Stupid heartbroken ravings, or: you probably shouldn't listen to anything I say after midnight

So here I am, once again, unable to sleep. Sitting in front of my computer in my dark apartment, listening to the fan blowing semi-cool air around the room, hearing the background buzz of traffic whisk by and feeling my eyes slowly droop and my mouth suppressing a yawn. I should definitely be sleeping. Except that my subconscious chose this relatively quiet Friday night to torture me.

It started the other day with a dream. A very stupid dream. It was about Scotland again, or at least the group from Scotland. Where exactly we were, I wasn't sure. All I know is that I was talking to [No-Mr-Darcy] and he was giving me the total cold shoulder and I couldn't figure out why. Then I was talking to this guy that sort of looked like Alan Cummings (why do people who vaguely look like celebrities keep appearing in my dreams? What is this? Some sort of symbol of how media-saturated my life is?) about why in the heck [No-Mr-Darcy] was avoiding me. And then I was making out with Alan Cummings look-alike. And then he was like, "Well, duh, maybe that's why the dude's avoiding you, because you'll make out with anyone. You're a moron." And then I woke up. Shitty, right?

I can probably explain where my subconscious fear of sluttiness came from. Since August, I feel like every guy I've walked past I appraise as a possible boyfriend (okay, not every boy, but I've used the term "hot" more often than I ever have before in my life. Maybe I'm just becoming more aware of attractive men. Or maybe I'm just being a jerk and objectifying them). I feel like now that I'm still beating myself (and [No-Mr-Darcy]) up about this whole awkward summer thing that now I'm just looking for any guy, that any guy will do, just in the desperate hope that someone will like me. Which his totally not what I want to be doing. I DON'T need a boyfriend. I AM happy being single. But Jesus Christ, I thought I was over this whole [No-Mr-Darcy] thing. I stopped talking about it. I was fine with it. But then I got really angry at him. And then I had that dream.

And then I saw HIM - [tedesco]. A guy I fancied I... well, fancied. I ran into him shortly after school started and, though it wasn't as awkward as it might have been, it reminded me of how much I cared about [tedesco] last spring. And reminded me that he too had been in one of my recent dreams.

Somehow, this is all leaving me feeling very bizarre. I feel like shit about how things turned out with [No-Mr-Darcy] and that, even if I want to be friends with him, I don't know what to do now. I want to ask X if he's mentioned me, said anything about me... but I don't know if it's worth it. What good would it do? Nothing would come of it. It would probably just hurt me more. And yet I keep mulling over it in my mind, not able to let go until I know. He's caught up with all the other guys I've thought I liked, fictional, real, unattainable, gay - WHATEVER - and I can't seem to get any of them out of my head at the moment. It makes me feel sort of shamed at all the ones I've foolishly fallen for and how it's come to little more than nothing. Of course, I have to remind myself that it's also one in the morning and I often get rather stupidly glum when I haven't slept.

Maybe all I need is a good, solid sleep and I'll feel better in the morning. I probably won't have any more answers than I do now, but at least I'll be able to look back on this post and remark, "What was I thinking?"

And if I don't say that... well, I'll figure that out in the daylight.

Thanks to linguistics, I learned about a new bug

[Львица] and I were doing classwork tonight when she stumbled across a mention of this little bugger in her linguistics book:

This guy's called a death watch beetle. He's less than an inch long. And he communicates by beating his head against things.  They apparently make quite a racket doing this and, according to Wikipedia, they have become associated with quiet, sleepless nights and with vigil kept over the dead or dying. And thus have become superstitiously known as an omen of impending death.

Did I mention that they're the size of my finger nail? Pretty awesome, right?

And thus begins another year...

I got shit today on Facebook from people who go to a sister school of my campus, who were getting on my case that they start two weeks sooner than my school. For some reason, this is some huge point of contention for them, despite the fact that they get a fall break and we don't and they also get an extra day for Thanksgiving or Christmas I believe. And we get an extra week to build up strength in our legs to prep for the half-hour it takes to cross campus (when it takes five minutes to cross theirs. Ha). Whatever. Point was, I was kind of pissed that they were raining on my parade about how happy I was to be back at the U. Because I'm really fucking glad to be back.

Seriously, after being back in class after two days, I realized how much I missed this. Of course, when I have three papers due and 200 pages of reading to do three weeks from now, I'll want to punch myself for saying all of this. But I'm SO glad to be back. Summer just feels stale and stagnant now, like a waiting period to when I can go back to being myself. Being with a lot of my friends from high school just feels awkward and being in a suburb for too long isn't healthy for me or anyone else in a ten mile radius now (yes, yes, I'm a city girl. We've established this). It feels good to use my brain for school work and it feels so nice to smell that mix of fallen leaves, coffee and bus fumes on University Avenue. And so, so nice to see people again who understand me - or at least pretend to understand me. It's not that I don't see people like that in the summer - it's just that there seems to be fewer of them.

I kept thinking about Harry Potter the other day, actually, and how happy he always was to go back to Hogwarts. In high school, I couldn't quite understand this. Yeah, I liked school but not that much. Now I get it. I really do. People might think my school is giant or dangerous or not as good as others. But for me, it's perfect. So don't give me shit about it. Especially if you were the ones who made me realize how perfect it was for me (looking at you, sister-school not to be named. You're always rivaling with us to be better than the Big U. Give it up. We're not competing with you. We are who we are, you are who we are. Stop trying to compensate).

Anyway, it's good to be back. Ski-U-Mah.

To the douchebag who broke Adele's heart

Dear Dickwad,

I know I'm being a bit harsh, since I don't know you or really anything about you at all. The only thing I do know, actually, is that after you and Adele broke up, you quickly moved on and married some other girl. Low, dude. Low. Nothing says, "I really didn't care about you" than doing something like that. I have to ask - what does your new girl think of this? Does she know? If I were her, I would feel totally awkward about this... but I digress. Truly, I don't care if you're actually the nicest person alive - this makes you sound like a righteous asshole. Of course, I'm not exactly the best person to have judging your actions - I'm not particularly forgiving of men doing stupid things. Also, Adele is pretty much my favorite female vocalist alive (tied with Sara Bareilles, FYI). So you breaking her heart totally did not help your image for me. Tough shit, man.

However, even though I pretty much hate your guts for what you did and making the male gender look damn awful, there is one thing I have to thank you for. You were the inspiration for the lyrics of one of the greatest albums I've ever heard. And even though I'd probably punch you if I knew who you were, you twistedly helped create some of the best, most beautiful, most heartbreaking music I've ever listened to. If anything, that should be inspiration to women - and men, because I know that there are some real bitches out there - that beautiful things can come from misfortune. So thanks for that. Even though I wouldn't be too proud of it - I mean, a Grammy-Award winning singer just immortalized you as the biggest fucking douchebag since Carly Simon sang, "You're So Vain." And you're not going to be escaping this expression any time soon:

So, maybe do some self-reflecting, send some flowers, do some apologizing if you're feeling that your relationships with people aren't quite the same for some reason or other now.  I might hate you, but you sir, are human. Humans make mistake. Learn from yours.

Sincerely,
a pensive feminist

In honor of the Minnesota State Fair...

What is the difference between these two items commonly sold on a stick a the "Great Minnesota Get-Together?"

  

Yes, I'm being an jerk. But the exact same picture came up when I Googled both "corn dog" and "pronto pup." Obviously, the difference is more than visual. Thanks to this post, I fact-checked what I thought the difference was: State Fair: Corn Dog vs. Pronto Pup. One uses batter made of corn meal (hence corn dog) and the other uses batter made of flour. Also, according to a friend, pronto pups have the skin of the hot dog taken off while the corn dog doesn't.

So there you go. Not that it matters that much. Go enjoy all that tasty unhealthy wonderfulness on the last day of the fair. I'll be there... then off to the first day of classes tomorrow...

