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).

Shadows

I was on the vast world of Tumblr today when I noticed something: one of the blogs I followed early on, eirwencorentin, hadn't posted anything for days. I really like the photos he or she posts (I've assume it's a she but I actually don't know - I could be wrong. Thus I will hense forth refer to him or her as ze - and use the chance to practice using gender neutral pronouns) - lots of beautiful outdoor scenes and magical-looking buildings and Parisian-inspired things and Doctor Who and Anime and tea. But I realized that I hadn't seen ze post anything for a while and I was wondering why (because usually ze posts something everyday). I went to zir home page and saw this as zir most recent post:

My resolution for 2012 is to die. That’s why this tumblr won’t be updated anymore.

This really freaked me out. I mean, I never really got the feeling that this person was particularly depressed - not over all. Ze posted some disturbing things - this was the second most recent post and similar to something I'd seen a month or so ago:

When I'd seen previous posts like this, I felt confused. They were usually reblogs and they just didn't seem to fit anything else ze posted. But I, of course, don't know this person. I never talked to them online. I never really interacted with ze any more than liking and reblogging zir posts. I don't know much of anything about this person. But it's still really worrying. What if ze did commit suicide? What if zir dead? How would I ever know?

It's one of the things I don't like about Tumblr - it's a bonding source for people who have a lot of depression issues and think about committing suicide. And not a good sort of a bonding. The sort that convinces people it would be better if they just ended their lives. Which in my opinion is not the best source of support.

I've never dealt with serious depression. I've never seriously, realistically considered committing suicide - I have in certain instances, when I'm upset beyond thinking clearly and feeling shitty and not thinking about my life outside this one instance. But the thought repels me even as it appears - I know deep down that I'm not really going to do it; it's just a sudden, almost inappropriate gut reaction it seems. I'm not one who has thoughts every day of wanting to end their life, of suffering depression so great they can't function. My depression - if you could even call it that - it is far smaller and non-continuous, sporadic and not serious. But I know how serious depression can really be - it's a fight every day to get out of bed, to keep moving, to not give up. Some days I have to fight a bit, most I don't. But to have to fight every day, every minute, is a sort of exhaustion I truly do not know.

Eirwen Corentin - the only name I know you by - I hope you are still out there, somewhere, fighting. I can't begin to understand what you've gone through, or why or how, but I hope you haven't given in to the shadows, that you haven't fallen into seeing the world only in terms of light and dark and all you can see is darkness. Because there is so much to see beyond the dark, beyond the shadows, so much to live for when you can find a way to know that darkness is not absolute.

But I'll never know if you did, will I? I'll never know. It's too little, too late, from the wrong person. All I can do is wait and see if you come back to your blog... just wait. And hope.

Strength

http://www.paulina.ws/

So [Львица] stayed up late last night, having a conversation about how I was feeling in regards to the situation with [X]. She told me to stop beating myself up and blaming myself for things. Along with many other genius thing, which I will attempt to briefly reiterate here.

Like how people who used to be shy (I am certianly one of those) aren't used to no one liking you; we're afraid of making enemies when it's time to say our own opinion. It's why [X] is afraid to say her opinions, afraid of what it's going to be like. Because she doesn't want to lose people. And it's the same for me.

But we're going to lose people. We're going to make mistakes. That's why regret exists in the world. We have to fight. Because it's sadder to let someone win without a fight

There is something to be learned from how [novel killer] acts - she doesn't concede. I wouldn't want to be that extreme (especially in light of recent events). But she at least what she gets what she needs to say out there. Otherwise, as [Львица] it's like a film on top of the water, with people not saying everything they want to say.

"I don't want you to make the same mistakes I did," [Львица] told me. She described to me how we're a lot of different people in our lives and, as we grow up, we have to let one go and it's like grieving for a person who's died. We have a fantasy of ourselves in our heads, a fantasy that [Львица] said she lived for eight years of who she could be. Yet she never touched who she was - she had no real idea. She was a soul untouched and the time to find out who she was had arrived. She likened it to idealizations of love - how after you really fall in love, you read books and hear music in a different way. You can think about what it will be like, but you won't really know until you know.

There's a barrier between us - a barrier of time and life. But you have to press up against the glass, to make it your own words, to make it your own.

http://tuttoinbiancoenero.tumblr.com

So it was with these thoughts that I started today. And started it very well, I might add. Until the shit hit the fan once more. [novel killer] has sent me a message about doing Secret Santa for the Christmas part and I told her this:

I think [X] is still in charge of Secret Santa, actually. [Львица] and I weren't planning on doing it.

And then she said:

All right. She said you wanted to be in charge, so I figured I'd ask.


And then I said:

Well, we just offered to let her have the party here and she misinterpreted it as us wanting to take over the party; we just wanted to offer our apartment as a venue. Sorry for the confusion
.

And then it ended up at this from [novel killer]:

Stop stop stop. No. [X] informed me last night that you had messaged her asking if it was okay if you did, and said said it was fine if you did, but she'd be upset about it but if some something she had to work out by herself. That would be you wanted to take over the party. Which is fine, there's nothing wrong with it, so that's why I asked you this. And yes, she was upset, but it was more of because she'd been doing it for years.



