir. It's just... grim. I mean, it's more about life after death than just death... but still, it's a momento mori - a reminder of that death is inevitable.
And because I'm a freak, I get reminded of Captain Jack Harkness every time I play this song (okay, if you want to get to the real passion of a piece about seeking release from pain and looking for solace in the afterlife, but is still a really dark, angst-ridden, tormented song, what better way to illustrate this than our dear Torchwood leader who can't ever die. Even after being blown up - yeah, just saw that in season 3. Holy shit, dude. Holy shit). And to top it all off, I had NO IDEA that Owen and Tosh were going to die at the end of Season 2 and now I'm all pissed off about that and THEN Wikipedia ruined the end of season 3 for me by telling me that Ianto dies and now I just want to crawl in a hole because I freaking love Ianto AND WHAT THE HELL, TORCHWOOD WRITERS WHY ARE YOU KILLING EVERYONE?!
Look, I take my sci-fi TV very seriously, apparently (I got really into Buffy freshman year. I mean, I had a dream that [mind ninja] and I were killing vampires. It was terrifying) and I'm terribly saddened that Ianto is going to die within the next three episodes. And it's just another reminder of our eventual lack of control, that we can't help the fact that we die. And it is terribly, terribly hard to deal with. Nay, impossible.
Yet, somehow, Faulkner makes me feel better. Not that he is comforting - he's really not, with his gritty, complex, grim ideas. But he's honest. And I like that. He doesn't always make complete sense. But neither does life. He wonderfully captures the difficulties of living, of dying, of grieving. And somehow, he makes it sort of beautiful. The same way Bach does with his tragic piece. The way momento moris are - great and terrible and beautiful. I guess what I like about all these things is that they articulate the mystery - the unknown. The fact that we don't know why things happen the way they do, why death is a necessary part of life, why it is so hard to deal with, why we think about death while other creatures don't, why accidents happen, why people like Wheldon and Jobs die too soon. We just don't know. And there's something comforting to know that we as individuals are not the only ones who think about this; it's a sort of strange way of uniting us socially, to know that we worry about the same things, that we are not completely alone. Perhaps thinking about death is important, a way of reminding us that time is limited, that people are important in our lives. Maybe I'm not really being morbid. Maybe I'm just being human.
My cousin got married today. Well, I presume he did, because I couldn't actually attend the ceremony. They changed the date due to getting a location they wanted for cheap right after my parents and I had planned on going (it would have been over fall break for my mom's school so she wouldn't have to take off work). But the sudden, almost last minute change threw us all off and prevented us from making the 11 hour trek down there for an event that would be... well, more than a little awkward.
You see, my cousin - I'll call him [T] - is my age, 20. Actually, I'm nearly 21 and he's five months younger. Last year... or more like a year and a half ago, his girlfriend found out she was pregnant. So at 19 he became a father. They have an adorable little girl but she'll be raised in a strange situation - neither one of them act like parents and, according to my grandmother and aunt, [T]'s girlfriend refuses to learn how to cook and fed the baby formula until she was over a year old. They were planning on getting married next summer but then suddenly they changed their plans when [T]'s girlfriend found out that her sister was getting married too - and she had to get married first. So, in a sudden whirl-wind, they've been planning their wedding since the spring. And today was the big day.
As you might have seen from the previous post, the nighttime has not been so kind to me recently. At least where sleeping is involved. This has been a common event for the past few weeks. Of if not kind, at least rather strange.
I was lying in bed the other night, feeling crappy about school, feeling crappy about my social life, feeling crappy about everything in general, for no good reason. Then out of nowhere, a flashback occurred. (Yes, those generally only happen in movies. But they are happening more and more frequently in my life. What the hell does that mean?)
It was from this summer, in July after I had gotten back from Scotland. I was back on the edge of the lake on the lake property we have in Indiana (it sounds regal and expensive but I can promise you it's not. It belonged to my grandparents; it's not like we have a cabin on the lake... which makes us stand out from many Minnesotans, who do. I think we're actually the only people in the entire state who travel south to stay on the water). I was sitting in a plastic lawn chair, watching my cousins cruise around in their speedboat and enjoying a tasty beverage with my parents. It was a bright, warm, sunny PERFECT day, before the absurd Hoosier humidity set in.
I realize that this very well might have been the happiest moment of my entire summer. Perhaps the entire year so far. It's weird to think in that moment, I was truly, totally happy. I was on a post-Scotland high, the stress of the class being over and the memories of my adventure still potent. It was before the difficult issues with my relatives came up. It was before I realized that [No-Mr-Darcy] was never going to text me. It was before I realized that this year was just going to be another school year. It was still when I had sheer, unadulterated joy and hope.
Not to say I have no joy or hope now. I do; it's just far more muted than it was then. But for some reason, when this memory flashed back through my mind, I felt less numb, less pissed off, just generally HAPPIER. Maybe because it was the last bit of relaxation I got before real stress started setting back in. Stress from going back to school. Stress from friend issues. Stress from my family - not my parents, but my extended family. There was inner peace I had that I just haven't acquired since then. The closest I get is when I remember this day. What the hell is that about?