Building manager, Day 1

So here's a basic play-by-play as to how [Львица]'s and my first day as official building managers of our apartment building went. It's obviously not everything, but it's as close as I can come. Watch out, this fucker is gonna be long.

8 am: I wake up, think about getting out of bed, get out of bed, eat. I think about waking up [Львица]. I will regret this later.

9 am: [Blue-eyed Mr. Fix-it], the assistant to the building's repair man, knocks on our door, looking for [Львица]. I regret not waking her minutes earlier. I wake [Львица], she gets dressed and goes out to tell [blue-eyed Mr. Fix-it] what needs... well, fixed. We give him a list and we're suddenly on the clock.

9:30ish: [Львица] eats breakfast while I go to find the keys to the other apartments. I find them, label them, and discover a bunch of the keys to both the apartments and the lock box are missing. I am concerned.

10:00 am-ish: [Львица]and I make labels for the mailbox, so the new tenants will know which is theirs. In the process, we spell several wrong. Oops. We then tape up signs in the rooms with move-in information for the tenants.

11 am-ish: Our boss's sister and father, who help him run the company arrive to help sort out move-in stuff. I am given a bunch of random tasks by my boss's father, who tells me to change light bulbs in fixtures where it's not the bulb, it's the wiring in the fixture, and to put up a shower curtain in a room which is locked (and without giving me the shower curtain he had in his hand). Somehow, the painter also arrives to fix up some painting issues, though we weren't expecting him. Tenants begin arriving. One finds a hornet's next in her window while trying to put in her A/C unit. I find the previous building manager to kill the hornets while I try NOT to give people the wrong set of keys to their unit. One family finds their apartment not clean enough, even though it was one of the cleanest unit vacated, and spend two hours cleaning before moving in. Another mother complains about ice build-up in the freezer, much to the embarrassment of her son. She later tells us that the apartment is not "move-in ready" and that they came a long way and that they are expecting better. [Львица] and I try not to kill anyone. We cleaned for HOURS in the previous two days, having only four people - the two of us and two friends from school. If we wanted to thoroughly clean each unit, as we did for 103 or 1 or 4. But that took five hours at least per unit. And we have 23 units. So, five times 23 is... 115 hours. We only had 48 between the time people left and people moved in. Maybe a little understanding would have been nice.

1 pm-ish: We begin to notice that people are complaining about windows - A LOT. We decide to make this our project for the year. We let the painter into unit 306 to do some painting over mold damage. He says it's the worse mold he's ever seen. We know our bathroom is far worse so we show him ours. He remarks that it looks like aliens are growing in our shower. Exactly what I want to hear about my new home :(

4 pm: A friend of ours from high school moves in. We help him carry stuff and explain that we spent a hell of a lot of time cleaning his unit and that we tried our best. Oh, and that he also has had water damage to his room and that it's going to have to be looked into. We walk by the laundry room and find that the painter has cleaned out his gear in the sud-saver sink, left paint chips in the hair catcher that's in the sink (why there's one of those in the sud-saver sink, I can't tell you) and that someone has started laundry. We note that the laundry machine disposes of its water into the sink, which is clogged by paint chips, and soapy water is going everywhere. We clean it off, pissed off at this turn of events.

7 pm: We vent about our day. We have worked 10 hours straight. Shit.

8 pm: We go out to get dinner, feel exhausted, return home. We contemplate quitting our job.

11 pm: We go to bed.

That was day one. Day two was less exciting but still rather dramatic. For one, I had to clean unit 4 as the tenants moving in refused to move in until it was cleaner. [Львица] and I, however, have decided NOT to quit our job. It was a terrible first day, but things are going more smoothly now. Knock on wood :P

I just worked a ten hour day. And this was supposed to be a part-time job. Shit.

Yep, ten hour day today. Eight hour day yesterday. Six the day before. This was supposed to be something part time, something I could do while I was in school. Care-taking around an apartment building like sweeping and mopping sounded like nothing. But now we're beginning to see how much work this old building needs. Admittedly, it's the first day with new tenants, but man - it was one hell of a day. Not exactly a good one, at all, so the less said at the moment, the better. Maybe rosy retrospection will give a better perception.

But I'm too damn tired to write much anything more, so that's basically it for now. I'll just let the anticipation build as to what exactly this new job has brought about... It's pretty crazy, I think, even for the general craziness that is my life. And though I haven't worked many jobs before, I feel like this one is a whopper. But only time will tell what exactly we've gotten ourselves into. I hope it looks better tomorrow morning than it looks right now.

My favorite song from a musical I still really need to see

I keep sending this video to people and it's one of my favorite Broadway songs, if not THE favorite of mine. Plus it's John Barrowman, who I just mentioned in my previous post. And he's awesome. So here it is.  Now that I've built it up to be the greatest thing ever, you'll probably be disappointed. Whoever you are, you silent judgmental voices of the world... Wow, that sounds creepier than I meant it too. Whatever, I'm going to shut up and let you enjoy this song.

American TV, we need more of this

So [Львица] introduced me to this British TV show that's a spin-off of Doctor. Who. Now, unlike everyone else I know, I haven't seen Doctor Who (I'm sorry, I don't get BBC. It saddens me deeply. But now in my new apartment I don't have cable at all. So it really doesn't matter). It sounds interesting, it's on my to-do list. But right now, I'm going to focus on Torchwood. Because John Barrowman is the shit. Like, I just stumbled across a video of him singing "I am what I am" from La Cage Aux Foilles. And then, [Львица] told me about Torchwood, WHICH HE'S IN (he plays Jack Harkness). And he plays a kick-ass action character. For the win. May I also add that the Brits seem way more cool with guys kissing guys, girls kissing girls and gay men doing bad-ass things? (or at least Jack Harkness' co-workers think he's gay as "imperial military is not the dress code of a straight man.")

Work on this, American television producers. Give me something that's not a doctor or police drama. This is like X-files meets Fringe meets AWESOME. The lead character is even American... or so it seems. Why don't our writers come up with stuff like this? I shouldn't be complaining that much, because shows like Six Feet Under and Dexter are pretty great. So as long as I have access to BBC, Showtime and HBO, life is good.

Thank God [Львица]has instant streaming on Netflix. :D

Yes, we know we're that awesome. Deal with it.

Nine o'clock feminist

So I'm all moved in to my apartment (well, temporary apartment; we're right next door to the actual one) and I'm sitting here on [Львица]'s bed on Facebook and I see this from [manly metro]:

Seeing this, I don't know whether to agree or to be offended. Yeah, men and women should be equals. But asking out guys DOESN'T WORK. I tried it. I DON'T actually want a guy to show me his abs. I don't like video games OR shopping. It didn't help while watching this that I recalled [X] saying that [no-Mr-Darcy] didn't like feminists.Thus I was not surprised when he "liked" this video that his friend posted. But something bothered me about this (other than the "should I be offended?" vibe I got from this video. Something much more self-centered and ego-centric (yes, I know that means the same thing. It's called emphasis. Duh).

What if [no-Mr-Darcy] has found my blog? What if he has discovered all the crazy things I've been saying? What if he's found out that I've insulted him beyond measure? It's a risk I knew I was taking, but still...

What if, more accurately I'm sure, he probably doesn't give a shit, so this is all needless worrying. But if he has - if you have found this (and you know who you are) tell me, 'kay? Because I'm upset for good reason. And if you don't understand why, maybe we should talk about it. Because even though things are totally done on this front, maybe next time around you can be better prepared. Yes, you may think me a callous bitch, but you know what? I'm not the only one who's going to think this way and at least I didn't intentionally hurt you by blogging about this - I wrote it because I want men to understand that women are not just emotional flakes. We're not playing with you. We're just as nervous as you and if we don't get the support we need, we're going to freak out, just as you would (but probably not in the same way). I'm not trying to be a bitch. I'm being me. And if you don't like - well, too bad.