Frankly I think everyone needs to get over their hatred for the little stuff. It's stupid. Everything's not about you (as in individuals). It's about together. [X] being upset about losing control is not about you wanting to take it over, it's symbolic of the fact that the times have changed and she's trying to deal with it. It's Christmas. I don't need this, no one needs this. I have familial stuff going on right now that's going to be a huge sour note during Christmas, so the last thing I want it to have a petty party with friends that I won't enjoy the company of because they're all being petty. And it's not just you. You'll probably take it that way and tell [Львица] and then people will hate me, but whatever. Just try to remember the things people do usually have nothing to do with you as a person. (That goes for everyone.) I would give everyone this speech, but unfortunately you're the message I got this morning and therefore you get the brunt of it.



I know you're not very happy with [X] for whatever reason, but you know what? Whatever it is, I guarantee it's a stupid reason. I don't even know what it is, but I know it's stupid. So you know what? Get over it. Everyone should get over their stupid things with each other and move on. Why? Not because it's Christmas. Not because we want to be the bigger person. Why? Because we're friends. And good friends should love near-conditionally. {I think she means non-conditionally.} Because people fuck up, and your friends are supposed to forgive you for it. Like if I yelled at you for an hour because I was so angry from outside sources and your little thing happened to be the thing that set me off? As a friend, I would expect you to forgive me without be having to say anything once we cooled down. Because that's what friends do. And we were great friends. Unfortunately college has separated us. And now we're not during the year, but we still should have that bond. And if we don't, why are we having Christmas with one another? Because if we're not friends enough to forgive each other of expressing opinion and not get catty and guilt-trippy, then we shouldn't have Christmas at all.



And that's the reason I haven't even posted on the Christmas thread yet. I wanted to see how this played out. And I hope my friends prove me wrong, but we'll have to see.



Also, thanks for completely ignoring [musical queen]. (note the sarcasm). I know she can be a handful, but she is our friend, and either you or [Львица], since you decided the date seeing as it's your place, could've politely told her that you can't have the party when she's in town because of [Львица] not being in town.



Anyway, I hope you give this some thought instead of taking it as [La Maga]-bashing and hate me forever instead of something our entire group needs to work on. (Except for maybe [foxy lady], and ha, ironically [musical queen] who has never passed judgement on any of you because she genuinely likes you.)


Needless to say, this kind of tore me up when I saw it. Okay, that's a lie. IT FUCKING DEVASTATED ME. This isn't the first time something like this had happened between [novel killer] and me though. She sent me a really terrible message on Facebook back in my freshman year, one that made me hate myself so much I actually toyed with the thought the thought of jumping of the Washington Avenue bridge because I felt like entire world loathed my guts. I don't think [novel killer] realizes how much power her words have - especially over me.

We didn't exclude [musical queen] from party plans - [Львица] talked to her separately. As for the rest of it... I don't know. She clearly blames me for everything that happened here - and then some. A lot of it doesn't make sense. How can she say my problems are just stupid without even knowing what they are? How can I non-conditionally care about a person when they write poisonous things like this and don't seem really reciprocate that? Why is okay for people to take out their cathartic problems on me but when I actually have a problem, it's stupid?

Beats me. I think it's crap. Really, I do. Despite how shitty I felt during social psych (which was ironically about female aggression, in which we discussed Mean Girls - which I'd actually just seen) I was feeling much less shitty and blame-worthy. I'm not gonna take it, dammit. I have feelings - I have rights. I am my own woman. And though I did what she expected I would - I showed it to [Львица], I don't hate her as a person. I hate some of the things she does but I don't hate HER. I'm just worried about her. Because this and what she was telling [Львица] isn't healthy. There's a lot of hate built up there and I'm worried for her.

Good thing is, I talked with [X] tonight and straightened some things out. We're back on friendly terms and I feel like we could be moving to a much stronger, healthier relationship. I hope so at least. And the funny thing about anger - once you get an apology, you can't remember why you were mad in the first place. This new bridge into... wherever....It's not going to be easy, but I'm going to stick to my guns. I'm going to find out what's going on with [novel killer] and I'm going to keep working to be the strong, fabulous woman I know I can be. I've seen it. I can do it.

I'm worth it. :)

Blue Christmas

http://pic.blackberryseeker.com

Well, [X] has done it now. She's now tainted one of the few sacred things I've got: Christmas.

Here's the deal: my group of friends have this annual tradition of having a Christmas party at [X]'s house every year. Although, because of insinuating circumstances, [X]'s family now lives with her grandmother and she doesn't feel comfortable/isn't allowed to have guests over. And, because I realized that I hadn't heard anything yet about a Christmas party, I messaged her about it. She wasn't sure whether she was up for it, but I told her that [Львица] and I were certainly interested and so she sent out a Facebook message about it. Because she said she couldn't have guests over, [Львица] and I offered up our place. She seemed okay about it, but when I did message her, she sort of flipped out. This was the message:

Me:
Hey, you seem busy and I don't want to pressure you into doing the Christmas party if you don't want to, so if you're not interested in doing it, Sarah and I would be cool just hosting a little get-together at our apartment. I don't want to take over the Christmas party from you or anything and we wouldn't do Secret Santa or anything like that; just dinner and hang-out-ness up here. Lemme know what you think.


[X]:
I don't want to sound like a bitch, but I want to be honest. It's really hard for me to turn over running the Christmas party to anybody, since I've been hosting it since I was in the sixth grade--before I even knew you or Sarah or most of the people who are invited to it now. It's been my way of giving my friends a holiday gift, hokey as that sounds. So not being able to throw it makes me feel really irrelevant.

