Henri

[Львица] just discovered these videos and, as we were just discussing existentialism in one of my classes today, I felt the need to share them. Brilliant... they are brilliant.

So Close and Yet So Far...

I totally don't know where this year went. I have less than a month of school left and here I am standing, trying to keep totally still in a river current that's yearning to push me forward. After a rather unusual Easter and a sudden surge of homework, I'm kind of reeling from exhaustion and exhilaration. Because it's almost the end of the school year. I can almost taste it.

http://www.cybersalt.org/images/stories/cleanlaugh/cats/catlook.jpg

There is no point to this post or this picture. But I like the picture.

Group Projects

http://www.lolbrary.com/content/402/what-i-learn-from-group-projects-14402.jpg

Yep. Pretty much.

That's right, boys, I'm a Feminist...

So, with this whole current issue involving Rush Limbaugh, feminism has been on my mind a lot this week. And lo and behold if it didn't come an important issue in both my classes and my life...

We watched Mad Men in my television class (weirdly, right after I'd had a dream the day before about meeting Jon Hamm, one of the main actors from the show, at some sort of celebrity event. Why the hell I was there, I haven't a clue. Why I dreamed about an actor who's show I'd never seen until the next day I also can't explain) and our viewing about some ads used during the airing of Mad Men on AMC led to some discussion of feminism. It got kind of awkward because one guy in my class didn't see an ad as misogynist when many other kids did (just because the misogyny isn't blatant doesn't mean it's any better; in fact I would argue that's the general state of sexism today). Regardless, I had this lingering in the back of my mind and vexing me slightly as I went off to meet up with a girl from two of my classes to study for our midterms.  While in the midst of trying to explain what ethnomusicology was, one of her guy friends dropped by the study lounge where we were. Aside from being distracted from studying, the girl just stopped talking and ignored anything I said about the term at this point. The guy left and we tried to resume studying, during which she said, "Wow, I'm really distracted now." We started going over stuff and then she mentioned, "He's like one of my best friends. And I was embarrassed to sound so nerdy in front of him."

Ahem. Okay, lemme get this straight - you invite me over to study. You really are confused about this stuff. I'm trying to explain it to you, but you don't want to look "nerdy" in front of a friend? You're in the middle of a study session; you're supposed to be studying. It's not being nerdy, it's being a student!

Ignoring the fact that if she didn't want to look nerdy, I must look like a humongous nerd to her (don't care, won't care - am a nerd, will always be a nerd), I wondered exactly what her relationship is with this guy. I can think of only one reason a girl would not want to look "nerdy"/smart in front of a guy - and that's because she likes him. Because, for some explicable reason, many guys in my generation don't like smart girls.

Why? Probably because they're intimated, or don't want to look stupid, or don't want a girl who's clever enough not to take his bullshit, or don't want to argue with her, or - you get the idea. There are a plethora of possible reasons. And usually I wouldn't be so unkind to the male gender, but I'm rather pissed off about this. I mean, considering this might be one of the main reasons why guys want nothing to do with me, it's kind of an big issue. But, girls, here's what you need to know:

http://weasleycansaveanything.tumblr.com/post/18737413970

There you go. Right there. I can put it no better than that. If a guy doesn't like you for being smart, than he doesn't really like you or respect you. And thus he's not worth your time.

This, of course, makes me a feminist. Because I want to be treated like an equal, not an accessory. If you don't want a smart girl, TS, boys, TS. We don't want a guy dumb enough to say he DOESN'T want a smart girl. Because they're clearly operating from some previous state of being where they don't want a woman who's clever and can speak her mind. And they probably think feminism is something bizarre that only involves bra burning and extreme liberals (they also happen to be the sort of guys who don't understand that lesbians are real, but that's an equally frustrating topic for another time). Wrong, wrong, wrong.