New rule, along with the no self-depreciating stuff. No more about this whole debacle, unless it really drives home a cultural point. No more words on the topic, for his sake and mine. I've made a clean start of my living quarters; let's make a clean start for my heart and mind.

Everything is amazing - and nobody is happy

Basically, this guy sums up how I feel about life, technology and so much other shit... except about a hundred times funnier than I can. I could probably say something about how this totally represents constant accumulation without pleasure, but sadly, I'm too exhausted from packing and getting ready to move into my new apartment, so I owe you a cultural commentary. Oh, and remind me of this video the next time I complain about Blogger, my phone or anything else that has to use outer space to work :D

Hipster Attack

So within the span of five minutes this morning, I saw two stories related to hipsters. One from my father: Hipsters are Abandoning Obama. Interesting. Am I right in seeing that this article seems to be saying that hipsters are abandoning Obama because he's "too mainstream?" Or is that my personal judgment of hipsters coming in? (even though I sort of claim to be one... ah, the paradox that is my life)

The other story I saw prior to this article on, where else, Facebook, from [manly-metro]: Minnesota named 'Most Hipster State in the US', to which [manly-metro] commented on his link:
"FFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The vibe I was getting was that he really doesn't like hipsters. Especially when one girl commented "*proud* :p" and he called her "bad" for saying that. Right... Okay, [manly-metro], here's one for you: would you rather be known as the most hipsters state in the US or the state that elected A PRO WRESTLER as governor? Oh, you think that's manly? How about the state that gave us MICHELE BACHMAN? I'm guessing you don't like her much. Many college students don't. But may I show you what some people think of hipsters and other college students? This is a comment from the article about hipsters abandoning Obama:


They are what Glenn [Glenn Beck I would assume... ah, the things I could blog about him...] called “Useful Idiots” that were misled by their college professors into thinking that progressive-humanism is glamorous and will do good for all with communist/marxist skewed delusional end result thats not reality!!! Americans in their 40′s and older have seen the evil and impoverishing effects in their reality that has been hidden from these sheltered punks!!! The look on their face when they find out they‘ve been deceived would be quite satisfying if we weren’t all in misery with them! Sometimes I believe that God is going to give us a good as* kicking so that us free Americans can see how blessed we have been and to teach us a lesson we won’t forget for generations!!!

Men blah blah blah Women blah blah blah

This is the first thing I saw on Facebook this morning, from a guy I met on the Scotland trip:

[manly-metro]: My man movie script is complete {a whole slew of guys are tagged, including [No-Mr-Darcy]} and assorted others let's film this bad boy soon. Please and thank you.

Then, this afternoon:

[No-Mr-Darcy]: a freshmen ran half way across the mall to shake my hand and tell me i was awesome. Why? BECAUSE I WAS WEARING A KILT! >:D MUHAHAHAHA!

The frenzy at the end of summer, or: reality sucks

So I got this text yesterday, from [X], who I honestly wasn't expecting to hear anything from for the rest of the summer:

Hey, I'm en route to {school} and I just wanted to say I'm sorry we haven't hung out or talked in a while... Things have been CRAZY with me and I'm sure you've been busy too. I just wanted to say good luck this year, I'm thinking about you, and stay in touch :)

All of this right after I was debating whether or not to message her about how her trip to Chicago, or whether or not she ever read the message I wrote to her about how things with [No-Mr-Darcy] panned out. Or whether she's stumbled across this blog and now hates me (I do have a link to this on my Facebook account, but considering most people don't look at my profile, I didn't think much of it. Though according to the stats on Blogger, people have used Facebook to look at my blog... but who? Maybe I'm just being paranoid...)

I wish things were simpler, like in kindergarten. Back then, you liked people or you didn't like people. You got along with some kids and not with others. But now... now I seriously get along with like three people from high school. What the hell happened?

Dark Dreaming

So I finished the serious post first today, because I sincerely doubt that my brain will be working very well as the day wears on. I was awoken by thunder, torrential rain and hail at three this morning. And then at five, I awoke with an achy stomach and inexplicably terrified after having the scariest nightmare I've had in years. Or maybe ever.

So this is what it was: I was hanging out in this living room that looked like a mix of the townhouse I lived in on campus last year and the living room of my old house in Columbus, IN. Supposedly, the power was out due to a storm, but I was watching TV with [mind ninja] and [your cat is evil]. Then this ad for a horror movie came on and I was like, "Ooh, I've seen this trailer before! This movie looks really scary!"

So this preview starts with this girl, who looks to be thirteen or something, all dirty and with a bandage on her shoulder from playing soccer. She takes off her jersey and poses topless in front of this teenage boy with a camera and all these other guys were leering behind her, along with other girls watching. They were like in some sort of abandoned house or something and this girl pinned a flower in her hair while the guy took a video of her posing and saying, "I am Diana Villers" (haha, my subconscious decided to steal and misspell a name from Patrick O'Brian's books. Great).

So conflicted... and still sort of Catholic

So I found this article on Sunday (couldn't ask for better timing, really) and I felt like sharing it: Pope Tells Pilgrims to Stay True to Their Beliefs 

This is the part where I get to blabber about my "Catholic upbringing." I was baptized, went to Catholic school (three different schools, to be exact) from pre-school through half of fifth grade, went through First Communion and First Reconciliation (or First Confession as it used to be called) and went to church nearly every Sunday until sometime during fifth or sixth grade. I cried the first time I said "hell" as a curse and was terrified that I would be in some sort of huge trouble for it. I wore uniforms. I loves singing church songs. I probably wanted to be a saint.

I am now not-very-Catholic-at-all. It's still a core part of my life, or at least my background - I mean, when people have questions about Catholicism, they often (foolishly) turn to me for answers (please don't ask me to explain how Holy Communion works. I learned the hard way that my brain somehow adhered to the Lutheran doctrine, not Catholic. Oops). When it comes to Christmas and Easter each year, I long to go to church, even though when I attend, I feel awkward and a bit too... well, "Cafeteria Catholic" to use the only phrase that comes to mind. It would be easy for me to say that being in a secular school (aka public school) made me "less Catholic" but that's not true. It was switching to a new church in a new state with a totally different outlook on faith. But I did meet people, for the first time in my life, who were NOT Catholic. I learned who Jews were (seriously, I had NO idea they existed until 7th grade. I am not kidding. That might have been an epic fail on my part though, so don't blame the schools yet...) And I started to think about how maybe there could be more than one right answer to how to practice religion. I could prattle on about this forever, but it'll have to wait - more explanation some other time, when it's not a total tangent.

Things I'm still right about, Part 3

1) Men are stupid. Not all men, but a baffling high frequency surround my life. Like the guy in my neighborhood that was climbing a ladder that wasn't propped up against anything and then fell face-forward on it into the ground while a guy and girl just stood in the yard and smiled. Or how about this little gem that showed up on my Facebook page today:

[No-Mr-Darcy]: Just built a bookcase with [timmah!]...horrible experience.

[timmah!]: how was I supposed to know I couldn't stand on it?

[No-Mr-Darcy]: *speechless*

Actually, my point gets better. Here's a later status:

[No-Mr-Darcy]: very manly day. Had a grill out with the chums, brats and burgers. then helped [Bromandawg] get a bat out of imholt.

You remind me of me... but bitch, please

I could kill Diana Villiers right now. This brings about two problems:
1) I want to kill an individual.
2) I want to kill an individual who is fictional.
Which, ultimately, brings me to a third problem:
3) I am jealous of a fictional individual.