(Some period of time later)
With that said, I'm not eleven anymore. I know that more people than me feel a sense of ownership over the concept of a "Christmas get-together" now and have every right to host it. And the truth is, I don't really have anything to give right now. I don't have a home to welcome anyone to. I don't have a lot of time or energy. I don't even feel like I have the right "spirit" to do this. So if you and Sarah want to host this get-together, then I'll honestly be okay with that. I may even be relieved. Just please don't think badly of me for not getting to the point of being absolutely ok with not hosting this immediately. I'm not trying to make you feel guilty by being honest with you, I just want you to see all my cards laid out on the table so that nothing gets bottled up to fester.


Me:
Okay, this is not what I expected at all and it makes me really sad. I think you, [Львица] and I need to have a talk about this.

http://mendokusee.deviantart.com/

So she called me and we talked. Sort of. I don't know why but every time I get on the phone, all of my gumption fails. Oh, wait, I know why. Because I'm a coward.

Yep, that's the truth. I'm a sniveling little coward. I can say exactly how I feel about [X] to [Львица] but when it comes to actually telling [X}, I hear her voice, that sound like she's on the verge of tears and suddenly I'm back to square one. I can't tell her that I'm pissed - though I did tell her I was upset and was audibly angry on the phone yesterday. But somehow, I just can't manage to find the words to tell her how I actually feel. Despite the fact that when her I read her message I was shaking and ended up taking out my rage gnashing Cheerios angrily and cathartically writing all kinds of poisonous thoughts for fifteen minutes. When she starts her talk about feeling unworthy of her friends and how bad she feels about herself and how she feels like all of her problems are insignificant and thus won't talk about them (which then makes them more-so - and more dangerously - important because they get all muddled up in stuff like this), it hits the little part inside of me that feels the same way and then I make my stuff unimportant so at least one person thinks her stuff is important (instead of having an equal, two-way street of a friendship). And then because I try to understand her and support her, I can't criticize her without her thinking I hate her - which she's pushing me to only through self-fulling prophecy. Because she thinks everyone hates her, I begin to hate her because I can't be honest with her. I don't hate her - I just want her think before she speaks, to want to change herself for the better. But instead, I don't tell her this; I just talk about her behind her back. Just like she does. In my inability to be honest with her, I become exactly what I hate about her.

And I don't know what to do.

Ironically, we were talking about relationships and aggression (two separate topics that accidentally overlapped due to too much material) in my social psych class on Monday, which was really too much. Sometimes, my psychology classes oddly mirror my life. What it did tell me was that I can't stay this way. I can't passively wait for us to finally grow apart or stick by her even if I get hurt. That's what I've been doing; it doesn't work and it feels wrong. I don't know whether it's best to try to actively work through our problems, because that would take time from her and she seems to damn busy to care about that sort of thing. Besides, I don't know if it's worth trying to work through and save. Which basically gives me one option: tell her it's done. She's pushed me too far away and that I'm done unless she steps forward herself. But that's not just something you can spring on someone. It's not like you can just break up with a friend (I dunno - maybe you can; I've never tried it). But I have so few friends these days, I feel reluctant to do so - because if I piss her off, I piss off everyone else who still talks to me from high school, [Львица] and [action is eloquence] and [uber gay] probably being the only exceptions. And [save the panzer]. Because fortunately for him, he has nothing to do with this shit.

So right now I just feel ansty and stressed and crampy because it's nearly finals time and I literally have cramps. Yay. But I know I can't stay this way. I mean, after I talked to [X] yesterday, I felt like a terrible person. She makes me feel bad about myself. And then "I am what I am" came on my iTunes and I started crying, because I couldn't have felt farther from what I am after that conversation. I was glad [Львица] called me to save me from wallowing in self-pity.

But bloody hell - IT'S CHRISTMAS. I shouldn't feeling bad about myself. I shouldn't put up with [X] totally misconstruing her friendships and, through trying to not make anything about her, totally make everything about her. I SHOULDN'T BE FEELING LIKE A PILE OF CRAP AGAIN. I was so happy before I got that message, thinking all about a holiday party (because I've never hosted a holiday party. Ever. In fact, I think I've only hosted six parties in my entire life). I want that carefree happiness back. Am I going to let [X] get me down. Not anymore. No, I shan't! It's Christmas.

http://my-girl-friday.tumblr.com/post/13713307091/no-i-shant-its-christmas

Me of Many Moonstruck Meanderings

I saw this in one of my psych books and love it for unknown reasons.

So I realize that in my long word vomit about my friends' relationship experiences, I failed to talk about any of my own. And if I'm going to tell all about my friends, it's only fair that I do the same for myself. Of course, there's really not much to discuss. But then again, maybe there's more there than I think. So, being a creepy psych major, I'm going to talk it through and come to... some sort of consensus. All for the benefit of those publicly judging me.

I guess I could start at the beginning, in preschool, when I'm pretty sure I had a crush on a kid named Jordan (one easy way to tell if I have a crush - I talk about the person A LOT). But then he tattled on me for playing with clay during storytime and, though our teacher said it was fine, it was like he knew my real intentions (I had it because I wanted to take it home with me because I didn't have any clay at home. But then I left it under a dining room chair and it got all dry and useless. One of the only two times I've stolen in my entire life - and both times were an epic fail. But I digress...) Anyway, I never really forgave Jordan for his betrayal. Not the most positive start, eh?