I am a feminist, I am smart, and I will not waste my time dating someone who doesn't respect me for being these things. It's not being picky; it's respecting myself. I don't care if I'm alone for the rest of my life because being this way makes me "undateable" (which has to me a myth; it's totally a myth, right, gentlemen?); I'd rather be alone than be with someone who doesn't like me for me. This doesn't make me a man-hater, or a shrew, or any of that shit. No, all I want is someone to treat me the way I would treat them. I WANT to date a smart man because I want to date someone who is my equal. And that's that. Equality - what a novel thought.

So, girls, stop dumbing yourself down for guys, or anyone, for that matter. And guys - ditto. This whole fear of looking smart or nerdy or whatever is ridiculous. If anything, BE NERDY - as a guy in my Italian class said, "Everyone's a nerd, because everyone's passionate about something." Be passionate, be happy, and be yourself. This has been a PSA announcement from [La Maga].

Stronger

This week has been a busy (and unexpectedly dramatic) week in apartment management. I attended the housing fair (on the correct day this time) and got at least six people to give me their info to schedule a tour. However, [Львица] and I have been trying to find someone to move into our apartment in June so I can move in next door and the girl living there doesn't have to worry about subletting. But it's been hard to find two people who want to sublet so early, so we wondered if it might be easier for Britney, the girl who lives in the apartment I'm planning on moving into next year, to find a short-term subletter.

Except that, suddenly, it's not okay to sublet for less than three months in the building; they look for long-term leasing so they don't have high turnover. Which makes sense... but that was NOT what we were told upon filling out the lease. And that's not what any of the other tenants were told by the previous building manager either. So now we have that tricky little issue.

Our boss and building owner had decided to make an exception in order to let someone lease short-term, but before this [Львица] and I were both certain he alluded to giving me another apartment, not the one I wanted. I was unsure how this would solve any problems, but I'm certain that's what he said on the phone the other night. Not that it matters here; there are some battles I can't win and trying to justify myself and show that I am not in the wrong will solve nothing; it is not the point and it doesn't matter here. Unfortunately for me, I have a long history of hating any situation that makes me feel wronged and blamed when I feel I don't deserve to (something I deeply have in common with the protagonist of Jane Eyre) and it's been hard for me to see this situation clearly. However, this situation came up the other night and our boss took offense and [Львица] had to work herself out of a very awkward situation. Every time I think I've gotten better at communication and I think I'm good at what I'm doing, the stark reality of how much work it takes to attain good communication hits me.

http://www.examiner.com/

But instead of focusing out how far I've got to go, I'd rather commend myself for how far I've come. Yes, I could communicate better with my boss. But this is the first real job I've had, I've never met him or spoken with him face-to-face, and sometimes it's hard to express what [Львица] and I have discussed to our boss with just one of us trying to summarize. And given my history of introversion, slight social anxiety, and loathing of talking on phones (which has all but dissipated this year), I'm pretty goddamn pleased with myself. I have become a stronger person - in words, in actions, in many things. And for that, well, I'm quite happy.

Of course, I still have ways to grow and change (who doesn't?) and I'll harbor regrets about not being afraid to speak up sooner. Maybe it was because of Catholic school, maybe it was just who I was or what I was taught when I was young, but arguing with authority is something I had to learn myself, something I never saw accepted or allowed. If it weren't for [Львица] and, oddly enough, my father's new outspokenness about politics, and the fact that I've allowed myself to get really pissed off about some things, I might have never learned to speak my mind. I regret not doing it more in the past; I'll always wish I had spoken up in my high school Biology class when my teacher said that it was possible for AIDS to be passed through kissing which was SO WRONG, instead of just fuming about it later; I should have stood up and TOLD HIM he was wrong.

But the environment and person I was in high school was far, far different from where I find myself now. In college, there's a sense of freedom that I often take for granted. In college, you can break some of the rules. In high school, rules are the only structure there is to cling to.