I should explain. Diana Villiers is a character in Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey/Maturin series (aka, the series that the movie Master and Commander is based on). Diana is a fascinating character, especially given the time period she inhabits. She's a short, dark-haired smartass who goes horseback riding and fox hunting, plays the piano even though she can't read music and won't listen to her aunt's plans for her life. She grew up in India, fell passionately in love with a man who did not make a "profitable" match, but whom she married none the less. After he died, she returned to England, a black sheep in her family of gentle lambs. Needless to say, I love this maniac. She's the sort of character I've been dying to see in Regency era novels ever since I first met Elizabeth Bennet. Don't get me wrong, Jane Austen's Elizabeth is fabulous; I like her a lot. But I always longed for a character that incorporated both Elizabeth's free-thinking and Emma Woodhouse's sharp tongue. With Diana, I get the perfect match. Which, interestingly, creates the sort of girl I try to be.

Click here to express yourself through the hidden meanings of ancient and modern symbols!

So I originally planned on talking about the Minnesota Renaissance Fair, as I attended opening day yesterday. But after I Googled information about the henna tattoo I got yesterday, I changed my mind.

I love henna - the sweet, eucalyptus smell of the paste, the feel of the paste as it slowly crumbles away, the beautiful, sienna stain left behind on the skin. Since I've yet to actually get a real tattoo (since I've only recently made up my mind on what I want to get, and that was purely by accident) henna is a great alternative - it looks great, it's painless and if I decide I don't like it, it'll fade away over a few weeks.

This time, though, I got something I really really like and would love to have permanently done - a nautical star (yes, yes - the sea again, I know). So, curious as to the meaning of the tattoo (though I had a pretty good inclination as to what it meant), I web surfed this morning to learn more. I did not receive the result I was expecting.

Yes, it was a sailor's tattoo, used as a symbol for safe-passage home and good luck so a sailor would never be lost at sea. Apparently over the last century or so, it's acquired a few different meanings. According to several websites, it's become a symbol for the gay and lesbian community, especially lesbians. In the 1950s, lesbians would get it tattooed on their inner arm or writs (some part of their arm; it changed depending on the site) which they would hide during the day then reveal during night to "express who they truly were" (I do ask the people who say that the tattoo was on the wrist, how exactly did they hide that? I feel like the wrist is the most visible area on the body, unless you're living in the Victorian era or before. But for the 50s? I don't know... Curse web forums and their lack of sources!) Of course then I found a million people flipping out about, "Does having a nautical star mean you're gay?" to which people were like, "No, it doesn't mean that at all, that's not what the symbol really means." Actually, the best answer to the question (meaning the worst) was "The tattoo only means you're gay if it's on your lower back." Um, yeah, who decided that exactly? (ten bucks it was the guy who wrote that response).

Okay, help me out here, guys...

Since I can now post videos, I call upon the aide of music video watchers...or the next poor person to stumble across my blog. Watch this new Lady Gaga video and tell me: what the hell is going on here? Why is Lady Gaga a mermaid? Why is she kissing herself? Why is she some sort of mechanical Frankenstein monster? And if the only answer that makes sense is "no reason," ala the avant garde movie Rubber (about a tire that suddenly has the power to blow things up - watch it if you're in the mood for something bizarre) then I fear I have truly stopped understanding anything Gaga does. As if I understood arriving in a giant egg in the first place.

Please, Gaga, please don't get so weird that your albums suffer. I loved "Bad Romance" - where did that sound go? 

Look! I posted a video! For the win!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hahahahaha! While messing around with my blog today, I found out WHY I couldn't post videos. It wasn't because I didn't have Google Chrome. It wasn't because I'm totally un-tech savy (though some days I'm close). It wasn't even because of a world-wide conspiracy against Apple (which would be pretty shitty, lemme tell you).

It was because I was using an old version of Blogger editing and I was unaware of it. Wouldn't you think that'd be something you'd want to tell me, Blogger, so I can update and make you look better? Whatever, I fixed it. No hard feelings, right?

Right?

Whatever, here's a sweet-ass video.

Starstruck

To continue the post from yesterday, on things that make me happy...

5) Awesome sexy actors: So I'm going to sound like a ridiculous fan girl but I can't help it. I'm a cinephile, I'm a girl and I'm an American - we love our movie stars. And yet none of my favorite actors are American. Or really super famous. Or people my friends would have at the top of their "list.” I'm too disorganized to have a real list. Especially as my favorite movies have fluctuated a lot of the years. It seems to have stabilized after college. And now that I have favorite movies, I've finally advanced to having favorite actors. This sounds weird, but I just never really equated actors and hotness until I was probably… fifteen. Yeah. I know. I went to Catholic school, several different Catholic schools – that’s the only thing I can think of that delayed that realization. I mean, I didn’t know who the Spice Girls were until Spice World was already out and everyone had seen it twenty times, because no one at my old school were talking about them. Or maybe I was just a very unobservant, un-culture vulturey youth. Thus why I've berated myself for being a freak; I am not – I’m just different. Stubbornly different.

The sea, the sea, it calls to me...

Remember that thing I started about keeping a list of things I'm happy about? Well, this is a continuation of that. So deal with it.

3) The sea: I saw it for the first time this year. Well, I sort of saw it when I visited Venice. And when I was in New York. But when I went to Scotland, this time I was up close and personal and it felt real. I saw a jellyfish, for the love of Pete! I know some people have been unimpressed when they finally see the ocean, because they expect it to be so spectacular. I was more than impressed - it absolutely blew away my expectations. The cool sea breezes, the color of the waves, the smell and feel of the rain that fell (it tasted salty! I couldn't believe it!) Weirdly, it made me feel at home. I've always had this huge affinity with water ("it's because I'm a water sign, hahaha" I joke. I'm a Scorpio - yes, that's a water sign. What scorpions have to do with the water, I don't know. But I appreciate the ability to use it as an excuse for something I loved before I even saw it). Thus, my obsession with bodies of water leads to another thing I'm happy about.

4) The movie Master and Commander: I cannot explain why I love this movie (because of all movies, why I'm currently obsessed about this one, I can't say). Mainly, because it's about the sea. And based on my previous post, you can tell I like that. Also, it is about the turn of the 19th century, when is a time period I'm obsessed about, for reasons I understand about as much as I understand why I like the sea. The books the movie is based are equally spectacular, if not more so (don't expect the movie to be much like the series; they mix a bunch together but I still think the movie is great on its own). Also said movie connects to yet another thing on my list… which will be spoken of in another post :)

Today I was chased by an albino through London - and why I shouldn't Google random crap

So I Googled "Weird stuff going on," hoping to find a weird news story to talk about. Instead, I got this: The End Time: Very weird things going on in Sicily with clocks (another blog! Hello, friend) If you think this is weird, you should experience the dreams I've been having after I watched "The Da Vinci Code" too late at night. Hence the pointless blog title.

I'm having a hard time following the idea though... so apparently because clocks are acting weird in Sicily, there is a demon realm and it's the end of the world? I guess my Catholic upbringing didn't really stress the threat of demons (unless it involved exorcisms and that was never addressed in school or church. I actually blame Hollywood for that fear and infatuation in my life) or the end of the world. Maybe it's because I don't have a very good streak of reliability with technology, but it seems like electronics exploding and clocks not keeping time is, yes, some very freaky shit and I would not want that happening, but also not out of the realm of "normal" happenings. Electronics do weird stuff all the time. I've seen a waffle maker flip itself over and spit out a waffle for no reason at all, but I didn't think it was demons (though, come to think of it, half the electronic stuff didn't work in the townhouse. Hmm...) Also, not that I'm a demonologist or anything, but wouldn't demons have more important things to do than fucking with our clocks? I thought they were supposed to be more evil than that. But that's just my humble opinion.

