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

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

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

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

God, I love this show...

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

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

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

On the Turning Away

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

In Pursuit of Altruism

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Last Friday, I was standing at the bus stop outside of the campus McDonalds, waiting for the 465 that goes to the southern suburbs, as I was planning on spending the evening with my parents. I'm standing out there in the rain, thinking about something I'd just volunteered myself to do. My professor for my "On Television" class wanted people to sign up as a peer note taker which, I assumed at first, would be a sort of log for people who missed class or just something to share on the class website. After the sign-up form passed through the first one and a half rows, no one had signed it. I decided I would because I take way too many notes and I figured it'd be a good way to help me study for this course. So I wrote down my name and at the end of class I had to go up and talk to the professor about it. I found out I was the ONLY PERSON in a class of thirty that had signed up for this. And it wasn't just taking notes for class, no - I had volunteered myself through University Disability Services to share my notes with a middle-aged man that had just signed up to take the class who seemed to have some sort of learning disability. I suddenly felt like an altruistic badass.

So I'm standing there at the bus stop, thinking about this and wondering why the heck no one else volunteered to be a note taker (OMG, you'd have to take notes in class - you're SUPPOSED to do that anyway). I have a theory that U kids are actually rather blase about life by the time they become upper classmen (not that I'm exactly the spirit squad about my undergraduate education) and that they don't want to have to do anything more than they have to, especially when you have to take five classes, work two jobs and somehow get time to sleep in order to graduate in four years and not run up debt on your credit card. Anyway, I'm standing there in this weird sort of drizzle we really shouldn't be having in January, and this guy comes up to me. He's really tall, African American, wearing this wool sort of coat. He makes a sound and holds out this card on which is hand written, "I am deaf and can read lips. God bless." He flips the card over which I read quickly. I don't catch most of it; I see that something happened to him when he woke up that morning and that he needs money for food and shelter. For whatever reason, I do not doubt him. He makes another sounds, a sort of grunt mixed with a whimper, and flips the card over again, pointing to the information about lip reading and "God Bless." My brain hurries to process what to do. As I reach for my wallet, I try to discern how much money is in there. I quickly recall there is a one dollar bill and a twenty. Without thinking too much farther, I open up the wallet, pull out the twenty and tell him, "I can give you this."

He looks at the bill and his eyes go wide in shock. He opens his arms, hugs me, and walks off. And I feel amazing. Not good about myself, not altruistic. I'm not even thinking about myself. I find that, in this strange little moment in the pause before the five o'clock rush hour, in a strange bit of winter rain, the world is beautiful.

I know what you're thinking - "you gave a man who may not actually be homeless, a man who could just spend that money on alcohol, a man you know nothing about twenty whole dollars?" Yep, I did.
And honestly - I have no idea what he was going to use the money for. There's no way I could possibly know. But I don't usually give out money like that - and never that much. For once, just once, it felt right. And I didn't care about the loss of twenty dollars. It didn't feel like a loss at all.

I was thinking about this on the bus ride to the suburbs, wondering about all of this. Why the man came up to me, why I gave him the money, why he chose that bus stop in the first place. There were a lot of people standing about, and yet I didn't see him going up to anyone else. Of course, I wasn't really paying attention, I was staring off into space like I so often do. There was a lot of luck/chance/coincidences/fate - what have you - going on there.

Later that night, I was thinking about it more. How in my social psych class we talked about the issue of whether altruism really exists, because even doing something like this can make you feel good about yourself and maybe you just give money to feel good. I disagree with this. I didn't necessarily feel good about myself afterwards (actually I wished I could have done more for him and I worried about whether he was going to be wandering around the freezing cold streets all night). I just felt good about the world. It's part of why I didn't think too much about why he needed the money. I doubt people, all of humanity, every second of every day. Once, just once, I wanted to trust and believe someone. Just once. And that's what I did.

And yes, it's possible that I did it for some sort of long term gain. The "God Bless" part had a surprising effect on my decision making.  I mean, once the man pointed to that part of his card, I had already made up my mind to give him the money. So maybe God wanted me to do it, maybe I did it to please God, but considering my track record with doing things for religious reasons, I kind of doubt it. Maybe I did it for karma, or to pay it forward. But if I was really doing it for my benefit, don't you think I want an instant reward? That's probably not gonna happen. Point is - I'm pretty damn sure I didn't do it for me.

So there you go - I believe in altruism. And here's some philosophizing for your Sunday morning. You're welcome :)

Reflections on Tea

[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.

science.howstuffworks.com/innovation/edible-innovations/tea

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.

Now We Walk In Beauty

Wednesday night I was feeling very down about the world... for evident reasons. I was going through that "why do these sort of things have to happen to good people?" phase. This is the second death of someone in November whom I've known and was a much better person than I am (the other was a classmate of mine, the nicest girl I ever knew, who died far too young) and it just seems incredibly unfair.