Not to say I've been totally utterly miserable the last few months - I of course haven't. I have had some fabulous days. Going out and trying new things with [Львица]. Going to Radio K. Meeting up with my parents. Talking to one of my professors from last year about how awesome Scotland is. Writing on this blog. But still, at the end of the day, when I get ready for bed, this lingering, dull ache that appears in my gut. And I just wish I could get it to go away. It's putting me in a blue funk and ruining my positive outlook on things. It's like I feel homesick... but for what, I have no idea. I've never been homesick for Indiana. I don't want to go back there. But I feel like it's representing something in my mind. Or maybe I'm just thinking too hard about this.
Okay, maybe I do miss Indiana a bit. Or maybe this song always makes me tear up with a weird element of Hoosier pride (by the way, this is not Indiana's state song - which is "On the Banks of the Wabash, Far Away." It's mentioned, but "Back Home Again in Indiana" is actually just more popular than the actual state song). But I still think this is a cover for something deeper. Besides, this song made me feel homesick even when I lived in Indiana. 'Tis the nature of the song.
Whatever is bothering me, it's more than [No-Mr-Darcy]. It's more than school. It's more than [X]. It's more than work. I hope it's not just a 20-something's ennui with being single, being strange, and being studious. I've complained about these things until I'm blue in the face. It's something else. Like tonight... out of nowhere, I suddenly had the urge to cry. Well, not out of nowhere - there must be some reason. I just don't know what it is yet.
Maybe it's time I try something else. Maybe it's time to talk about things I've been mostly silent about thus far - Indiana, my family, glimpses of the past. Why not start tomorrow? It seems like a good time. After all, tomorrow a huge family event is occurring. One that just might change everything.
Today I took a jaunt through an apple orchard and a pumpkin patch with [Львица] and her mother and sister. What a beautiful way to spend a sunny, 80 degree Sunday afternoon.
[Side note - Not that I'm complaining, though I am a little bit because our apartment building retains heat like a greenhouse, but how is it 80 degrees in October in Minnesota? THIS TIME LAST YEAR WE HAD GOTTEN SNOW. Not that I want the snow just yet. It's just I'm longing for crisp days and cold nights. Though this hot spell reminds me strongly of Indiana.]
The apple orchard was cool. Okay, it was more of a store than an orchard, not like the one I went to in sophomore year with [X] and [it's a twin thing] and their parents which actually required us to pick apples and put them in a bucket (fun and an iconic autumn event, but quite difficult if you don't what kind of apple you are looking for). Regardless, I got honeycrisp apples and apple cookies and STRUDEL. And I learned what lefse is (Norwegian potato pancakes. Norwegians baffling me with their cuisine once again!).
And off to a pumpkin patch. I was sort of startled to realize that I, a red-blooded young Midwestern American woman, have never been to an actual pumpkin patch to get pumpkins. Or maybe I did when I was much younger but I don't remember it now. Regardless, it was... magical. I know that sounds bizarre. But there's something about this time of year that is really unlike any other season. There's a scent in the air that appears at no other time, there's a glimpse of possibility, the chance that anything could happen.
Maybe it's the little kid trapped in me that always thought something crazy was going to happen around Halloween. I always wanted to get whisked off to some magical land or fight some sort of otherworldly creature. There's something about this month that's just... exciting.
Deep down I know it's just another month, another time of the year. But it never feels just like that. There's something that jumps into my bloodstream when the leaves start changing and the corn starts getting harvested that makes me a little... well, a little crazy.
I also find myself thinking about Indiana a lot this time of year. Probably because of the corn harvesting (stereotype that Indiana is nothing but corn? Not one hundred percent true, but trust me - there is a HELL of a lot of corn). And also because all of my childhood Halloween experiences happened there. I never really picked up trick-or-treating after I moved to Minnesota because I didn't have anyone to go with and then I got to old and then it got weird. Yay.
But when I was little, I used to count down the days until Halloween. I wrote short stories about it. I spent months planning my costume. I looked forward to all the movies and TV shows with Halloween themes (my personal favorite? One I've actually seen in recent years - the Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode where everyone turns into their costumes). I was quite obsessed.
I still am. I just want to run around in a costume for the rest of the month, eat candy, embrace the whimsical and morbid experience that is Halloween. Why do I get this way? I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with being born this time of year. Maybe Halloween is a Scorpio's idea of a perfect holiday (except that I like Christmas too. Like a ton).
But Halloween feels more than a holiday... it's historical. Like Jack-o-lanterns, stemming from the old Celtic tradition of carving gourds to keep away evil spirits (or so I recall reading somewhere. Or watching on that God-awful film reel in Catholic school). It's also controversial. Like the people who won't celebrate Halloween because they think it's a Satanic holiday. I love controversy.