Things I'm still right about, Part 2

1) One should not presume that, when I met [no-Mr-Darcy] on a trip with a different college, that leaving my campus was the key to meeting a guy. Saying something along the lines of, "See, all you had to do was get away from school" (not the exact words; I don't recall exactly what she said) when the person in question goes to a school of less than 2,000 and I attend a school of over 60,000 seems a bit odd. Perhaps said individual (okay, okay, so it's X) simply meant that it's easier to meet people in a smaller group. I doubt that's what she meant - she always complained how all the guys at her school were the same. Considering I had just been talking about an embarrassing crush I had at school on someone several years older than me a few days prior to this conversation and X seems to think I have an authority figure complex, it seems the implication fell more around the lines of "When you're at school, you fall for the same type of guy. You did it in high school, you did it this year. You're not going to find a guy when you're in school, because you have an authority complex. But this is an abroad trip - you're not in school mode. However, I did awkwardly warn you that the male professor on this trip is a slut and will continue to mention it at random opportune times, just in case you got any ideas. So go for someone your own age for once, even though I'm totally not going to be supportive later."

Okay, okay, so I'm being stupid and bitter about this and reading WAY too much into one little thing she said. But the way she said this was... not exactly blase. No idea why this conversation popped into my head today. It just did and I suddenly remembered how offended I was by it. Maybe this is something I am not right about, but whatever. I am right in thinking that I feel much better after venting this :P

2) I'm not convinced that J. J. Rousseau is a hipster. Have you ever met a hipster who just dumped his kids off in an orphanage and never looked back? And who is sexist? I thought hipsters were quite a bit more socially liberal than that. I also cannot see Rousseau on a bike. End of story.

3) While Rousseau is not a hipster, I'm pretty sure this guy is:

"Would you call me an aged man of war, doctor?"

Today, I likened [Львица]'s and my new job to sailing a ship. You see, we're both building managers for this old, 1940s hotel turned apartment building (read: the ship). It's beautiful, it's fantastic - and it need a lot of work. Like A LOT of work. Our commander in chief hasn't seen the building for three years. And it seems that one of the former building managers might have been a little nuts. Good. Great. Perfect. Oh yeah, and we found a bucket of cat shit in the boiler room when we were cleaning it out.

So, to use the ship metaphor: we've got a beautiful vessel. We've just got to make sure it doesn't sink (or start on fire...) and that we don't give in too much to the commands we're following and then make work our life. I've got plenty more to say about all of this, but I'm too tired tonight. And since I can't find the clip from the movie "Master and Commander" that would make the title of this blog make sense, watch this instead: "I'm On A Boat."

Socks are forever

So I just had my final flute lesson this morning with my private instructor (whom I'll call [Mickie]) and I'm not tearing up any more (okay, I just did...crap), so I'm going to write about it. I've known [Mickie] since sophomore year of high school, when I switched instructors because things weren't working out with the previous guy. [Mickie] is a middle school band instructor and one of the most positive-thinking people I know. When she lost her job this year due to budget cuts, she tried not to let it get her down and was her usual bubbly self during lessons, encouraging me to play with more emotion and expression and helping me feel comfortable doing something that always used to terrify me - playing in front of people. I'm one of those musicians that don't really like people watching them; I'd rather play in a private room where no one can see or hear me. But at the same time I want people to hear me play... it's a Catch 22.

But I've gotten to the point where I don't feel intimidated by others watching, I don't constantly worry about them judging me (even if my grandmother did say my playing was just "pretty good" - even though I've been studying flute for eight years). Music has solidly become part of my life, a very special part of my life, greatly due to the hours I've spent practicing for lessons and the encouragement and lightheartedness [Mickie] has expressed during our sessions. I've learned a lot of things about music and interesting little playing tips (like using cigarette paper to keep the keys from getting sticky - it really works!). Also, we have a lot in common and we share the same birthday - the first person I've ever met that has; thus we have formed a unique teacher-student friendship.

But after five years (five years! I can hardly believe it!) it's time to say good-bye. I'm busy with college, she's starting at a new school and no longer doing lessons from home. But that doesn't mean too much has to change. Yes, I won't see her every week and I will totally miss her. And I hate goodbyes (thus the over-emotional tears that are pouring down my face right now). But I'm friends with her on Facebook (yay for modern technology) and I'm still going to practice all the time (much to the dismay of the people in my apartment building, I'm sure). I've learned more from playing music than I really have studying much of anything else. So while I gave [Mickie] the parting gift I bought - socks, because she loves bright, fun-looking socks (since she hates wearing them) - I felt sad, but also happy at how far I've come studying music and how glad I am to have had [Mickie] as my teacher. Two things are forever - music, and socks :D

Foxy

Back on Firefox. I apologize for my rant, Google. I like Blogger. I like Gmail. Your browser should look like everyone else's on my computer, and not hateful just because I'm using a product from a company you see as a competitor. Just so you know.

Though I still can't embed videos in cool ways, I can add sweet pictures. Like this random one:
I kind of want that shirt, actually. Narwhals for the win!

Chromed

So I gave in... and got Google Chrome. Because now I can actually add stuff to this blog the way I want to. Like this random video...

Let me work on posting it...

This just in... I STILL cannot attach videos the way I have beent old I should be able to form Chrome. This is probably because the world hates Apple, much to my dismay. The layout is exactly the same was it was for Firefox. ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT I DOWNLOADED THIS BROWSER ONLY TO FIND THAT IT IS EXACTLY LIKE FIREFOX FOR APPLE?

Fuck you, Google. Seriously, fuck you. I'm going back to Firefox.

Ask Jeeves

Found this on another blog I follow: a formal apron, alla Jeeves and the kitchen staff of British estates. Just what I need to break in the kitchen at the new apartment and prove to myself I am more obsessed with looking like I just walked out of the Regency period in England than I thought. You can check out the website it's sold on here : http://www.vespoe.com/hotelofthings/shop/unisex-apron-formal-collar. You can judge me... starting now.

Hipster rules to live by

This is great - finally, 10 commandments for a hipster lifestyle. But where is the line between hipsters and people like me (am I a faux hipster? A hipster wanna-be? Just a college student? Probably: maybe, no, yes) Is it sort of like the "all squares are rectangles but not all rectangles are squares" thing? But does that make hipsters squares or rectangles? And what sort of repercussions am I going to get for calling hipsters "square?" Goddammit!

http://www.hipsteric.com/read/10hipsterlaws/

Why i-Tunes is stealing my soul

So I was in the car with [Львица] and the French exchange student who is visiting to her family when a song came on the iPod hooked up the the car's radio. It sounded like Keane, it had to be Keane - the lead singer has a pretty recognizable voice and I have a crap-ton of their music on my own iPod, so I'd like to think I'd be able to recognize them. But I'd never heard the song before. "Is this off of a new album?" I asked [Львица]. "It's off 'Perfect Symmetry.'" Strange, I thought. I have that entire album on my i-Pod but I don't recognize this song.

That would be because that song wasn't on the album when I bought it. See, I bought it in old-school format, solid CD at a local store. And it only has 11 tracks on it, instead of 12, which is what iTunes offered. Fortunately for me, there was ANOTHER version of 'Perfect Symmetry' in the store, a deluxe version that had the song I wanted (as the standard version on iTunes had that song as "album only").

For one thing, this is way too complicated - three versions of one CD, one of which isn't even available on i-Tunes. And another, why in the world would I continue buying actual CDs when I can download them off of iTunes for cheaper, faster and I can get more songs for less money? Plus I don't have to worry about the CDs cluttering up my room (like they are right now). So sorry, record industry - if you're going to continue making this confusing, I'm just going to buy off of iTunes, where I can easily compare records and make sure I'm getting the most bang for my buck.

