The War Between Us

I meant to write a post on this ages ago but never got around to it because... well, because of reasons. But I saw this Facebook post from my friend and former flute instructor [Mickie] and felt that I should definitely get around to writing this:

Let me give the back story on this: last year, [Mickie] lost her job at the local middle school she'd been working at since I'd first met her (and long before that too). Despite tenure, despite her obvious skill and talent, she lost her job along with my high school band teacher and choir directors. Aside from hating to see such talented people unfairly lose their jobs and having some of the strongest bonds to my hometown cut through, it was another warning sign of what's happening to music programs in the US. One hidden blessing from my failed audition to the School of Music at my university is that I don't have to worry about the difficulties of finding a job in that field, which are scarce and far between, even for people with a lot of experience.

But fortunately for [Mickie], she was able to find another job at a middle school in a nearby town. Sadly, she also lost this job this year due to, what else, budget issues and staff cutbacks. Because the fine arts are "expensive" and reap less benefits to a school district than, say, football, fine arts programs are the first to go.

Also, articles like this don't help. As if "determined by science" could mean anything here.

I hate it when people play the "art vs. science" card. They've been designed to be opposites for ages, even though they got together like peanut butter and Nutella (this is the best thing on the planet. Trust me). Art can't function without science and science can't function without art. Need proof of this? Take a look at your common household plant. Aesthetically, they've very pleasing; artists have been painting still lifes of flowers and plants for many a century. But plants are also scientifically brilliant, with their photosynthesis and fertilization structure. And did you know they can get fevers? (I learned that from a Snapple cap). Point is, there is no reason for anyone to argue that art and science don't work together.

But somewhere, somehow, the philosophy behind these two fields found themselves apposed and now we're in a war between the two of them, staking claims between what can be known and what can't, what is real and what isn't, what can be created and what can't. Really, I think it's all a communication issue. Because I mean, look at this:

http://education.ezinemark.com/most-amazing-science-images-of-2010-77369ad98736.html

This is the gene map of a plant called Arabidopsis. Sweet, right?


Okay, okay, so it's easy to find art in science. But what about science in art? Harder, admittedly, because certain kinds of science have tried to firmly drawn the line between what is actual science and what is... well, not. This was something my research methods class really shoved down our throats, which I think is fascinating considering my favorite parts of psychology are admittedly very unscientific. But look at any painting and you can see how visual perception and geometry and balance play vital roles. Music of course is highly based on physics. And acting... God, acting is a science of itself, doing a case study to figure out how another human being lives and become them on stage or screen.

http://nerdnirvana.org

I could meander on about the importance of arts but there's already this brilliant post on it. So read that, because it's really really good. It's a shame that things like subjects listed on Newsweek's Tumblr are thought of as useless because they were never useless to me. What surprises me are things like philosophy and architecture and history, for God's sake, and political science being useless. Really? Are you kidding me? When we have a million nurses and but no one understands how to communicate with each other or understand where we're coming from, don't say I didn't warn you. We need nurses, yes, but we also need them to understand bedside manner and the way people think and why, sometimes, you just need to sit back and think, "Jesus, a century ago we couldn't remove limbs without being terrified that the patient was going to die of gangrene and now we can do heart transplants. DUDE."

In order to really appreciate science, you need art. In order to really appreciate art, you need science. They aren't art war; they're two sides of the same coin. So stop making them fight - they belong together more than I think we'll ever completely understand. Give our artists and writers and thespians and historians a chance - you never know if they'll win a Nobel prize for physics or find the cure for cancer. And you never know if your med student is going to win a Pulitzer or and Grammy.

http://www.business-strategy-innovation.com/uploaded_images/Art-Science-773522.jpg

Punk'd

It's not even April Fools and already I think [Львица] and I have already encountered our first practical joke of the season.

I had just come back to the apartment on Tuesday after class to make lunch and to finish up a paper I had to write when someone knocked on the door. I opened it find our tenant from 304 (who we've not exactly had the easiest time with) looking very upset. She then proceeded to explain to me that she had been gone over spring break and, after she'd returned, noticed that these pod-like things that she thought might be insects had appeared on the walls of her kitchen-dining room area. I decided to to take a look.