Not that college is anywhere near perfect. [Львица]'s English class this semester has exemplified over and over again how easy it is for someone to take away the ability of expression (even when they think they are actually opening doors wider when in actuality they are slamming them shut). But I'm infinitely grateful for those who have allowed and encouraged me to speak out; the only thing I have too keep fighting for is the belief that I have the right to do so and that I deserve it. It's not always an easy feat; but I'm working on it. :)

Confessions of a Self-Depreciating Fangirl, Part 2

As I was saying, something happened the other day. I became suddenly aware - and obsessed - with a new celebrity.

In case you haven't noticed by his sudden appearance/mention on this blog, it's Benedict Cumberbatch.

Yes, poor Benedict Cumberbatch, poor, poor Benedict Cumberbatch, who has girls declaring themselves to be his future wife because he, unlike so many celebrities fangirls pine over, IS UNMARRIED.

Not that it stops fangirls from obsessing over married celebrities but, you know, the potentiality of this situation not ending tears is slightly less from the fangirl perspective. Here's how it reads to them:

He's not married! He's so talented! He's so handsome - and those cheekbones! And that voice!* If I could meet him - it'd be perfect!

*They always mention his cheekbones. And his voice. Yes, I did bring up his voice before - he sounds like he could be related to Alan Rickman and it's fucking brilliant. But the repetition of the cheekbones thing... yes, he has a very nice facial structure. But talking about slicing tomatoes with his cheekbones... too far, girls. Way too far... 

I had some variation of this thought the other day (minus the cheekbone bit). Part of it ended up in my Sherlock post, as you might have noticed. Which was nothing abnormal - I talk about celebrities. A LOT (and dammit, he DOES have a fabulous name). But I found myself realizing I'd latched on to this fangirl idea of getting married to a celeb. And I freaked.

Okay, a brief history of me as a tween. I began my earliest fangirling when The Lord of the Rings movies came out (Aragorn all the way, baby). And I went pretty hardcore when Gerard Butler played Erik in The Phantom of the Opera. However, I was fourteen, and had absolutely no interest in dating anyone, no matter how wonderful and famous they were. Because I was fourteen and really yet unaware about life in general. Point is, I was not like other teenage girls who were buying shirts that said, "Mrs. Pitt" and "Mrs. Affleck" from Claire's and convinced that somehow, despite the thousands of girls who were wearing those shirts, they were all going to end up married to said celebrities. Even at the age of fourteen, I thought this was baloney.

So somehow, between the ages of fourteen and twenty-one, I've regressed immensely, to a prior state I was never actually at (well, there was a sort of similar instance where for a few days I thought I might actually get an acceptance letter to Hogwarts, but that didn't last too long for me. I wasn't feeling too secure about my studious nature at the time).

Here's probably how it happened: I'm on Tumblr, ensconced amongst all these photos of celebrities, and suddenly I start seeing all these posts about peeps being fanatic about their favorite celebrities. It starts to look normal to me, and I find myself slipping in and doing the same thing. I found who Benedict Cumberbatch was in part BECAUSE OF Tumblr. But here's where it went different, where it didn't morph into a previous favorite actor obsession: the first thing that really caught my attention wasn't just a photo; it was a quote from some article where Cumberbatch - according to a Tumblr user quoting the article ("I saw it on the internet, it's definitely true.") - said that his biggest regret was not having kids by the age of 32.

Whomp. Just like that I was suddenly, emotionally attached to a man I've never met. This is not unusual - this has happened a bajillion times. What WAS different was how I reacted to it, that I didn't just care that he was attractive and intelligent and talented; no, I also cared about his emotional well-being on a level I can honestly say I've never reached before for a person I've never met, never seen in person, never in lived in the same country as. That was warning sign number 1.