By the way, the song I downloaded, "Time to Go" - is fantastic, the best on the album. I haven't the foggiest idea WHY it wasn't on the one I purchased - glad I heard it on [Львица]'s iPod or I'd really be missing out. Give it a listen if you've got the time.

Things I'm still right about

1) You cannot have a true photographic memory and not know where anything is in the Mall of America when you've been there multiple times. So don't tell me both things are true.

2) The Edge totally wrote the lyrics for "Van Dieman's Land." The tune come from an Irish folk song but the actual Irish song "Van Dieman's Land" is an ENTIRELY DIFFERENT SONG. Just thought you should know.

"Being right half the time beats being half-right all the time." ~ Malcom Forbes

Liberate your dreams!

So like five minutes ago, I was talking about how, though [no-Mr-Darcy] was (redundantly) no Darcy, I did realize some things while falling for him. While he didn't stick around for my future, the positive things I realized did and I've decided that they should really have more of a part of my life because I really love these things about my self (cue Adam Lambert, happy peppy theme music and an interview with Oprah). I know this sounds tacky - because it is - but fuck it, I'm going to start keeping a list of things that I feel good about, because: 1) Life is short, 2) Culture is everywhere - even in my hobbies and weird traits, and 3) Don't I deserve the best? (For some reason, that line came out as Gaston saying it in Beauty and the Beast. Don't know why, but as I don't actually a have a 3), I'm keeping it). This is an incomplete list - in fact, this probably won't even be a list, just one thing that I'll blabber on about for a long time, and I'll have to talk about the rest some other time. So bear with me - it's a work in progress ;)

1) Birds: I rock at ornithology. If there's a bird in my backyard, and my parents don't know what it is, I can come up with an answer fast. Probably because I spent most of my youth looking at books about animals and flipping through a book on birds from Minnesota. But hey, biology and stuff about animals was my strongest part of science - let me gloat! (really, science not so much my strong point, no thanks to some of my teachers, so let me brag a little) I'm particulary happy because we've encountered this strange genetic mutation of a duck that's the size of a goose and has the loudest "quack" I've ever heard. Also, he really likes eating peanuts. I decided to name him the Admiral, and as my mom says, "His loud quack sounds like he is always barking orders," the name stuck.

the Admiral, in all his quackish glory

2) Pirate spy: so for reasons that I can discuss later, I have this urge to be a pirate. Except that I know that [Львица] is interested in spying. So I was talking to my mom and created the occupation of pirate spy - people who look like they're just running amok, causing pirating chaos (I mean pirating like Jack Sparrow pirates, not stealing music, by the way) but are actually secretly spying on people. Expect it to be an action movie - right after I star in "Nazi Vampire Hunter."

Yep, going to cut myself off there. I didn't actually think this title would have anything to do with the blog, but it does. It was actually me misremember a lyric from The Gaslight Anthem's "She loves you" - they say something like "if I could navigate your seas" but I was singing something in my head about liberating dreams. And I like that idea, of digging up all the zany dreamy things I like about myself and setting them free. So what do you know - I'm being deeper than I thought. Win :D

Hit me with your best shot

You know what makes me feel better about life? Watching a girl from Provence enjoy a bagel, when she's never eaten one before. It gave me a mini-breakthrough. The sort that made me realize how simple things could be if only I could keep my mind de-cluttered. For the things that mean a lot to me are things that, at the day's end, have a shining little glow to them. Like watching someone discover the unique-ness of bagels. Like realizing that this is the best I've felt in months. Like not worrying for once and telling my parents that I'm going to become a pirate spy, and having them laughing and smiling along with me.

Too often, I get bogged down by the shitty things that chain up my hopes. Once I get them out of my head, I'm back on my A-game. Unfortunately, it takes some really depressing days - and some really depressing blogs - to do that. After skimming over my stuff about love and loss, I realize that is some really sad shit and that I failed to do one thing - show that it's made me a stronger person. My friend, [Львица], gave me some great advice during my first romantic experience - no matter what, you'll come out feeling stronger. You might not feel like it now, but you will. I would like to take the chance to say she is 100% right. It came on strong, then faded a bit with my de-cluttering via blogging, but it came back afterwards, and more so today than any other. Perhaps because I finally realized I don't miss the guy ([Львица] called him [no-Mr-Darcy] - which is so fantastic, I have to use it here). Also, it's hit me how much better I feel as a person. I've gotten my first broken heart - and I feel like the shit.. I watched this VH1 thing about Adam Lambert the other night and he said something along the lines of, "You've got to find that part about you that you love and embrace it." In a moment that I can't make up, it dawned on me that I've been spending too much time around people that don't make me love myself. They make me feel like shit. But I'm not shit - I'm THE shit. So fuck you, all yea who dare to make me feel like "half a person" - and then actually call me that (cannot believe you actually said that, [X]. Really?) Hit me with your best shot - because I'm a fucking ninja.

Damn right, Bill Nye.

I realized some things I always knew but had hidden behind all my attempts at fulfilling other's expectations, which has gotten me nowhere. In the words of Adam Lambert (dude, I'm really quoting him tonight) - "I feel like everyone has an opinion of me, and I want a chance to say, 'Well, do you want to hear how I really feel about this?'" [Львица] listens; too many don't. I've always been a bit over the top about my voice getting silence, because I was a quiet kid for too many years. Maybe some people I know are doing the same - but methinks they are overcompensating. I know the world can here me loud and clear - it's time to make it affective. Because it's the things I already know and believe that are enlightening me right now; and it's time to make them glow.

Mea Culpa

New rule - I am no longer allowed to call myself a bitch or any other self-depreciating things on this blog. More positive thinking to come :D

Pensive Pooping Teddy Bear Takes On World

Okay, so after the insanity that was yesterday's posts, I'm going to write something very short and sweet about a book I just reread - Winkie, by Clifford Chase. Here's the gist: it's about a teddy bear that comes to life, experiences life (as in walking, talking, eating and pooping) and gives birth to a baby bear ("Baby Winkie"), only to suffer tragedy and despair and to be accused of terrorism by the FBI. Yes, you read that right - a teddy bear is accused of terrorism. As ridiculous as it sounds, it's a really interesting book, and well-written considering the strange plot. So look it up if you're interested in inanimate objects acquiring life and someone poking fun at the US justice system. And pensive pooping teddy bears, of course.

Love and Loss, or: too much info about my personal life, Part 2

II.

You see, while I was abroad, I met a guy. I know, I know – shocking. Something that is so normal is big-ass deal for me. Seriously, all of my guy friends, save one or two, since elementary school have been gay. So meeting as straight guy who seemed to like me and I liked and who wasn’t a douche and whom I actually had stuff in common with was a miracle. It seemed too good to be true. It was.

[X] was convinced that he liked me after I mentioned to her that I liked him. Which I conveniently realized at the end of the trip, when it was too late to do something. Fail. But when I returned home, I friended him and wrote him a message, asking about the rest of his trip. He was polite, but not forward – if he liked me, he wasn’t doing anything about it. So, after taking some advice from [X], I asked him out for coffee. Which he agreed to. I couldn’t believe it. I was high on delight and hope.

By this point, some of my friends were already referring to him as my boyfriend. I didn’t like this, as nothing had happened yet, but one friend said it was “inevitable” that we would be going out.

So we went to coffee. It was fun, sweet, charming. But I wasn’t sure I’d gotten my point across. He seemed to recognize that it was a date, but I wasn’t sure that he got that I liked him. So I told him via text that I had a good time and that he should let me know if he wanted to do something again. I basically got an “ok” and that was it. Frustrated, I waited a few days and, rolling with the advice of a pal from the Scotland trip, asked him if he wanted to do anything that weekend (okay, so the friend said to call him but I felt more comfortable with texting. As said before, I apparently don’t know how to use a phone). He said he was busy so I asked if he wanted to do something after my trip to Indiana to see family. He said he’d have to see. I was not happy, to say the least.