I had never seen anything like it in my life. Now, to frame this properly, it's been very warm in Minnesota, very very warm for March and I thought it very likely that something odd could have occurred given the sudden warm spell and that some creature could have found its way out of the walls. Upon examining them in the kitchen, which 304 had sealed off, afraid that some insects would escape and get all over her apartment, the only thing I could compare them to in my mind were prune-like growths sticking horizontally off of the wall. It seemed one was attached to a nail but I didn't think much of it at the time. I told 304 I'd Google search it and I'd get back to her.

They weren't beetle lava, they weren't chrysalis, they weren't spider egg sacs or fungi or anything that Google could even identify. Other than prunes. I told [Львица] about it and, later that evening when 304 wasn't there, we returned to examine them ourselves with a more perceptive eye. Gingerly, [Львица] pried one off the wall, a plastic bag over her hand, and we found it was also on a nail. We removed eight of these things, all of them on nails, and took them in a bag into our apartment.

The "pods" on the wall, as taken by [Львица]

My hand holding up a small key to compare size to the "pod"

We began really seriously wondering if the "pods" were large raisins or some kind of prune. It's what they looked like most and some were even kind of greenish, like dried raisins sometimes are. So, after I failed to find any way of scientifically testing them in our kitchen, we sliced one open, looked at it, sniffed it, and decided that it must be a raisin (or some unknown alien life form; highly unlikely at this point). Knowing 304 has a friend in the building, we wondered if it was a practical joke (as 304 told me she is dreadfully terrified of insects. And that she'd asked her friend from apartment 2 i for our phone numbers (as she'd lost her phone earlier in the semester and apparently didn't have either building manager's number re-added) but her friend had never gotten back to her).

What do I think? I'm not detective (as much as I wish I was) but I presume that 2 did this as a practical joke and 304 really flipped out and got us involved. But we haven't heard back from 304. Guess we'll just have to wait and see if those "pods" reappear.

Seriously, people. This was half of my Tuesday. I have the weirdest job in the world.

British Accents

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

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

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

Revealing [La Maga]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

http://erinmorgenstern.com

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

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

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

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

To Myself, In the Future

Hello Future Me,

I certainly hope that, wherever you are in space in time, that it is not in a little apartment infested by centipedes and mice. Or some place worse. I have decided to write this little post because I feel suddenly struck by a fear of making mistakes that are not worth making - not the good sort. And I would like to try to provide you with a source of some perhaps helpful advice in lieu of the insanity that certainly lies ahead.

First off, I have no idea what you will be doing in general. Hopefully it will not involve being a hobo. Regardless, whatever it is, do it with passion. Don't give in to doing something safe just because you know you can do it. TRY NEW THINGS. The worse that can happen is that you will fail, and we both are plenty familiar with that.

I will never be this cool. But goddamn, I can try.

Of course, I'm going to bring up relationships. If you remember, I'm on the edge between being a full-blown romantic and a nihilistic hermit. So, I'm hoping things are a little more steady on your end. If you're queen of the Ryan Gosling Swagger (à la Crazy Stupid Love), kudos. If things suck, keep a stiff upper lip. Remember what it was like to not understand love, to not even have any experience with it. To wonder why you saw so few relationships work out, why everything seems so simple, until you become part of one. I know I sound down about it all but I'm just showing - you knew more than you thought you did. Don't sweat it; it'll work out. I believe it will.

If by some strike of fate you find yourself in a long-term relationship, don't take it for granted. Just don't. And if by some terrible, incredible miracle you have children, remember not to be too hard on them when they act up. Growing up is tough - it might seem long ago, but I remember it pretty well. It's brilliant and brutal. And whatever your kids do, you probably did once too. Don't blame them too much for their mistakes, economic troubles, mistakes you made. They'll listen... maybe too well.