Warning sign number 2 was spending more time on Tumblr than on anything else - even my fictional writing. Not because I talk to people on there (I really don't; I don't get how that works with just an ask box and a bunch of photos). No, it was because I wanted to see all of these new photos of my new favorite actor and share in the experience of people knowing who he is. And slowly, I realized I was getting jealous of the other people out there who I once sympathized with; where once I felt we bonded, I suddenly felt jealous of; as if they were trying to prove themselves a better fan than me. Big old warning sign number 3.

And then yesterday, I was on Tumblr and I saw this gif set I'd seen before: Cumberbatch dancing to "Thriller" at a party. Only there were a bunch of comments talking about how it had been stolen from a Facebook profile and that it was not meant to be shown to the public. Tumblr people were asking for it to be deleted and not reblogged and to address whoever had originally posted it it. But it was too late. I was incredibly creeped out.

I began wondering... How may of these other photos out there are NOT supposed to be released to the Internet? And not just for Cumberbatch - for Michael Fassbender, David Tennant, etc. etc. etc. What do these guys actually think of their fans? I mean, I want to be a famous writer - how would I feel if people posted this sort of stuff about me? (Freaked. Totally freaked. I'd appreciate it at first but then once I started seeing stuff about me everywhere, I'd totally flip out.) So why would we treat actors any different than we'd treat ourselves?

Because we idolize them. Honestly, if I met one of the actors I've mentioned, I have no idea how I'd react. I can't truly imagine it. Well, I mean I do imagine it but it's not authentic. In my mind, I'm all cool and collected. In reality, I'd probably be having a fit and pass out or just be too nervous to even say anything.

So there's this conundrum here - the want to treat actors like you would anyone else (because, after all, that's probably what they want and if you want hang out with an actor, you don't want to be the crazy one who's built a shrine out of printer paper and teacups in your room), but also the need to respect them, to express your admiration (which then gets totally carried away here). And you get stuck in fangirling.

So why do we do this to ourselves? Well, fangirling is easier than some other options. Let me explain:

1) As I've mentioned before, it's less riskier than actually getting involved in relationships. Here, the only person who can break your heart is reality - and even that can be eluded for an extended period of time.You keep telling yourself that anything is possible and that you could totally wind up marrying someone famous someday. And you keep those voices in your head telling you you're just being silly silent a while longer.

2) It's easier to let it go than fight it, especially if you're in school. I mean, I sat through 30 plus minutes today in a lecture, discussing the flaws in an experiment. 70% of the things students said were confounds WEREN'T and we spent forever discussing why so. Unfortunately for me, I get this stuff within the first five minutes. And for some inexplicable reason, even as a junior, college is boring for me. So I spend the rest of class bored out of my mind and daydreaming, wishing for an escape. It's no wonder that I want to be swept off my feet by some dashing actor.

3) In relation to the first point, there's this predominate feeling that a lot of these fangirls don't have boyfriends and can't get boyfriends, for whatever reasons. Boys ignore them, they get "friend zoned," they just have bad luck... you get the idea. You know my story. So, it's like this decision that since they can't get a normal guy, they might as well reach for the stars and dream of something impossible.

This all sounds rather sad and disturbing and disheartening, I know. I'm sure all fangirls aren't this way, but the more time I spend on Tumblr, the more I see girls like this. It makes me realize that this part of myself - this repression of obsessing with actors, inability to get a normal boyfriend, dreaming of perfection - isn't as abnormal as I'd thought. But now this powerful, potent release is no longer comforting. It's terrifying. I'm no longer alone, but I still feel the urge to run away from myself. I hate myself for acting this way. But I just feel more insecure, more trapped by my own life - trapped by school, trapped by circumstances, trapped by things I have to do but don't want to - and I'm back to wanting to escape as I was before.

And as much as daydreaming can be fun and wonderful, it can also be dangerous. You've got a good picture of why. My friend [X] once said that most of her life is lived in her head, which I found profoundly sad. Not having actual actions, just dreaming out what you want to do rather than actually being able to do it. While the importance of imagination is great, its power can go too far.