Usually, I don't get this gung-ho about Halloween. While in school, away from all decorations and stores selling stuff for the parties and trick-or-treating, it's easy to forget. Maybe because the season is so weird with the strange weather that it's gotten my attention, reminding me of fall days in Indiana (going to the orchard reminded me of Indiana big time. Selling homemade fudge and apple pies and such - it was a flashback to Brown County, where the town of Nashville is. Yes, there is a Nashville, Indiana. A bit unfortunate. Anyway, it's the classic old-style town that has a bunch of shops. A bit like Northfield I suppose, for you Minnesotans out there. My parents and I used to go there every year in the fall and they had they BEST fudge in the world. Sometimes I miss Indiana. Just a bit. ) Or maybe it's me trying to make up for last year's Halloween disaster (more about that later). For whatever reason, I've gone bananas over Halloween this year. I want to do something awesome, have a fantastic costume, really REALLY have an American Halloween celebration this year. Maybe because I feel like I don't really know what that means. And I want to find out.
No idea what this means... let's make it a goal to find out, shall we? ;)
So I finished the serious post first today, because I sincerely doubt that my brain will be working very well as the day wears on. I was awoken by thunder, torrential rain and hail at three this morning. And then at five, I awoke with an achy stomach and inexplicably terrified after having the scariest nightmare I've had in years. Or maybe ever.
So this is what it was: I was hanging out in this living room that looked like a mix of the townhouse I lived in on campus last year and the living room of my old house in Columbus, IN. Supposedly, the power was out due to a storm, but I was watching TV with [mind ninja] and [your cat is evil]. Then this ad for a horror movie came on and I was like, "Ooh, I've seen this trailer before! This movie looks really scary!"
So this preview starts with this girl, who looks to be thirteen or something, all dirty and with a bandage on her shoulder from playing soccer. She takes off her jersey and poses topless in front of this teenage boy with a camera and all these other guys were leering behind her, along with other girls watching. They were like in some sort of abandoned house or something and this girl pinned a flower in her hair while the guy took a video of her posing and saying, "I am Diana Villers" (haha, my subconscious decided to steal and misspell a name from Patrick O'Brian's books. Great).
If there is one thing Minnesota would be especially famous for, it'd probably be it's weather. The extreme shifts from -40 degree wind chills in January and the 90 degree hot August days, and everything in between. It seems that perhaps (knock on wood) that spring has come early this year - as I slipped on melting ice this morning, skinning both of my knees. Either this is a goodbye embrace from winter, or a rough welcome from spring. Regardless, I am satisfied with the fact that I can walk to class without my cheekbones freezing, even if it means I will be limping due to the bandages on my maimed legs.
The weather here has made Minnesota a sort of awe-factor for many. We're known for being bad-ass about the snow (unless you're the Minnesota Vikings) and for wearing shorts and sandals in 40 degree temps. Which, if you're from Florida might seem insane. But trust me - 40 degrees feels really fricken warm after sub-zero Arctic winds.
Minnesota is also (apparently) not known for being very fashion conscious. If you live in the Uptown area of Minneapolis, then this is not so true. But when the wind is so cold that the very jelly in your eyes begins to glaze over with a sheen of ice, then how you look simply is the last thing on your mind. Thus sweatshirts and bulky jackets are very popular. And Uggs... I know Uggs were apparently meant for beachwear or something bizarre like that. Here, they suffice to get many girls from one side of campus to the next in the middle of a Snowpocalypse.
Why do I bother to comment on Minnesota weather? Because, geographically, we deal with shit that some other states simply don't. If you took the aquatic elements of most Great Lake states (considering Minnesota is one of them), mixed that with the Great Plains, the forests of New York and the East Coast, and threw in some muggy days that states like Georgia would be more apt to have, then that's a rough blend of the seasonal spectrum here. If we had mountains or more tectonic plate stuff, things would be every crazier, with Colorado's mudslides and California's earthquakes. Fortunately, that's not the case. However, we do have weather fluctuation that can drive some people absolutely nuts. Two weeks ago, it was about 5 degrees during the day. Now it's 36. Next week, it could be snowing (I hope not). Or it could be in the 50s. Hard to say, really. Yeah, other states have this sort of meteorological phenomenon (as my meteorologist friend would tell me). Because, in Minnesota, amongst all the wetlands and lakes and prairie (and suburbs and metropolis as well) we don't really care if other states get snow too or get flooding and severe thunderstorms. Here, we feel it's different - there's an added sense of drama. It doesn't just snow, it blizzards. It doesn't just rain, it storms. That's not to say we don't get totally mundane weather (we totally do; our meteorologist just love being drama queens). We just regard weather differently than I think other states do. Being from Indiana originally, people flip out when an inch of snow falls. Here, it snows and we complain, but things go on as normal. We could get a foot of snow and the likelihood of school being closed is quite unlikely. Culturally, weather plays a huge factor into what makes Minnesotans. Without it, we'd act less like bad-asses. And probably stop trying to one-up Wisconsin every other minute.