I had a crush [quick disclaimer - I wouldn't really regard these as crushes because I didn't recognize them as such until much later. In fact, I don't think I ever recognized I really liked a guy in a romantic-sort of way until high school. It seems the late bloomer thing is a common theme with me] on a kid named Michael in 3rd or 4th grade until I moved. And then there was an awkward incident with a boy named William. Girls seemed to know more about him than I did, but I once heard a rumor that in second grade he forced a kiss upon one of my friends (but I never asked her about it because I felt like it was inappropriate. And because I'm awkward enough regarding small talk). One rainy day, we were stuck inside for indoor recess and playing some game that William wasn't happy with. He wanted me to play something else, but I didn't want to. So he tried to coerce me through pleading and inching his hand up my leg. I was wearing a skort or a skirt or something and so part of my thigh was exposed. Once his hand got there I was totally freaking out and I had no idea what to do. I didn't know what he was doing, I don't know if he knew what he was doing, and it was definitely not making me any more willing to play with him. He finally stopped touching my leg (probably when it looked like I was going to start crying) and left me alone and I was relieved. I however was terrified of him for the rest of my time at that school.

That probably sounds like the perfect place for someone like Doctor Phil to be like, "See, that traumatized you and scarred you and changed you." I don't know if it did. Honestly, I've never told anyone about that before. Maybe it did. It never really troubled me - well, it troubled me, but I never really thought about it as possibly, you know, important to my psyche until I started studying psychology. It's probably not. It's probably just an awkward, uncomfortable growing up experience. Did it have much of an impact? Who the hell knows...

Then the move to Minnesota. Despite like half of my friends and my grandmother's belief, I never had a crush on [uber gay]. I just didn't. He annoyed me at first, actually. I did have a crush on a guy named Ethan, who moved to California and I never saw him again. He deserves more than this simple sentence, but I was twelve, so... not really much to say.

AND he's a Celtic fan? Goddammit... (from people.com)

And then in junior high I met [Broadway baby] and became really good friends with him. He was the closest guy friend, other than [uber gay] and maybe Michael, that I'd ever had. And then in high school, for our first homecoming dance, he gave me an corsage, an "extra one" that he said he'd had, even though my parents were convinced he bought it on purpose. It was the only time a guy has ever bought me flowers. I realized that I might just have a crush on [Broadway baby] in sophomore year. The same year he came out. Alas.

Somewhere between 8th grade and freshman year of high school I had my first star crush, on a Scot no less. Thank you, Gerard Butler, for making the Phantom of the Opera ridiculously sexy. You were supposed to have a scarred appearance,  you were supposed to a crazy murderer. And yet you were still hot.

Then there were the awkward high school years, which I'd rather not talk about but probably don't have a choice (actually, I do, but this is my blog. And I have this whole honesty bit going on...) I had some weird celebrity crushes (Jason Issacs, Hugo Weaving, Heath Ledger only after I'd seen him in The Dark Knight), some random comedy infatuations (looking at you, Stephen Colbert and Craig Ferguson) and other various actor obsessions (Hugh Jackman, Colin Firth, Paul Bettany). And then I saw Ewan McGregor in Moulin Rouge and my life was forever changed. Or ruined. I'm not sure, exactly.

Also amongst high school were weird awkward feelings of I-don't-know-what for a teacher or two. It was probably more intense admiration but I didn't know how to process it and thus stupidly told [X] and [novel killer] about one of them at the end of high school and thus became known for having a thing for authority figures. It was not an encouraging step towards actually talking about my feelings.

But wait, I'm forgetting something... there was that week at a summer music clinic at the University of Wisconsin, where one of my instructors was an opera grad student in music, specifically opera. He was gay, I'm pretty sure, but I couldn't help getting a tiny crush on a guy who can tell you the plot of Tosca in modern, exciting terms and then sings fantastic tenor solos at the class's urging. Between this and McGregor, I think I have a thing for vocalists.

And I'm totally forgetting a whole thing with [hahahaha SHUT UP] which I've never really spoken about. That deserves discussion... but probably not here. Because it would take far too much discussion and explanation.

Then college. Star crushes on Michael Fassbender and Christoph Waltz in Inglourious Basterd. And on James McAvoy after Becoming Jane. And obviously John Barrowman... because of reasons.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Because last year I fell hard for one of my instructors, [tedesco]. I was pretty much in love with him. As much as you can be with someone you don't know super well, someone who's older than you and will never reciprocate what you think you feel. I say think because it's actually hard for me to recognize that I felt that way about him now. [X] had an nice little explanation for this when I talked to her about it, after I'd fallen for [No-Mr-Darcy] which you can experience here. I think I was just happy to find someone to talk to in a new major, who was cute and funny and not afraid to say what he was thinking, even if it was awkward and I disagreed. I think it was just nice to meet a guy who actually liked deep, intellectual conversations.

And just as the school year ended and I was trying to work through my feelings regarding [tedesco], I met [No-Mr-Darcy]. It was honestly the first time I had a crush on someone who was my age since [Broadway baby]. It was the first time I actually felt NOT scared to tell someone how I felt, given the right time (though that never came). But I don't have to tell you all about that. You can read it all here. And here. And pretty much anything in August or September.

So that's that. There you go. We could do this by terms of firsts, but I don't know if that's a good way to approach my life. As my first serious crush that wasn't on celebrity wasn't really until... senior year of high school. And my first date was a non-date with [No-Mr-Darcy] that ended with a hand shake. And my "first kiss" was an awkward cheek peck from [hahahaha SHUT UP]. And that William and the random neck licker from Friday Night Paint Fight and [slightly pansexual, mostly annoying]'s backrub are the most intimate any man has ever been with me (and two out of the three were totally unwanted... and the back rub was grudgingly accepted. Actually, [slightly pansexual, mostly annoying] might actually have a bit of finess for back massage on awkward trips from an apartment to the Saloon while his friend [save the panzer] is currently trying not to turn around and strangle him. But I digress). And then there was the forced cuddling from [one-complicated-lesbian] who was distraught to find that I had never cuddled with anyone before, even with a friend, and then forced me to experience it in a bunk in our Fort William hostel. God, that sounds bad. It was nonsexual, but still totally awkward. (How do I get myself into these situations? Really?)