Perhaps my want for action is what made this situation different. I had the sudden urge to meet Mister Cumberbatch. Okay, obviously fan girls want to meet all of their favorite celebrities. I want to meet John Barrowman, but more out of a "wow, we'd be great friends; I feel like I already know him" vein. This current case is markedly different. This is more like, "Hey, I know nothing about him, but I feel like I understand him better than anyone else." Which is totally weird. And probably what 80% of other fan girls feel. So tough shit for me.

However, also in combination with this is the whole issue with photos and videos being released that aren't supposed to be, in which I feel the desire to prove that not all fans are not so incredibly creepy. Which is impossible to do while feeling like a creep. So of course I found myself trying to not be creepy, to try to be a fan without being totally mental about it - an elegant, mature adult who just happens to fancy an actor. While all the time, in the back of my mind, I'm trying to figure out how I could get to London and "stumble across" Cumberbatch during the Olympics or something as equally absurd (because, you know, out of 7 million people there plus however many millions will attend the Olympics, I'm going to be able to find ANYONE). It's a like a constant battle, trying to not feel like a tween about this (it's interesting that all the imagery about fangirling comes from young girls. But that's a topic for another time). And now all this self-reflection, and reflecting upon reflection, is a bit much. I've just got a whole lot of words on a page and no clear idea of where to go from here. All I know is that I want to be recognized for who I am, not a mindless, faceless fanatic. So I'm limiting my time on Tumblr, reminding myself that actors or people to (unlike what Max Bialystok might say in The Producers), and that I am young and naive and very good at being both things and that I might as well accept that I'm going to do stupid stuff. But the least I can do is limit the embarrassment I cause for myself and for others. Because these actors I adore so much deserve better than... whatever this attempt at explanation and apologizing this is. Sorry, great thespians, and, while I won't pretend that you're reading this, I extend an apologia for this league of fangirls. And an extra expression of regret to the fine Mr. Cumberbatch as the unknowing example in this RIDICULOUSLY LONG post (many apologies, dear sir... you've been dragged into the realm of cultural theorizing.). And since this really is an on-going tale and I've no idea how to close this, I'm just going to stop... right... here.

Confessions of a Self-Depreciating Fangirl

I am in denial that this semester is happening. Really. I just remembered today that I have an essay due in my Comedy class (which sounds like a lot more fun than it actually is) next Thursday. And I have a test on Monday in Research Methods. And I have to find research articles for my Research Methods paper. And I have to accept myself that I'm back in school and that, yes, once again, I have found myself swamped with work and sick and living half of my life in mental fantasies that will never, ever happen - this week's includes John Barrowman singing Cole Porter and Benedict Cumberbatch reading great English literature to me while I curl up all warm and cozy on the couch, sneezing (elegantly and lady-like, as if such sort of sneezing was possible) and drinking Earl Grey tea. Like I said, totally impossible. The best I can do is hole up in Espresso Royale between classes and drink Spanish Lattes and read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Charlotte Bronte and try not to panic over having absolutely no control over this semester. And life in general.

I mean, where the hell is this year going? It just started and already we're in the first full week of February! I'm sitting here, with a watch around my neck, and time's all just ticking by me. It's kind of unnerving.

Oh, and I think I got Mo, [Львица]'s cat, sick. I know that diseases aren't supposed to transfer from human to cat, but Mo slept on my bed last night and it was fantastic and comforting, but now she's sneezing. I just feel like everything I'm trying to do to make things easier for myself backfires.

Like writing this blog. I should totally be doing some homework, or essay writing, or research planning, or internship hunting. But I just can't make myself care about those things right now. I need to stop working for a few minutes, to breathe and relax and tell myself I'm not going to break down (and all in the back of my head, I'm thinking about all the stuff we're talking about in my classes, about how the Industrial Revolution has made us all machine-like and it's freaking me out). I go on Tumblr to chill out and see fun pix of my favorite shows and movies, but instead I just get visually attacked by totally beautiful European men - okay, okay British and a couple Irish men, you win, [Львица] - (Barrowman, Cumberbatch, David Tennant, Ewan McGregor, Michael Fassbender, Colin Firth, Martin Freeman, James McAvoy, the list continues and seems to grow everyday...) and I feel stalker-ish and, well, for lack of a better word, weird.