Wherever you're living, I hope it feels like home. I know when you were younger, you likened yourself to a turtle - adaptable, movable, able to fit in anywhere. Know that I'm glad you had that adaptability but that you shouldn't be afraid to put down roots. No one belongs here more than you.

Fresh off a 21st birthday, I had some crummy feelings in the days shortly before. It got me worried, it got me thinking. I hope you're strong and confident - I hope that I'm establishing that now. I hope you still have a warm fuzzy feeling for sci-fi shows and Broadway plays, and a penchant for shortbread, Earl Grey tea and Nutella. But most of all, I hope you look back at all of this and don't regret a thing.

Another Loss at Day's End

http://www.thesutherlandcenter.com

Today I found out that David Shouse, one of my dad's closest friends and former bosses, died. He had ALS and was predicted by doctors to die years ago - but he didn't. He had one of the greatest attitudes of anyone I've ever met, even after he was confined to a wheelchair and was paralyzed from the neck down. I hadn't seen him for a few years, but I knew that he was nearly completely paralyzed and unable to speak. My dad did send this email to me on November 10th that David had sent out:

Well, a 5 day hospital turned into 19 days in ICU and acute care. Patti [his wife] lived there for over a week, reading my lips for the staff, checking the meds they gave me and learning about the ventilator system.

We are now home and it is much better. Patti does a great job handling all aspects of the vent. Courtney [his daughter] was also trained so she can provide some backup when she is available. We will have to find someone to help on a regular basis so Patti can go to the store, etc.

It was a bit overwhelming at first. Our routines are complicated by having to maneuver all the vent gear without unplugging something, like my breathing tubes! Check the attached photo for an idea of all the new stuff. Day by day, we are figuring it out.

Courtney was on fall break, so she stayed with us when we first got home. Patti's brother, George, then came from DC for over a week. He was a huge help in figuring out solutions. He got my computer to mount on my chair, plus a dozen other household chores that were long overdue.

All in all, we are making progress. Patti is very good at reading my lips, that's a good thing because we decided yesterday that I will not get the type of trach that allows me to speak. I don't have enough air volume available in my lungs. Oh well....

all for now, (this took me 3 days to type!).

david

I cried when is saw this. Partly out of sadness that such a good man could be so ill. And partly because he's one of the most incredible people I've ever met. To be this positive in such a situation is mind-blowing.

My parents and I had literally just been talking about him over my birthday or Thanksgiving. Without David, what my life is now wouldn't be possible. Seriously. He was the one who offered the job to my dad that brought us to Minnesota and changed everything. I know it may sound strange, but in a sort of butterfly affect way, this one little thing really did change my entire life. By moving here, I went to a different school, got a better education, decided to go to college, had the chance for so many different opportunities (musically, academic, travel) that I would have never gotten otherwise. One small thing made all the difference.

And while my heart is breaking that this wonderful, fantastic man is gone from our world, I want to just thank him for everything he did for me and my family. It really means a lot to me, and he will be missed greatly.

The Van Gogh Mystery

I saw something about this on TV the other night, but thought it was probably just speculation. Then I came across this article while waiting for my social psych class to start: Van Gogh Did Not Kill Himself, Authors Claim. According to these authors who spent 10 years studying documents, they believe Van Gogh might have been accidentally died by being shot by friends, not committing suidice.

Though this can't be proved 100%, this is... REALLY fascinating to me. I mean, Van Gogh is my favorite artist. How can you not love a guy who painted this?

I LOVE STARRY NIGHT. I can't tell you why. I just do. It's like it takes on some sort of special meaning I can't quite put into words.

Van Gogh is just a fascinating guy all around. He's psychology's go-to man for an example of bipolar disorder (thought it seems the authors want to bring that into questions... Interesting). Everyone knows him as the guy who cut his ear off and sent it to a girl he liked (he did not actually do that; he did cut his ear off but he didn't send it to a girl, and it's unlikely he even did it for a girl. One theory is that he had tinnitus and that, along with whatever personal/emotional/psychological problems he was having caused him to cut it off). And his art... my God, his art...

I saw this in London. LOVE.