See what I mean? It sounds really bad - like the plot to some comedy-drama.  It sounds even worse when you've had a bad day and the weather sucks and you can't sleep and you're home all alone and you feel crappy and you think you're going to be alone forever. Which is an assumption. And a stupid assumption. So fuck that. Seriously. Yes, I have a zero relationship experience. Yes, I am a total romantic who has no notion of what modern dating actually consists of. But something will work out. There are 7 BILLION PEOPLE on this planet. 7 BILLION. Somewhere out there, there has to be someone else who's not a royal jerk, who isn't socially awkward, who isn't trying so hard to prove his manliness or show how smart he is or just get in some girl's pants. Who's just comfortable being who he is. Am I really that naive to think that not all my romantic notions are false? But really, I'm not asking for this:

http://www.doodlekisses.com/forum/topics/things-to-do-if-the-lights-go-out-during-the-hurricane?page=9&commentId=2065244%3AComment%3A2673482&x=1#2065244Comment2673482

I don't want that. That freaks me out. And it just seems... false. I'm just asking for this:

This has been another romantic musing by the Vulture. I beg your indulgence.

Side comment: I just remembered another star obsession I had: Rupert Everett. Ah, yes... Thanks to him I now a fan of Oscar Wilde. For the win.

Alien Movies are Affecting My Brain

I just watched Super 8 with my parents tonight and I realized that I've been having a lot of bizarre dreams in connection to it.

Like just the other the night I dreamed that Freddie Highmore, looking just like Charlie in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was my son (how my son was British, I'll never know) and he ran off into the forest (that looked just like the forests in Martha Marcy May Marlene) and teamed up with this architecture and science crew to build this secret lab to study aliens. And then he got arrested by the US government and I was really upset - both that the Freddie Highmore kid ran away, and that the government arrested him.

And then some time ago I dreamed that I was walking on this pedestrian bridge over the interstate, this one that's covered in wire fencing and ended up at some substation were this huge wooden fence had been built up around the electrical devices. Something was living back there and trying to tear its way out. The military arrived and I tried to escape but my way was barred by broken fence material so I started climbing the fence and swinging on it like a monkey. I had outrageous upper body strength and realized that whatever creature was living behind the fence was giving me some sort of superhero skills. So I escaped before the military could apprehend me.

Yeah, so I should seriously stop watching sci-fi. Like that's gonna happen.

And while I'm on the topic of weird dreams, I keep having this reoccurring one where the same thing happens - for no apparent reason, my teeth get loose and fall out. I had it once this semester and then again just last night. I mean, there I was, eating or something, and then I realized my two front teeth were loose. And suddenly the came out like baby teeth. And I woke up with "All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth" in my head and I was not happy. But I've had this dream at least six or seven times over the last year or so and I have no idea why. This terrible dream dictionary I have says it means I'm worried about some relationship or friendship or something. I think it means I have some weird phobia about my teeth. Oy.

Psychology Student Syndrome

There's a major issue with being a psych student, especially one who's taken abnormal psychology. There's a tendency called psychology student syndrome, also known as"generalized disorder disorder." It goes basically like this: You learn about a disorder, you suddenly recognized parts of yourself in it. And you totally flip a shit.

For example, last year I learned about borderline personality disorder and what it consisted of. The definition in the DSM is as follows:

Pervasive pattern of instability of interpersonal relationships, self-image, and affects, and marked impulsivity (5 or more):

• Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment
• Pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships
• Alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation
• Identity disturbance; unstable sense of self
• Impulsivity in at least 2 self-damaging ways (sex, spending)
• Recurrent suicidal, self-mutilating behaviors (inc. gestures)
• Affective instability, reactivity of mood
• Chronic feelings of emptiness
• Inappropriate expressions of anger
• Transient, stress-related ideation, dissociative symptoms

I, of course, instantly starting if it could apply to me. Dumb, right? I don't really match the symptoms very well. But when you start looking at them loosely, it gets kind of scary. Have I ever frantically been worried about being abandoned? Well, yeah - that was like half of high school there, wondering why people actually wanted to be friends with me and wondering when they would leave (because, truthfully, I've never had friends that lasted very long. [uber gay] takes the prize - ten years, man. I can hardly believe it). My whole sudden extreme obsessions/crushes on people seemed to fit bullet number 2. Also, I've been known to totally love something, then hate it (Twilight, anyone? But I think that's a special case).

The unstable sense of self... that's the one that worries me. I remember talking about this in AP Psych, about how some people think Marilyn Monroe was borderline because she wanted to be like the characters she portrayed; she wanted to become who she was playing. Some theorize that she didn't have an actual sense of self, so she had to envelope herself in a fictional persona to ground herself in a personality.

This freaked me out as a teenager, mainly because I was changing so much. Who I was as a person changed from year to year (well, it still does in some ways) and nothing felt consistent. Also, it doesn't help that when people ask me to tell them something about myself, I sort of freeze (because the question is so ponderous - where to even begin?) I think I misinterpret this as NOT having a clear personality, when in fact I just have a slightly complex one - and that I'm not good at spontaneously giving personal answers (seriously adding in the new blog description up there took like half an hour tonight. Also, this blog has changed like ten million times... God, don't even start, [L Maga]... don't even start).