Let me set this up for you: I have this absurd desire to be famous. Wow, okay, who doesn't, right? Actually, I never used to care about that sort of thing (well, maybe I did, but I'd convinced myself otherwise). Then something happened - A) I realized that 75% of the people I knew in high school didn't know who I was,* B) I wasn't going to be able to me a music teacher and change lives in a small, sweet way like Mr. Holland, and C) If I couldn't do what I originally planned, then dammit I might was well go big and become the next big American writer. Or some shit like that. And people were finally going to appreciate me and care and it didn't matter that most of my teachers couldn't remember my name and I never got asked to Homecoming or Prom and that one little asshole in my AP Psych class insinuated that I'd never get married. No, none of that would matter when I could roll up to our high school reunion as a fucking millionaire and a best-selling author. And that the fact that they never thought I was cool was an utterly moot point. This is not original. I know. But it's how I've felt since graduation, and it's how I still feel now.

* I'll never forget the time [Broadway Baby] was trying to convince me that people liked me and he asked this guy named Sam who was walking by, "Hey, Sam, do you like [La Maga]?" To which he replied, "Who's [La Maga]?" I'm pretty sure this was a common reaction for most people. Even in my graduating class (which had around 400 people, mind you. My school had 2000 students, so maybe I should stop whining and be glad anyone knew me at all).

So I have an obsession with fame. How American. In turn, I have an obsession with famous people (which I have discussed multitudes of times and will continue to discuss, because I'm a CSCL major and that's what we do. And I just have a lot of feelings). I also have an unfortunate trend of thinking that actors who happen to play my favorite characters or characters I grow to love, who are very handsome/charming/dashing, and say something that I happen to agree with are suddenly the EXACT MAN I AM LOOKING FOR IN MY LIFE. I am not alone in this happening - I see it all across Tumblr. Which is a great sort of, "Hey, look, I'm not alone!" tool - which is nice for the first few weeks. But then you - okay, I - started to get creeped out. Because it's just SO MUCH FANGIRLING.

I can understand a little bit. Okay, John Barrowman is one gorgeous man - I have stated that far too much on this blog. In fact, I had a page in which to try to focus some of the fangirling so as not to make a bunch of nonsense posts. But then I looked at it today and thought it was creepy. So sadly, it is no more. You're welcome, John Barrowman. Not that you read this. Unless you do...

See? See what I did there? FANGIRLS THINK THIS ALL THE TIME. They think that their favorite celebrity is secretly reading their blogs. They think that for some reason, Mr. Famous Talented Handsome Celebrity will swoop down from his very busy, hectic life into their very dull, mundane ones and sweep them off their feet to some exquisite life full of roses and awards shows and awesomeness. I am not making fun of fangirls out of spite. Because I find myself wishing for these same things.

And you know another thing that's stupid? Oscar Season and Valentine's Day - two things that should NOT be this close together. For the sake of the fangirls, it's very, very dangerous. I was wondering if anyone's ever tried to crash the Oscars in order to see their favorite actor (probably yes. I feel like it'd be pretty easy - get a nice dress, tell them you're a Baldwin, you're in). Also, Valentine's Day produces a deep melancholia for most people who are of the single state. Which only doubles the power of the fangirl obsession.