So I was in a low mood and had to go to band practice for a rehearsal. Playing made me feel better, as it always does, but when I came out of the music hall, it was snowing - giant white fat flakes falling on the ground, glimmering in the city lights. Suddenly, I felt less broken-hearted and more at peace.

I took a longer route home, walking across the Washington Avenue Bridge instead of the 10th Avenue to enjoy the snow. I walked down University, passing a Baptist church. For some reason I glanced at the event sign that's out front, which read "Now We Walk In Beauty." I don't believe in coincidences - all the nights I could have gone a different way, could have not looked up, could have ignored the sign. Those words couldn't have been more fitting and more inspiring. So on I walked in beauty, realizing why I believe in something more than myself. Because every time I feel alone, discouraged, grief-stricken, something like this happens. It snows, and I can see the beauty in the world again.

http://www.djibnet.com/photo/flour/viking-purple-united-states-minnesota-minneapolis-skyline-at-night-5204556316.html

Polly Oliver

The other night in campus band rehearsal, our very adorable student teacher told us about the background of one of the pieces we're playing - "Polly Oliver." It's based off an English folk song, about a girl who disguises herself as a man and joins the military. However, while serving, a captain - her love, is injured and she nurses him back to health. The doctor remarks, "You have cherished him as if you were his wife." And our student teacher read us the last stanza of the song:

O then Polly Oliver, she burst into tears

And told the good doctor her hopes and her fears,

And very shortly after, for better or for worse,

The captain took joyfully his pretty soldier nurse.

CUTEST SONG EVER. I liked the piece before - it's so beautiful and I'm an absolute sucker for folk songs. And now, knowing the story it's based off of, I absolutely love it.

You can check out the full song lyrics at this Wikipedia link.

And what is it with girls falling in love with captains? Oh yeah, that's why... ;)

A Night at The Opera

Last night, I participated in an event I intended to brag about, as only a culture vulture can - I attended the world premiere of a new opera. Silent Night is a new work based off of the French movie by the same name, about the seize fire in World War I held over the Christmas of 1914. It's about the French, Scottish and German forces in this battle who came together over this holiday and found peace amongst the chaos of war.

Honestly, the Minnesota Opera couldn't have chosen a better night to premiere it than the day after Veterans Day. It was absolutely fantastic to see all of the service men and women in their dress uniforms at the show - it added an added element of importance and significance to the event.

Now, when it comes to opera, I'm very wet behind the ears. I've actually only been to the opera once before and all I know about the art form comes from my combined knowledge of musical training and Italian. That's not to say I know NOTHING about opera - I know a bit. I'm just not an aficionado. Broadway shows will always be my preferred form of musical theater, but this show certainly gave me a new appreciation for opera. The scenery, the storyline, the portrayal itself - it was all brilliant. Karin Wolverton, the soprano who played Anna Sorensen, sang wonderfully and performed an absolutely marvelous aria towards the end of the first act - it was truly my favorite part of the show.

Unfortunately, the tenor who sang the part of Nikolaus Sprink, William Burden, contracted laryngitis the day of the show and couldn't sing. So, while he walked the stage, a former resident of the Opera, Brad Benoit (an audience favorite, it seemed) sang offstage. It was a little odd to see someone acting and having the voice reverberating from stage left, but it worked. The two worked well together and, while I feel dreadfully sorry that Burden couldn't sing for the premiere, I'm glad he was still able to perform the part.

Being able to attend a world premiere still boggles my mind. Walking in and seeing the spotlights shining into the night sky outside, seeing a group of kilted bagpipers walk outside to perform for the arriving audience, being surrounded by people impeccably dressed (more so than any other theater show I've attended) and hearing accents of those who had traveled a long way to see a premiere all emphasized that this was a special night in Twin City theater. But what really hit home for me was the singing of the national anthem at the beginning of the show. Afterwards, [Львица] turned to me and said, "That was the best I've ever sung in my life... I feel like I was a part of the opera there." I felt exactly the same.

The Neckbrace Adds Ten Pounds

Something about Saturday was absolutely beautiful. I'm talking last Saturday afternoon, sitting at a stage at the Renaissance Festival, watching the sunlight stream through the breaks between the multi-colored leaves on the branches, the smell of turkey legs and dust and burning wood in the air and the feeling that I was in some sort of time outside of time. Being at the Ren Fest is not about historical accuracy, clearly. Everyone is dressed in... well, whatever. Some people come in street clothes, some, like [Львица] and myself, have costumes that shift somewhere between the Middle Ages and the Baroque period. Although last week - closing weekend - I did see someone dressed as Death and someone dressed as Jesus. Right next to each other. Win.