I could go on, describing how I've felt the semblance of all the other symptoms at some point in my life. But I'll spare you. But that's the key issue here - these are all things that people may feel at some point. We're all human and have similar experiences, after all. Having a disorder of this nature means these symptoms are experienced in the EXTREME, that totally interrupt your life and may be harmful to yourself and/or others. That's something my professor emphasized on the first day of Abnormal Psych. But it's easy to forget that when your reading your textbook and, suddenly, a description of a disorder sounds exactly like what happened to you last Thursday. It's a slippery, slippery slope. So be nice to psych majors - there's a reason why some of us are a little weird (but do stop freaking out that we're constantly psychoanalyzing you. Don't be silly - we aren't. We're just doing it to ourselves :p).

The Internet and Social Psych

With this SOPA business in the news and fresh off a social psychology test on de-individuation, I thought it was time to investigate my own internet identity on this blog.

We were discussing in my psych class how anonymity on the internet can lead to terrible things - child porn, bullying, insults thrown everywhere, Godwin's law. Because we're anonymous, we have the chance to de-individuate - to loose ourselves amongst a vast crowd, to get carried away and possible commit terrible, terrible acts.

That's not to say the internet is to blame for all of these problems. Or that de-individuation is always bad (it's not - you could get swept up with a mass of people doing wonderful things. That's just sadly less frequent). There's just an interesting correlation there. SO, after thinking about this, I decided to include my first name, as I'd done before, on my blog identity, simply because I couldn't rationalize being completely anonymous. Besides, I would like to reference this blog on a resume and not freak out would-be employers by identifying myself only as [Nazi Vampire Hunter] online. And if my friends haven't identified my by now... then fine. Yes, I'm still most likely presenting myself online differently than I would in person... mainly because I have the freedom to say whatever and you can't exactly get someone to shut up mid-post (unless you stop reading of course). But [Nazi Vampire Hunter] is just too cool not to use in some fashion... and it's nicely fitting to an aspect of my personality, I'd like to think. Especially in the realm of culture writing. So a Nazi Vampire Hunters I shall remain... just not a completely nameless one :)

Quick note as of 2/2/12: I have changed my online name to [La Maga] for random reasons. Mainly because getting people searching "Nazi Vampires eating babies" and ending up at my blog kinda weirds me out.

I Can Tell That We Are Gonna Be Friends

[uber gay] at his best

I found this pic on Facebook the other day and I felt like sharing it with the world :) It's of my dear friend [uber gay] who I've known since fifth grade, posing for a class project [X] and [shortage of perfect breasts] made WAY back when (so like three or four years ago. Yeah, like that was so long ago, right?)

I miss [uber gay]. I really do. I wrote this post about him last year for my science and culture class and I thought I'd revamp it and share it, especially as he's been on my mind a lot lately. [Львица] and I are hoping to go visit him over spring break and I happen to have a character kind-of, sort-of based off of him in my time travel novel. So, here's a short history, and a short psychological study, of my friendship with [uber gay]:

Whenever I think of science, my thoughts often travel to [uber gay], a meteorology major in Florida. We met in fifth grade, right after I’d moved to Minnesota. He’d been sick for the first week I’d spent in class and he’d forgotten that there was a “new girl” there. When he finally came back, he spent the first half hour staring at the back of my head. It was utterly creepy and irritating. Oddly enough, we became close friends.

Rude and Not Ginger, and Balance Theory

Psychology came to the rescue the other day with a realization I made. While looking up something about Buffy the Vampire Slayer, it suddenly occurred to me why the character John Hart looked so damn familiar on Torchwood - BECAUSE HE'S PLAYED BY THE SAME FREAKING ACTOR WHO PLAYED SPIKE ON BUFFY. Holy shit, people - holy shit.

I began freaking out. I mean, Spike is incredible and knowing that it's the same actor just makes my life. Just like finding out the guy who sings as the blonde Nazi chorus guy in the "Springtime For Hitler" segment in The Producers is JOHN BARROWMAN (I always wondered who that attractive man was ;) ). And that like half of my friends watch Doctor Who. And Doctor Who has a thing about gingers, which is funny because being ginger is a continuing topic of discussion amongst [Львица] and me (as [Львица] is actually a redhead).

Everything in my life is connected... which is starting to weird me out. My favorite late night comedian, Craig Ferguson, likes Doctor Who, my friends like Doctor Who, I finally started watching Doctor Who the other night (the first episode of the first restart season with Christopher Eccleston, the episode called "Rose" - I got advice from a girl in my Italian class who is a big Who fan as to where to start in the series on Wednesday when our substitute professor didn't show up) AND I LOVE IT.

There is clearly some link between things I like and people I like. And, fortunately for me, psychology has a short and sweet little theory about it. It's called balance theory and it makes me incredibly happy.

Here's how it works - basically, humans want to achieve balance in their life, between things they like and people they like. It's always showed pictorially as triangles, so here's a nice little representation of it:

So, in a balanced situation, Pam's worst enemy is Oliver. But she loves skiing. Therefor, if Oliver hates skiing, all is right with the world. But, if Pam likes Oliver and likes skiing, but Oliver hates skiing, things are going to unbalanced and Pam is going to have a much harder time of finding stuff to do with Oliver.

Here's how it works with my life. I like British things. I like science fiction. I like my friends. My friends generally also like British things and science fiction. So things pretty much equal out.

Except for the fact that the end of Season 3 on Torchwood sucked. What the hell was that, killing Ianto? And Jack's grandson? AND IANTO?! ;(

Sorry, I knew it was going to happen, but I'm a little distraught. And now Jack is all angsty... it's disheartening.

Anyway, balance theory. So I'm upset with the end of season 3. But I REALLY love the show. So I'm feeling a bit of dissonance about that. However, I've chosen to ignore it by continuing to watch it in hopes that Ianto will magically come back. And by continuing my utterly juvenile gushing over Jack Harkness. We'll see how that works out...

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.

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?

Pissed

I saw this on "the Twitter": Scots ban on supermarket alcohol deals come into force
.... *sigh*...

Just... *sigh*...


I am aware that Scotland has issues with their drinking culture. I am also aware that much of Britain, Ireland, Russia, parts of America - the list goes on, I'm sure - also has various such issues.

But my personal interaction with drinking in Scotland has been... well, memorable.

Story #1:
[X] kept getting pissed off (by which I mean angry) whenever she would get carded (or passported, technically) in Glasgow pubs. I was actually kind of thrilled. Yes, it means that they have reason to doubt we were under 18 when we were actually 20. And probably because she assumes that alcohol is loosely handed out in Scotland (see above article for why this is NOT EXACTLY TRUE).  BUT being carded is part of being an adult. Yay for what's going to happen to me every time I order a drink until my hair turns grey!

Story #2
It was our last full night in Edinburgh and we were watching a Manchester United versus Barcelona soccer - I mean football - I mean calcio - I mean that sport where they kick that black-and-white ball around - in the pub in the basement of our hostel. I was hanging out with [No-Mr-Darcy] and [bromandawg] while [X] was drinking way too much hard cider with [one-complicated-lesbian] upstairs. It was rather noisy as some DJ started playing weird electronic music after the game ended so the three of us headed out to the patio to get some fresh air and to hear ourselves think. Outside was a group of British chaps dressed in hunting gear. Ridiculous turn-of-the-century clothes and false mustaches and such. And one guy was dressed like a stereotype of an Italian chef. Now, let me set this up properly. They were staying in the hostel as well, as [X] and I had seen them at breakfast, eating their beans and toast and eggs and usual English/Scottish breakfast fare. Except that they were accompanying their meals with gin and tonics. Solid. By this point in the evening, they were totally hammered. One man in hunting gear started insulting some woman who came outside, calling her a fat cow. She started yelling insults back. Then he... *ahem*... revealed himself to her. She was flabbergasted and returned inside. Til this point, the man had had his back to me. But he continued to keep his crown jewels out in the open, displaying them for the world. I saw them in all their glory as he announced, "You know what I love... is that my bollocks are so pure." [bromandawg] and [No-Mr-Darcy] were embarrassed beyond belief and tried to over-chivalrously apologize. Meanwhile, I was trying not to die laughing. Needless to say it was a bit awkward when I saw him in the breakfast line the next morning. Perhaps God took mercy on him and he didn't remember a thing.

But for every humorous story like that, there's twenty more like this...

The Journey of Gender

I came across the article from CNN the other day: Transgendered Kids: Painful Quest to Be Who They Are.

This article blew my mind. Seriously. I had no idea that someone could identify as transgendered as young as 3. I guess this helps me see why some people draw parallels between gender identity disorder and anorexia.

Except something bothers me about labeling people who are transgendered as having a disorder. It's like the most blatant way of saying they aren't normal, that there's something wrong with them. And this article doesn't help with that. Acting as if being transgendered is something kids will grow out of... that they will "just" be gay or bisexual.

People are so much more complex than labels. That's what psychology sometimes overlooks and what this article is absent of. But "queer theorists" don't have it right either - sometime I think they're too flexible and too... blinded by their own bias, perhaps. Saying that everyone is bisexual and that's that is just not reflecting how unique each person's experience is.

Not that labels aren't helpful; obviously I understand the need to have heuristics or schemas to organize our world. But sometimes, it just gets... well, awkward. Like the other day I learned that some transgendered people are offended by those who cross-dress - I guess because it seems to make light of their situation. This surprised me because I generally don't link cross-dressing with transgendered people - I link it with transvestites. So what does this do to transvestites? What if you're a transgendered transvestite? Are you upsetting people? Or is it only straight people who are causing offense when they cross-dress? But where do you draw the line - what's cross-dressing? Especially now that women wear pants A LOT.

It just gets murkier and murkier and murkier... I, of course, have no answers. I am simply the peanut gallery, standing out here on the edge of something that doesn't involve me and sharing my opinion. But I'd like to think my phrasing is a little less douchey than CNN's...

Renaissance Men and Byronic Heroes

I wonder if psych majors have a difficult managing their relationships.

I thought of this as I read a chapter of my social psychology book on "the self." It started after this section on self-awareness (the idea that when people focus on themselves, they compare themselves to... well, themselves; their own values and such. It seems obvious, but that way we're on the same page):

Even when we are self-aware and introspect to our heart's content, it can be difficult to know why we feel the way we do. Imagine trying to decide why you love someone. Being in love typically makes you feel giddy, euphoric, and preoccupied; in fact, the ancient Greeks thought love was a sickness. But why do you feel this way? Exactly what is it about your sweetheart that makes you fall in love? We know it is something about out loved one's looks, personality, values, and background. But precisely what? How can we possibly describe the special chemistry that exists between two people? A friend of ours once told us he was in love with a woman because she played the saxophone. Was this really the reason? The heart works in such mysterious ways that it is difficult to tell.  (pages 125-126, Aronson, Wilson, Akert - Social Psychology, 7th edition)

After this, they site an example from the "old" TV show Friends (seriously, they call it old. Thanks for making me feel ancient, textbook) when Ross makes a list of things he likes and doesn't like about Rachel. This is, according to the author's, a very bad idea.