I could very easily let myself continue down this path of constantly blogging photos of celebrities I have crushes on and flipping out over them and being totally obsessive, like a little kid watching a puppy in a shop window (wow, nice self-depreciating imagery there, right? Demeaning actors into puppy-like images. I can't decide if that's truthful or too harsh a way of describing this phenomenon). But the other day, something happened. Maybe it's because I'm tired of feeling stuck between the ages of fifteen and thirty. Maybe it's because my mind is being enlightened because of my On Television class. Maybe it's because my fangirling went to a whole new level.

Regardless, this the longest blog I've written this year. But it's a bit too long. So I'm going to continue this in part two. Readers beware.

In Pursuit of Altruism

http://www.savagechickens.com/images/chickenaltruism.jpg

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Joy of Finals

Yep. That time of year. My biggest accomplishment has involved developing how Leopold from Kate and Leopold could aid capitalism. And making this photo:

Right now I have to drive myself partially insane studying for an evil psych exam. So enjoy this in my absence.

Thanksgiving Can't Come Soon Enough

This is how I feel about college right about now...

Where's Your Neck?!

This is what studying has done to my brain:

Hey, Hegel - where's your neck!?

Sorry, this only funny if you know who Hegel is... and if you get the Rocky Horror reference.

Warning: Entering the Land of Midterms

Yep, it's that time of year for college students: the dreaded midterm. Except, here at the U, every exam is called a midterm, so you end up having like four midterms and a final. It's kind of dumb. However, this week is time for my LEGIT midterms, such as one of only two take-home exams for my cultural studies class and the second of three terrifying sensation and perception psych tests. Which means I have to work my ass off this weekend to get everything done. And not get distracted and watch Doctor Who.

This is going to be hard.

Mischief Night

So the other day, I believe I made a reference to trying to make up for the disaster that was last Halloween.

This requires some explaining.

Okay, so it wasn't really that bad. But I'm sure [Львица] would tell me that's rosy retrospection talking. And she'd be right.

It kind of felt like this...

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.

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...

What am I doing with my life?

First things first: HOLY SHIT IT'S WINDY OUT. REALLY REALLY REALLY WINDY. I don't think I've gotten my hair so mussed up or dirt in my teeth since that crazy windy day in Glasgow.

Whoa, flashback.

Anyway, now to attend to other matters. Like this article I came across in the Minnesota Daily: Doctorate At Age 18?

Yeah...

AN ELEVEN YEAR OLD IS DOING PSEO. I'M NEARLY TWICE HIS AGE AND I'M NOT EVEN DONE WITH UNDERGRAD AND THEY SAY HE COULD HAVE A PhD BY 18???!!!

I'm sorry for the excess of caps. I mean, I admire the kid, that's incredible. But did he have an actual childhood? Does he go home and watch Spongebob at the end of the day like I did when I was eleven, or does he go home and think about physics and biology? What kind of social life does he have? What is he going to do if he graduates from college AT THE AGE OF FIFTEEN or something?

And because I'm a self-centered individual, I realize that THIS IS WHAT I'M COMPETING WITH. This is who is going to running Microsoft or Google or something while I'm going to be an unemployed hobo with social science/humanities degree because no one cares about that shit anymore.

Me in two years... actually, if this is me in two years, I'm cooler as a hobo

Point is, I feel a little threatened. Okay, I lot threatened. Especially because I'd really like to have a job after college, thanks. If only I'd become a doctor or a scientist or something. Who'd started reading at age 1. BUT NO. I have to be the weird hipster sort who wants to do something artistic but is probably just marginally more intelligent than your average Kardashian (c'mon, they figured how to be famous WITHOUT DOING ANYTHING. They aren't that stupid).

Anyone else getting this feeling that science and technology fields are taking over universities? (I want to point out that I'm NOT slamming science and technology. I just, as a humanities sort, feel like all the funding is going to research labs. And not education. Wow, this got strangely political. Sorry about that. Actually, no, I'm not sorry. This deserves more than a parenthetical statement, but that will have to come later). Anyone else sick of everyone assuming that they want to become a doctor or a lawyer or something? 'Cause I sure am.