So I went to Indiana (which is a story in itself) and came back home, waiting for text, a call, a message, anything. Nothing. I refused to text him – mostly from the bidding of my friends, who said it was his turn to do the work. And besides, he’d shown no clear signs of liking me – which meant anything I did would look rather clingy and desperate.

Love and Loss, or: too much info about my personal life, Part 1

I’m making myself write this or I’ll never do it and I’ll regret it. Not because I think anyone cares but because this is my modern way of journaling and it’s not healthy for me to keep a bunch of thoughts like this piling up in my noggin, which is cramped for space as it is. And it is a huge cultural study – one I’m actually really interested in *cough, probably because it involves myself, cough*. So here goes nothing.

This starts with another blog for class that I wrote months ago (which stemmed from something I said in the blog about White Noise, actually). I’d been thinking a lot about what it’s like to be single in America and how much it fucking sucks. Not only is there an edge of loneliness to it, there’s this whole idea that you’re screwing up your life because you haven’t gotten a boyfriend or a girlfriend yet. And I especially noticed this when one of my friends from high school got her first boyfriend. As I’d said before regarding this topic, this runs the risk of sounding like a Dr. Phil show or me psychoanalyzing myself (which would both be lame and totally awkward). So I’m going to try very hard not to do that. It’s going to run like this – the first part is going to be a rough rendition of my original blog about capitalism and why that affects me being single (I know, I’m recycling another blog. Give me a break – it was one of the hardest I’ve ever written. Except for this one). The rest is going to be my reflections and how it’s gotten weirder. It’s gonna be long, so hold on for a bumpy ride.

I.

My friend, who I will refer to as [X] (because I can’t use “her” a thousand times, I can’t think of any girl’s names that start with [X], so no hints at who I’m talking about and, even though not many of my friends read this and if they do, it’ll be easy for them to figure out who I’m referring to, I’d rather be safe than sorry and at least show that I’m not trying to bitch about people online. It’s my way of working through feelings – and cultural concepts. Okay, I’m just a bitch, I admit it. But I’m working on it)… anyway, [X] is nice person (I emphasize she’s nice because, despite anything disparaging I say about her, you the reader should remember that I am biased from knowing her and not without faults myself. Thus it’s a hell of a lot easier for me to point out her downfalls). [X] was my best friend in high school and we bonded over a mutual appreciation for sarcasm, English literature and a sort of solidarity from both being only children. However, now that we’re in college, things are weird, possibly because we both have communication issues (she’s never online the same time I am, I apparently don’t know how to use a cell phone, she won’t really message me first unless it’s really important, and I don’t know how to begin conversations). But then things have gotten really weird.

Music that speaks to me

So I'm going to do some shameless promoting of a few songs I just can't stop listening too - I'm a culture vulture, after all, so get used to it. Just click on the links to watch on Youtube - I'm not savvy enough to figure out how to embed them on here. Many thanks to [Львица]for discovering The Gaslight Anthem - they're fantastic :D

O.A.R - "Heaven." Probably my new favorite "mind your own fucking business" after Sara Bareilles' "King of Anything."

The Gaslight Anthem - "She Loves You." Nothing I can say - it's just amazing.

The Decemberists - "This Is Why We Fight." Rejoice, my hipster brethren - listening to this band has apparently made me join your ranks.

Mumford and Sons - "Sigh No More" and "Roll Away Your Stone." The most beautiful marriage between bluegrass and English pub songs. Love, love, LOVE.

Forgive my indulgence - five videos is A LOT. But then again, you should see my iTunes library :D

Rage

So in my previous post, I mentioned something along the lines of having friendships on the rocks. In case I had any doubts, last night proved that point rather clearly to me. I have a friend, who I'll call [novel killer] (for her sake and my own) who I’ve gotten into fights with before, generally because of comments she says that come off as crass or racist. Last summer I started screaming at her when she made a comment about Native Americans before my mind had even had time to recognize that I was angry. On certain topics, we go together like oil and water… or maybe more like sodium and water.

Things have been okay for a while, but she slipped out some offensive comments about Hurricane Katrina, seemingly oblivious to her insinuations. It wasn’t so much what she said, it’s that she didn’t seem to think that she was doing any harm. Again, I started shaking before I even knew I was mad, but this time stayed silent. To no avail. The room was filled with my friends and displaying my anger like that was a sure way to kill the mood. I couldn’t look at anyone; I just stared at my feet and at the carpet, afraid that if I made eye contact with anyone I would receive looks of pity or contemptuous judging.

Things got worse. [novel killer] used a racist slur later in the conversation, for which she got rebuked and then apologized, saying it was an accident. How does one accidentally use a racial slur in this day an age? I was fuming. It would be one thing if she grew up in the South, in a family who was racist. But this doesn’t seem to be the case. Yes, she had family members who were racist, but so did I. It isn’t like she grew up in an area where she never saw anyone act any differently. This only made me angrier.

Which happens to be my fatal flaw. If hers is bold racism, mine is rage (or as I like to think of it, a terrible intolerance for intolerance). I have inherited a terrible temper, which my friend would be attributed to my Italian and Irish heritage. But it’s more than that. I’ve worked at not getting upset as much. When I was younger, the simplest things would make me cry or yell. Now I have to be pushed to the extremes to be made upset. But I feel like racism is an extreme and that I perhaps have a right to be mad. I’m a cultural studies student; I’m sensitive to this stuff. But reacting with anger won’t do any good – it’s too unpredictable. I can’t even control it. One moment I’m fine, then my blood is boiling and raging and my body is both weak and strong, shaking under pressure. I feel a little bit like the Hulk, filling the room with tension and pure, negative emotion. Thus I need to find a better way to deal with it.

Unfortunately, I don’t know what it is. I can’t rebuke her without getting upset. My friends, at least those present last night, didn’t leap to my aide to tell her she was wrong – and this perhaps angered me just as much as her attitude, their preference to pretend that it hadn’t happened and change the topic rather than face the issue head on. But ignoring the issue doesn’t work – it just allows her to think it’s okay and that she can get by with it. And I can’t tell her to stop talking – the difficult thing with issues like this is that people have the right to say what they think. And I know a great deal about feeling like my voice isn’t being heard – I wouldn’t want to be a hypocrite and cut hers off, as much as it might piss me off. The only thing to do is what I did last night – leave as soon as possible. I wasn’t feeling well anyway, I’d had a long day and I shouldn’t have been away from home for as long as I was. Unfortunately, when we talked about racism in school, they never applied it to what it might be like for one of your own friends to be racist. Right now, I’d like nothing more than to avoid the friend in question indefinitely. But it won’t work that way. My friends always plan group things and thus avoiding her would be avoiding everyone. And avoiding her won’t solve the problem – it will only make me look like the bitch that I probably am. There’s nothing I can really do, except let my temper cool and to write about it. Maybe once I’ve gotten it out of my mind, I can finally return to some state of normalcy. “Anger is temporary insanity,” it’s been said. I can see that, at times. But what if being angry feels sane?

St. Andrew's Cross

It’s been nearly three months since I crossed the pond for my summer seminar in Scotland, the third time I’ve been abroad and the best experience yet, but I really haven’t stopped thinking about it. It’s a bit troubling really. Fish and chips sounds utterly unappetizing, due to the quantity I ate there. American cities seem less complex and, well, deep after the complex layering of history in Edinburgh. And, yes, I miss the ability to go out and have a pint in the evenings.

More than that, it’s the mentality of that trip that I miss. I felt like I could do anything, say anything, be myself for this first in a long while. I didn’t worry about grades or being academically perfect (well, not too much), I didn’t worry extensively about my friends or other relationship matters, feeling that everything would be just peachy when I returned home. I didn’t worry about economic affairs (other than trying not to spend too many pounds on hard cider) or the political issues going on in the US. I didn’t let my typical introverted nature take hold and I felt like I had absolute freedom.