Consider people like Ross who try to analyze why they feel the way they do about a romantic partner. When people list reasons in this manner, they often change their attitudes toward their partners, at least temporarily... Why? It is difficult to dissect the exact causes of our romantic feelings so we latch on to reasons that sound good and that happen to be on our minds (remember our friend who claimed he was in love with a woman because she played the saxophone?). (page 128, Aronson, Wilson, Akert)


This causes issues for us when we make lists and then list strange things about a person (the textbook mentions a partner annoyingly smacking their gum) instead of more complex things like good chemistry. Thus if we focus on things like gum smacking, we might suddenly decide we're not really in love with our partner and break up with them, then later regret it.

And to make matters even WORSE, the authors mention a study done where men and women are startled on a bridge and the men either immediately evaluated how attracted they were to the woman or asked to evaluate after they crossed the bridge. Those that were evaluated immediately while still startled rated the women as more attractive than those who had calmed down. This "misattribution of arousal" has been found to be true in both women and men. "The moral is this:" the authors say, "If you encounter an attractive man or woman and your heart is going thump-thump, think carefully about why you are aroused - you might fall in love for the wrong reasons!" (page 135, Aronson, Wilson, Akert)

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.

May I take your hat, your coat and your swastikas?

As this post alludes to, I attended a lecture yesterday with [Львица] about a cultural phenomenon known as "Holocaust Envy." Except it wasn't quite what we were expecting. [Львица] covers it very nicely on her blog. So I'm going to talk about a different part of the lecture - namely the guy who was sitting besides me.

I try not to judge (and ultimately fail, every time) but the guy was a bit odd from the start. He entered the room, huffing and puffing as if he'd just run up the stairs instead of taking the elevator to the eleventh floor. He sat next to me and, throughout the whole lecture, he breathed heavily, constantly putting me on edge that he was going to pass out or something. Then at the end, during the questions section, he suddenly raised his hand and asked two very odd questions. Well, first he made a statement, calling the use of the presenters words very "generalized" if I remember quickly. Then he asked about the Ukrainian holocaust and asked why no one spoke about it, why it wasn't part of this presentation, why the Holocaust gets special treatment. The lecturer pointed this man out as a perfect example of "Holocaust envy," that he was in fact "seething with it." This did not make the man any too happy. He then repeated his next question - "Who wanted the Holocaust?" [Львица] and I could not quite believe we were hearing him correctly. We thought perhaps it was something sort of sarcastic, a reminder that the Nazis or the actually events of the Holocaust needed mentioning as someone before had brought this up. Maybe he wanted some sort of clarification, as in who wants Holocaust envy, who uses it to their purposes. But he clearly did not mean any of these things. The lecturer was not allowed to answer this man's question and the man left, saying his meter was running out, trying to emphasize that he was (supposedly) not leaving intentionally. But, with all truthfulness, I was pretty glad he left.


What can the answer possibly be to that, who wanted the Holocaust? In that situation, the only answer that it seemed he was going to come up with was the Jews. Which makes zero sense, really. Unless you're one of those nut-jobs who thinks the Jews "created" the Holocaust so that people will feel bad for them (they exist, I'd direct you to check out this totally disgusting website this guy created who's convinced that the tattoos from Auschwitz are fake and part of some "Jewish conspiracy" but I don't want the creep to get any more page views than necessary). So unless he had some sort of really complex answer to the question, like the complicated history of how hatred towards Jews arose in 1920s and 1930s Germany - and he did NOT look like the sort of guy who'd have that knowledge ready to spout off in the middle of a lecture (plus it would have had nothing to do with any of the material covered, as far as I can figure) - then the only answer he could have spawned would have been one that labeled him as a...well, kind of a Neo-Nazi. Too bad he left before I got the chance to ask...

Then again maybe it was for the better. Regardless - life tile.

Blame it on the alcohol - but it's still you talking

So this started as another night sitting on the bloggisphere, unable to sleep. Maybe that's because on every street corner in Dinkytown, there's a party and I could here the music from across the street blasting in my windows (or, as I recently learned, it's called something that sounded like demo wave or d-funk... I don't know, it was late at night and the guy I was talking to was really drunk).

Living in a new part of campus has highlighted a completely different lifestyle - partying. Yes, I have been aware of college partying - I go to a Big Ten school, after all. I've just never been one. Being a junior in college and having not been to a big party is, I suppose, a bit odd in my case. But I've never been a party girl, I've never been overtly interested. I've never been invited to one. But [Львица] got invited to a 21st birthday bash for someone she went to Europe with. And, being the most genial of roommates, she invited me along.

There's an element to drinking that reminds me of something we talked about in psychology, about hypnotism of all things. Some people are more open, more receptive to hypnosis. Others aren't. Drinking seems to be in some ways similar to that, playing a great deal off of your mental state. If you want to get hammered, you probably will. If you don't want to get drunk, you won't. OBVIOUSLY how much you drink impacts this, but there's something more than just the amount but also the mindset. Some people can drink three shots and be fine but drink three shots again on a different night at another party and be totally wasted (and this doesn't have anything to do with amount of food eaten and generally physical things). There seems to be a big mental part. Of course, I'm being a total armchair theorist, which my psych professors would HATE but I don't have time to do research right now. Just go with an idea for now and we'll worry about "facts" and "data" at another time.