You know what'd be awesome? If this kid pulled a complete 180 and became a brilliant poet or singer-songwriter. Or James Franco. That would make my life.

For a friend on the day of their major declaration

[Львица], this one's for you. Congratulations :D

A man who wanted to sing in church was wondering if he should inquire...

I must have a flashing sign on my forehead that says, "Talk to me about religion!" I think I've gotten accosted more times on campus in the past few months than any other time in my life. The Mormons approached me last spring, then last week I got asked twice to join a Bible study, the second proposal within seconds of the last.

Then on Tuesday I was approached by two people, who seemed to be about my age, both of Asian heritage. They began talking to me about religion and I had no idea how to get them to stop - talking about religion always makes me a bit uncomfortable, especially in public, especially considering my unorthodox views. But on they went, and suddenly I found they were describing a sect of Christianity that believed that God was represented as both God the Father and God the Mother. That's right, there's a FEMALE version of God. I was suddenly totally intrigued. Curious, and ever the absorber of anything possibly interesting when it comes to culture, I arranged to meet them again on Wednesday.

Except I was majorly disappointed. No feminist teachings. No discourse on how God is both a man and a woman. Instead, we plowed through the end of Revelations and the two missionaries, of sorts, described how the Bible predicted World War II, how a fig tree represents Israel, and how Passover is the only way to receive the "seal of God" and thus truly become one of God's own and thus not be harmed in whatever terrible travesty is coming next. I'm not saying it wasn't interesting - it totally was. Especially as this group is Christian but practices Passover and believes Saturday is the true Sabbath. It was just not what I was expecting. They weren't trying to convert me - exactly. They weren't trying to say I was wrong - exactly. They weren't saying all the Jews were going to hell - exactly. But all the things they didn't say worried me more then the things they did. How did their church get created? How exactly do they worship? Who is their minister/priest/leader of mass in this institution? Why did I have to ask to get the name of their church? It's just a bit strange. And it's beginning to feel like I attract weirdness, like a madness. A bit like this... As Max Bialystock says, "They come here, they all come here. How do they find me?"

Strange situation

So a weird variety of not-quite-coincidences occurred today, making my average Tuesday feel a little unusual.

1) After walking out of class, I ran into [mind ninja], whom I haven't seen since midsummer. The chances of running into her in the same building at the U is about one in two billion, especially as there's like sixty thousand people on campus each day or something. What's even weirder, [Львица] ran into her too.

2) While sitting outside doing the crossword puzzle during my break between classes, two people came up to me and started talking to me about the Bible. I was afraid they were going to invite me to a Bible study and I was going to have to be rude and turn them away. Instead, they started talking to me about how the evidence might show that there is a female version of God along with the male counterpart. I was totally intrigued - I love hearing different ideas about religion and I had actually just been wondering about whether any religions incorporated this sort of idea anywhere (actually, I'd been wondering more if any religions had a woman as their primary god, but this was a mental tangent I'd had). How they managed to decide to talk to me about this and how they got lucky enough to run across someone who wouldn't be offended. I'm meeting up with them tomorrow to learn more because I'm totally interested, so we'll see how that goes...

3) After talking about the possibility of a female God, a bee started buzzing around me, landing on my books and my pants. So, I fled the scene and went inside the building where my next class was where I ran into one of my professors from last year who I'd been really hoping to see. Thank you, strange hostile-yet-friendly bee for setting up the perfect circumstances so I could talk to him.

So there you have it - a bunch of coincidences all together. Except that I'm sort of doubtful that about the whole coincidence thing. Yeah, I mean, life is random - but the fact that OUT OF NOWHERE two people come bearing information about something I really wanted to know? That a bee chased me inside at just the right time? That both my roommate and I ran into our other roommate from last year on the same day?

It's certain - my life is being controlled by aliens. I'm kidding - I've just been watching way too much Torchwood. As you'll see from my next post...

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.