Now, here I am, feeling like the entire trip was a dream. With all the work done and grades returned, I feel like I didn’t get what I expected from the course. Some of my friendships are back on the rocks, exactly where they were before Scotland and, despite my attempts at nurturing them, are actually getting worse. I’m still single – but that’s a topic for another day (there’s too many weird complexities in that pathetic little tale to convey here). I am terrified about the economic crisis in the US and I have no idea what the hell I want to do after college. I’m not introverted as much as I used to be, but I feel like I’m constantly disappointing people and absolute freedom is simply a hope for the future.

Perhaps that’s what is lacking now in my return. I has such hope for my summer, for the rest of year, and now just feel burnt out. There’s something about traveling that inspires renewal for me, with this trip in particular. I’d wanted to go to Scotland ever since I was a freshman in high school and that dream finally came true. And it was exactly what I’d hoped for – in fact even better. There’s no point in trying to describe the lushness of the glens and the awe-inspiring buildings in the cities and the absolute beauty of the Highlands. I simply don’t have the words to do it. But it was like something out of my dreams and, for once, all of my other thoughts in life streamlined into this one dream – thoughts on life, love, learning, you get the idea. It was the journey of a lifetime.

And now that I’ve returned home, fallen back into the ennui summers has brought since I graduated from high school, I feel like I’ve woke up from a dream and felt lost in an aftermath of… well, reality. Traveling didn’t change my life – but it did change me. And it’s the struggle to integrate that me back into my life. Journeys don’t end when the travelers return home – it’s only the beginning of another expedition.

Death and all his friends

Okay, so I wrote this blog for another blog (for one of my classes) but I really like it and want to save it. So forgive my recycling. Basically, this is about the book White Noise (which is fantastic - read it) and how the main character thinks about history. We could only site three passages and were limited to how many of those passages could be directly about history or death. Anyway, I had fun writing this and I'm too lazy to write anything new right now :P

This is going to be a bit tricky, summing up Jack Gladney’s understanding of history without referring to any other passages in the book, as I think I’ve developed an obsession for Delillo’s way with worlds, but I’ll give it my best.

Jack has a curious approach to history – yet one that is seems pretty familiar at second glance. He and his son, Heinrich, have a conversation that alludes to his view of history while the two of them are discussing Tommy Roy Foster, the man Heinrich plays chess by mail with and criminal who killed six people in Iron City.

“‘He says if he had to do it all over again, he wouldn’t do it as an ordinary murder, he’d do it as an assassination.’

‘He would select more carefully, kill one famous person, get noticed, make it stick.’

‘He knows he won’t go down in history.’

‘Neither will I.’

‘But you’ve got Hitler.’

‘Yes, I have, haven’t I?’” (45)

This passage shows two basic ways Jack sees history – making it (in this case, killing people, though even that may not be enough for Tommy Roy Foster to be considered important) or studying it, as Jack does; with this we’re back to our first blog post, caught between Ranke and Sam Byck’s methods. This passage also echoes the urge of being remembered, of wanting history to keep note of what happened, even if it is something terrible, as in murder. Like Loughner, Sam Byck and others, Tommy fears being forgotten – a sentiment Jack himself can understand. But as Heinrich reminds him, he has Hitler to fall back on, something to cling to and perhaps, through his creation of Hitler studies, be remembered for his work.

Jack mentions more of his association with Hitler, this time in a conversation with Denise, Babette’s daughter about the Third Reich. 

“‘They lost the war,” she said. “How great could they be?’

‘A valid point. But it’s not a question of greatness. It’s not a question of good and evil. I don’t know what it is. Look at it this way. Some people always wear a favorite color. Some people carry a gun. Some people put on a uniform and feel bigger, stronger, safer. It’s in this area that my obsessions dwell.’" (63)

Jack admits that his study of Hitler is more than just work; it’s an obsession. Connected to this obsession is the idea of belonging to something bigger than oneself – to feel “bigger, stronger, safer” as Jack says. Jack also admits that he doesn’t quite understand why things are this way. Through a simple, basic way of explaining this to Denise, he also works to convince the reader of this stance – that there is something prevalent in history with groups that bond together, whether for better or for worse – in revolutions, in political parties, and (in more current situations) the Tea party. 

Interconnected with his Hitler obsession seems to lie another obsession – death. Jack mentions it repeatedly and towards the end of the chapter, he ruminates on it once again.

“When I read obituaries, I always note the age of the deceased. Automatically I relate this figure to my own age. Four years to go, I think. Nine more years. Two more years and I’m dead. The power of numbers is never more evident than when we use them to speculate on the times of our dying.” (98)

Though he is dealing with small, local histories, reading the obituaries of people from his town, Jack is heavily impacted by this, especially as he has a fear of death, notably dying alone. He also effectively impacts the reader in a personal way, playing off of the idea of running out of time. He and Heinrich discussed this before with Tommy, and now Jack seems to be feeling it himself – he could be dead in two years. Numbers indeed do gain more power in that aspect. This certainly made me think about how I feel about my age. I always cringe a bit when I tell people that I don’t have a boyfriend, have never had a boyfriend and thus feel like I am subtly being judged. My grandmother, who was married by my age, already fears I have become a spinster. Though I’m only twenty (or already twenty, depending on your mindset) there’s already pressure that I’ve missed some specific opportunities in my life and that, as the saying goes, “I’m not getting any younger.” Through fear of missing out on opportunities (like relationships and so on) is there a fear of death? Kind of seems like it, from Jack’s way of thinking.

Life is short, time is running out – all of these common sentiments play into Jack’s worries and these powerful ideas powerfully sway the reader to understand where he is coming from. He worries about death and dying alone, which references his obsession with Hitler and bonding together into a greater entity… which involves more death. And once more, history is focused on dead people and dying. Yay.

There and Back Again

So I haven't used this blog in a long time. Mainly because something called college got in the way of it. Also because I'm still fighting this internal battle as to whether or not I should give up the blog I started last summer. I haven't deleted it, but I did decided to follow my friend who now calls herself [Львица] on this blog so I can actually see what she's writing instead of having to remind myself to log in to my other account and then feel guilty about the old blog (check her out on The Slow Show - http://the-slow-show.blogspot.com/).

My confusing guilt aside, I have also been quite busy this summer. And out of the country for two weeks. My dream of going to Scotland finally came true and it was even more amazing than I thought it would be. It defiantly deserves a blog post - or 10. But not right now. I need to get back into the grove of this before I consider such lofty goals for myself.

And mainly, the rest of the time I've just been a total bum, skirting between joyous, enlightened glee, ridiculous romanticism, and now, unfortunately, the blue melancholy ennui of one who has no idea where the hell summer has gone.

So as a sort of reality check, I regain my critical eye and my prying beak (excuse the bird metaphors, but I am a culture vulture after all) and am thus, again, looking for some sort of outlet or guidance or something. And this time I will actually make this blog my primary blog (I hope). But that means it's going to be a lot of personal baggage and a lot of cultural baggage... which blend together very well, actually.

So here goes nothing :D

Not about dentists

Being in the vein of watching B movies, I saw "Teeth" with my roommates this weekend. While I'd love to whip up another scathing summary of this film and talk about what made it terrible, I just can't do it. I honestly have nothing I can publicly say about that movie. If you know it's plot then you'll understand why. I could probably come up with something, but then I'd never live it down and regret it for the rest of my life. Somethings just shouldn't be said online - especially about horror movies like this. So I'll leave you with a poster of the film and come up with something more meaningful to say at a later date (not that I ever do say anything that meaningful but hey, maybe I'll outdo myself for once).