I always got the feeling that he was a sort of tormented artist that no one understood until it was too late. And the fact that he supposedly committed suicide made it even sadder. Like I can't even look at the painting he did of the field where ended up dying. And I hated how psychology dealt with him (though I did read a book by Kay Redfield Jamison where she did a really good job of talking about how he might have been bipolar. But then again, Jamison is both actually bipolar and a genius. So she gets it).

But if Van Gogh didn't actually commit suicide... that would some how make me feel better. Like maybe his torment wasn't that extreme. Maybe it would help remind that there's more that just tragedy in his paintings - that there's also a bit of joy, a bit of pleasure. A bit of hope.

CSI: Victorian London

I saw this story in my local paper: Is Scotland Yard guarding Jack the Ripper Secrets? Which I followed up with a story from the LA Times: The Cold, Cold Case of Jack the Ripper.

Ah, yes. The classic, creepy, uncertain story of Jack the Ripper is back in the headlines. I was hoping from some follow-up on BBC to, you know, explain why Scotland Yard might not want to release information. Something more than: "laying everything bare would violate its confidentiality pledge to informants, even those long dead, and undermine recruitment in the present-day fight against terrorism and organized crime. Naming names might even put the snitches' descendants at risk of revenge by the heirs of those who were informed on." Unless the murderer was Al-Qaeda or a mob, I'm not really understanding the terrorism part - some more explanation would be nice, guys. But the issue with the informants, putting their decendents at risk.... Hmm...

You know what this screams? Conspiracy theory time.

I won't lie - as a psychology major, mystery lover and quasi-CSI fan, the Jack the Ripper case has always been interesting to me, as grisly as it is. But most of the theories sounds sort of, well, weak. It was a mad butcher, it was a doctor, it was some German sailor? (that's the claim mentioned in the L.A. Times). But if we're talking that the heirs of the murderer have the ability to threaten the informants, that:

A) This makes it sound like Scotland Yard already knows who the murderer is

B) This makes the murderer sound like he (or she, I should stop assuming serial killers are always men, though the statistics are in that favor) was pretty high-off in society (by mentioning heirs, it almost sounds like we're talking about traceable family here. And the wealthy have better historical records than the poor). Not to mention revenge tends to takes time and the urge to keep ones name honorable.

C) It seems like Scotland Yard WANTS to release this information, but feels threatened in some way (especially if they think the heirs are capable of revenge). But maybe I'm reading too much into this.
 

I'm not clear-thinker on this case; I love hearing the wild theories that people come up with. My personal favorite happens to come from a movie (and a comic book, apparently) From Hell. The movie itself is kind of bizarrely done, but theory, I think, is fascinating. It basically theorizes that Prince Albert, Queen Victoria's grandson, had an illegitimate child with a Catholic shop girl. Because England is Protestant, having a child who would now be the heir to the throne and is also common born, illegitimate AND Catholic would be about as scandalous as you could get in the Victorian era. Fearing blackmail from the girl's friends and family, the Freemasons (I know, right? When in doubt, it's the Masons) get involved to cover-up the events. And one crazy member kills off all the girls (who happen to be prostitutes) who are friends of the shopgirl.

That's kind of a rough summary and probably not quite right (it's been a while since I've seen it) but the Prince Albert idea is interesting. Note: I AM NOT SAYING THE BRITISH ROYAL FAMILY IS INVOLVED WITH THE JACK THE RIPPER KILLINGS.  I am simply saying that it does seem rather curious and that it WOULD explain the threat of revenge, reasons for Scotland Yard to stay mum, threats to informants, etc. However, I have ZERO EVIDENCE.  I'm not a detective, I'm not a cop, I'm not even a historian with access to records to even give support to this idea. I'm just a blogger making wild speculations. And what wild speculations they are...

Better idea: let's start a TV series that sends CSI back in time. Better yet, they should do a Doctor Who/ Torchwood episode about Jack the Ripper. That's right up their alley, I wonder what they're take would be...

Alright, enough crazy conspiracy theories for the day. Time to start the weekend off right - with a paint party.