I've seen more confusing wardrobe choices - a manga-sort character. A man dressed as a 1950's funeral parlor zombie. A guy in a neckbrace in some sort of greenish plastic tube top and shorts (I think he was wearing shorts. Or maybe it was some sort of wrap skirt) complaining about how fat he was (he was stick-thin, but whatever) and the girl he was with telling him the neckbrace adds ten pounds. Next year, I'm on the look-out for someone dressed as a time lord (actually, it makes more sense to see the Doctor than it does to see Jesus. Sorry, it's the truth).

Case and point - the Ren Fest is not so much about the Renaissance sometimes. Sometimes it's an excuse to dress up - sometimes it goes to far that direction, I agree. But it's also a sort of escape - not in a depressing, "oh, my life is too much!" kind of way, but more of a way to get outside of what we're used to. We don't go around wearing corsets, trying to do without modern technology,  living under monarchs and that sort of things. It's a taste of fantasy, a bit of time travel mixed with fairy tales. It's not perfect - sometimes it's awkward. But it's usually a lot of fun.

And for those of you who think it's only for nerds, check out the pickle men and the belly dancers. You will be sadly mistaken.

A fight for realism?

"Hollywood always wanted me to be pretty, but I fought for realism." ~ Bette Davis

It seems like talking about British culture has become today's theme. But then again, I've been thinking about it a lot lately. Mainly because I've been watching a lot of British television and missing bits about Scotland (the rain every day, the beer, the feeling of everything being foreign and yet so similar...)

Among those things, another sort of thing has enchanted me about British media, something I've noticed in novels and on TV shows. There seems to be a sort of trend of using female leads that aren't your traditional Hollywood types. They seem to appear in mysteries series or sci-fi genres (the ones I'm thinking of are the books The Eyre Affair, The Dead Lie Down, The Likeness and, you knew this was coming, the TV show Torchwood). They feature quirky, not-traditionally beautiful women who aren't afraid to speak their minds and do what needs to be done, even though they may not want to. They make mistakes. They're compassionate while still strong and not overly sexual. But they're still sensual and feminine - just not over the top. Over the top like how in CSI, Catherine Willows is always running around in tanktops and all the guys are in their full investigation gear.

Catharine Willows, CSI

Gwen Cooper, Torchwood

See the difference?

This is even a more glammed up version of Gwen, I feel like. I mean, the first time we meet her on the show, she's in full police gear with her hair all tucked up under her hat. No Catharine-like waves in sight.

Of course, I have to remind myself that England was also the country that gave us Twiggy. And thus in association, pants that will never fit women's hips. Of course, I guess the really scary thing is I look at Twiggy and think, "Oh, she's not that skinny." Then I take a closer look at her arms and I'm like, "Fuck yeah, she is." But then I think again, "No, not really - there's girls in my classes who look like that." Then I just feel weird and pissed off.

Twiggy, you're wonderful, but I hate you.

It's true that super skinny women have become WAY more common. Not so much in college, because people have finally realized that you can't walk a mile to class each day and not eat more to compensate. But high school totally sucked because it seemed like what like 50% of the girls (but was probably more like 10%) were frightfully skinny. And I, of course, was not. Example of what some of the girls at my school were like. One of my classmates got treated for bulimia and when she came back to school from rehab, the first thing one of her so-called-friends said was, I kid you not, "She looks so fat." And people wonder why kids hate going to school.

So, to say the least, it's certainly nice to see women like Gwen Cooper on TV, who are beautiful not because they're scantily clad or because they're super skinny or shit like that. It's nice that Gwen has imperfect teeth and seems to be of normalish body weight. Girls need to see more of this on TV, in books, everywhere. Why can't women be the way they look in real life? There's a difference between creating an imagined world and representing one person's idea of a utopia. Besides, beauty isn't the same think to everyone. Perhaps we're looking for it in all the wrong places. Maybe it's something simpler, more in line with this:

“The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman is seen in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides. True beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It's the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows and the beauty of a woman only grows with passing years.” ~ Audrey Hepburn

It's not that appearance doesn't matter; it clearly does. But it's all about belief, confidence and your eyes. If YOU believe that you are beautiful, if you truly TRULY LOVE yourself, it will show. Of course, this is all easier said than done. But I believe it to be true. There is no one definition of beauty, and if there was, all of the people we consider to be beautiful would all look the same. And people like Paris Hilton would be more popular than Angelina Joli. But I think Audrey Hepburn's idea of beauty if more spot on and more of what these British female characters are beginning to show more of. So work on this, American TV. I'm a little out of touch with some of your shows, so maybe you've gotten better about this. But then again, we've still got this goddamn show: